Spitfire Ringers

by Ian Lindsey

  The four young ones reconvened with the elder O’Ryans for an early supper. The mood did not quite become jovial, but all involved clearly enjoyed the company of the others. Mr. O’Ryan told tales of his younger days running wine and fighting against the English which enthralled Payton and Dylan while boring the rest of his family that had heard his hero’s tales many times before. Mrs. O’Ryan quietly listened but clearly had to hide her concern for Timothy every time she looked at her son. She’d seen her husband risk his neck on these boats many times up against the local law, but now her son would sail in to a war zone far more dangerous than anything her husband had ever seen. If her son felt the gazes he did not show it, and he did not show any fear at the prospect of danger in the mission ahead.

  As dinner finished the party broke up in to separate groups. Payton retreated to the library to write one letter each to his father and Anne. The two letters included a brief description of their plans and then a description of the Dylan’s blossoming romance with Clara. Payton wrote with a touch more sentiment and tenderness in his letter to Anne, perhaps mirroring the feelings he knew his brother felt for Clara but he had denied himself with Anne previously.

  Dylan and Clara walked along the cliffs discreetly holding hands, though everyone else on the property knew what was transpiring between the two. They settled together on the lawn in the early evening low hanging sun overlooking the calm ocean below.

  “When will you leave for Dover?” Dylan asked.

  “I’ll take the ferry tomorrow morning and easily beat you there.” Clara answered. “My trip won’t take me much more than half a day.”

  “I’ll hurry there as fast as I can.” Dylan said only half joking. “I am pleased that we don’t have to say goodbye just yet.”

  “I’ve been thanking God for the same thing all day.” Clara sighed as she leaned her head in to Dylan’s shoulder. “I’ve never really considered that I’d feel this way about someone, you know. I’ve sworn up and down to my mother that I didn’t need anyone else.”

  “I’ve always had my brother. Having a little help isn’t a sign of weakness. Our father used to tell us that as a whole we are greater than the sum of our parts and I truly believe that. I’m blessed with at least one person in this world that I can wholly and totally depend on no matter what.” Dylan offered. “Having a big heart isn’t a weakness either, and I can see that you possess that as well. I’m just surprised that it seems to be falling for this boy from Oregon.”

  “I am envious that you have someone to trust so completely. Timothy and I get along well, but I’m sure it’s not the same as having a twin brother.” Clara said, ignoring the bait.

  “I’ve known twins that didn’t like each other at all. I suppose we just got lucky.” Dylan modestly answered.

  “Will we ever be that way?” Clara asked hopefully.

  “Time will tell, but I’d like to try.” Dylan answered as he reached to kiss Clara again. “We’ll figure it out when I get back from France. I have to see through what I’ve come to Europe to do if only because it led me to you, but we’ll find a way for you and me in this mess.” Dylan promised Clara as their moments together began to wane.

  “I’d rather start now, but I’ll wait.” Clara sighed as she held Dylan even tighter.

  Chapter 14

  May 27th, 1940

  The tide turned as it always did so the boys set out in their modest armada for Dover as planned. They sailed through the night with each taking a turn leading the way and keeping watch while the other two slept as their boats kept pace on automatic pilot settings. The trip passed blissfully uneventful and a helpful current plus prevailing tailwind combination meant the boys arrived in Dover sooner than anticipated. Clara performed as promised and had berths and fuel lined up for all three boats.

  “Have you heard anything from France?” Timothy asked his sister after the quartet had reconvened at a nearby pub for a late lunch.

  “I’ve seen a few soldiers on the streets and they look weary, at best. So far there seems to be a slow trickle in to town. I spoke with one fellow who said that men are huddled all around the town close to the beach. Some units have broken up, but most have stayed together. So far the wounded have been moved out on the Naval ships while the able bodied are scrambling for anything that floats.” Clara answered. “He reported intermittent shelling in the town and at the beach, though he said none had fallen near his boat. He also said it felt like there were a million men waiting to get to the boats.”

  “Sounds about as we expected it would.” Payton said. “We need to get the inflatable boats loaded and back on the road, so to say.”

  “When does the tide go out in France?” Dylan asked by way of agreeing with his brother.

  “About six thirty.” Timothy said offhand.

  “We’ll want to run the rubber boats during slack tide, so we’d need to be there by about five thirty then, I’d guess. That way we’ll have about an hour to run troops out to the boats before we sail home. If we hurry we’d get back her at about dusk.” Payton said to continue laying out the schedule.

  “So we’ll sail at about three. Excellent, then, we’ll rest for an hour and then return to our posts.” Timothy declared.

  Dylan and Clara sat together and chatted quietly for the hour on the Eirinn. Timothy busied himself on the Etain securing the rubber boats, and Payton instantly fell asleep on the Eriu. Anticipation made the hour pass quickly for all four, and soon enough the three boats pointed their bows toward France and left England at their backs. They soon found that they were not the only boats heading to Dunkirk. Dylan spied medium size sailboat about two-thirds the size of their boats on the same heading and about a half mile southwest of their trio. Their new tail craft clearly looked like the pleasure craft that it was with long sleek lines and a highly polished teak hull. Twenty minutes later Payton radioed that he had spotted another bigger fishing boat steaming ahead of them at a slightly slower pace. The Spanish Armada it was not, but England would muster whatever she could to save the troops.

  The waters remained calm, so again the trip progressed smoothly and quickly. As they drew within two miles of Dunkirk, the air began carrying muffled rumbles like far away thunder. As they continued closer to the beach the muffled sound increased like a thunderstorm rolling towards the ships. When they reached the close confines of the beach and shallow depths the rolling thunder turned in to the staccato booms of heavy artillery along with the occasional chatter of machine guns. All three boys press fit their make shift armor in to the windows and said a little prayer to seek protection for their boats. Anyone on shore could tell them that they’d need all the prayers they could get.

  The sun grew increasingly dim, but not because dusk had arrived. Smoke billowed out of no fewer than ten buildings that the twins could see, and probably more inland added to the dark haze blotting out the blue sky above. Flames flickered towards the sky on the bluffs above the beach. Carnage reigned up and down the coast line as an ironfisted rule with no exceptions. The only hope came from the steady line of boats headed to shore, like a trail of ants each taking their little part of a monumental task bigger than any single one could handle. Each boat did its part without question amongst the chaos.

  Over the radio, the three boys decided that as the best seaman Timothy would stay with the three boats tied loosely together while Dylan and Payton ran the rubber boats to shore.

  “I’ll just tow the two boats in a nice little oval pattern while I wait for you.” Timothy said easily enough belying the difficulty of towing two boats behind his. Timothy threw a tow rope to Dylan, who tied it to the bow of his boat, and then repeated the action by throwing a rope to Payton. Timothy set his autopilot in a quarter mile oval and hoped that he wouldn’t drag his tail in to any other boats because his maneuverability wouldn’t amount to much.

  Dylan and Payton each lowered their rubber boats over the sides on to the gently rocking sea below. Their planned arrival hit the slack tide perfectly
so they wouldn’t need to fight the currents heading in to or away from the beach. The little twenty horsepower outboard motors roared to life after only a couple pulls on the starter chord. Only minutes after their arrival on the scene, the twins were flashing across the short stretch of water to the beaches ahead. Small geysers occasionally leapt up in the distance from errant artillery shells, but they felt no danger as they closed on the sands. They did, however, fear landing on an empty beach to find no soldiers making this risky trip all for naught.

  Once they hit the beach, that fear evaporated. A crouched over man in a British uniform ran towards the boats to greet them. He knelt next to the bow of Dylan’s boat with a hand on his helmet to keep it on as he looked up. Dylan saw that he wore the three star markings of a captain.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for coming. We’ve little time to waste. I’m Captain Lawrence and at this point I’m in charge of the beach evacuations for this sector. How many will fit in your boats.” Captain Lawrence stated briskly.

  “Fifteen in each of these inflatables, counting ourselves, and about fifty on each of the three fishing boats we have waiting off shore.” Payton replied in the clipped military fashion they’d learned at the academy for quickly conveying information to a superior.

  “Excellent, I’ll prepare three sets of men for you. Captain Lawrence said and began to turn away.

  “We can stay here until the last trip if you include an officer to run these boats out for us.” Dylan offered.

  “Our boats offshore won’t be hard to find, you can just see them offshore now.” Payton added.

  “That would be ideal. Thank you for your bravery. Most of the injured are getting priority on Royal Navy ships, so you’ll have able bodied men.” Captain Lawrence said in an understated way as he finished his turn and sprinted to the edge of the beach. Not thirty seconds later, a small cadre of men raced out to the boats with Captain Lawrence in the lead. The men moved as a unit as fast as they could straight to Dylan and Payton. Captain Lawrence said “Leftenant Gore will lead your boats out, please point him in the right direction and then follow me.”

  “Head straight for the three boats in line circling at 11 o’clock, you can’t miss them.” Dylan said while pointing out to where Timothy held their boats.

  “You’ll need to maneuver in to the boats for unloading. There is only one man out there so he won’t be able to change course much.” Payton warned.

  Leftenant Gore nodded and hollered at his men to push out the boats and go. Dylan and Payton followed Captain Lawrence as a smattering of machine gun bullets pelted the beach behind them where the boats used to sit. The three ran for the cover of a small cottage just past the sandy beach. Captain Lawrence wisely chose the cottage for its protection and for its commanding view of the beach and sea below. No other boats had closed on his sector, so the three sat quietly at a table with a large window quite like they were having a late afternoon tea. In the cottage the twins could see that Captain Lawrence was older than themselves, but still well short of middle age. He had dark hair that hinted at ancestry that ran back to the Vikings with piercing blue eyes to prove it. He seemed to carry on despite the indignities around him and proved a jovial host, offering tea and biscuits to round out the illusion that they were in fact just having tea at the beach.

  “As I said before on the beach; thank you for coming here to help with the evacuation. Your three boats will fit an entire company of men. I’ve assigned you C Company, of which Leftenant Gore is in command at the moment.” Captain Lawrence said amiably with no trace of stress from the ongoing war around him. “We’ve had a good bit of luck in that the Wehrmacht halted three days ago and have not tried to attack the city in force. We can survive the bombardment well enough, so the longer they sit the more men we’ll get off these beaches.”

  “Any port in a storm, I guess. I can’t believe they aren’t pressing their advantage.” Dylan said with a hint of incredulousness at the German misstep.

  “I couldn’t hear on the beach, very well, but you’re Americans.” Captain Lawrence said with his own hint of a question at the peculiarity. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

  “We’d originally intended to come fight with the French Air Force, but that plan seems a bit outdated at the moment.” Payton explained to their new compatriot. “So, the next best alternative looked like helping bring back as many soldiers as possible. You’ll be even more stunned by our friend out in the boats. He’s Irish.”

  “That is a bit stunning, an Irishman helping out the British Army.” Captain Lawrence laughed at the thought.

  No more than ten minutes passed before they saw the boats return again with only Leftenant Gore towing two empty boats behind him. Captain Lawrence didn’t even rise to coordinate the next round. The battered soldiers still maintained their discipline well enough to sprint from where they had hunkered down in make shift foxholes on the beach and meet the boats exactly as they hit the shore. They turned the boats and left with no wasted time as the Englishmen and the Americans continued chatting. The twins told Captain Lawrence about Oregon as well as WestPoint. The Captain spoke of his home back in Moffat, a small town in Southern Scotland, as a father of two children and a solicitor, or in American terms an attorney. The war had intruded on his sedate small town lawyer’s life, but he performed his duty to God and King admirably.

  “The next ride will be yours.” Captain Lawrence said. “Your assistance is greatly appreciated.”

  “We’ll be back in the morning.” Payton said. “What time is slack tide?”

  “Splendid.” Captain Lawrence said genuinely with an enthusiastic smile. “I’ll expect you here at half past nine in the morning. You are now officially part of Operation Dynamo, the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force from Dunkirk”

  “Thank you sir, we’ll see you then.” Dylan said as the three rose and shook hands. Dylan and Payton walked through the side door of the cottage and then sprinted in a crouch to meet the rest of the soldiers as they ran to the last set of boats returning. The twins commanded the first two boats as this time Leftenant Gore was pleased to follow them out after his last trip to the beach.

  Timothy had successfully avoided all collisions so the rendezvous went off without a hitch. Payton and Dylan were pleased to see that their fortifications had held up with the dome covering the soldiers and the bridge windows cracked in a few places but held together by the pallets. The soldiers quickly and deftly pulled the rubber boats out of the water, deflated them, and stored them in the cargo holds. The three ships loosed their tow ropes and pointed the bows westward. The mood of the departing soldiers began lightening with every mile they traveled away from the beach, and it noticeably improved when they lowered their protective curtain and saw that the sun did indeed shine outside of the crucible they left behind.

  Each man thought of comrades left behind, but all thanked the Lord for their deliverance and barely contained their jubilance two hours later as they neared Dover. The three ship’s captains expertly pulled in to their slips and tied up for the night while dusk descended on the English Port. Soldiers piled out on to the docks, some kissing the ground, some looking skyward and saying silent prayers, but all smiled in relief at returning home alive. Dylan and Payton grinned at each other for making it through their first run, and prayed their own prayer that their luck would hold. They knew the next day might not be so easy.

  ***

  May 28th, 1940

  The next day dawned crisp and clear. The three boys had declined the invitations from the many thankful soldiers willing to buy them drinks and instead spent the night sleeping on their boats. After nearly twenty four hours of continuous sailing any bed would do for them, but a few blankets in the bottom of the rubber boats made for a shockingly comfortable mattress. Within minutes Payton and Timothy slumbered away at the rest of the good and weary. Without Timothy’s knowledge Clara had snuck aboard with Dylan and curled up beside him. Dylan didn’t stay awake much longer, but h
e was pleased for the company throughout the night and promised Clara he’d return for the next night. She promised to look for an inn where they could all stay even though Dylan protested that the boat was just as cozy as home.

  The three boats set sail again promptly at 7:30 to avoid any tardiness for their appointment with Captain Lawrence. They arrived on time and repeated the process of tying the three boats up and lowering the rubber boats down to the slightly choppier sea before speeding and bumping to the same spot on the beach. Another Leftenant met them with a full complement of men, obviously well briefed by Captain Lawrence, and turned the boats around nearly as fast as the twins could step out of them. They scurried across the beach and met Captain Lawrence in the same cottage again.

  “Good to see you again, my friends. You are quite punctual.” Captain Lawrence noted.

  “We didn’t want to leave anyone hanging around the beach, sir.” Dylan said with a slight grin. “The beach has a few more pock marks, so I’m glad you survived the shelling.”

  “Yes, the Wehrmacht intensified the shelling last night. They either intend to come in after us soon or are content to pound us from afar. At this point the best we can hope for is the pounding from afar. Can I offer you some breakfast?” Captain Smith asked.