Aubrielle's Call

by Bowen, C. Marie

The next day they advanced less than the day before. Two vehicles ahead of them broke down, one after another. John and Caleb pushed the cars from the road, amidst the owners’ angry threats. They wanted Gabe to siphon some of their precious petrol into the dry tanks. The argument had lasted well into the night.

  Before dawn, explosions followed by gunfire jarred the group awake. Flame-colored clouds reflected the fires below, shadowed by dark smoke. Occasional tracer rounds streaked across the sky.

  “Mon Dieu!” Aubrielle whispered. “Is that Arras?” Her chest tightened as her heart rate spiked.

  Is this real?

  Despite the Allied troops in Arras and the sound of detonations as they collapsed the bridges, the war had seemed distant. Not an immediate threat to their lives.

  Not until now.

  “The other side of Arras. They’re defending the city.” John stood in the bed of the truck and watched the battle rage for several moments before he picked up their small bag of supplies and vaulted over the side. “We need to get off the road.” He reached up for Aubrielle.

  “You’re leaving?” Gabe got out of the cab and stared at the firefight near Arras.

  “We move slower than the soldiers.” John motioned for Aubrielle to hurry and glanced over at Gabe. “And there’s no cover along the road. We’re an easy target.”

  Aubrielle tossed John their blanket, then swung her leg over the side of the truck.

  The blanket over his shoulder, John helped her to the ground.

  “We’ll take our chances with the truck,” Gabe said. He dug in his pocket and held his hand out to John. “Take this back. You may need it if you find a ship.”

  “Merci.” John slipped the item into his pocket, then gripped Gabe’s hand. “Bonne chance.”

  “À vous également, John.”

  “What did he give you?” Aubrielle carried the small satchel as they walked away from the road.

  “I had given him a ring to pay for our passage.” John took the bag from her and clasped her hand. “He returned it.”

  “I’ve never seen you wear jewelry.” Aubrielle looked back at the truck as they passed the last group of travelers who had camped to the side of the road. “Do you think we’ll see them in Calais?”

  “I don’t know.” John lifted branches out of her way as they passed beneath the trees. “I hope so.”

  They walked through the woods until the sound of battle faded behind them.

  John spread their blanket on a thick bed of leaves.

  Aubrielle cuddled beside him, wrapping the quilt around them both.

  “Leaving the road was the best choice,” John said.

  Her head tucked beneath his chin, she spoke into his chest. “I know.”

  Over the next days, they encountered other people fleeing north and west. The displaced civilians grew in number as they traveled closer to the coast, as did the aircraft.

  The drone of airplane engines overhead had been with them all afternoon as they wound their way, single file, beneath the shelter of the trees. Their small group had grown in number to nearly a dozen. No one had food. No one spoke.

  As they reached the edge of the copse, John held her back. “Wait.”

  She followed him to the side as the men behind continued across a fallow field. “Why do we wait?”

  “The planes. I don’t know if they are British or German. I don’t want to take the chance—”

  They both looked up as the sound above grew louder.

  “Which is it?” Aubrielle asked. “Can you see?”

  The steady hum of the engine changed, and a high-pitched whine grew sharp as the aircraft dove toward the field. Soil erupted across the clearing just before the sound reached them. A sharp rat-tat-tat, followed by cries of terror from the people beside them.

  John pulled her behind him. “Get down.” His body sheltered hers, his back to the enemy guns. Strafing fire shredded the leaves around them as the gunner took aim at their cover in the trees.

  After what seemed an eternity, the aircraft flew south, the sound of their engines faded.

  John checked Aubrielle for injury, but the deadly rounds had missed them.

  Sightless eyes stared up at her from the man who had walked behind them on the path. Of their dozen companions, five lay dead in the field, three men and two women. Within the shelter of the trees, there had been one death and three injuries.

  With no means to bury the dead, they could do nothing except continue and hope rescue awaited along the coast.

  As they walked in the night, Aubrielle caught her first scent of the sea tainted with smoke.

  Out of the trees and across a dirt field was the sea road. Burned and broken vehicles clogged the roadway in both directions.

  In the darkness, they threaded through the abandoned cars and stood on the sand. Her first sight of the ocean filled her with emptiness, as though they stood on the edge of the world. The empty blackness of the sea and sky extended to infinity. The froth on the waves reflected in the firelight as they rolled, pink and gray, onto the shore. To their north, a city burned.

  “What town is that?” Aubrielle wiped tears from her face. The wind had changed and blew smoke across the beach fouling the air and stinging her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” John said.

  “That would be the oil tanks at Dunkirk burning.” A short heavy-set man with mud caked to the side of his face pointed toward the billowed smoke. “They’ll burn for days.”

  People passed around them in the light from the massive fire. Displaced civilians like themselves. Some walked north toward the flames. Others traveled south.

  There must be a hundred lost souls, like us. Aubrielle clung to John’s side.

  “We’ve come up from Gravelines.” A thin woman approached them from the road. “The army came through the town. They told us to leave. German tanks were approaching up the coast from Calais. You’d best keep going.” She pointed toward the flames.

  Aubrielle looked up at John.

  His arm tightened around her shoulder. A line had wedged itself between his brows over the last days. It grew deeper as he peered west, across the sea, toward Britain. “We’re too late.” He swallowed and shifted his gaze to hers. “I’ve failed you.”

  They took shelter with a small group of people along the canal, east of the sea road. A few people talked in the dark, exchanging tales of what they knew, or what they’d heard, or what they guessed. The British were in full retreat. The Germans had cut France in two, trapping the army between the panzer units to the south and the Belgium forces along the northern border.

  Aubrielle fell asleep listening to the voices of the lost.

  Near dawn, John shook her awake. “Troops are moving down the main road toward Dunkirk.”

  “Whose troops?” Alarm tinged her voice.

  “British, I think. Thousands of men.”

  “Should we go?” Aubrielle slipped on her shoes. The sole of her left shoe had come unstitched and flapped when she walked, scooping up dirt beneath her toes. An annoyance compared to the blisters on the heel of her right foot. They’d burst and bled yesterday.

  “We can’t stay here.” His voice had lost the defeat it held last night. He helped her stand, then gripped her hands as she limped. “Let me see.”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  He slipped off her shoe and inspected the bloody heel. “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday, but I’m fine.”

  He tore a strip of cloth from the tail of his shirt and wrapped her foot then slipped her shoe back on over the fabric. “Tell me if you can’t walk. I’ll carry you.”

  “Of course.” He’s exhausted. She touched his face as he knelt before her. “I love you, John.”

  He kissed the palm of her hand and helped her to her feet.

  She took a step, then hopped and uttered an exclamation as the hard leather bit down on her raw flesh.

  John scooped her up in his arms, cradled against his chest. “
I can’t watch you walk in such pain.”

  When they reached the road, Aubrielle caught her breath. For as far as she could see, men marched toward Dunkirk. “My God!”

  Several civilians gathered beside her and John at the road’s edge.

  “Will they make a stand?”

  “Where are the German tanks? Have they stopped?”

  The questions continued, but there were no answers.

  At a break between groups of soldiers, John carried her across the road. “There won’t be room for us at the harbor,” he said.

  Aubrielle stared over John’s shoulder. East of the sea road, the oil tanks in town still burned, billowing black smoke into the morning sky. To the west, the port of Dunkirk had also sustained heavy damage from the German bombs.

  Endless lines of British and French troops marched toward the damaged port and pressed forward into the water.

  “There are ships in the channel,” John told her. He looked back along the lines of men still moving toward Dunkirk. “We’ll never reach the ships. There are too many men waiting along the mole and wading into the water.” He turned around, searching for another solution.

  “Where will we go?”

  “East, along the coastline.” John made a decision and turned his back on the lines of men entering Dunkirk. He followed a group of men and French troops along the water’s edge. Châteaux dotted the beach between them and the sea road as black smoke blew across the sand.

  “Where are they going?”

  “From what I overheard, there’s a landing point up the beach. Bray-Dunes.” John’s breath had grown labored, and he walked some distance before he spoke again. “They say small boats can land there.”

  CHAPTER 36

  They were mistaken.

  The long shallow beach prohibited even the smallest boat from coming ashore.

  John carried Aubrielle to the large château that faced the water then lowered her legs to the ground. “See the small boats beyond the beach? Even the flat-bottomed rowboats will hang on those sandbars at high tide.”

  “How will we reach them then? Swim?”

  More displaced civilians ran down toward the beach toward the uniformed Frenchmen at the waterline watching the boats.

  John ran his hand along the back of his neck and looked back toward Dunkirk. A large ship appeared anchored near the long stone jetty. It would be evacuating soldiers.

  Have I made a mistake and bypassed her best chance to escape?

  “John, look.” Aubrielle pointed at a woman following the group of civilians.

  In late pregnancy, the woman struggled to keep up with the group as they crossed the sand.

  “I see her.” He squeezed Aubrielle’s shoulders. “I’ll be right back.” He crossed the beach with his long strides to the pregnant woman.

  “Let me help you,” John said as he reached her.

  She had fallen to her knees in the sand but looked up at him and nodded.

  He pointed to Aubrielle beside the château. “My fiancée is there.” He gripped her arm and helped her to her feet. “There’s more cover near the building until we decide what we’ll do next.”

  She latched onto his arm with a firm grip and a grateful smile.

  Several servicemen ran past them shouting plans to bring automobiles down to the beach.

  “That might work.” John watched the men as they ran around the side of the building toward the sea road.

  “What might work?” Aubrielle helped the woman into the shade beside the building.

  “Those men.” He pointed as four more ran past. “They plan to drive vehicles into the channel far enough to form a pier and reach the small boats.”

  “Is that possible?” the pregnant woman asked.

  Aubrielle shared a long look with John. “We’re fine. Go. Help them. If we stay on this beach, it will be certain death for all of us.”

  John hugged her. “Stay close to the building.” He released her and ran after the last group of soldiers. Their plan was desperate, but they were out of options.

  This has to work.

  * * *

  “I’m Aubrielle.” They settled against the building and sat on Aubrielle’s blanket from Arras. “When are you due?” she asked.

  The dark-haired woman gave a sharp laugh. “My name is Lucie, and I was due last week.” A protective hand caressed her round stomach. “I give thanks each day that he or she has decided to make me wait. I pray the baby will hold on a few days more.”

  The first car rounded the château scoring deep tracks in the soft sand. The driver passed the first sandbar before the tires slipped sideways and spun in place.

  Soldiers watching near the water line ran to assist. They pushed the car into the water. With each incoming wave, the front of the car lifted and tried to wash backward.

  “They’ve stopped,” Lucie commented.

  After a quick discussion over the top of the half submerged auto, the men dove beneath the waves.

  “What are they doing?”

  Aubrielle shook her head. “I’ve no idea.”

  Another vehicle rounded the château. Four men, including John, ran beside it. Each time the car stuck in the sand the men forced it forward. When it stalled, they pushed the vehicle into the surf behind the first.

  “When’s high tide?” Aubrielle asked the small group that had gathered near the edge of the château.

  “After dark,” a hollowed-eyed elderly man said from across the gathering. “Not long. It’s almost sunset now. There will be another before noon tomorrow.”

  Had John carried her that long? The day had muddled in her head.

  I must have slept as he carried me.

  “How do you know this?” challenged a stout woman with dried blood on her neck.

  The man pointed at the building behind them. “The wife and I were the caretakers here. We came up from Lille every summer.” His chin quivered, and he wiped his nose.

  A third car careened around the building and onto the beach, and then another. With the first pier completed, the men began another a hundred yards to the west.

  The old man had been right. The sun hung low, a strange red ball coloring the sky through orange striped smoke-clouds.

  The big ship had sailed from Dunkirk and been replaced by another. At least some are getting out.

  John returned to the château when it became too dark to work. Wet, chilled and exhausted, he leaned against the building and shivered.

  Aubrielle sat beside him. “Lie down and rest.”

  “We’ll need to go out to the boats when the tide comes in.” He pillowed his head on her lap.

  She covered him with their blanket and rubbed his arm. “You’ll wake when it’s time.”

  In the dark, she listened to the waves as they crashed closer. The tide had risen, and the water swept near.

  As though the Germans knew their plans, planes returned with the tide. They dropped flares attached to small parachutes. The lights hung suspended, like a hundred tiny moons, and extended from Bray-Dunes to Dunkirk, lighting the waterline.

  Several dozen men ran to the improvised piers. They made their way to the end, which was well beneath the water now. Waist-deep, they waited for the small boats to pick them up.

  “This is going to work,” John said. He gripped her hand and they crossed the beach.

  The old man and Lucie followed behind.

  Aubrielle’s heel stung as the raw flesh pulled away from the shoe, but she tried not to limp. John would pick her up again, and exhaustion etched his face.

  I can walk.

  As the salt water washed over her shoes and licked against the opened blisters on her heel, she caught her breath at the pain.

  John climbed on top of the nearest vehicle and held his hand out for her.

  The sharp whine of a dive-bomber echoed from the darkness overhead accompanied by shouts from the beach. Explosions lit Dunkirk, back-lighting the large vessel at the jetty.

  John clenched his
teeth. “Damn them.” He slipped into the water and lifted her above the surf. His long legs fought against each receding wave, and as they passed from the water’s edge, an explosion rocked the beach.

  Aubrielle landed on her back in the wet sand. The breath knocked from her lungs. Above her hung a thousand tiny lanterns floating in the sky. Then John was there, sheltering her with his body. She couldn’t hear his voice, but the rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire pierced her muffled hearing.

  John pressed her into the sand, curling around her until he covered her completely.

  She was suffocating.

  One ear buried in the sand, the other to John’s chest. The glow of a single flare floating above the waves became her focal point, the only thing she could see, and then her lungs released and she inhaled.

  Time slowed to a standstill while death swept the beach.

  After a long while, John rose onto his hands and knees.

  She turned her head and said his name into a vacuum that stole sound.

  He frowned at her. The line between his brows was back. His lips moved, but he had no voice.

  Then her ears popped, and a piercing whistle slowly faded. Sound returned.

  “Aubrielle?” John gripped her shoulders and pulled her upright. His hands ran through her hair checking for injury. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” She placed her hands on both sides of his face until his eyes locked on hers. “I’m all right, John.”

  Behind him, the second vehicle-jetty had completely dissolved. Not even flames remained.

  He pulled her to her feet, and they ran to the relative safety of the building. One by one the hanging flares failed. In the end, only the burning ship in the channel outside of Dunkirk glowed in the night. Even the stars were gone, blanketed by smoke.

  When the sun rose, the men pulled the dead up the beach away from the high tide line. Some they pulled away from the water had been killed last night. Other corpses, bloated and grotesque, had washed ashore with the tide and remained.

  The second pier built from vehicles had taken a direct hit. Both the boats and the bodies that had been in front of Aubrielle and John were gone. Blasted into the channel.

  Like the sun, the water slowly rose again.