Voices: Now or Never

by Bali Rai

  And then the larger plane struck. One bomb, perfectly placed, right between the oil supply trucks. The explosion was massive, as hundreds of gallons of fuel ignited instantly, thick dust and black smoke plumes throwing everything into semi-darkness. I struggled to catch my breath and fumbled about, praying that Mush was safe.

  “Brother!” I yelled. “Mush!”

  A part of the ceiling had caved in and landed on Mush’s left leg. As the smoke cleared a little, I saw him trying to struggle free and crawled over to help.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, as I pushed a narrow wooden beam away.

  “Fine!” he shouted. “Nothing broken.”

  I helped him to stand, and together we edged towards the street, wary of another strike.

  “We’re done for,” said Mush. “There is no way we will survive this.”

  “Courage!” I replied. “We have to stay strong.”

  Overhead, the whining of Stukas drew close again, and from the gloom, a party of soldiers appeared, carrying rifles. Two of them rushed towards us and took cover inside the café.

  “Are you armed?” asked one of them.

  “No,” I told him. “We’re service corps – no weapons.”

  “Then get out of the way!” the man yelled. “We’re under heavy fire.”

  He rolled out onto the street, and his mate followed close behind. As the planes passed overhead, they fired their rifles, trying in vain to score a direct hit.

  “What are they doing?” asked Mush. “They cannot hope to…”

  A thud and another explosion sent us tumbling once more, as the centre of the street erupted in a mess of concrete and sand and rocks. Our refuge saved us, but the two riflemen were not so lucky. All that remained of them were tin hats and a single boot.

  “What now?” asked Mush.

  “We wait,” I told him.

  We sat still for close to thirty minutes, as several bombs dropped close by. Each detonation caused shockwaves that made the building shudder and groan. More than once, I thought it would crash down upon us, but it did not. Outside, I could hear screaming and shouting, and then a platoon of soldiers arrived, and took positions up and down the street. Yet, not a single one carried anything larger than a rifle. It all seemed so ridiculous, so pointless.

  “If this is the plan,” said Mush, “then we might as well turn and fight. I will not die this way.”

  “Fight with what?” I asked him. “We have no weapons, brother.”

  Mush sat with his back to a wall, his face cut just above the left eye and trickling blood. I pulled a discarded table cloth towards us and tore off a strip. The cloth was checked blue and white, and when I wrapped it around his head, Mush grinned.

  “It is only a flesh wound,” he told me. “No need for a fuss.”

  “Be quiet,” I replied. “How will you see with blood seeping into your eye?”

  Outside, all was quiet now, and I decided to take a chance.

  “Wait here,” I told him. “Let me go and make sure we are clear.”

  “No,” he told me. “We stay together, or we leave together. No argument!”

  I nodded, and we stood again and crept out of the café. Two soldiers came out of the hotel next door when they saw us.

  “Any more planes?” one of them asked. His stripes told me that he was a captain, so I gave him a salute.

  “I cannot hear any, sir,” I replied, failing to add that I could not hear anything much.

  My ears still rang from the assault, and my eyes were gritty.

  “I think some of your lot headed east,” the captain told me. “You’re probably best getting off this street. And the enemy will be back before you know it.”

  “Which way to Malo-les-Bains, sir?” I asked.

  “Go right at the junction,” he replied. “But mind the burning trucks and watch out for German shells. They’re closing in fast.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  “No need for thanks, Private,” the man replied. “I just wish they had given you guns. Not much use without them.”

  I thanked him again, said a prayer for luck, and then Mush and I headed out, eager to be reunited with our own company.

  13

  We followed the streets and lanes eastwards, as we had been directed, and found more devastation. Not a single street had escaped the bombs. Most of them were littered with abandoned vehicles and weapons, and even a few anti-aircraft guns. Several trams lay empty, the tracks blown apart and passengers long gone. One had been blown onto its side, and still smoked.

  Sadly, we saw bodies at every turn. Young and old, civilian and military. It pains me to think of those dead souls, so I cannot describe them. It would be heartless. The cost of our retreat became clearer with each step we took, and then, as the coastline appeared to our left, we found a battalion of French soldiers, manning guns and facing east.

  “Look!” said Mush, pointing into the distance.

  He had spotted more Stukas, flying in from behind a ridge of low hills, along which were dotted German lines. They were less than ten kilometres away, far closer than I had feared.

  “I told you,” Mush added. “This is where we will die. There is no escape, brother.”

  I turned left, where a narrow street led down to the beaches. A huge number of troops simply idled about, and beyond them were even more men on the beach itself. Trapped, with their backs to the sea, and with no hope of breaking free, from the sky they must have resembled swarming ants.

  “This can’t be right,” I said. “There must be a plan!”

  Mush chuckled.

  “When you discover a plan,” he said, “let me know.”

  We went on for a hundred or so metres, before another air raid began. This time we ducked into a private residence – a three-storey town house missing its roof. I heard the Stukas long before they struck, and I wondered why they were still attacking the town. There was very little left to destroy. When I said this to Mush, he shook his head.

  “You are naïve, Fazal,” he replied. “They are following their orders, just as we are.”

  “But they are beyond cruel,” I replied. “To kill women and children in such a way. It is inhumane. Have they no hearts? Can they not see the horrors they are unleashing?”

  Since childhood, I had been taught to believe in human kindness and goodness, but that belief was fading. I thought of Lieutenant Cummings, the man I’d spoken to in Cassel. How he’d been unsure of his faith. Was I heading the same way?

  I got so caught up in my own thoughts, that the raid passed me by. When it ceased, the landscape around us had changed again, with more fires raging and yet more smoke and debris. We moved on slowly, past even greater casualties, until finally we reached a signpost for Malo-les-Bains. And, within five minutes, we’d reunited with Company 32, on the coastal road, alongside thousands of other troops.

  With nothing else to do, we sat on the road and waited. Sergeant Buckingham walked up and down the lines, checking on us and issuing nonsensical orders about staying put and not causing a fuss. None of the men were complaining, even though we had every right to. And with nowhere to go, what else could we do but sit and wait? Buckingham seemed drunk again and took several swigs from a hip flask until it ran dry. He cursed and flung it aside, before muttering to himself.

  Part of me had grown to hate the Sergeant, but I couldn’t help remembering that his father had died at the Somme. Perhaps that explained his hatred and anger, and perhaps that gave him some semblance of an excuse for his behaviour. Each of us was frightened and weary, and each of us coped with our stresses in particular ways. It was not for me to judge my sergeant, but I could not help disliking him nonetheless. He had insulted my country, my culture and my honour one too many times.

  Before us lay the open sea, grey and choppy and filling the air with saltiness. From the road, a wide bank led steeply down onto the narrow beach, also crammed with troops. I nudged Mush, who was sitting with his eyes closed, deep in thought.

&
nbsp; “The beach is not very wide,” I told him.

  He opened his eyes and took in the scene.

  “It’s high tide,” he told me. “The sea will retreat this evening, and the beach will widen then.”

  “Tides?”

  Mush shook his head, like a slightly disappointed teacher.

  “The sea moves in and out with the tides,” he explained. “You must remember that from our journey to Marseille.”

  “No,” I admitted. “I was too busy dreaming about what we might see in France. Or tending to the mules.”

  “You mean they didn’t teach you about tides at your fancy school?” Mush added.

  “No, they didn’t,” I replied.

  “Hmm,” he said. “You’re very stupid for someone so clever.”

  “And you’re very ugly,” I joked. “We make a good team, brother!”

  He punched my shoulder playfully, closed his eyes and went back to daydreaming. But not for very long. A shout went up, and then dive bombers appeared to the east. They sped along the coastline, homing in on our position like angry hornets in late summer. Sergeant Buckingham blew his whistle and we ran towards the town itself, desperate to avoid the attack.

  The sands erupted with bombs and gunfire, as our troops tried to escape. Many were cut down where they sat, and others as they ran. Some charged into the sea, eager to escape death, but it did no good. The water did not prevent the bullets from hitting their mark. The Stukas made three passes, and each time, they took more lives, and then they were gone as quickly as they’d arrived.

  Clouds of smoke and dust polluted the air, and the sand turned red where the casualties were greatest. Screaming and groaning filled my ears, then shouting and calls for medics. Two ambulances made their way towards us, but their progress was slow because the area around the road was jam-packed with angry and panicked men. A few of my comrades began to clear a path, but a gang of white soldiers grew angry and a fight broke out. Captain Morrow and two other officers rushed to calm things down, and in all of the madness, the wounded continued to suffer.

  “It’s every man for himself and no mistake,” said a British private close by. “I bet those officers were enjoying a nice cuppa as we sat in the open.”

  “Stands to reason, don’t it?” said another. “One rule for them, another for us. Blinkin’ toffs!”

  A few murmurs became shouts, and I thought the private and his friends might start a riot, but then Sergeant Buckingham fired his pistol into the air.

  “CALM DOWN!” he screamed. “THAT’S AN ORDER!”

  A senior British officer turned up with some French soldiers and appealed for calm, before asking for volunteers to help the wounded, and to dig defensive bunkers in the sand. Many of my fellow Indians stayed put, but I could not. I charged down to help, grateful for something to take my mind off our situation. And it was in the sand that Private Sid Smith found me again.

  “Well, well,” he grinned. “Private Khan – that’s a turn up! How are you, lad?”

  I shook his hand as I replied.

  “I’m alive,” I told him. “What else can I tell you?”

  Sid’s smile grew even wider.

  “How about telling me this is a dream?” he said. “And we’ll wake up in London, drinking tea and eating cheese sandwiches on a summer’s day?”

  “If only that could be true,” I replied.

  “You never know,” said Sid, grabbing a shovel. “Now, what are we doing?”

  14

  Between the frequent raids, we dug mini defences out of the sand, piling it high on the east-facing side. These bulwarks allowed us to take cover, but they did not protect against direct hits. However, they were better than nothing, and when the fifth raid started, many of us hid behind our work and prayed. From the air, those left exposed made clearer targets, whereas those in cover could only be seen once the German pilots turned and passed in the opposite direction. By then, we had taken positions on the other side of our little sand walls. We played this game throughout the raid. I’m not sure if we took any fewer casualties, but we had to try something.

  After the fifth raid, Sid pointed towards Dunkirk’s main port and grinned.

  “They’re here!” he exclaimed.

  I looked up to see three naval vessels drawing into the harbour. Huge British destroyers.

  “We’re being evacuated,” he told me. “Going back to Blighty, lad!”

  “But there are only three ships,” I replied. “How can they take us all?”

  “They’re just the first,” Sid told me. “The Navy will send more, I’m sure of it. Come on – let’s get closer!”

  I turned to see my company emerging from buildings along the main road and shook my head.

  “I cannot,” I replied. “I must stay with my own corps.”

  Sid shrugged.

  “Do you think they’ll miss you?” he asked. “In this chaos?”

  “But I have a duty,” I said. “Hukum Hai.”

  “Hokum bleedin’ what’um?” he replied.

  I repeated our motto and explained what it meant.

  “Fair enough, lad,” he told me. “But I doubt you’ll be moving off anytime soon. There are tens of thousands of troops between us and those ships.”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ll be here,” I told him. “If you come back.”

  Sid gave me his mischievous grin once again.

  “Who knows mate?” he replied, before setting off. “Maybe I’ll see you in London?”

  Half an hour passed before the German planes returned. Although we took cover again, this time they ignored us and flew by. I watched them approach the port and my heart sank. They were aiming for the naval vessels. Several Stukas banked left and right, ready to flank the ships, as two larger Heinkels positioned themselves to fly directly overhead.

  Suddenly, Allied troops began to appear on the coastal road, rolling huge 40mm Bofors anti-aircraft guns into position. They turned skywards and began to fire at the German planes. Even from a distance, the sound was deafening. Thud after thud, with the first salvo missing their targets completely. Then, a second wave, and this time, they found a target. One of the Stukas banked sharply before beginning to nosedive. Smoke poured from its tail, as it crashed into the sea and exploded.

  “Take that!” yelled someone behind me.

  The men started to whoop and cheer, but it was too soon to celebrate, as the German planes struck. Mini explosions lit up one of the destroyers, and then a larger blast rocked the ship’s stern. On land, another bomb landed next to an oil tank and the whole thing was blown into the air. I watched in horror as a second direct hit took out some nearby trucks and an ambulance, and then the Stukas began to strafe the area. They swooped in low as our gunners tried and failed to hit them. The Stukas found their range and let loose.

  “NO!”

  The destroyer began to tip backwards and hundreds of men waiting to board were forced to jump into the sea. Overhead, another swarm of German planes raced to engage. Only this time, as they passed overhead, they sprayed us with bullets too. The soldier nearest to me pitched forwards and fell dead to the sand. Another fell close by, and then another. I dived to the floor, praying that I might survive.

  “Messerschmitts!” shouted someone else. “Coming in low!”

  Beside me, a rifleman raised his Lee Enfield and began to take pot shots at the incoming fighters. Suddenly, another fifty or so men joined in. It seemed I was the only one without a weapon. I thought about crawling away but could not bring myself to leave the fight. Instead, I rolled over to a fallen comrade and took the gun still in his hands. I had never fired a Lee Enfield before but had learned to shoot in basic training. I lay back and mimicked the nearest Tommy, and soon I was taking pot shots too.

  “Aim higher!” the man next to me shouted.

  I did as he asked, but it made little difference. The fighters were too far away to sustain any lasting damage from our .303 cartridges. Nonetheless, we continued unti
l the immediate danger had passed. Over by the port, however, the attack continued.

  “ALL ARMED PERSONNEL TO PORT!” a senior officer ordered. “DEFEND THE PORT!”

  The soldiers around me began to rush towards the chaos, but I stayed put and dropped my rifle. As a member of the service corps, I had not been given a weapon, and was not allowed to use one without permission. It made little sense in our situation, with guns lying all about us and an armed enemy to fight. I longed to join in but thought better of it. I had already broken the rules by firing at the Messerschmitts. As ridiculous as it seemed in war, if Sergeant Buckingham caught me with a weapon, I’d be in serious trouble.

  I ran towards the road instead, eager to get off the beach. And when I turned to survey the scene, I saw thousands of soldiers caught in the water around the docks, and thousands more pressing towards it. Allied troops were packed onto the beaches and surrounding area, for as far as the eye could see. And above them, the German onslaught continued, with more planes joining the attack until there were twenty-five in all.

  I decided to seek out my company but could not see them anywhere. There were too many people, all moving in opposing directions, with no one sure of what to do next. I got caught in the flow, pushed this way and that, and tried to not to stumble and get trampled underfoot. Suddenly Mush grabbed my arm and hauled me aside, and I gasped for air.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I got caught up,” I explained. “After I helped with the defences.”

  Mush clapped me around the ear.

  “I told you to leave them to it,” he said. “What use are we without weapons? Just stay out of trouble, Fazal. This is their war, brother. Let them fight it.”