Rhein-​​Main Airfield, 1944

The three of them stood, wait­ing, at dawn;
pilot, cryp­tog­ra­pher, guard,
watch­ing cloudy, dull-​​red fin­gers extend
over earth. Each was wrapped in a drab
green coat and cloaked in his thoughts.
Breath hung from their mouths and nostrils.

The pilot stared at the bloody sun,
uncom­fort­able with feet on ground.
The cryp­tog­ra­pher leaned on a door­frame
cooly; his eyes half-​​hooded but wary.
The guard shifted from foot to foot, searched
his coat for a cigarette.

As he pulled out the pack his hand brushed
the page that lay heavy against his chest:
Make sure the code-​​man gets on the plane.
If attacked, do not let him be taken alive.