"Wake up!"

"Alexander! Please stay alive!"

"Come on!"

These words floated through the air around him, his vision a haze. Every part of him burned and ached, but he tried not to close his eyes.

Annelise.

Henri.

Lukas.

Mathias.

Stefan, my brother.

Father.

I will endure.

When his eyes opened next, he didn't know where he was. He was in a cot, in a room. Someone was next to him. A doctor. His vision cleared a bit. He didn't know the doctor's name.

"Where is Henri," he rasped.

The doctor put a finger to his lips. "Be quiet. You're injured. Go back to sleep."

Alexander tried to sit up. "Where is Henri?"

"I don't know," admitted the doctor.

Alexander didn't remember what happened next. He remembered waking up again in a tent. Another doctor came in and bandaged his arm. "It's burned," the doctor said. "Badly."

Alexander didn't care about that.

"Henri."

"I don't know anything about Henri's situation," repeated the doctor.

About a day later, Alexander was walking around, his arm bandaged. He found Peter outside. "Have you heard anything about Henri?"

Peter shook his head. "Only that he is badly injured. I don't know where he is. But people are praising you."

Alexander shook his head. "What?"

"You ran across a field and dove into a smoking plane to save a friend. That's fairly heroic. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking."

Peter shook his head. "We can only hope Henri is fine. Not only that, you hit down four planes. That's pretty impressive."

Alexander nodded, his mind not focusing on that fact at all. Is Annelise alive? Is Lukas alive? Mathias? Jon?

When he was young, war seemed to be a distant fairytale, preserved in stories his grandfather and father told him of World War One. It was full of tales of bravery and heroes, performing selfless acts to save their friends and family. He was beginning to realize that the stories left out the hard parts. The heartbreak. The struggle. The death. All the things he didn't think about as a child were coming to haunt him now. He was under so much stress. Were his friends alive? What about his father and brother? They were on the Eastern Front. He hadn't heard any word on the Soviet Union in months. He never thought he would be one of the people in the stories he was told as a child, a war hero. Diving into burning planes, shooting down four planes, writing to a love in another country. He wasn't thinking about these things as he did them. He was just dealing with whatever life decided to throw at him next.

He turned to Peter again. He was about to say something when someone walked over to them. A doctor Alexander didn't know.

"Were you the one asking about Henri earlier," he asked. Alexander nodded.

"They sent me to tell you that he's awake. You can see him. He's badly injured though-"

The doctor didn't get to finish. Alexander and Peter ran through the maze of tents and beds looking for Henri. Alexander almost didn't recognize his friend at first when he found him. The right side of his face was completely burned, and he had bandages all over his arms. His pale hair was partially singed off, and he was thinner than Alexander had ever seen him.

"Henri!" Alexander ran to his side, almost crying with relief. "You're alive!"

Henri nodded. "Not for long."

Alexander stopped. "No, you're going to live. You're bandaged. You're fine."

Henri shook his head. "My arms are infected. I lost a lot of blood. At least, that's what I overheard them say. They aren't telling me anything."

Alexander didn't respond to that. There was silence for a moment, before Peter broke in. "You look terrible."

They all laughed. "You really do," said Alexander through laughs.

"Alexander," began Henri, after the laughing had stopped.

"Yes?"

"It was you who dragged me out of that plane, wasn't it?"

Alexander nodded. "It was me."

Henri grabbed Alexander's hand and nodded. "Thank you. Even if I do die, thank you."

"Don't say that," begged Alexander without thinking. "Please."

Henri grinned. "Alexander, you always face the truth unless you disagree with it. Even if I live, I can't fight any longer. Look at me. And I have nothing to go home to. My mother is dead. My father is off fighting on the Eastern Front. My sister was probably taken from her home in Munich. When I left her, she was hiding her Jewish friend."

Alexander hated to admit it, but his friend was right. He had nothing left for him in Germany. Maybe that was why he had thrown away his life in the sky.

"I'll shoot down that pilot who hit you," promised Alexander. "I swear, he won't go back home."

"Alexander, stop it," Henri hissed. "He was fighting for his country, just as I was. I'm being taken from whatever family I have left. Would you really cause his friends the same pain you're feeling now?"

Alexander thought for a moment. Annelise would have yelled at him to stop being so selfish. "No, I wouldn't."

"That's what I thought you would say."

Peter reached out and smoothed Henri's hair. "I hate to tell you this, but Georg and Victor didn't make it."

Henri nodded. "I know." He opened his hand. In it rested a red piece of string. Victor tied this around his wrist for good luck. Why did Henri have it?

"He wanted me to have it. I told him to keep it. It is... was... his good luck token. He insisted. Maybe he knew he was going to die. In any case, if it was lucky, it didn't do either of us much good."

Alexander nodded. He exchanged looks with Peter. Ten men, ten friends had left Germany. The last three were together now, and one of them was dying.

Henri's face collapsed suddenly. "I'll never see Alice again," he whispered in horror.

Alice was a girl from Italy he had met. Similar to Annelise, his family had lived in Italy for a time before leaving for Germany when the War broke out. Henri had a picture of Alice by his bed. She had red hair and brown eyes, and a beautiful smile. He felt terrible for Henri. What if I never make it back to Annelise...

Henri suddenly gripped Alexander's hand tightly. "Alexander, listen to me. If I die, tell Alice that I love her." Alexander nodded, knowing that he couldn't stop his friend's death.

Henri's grip on Alexander's hand weakened. His eyes began to flutter.

"We need a nurse," insisted Peter. "Now!"

"No," said Henri quietly. "I'm fine." A look of peace crept onto his face, his eyes closing. They opened again, full of urgency.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something on a ribbon. He pressed it into Alexander's hand. Before he looked, Alexander knew what he had been given.

He tried giving the Iron Cross back to Henri. "They'll want to bury you with it. It was such an honor, I can't take this."

Henri nodded. "You can, and you will. Keep it."

Alexander put it in his pocket, its weight feeling far greater than it should have.

"I'm going to miss you," Peter said, hiding the sadness in his voice and face with a smile. "It'll be a lot quieter without you here."

Henri nodded. "It will be. I would think you would want quiet now, after dealing with me for so long."

Alexander shook his head. "No. You have not been a burden, Henri. You have been one of the greatest men I have ever had the fortune to meet." Alexander wouldn't let go of Henri's hand. "Stay with me," he whispered, before he knew what he was saying.

"I can't," Henri whispered, his voice quieter than trees rustling in a breeze. "It's warm here. I see my mother, my sister." The look of complete peace was on his face again. He closed his eyes with a smile. "Goodbye, Peter. Goodbye, Alexander. The flowers smell nice on this side..."

His voice faded away, and his light blue eyes, always full of fire, closed one last time.