Voices: Now or Never

by Bali Rai

  “You need to come with us,” I told him. “I’m sorry, but Milligan is gone.”

  “But, he can’t be,” said a forlorn Vince. “We were going to have a pint together, meet up after things calmed down, meet each other’s families. We’ve been through hell together, me and him.”

  “Please, friend!” I told him. “We have no time. They will leave without us.”

  He stared into my eyes.

  “Vince!” I urged. “It is now or never! We must get going. If we lose this chance, we may not get another.”

  “You’re right, Fazal,” he said. “There’s nothing to be done.”

  He edged from the platform, into the sea, and climbed aboard a rowing boat, with Mush right behind him. Several other men had joined us, having waded or swum out from the beach. Captain Ashdown took them all, and then he turned and shouted up to me. Only, I did not hear what he said. I only heard the hornets and I froze. The Stukas were returning from yet another raid on the docks, but they had plenty in reserve for us. For close to three hours, we had managed to evade their sorties and evacuate over four hundred men. Now, they would not fail.

  Machine-gun fire erupted all around us, followed by a bomb to the rear that threw up more water. The last thing I saw was Captain Ashdown’s horrified expression and Mush screaming as silently as the mules we had betrayed. Then I was falling again, blown clear from the makeshift jetty, but away from the now fast-receding boats. As I crashed under the water, I managed to right myself and swim for the surface. I told myself that I was safe underwater, but I was not. The bullets zipped past me, and I ducked under and swam towards the nearest vehicle.

  I must have caught my head. I do not know, because I lost consciousness…

  My grandfather laughed at me. He held out his hand, pulling me from the watering hole. The hornets buzzed all around us, a blanket of doom.

  “I told you,” he said. “When the hornets swarm, they will follow you until they are satisfied. Not even the water will save you. They will simply hover until you come up for air, or watch you drown…”

  “But what can I do?” I pleaded. “How can I save myself?”

  My grandfather held a half-eaten mango, succulent and ripe and dripping with juice. He threw it as far as he could, and one by one, the hornets chased after it, until they were all gone.

  “There is always a way,” he said.

  Always a way…

  I felt another hand, pulling me up and away. I screamed and kicked and tried to stay under.

  “No!” I yelled. “The hornets are still waiting!”

  A hefty slap stung my left cheek.

  “COME ON!” a man shouted.

  “He needs to be revived,” a woman’s voice added.

  I felt sand against my back and pressure on my chest. Someone was pushing down with their hands, pumping and pumping, and then I tasted salt, as water and bile erupted from my mouth. I turned sideways, choking and spitting and trying to catch my breath.

  “He’s made it!” the woman said. “He’ll live.”

  Another person knelt beside me.

  “Private Khan!” she said. “It’s me, Lillian.”

  I opened my eyes to see her smiling down at me.

  “You’re safe, Private,” she told me. “You’re back on the beach.”

  “B-but…!” I began, only for her to shush me.

  “Calm down and try to breathe normally,” she said. “You almost drowned out there.”

  “The boats!” I croaked. “Where are the boats?”

  “They’ve gone,” she replied. “You were blasted into the water and they left without you. Don’t worry, we’ll find you another boat, I’m sure.”

  I turned and looked out to sea, and my heart sank. The makeshift jetty remained, despite being battered in places, but the sea beyond lay empty. They were gone, all of them. Mush and Captain Ashdown, and Vince. They had left without me, perhaps convinced that I had drowned after the explosion. Unable to wait for one man, when the lives of so many might be put at risk. I understood their decision. It made sense. But it did not help me. I was lost, and back where I had started. Only this time, I had no one to support me. No one I could call upon. I was all alone.

  “NO!” I groaned.

  23

  Back at the medical station in Malo-les-Bains, I was allowed to rest and regain my strength, what little remained of it. My uniform was dry and stiff with salt, and I was cut and bruised and sore. The sound of air raids and bombs remained a constant background, as the Germans continued to hamper the evacuation.

  “We’re running out of supplies,” Lillian told me. “After tomorrow, we won’t have anything left.”

  I was drinking tea and trying to gather my thoughts. I needed a new plan, another way to leave.

  “Will you be evacuated then?” I asked her.

  “I think so,” she told me. “We’re not much use without medical kits and morphine.”

  I nodded and sipped more tea.

  “That’s almost the last of the tea, too,” she added. “And we’ve next to no food left. This effort is taking its toll, Fazal. I’m not sure what will happen now.”

  I shrugged.

  “Nor me,” I replied. “Without my Company, and the support of Captain Ashdown, I am lost.”

  “Why don’t you make your way to the evacuation lines and join them?” she asked. “There are more boats now, and the troops are getting away.”

  “You know why,” I reminded her. “We were to be left behind.”

  Lillian shook her head.

  “No one will know or care,” she said. “Go out and take a look, Private. It’s absolute bedlam, with troops fending for themselves. Who will notice you in amongst all of that?”

  I gave a wry smile.

  “But I am not like the others,” I told her. “My skin will stand out first. If they have heard the order, they will not let me board a ship.”

  Lillian disagreed.

  “You’ll be one man amongst hundreds,” she told me. “And most good people will not deny you, Fazal. There is still decency and honour, even here in this hell.”

  “Perhaps,” I replied.

  “I’d take you with us,” she added. “But we’re strictly monitored and will have a military police escort. I’m not sure you’d pass for a nurse.”

  “Not even if I shaved and painted my face white?” I joked.

  “Not even then,” she said, not smiling.

  I set down my cup and stood.

  “I have taken too much of your time,” I told her. “I will be on my way. Thank you for saving me.”

  “I did nothing,” she replied. “Thank whoever dragged you from the water and the nurse who revived you.”

  “I would like to,” I said, “but I do not see them around.”

  “Then, pray for their safe return, Private,” said Lillian. “And try not to get blown up again.”

  I smiled.

  “I was lucky,” I replied. “Ten feet closer and the bomb would have left nothing of me. I’m simply pleased that my friends and comrades escaped.”

  “I wish you had too,” she said. “Now, off you go, and let’s hope we don’t meet again.”

  I trudged away, back towards the beaches. It was the last time I would see Lillian.

  I ambled around for what was left of the afternoon. Along the western perimeter, the lines were four men wide and snaked all the way back to the coastal road. They seemed to be heading for the concrete and wood jetty that stretched a mile into the sea. As I walked, I heard some of the men refer to it as the “Mole”, although I was sure that was not its actual name. Whatever it was truly called, it had become the centre of attention, and I could see rescue ships in the deep water, edging closer to it.

  Boredom and despondency caused me ill thoughts. I questioned the point of surviving my fall. Surely, I would have been better off drowning? At least, I would have gained some peace, rather than this waking nightmare of helplessness and dejection. But soon I realised that se
lf-pity would not ease my burdens. There was absolutely no point in moping around. It would achieve nothing.

  “You need a plan,” I said to myself. “You need to think.”

  I no longer cared about my surroundings, nor whether others heard me talking to myself. There was no room for such things, and I was not alone in that. As I walked, I saw men relieving themselves in full view – digging latrines in the sand and then covering them over. I saw living men pulling the boots from the dead, even taking their socks and the contents of their packs. None of it mattered, not really, and what good were socks to a dead man anyway?

  “We’re no better than animals,” one Tommy said in passing. “Not when things go awry.”

  I ignored him and continued on, aimless and apathetic. I had nowhere to go, and nothing to do, it seemed.

  Wandering for hours until dusk fell left me sleepy and numb. I collapsed on the beach, very close to the long jetty. I had found a fire-damaged supply truck, and took shelter beside it, facing the town itself. The wind was stronger, but the raids had ceased, so I felt safe for a while. Not that safety mattered when survival was about luck not judgement. Two British men lay close by, and one of them nodded towards me.

  “Hello,” I said.

  The man nodded again before closing his eyes. I settled with my back to a wheel and tried to get some rest. However, sleep only lasted so long. I would doze until I heard loud voices, or some other noise, then awaken once more. Then I’d be off again, until my head lolled sideways, and I awoke with a start. Eventually, I lay on the damp sand, using my jacket as a sheet. That left me cold but allowed a couple of hours of uninterrupted slumber.

  By dawn, I was on my feet. I plodded down to the water and washed my face, hoping to feel refreshed. But the salt water only reminded me of my near-drowning and of my failed escape, and I grew gloomy again. My stomach growled with hunger, a tiger without prey, and began to ache. My head was light, my legs cramped, and I was foot-sore. I needed food and water, so I headed for the road, hoping to scavenge something in amongst the broken buildings.

  An hour of searching passed before I came across the dead soldier. He was lying under a pile of rubble, and at first, I only saw his boots. Initially, I intended to afford him some dignity, but as I removed the rubble, I saw his pack and the chocolate bars within. A cantina of water sat next to his shattered legs, and I picked it up and found it half-full. I took them without hesitation and tried not to think too much about the morality of my situation. Leaving him uncovered, so that he might be discovered, I moved on quickly, filling my belly and quenching my thirst.

  Finally, I headed back to the beach, eager to see what was happening. The skies had cleared, and the sun was shining, and my heart sank again. Perfect conditions meant we were easier targets for the Germans, and so it proved, as they began another day of relentless raids. I sat down beside some abandoned supply boxes and put my head in my hands. I had no choice but to join the lines of men and pray that no one objected to my presence. However, I did not get up and do that. Instead I sat and wondered how my life had reached such a point. And I cursed the day I had decided to run away and join up.

  24

  I eventually reached the Mole during mid-afternoon. More precisely, I reached the end of the queue. A line, four men wide, stretched out before me. And on the jetty, they stood four abreast too, held back about fifty metres along. There, they climbed down onto smaller boats, or swam for it, trying to reach the larger vessels beyond.

  I joined in, keeping my head down, and edging forward with the crowd. Most of the men paid me no mind, and we made steady progress for an hour, despite the air raids. It’s hard to explain the constant threat of the planes vividly enough. Imagine being so worn out, so disoriented, that you stand in the open watching on, as death wails and caterwauls towards you like some demonic banshee, and you do not even flinch. For some men, the resignation went beyond even that.

  “If you’re going to kill us,” shouted one drained Tommy, “just get on with it. I’m tired of this!”

  Suddenly, the men began to cheer. When I looked to see what the fuss was about, my heart leapt in hope. A fleet of boats appeared in convoy, perhaps twenty in total, ranging from three huge destroyers to smaller vessels that seemed like toy ships in comparison. On the jetty, much further out past the troops, I saw some movement and wondered what was going on.

  “It’s happening, lads!” someone shouted behind me.

  “We’re going home!” yelled another, causing me to think of Milligan the day before.

  Within the hour, the situation changed again. The troops were ordered to move along the Mole, right down to the far end. The lines moved at a pace, and about a half-mile away, I watched the ships pull alongside the jetty, and span the gap with ladders and planks. Soon, a stream of troops was boarding at a terrific pace. And above us, on a lookout tower, a senior officer spoke into a loudhailer, organising everything from on high. My spirits soared, and I dared to think about reaching the safety of England again. My only fear was the Germans. From their positions, and through their sorties, news would spread of this new evacuation tactic. It would not be long before they attacked the Mole.

  I turned eastwards, expecting to see the planes zeroing in, but instead I saw clear skies. On the beaches of Malo-les-Bains and further along, thousands of men were still wading out to sea, trying to reach a flotilla of rowing boats. And behind me, Dunkirk continued to burn and smoulder, and I wondered where Lillian had gone, and whether she was safe. I watched the scenes to the east for some time, being jostled along, until someone shouted at me.

  “You!” I heard.

  Someone poked me in the arm.

  “You, Private!”

  I turned to see a tall and senior British officer glaring at me. He pointed to the Mole.

  “Combat troops first,” he told me. “We’ve no space for service corps yet!”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m very sorry, sir,” I replied. “I’m Private Khan of Company 32, RIASC. My officer, John Ashdown and the rest of my company were evacuated yesterday. We were attacked, and I fell into the sea. I was left behind.”

  The officer sneered.

  “I don’t care if you’re the king of Hindustan itself!” he roared. “You have no right to take the place of a Tommy!”

  “But I must get to England and find my company,” I protested.

  “Not before a single Englishman!” the officer replied. “Besides, your orders were to wait behind, if I’m not mistaken. What was the name of your officer again?”

  I felt sick. My stomach turned, and my mouth grew even drier. Not one of my fellow comrades intervened on my behalf. Not one protested at the immorality of pushing me aside, when I was as much a part of the effort as everyone else. I was in trouble, and so was Captain Ashdown. I decided to play dumb.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I must be mistaken. I will leave now.”

  “You will not—” began the officer, only to be shoved aside by a sudden surge of men.

  The Germans were back, and they had come in numbers. As the familiar sounds of whining engines, exploding bombs and strafing bullets resumed, I took the opportunity to escape. Going against the crowd was impossible, so I edged to my left, and out of the line. Then, with my head low, I jogged back towards the town. I only stopped when I had put some distance between myself and the jetty. Finally, I collapsed by a pile of rubble and cursed my luck.

  I stayed there for some time as darkness fell, shrouded in self-pity once more. I knew I needed to act but doubt and despair prevented it. Sitting back, I thought of all I had endured until that point, of the cruelty and barbarism I had witnessed. The faith and optimism that had been torn from me, only to be returned in increments then dashed again. What was the point?

  Down by the beach, I saw torchlights flashing out into the shallows. Despite the darkness, those men continued to move forward, continued to have hope. Giving up was not an option, and as my grandfather had said in my drea
m – there is always a way. I stood and headed down to them, careful not to allow myself any confidence. Not yet. As the water lapped against my worn boots, I watched perhaps fifty men call out into the night.

  “SOS!” they called. “Is anyone there?”

  Another Tommy brushed past, and then another. The third one apologised.

  “Sorry mate,” he said, and my mouth fell open.

  “Private Smith?” I said in astonishment.

  Sid Smith stopped and turned, then shone a torch in my face.

  “Blinkin’ hell!” he said. “Private Khan. Why are you wandering about in the darkness?”

  I could not contain my smile.

  “My company have been evacuated,” I explained. “We got attacked and I was thrown into the water. They left without me.”

  Sid nodded. “So, you’re on your own?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “And Command has ordered that Indians be left behind.”

  Sid grimaced.

  “No surprise,” he replied. “Stupid, useless bunch of buffoons!”

  “So, I am in a pickle, as you English say.”

  “No, Khan,” said Sid. “You’re not. You’re coming with us.”

  “But I—”

  Sid grabbed my arm.

  “There’s fifteen of us –all from various units. We’ve been told to get back by any means possible. We’ve no officers, no posh boys to tell us what to do. You’re more than welcome.”

  I began to dream again, but immediately reality kicked my aspiration in the guts.

  “They will not let me board,” I told him. “Because I am Indian.”

  “Really?” said Sid. “I’d like to see them try. Once you’re out there, Khan, they won’t stop you. Not if you’re with us.”

  “Perhaps,” I replied.

  “So,” Sid added, “you coming or not?”

  I did not have to consider his offer for very long.

  “If you will have me, friend,” I told him, “then I am honoured to accept.”