The Dawn Patrol

by Todd Kelsey

  Chapter Seven

  June 4, 1940

  Speech given to the House of Commons by Winston Churchill

  When, a week ago today, I asked the House to fix this afternoon as the occasion for a statement, I feared it would be my hard lot to announce the greatest military disaster in our long history. I thought-and some good judges agreed with me-that of 400,000 perhaps only 20,000 or 30,000 men might return.

  The enemy attacked on all sides with great strength and fierceness, and their main power, the power of their far more numerous Air Force, was thrown into the battle or else concentrated upon Dunkirk and the beaches.

  Pressing in upon the narrow exit, both from the east and from the west, the enemy began to fire with cannon upon the beaches by which alone the shipping could approach or depart. They sowed magnetic mines in the channels and seas; they sent repeated waves of hostile aircraft, sometimes more than a hundred strong in one formation, to cast their bombs upon the single pier that remained, and upon the sand dunes upon which the troops had their eyes for shelter.

  Their U-boats, one of which was sunk, and their motor launches took their toll of the vast traffic which now began. For four or five days an intense struggle reigned. All their armored divisions-or what was left of them-together with great masses of infantry and artillery, hurled themselves in vain upon the ever-narrowing, ever-contracting appendix within which the British and French Armies fought.

  Meanwhile, the Royal Navy, with the willing help of countless merchant seamen, strained every nerve to embark the British and Allied troops; 220 light warships and 650 other vessels were engaged. They had to operate upon the difficult coast, often in adverse weather, under an almost ceaseless hail of bombs and an increasing concentration of artillery fire. Nor were the seas, as I have said, themselves free from mines and torpedoes.

  It was in conditions such as these that our men carried on, with little or no rest, for days and nights on end, making trip after trip across the dangerous waters, bringing with them always men whom they had rescued. The numbers they have brought back are the measure of their devotion and their courage. The hospital ships, which brought off many thousands of British and French wounded, being so plainly marked were a special target for Nazi bombs; but the men and women on board them never faltered in their duty.

  The Royal Air Force engaged the main strength of the German Air Force, and inflicted upon them losses of at least four to one; and the Navy, using nearly 1,000 ships of all kinds, carried over 335,000 men, French and British, out of the jaws of death and shame, to their native land and to the tasks which lie immediately ahead.

  A miracle of deliverance, achieved by valor, by perseverance, by perfect discipline, by faultless service, by resource, by skill, by unconquerable fidelity, is manifest to us all.

  I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our Island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone.

  The British Empire and the French Republic, linked together in their cause and in their need, will defend to the death their native soil, aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of their strength. Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail.

  We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.

  President Roosevelt sat in the Oval Office, and finished reading the words of Winston Churchill’s speech, from the transcription of the telegram. He adjusted his glasses, and looked out the window onto the White House lawn, and muttered a silent thanks under his breath, for the miracle that had just happened at Dunkirk.

  “Take this over to the Chief of Staff” he said, and handed the papers to a secretary.

  “Mr. President, a representative from the upcoming election campaign is waiting.” the secretary said, eyeing him. He waved absently “Yes, yes, just give me five minutes”.

  He sighed and re-arranged some papers on his desk. He felt privately sympathetic to the British, and he regretted having to turn down Winston Churchill’s repeated pleas for help. The American public would not support it, he would lose the election, and he would lose his ability to help thereafter. But the words of Winston Churchill’s telegram from May 10th stuck with him, the day he was appointed Prime Minister; he had left it sitting right there on his desk. He picked it up and looked at it again. If necessary, we shall continue the war alone and we are not afraid of that. But I trust you realize, Mr. President, that the voice and force of the United States may count for nothing if they are withheld too long. You may have a completely subjugated, Nazified Europe established with astonishing swiftness, and the weight may be more than we can bear.

  President Roosevelt set the telegram down again, not seeing how England could survive.

  --

  A few days later, Rudy sat in his parents’ farmhouse in Iowa, reading the newspaper with an account of Churchill’s speech to the House of Commons. He felt thankful that so many Allied soldiers had been spared, and he felt anger at the Isolationist sentiment in America. He threw down the paper.

  “Dad blam it, what in the hell are we going to do, just sitting here on our, gosh Dang it!” and he pounded the kitchen table, sending his plate skittering, and his glass nearly fell off onto the floor, but he reached around to catch it at the last moment.

  “That does it!” he exclaimed, and grabbed his jacket, and stormed out of the house, got in the pickup truck, and drove off, leaving a trail of dust. I’m going to find a way to get to England, and I’m going to start the process today.

  As he drove along the country roads, he calmed down somewhat, and he wondered what his cousin Rudy was doing, whether he had participated in the Battle of Dunkirk. He felt terrible about how the war pitched country against country, family against family. He thought of how difficult it would be for his parents to run things without him, about the harvest, and Bessie, and he pounded the steering wheel.

  And he thought about how England was left all alone, how Hitler would never stop until he ruled the entire world. And he kept on driving.

  --

  Eric woke up in a hospital bed, surprised. His mother was there, wearing black, and he sat up, wincing, as she started to cry. “Mother, I’m ok, what’s wrong?” And he reached out to take her hand.

  “Oh Eric! It’s your dad. He died in the Dunkirk evacuation.” She said, grasping his hand. “And I was somewhat prepared for that, and I had a day or two to deal with the shock. And when the government representatives came up again to our door, it was all I could do to keep standing!” and she burst into tears again, hugging him. “Oh Eric, your dad’s gone.”

  The shock and the medication he was on dulled his senses, but he held on to his mother, and in the middle of the huge hollow place in his heart, he felt some pride. It was almost eclipsed entirely by the pain, the roaring ache in his heart. But it was still there.

  I love you, dad

  I love you too, son

  Eric was not surprised at the reply, and realized he must be on morphine. He had no recollection of a crash, and even remembered a return trip and a landing, but nothing more than that. He looked over to the other side o
f the bed and saw Edith there, who was quiet. “Are you real?” he asked, reaching out. “I remember you . . .”

  “Hello Eric” she said, taking his hand. “It’s nice to see you. You had quite a tumble.”

  Eric realized he should be feeling fear and wondering what kind of injuries he had sustained, and he didn’t feel anything physically, so he asked.

  “So what happened to me? I can’t feel a thing.” And he detached his arms and was try to tap and pinch himself.

  “Well Eric, you managed to get back to the airbase, but then passed out when you got there, and that’s probably good, because you had already lost a lot of blood by the time you arrived. Everything is intact, but you had some burns on your leg.” She said, and she wondered if she had said too much. Eric looked down at his legs, and thought of his father, and wanting to get back into the air.

  “How long before I fly again?” he asked.

  “Well they’re not sure, but while your burns were painful, they were only superficial thankfully, so it’s basically as soon as you’re up for it – if you’re up for it.” she said, conscious of Eric’s mother still crying softly. Eric thought about his mother, and the loss of his father, and what his father was fighting for, and how the only thing keeping Hitler from invading was the RAF.

  “No, I’ll best be in the air as soon as I bloody well can” he said.

  --

  At the memorial service, a procession of black cars pulled up on the road by the small church in the parish at Carleton Coville – government cars, a protective detail, and the passengers got out to help the prime minister slip into the back pew during the service. They did it quietly, and no one noticed until after the service. An aide came up to Eric and Mrs. Wallace, and asked them quietly “I’m sorry for your loss, Ma’am. If you are feeling well enough to come outside and could spare a moment, the Prime Minister would like to speak with you, and also with your son. He served with George in the Great War, in France.”

  Mrs. Wallace looked a bit stunned, but nodded, and Eric followed the aide, who led them out to the car, as the government detachment was readying to depart, and opened the door to the main car. “If you’d be so kind as to spare five minutes” he said, and motioned them in.

  Winston Churchill sat in the car, stifling his annoyance at how much of a row he had caused in breaking away from 10 Downing Street, and even having to raise his voice to aides and military personnel. The war could wait for a few hours, it will be there when we get back.

  He watched the young RAF pilot get in the car with his mom, and looked into Eric’s eyes, seeing curiosity, and the look he knew so well from his own time in the War – not so much a look, as an absence of light. He hoped the light would return again. He held an envelope in his hand, and extended his other hand to Eric.

  “I apologize for these tight quarters, and I’m very sorry for your loss, for the both of you.” he said, and they nodded and thanked him.

  “As you know, I served with George in the Great War, and what you probably don’t know is that we had a kind of agreement, between gentlemen, between a few of us who were in the 6th Royal Scots Fusiliers.” He looked in their faces and saw blankness. Very well.

  “So the agreement that we made, was that if any of us didn’t make it back, so to speak, that the others would look in on the others’ families from time to time, and do what we could do to help, that is, if we ourselves made it back. And it was an informal thing, but George gave it a name, and he called it the Order of the Dragonfly.” And Winston Churchill handed Eric the envelope.

  “Here, Eric, is an envelope, with my card, and some notes that George sent me about the Order of the Dragonfly. All the others have passed on, and you are to carry the torch forward, so to speak”.

  “Carry the torch, sir?” asked Eric, a little dazed.

  “Well, you know how your father is, and I expect you’ve inherited at least some of his mettle from what I hear. Even though the Order of the Dragonfly was informal in our time, he said that it was his hope that it would be passed down, and developed into something that could be shared in your family, and also shared with others.”

  “Shared with others, sir?” asked Eric, not comprehending. Winston Churchill sighed, and looked at his watch.

  “Well unfortunately I’m rather limited in time, but none of us knows what the future will bring, and I wanted to be sure to deliver this envelope in person. I can supplement it with some more conversation in London if you’d care to visit me at some point.” And he looked at Eric’s mother, and the both of them.

  “And I want to extend my special thanks for all that the pilots of the RAF are doing.” and Eric saw the sincerity in his face, and the weight of the war weighing down on it, and the steel and the defiance and courage inside, and his heart warmed.

  “Thank you very much sir” he said. “And also for taking the time to visit, and to pass this along.”

  “And be careful and vigilant in the skies, young man.” He said, and a slight smile came across his face, as he leaned in a bit. “And don’t keep that young lady waiting too long” Then he motioned for the attendant to open the door, and he enjoyed the surprised look on Eric’s face, as they ushered him back towards the church.

  Winston lit a cigar, and puffed it on the way back to London, thankful that he had made it out of the trenches of France alive, thankful for the sacrifice of his countrymen, and thankful for the pilots of the RAF.

  I hope that lad survives the war, to carry on his father’s fancy.

  Liberet et Defendat, indeed. And he took out his pocket watch, and looked at the faded inscription on it, and the inlaid form of a small dragonfly, etched in the cover.