by Bali Rai
My heart thudded, and my stomach flipped. Whatever was coming, I prayed that we would survive it.
20
Captain Ashdown called me to him.
“You’re to come with me, Khan,” he said. “Bring Private Ahmad too. I need you to act as messengers. Once we know we have a ship, you’ll guide the men towards it. Clear?”
I nodded as Mush pulled a face, so Captain Ashdown explained in Punjabi.
“Okay,” he said in English. “All good, sir!”
The captain nodded.
“Come on,” he said. “There’s much to get done.”
We made our way along the road, as the going was easier than by beach. Ahead of us lay a canal that surrounded the port, but we did not need to cross it. Out destination was the long jetty, and the boats close by it. By now, the number of boats had grown, and some of them were small enough to come closer to the beach. One, a decrepit old tugboat seemed to be grounded. The crew were abandoning ship and wading towards the beach. Fifty or so men passed them in the opposite direction, and when they reached the tug, they boarded it.
“It won’t go anywhere,” Mush told me. “It is completely stuck.”
A sudden air attack made us flatten ourselves against a wall, as the hundreds of men around us ducked. Four Stukas peppered the area with bullets and hit numerous targets, before a small bomb landed on the beached tugboat. It exploded into flame, and I heard the screams of burning men and looked away, only to see more devastation ahead.
Three large bombs landed close together around the port. Huge torrents of water, maybe forty feet high, exploded into the air and lethal debris flew in all directions. A section of the docks creaked and groaned, and then fell away, landing on the desperate men in the water below.
“Move on!” Captain Morrow ordered. “We must keep going!”
We got to within a quarter-mile of the jetty, when the situation grew even worse. Within seconds the skies seemed to darken with German planes – Heinkels, Messerschmitts and those dreaded Stukas with their awful whining. They concentrated on the section of beach nearest the port, where the largest mass of troops had gathered, wading out to sea and waiting to be recused. Bomb after bomb fell on those poor souls, and yet they continued to push on, whether through hope or resignation. It was hard to tell. I turned to Captain Ashdown.
“We cannot board from there, sir,” I told him. “There are too many already waiting.”
“Noted, Khan,” he replied.
He held up his hand.
“Rest a moment,” he said. “Morrow, any ideas?”
Captain Morrow surveyed the scene and did not speak for a while.
“We could try praying, John,” he joked. “There’s nothing else to do.”
The largest vessels were a mile out to sea and could not come any closer. The smaller boats and dinghies were being crowded by the men already in the water. With no other way out to the rescue boats, we were stuck again.
“There has to be a way!” said Captain Ashdown.
I looked east for some reason, away from our intended destination, and saw something amazing happening. A few hundred yards away, some of the men were driving or pushing abandoned and partially-destroyed vehicles towards the water. The first in line drove into the sea and continued until his supply truck was submerged up to its doors. Then, he jumped out and called more men to him. Together, they pushed the vehicle further and further until only its roof could be seen. The driver clambered on top and began to wave his arms.
A second truck was manoeuvred in the same fashion, and then a third, much taller supply truck passed them, before it too was pushed into the line by ten soldiers, with an eleventh on the roof until he was half-submerged himself.
“A gangway!” I shouted. “They’re using vehicles to build a gangway!”
“Whatever are you…?” began Captain Ashdown, only for the sight to leave his speechless.
“Good God!” said Captain Morrow. “That’s ingenious!”
“We must help,” I told them. “We would gain their trust and they might help us too.”
Captain Ashdown nodded.
“You might just be right, Khan,” he said, giving me a warm smile. “Come along!”
We ran towards the men, and when they saw two captains, they saluted and pointed back towards the road, where countless vehicles had been left under fire.
“If it drives, bring it here,” said one of the men, whose front teeth were missing. “Even if it’s falling apart. It all helps!”
“Anything that don’t move, grab some men and get them to push it along,” said another.
“But we’ll never create a mile-long jetty,” said Captain Morrow.
“We don’t need to, sir,” said the second man. “We just need the larger vessels to spot us and send rowing boats and dinghies our way. They’re too busy concentrating on the port area to see us. We need to attract their attention.”
“The coastal shelf here is very gradual,” Captain Ashdown added. “We should be able to get at least halfway, with enough help.”
“But the tallest vehicle is already under water,” Captain Morrow pointed out.
“No problem, sir,” said the second man. “We’ll collect tables and oil drums, planks and supply boxes and the like. Anything we can use to create a platform on top of the vehicles. That’ll raise us high enough.”
Captain Ashdown glanced at Captain Morrow.
“It’s worth a shot,” he said.
“Absolutely.”
Morrow turned to me.
“Redirect the men this way – all haste!”
I nodded, then Mush and I went to carry out his order.
“Bring any drivers first and see if you can gather some British chaps too – the more, the merrier!”
“Yes, sir!” I yelled.
We worked for a few hours, through the continued German attack, and despite being cold and wet. By the time we stopped, over two hundred men lay exhausted on the sand, and another three hundred stood on the makeshift jetty or in the water around it. Further along, others had seen what was happening and begun their own impromptu piers.
“Terribly clever idea, Private,” said Captain Ashdown, as we stood resting at the water’s edge. “Well done.”
“Name’s Cooper, sir,” said the second man from earlier. “Vince to me mates.”
He was short and stocky with wide shoulders and strong hands. His uniform was torn and shabby, and his boots had holes in them.
“Well, Vince,” Captain Ashdown replied. “I hope your seniors appreciate your ingenuity.”
Private Cooper shrugged.
“We’re on our own, sir,” he replied. “Haven’t seen an officer in two days. They told us to head for the beaches and get back to Blighty any way we could. There’s me and twelve others. The rest are either missing or dead.”
Captain Ashdown nodded.
“Well, we’re here now, Private,” he told him. “And protocol dictates that I assume command over you and your men. We can’t have leaderless troops.”
“Absolutely, sir!” said Cooper.
“I’ve got a full complement of four hundred Indian service corps with me,” the Captain explained. “You and your fellows can join us.”
Private Cooper nodded, then smiled at me.
“Private Fazal Khan,” I said, holding out a hand which he shook. “RIASC.”
“Vince,” said Private Cooper. “No need for the formalities, my friend.”
A German fly-past made us duck in unison.
“Crafty Germans!” said Vince. “You’d think they’d get bored and buzz off!”
“No chance of that,” I replied. “Not until nightfall.”
“Well,” he said. “We’d better try and attract some attention. You ready to test out our jetty?”
I nodded and pulled Mush towards me.
“Private Ahmad,” I said. “My best friend.”
Vince and Mush shook hands, and then we clambered onto the makeshift jetty. One o
f Vince’s comrades came too, carrying sticks onto which strips of tablecloth had been tied. They were chequered red and white, and fluttered in the breeze.
“Afternoon chaps!” said the man. He was a giant, at least six feet four, with thick black stubble and extremely hairy spade-like hands.
“This is Private Milligan,” said Vince. “He’s a bit of a hairy Herbert, but a good bloke with it.”
A trident of Messerschmitts whizzed by overhead, and a few bullets creased the water barely ten feet away. We waited to see if they would return, but they moved on to bigger targets. Then, with a deep breath and a silent prayer, the four of us edged our way out.
21
We stood on our precarious construction for over an hour, waving our flags and shouting until we grew hoarse. But no little boats came. Behind us, many of the men had waded as far as they could and stood expectantly in the cold water. The officers were halfway across the makeshift jetty, sitting with their legs dangling into the sea.
On the beaches, the crowds were now so large, that many men simply stood in lines, facing the sea, but without any hope of rescue. Fires raged across the scene, from west of Dunkirk’s port, all the way around and past us, and on towards the east. The sound of shelling and gunfire and explosions did not let up. And soon we began to see the occasional body bobbing on the water’s surface, many having been burnt.
“They’re concentrating attacks on the boats now,” said Vince, before licking his lips.
The skin around his mouth had dried and begun to peel through dehydration. The paradox of being surrounded by water with none to drink made me think of Coleridge’s poem, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, which we had learned at school. I mouthed its most famous line and smiled a little.
“Don’t look good,” said Milligan. “We could be stuck here for days.”
“It won’t last that long,” I told them. “The Germans can’t be more than six miles out and they’re getting closer every hour. If we don’t get out soon, we’ll be overrun.”
I glanced back to see a bombed-out Bofors gun sitting on the seafront road, long since rendered useless. With so little firepower, we couldn’t even fight back.
“If this goes belly up,” said Vince, “it’s over. Hitler and his boys will have conquered most of Western Europe.”
“With the entire British Armed Forces in captivity,” I added.
“And England next on his list,” said Milligan.
“What a mess!” said Vince. “I thought we’d put up a better show than this.”
“Me too,” I told him.
“British have messed up the war,” Mush added. “Idiot tactics!”
Vince glared at Mush for a second, before bursting into laughter.
“Too right, friend!” he said. “Shameful this is. Running home like scared children.”
“If we escape,” I said, just like many times before, “we can rebuild and fight back. Sometimes retreating is the only option.”
“Won’t win me any medals, though, will it?” said Milligan. “I always fancied me a Victoria Cross or some such thing.”
“You’ll be lucky to get a pint and a pork pie, lad,” said Vince.
“What is a pint?” I asked.
“Beer, Private Khan,” he said. “It’s sold in pints back home. You must have beer in India.”
“We do,” I told him. “But I am not allowed to drink it.”
“Not allowed?” asked Vince, looking aghast. “Who’s stopping you?”
“God,” I replied. “Alcohol is forbidden in my religion.”
“Blimey” said Vince. “I’d change religion, mate! I love a nice pint of an evening.”
I smiled.
“I am happy with my religion,” I told him. “But, I hope you get your pint!”
“Twenty-two miles,” said Vince. “That’s all there is between us and home, and the nearest pub!”
Mush smirked.
“Not for us,” he replied. “Thousands of miles for us.”
Vince looked at Mush and then shrugged.
“Mate,” he said. “If you’re fighting with us against the Germans, you’ve as much right to call England home as anyone. I’d stand you a pint any old time.”
“I am Muslim too,” said Mush. “No beer.”
“Blimey!” said Vince. “I’ll stand you a pint of blinkin’ water and a pork pie then!”
This time I burst into laughter.
“What?” asked Milligan.
“Pork is also forbidden,” I explained, wiping away a tear and remembering something Sid Smith had said.
“Dear God!” said Vince. “Is that a religion or torture?”
“A cheese sandwich and some tea, perhaps?” I added, not taking offence at his joke.
Vince grinned.
“How very English,” he joked.
I heard Captain Ashdown shouting.
“BOATS!” he yelled, holding up his field glasses. “BOATS ARE COMING!”
We peered at the near horizon and saw nothing, and then suddenly, a rowing boat appeared, with a single man at the oars.
“At last!” said Vince.
“We’re going home!” yelled Milligan, grabbing Mush in a bear hug and almost knocking them both into the water. “We’re going home!!!”
A second boat appeared and then three dinghies, and before long there were ten small vessels closing in to our position. Behind us, Captain Ashdown began to organise the men, telling them to make their way towards us. Those in the water already waded further and began to climb onto the makeshift jetty. It rocked and wobbled a little but stayed strong. And finally, a naval vessel appeared - the source of the smaller boats. It flew a red flag and Vince identified it immediately.
“Merchant Navy,” he told us. “Looks a good size, too!”
The wailing started to the south this time, quiet but ominous, and then louder and louder.
“WATCH OUT!” yelled Milligan, as the Stuka homed in and began to fire its machine guns. A second appeared behind it, before banking right so that they flew in parallel. I froze to the spot, watching the bullets zip across the water in our direction, and then three bombs, one after the another – PUFT! PUFT! PUFT! – in an almost perfectly straight line. What felt like a mountain of water erupted over us and then I was falling into the sea, screams all around me, perhaps mine, perhaps not.
I landed on my back with a slap, and then I was coughing and spluttering and trying to grab onto something. My left hand found the handle of a truck door, and I managed to pull myself towards it, and then above salty water, gasping for air. I clung on, desperate to find Mush and Vince and Milligan, but they were nowhere to be seen.
With my shock residing, I hauled myself up and out of the sea, and clambered onto the roof of the vehicle underneath me. Part of our construction had collapsed, but it was still standing, and when I looked, the boats were still coming. I crouched and took deep breaths and then began to call for my friends. Behind me, Captain Ashdown found his voice and called for the men to keep moving forwards.
“Get on the boats!” he yelled. “Move!”
I began to panic then, scared that my friends had been killed, but Mush appeared opposite me, and Vince with him. They were soaked and shocked, and glad to be alive.
“Where’s Milligan?” Vince asked.
“I cannot find him,” I replied. “He must be in the water.”
We searched the area around the makeshift jetty but couldn’t see Milligan’s massive frame anywhere. As the first of the rowing boats neared us, Vince shook his head.
“I’m not leaving without him,” he said, before calling call out his name. “Milligan! Milligan!”
I shook my head and looked at Mush.
“He is gone,” Mush said in Punjabi.
22
As the rowing boat pulled alongside, I knelt and called out to the sailor.
“Private Khan, RIASC,” I told him. “My captain is right behind us.”
The young man looked surprised. He c
annot have been much older than me. He wore a black tunic with a v-necked collar, black trousers and a matching round hat. His shirt was white, and his skin pink and rosy.
“You Indian?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Service Corps.”
“Any others with you?”
I nodded.
“Four hundred of my comrades,” I told him. “And two officers and a band of twelve or so Tommys.”
“Blimey,” the sailor replied. “Four hundred? That’s going to take some shifting!”
Captain Ashdown arrived behind me, as Vince sat and put his head in his hands.
“How many men per boat, lad?” the Captain asked the sailor.
“Fifteen, at most, sir,” the young man replied. “Maybe ten per dinghy. Able Seaman Jones at your command, sir!”
“Good to meet you, Jones,” said Captain Ashdown. “What about your vessel. Can it take four hundred or more men?”
“We’re a passenger ship, sir,” said Jones. “Eight hundred and twenty-two tonnes. It’ll be a squeeze. And we’ve already taken fifty souls on board, sir!”
“Not a problem,” the Captain told him. “Anything’s better than sitting here, waiting to be killed.”
“Yes, sir!”
As Jones’ mates arrived, we began to organise the men. There were ten vessels in total, six boats and four dinghies, with a half hour round trip between the jetty and the Merchant Navy ship. The first wave took an age to send off and braved an ongoing air raid to get back to their goal. But once the boats returned empty, the second wave went much quicker, as we’d organised the groups in advance. In total, the boats made four trips, often under a substantial onslaught, and the whole process took nearly two and half hours.
I stayed on with Mush, Vince and Captain Ashdown. Captain Morrow had gone ahead to liaise with the ship’s officers and smooth out any difficulties. I was impressed with Morrow’s change of heart, and happy that he’d decided to help us. I thought of Sergeant Buckingham too, and despite our differences, hoped that he would make it safely home. My heart bled for Vince, however, and the loss of his giant friend. I could not imagine how it might feel to lose Mush.
When the final trip was ready, I called out to Vince, who had not moved, nor stopped hoping that Milligan would turn up. He sat alone, staring out to sea, lost in his own thoughts.