‘Leave me,’ he mumbled. ‘Just get to the port.’
‘No!’ said Hawke. ‘No one’s leaving you, Sarge.’ He looked up at the others. ‘We’re not leaving him here?’
‘Course we’re not,’ said McLaren. ‘But we need to make up a stretcher and we’ve got rid of all our greatcoats.’
‘Then we’ll have to use our battle blouses,’ said Hawke. He began taking off the straps of his webbing.
‘Yes, all right,’ said McLaren. ‘Three battle blouses buttoned up around a couple of rifles might do the trick.’
The mist was beginning to thin and suddenly the farmhouse and the canal came into full view again, with the row of abandoned vehicles clearly visible on the far side. Moments later, a machine gun opened fire, tracer hissing over their heads.
‘Quick!’ said McLaren. ‘Let’s just get him out of here.’ Crouching beside Spears, he put one of the sergeant’s arms round his shoulder then said to Hebden, ‘Here, Bert, you do the same on the other side. Matherson, Johnny, you grab a leg each.’
Half crouching, they scampered back down the track, gasping with the effort, but only stopping once they were a safe distance away and finally out of range of the enemy machine gun. By the time they got back their breath and loaded Spears on to a makeshift stretcher, the sergeant had lost consciousness again.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Hawke asked Matherson as they moved off once more.
‘I’m not sure,’ Matherson told him. ‘But he’s hot and feverish. It could be anything. The wound will have weakened him. I’m hoping it’s just a fever and nothing more, but it could be septicaemia.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Blood poisoning. It can be very bad.’
‘How bad?’
‘The worst.’
Dawn spread over the flat landscape around Dunkirk and, as the sun began to rise, so they saw the huge cloud of thick smoke that rose thousands of feet into the sky and hung heavily over the port. Enemy shelling had begun, but most of it seemed to be directed towards the port itself and away to their left. On they plodded, seeing no one until at last, up ahead, they saw a barricade across the road beside a battered house, and some Tommies appeared.
As they neared, a young subaltern stepped out from the house and began walking towards them.
‘Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?’ he said.
McLaren saluted. ‘I’m not sure, sir. To be honest, we’re not quite certain what the situation is.’
‘I can tell you that in one word,’ said the lieutenant. ‘Dire. Where have you come from?’
‘Cassel, sir.’
‘Cassel. Good God. We thought you’d all been put in the bag. How on earth did you get through?’
‘We walked, sir. By night, sir, and holed up during the day. We were told that the canal back there was the perimeter. What’s happened?’
‘It was until nightfall last night, then we all pulled back. The evacuation’s nearly over. We’re all pulling out tonight.’ He looked at Spears. ‘He looks in a bad way.’
‘He’s got a fever,’ said Matherson. ‘He was shot in the arm.’
‘Oh,’ said the lieutenant. ‘I’m afraid he’ll have to stay behind. They’re not letting any more wounded on. There’s a makeshift hospital behind Malo-les-Bains. Take him there. They have medical staff staying behind. It’s hard, I know, but there it is. The rest of you better get to the port. They’re lifting the last ones from the east mole tonight after dark.’
Hawke listened with mounting anger. ‘We can’t leave him,’ he whispered to Hebden. ‘We can’t!’
‘All right, Johnny,’ said Hebden. ‘Let’s not worry about that just yet. The rules might have changed.’
‘Damn the rules,’ said Hawke, ‘we can’t leave him here.’
‘How far have we got to go?’ McLaren now asked the lieutenant.
‘Oh, not far.’ He turned his head and pointed. ‘This track leads up to the dunes. They’re about a mile away. If you get to the beaches, then turn to your left, you’ll soon reach Malo-les-Bains. And, of course, you’ll see the port itself.’ He chuckled. ‘Impossible to miss. It’s quite a sight, I can promise you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said McLaren.
‘Oh, one other thing before I let you get on your way. If you need something to eat, we’ve got plenty here.’
He led them into the house and there, in the kitchen, were boxes of rations. ‘Help yourself,’ he said, ‘although I wouldn’t loiter too long. We’re expecting Jerry to attack any moment.’
‘Where are the rest of your men, sir?’ Hebden asked as he helped himself to several tins of bully beef and fruit.
‘Well, we’ve some here in the house, and a few more spread out either side of the road. There’s only twenty-seven left in the entire company and I’m acting company commander. All the rest are dead or wounded.’
It was just after 7 a.m. on Sunday 2 June, when the survivors of 6th Platoon stumbled through the dunes and finally reached the sea.
‘My God,’ muttered McLaren.
They laid Spears down on the sand and stood there, staring at the scene before them. Hawke sank to his knees.
The beaches were littered with wrecked vehicles, abandoned guns, boxes and the dead. There was debris everywhere. Even the sea was littered with wrecks. Directly in front of them lay a sunken ship, tilted to one side and still smouldering. Further along were yet more abandoned vehicles and even a long line of trucks, toe to tail, snaking out into the water like an oddly shaped jetty. Other wrecks stood out above the water, while not far away the skeletal remains of a fighter plane lay half submerged in the sand.
Away to their left, the battered port of Dunkirk continued to burn. Hawke could see figures now, soldiers huddled on the far end of the beach near the town, but clearly there had been many, many thousands more during the previous days. Nearby, something fluttered in the wind. Hawke looked, then got up to see what it was. Behind a tuft of dune grass lay a dead British soldier, but caught in the grass was a map. Hawke took it and saw that it was of Dunkirk and the surrounding area. In pencil, various lines and positions had been marked.
‘Here,’ he said, passing it to McLaren.
‘A bit late for that,’ said McLaren, taking it, then standing up and kicking the sand, said, ‘Why the hell couldn’t we have had maps like that earlier?’ He turned and looked at them. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s head down the beach and see if we can get that lift home.’
They trudged on in silence, Hawke, with Hebden, Drummond and McLaren, carrying Spears. The tide was out, and had left behind a number of dead. Shells were exploding around the port and behind them to their left, where the last troops were making their final stand. A strange smell hung over the beaches: a stench of oily smoke, the sea and something else – something sweeter and more sickly. Hawke recognized it at once. He glanced down at the bloated figure of a dead Guardsman, his arm outstretched and half buried in the damp sand. Just a few days earlier, he would have recoiled from such a sight, but now he walked straight past, strangely unmoved.
As they neared the end of the beach, a naval officer hurried towards them.
‘What unit are you?’ he enquired as he reached them. He was wearing a tin helmet, his normal black uniform and a worn, harassed expression.
‘We’re Second Battalion, King’s Own Yorkshire Rangers,’ said McLaren.
‘Yorks Rangers,’ said the officer, ‘we’ve not had many. Just a handful.’
‘Really?’ said McLaren, brightening. ‘We thought we might be the only ones left.’
‘There’re no ships sailing until tonight, I’m afraid, but we’re planning to get every last man lifted tonight. This is to be the end of the evacuation.’
‘That’s good, sir,’ said McLaren.
‘It’s a miracle. When I was first sent over here six days ago, we thought we’d be lucky if we got forty thousand home. Now it’
s over three hundred thousand.’
McLaren whistled.
‘The weather’s helped – lots of low cloud – and of course Jerry hit the oil depots on the far side of town. That was something of an own-goal.’
‘Lots of smoke,’ said Hebden.
‘Exactly. It’s pretty much covered the town. Jerry’s been bombing blind much of the time.’ He looked at Spears. ‘I’m afraid he’ll have to stay behind, though.’
‘He’ll be all right by then, sir,’ said McLaren. ‘We’ll look after him.’
‘It’s not as simple as that. We’ve had a devil of a job getting everyone off and the wounded take up more space and, more to the point, take up precious time. Getting you fit ones away safely is the priority. The longer it takes to load and unload a ship, the more dangerous it is and the harder the task. So, I’m sorry, but you need to take him to the field hospital.’ He looked up at the row of battered houses overlooking the beach. ‘It’s up there, behind the houses of Malo-les-Bains. You’ll find it, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said McLaren. ‘And what should we do until tonight?’
‘Keep your heads down if I were you. Find somewhere to shelter. A lot of the chaps have been taking cover in the cellars of the houses in town. Our friends in the Luftwaffe haven’t been over yet, but I’m sure it won’t be long. Just make sure you’re on the east mole by twenty-one hundred.’
He left them and hurried off.
‘So,’ said Matherson. ‘We’d better take Sergeant Spears to hospital.’
‘No,’ said Hawke. ‘We’ve got to try to get him on board.’
‘How are we going to do that? You heard what he said. It’s orders. There’s nothing we can do about it.’
McLaren stood for a moment, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. ‘Look, tell you what,’ he said eventually. ‘There’s no point in us all taking the sarge to this hospital. We’re all done in. Us four will take him there. The rest of you, do what you like. We’ll find you later, or on the mole this evening.’
Merryweather and Corporal Bristow looked at each other and then at the others. ‘All right,’ said Bristow at length. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘Hold on, Sid,’ said Chalkie White. ‘We’ll come with you. Our section has stuck together so far – we’ll stick with you now too.’ He turned to Fletcher. ‘Won’t we, Fletch?’
Fletcher nodded.
‘That’s settled, then,’ said McLaren. ‘The rest of you, try to get some rest, and, like that navy bloke said, keep your heads down.’
They shook hands, and McLaren said, ‘Right, then, let’s get you to hospital, Sarge.’
Spears stirred and opened his eyes as they lifted him again. ‘Have we made it to Dunkirk?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes, Sarge,’ said Hawke. ‘We’ve got here.’
‘You take it steady, Sarge,’ said McLaren.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the others, Hawke turned to McLaren. ‘I’m sorry, Corp,’ he said in a loud whisper, ‘but I’m not letting him be taken to any hospital.’
‘Neither am I,’ grinned McLaren.
‘You’re not?’ said Hawke, confused.
‘Course not.’
‘None of us want to abandon the sarge,’ said Hebden. ‘He might be a bit hard sometimes, but he’s a good bloke really.’
‘If it weren’t for the sarge,’ added McLaren, ‘we wouldn’t be here. I just didn’t want the hassle from Bristow and Matherson. Somehow, we’ll get him on board tonight. We just need to find a place to lie up for the day and where we can keep an eye on him.’
Hawke smiled. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘For a moment, I thought I might have to try getting him on board on my own. And I’m not sure how I’d have managed that.’
‘We’ve still got to get through today,’ said Drummond. ‘We’re not on that ship yet. You’re all talking as though we’ve made it, but I’m not going to get too ahead of myself until I can see Blighty again.’
They climbed off the beach and on to the promenade that ran along the front of Malo-les-Bains. A number of the houses had been hit. Carefully they stepped around some smashed glass and then had to walk over a number of collapsed telegraph wires that lay snake-like across the road. More vehicles stood abandoned. Up ahead, several soldiers were leaning on the balustrade clutching bottles and singing drunkenly.
‘Blimey,’ said McLaren, ‘so this is what defeat really looks like.’
‘That lieutenant warned us,’ said White. ‘He said it wasn’t pretty and he was right.’
‘Where are we going, Sid?’ asked Drummond. ‘My feet are agony. Can’t we lie up in the dunes somewhere? I’m sure this was a lovely seaside town once, but it’s horrible now. It’s making me feel depressed.’
McLaren nodded. ‘Yes, all right, Charlie.’
They doubled back, picking their way through the debris and past other exhausted and filthy troops until they reached the dunes. There were other soldiers hiding there, but they soon found a quiet patch – a little hollow surrounded by thick clumps of dune grass. Lowering Spears carefully, they lifted him off the makeshift stretcher and propped him up against a mound of sand and tufty grass.
It was now around eight in the morning and, as the naval officer had warned, they soon heard the drone of planes overhead. The smoke cloud still covered much of the town and bombs began whistling down before they could see any aircraft.
‘Here we go,’ said Drummond, crouching low, his hands over his ears.
Most of the bombs fell behind them and on the town itself, although several landed a short way out at sea, sending huge plumes of water high into the air. As the rain of bombs stopped, they could hear machine-gun fire high above.
‘Do you think that’s our boys?’ said Hawke.
‘Who knows?’ said McLaren.
‘Hold on, look up there!’ said Hebden. Away to their right, heading north away from the town where the sky was clearer, two single engine fighters were chasing after a German bomber, smoke trailing from one of the wings. The fighters were firing away, and then the bomber seemed to be dropping out of the sky. They watched a long trail of smoke follow it down and then it finally disappeared from view.
‘One less to worry about,’ said Drummond.
Spears was awake again, his eyes flickering open.
‘How are you feeling, Sarge?’ asked Hebden.
‘I’ve felt better,’ he mumbled.
‘Do you want anything?’ asked Hawke.
‘Water,’ he murmured. ‘Water. I’m parched.’
Hawke took out his bottle, which was still half full. ‘Here,’ he said, putting it to Spears’s lips.
Spears drank, then lay back and sighed. ‘Thanks.’
‘Sarge, we’ve just got to get through today,’ said McLaren. ‘Get through today and we’ll be going home.’
‘You’ll see Maddie again,’ said Hawke.
‘Maddie …’ Spears felt for his breast pocket and, fumbling with the button, managed to undo it and feel inside. He pulled out a bundle of letters and a photograph, and held them up in front of his eyes. ‘Maddie,’ he mumbled again.
‘You’ll see her soon, Sarge,’ said Hebden.
Spears smiled weakly. ‘We’ve come this far,’ he said. ‘I’m not giving up now.’ He looked at Hawke. ‘Johnny,’ he said. ‘I promised Maddie I’d get you back.’
‘And you have, Sarge,’ said McLaren. ‘Johnny’s in better shape than any of us.’
Spears lay his head back again and closed his eyes.
Hawke shot a glance at McLaren and Hebden. ‘Do you think he’s going to be all right? He is, isn’t he? Tell me he is.’
‘I don’t know, Johnny,’ said McLaren. ‘I just don’t know.’
31
THE MOLE
The shelling continued all day, and behind them, a short way inland, they could hear the fighting intensifying. The Luftwaffe bombed the t
own twice more, but none fell dangerously close to the small group of Rangers hiding in the dunes. In any case, the sand would have absorbed much of the blast. Unless they received a direct hit, they reckoned they were as safe as in any cellar.
About midday, Spears took a turn for the worse, his brow heavy with perspiration, his body writhing and his breathing increasingly heavy. For a while, McLaren thought they should take him to the hospital after all, but Hawke pleaded with him.
‘We can’t abandon him,’ he said. ‘We can’t.’
‘But he might die if we don’t get help,’ said McLaren.
‘They won’t be able to help him there,’ said Drummond. ‘That place will be heaving with sick and wounded. I reckon he’s got a better chance with us.’ That had settled the matter. Hawke had felt profoundly grateful to Drummond. And then, as the afternoon had worn on, so Spears’s condition seemed to improve. The fever abated and he became calmer. By six, he was fully conscious once more. They continued to ply him with water, until the last of it was gone, and even gave him some food, breaking into the last of their tins of bully beef and mixed fruit.
By eight o’clock, the shelling had stopped and the fighting had died down. More troops appeared on the beach, British and French, and began moving up towards the sea wall that led back to Dunkirk and to the mole that stretched out from the harbour.
‘We should move,’ said McLaren. He turned to Spears. ‘Are you strong enough, Sarge?’
‘I do feel much better,’ he admitted. ‘I suppose there’s only one way to find out.’
‘That’s the spirit, Sarge,’ grinned Hebden.
McLaren cleared his throat. ‘Er, Sarge, there is one thing we should warn you about.’
‘What’s that?’
‘There’s an order that no wounded are to be taken back. We were supposed to take you to a field hospital here and leave you.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No. But we can’t carry you on to the mole. You’re going to have to try to walk.’
Spears nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not far to the mole, is it?’
‘About half a mile.’
Dunkirk Page 27