THE STREET IS COLD AND DARK. JULIAN BUTTONS HIS COAT. They feel their way down Princes Street, down the block-long granite sidewall of the Bank of England. The Rescue Squad jeep and the Heavy Mobile Unit medical truck are parked behind the bank on Lothbury. Julian doesn’t know how anyone can find Lothbury. He cannot see his hand before his face. In the blacked-out city, the streetlights are off, and the windows are covered with curtains. The night sky is under cloud. Finch gets behind the wheel of the jeep, Duncan rides shotgun, Julian, Mia, and Wild pile in the back. Phil, Sheila, Shona, and Frankie ride separately in the HMU van.
Julian had gambled on where he might end up and has read a bit about the Battle of Britain, about the bombs and the ruins. Here’s what he didn’t read about: under the night sky, the relentless air raid alarm is an insanity maker. It’s an echoey, up and down howling of a million wolves. Julian doesn’t know how everyone doesn’t plug up their ears and scream. His compatriots seem a lot calmer than he is, even the girl.
Especially the girl.
“Where are we headed to tonight, dove?” Finch says to her.
Leaning over Julian’s lap, Mia sticks her head out the window and listens to the drone of the enemy plane engines. Julian sucks in his breath and closes his eyes. Do any of us really know where we’re going, C.J.?
“Let’s drive to Stepney,” she says, settling back between Julian and Wild. “Something always falls near the docks.” She glances at Julian. He attempts to affect a neutral face. “Stepney, Wapping, Bethnal Green, Shadwell. All of East End is in pretty bad shape. Where are you from, Julian?”
“The East End,” Julian replies. “The East End originally,” he amends, knowing he won’t be able to fake a “been there, seen that” indifference to the coming destruction. “I’ve been away. Is Finch going to turn the lights on?” Finch is driving without them.
Mia shakes her head. “Can’t. Not allowed.”
“He plans to drive all the way to Stepney in the dark?”
“That’s one of Finch’s many gifts,” Mia says.
“You mean his only gift,” says Wild.
“Shut up, Wild.”
“Finch knows the city like a blind man,” Mia says.
“And drives like one,” says Wild as the jeep rattles over a pothole.
“You’re not in the Rescue Squad, are you?” Julian asks Mia. Women aren’t allowed to join the Home Guard, he refrains from adding. It’s for their own safety.
“I am,” she replies. “From the side. I’m with the Women’s Voluntary Services.”
“So what do you do?” Stay in the truck? Keep it running?
“Anything. Everything. Depending on what needs doing. Tonight, for example, you can help by being security with Dunk and Wild until the police come.”
Finch scoffs. “What’s he going to be able to do? You might want to put a glove on that hand of yours, mate. Might appear more menacing.”
“He’ll act menacing,” Mia says. “You’re a pretty good actor, right?” Lightly she nudges Julian. “They liked you tonight. They’ve been getting quite bored with me. Maybe we can put on something else for them if we make it out alive.”
If we make it out alive? She says it so carelessly. It’s a good thing it’s dark, and she can’t see the expression on his face.
With the streets empty of vehicles and people, it takes Finch less than seven minutes to get from the Bank of England to Commercial Street, where he pulls up to a curb and idles the engine. Even though it’s cold, everyone leaves their windows rolled down. The rumble of a hundred enemy planes is not distant enough.
It takes Julian a few moments to figure out that the squad is waiting to see where the bombs will drop. But what if the bombs fall on Commercial Street? he wants to ask. What if the bombs fall on the jeep where they sit and wait? The rising and falling of the piercing siren has not stopped. The sky flares up, followed by the sound of thunder. The night air is suddenly not as dark. In the brief bursts of light, he can see Mia’s calm, focused face.
Lightning.
Thunder.
Rise and fall of the wolf howl.
Like fireworks at a state fair, one two three, a dozen flares all at once, still at some distance downriver. The sound of long booms and sharp cracks gets nearer, grows louder. The bombs whistle and explode. It’s one of the most unnerving noises Julian has ever heard. He can’t help himself. Turning slightly, he leans against Mia. He wants to cover her with his body. Why would anyone be out in this awful ruckus? It’s like being out in a category 5 hurricane.
Lightning is followed by instant thunder over the buildings a few blocks away. Brick-busting explosions, plumes of flame, smoke.
There’s screaming.
“Now we go,” Mia says.
Finch shifts into drive and races the jeep around the corner, to one of the narrow residential side streets.
Between rows of terraced houses, two bombs have fallen in the street. Choking dusty wreckage rises in the air and small fires light up the cratered holes in the smashed-up homes, windows blown out, doors blown off. The street is littered with brick and wood and glass. There is some human exclamation, but not much on balance, not very much at all, considering. As they get out of the vehicle, Julian hears someone say, rather calmly, “Bloody hell.”
Three women covered in black ash stand crying. One of them holds a small child. Wild immediately goes to her and tells her to move away from the house. She refuses. There’s a fire in her kitchen, she says, and she just had the cabinets redone, “last spring!” The fire brigade is nowhere to be found. Julian feels that the woman’s renovated kitchen might not be the brigade’s priority. Four other houses on their street need dousing, and on the next street, the fire already rages. Julian can see it over the rooftops. Because of the fire, there is now light. Night is now day. It’s a perversion of what’s good in the world.
From the back of the jeep, Wild grabs one of the buckets filled with sand and runs into the woman’s house, through the gaping hole in the wall. He heads to the kitchen.
“What is he doing?” Julian asks Duncan, watching Wild fling sand on the woman’s cabinets. “By himself, with one arm? Why don’t you go help him?”
“You go help him,” Duncan rejoins. “Wild used to be a fireman. Who else is crazy enough to run inside a burning house? Don’t worry about him. He’s wearing a flameproof coat. He knows what he’s doing.”
The HMU with Shona at the wheel and Phil Cozens shotgun pulls up to Finch, patrolling the street to assess the damage. Finch gives Phil the all clear—meaning there are no injuries at the moment requiring the doctor’s immediate attention. This does not seem credible to Julian.
“Duncan, go!” Mia calls, gesturing down the street. Standing next to Julian, Duncan doesn’t move. “You’re needed there, not here,” she says, stepping over the bricks in the street to get closer to them. “Wild will be fine.” Julian resists the urge to give her his hand. “Julian, will you go with Duncan, please? The valuables in the bombed houses need to be protected from looters.” She must see Julian’s expression because she shrugs. “War brings out the worst in some people. Though not that many, fortunately. But if they do come, it’s immediately after the bombing. They hurry to get here before the police do.”
“The thieves like the jewelry,” Duncan says, “but prefer not to put themselves in any real danger.”
Mia nods. “Somehow they always manage to find the street with the least catastrophic damage.”
Julian glances up and down the block. “This is not catastrophic damage?”
Mia chuckles. “I thought you were from the East End? This is nothing. No real fire, no major casualties. Go, you two. Take the cricket bats.”
“Don’t need a cricket bat,” says Julian.
“I’ll take one,” Duncan says to Mia. “But I don’t need him. I’ll be fine. What’s he gonna do?”
“Wait, where are you going?” Julian catches Mia’s arm. “Don’t wander off,” he says, holding her. “It’s not safe.” The planes have droned off farther west. But the street is full of flying debris, of falling unstable beams. The air raid siren continues to howl.
“What do you think I do, sit in the car and knit like Lucinda?” Mia says. But she hasn’t disengaged from him.
“That sounds wise.”
“Wise but not helpful. Look at that poor woman.” Mia points down the block where a dusty disheveled older woman stands wailing. “I’m going to help her get her things out before the house falls on her head.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” Julian says earnestly.
Mia chuckles, as if he is being so funny! and rushes off. Julian fights off the urge to rush after her.
Duncan smirks with amusement.
“What?”
“Nothing. Stay put. Watch over Wild. He should be done soon.” Both men shake their heads as Wild swats one-armed at the remnants of the flame, using blankets and a piece of cardboard. “He’s bloody mental,” Duncan says with gruff affection. “As if the mother is going to be able to warm up the milk for her baby in that kitchen. What’s the difference if her house burns down now or is demolished in a week? There’s no repairing it. Kitchen cabinets! Mental, I tell you. Stay with him, okay?” He walks away.
“If you need help, holler,” Julian calls after Duncan, who turns, glances at Julian’s fingerless hand, and says yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.
A minute later, Wild comes to stand by Julian’s side, smelling of heat and smoke.
“How did you do?”
“Not great. There’s no saving that kitchen.”
“You knew that going in, though, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Wild says. “But you gotta do what you can. What are you standing guard for?”
“Doing what I can.”
“Duncan left you alone? That fucker.”
“Not alone,” Julian says. “With you. We’re going to protect this house together, Wild.”
“Nah,” Wild says. “I’m no good in a scuffle. Not anymore. I know my limits.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Sometimes those bastards bring sticks and bricks. We need Duncan. Duncan!”
Julian stops him. “We don’t need him, and he’s busy besides. Just stand on my right, will you? And look tough.”
“I got no problem looking tough,” Wild says, moving around to Julian’s right. “But usually only Duncan can take care of the looters.”
“Tonight, you and I are going to take care of them.”
With skepticism but no fear, Wild points at Julian’s hand. “You want my glove to cover that up? As it so happens, I have an extra.” He grins.
Julian shakes his head. “I want whoever comes to see my hand. It acts like an anesthetic. It lulls my opponents into a false sense of confidence in their own strength. My missing fingers become my lucky fingers.” He smiles.
“Okay, say they’re lulled. Then what?”
“Then, you and I will solve problems together. We’ll get creative.”
“I can’t use a bat.”
“Do you see a bat on me?” Julian says. “But you should carry a knife, Wild.” Recalling Edgar Evans’s Bowie knife that saved his life even as it nearly ended it.
“I’m a righty. Can’t use a knife with my left hand.”
“Sure you can. I was a righty, too. Once.”
Wild appraises the severed half-hand, the man. “You want to show me how?”
“Not in the next five minutes. Have you got a hammer at least?”
“For you?”
“No, for you.”
Wild shakes his incredulous head.
“What, you can’t even swing a hammer left-handed? You just spent fifteen minutes whacking a useless kitchen cabinet!”
For now, knifeless and batless and hammerless, Julian and Wild stand shoulder to shoulder on a pile of bricks and wood. The siren wails up and down. What has Julian’s girl gotten herself into? Doesn’t she know it’s the end of the line?
“Stepney has it worse,” Wild says as they wait. “Anything near the river is a shambles. That’s how you gotta look at everything—some poor fucker somewhere has it worse. Like: sure my arm is gone, but that’s why the good Lord thought to give me a spare.”
“How’d you lose it?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
Julian glances at Wild’s suddenly distorted face, at his body struggling not to double over, and looks away.
The ambient light from the nearby fires illuminates the street. In the glimmer, Julian’s eyes search for Mia. He spots her a few houses down, comforting the old woman who has stopped wailing. His gaze steadies and rests on her. When he blinks, he catches Wild staring at him.
“Who are you?” Wild says. “It’s like you know Folgate from another life.”
“That must be it.” He nudges his new friend. “Heads up,” Julian says quietly. “On my ten.”
From the left, three young guys appear stealthily out of the darkness, heading for the house in front of which Wild and Julian stand. “See, if you hadn’t put out the fire in the damn kitchen, they’d walk right past us,” Julian says to Wild, and louder to the trio, “Move along. You have no business here.”
“And what business do you have here?” one of them says.
Wild shows them his Home Guard badge.
“Step out of the way, cripple,” an intense-looking chap says, approaching them. “You too, old man,” he says to Julian. “You don’t want to get hurt.”
“You don’t want to get hurt,” Julian says.
“Nice one, Jules,” Wild whispers.
“Thanks, Wild.”
The three boys laugh. They taunt Julian. “What are you going to do, swat at us? Point at us with your pointer?”
“He can’t even make a V sign!”
Julian turns his body sideways and kicks the talking bloke straight in the chest. The guy falls backwards. His head hits the bricks. “Move, Wild,” Julian says, and to the attackers, “Go on, you two. I told you, you don’t want to get hurt.”
The two young men menace Julian, both edging to his right, where they assume he is weakest. One guy swings a stick. Julian catches the stick in the crook of his right elbow and chops the guy on the side of the neck with his open left palm. The boy reels, is thrown off balance, and now Julian is armed. He hits the guy once on the forearm and even harder across his shoulder, all secondary but debilitating injuries. He squares off against the remaining youth. “Did you see how gently I tapped your friend’s arm with his own stick?” Julian says. “I could’ve bashed him in the face. And then he’d be dead. But, the night is still young. So what would you like to do? Run? Or fence?”
The dude clearly has learned nothing. He swings. Julian blocks, and kicks him in the knee. Howling, the guy drops to the ground. The entire confrontation has taken no more than twenty seconds.
Wild is overjoyed. “Finch, Dunk!” he yells. “Come here. I can’t fucking believe it! Did you see that?”
“He hit the dirt with such a beautiful thud,” Julian says with a light smile.
Finch and Duncan run over. Finch is not overjoyed. “No reason to knock them out like that,” he says dourly. “The cops will be here soon.”
“And now there’s less for them to do,” says Julian.
“Don’t listen to a word Finch says, Jules,” Duncan says. “That was amazing.”
“You got lucky, that’s all,” Finch says. “You caught them off guard.”
“You’re right, I did,” Julian says agreeably. “Otherwise I wouldn’t stand a chance.” He winks at Wild.
Wild throws his one arm around Julian. “Jules, you’ve been baptized by fire. You’re now officially a member of our Ten Bells Watch. Finch, go get him a Home Guard badge.”
“I can’t get him anything without an ID.”
“Get him an ID, too, Finch, or I’ll beat you with his stick,” Duncan says cheerfully.
Finch points to the groaning men. “What do you propose to do with them?” he says to Julian.
“Get me some rope, Duncan,” Julian says. “More may be coming, and I don’t want to worry about these three.”
“The rope we have is not for tying up delinquents,” Finch says. “The rope is for rescues, for saving lives. In case people are trapped and need to be pulled out.”
“Yes, thank you, Finch,” Julian says. “I know what rescue means. I don’t need a lot. I do need a knife, though.”
Duncan brings him a tangle of rope and a knife.
“No one here knows how to tie a knot,” Finch says. “So I don’t know what good the rope will do you.”
In half a minute, Julian binds all three men’s ankles and wrists with handcuff knots. Grimly Finch looks on, while Duncan and Wild celebrate. “We finally found our third musketeer, Dunk!” Wild says.
“We sure did, Wild.”
“So what was I, then?” says Finch.
“Aww, you’re not a musketeer, Finch,” Wild says. “You’re more like Richelieu.”
Finch ignores the mockery. “I think you made it too tight,” he says to Julian, “their circulation will be cut off.”
“That’ll teach them to loot houses,” Julian says, kicking one of them in the ribs. “Bastards.”
When Mia reappears in the street, Wild and Duncan call her over and interrupting each other tell her what happened, while she listens, twinkling approvingly at Julian. “He did that, did he?” she says. A disgusted Finch storms off.
“Folgate, Julian’s going to show me how to use a knife and a hammer,” Wild says. “And tie a handcuff knot.”
“Okay, let’s pipe down, Wild,” Julian says. “I’m not a magician. You can’t tie knots with one hand.”
“Who says?”
“As you were, boys,” Mia says. “But, Duncan, I need you. That woman is trying to drag a trunk the size of a cupboard out of her house. It’s too heavy for her, and it’s too heavy for me. I tried, but I can’t move it.”
“I’ll help you, Mia,” Julian immediately says, handing the stick to Wild.
“There you go,” Wild says. “Jules will help you, Mia.”
“Shut up, Wild,” she says.
“Yeah,” says Julian. “Shut up, Wild.”
“Folgate, are you sure you don’t want Finch to help you move some heavy furniture?” Wild says, not shutting up—just the opposite.
“Shut up, I said! Of course I asked Finch first, but he’s busy. Pay no attention to him, Julian, come along.”
Leaving the boys snickering behind them, Julian and Mia make their way through the debris on the street to the old woman’s house. “They’re impossible,” she says. “Don’t mind them. They’re just teasing.”
“I know,” Julian says, inexpressibly pleased to be teased. “And I don’t mind.”
“So you know how to fight?” Mia says.
“I got lucky.”
“Sure you did,” she says, giving him an amused up and down. “I think it’s us who got lucky when you found us. I can’t tell you how badly we needed someone like you. Now that Lester’s gone, Duncan’s the only one facing the thieves. Nick comes sometimes, but he doesn’t like to fight. Wild likes to, but can’t. Hard to find someone who likes to and can.”
“Who says I like to?”
“I don’t know.” She squints at him. “You have that look about you.”
Julian squints at her in return, takes a breath. “Glad to help. Who is Lester?”
“One of us. He died last week,” she says. “A blast got him.”
At the house, Mia holds the kerosene lamp to light the way, and together she and Julian locate the woman’s half-open trunk in the debris of her partially destroyed home. The woman stands out in the street, shouting orders in a trembling but grateful voice. Near the spilled-out trunk lie necklaces and photo albums, a torn and dusty wedding veil, a child’s baptismal gown.
“Thanks for helping me,” Mia says to Julian as they collect the valuables. “Look how precious these small things are to her.”
“They’re not small,” Julian says. “They’re irreplaceable.”
“I guess. Often, finding these items is what matters most to these poor people. Not the house, but the wedding rings.”
Before he can respond, the all clear sounds. It’s an intense, one-note, high-pitched shriek, and it lasts one interminable minute. Julian can’t express the relief he feels for the blessed silence that follows. “Mia, you don’t do this every night, do you?” he says as they drag the trunk over the bricks. Please tell me you don’t do this every night.
“We try for every night. It doesn’t always work out.” She chuckles. “Sometimes Nick and Wild and Dunk get so drunk they can’t go anywhere when the siren calls. Finch judges them pretty harshly for that. He never overindulges.”
“In anything?”
That makes Mia blush for some reason and hurry past it without replying. “And the week Dunk had a concussion, I didn’t go. It wasn’t safe.” She shrugs, calmly acknowledging the reality of certain disadvantages of being a woman during war. “The thieves bring big wooden sticks. It’s a good thing all scrap metal, including tire irons, has been requisitioned by the city. Otherwise they’d be swinging iron, not wood, and we’d all be in a lot worse shape.”
After they pull the trunk out into the street and leave the old woman sitting on it, Julian looks Mia over. “Are you okay?” He stops her from walking. With his thumb, he wipes a trickle of blood off her forehead.
“Tonight was nothing.” She smiles. “It’s not always this easy.”
“This was easy?” Three houses destroyed, valuables lost, families homeless, looters. Seeing her quizzical expression, he coughs. “I mean, of course it’s been worse, but surely this wasn’t easy.”
Mia tells Julian that once Duncan had to battle six guys on his own.
“Well, I can attest that’s certainly not easy,” Julian says.
Sometimes parachute mines float down, she tells him, and when you get close to them, they explode and rip you open. That’s what happened to Lester. “Have you seen them?” When Julian shakes his head, she continues. Sometimes the incendiaries fall and everything is aflame and no one can get out. “Have you seen any of that?”
Julian nods. That he has seen, everything on fire and no way out. “People get caught under walls and broken glass.”
“Yes. Children—the few that are left—get trapped in the houses with their mums and grandmas and aunts. The older men and the kids can’t help. They sit nearby and watch their loved ones die under rubble no one can move or in a fire that’s out of control.”
“Are you afraid of fire, Mia?” Julian says, mining her face.
“I’m not not afraid of it,” she says, undisturbed by his scrutiny. “It’s not my favorite thing.”
He wants to ask her what her favorite thing is but doesn’t. What if she says it’s Finch?
“Today we helped a little,” Mia says. “But sometimes we can’t. Are you ready for that, to do everything in your power and still not be able to save the lady under the rubble?”
“No.”
He will never be ready for that.