London Dawn

by Murray Pura

  Eva remained behind as others climbed into the Rolls Royces. He hated himself for doing it, but Owen glanced back as he climbed in beside Ramsay. She was watching him, and their eyes met. He looked away and slid into the Rolls. Ramsay said something, but Owen didn’t reply.

  Such blue eyes. Such flaming blue eyes. Did I make a mistake? Should I have read that letter before burning it? What if she apologized? What if she asked me to forgive her?

  He almost opened the door and got back out. He grasped the handle. The engine started, and the chauffeur began to guide the car smoothly down the lane and past the old oak trees. Owen sat back and closed his eyes.

  “You feeling all right?” asked Ramsay.

  “I’m fine,” Owen responded.

  Saturday, May 25, 1940

  The vicarage, St. Andrew’s Cross

  Jeremy took off his round-rimmed glasses and looked from one woman to the other—Libby, Charlotte, Victoria, and Caroline.

  “Look,” he said. “There’s no use beating around the bush. Yes, we’ve sent extra troops over there. But the Germans still have the advantage. It’s not going well despite the way the papers talk about it and despite the hard fight our lads are putting up. I expect the Nazis will have the ports of Boulogne and Calais in their hands by the end of the day or tomorrow morning. I hate to say that, but I’ve spoken with Lord Preston about the matter and he’s privy to information that isn’t being released to the public.”

  “Has Dad heard anything from Robbie?” asked Libby in a small voice.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “What about his regiment?”

  “We know it hasn’t been cut off or forced to surrender. It will undoubtedly be at the coast with the other British troops and the French.”

  “What do we know about the squadrons?” Victoria’s face was an unpleasant yellow and white, like a thick cream. “Is there any news?”

  “They are protecting the army. They move their landing fields as often as they must to keep ahead of the German advance.”

  Caroline knotted her fingers together in her lap. “The Times says there are fierce air battles.”

  “From what I understand they are not exaggerating.”

  “What…what sort of losses are we taking?”

  Jeremy put his glasses back on and glanced at his wife, who sat in a chair by his side. “We’re giving as good as we get.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that it isn’t all one-sided like it’s been with Holland and Belgium and the French, where the Germans destroyed so many of their aircraft on the ground.” He paused. “It means Kipp and Ben and the other chaps are brave just like our men at sea are brave and our troops on the ground. It means they aren’t getting decimated by the Nazis. It means there’s a good chance they’re alive and well and flying their Hurricanes.”

  “How long will it take to find out where they are?” Caroline asked.

  Emma leaned forward and curled her hand around Caroline’s. “You can imagine how confusing it is over there. Two weeks of fighting and retreating and the Germans surrounding them on every side…it’s all a muddle. But eventually things will sort themselves out one way or another.”

  “The planes can just fly back across the Channel if it comes to that,” Jeremy added.

  “What about the soldiers then?” asked Libby. “What about Robbie and all the others?”

  “They will have to be taken off the coast by our navy. Not all the ports have been captured.”

  “But when will this happen, Jeremy? When will we hear something?”

  “I would say very soon. It must be very soon.”

  “We should pray,” said Emma.

  “Yes, please,” said Victoria. “I should like that. I’m sure we all would.”

  Monday, May 27, 1940

  Kensington Gate, London

  “A phone call for you, my lord.”

  “I’m about to join my wife and daughter for a time of prayer, Tavy, thank you. Please ask them to leave a message. Our army is trapped on the French coast by the Germans. Only God Almighty can save them.”

  “I realize the Germans have our lads in a bad way. I agree with you that prayer is sorely needed. But the call is quite urgent, my lord.”

  “What could be that urgent?”

  “It’s the small-craft section of the Ministry of Shipping. They wish you to assist in the evacuation of British and French troops from the port of Dunkerque.”

  “Ha? What?” Lord Preston rushed past his butler to the phone in the parlor. “Hullo? This is Lord Preston.”

  “My lord. I’m Talbot with the small-craft section of the Ministry of Shipping. You have the sailboat Pluck, do you not? It’s registered in your name.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “You presently have it at Dover?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now here’s the thing. The water is shallow, very shallow indeed, where the destroyers are trying to evacuate our men at the port of Dunkerque. The ships can’t get in close enough to hoist the lads on board because the vessels have too great a draft, you see. Some soldiers are standing up to their shoulders or necks in water for hours hoping to get picked up. We need the small boats to get in on those beaches and ferry the men to the big ships. Now, we have a crew who can sail Pluck across the Channel and—”

  “Out of the question. I have my own crew, handpicked.”

  “So you would wish to sail the boat yourself?”

  “I would. I have a son on that beach.”

  “My lord, there are almost half a million men hoping to get taken off. You’ll not see him.”

  “Let God and me worry about who I will see and who I will not see. We shall be down to Dover and on our way to France in less than two hours.”

  “Very good, my lord. Tell the chaps at the docks what you’re up to so we’ll know you’ve followed through with the sailing.”

  “I will follow through with the sailing, Mr. Talbot, you need not lose sleep over that.”

  Lord Preston hung up and clapped his hands together. “Tavy!”

  Tavy rushed into the parlor. “What is it, my lord?”

  “Ring up Skitt, there’s a good man. And Owen. And Eva. I shan’t want too many bodies. We’ll need room for as many soldiers as possible.”

  “What shall I tell them, my lord?”

  “We are sailing for France by order of the king. We will be helping evacuate the troops at Dunkerque. My crew must be at Kensington Gate in a quarter of an hour. My chauffeur shall be breaking speed records to Dover, you may be sure of it. Where is he, by the by?”

  “Out waxing the Rolls, my lord.”

  “Let Darrington know what we are about and that we must be on our way in fifteen minutes. Fifteen, mind, not sixteen or twenty. Then ring up the others.”

  “And if they are not home, my lord?”

  “Call whoever pops into your head. I must pack my sea bag in short order.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Lady Preston came into the parlor as Tavy left it. “I trust I didn’t hear what I thought I heard.” Lady Preston’s hands were on her hips.

  “I have no idea what you heard, so I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re in your seventies, William! Are you mad? You can’t go sailing off to France. The Germans are dropping bombs there. Planes are strafing the beaches. There are dogfights over Dunkerque, for heaven’s sake, and scores of aircraft are being shot down in flames.”

  “All the more reason for us to go. We must get our lads off that coast.”

  “William! For heaven’s sake! You’re an old man!”

  “A state of mind, nothing more. I think forty and therefore I am forty!”

  “What? Mad dogs and Englishmen! You’re not leaving this house, William Danforth!”

  “Of course I am.” He grasped his wife gently by the arms. “Our son is on that beach, Elizabeth. He will recognize our boat. I must get him. It’s not some o
ther man’s job. It’s mine.”

  She bit her lip. “William—”

  “ ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.’ Isn’t that how the song goes? Well, I’m about to go out in the midday sun, my dear, and I’ll have my mad dogs with me, and we are going to save a hundred lives, two hundred, and one of them will be my son’s.”

  2:35 p.m.

  The English Channel

  Owen edged the wheel slightly to port. “You can see the smoke now.”

  “Yes, we can, by George, we can.” Lord Preston had binoculars to his eyes.

  “Mind the sailboat to starboard,” said Skitt.

  “I see it, thanks,” responded Owen. “There are another three to port.”

  “Dozens, actually.” Eva was coiling a line.

  Owen didn’t look at her. “Right.”

  Lord Preston lowered the binoculars, glanced from Owen to Eva, and returned them to his eyes. “There are several ships burning. There are fires on shore as well. German planes appear to have been bombing the port.”

  “Are ours up?” asked Skitt.

  “They must be but we’re still too far away to read plane markings clearly. And they are moving too fast for my eyes. Here.” He handed the binoculars to Skitt. “You have a go.”

  Skitt kept his binoculars on the beaches ahead of them a long time. “Hurricanes are up all right. D’you see that long trail of purple-black smoke there? It’s a Nazi plane going down.”

  “Ah.” Lord Preston waved his hand. “We’ll be in the thick of it in less than half an hour. Steer clear of the destroyers and troopships, Owen. They’re targets for the German aircraft. There are a lot of men on the beaches to port. We shall go in there and collect as many as we can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once Pluck reached the shallow water, men waded to the craft. Owen and Skitt helped two dozen aboard, told the others they’d be back, and sailed to the nearest destroyer. Cargo nets hung down its sides, and the men got out of the sailboat and began to climb. Four other sailboats were right behind Pluck, loaded with soldiers.

  “Briskly.” Lord Preston clapped his hands. “Briskly.”

  “Coming about!” called Owen.

  The boom swung, Eva and Skitt and Lord Preston ducked their heads, and Eva sprang to sheet the sail home.

  “That’s nimble of you, my dear.” Lord Preston smiled at Eva. “Don’t you think so, Owen?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We shall carry on through the night, do you all understand that? We must get the men off those beaches. The darkness will be an aid to us. No enemy planes.”

  “That makes sense.” Eva sat on a hatch. “We’ve plenty of bread and cheese on board. We can share that around to those who have a long wait until they’re on a destroyer or troopship.”

  “Yes, Elizabeth made sure we’d have enough of that to feed the entire army—British and French.”

  They floated into shore again, and men swarmed on board.

  “My, it’s nice to see your face, Ginger.” One of the soldiers grinned. “I’ve missed you English girls.”

  Eva smiled back and patted him on the shoulder but didn’t speak. She turned away to help Skitt haul an older soldier over the side. He spat out saltwater and looked at her in surprise.

  “The Royal Navy’s improved a great deal since last September then,” he said.

  “Hasn’t it just?” responded Skitt.

  There was a loud roar, and a plane with black crosses streaked low over the sailboats in the water, wings flashing. Tall geysers burst to port and starboard of Pluck. A sailboat near them keeled over sharply in deep water, its hull and sail riddled with bullets, and the soldiers spilled out, yelling as waves swept over their heads.

  “Help them!” Lord Preston pointed with his finger.

  “Coming about!” shouted Owen. “Duck, lads!”

  The boom swung, and a few soldiers practically got their skulls cracked. Eva drew the sheets home, and Pluck drove for the struggling men. Skit tossed lines over the side, and several grasped them while the soldiers on Pluck tugged.

  “Those chaps, those chaps there!” Lord Preston was pointing again, waving his finger wildly. “Get them a line!”

  Three soldiers were trying to stay afloat while they kept a fourth man’s head out of the water. Blood was on their hands and uniforms from his wounds. None of them were good swimmers, and they were constantly going down and fighting their way back up. The boat was upon them in a moment. An instant later the four men went under and did not reemerge.

  “They’ve gone,” said Skitt, leaning over the side with a white life ring in his hand. “Lord help us.”

  “Take the wheel!” Owen cried to Eva. “I’m going after them.”

  “I won’t!” Eva fired back. “I can swim as well as you!”

  “Don’t argue with me!”

  “I’m not going to argue! I’m going to jump!”

  They both hit the water at the same time. Skitt lunged for the wheel as the boat pitched to starboard. Eva came up first, one arm around a young soldier with his helmet still on, hauling him to the side of Pluck, stroking with her free hand. The men on board grabbed the youth under the arms and brought him into the sailboat. She immediately dove under again.

  “Here! Take him! Quickly!” Owen shot out of the water and lifted a man toward them. “Where’s Eva?”

  “She’s right back under, mate,” said a soldier. “Brought us wee Chipper here, better’n new.”

  Owen was gone beneath the waves.

  The men watched, their faces tight. The boat rocked in the swells. There were explosions on the beach and more planes howled over their heads, but they kept their eyes fixed on the sea.

  “C’mon, lad, c’mon then,” muttered a sergeant.

  Owen broke the surface with another soldier.

  “Get him on his stomach!” he shouted as they pulled him onto the sailboat. “Get the water out of him! Where’s the girl?”

  “She’s not come back up,” the sergeant told him.

  Owen dove under the waves. Half a minute passed. Then he exploded out of the sea with Eva and the wounded soldier. Eva gasped and choked as she fought for air, but that didn’t stop her from helping Owen swim the wounded and unconscious man to Pluck. The men had no sooner dragged him into the boat before another German plane passed over the beaches. This one was met by the thump thump of antiaircraft fire from the destroyers and from the shore. The fighter plane sprayed the water and small boats with bullets. Even though she was still rapidly drawing air into her lungs, Owen hauled Eva underwater as shells smacked into the waves near Pluck.

  “Nein!” she cried as he hauled her under.

  She struggled against his grip and tried to surface, but he saw the bullets trailing bubbles and streaking toward them and began to stroke for the capsized sailboat, one arm around her waist. One shell stung his foot, but its force was spent. She finally wrestled free and broke into the open on the far side of the sinking boat. He emerged beside her, wiping the saltwater out of his eyes.

  “You crazy fool!” Eva spat seawater. “Are you trying to drown me?”

  “Didn’t you see the plane?” he demanded. “It was right on top of us and its shells were heading straight for you!”

  “Why do you exaggerate?”

  Owen lifted his foot from the water. It was covered in blood.

  “I didn’t get that from a barnacle,” he said.

  She blinked as water ran into her eyes.

  “But then you wouldn’t let a Jewish boy’s hands on you, would you?” he asked.

  She slapped him across the face. “Is that what you think?” Her blue eyes were on fire.

  “What else am I supposed to think? You’re a goose-stepping Nazi!”

  She slapped him with the other hand. “You never read my letter did you? You threw it out! You burned it!”

  “There was nothing in it.”

  “There was everything in it. I told you I didn’t care if you were
Jewish. I said I was sorry. I told you I wanted to talk.”

  Owen didn’t reply. He treaded water and looked at her. “I didn’t know,” he finally said.

  She had one hand on the capsized hull. “Of course you didn’t know. You can’t burn letters and know what people are saying in them. The Nazis are good at that. Burning letters and burning books.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The blue in her eyes softened a bit. “We had better get back to Pluck before your grandfather thinks the worse.”

  “Eva—”

  “We can talk tonight. Something tells me when Lord Preston says we will be ferrying troops through the night he means you and me.”

  “Don’t be so sure. He has a constitution of iron.”

  “Well, we’ll see.” A sudden smile went over her lips and eyes. “I missed your eighteenth birthday.”

  “It’s my fault you weren’t there.”

  “I’m not looking to find fault, Owen.” She swam the few feet of water that separated them. “Herzlichen Gluckwunsch zum Geburtstag—happy birthday.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You have grown into quite the man. Your foot is still bleeding. Let’s get back to the boat. You were protecting me. Ich danke Ihnen—I thank you.”

  They swam out from behind the hull as Hurricanes showed up over the beach and raced after the German fighters. The soldiers on Pluck cheered for the Hurricanes and cheered for Eva and Owen at the same time.

  “It’s nice to be loved, as you English say,” Eva managed to get out as she stroked.

  They glanced at each other at the same time. “Yes, it is,” he said.

  “You are an older soul than eighteen, Owen.” She looked straight ahead again. “Will you have the poem for me tonight? I don’t suppose you have it on a piece of paper somewhere?”

  “I don’t need a piece of paper. It’s where it always was.”

  Lord Preston did keep Pluck working until long after midnight, though he himself wrapped up in a blanket and slept in the cabin, and so did Skitt. The sailboat moved between ship and shore without stopping. The soldiers built fires on the beach, and the destroyers shone with lights in the dark sea. Owen rigged a lantern high on the mast. He had stripped off his shirt so it wouldn’t get snagged, and he left it off after he climbed down.