by Ian Lindsey
“Actually, sir, we brought some for you.” Payton said with a smile as he pulled open the messenger bag he’d slung across his back. “We noticed your tea ration was limited yesterday, so Dylan’s lovely girlfriend provided a fresh box of tea, some oranges because I’m sure fresh fruit is in short supply, and several crumpets. She is also going to scour Dover this morning looking for more supplies that we can bring back on our next trip.”
“Brilliant. You continue to amaze me. You have gone above and beyond. This tea will be cherished, and I shall share it with my men. It's the small things that keep them going at this point. Please, thank you girlfriend for me. Food is always welcome, but please have her look for medical supplies on her next outing. Bandages, morphine, plasma, and penicillin would all greatly help. ” Captain Smith implored.
“Of course, I’m sure many of the men here just hope to get back to their wives and girlfriends, so we’ll do anything we can to help.” Dylan said with a sigh. He, of course, hoped to get back to Clara unscathed.
“Thank you again, as it seems I can’t thank you enough. You mentioned flying on your last trip here. Do you have any further plans once this debacle is over?” Captain Smith inquired.
“Not really, sir. At this point we can only focus on the task at hand.” Payton answered.
“Well, it occurs to me that I might, for once, be able to help you. It’s not much, but my Great Uncle is Air Chief Marshal Dowding. He runs the RAF.” Captain Smith said.
“We know the name well. He is a champion of modern fighters and pilots.” Dylan said excitedly.
“He was set to retire a year ago, but they’ve kept him on so far and he’s managed to push his retirement back to July at least.” Captain Lawrence explained. “I’ve written you an introduction letter so that once you return to England you can take it to him directly at RAF Bentley Priory, his headquarters just outside of London.”
“Thank you sir, that was very kind and thoughtful of you.” Payton said appreciatively.
“Our ride is back, we’ll see you again this evening?” Dylan asked of Captain Lawrence.
“Yes, same as yesterday evening if you please. Off with you now.” The elder officer said.
On their way back to the fishing boats Dylan and Payton noted the intensified gunfire both on land and at sea. Several Luftwaffe planes circled lazily in the sky waiting for any RAF fighters to engage them, but none ventured out. The twins also noted with pleasure that there were nearly twice as many small boats perched off the coast waiting to run soldiers back across the English Channel. Again their luck held and they met up with Timothy easily enough to carry another company of men back home to their home island. The fishing boats stood staunchly over the gentle waves, though Dylan and Payton had obviously missed some close misses. The sides of the ships had some deep marks above the waterline from shrapnel, and the make shift domes had some obvious pieces of wood and metal hanging where the cloth and lacquer had repelled the injurious intentions of the German gunners.
“At least we know our little armor works better than nothing.” Payton muttered to himself.
Steaming west again, the men aboard this time seemed more subdued from an additional nights shelling, but still happy none-the-less. Two hours later the men again clamored over the sides as soon as the boats berthed in Dover and thanked God and their rescuing ships for returning them home safely.
“I hope there are lots of trains or buses out of here.” Dylan joked to Clara. “All we do is bring them back, they are on their own after we drop them on the docks.”
“The bartenders in town seem pleased that you are bringing them. Apparently most of the soldiers last night got good and sodden drunk before even thinking of finding their way back to any kind of a military base. Most relayed a desire to take another crack at the Germans post haste, so I’d assume they’ll find their way home soon enough.” Clara laughed in return.
“We’ve the afternoon again before we head back. What would you like to do?”Dylan asked tenderly.
“Let’s just find a place away from this blasted war.” Clara said with more than just a hint of bitterness. “Every time you leave I’m afraid you won’t come back. I run around looking for provisions to make sure that I don’t think of the possibilities while you’re gone for five hours or more. I count the seconds to your return, and God forbid you are ever late because I’d go mad.” She finished fighting off tears.
“I know.” was all that Dylan could muster in response, feeling torn between his feelings for her and the responsibility he felt to help defend England in general and Clara specifically against the Germans. He justified leaving her by knowing in the long run it deflected danger from coming anywhere near her. “All I can offer is lunch in a quiet pub. Will that do for now?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” Clara said pulling her emotions under control.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Dylan quietly responded.
The two quietly walked off the dock arm in arm behind the boisterous crowd of returning soldiers. The two young people in love tried to act like they didn’t have a care in the world through a quiet lunch and they just sat together in anticipation of another parting. The time apart fell short of a considerable challenge to overcome, but each departure grew increasingly more difficult and painful. The sweetness of arrival paled under the shadow of another departure.
The time for another departure came near, so Dylan and Clara held each other close and kissed for a few seconds longer than that morning. Timothy and Payton knew that their siblings were fighting through the tough situation, but also knew they must press on as well. The appointed hour came and the three ships sailed again out towards the desolate sea in search of weary men longing for home.
Chapter 15
May 31st, 1940
The morning and evening trips to the war zone in France continued unabated with each trip bringing back a company sized unit of men, so nearly a battalion of men in total, during their seven voyages. With every voyage they brought needed food and medical supplies that Clara managed to scrounge from around Dover as well. Each trip brought an increasingly weary cadre of men home. They told tales of huddling in drainage ditches through the night as shells fell around them. They told stories of men packed in to basements with houses above them rumbling with each new barrage. Each man looked back at France with glassy eyes as they pushed westward to at least momentary safety. Captain Lawrence continued providing a steady stream of well briefed men running upon their arrival. More than anything, his leadership made their trips successful. Each trip saw new carnage on the beach, and increasing shrapnel wounds to their little flotilla of three boats. All of the glass on the Eitan showed cracks from direct shrapnel hits, and the Eirre and the Eiru looked only marginally better. Each time they heard a thud on the pallets the boys silently drew a deep breath of relief that their fortifications held strong. The hull of each boat showed scrapes and gouges from multiple shrapnel wounds, but none had punctured below the waterline so their seaworthiness remained strong. The danger had become monotonous, so each of the three had to remain vigilant to avoid mistakes like sailing to close to shore or forgetting to put up their make shift armor.
The morning run went smoothly again by the Grace of God, and the boys spent their afternoons in the usual way with Timothy and Payton napping while Clara and Dylan spent time together quietly dreading the next voyage.
As they arrived for their evening appointment Dylan and Payton knew something was amiss. A well trained group of men failed to hurry to the boats to meet them, and they realized the beach around them had been heavily shelled with large caliber guns since their last trip. Large burrows in the beach deeper than they were tall littered the landscape as if a huge steam shovel bigger than any steam digger they’d seen in New York had run rampant on the beach. The sunken craters rivaled those on the moon for size and frequency. Not a soul ventured out to meet them.
Not wanting to wait around in such a targeted zone, the boys drug
their boats in to the nearest crater to secure them and quickly set out for Captain Lawrence’s cottage. When they arrived, they stared grimly at a charred hole in the ground surrounded by rubble where the Captain’s one man command post once stood. They searched for any sign of Captain Lawrence around the grounds. Finally, they found his dead body some twenty yards from the main house under an immense boulder. Either the initial shell had killed him or knocked him unconscious while the boulder finished the job. The boys quickly knelt over his body and mourned the loss of their friend. His upper torso appeared perfectly preserved but they could not even see his lower body below the boulder that now rested on him. They met only four days previous, but their work together saved more than a thousand lives to fight again for Britain. They gathered what few of his belongings they could find. They tucked his dog tag, campaign ribbons, what appeared to be a journal and side arm in to a rucksack they found and headed further inland to find some more passengers. Along the way they picked up some wayward rifles just in case they needed them, as well as a couple of British field jackets to insure no sentry mistook them for Germans.
After searching the closest houses to the beach they found themselves facing an inland road with large houses on either side about three quarters of a mile from where they’d landed. In textbook infantry fashion they searched each house until they came to the fourth house on the left. After knocking on the door, then kicking it in, they searched throughout the house until they came to the basement. Inside they found several groups of men huddled together. It turned out that they’d stumbled on the poker house. Each group sat around a small table playing cards seemingly oblivious to the war outside.
“Ah, some more players.” Stated what appeared to be a Major as the boys entered the room with rifles raised so as not to threaten the soldiers. “Does anyone have seats at their table?” The Major inquired brightly. The resounding silence spoke loudly of the packed houses sentiment, but the fact that no shelling accompanied the sentiment could only come as a welcome sign.
“Actually, sir, we’re looking for passengers. We have three boats ready to take men back to England.” Payton said
“You must be the Americans my friend Captain Lawrence spoke about. Where the devil is he? We’re just waiting for his signal to come to the beach.” The Major replied.
“I’m afraid he’s dead sir, it looks like his cottage took a direct hit from a large caliber shell. I'm sorry, he was a good man.” Dylan offered up the bad news as best he could.
“Well then, boys, time to hit the beach. Please follow these gentlemen.” The Major ordered ignoring the death of his friend as he must in war time. On command, the men in the cellar rose and formed up to follow Dylan and Payton. They quickly exited the building and moved swiftly down the open lane. As they approached the intersection with the beach Payton saw a flash out of the corner of his eye followed by a pop. In the next horrifying second he heard his brother grunt and saw him stumble forward to the ground.
“DYLAN!” Payton yelled but his brother did not respond. As he quickly moved to his brother he saw the dirt where he’d been kick up from the next round fired by the sniper targeting them.
“Everyone down! Mr. Carlisle, there is a sniper at our seven o’clock. Please eradicate him.” The Major calmly ordered as his men scrambled for cover. Mr. Carlisle lay prone next to the Major taking aim at the upper windows of the house holding the infiltrated German sniper. As he released a long slow breath the English soldier fired his rifle before confidently rising to continue down the road. He knew he’d gotten his man.
Payton knelt over his brother fearing the worst. Blood pooled on the ground under his left shoulder and he was afraid to move him. Dylan moaned and rolled over to look at his brother.
“I guess the British uniforms weren’t the best idea. He may have left a couple civilians alone.” Dylan cracked wise after seeing the look on his brother’s face. “Check and see if there’s an exit wound. I’d rather not have a bullet in me.”
“You’re just lucky it’s your left shoulder. You might still have a baseball career after all.” Payton joked back clearly relieved. “One bullet left two holes, so no lead left in you at this point. Try to remember to duck next time.”
“Thanks for the advice, now go get something to patch me up.” Dylan ordered as the shock wore off and the pain set in a little more.
“Lucky for you, I saved a couple things from the stash that Clara sent.” Payton said as he pulled out bandages, sulfa powder, and a small vile of morphine.
“I knew you were good for something. You’d make a fine nurse.” Dylan laughed as his brother expertly administered the sulfa powder, bandages, and finally the morphine.
“Let’s get going. The longer we stay here the more chance you have of getting shot again. On your feet.” Payton commanded as he reached for his brother’s good arm more to motivate his brother than anything else. Dylan did struggle a touch to keep up, but through his fortitude they all managed to reach the beach together. The Major ordered the initial wave out to the boats, but with Dylan injured the twins left with first round rather than the last. They rendezvoused with Timothy again and unloaded the men before sending the rubber boats off again. Payton helped Dylan up to the Etain, his boat, and stayed with him instead of returning to the Eriu.
Timothy came to the stern of the Eirrin and shouted “What took so long? I’ve been dodging shells for more than an hour. It’s getting a little more hairy out here. Dylan you’re bandaged!” he exclaimed as he noticed Dylan’s arm lashed to his chest.
“This is just a scratch. I’ll be fine. I ran afoul of a sniper. Captain Lawrence is dead. We had to go inland.” Dylan reported.
"You've come just in time. There is a lot of debris in the water from all the shelling. Get those boys turned around fast and let's end this day alive." Timothy said with his usual jovial self overcoming the worry at the twins delay. The soldiers needed no further urging as the shelling intensified again.
The Major himself took all three rubber boats back to the beach and returned with the second wave of soldiers. The beach continued taking numerous thunderous hits from the big guns, so on the beach the Major decided against a third for his own safety and that of his men. Instead, he loaded the boats over capacity and then the rest clung to the sides for dear life and surfed their way out to the big boats. The Major managed to leave no man behind but skip the last trip.
"No reason to tarry about." the Major said as he returned and the men began unloading on the Etain. "These men are Royal Marines; they should be used to the water. If you don't mind, let's head west." As the Major finished his last words a whistling screamed from above. "Take cover!" he screamed at the tell tale sign of an incoming shell. The seasoned soldiers dove for the decks, and those still in the water just submerged and hoped the water would slow down any shrapnel.
With a crack louder than thunder the incoming shell found a target and struck the Eriu squarely amidships. The boat exploded from within in spectacular fashion. First the initial explosion lifted the boat several feet in the air on a geyser of white water and then the ship blasted apart from the center as the fuel tanks sparked. The additional fuel added twice the original power to the explosion and nearly obliterated the Eriu. Trailing only fifty yards behind the Etain, the Eriu’s explosion lashed the passengers with flying wood and metal debris. The stern of the Etain took a peppering, as did the protective screen covering the open decks. The explosion shredded the burlap and lacquer covering, but the extra cover did its duty and slowed the shrapnel enough that only minor scratches and lacerations befell the men already on the ship.
“Cut the tow rope before it takes us under!” Payton shouted to the men on deck. Only the very bow of the boat remained intact, though it quickly took on water and started slipping under the sea. One of the officers in the stern of the ship quickly withdrew a bayonet from his holster and in one swift movement lowered a strike sharp enough to sever the rope.
“I guess that’s h
ow it feels to dodge a bullet.” Payton said with only a hint of soberness, shrugging off the idea that he normally would have been on the Eriu when the shell hit.
“I wouldn’t know.” Dylan joked while gesturing at his wounded shoulder. “Good thing you are up here with me.”
“And thank God that none of the men had started boarding back there.” Payton added quietly.
“How are we going to handle the extra men?” Timothy bellowed back at the twins before they even thought of the dilemma.
“I hope they like a bumpy ride, we’ll just have to tow them in the rubber boats. Fortunately, the big boat here blocked the debris from puncturing the rubber boats. Not a fun ride for two hours but they’ll survive. I’ll go tell the Major and tie up two in back.” Payton replied. “Cut us loose and let’s get out of here.” he instructed his brother. Dylan complied and passed the tow rope over the side to one of the rubber boats while Payton headed astern to attach the remaining two boats.
Not a single marine complained about riding in the rubber boats. All thanked their luck for simply getting out of Dunkirk. In a bit of a surprise, it appeared that mostly officers filled the trailing boats having deferred the easier voyage to the enlisted men. For centuries a rigid class structure ruled Great Britain, but this small act of kindness showed that war does not discriminate based on wealth, but can bring men together across normally strict boundaries.
The trip that normally took two hours drug on for an extra hour and half due to an increasing headwind and the fact that the two big boats slowed to keep their towed passengers from bouncing out of their small crafts not built for the open sea. Fortunately, the hardened marines avoided the effects of a bumpy ride and neither of the twins saw any heads perched over the side from sea sickness.