The voice sounded American, like his own, and familiar enough that he felt a shiver run over him. But with that head hit, he couldn't be certain of anything he was hearing. He moved toward the man, though, taking in the outline of his coat, the way he stood there. It had only been the night before that he'd seen such a form walking into another blinding light, and then disappear.

Clearly strange things were going to be the theme for the week.

For all that the question was there on his lips, wanting to try and put the name with the form and voice, he held back, uncertain, just stepping more into the light.

"My plane was hit. I think I must have gotten caught in some sort of strong draft to be blown this far back in. I don't suppose I could get a lift back to town?" As strange as the city looked, part of him was still clinging to the idea that he'd get back in to Cardiff, find his men, and all would be well. "I need to check on my men."