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Simon looked over the side of his plane at the peaceful village below and sighed. This low to the ground, he could hear bells drifting up from the church, but he forced himself to shut them out and focus on his mission. Richthofen was out there, and the light was fading fast. He'd prefer this not end up being a night mission.
He shivered and scanned the horizon, hand steady on the control stick. He was already freezing, and God only knew how long he'd be up here. He hoped his wings wouldn't ice up. An emergency landing in enemy territory was not on his Christmas list.
His ears knew before his eyes did. The noise came up on his left, and he knew that particular engine all too well. He drew up tight, turning hard. Simon fired once, then again, but Richthofen evaded the bullets easily, climbing higher and leaving Simon no choice but to follow. Higher they climbed, and higher still, and Simon shivered as the cold sank into his bones. His finger never left the trigger, but Richthofen evaded every shot as easily as a child dodging a ball.
They hit a cloud bank, and for a moment, it was all Simon could do to navigate. When he cleared the clouds, his enemy was nowhere in sight. A cold knot settled in his stomach even before he heard the plane behind him. He pulled back on the control stick, but true to his earlier fears, the wings were iced. He took a deep breath, waiting for the inevitable bullet.
At least he would die at the hands of a worthy foe.
The shot never came. Instead, Richthofen pulled up alongside and gestured, and his meaning was clear. Simon had no choice but to take his Camel to the ground. The Fokker glided in close beside, with a grace Simon could admire without reservation.
He stayed in the cockpit, watching Richthofen climb out of his plane. Richthofen leaned against the side of it, arms crossed, and gazed back. After a moment, he made a "come here" gesture with one hand, and Simon, wary but curious, slid over the side to the ground.
Richthofen took out two cigarettes and lit them, offering one to Simon. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"
"I'm afraid not," Simon replied ruefully, nodding his thanks for the cigarette. He took a long, delicious drag, feeling more than a little disoriented by the whole surreal situation. What was Richthofen planning?
Richthofen shrugged. "No matter. I have enough English." He exhaled a long stream of smoke, then looked up at the gathering clouds. "Snow soon, I think. We should take shelter before dark." He gestured toward the woods, and for the first time Simon noticed the little cabin there at their edge.
Richthofen turned and walked to the cabin, and Simon followed. They were silent until they got inside and then Simon cleared his throat. "Er, not that I'm ungrateful, but...why am I still alive?"
Richthofen knelt at the fireplace, working with his firekit and some of the kindling stacked by the hearth, and soon had a cheerful little fire going that could take the larger pieces of firewood. Just when Simon had given up on the hope of an answer to his question, Richtofen glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "It is Christmas. What better reason for enemies to put their differences aside, if only for a short time?"
Simon nodded slowly. "I suppose there isn't one." He looked around the cabin; it was small, but clean and cozy, with a bed in one corner and a table with two chairs. A cupboard and a cooker stood against one wall, with an old-fashioned pump sink catty-corner from them. "I hope the owner doesn't come back while we're here. You might be welcome, but I don't think he'd be too happy to see me."
Richthofen stood and looked around. "It is a hunting cabin, from the looks of it. Doubtless, its owner is warm and snug in his home, and will not be joining us."
Simon shook his head; the night just kept getting stranger. He watched Richthofen reach into his coat and take out a flask. "Sit," Richthofen said, gesturing at the table. "You will have some schnapps?"
"I would like that very much, thank you." Simon had a collapsible cup in his pocket and he opened it up, holding it out so that Richtofen could fill it.
Richthofen raised his flask in a toast. "Merry Christmas, mein freunde."
Simon lifted his cup in a silent salute, and they drank in silence for a moment, until Richthofen, gaze fixed on the fire, took a deep breath. "My finger was on the trigger," he admitted. "I could see already how pleased my superiors would be - taking down Simon Brown single-handed." He smiled, his handsome face looking younger in the firelight. "But on Christmas? No." He shook his head.
"It...it would be an honor to die at your hand," Simon said, "as morbid as that might sound. If I must die in this cursed war, I had much rather it be in combat against the best flyer in the German forces."
Richthofen laughed and leaned forward to refill Simon's cup. "I return the sentiment wholeheartedly. But much better to survive and have stories to tell our children and grandchildren, ja?"
"Ja," Simon agreed, though he'd known for some time that he was unlikely ever to have any children. He couldn't see deceiving some sweet girl into marriage, and even less could he see admitting to anyone that his preferences lay with his own sex.
Richthofen looked at him for a moment, then stood and went to the window. "The snow is starting now. We should wait until morning to take off."
"That's probably best," Simon agreed, moving to stand behind him. "Good Lord, it's really coming down. Thank God we're indoors."
"Indeed." Richthofen looked through the window for a moment longer, then turned to Simon. "I feel as if I can speak frankly with you. This is...I have wished to speak with you for a long time. I have thought that perhaps you are the only one who can understand."
"Understand what?" Simon asked. They were close now, and Simon swallowed. Richthofen was a handsome man, he'd known that already, but up close he was beautiful.
"The loneliness." Richthofen moved to sit on the side of the slightly dusty bed and Simon followed. "I do not wish to sound arrogant, but to be the best is to be alone among one's comrades, I think. And we fliers...we are alone to begin with - there is not the feeling of being comrades in arms as with those down in the trenches. To be in war, away from home and family, and not have even the comfort of that closeness..."
He laughed softly and looked off to the side, away from Simon. "Now you will think, 'oh, the great Red Baron, he wallows in self-pity.'"
"No!" Simon grabbed Richthofen's hand and squeezed it. "No, I don't think any such thing. I - I've felt the same way. I wouldn't trade being a pilot for anything, but...but it is very lonely."
"Yes." Richtofen looked down at their hands, still clasped; when Simon, mortified, tried to pull his away, Richtofen wouldn't let go. "And...there is another reason to be lonely, is there not? To be... Freud made a word years ago, 'homosexual.' Do you know this word?"
"Yes." Simon stared at the floor, and his voice was soft. "Yes, I know it."
Richthofen turned to face him. "I thought you might. So often, our kind know each other, ja?" Richthofen didn't wait for an answer; he touched Simon's chin to turn his face.
Simon kept his eyes down, afraid to look up. "Herr Richthofen - "
"Manfred." It was soft, almost pleading. "Please."
Simon looked up then, tongue darting out over dry lips. "I - then you must call me Simon," he said, feeling absurdly awkward.
Richthofen - Manfred - smiled, almost shyly. "Simon." He watched Simon, his expression a bit wary.
Simon took a deep breath. "I just...I want to be sure I understand. Do you - I mean, are you suggesting that we should - ?" He looked away, licking his lips again.
"Only if you also wish it," Manfred said. "If you do not, we will pass the night as companions only, with schnapps and stories." He made as if to let go of Simon's hand, but Simon shook his head.
"I don't want to spend the night with schnapps and stories," he said quietly. "I want to spend it with you." His lips quirked. "Well, and maybe a little bit of schnapps and a story or two."
Manfred laughed softly, then stroked his fingers down Simon's cheek. "I should like very much to kiss you." He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Simon's.
Simon gasped softly, then, before Manfred could pull away, he slid his hand around the back of Manfred's neck, deepening the kiss and tasting the schapps on Manfred's tongue. They fumbled their clothes off and slid beneath the duvet, and the chill was driven away by the heat of Manfred's skin against his own.
They made love slowly, as if they had all the time in the world instead of only one night, and after, they dozed in the firelight, Simon's back against Manfred's chest and Manfred's arm holding him close.
"What happens in the morning?" Simon murmured, turning to look over his shoulder.
Manfred bent and kissed him softly. "In the morning, we take off and go our separate ways." He sighed. "And we hope that the war comes to an end with neither of us obliged to kill the other."
It was the only possible answer, and Simon nodded. "If we both live through the war," he said slowly, reaching up to touch Manfred's face, "could I see you again?"
"If we survive, nothing will keep me from you." Manfred gazed at him earnestly. "That is a promise."
*****
By dawn, the snow had stopped, but there was enough cloud cover that there was no glare of sunlight. They dressed quietly and shared some biscuits and tea from Simon's rations, then prepared to take off.
Manfred leaned Simon against his Camel for a lingering kiss. "If we meet in combat..."
"I know." Simon toyed with the lapels of Manfred's coat. "But I meant what I said, you know. If I must die, I'd rather it be at your hand than anyone's." He smiled a little. "But better to live and have stories to tell to our children and grandchildren, ja?"
Manfred laughed and rested his forehead against Simon's. "Ja." He kissed Simon one last time, wistfully. "Be safe, mein schatz."
"And you as well." Simon forced himself to move to the front of the plane to start the engine. He climbed into the cockpit and saluted Manfred, then, gaze fixed firmly ahead, took off into the gray.
He didn't dare look back.