Flooney Island 1940

Prisoner

Half a month had passed, and the two had consumed three rabbits, ten seabirds, and more than twenty fish.

Andreas had never imagined he could fish with a gun, but by the seaside, he was remarkably accurate. Chazo, still in his long dress and hands bound, sat behind him on the beach, blankly watching the handsome German shoot fiercely into the Atlantic. The sea breeze tousled his hair and the hem of his dress, his gaze distant, looking towards the homeland, yet also closely following the figure amidst the waves.

When the sky blazed with the evening glow, the handsome German would lead him by the hands, walking back to the cabin along the steep cliffside path.

"Why do you always hold my hands?" Chazo finally asked the question that had been on his mind halfway up the hill.

Andreas paused, turned around, and said, "I fear you might strangle me."

Chazo almost rolled his eyes, "If you died, there’d be no one to take care of me."

"Do you need me to take care of you?"

"What do you think?" Chazo didn’t believe his injured right hand was fit for handling a gun yet.

"Fair point," Andreas conceded, "Then I'll let go of your hand."

He released Chazo's hands, but the major hadn’t walked far before slipping and tumbling down solidly. Chazo got up sullenly, his face showing embarrassment as he proudly looked away, only to catch Andreas suppressing a smile. Without a word, he took Chazo's hand again. Under the setting sun, amidst the sea breeze, they headed towards their little cabin.

At night, they shared a bed. Chazo initially felt uncomfortable sleeping beside a man, especially a German. One insomniac midnight, he cautiously opened his eyes and glanced at Andreas, only to find him also awake, looking back. He was startled.

"Can't sleep?" the colonel asked.

"Yeah," Chazo replied calmly, "You too?"

Andreas nodded, "After all, the arrival of the navy doesn't adhere to day and night."

Chazo didn’t respond, turning his gaze away. The shadows of the trees swayed, and the moonlight through the window fell on his face, casting a shallow sorrow.

"You don’t have to worry; you will receive the highest level of treatment as my prisoner of war," Andreas reassured Chazo, propping his head to lie on his side, "You will survive, survive until the end of the war."

"That means nothing to me."

"It means something to me."

"Why?" Chazo looked at him inquiringly.

"Look, we've established a friendship here, regardless of whether you acknowledge it or not, Major, we are friends."

Chazo shifted his bound hands above his head, questioning, "This is friendship?"

"It’s to make you behave. I know you never do."

"I’m not your pet dog; why should I listen to you?" Chazo retorted, feeling belittled by the colonel’s authoritative demeanor.

Andreas shrugged, "Think what you will, but you need to stay by my side."

Saying so, Andreas reached out to touch Chazo's face. Chazo widened his eyes, turning to him. Their gazes met, the deep blue sea meeting the brown resin, creating ripples. It took a lot of restraint for Andreas not to kiss him.

One morning, as the sea breeze filled the cabin with a salty scent, and they were each gnawing on a bird leg, lost in thought about a future potentially filled with such primitive sustenance, a ship's horn echoed across the sea.

The German navy had finally arrived!

Andreas rushed out of the cabin, waving and shouting towards the fleet with rare excitement. Then he ran back, grabbed Chazo, and dashed outside. Chazo, following in his wake, felt a surge of complex emotions.

But upon reaching the beach, Andreas suddenly halted. His jubilant expression faded to calm, even cold.

Turning to the major, he stated deliberately, "Chazo, remember, you are my prisoner."

It was the first time he had used his name, and the major didn’t fully grasp his meaning then. But soon, he would understand all too well. He was his prisoner, forever bound to him.

　————

After boarding the Heinz-class light cruiser, Andreas once again became the high-ranking, illustrious Colonel Heinz. He changed into his colonel's uniform and met with the cruiser's captain amidst the awe-struck gazes of the crew.

"Colonel Heinz, your prisoner has been properly accommodated, and we are now heading back to the port of Brest in France. Since the last message from the Castellin, you had disappeared for twenty days. God did not take your life, which I believe is a blessing for our Kriegsmarine," said Lieutenant Colonel Smith excitedly.

"What's the status of their retreat?" Andreas inquired about Dunkirk.

With a heavy sigh, Captain Smith closed the door of his cabin and spoke in a low voice, "Just ten kilometers, ten kilometers to Dunkirk, and the Führer himself ordered a halt. Marshal Guderian had no choice but to stop. They've evacuated over three hundred thousand men."

Andreas's expression was hard to read, clearly displeased with the outcome of the campaign which could be deemed a failure. Yet, he didn't dwell on it and asked, "What's the current situation?"

"France is about to surrender, no, they have already surrendered. Pétain has secretly been in contact with the Führer several times."

"Alright, I understand. Thank you, Captain Smith, for coming to pick me up personally."

"It's nothing, knowing you were alive made me happier than anyone else. But initially, the navy headquarters ignored your message due to the unfamiliar channel. It took a while before they took it seriously, which is why we were late. I need to apologize to you," said Lieutenant Colonel Smith, his face flushed with sincerity. Despite being in his forties, he held great respect for Andreas.

Andreas nodded in acknowledgment and left the captain's cabin to see his prisoner.

As per his instructions, Major Chazo Rielke was receiving very humane treatment as a POW and was currently confined in a cabin guarded by two crew members.

"Sir!"

The two crew members saluted Andreas, who returned the gesture and then ordered them to open the door. Chazo had been given clean clothes, though they were German casual wear, which was still better than wearing a dress.

Andreas suddenly felt a pang of regret because, in his excitement, he hadn't noticed that Chazo was still in a dress when he brought him aboard. The crew's glances towards him had been odd. The colonel thought that Chazo must have taken quite a hit to his pride.

"How is it? Have you ever been on a German warship before?"

He sat opposite Chazo, who was half-reclining on the bed, staring expressionlessly at the rolling sea outside.

Observing him quietly, Andreas noticed his hair had grown longer, and he looked refreshing in a white shirt, the collar casually open to reveal his delicate collarbones, his demeanor elegant and classical. Beneath his high, slender nose, his lips were lightly pursed, his eyes tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

He didn't respond to Andreas, prompting the colonel to call his name again, "Chazo."

"Have you not given up yet?"

"On what?"

"Interrogation." Chazo turned his head, slightly startled by the sight of Andreas in full military attire, then regained his composure.

"I've already said all I have to say."

Andreas took a deep breath, "I'm not here to interrogate you."

Chazo's eyes widened slightly.

"I'm just here to see you, Chazo."

"Why? Are you pitying me? Don't forget, we are enemies. It was I who orchestrated the sinking of your fleet, and it was you who killed my family and my entire intelligence unit. Did the days on the island make you forget all these grievances, Colonel Heinz?"

Chazo's words were confrontational, and he hated wearing the German uniform. Although the navy blue uniform, white cap, and gold and silver Surface Fleet badge suited him, the eagle insignia and the cross on the chest and cap pained Chazo's eyes.

Andreas fell silent, unsure what to say because Chazo was right. On the island, they had almost become friends reliant on each other for survival, but now, they were enemies. However, Andreas wasn't sure whether to share the news with Chazo, but after a moment's thought, he decided to speak.

"France is going to surrender. Philippe Pétain has already arranged everything, just waiting to sign the surrender documents. If you are also with Pétain's faction, we will continue to be friends."

He saw Chazo's brown eyes suddenly widen, his complexion turning ashen in an instant, then he stammered, "How could it... how could it be so soon... you're lying to me!"

"I never lie."

Chazo stood up abruptly, lunging at Andreas, grabbing his collar, "Say it again, who surrendered? Who?!"

"France, the French, Pétain."

"No!"

Tears welled up in Chazo's eyes as he glared at Andreas, unleashing a roar of rage, and swung a punch towards his face. He had held back this punch for a long time, for Lyon, for Fiona, for Joey, for the bomber... for his France!

Andreas did not dodge the punch, but the rage and grief in Chazo's eyes also awakened the hatred in his heart. He nearly flung Chazo off him in one motion, slamming him hard onto the ground, then began raining punches down on him as he straddled his chest.

He had been holding back for so long, almost forgetting his Castellin, his Hunter, and his Greyhawk, those over a thousand crew members whose lives were lost at Chazo's hands. Yes, how could they ever be friends? They are enemies! Eternal enemies!

Chazo struggled desperately, fighting back, landing several punches on Andreas as well. Both were relentless, venting their anger and sorrow until the guards from outside rushed into the cabin to pull them apart.

Breathing heavily, Andreas stood up, wiping the blood from his mouth, and looked coldly at Chazo lying on the ground. His face was smeared with blood, his eyes bloodshot, filled with hatred for himself.

"Colonel, shall we give you a hand in teaching him a lesson?" one of the crew members suggested.

Andreas turned around, his icy gaze almost freezing the crew member, "No one but me touches him, or they will face military justice."

"Yes, sir!" The crew member shivered.

"Call the medic here, treat him well," Andreas dropped this sentence and walked out of the cabin. He staggered a bit after a few steps, bracing himself against the wall to steady his body, his right hand clutching his heart. A bitter smile crossed his face as he thought, it must be the tumultuous waves of the Atlantic making it hard to keep his balance.

But the heartache was very distinct. He didn't want to be enemies with him, yet they were forced to be enemies. Such is the cruelty of war, everything is so involuntary.