The Homecoming by Dan Walsh

cowered and put his hands up to protect himself. The German then started hitting him with a stick he picked up by the fireplace, over and over again. Shawn couldn’t just sit there. As he stood up, the front door swung open. Young Johan rushed in and jumped on the back of the German, yelling and pounding him with his fists. The German threw him off, then turned on Johan, hitting him across the face with the stick.
    “No, please!” Mr. Beekman yelled.
    Shawn rushed around the other side and came in the front door just as the German removed his pistol from its holster. His back faced away from Shawn toward Beekman, now backing up against the table. Shawn pulled out his knife and ran at the officer; their bodies slammed together with a crash. The German fell face forward and Shawn landed on top of him. In a moment, Shawn’s knife was sticking through the German’s heart from the back. The German let out one loud, painful cry then went silent, his face lying sideways on the wooden floor, eyes staring ahead, seeing nothing.
    Sitting on the young officer’s back, Shawn couldn’t believe what he had just done. He shook his head and took in a deep breath. He had just killed a man.
    He had probably killed hundreds of people flying Mama’s Kitchen , but that thought had never really found a home. They were just dropping bombs on factories and buildings, not on real people. But here was his knife sticking out of a man’s back, a man he had just killed.
    “Thank you,” said Beekman, bending down toward Shawn. “You saved my life. He was about to shoot me.” Shawn looked up into his gentle eyes; the left side of Beekman’s face was all red and chapped from where the German had slapped him.
    Shawn got up as Mr. Beekman went over to Johan still lying on the floor. Just then Manzini came through the door, his rifle leveled, ready to shoot someone. “You okay, Cap?” He looked down at the dead German, then at the knife sticking out of his back. “Way to go, sir. Bagged a Kraut, close up.”
    “He was beating Johan with a stick,” Shawn said. “When Mr. Beekman tried to stop him, he pulled out his gun.”
    “Hey, don’t need to explain anything to me. Only good Nazi’s a dead Nazi, you ask me. On the upside, this Kraut was by himself. That jeep thing is empty.”
    “More will come in an hour or so,” said Beekman, “when he doesn’t come back to report.” He helped his son to his feet. Johan’s face was bleeding and starting to swell.
    “Are you all right, Johan?” Shawn asked.
    “I am now,” he said, wincing as he smiled, looking down at the dead German officer. Then he looked at Shawn. “Thank you for saving us.”
    “What were you arguing about?” Shawn asked the father.
    “He asked me if I saw your plane. I told him what we discussed, that I saw it fly out to sea. He called me a liar, yelling, trying to intimidate me. I said I wasn’t lying, where would I hide a plane, but then he saw the food I was gathering on the table. He said it was too much food for me and Johan and insisted I was getting food to help you. He started to beat me, and then Johan came in.” Beekman paused a moment. “It was good you used your knife. If he shot me, or you shot him, the rest of the garrison would be here in moments.”
    Shawn nodded. “Well, if they’re all going to be here in an hour or so anyway, we better get moving. I’ve got an idea. We’ll drag this German back to our plane and leave his body there in the sand where they can easily see it. When they come here, you can tell them the truth . . . you saw our plane trying to land on the beach as we flew by the cottage. Just say you told this German that, and that he headed down the beach looking for our plane. It’ll be dark then. I’ll have my men hiding around the dunes, waiting to ambush them. You said there were only four or five, right? We can easily take them out. They’ll stop at his body, figure we killed him, and before they can react, we’ll