We'll Meet Again - USUK

Chapter 6

Sunday 26 March 1944

My Dearest Arthur,

Bonjourno! (That's Italian for hello, you know.) This letter is being sent courtesy of the Italian resistance. The world really does work in weird and wonderful ways sometimes.

Not a day after I sent my last letter to you, Matthew and I met this friendly group of Italians while visiting the local village. There we were, chatting away, when I noticed that one of them looked really familiar... it took me a moment to realize where I had seen him before. The German's photo! He was the young man with the dark eyes and the wild hair! I pulled him aside and asked if he knew a German fighter pilot named Ludwig. Oh, Arthur. The look of shock, then joy, then utter despair. He obviously knew him... and obviously knew what it meant that I knew of him as well.

His name is Feliciano, he is a part of the Italian resistance, and he speaks English really well... unlike his brother Lovino who tends to just yell at us in Italian real loud and angry like. Their grandfather (who is known as Rome) leads the movement and they are very skilled at moving Allied prisoners of war to Spain where they can then make their way home. Feliciano does not seem to be as fervent about the cause as his grandfather or his brother, but he is cheerful and sweet and seems just a little scared. When we first met him he jumped out in front of us frantically waving a small white flag and yelling "I surrender" in four different languages.

Feliciano met Ludwig while the Germans were stationed near his village and fell immediately in love. He didn't care about sides or allegiances... he just met him and loved him. And it was mutual. Feliciano is so helpful to us but he knows at the same time that I helped shoot down Ludwig and imprison him... and yet Feliciano was fighting against the Germans the whole time. It seems there are no sides when it comes to love.

The village here really is very beautiful. One day, when all of this is over, we'll come back here and see it together... without the tanks and the flattened buildings and the burning fields.

I miss you so much. I spend every day thinking about how much I can't wait to get back to you. You're the one, Arthur - the one I want to spend every day of my life with. And the longer I'm here the stronger the conviction grows. I love you. It feels so good just to be able to write the words!

Things might not be going perfectly, but I'll make sure I come back to you, Arthur. I'm the Magician, after all!

Love always, Alfred.

.

Arthur ran his hand gingerly over the letter, folded it, and placed it carefully in his top dresser drawer beside all the others. It was the last letter he had received from Alfred, arriving the morning after the heartbreaking news. The letter was dated a few days before that awful news broadcast. Alfred must have written it only hours before he was captured.

For days Arthur had tried to stop the evil thoughts which assaulted his mind; but he found it impossible. What had the SS done to Alfred? Did he talk? Did he scream? Was he scared? Or did he laugh defiantly and play the hero that he always thought he was? Arthur tried desperately to shake the fears from his head. But God, why Alfred? Why the most honest, cheerful, wonderful person he'd ever known; why the one person in the world who least deserved it?

Once again, Arthur pulled himself together and headed downstairs to work. He plastered on a smile as he walked into the pub and one of his regulars nodded to him as he passed. "How are you holding up there, old chap?"

Arthur waved a hand. "I'm fine, the doctor says it was just exhaustion."

"Ah, you work yourself too hard! Slow down or you'll make yourself ill like last time!"