He can hear, in a way - he can process the words, his mind latches onto his name, and then the shaking starts in earnest. He can feel it, as if it's shaking apart his bones, his spine seems as if it will crack, his fingers and arms jerk, his eyes sting with exposure to air, tears welling up and building in his lower lashes. The voice is lilting. English. British. It's Allies, and he shouldn't be afraid anymore, but he can't...he can't...there's something lingering around the edges of his consciousness, exhaustion, like a preying animal.

The man is speaking his name, dressed in a military uniform, and he tries to tell himself it's like being back with the others. They don't wear uniforms, though, like this man. One hand jerks up and closes roughly into the front of the uniform, his breath starts sucking in hard and deep, hissing in through the swelling in his throat.

He manages to jerkily nod, just once, still feeling as if he's shaking himself apart.