ALEC HAD LOST TRACK OF THE NUMBER OF TRIPS THEY had made. Empty once more, the Britannia found its way through the flotilla of other crafts and turned again toward the jetty. Back and forth, back and forth throughout the night the little ships had shuttled, working as quickly as they could to make the queues of men disappear. But they needed more time and cloudy skies. Unlike most days on the Channel, the skies were clear, making it easy for the Jerries not only to fly but also to spot the navy destroyers below them.
Alec imagined that with skies so clear, a plane could find a dinghy in the middle of the ocean. They needed a bit of luck—or that miracle Captain Cairns had talked about—to get all the lads back to England. And with Douglas so intent on weighing anchor and going home, Alec was running out of time. He wanted a chance to get onshore, to get to the infirmary.
As they pulled up once again and Alec started to jump out, he was knocked to the deck by a sudden jolt from underneath the boat. Whack. The sound echoed as it rose from the stern.
"What in the king's name has happened now?" Douglas shouted.
The captain shook his head. With all the sunken and broken ships littering the shore, they were fortunate to have avoided obstacles this long. "I think we've struck something with the propeller. I can't get the engine to turn."
"Blast it! Aah knew somethin' would happen if we stayed too long. Now what are we supposed to do?" Douglas demanded.
"I expect you'll have to go below and find out what the problem is. You're the first mate," the captain said.
Douglas stood glaring at Captain Cairns. Then he strode toward the steps and jumped down the hold to the engine. Alec waited, hoping the others would forget he was there. After a few minutes, Douglas called to the captain, and he, too, went below deck.
It was the moment Alec had been waiting for; he wouldn't get another. He bounded over the side, turned in the direction of the shore, and looked down the jetty to see men crowding its entire length. But he had already made his move; he was not going to give up now.
"Sorry, mate; yes, sorry. I've got to get through," he muttered, keeping his head down as he pushed through the soldiers. Realizing Alec must be from one of the little ships, the soldiers let him pass, and soon his feet touched the sandy shore. He scrambled up the beach—and then he stopped and stared.
Before him, covering nearly every inch of ground, were soldiers waiting to be rescued. Some of them hovered near the queues that snaked out to sea. Others were just sitting, waiting until the last moment before they had to stand. Some lay motionless on the sand. As Alec drew closer, he realized those were corpses.
He saw hundreds of men who had been struck down while waiting to be rescued. Too many to count, they lay as they had fallen, faces contorted, arms and legs bent awkwardly beneath them. The smell was sickening. Decaying flesh and old blood tainted the air. Alec covered his mouth and nose with his hand to avoid gagging as he walked among the dead toward the infirmary.
He also saw burned-out carcasses of lorries and tanks and ambulances. All of them were useless, rotting in the sand, waiting for another bomb to finish them off. Seeing the mangled mess reminded Alec of the soldiers' orders at the inn. "Demolition experts," he said aloud. "Sent to destroy their own artillery." The thought made him push harder toward the infirmary.
He shook off the fear that surrounded him. So many men. Thomas and Will could be among them and he wouldn't even know it. But that feeling from before, telling him they weren't dead, telling him they needed him—that feeling pushed him forward. He kept on. If he was wrong, then he was holding up the captain for nothing. If he was right, he would do what he could to get them out.
He stopped by a group of soldiers who had settled in the sand near the end of a queue. They looked surprised to see such a young boy. "That bandage," Alec said to a soldier with a white cloth around his hand. "Were you at the infirmary? Can you direct me to it?"
"Aye," the soldier said. "Crest that hill and look to yer left. Ye'll see the church steeple. That's the place."
Alec nodded and started up the hill. When he came to the top, he saw the damaged steeple. Moving quickly toward the door, he worried about what he would find. Some men on the jetty had been badly injured, yet they had been sent on. He could only imagine what those inside looked like.
At the church, he pushed through the door and entered the sanctuary. It smelled of blood and urine and sweat. A nurse in a red-stained smock moved quietly from gurney to gurney. She leaned over a soldier whose chest was wrapped tightly in bandages. He was trying to tell her something, and she leaned closer to hear. She smiled, patted his hand, and moved on. She spotted Alec and stared at him, then motioned for him to come to her.
He couldn't move. Most of the wounded were lying on their backs, staring at the broken ceiling. One soldier called out, "Mum, Mum. Why don't ye come to me?...God help me."
This is what death looks like, Alec thought. This is what Aga was remembering—what the captain meant when he talked about my father. He gagged and choked back the thickness in his throat.
The nurse came over. "What is it, lad? What are you doing here?" she whispered. "Have you come from the little ships?"
"Aye, I'm Alec, Alec Curtis—I'm here with my captain, helping with the evacuation. But I—I thought," he stammered, "I hoped to find my cousin here. His name's Thomas Spencer."
The nurse thought a minute and then shook her head. "No, we've only a half-dozen patients left. Not many, as you can see. But we've got no Thomas."
"I didn't know ... that is, he could be dead," Alec admitted, though he didn't want to believe that Thomas might be one of those lying back on the Dunkirk beach. He had risked too much, and that feeling still nagged at him—that Thomas needed him.
Now, looking again at the nurse, he mentioned Will. "There is another soldier, a friend I met in Dover. He's young, not even twen—" But he didn't finish. An open medical case on a nearby gurney caught his attention. A few pieces of silver jewelry lay on its cover.
"Do you think...," he started to ask. "Do you think I might have a look in that case? My friend..."
"Yes, yes. That would be okay," the nurse said quietly. "Though I'm sure there's nothing there to help you. Those are the personal items we have from the patients. Often the jewelry gets in the way, and we have to remove it."
Alec barely heard her. He was already at the case, digging through the silver pieces lying there. And in among the silver, he spotted a Celtic cross.
"Do you know where you got this? Was it from someone who came here, to this infirmary?" he asked, dangling the cross in front of her.
The nurse looked at him oddly. Fingering the cross, she hesitated before answering. "Well, yes, yes, it was. A young soldier gave it to me. He wanted me to keep it for him. He was afraid that someone would take it, and he wanted it returned to his family."
Alec slumped against the gurney. Will was gone.
The nurse watched as Alec fingered the piece of silver. Anxious to get back to her patients, she fussed with a blanket on a nearby cot.
"He was my friend," Alec said. "I knew him from Dover, before he came here. Before he died."
"But he's not dead," she whispered. "The soldier with that cross? He's not dead, though he's in a very bad way. He was Special Forces, you know. He and his mates came behind the infantry as they retreated to the coast. They set charges to destroy equipment so the Germans couldn't use it. He was hit in the chest when a bomb went off early. Aye, he was very serious when his mates brought him in. I made them move out, though they didn't want to leave him. I didn't think he would survive a day, but he's still alive. We've put him in a room behind the sanctuary. I'll take—"
But Alec was already ahead of her, weaving around gurneys and instrument tables while he made his way to the rear of the church. He pushed open the door and was instantly reminded of the scene in the castle tunnel. On a stretcher tucked away in a corner was Will. Alec thought again of the wounded soldier in the castle. He was right to have come.
The nurse moved to one side and passed her hand across Will's forehead. Smiling slightly, Will opened his eyes and stared at her. He didn't speak, but Alec could tell that he was used to her touch. She continued rubbing his face and arm and then leaned down to whisper something to him. He turned toward Alec. His eyes brightened to see his friend, and he motioned for Alec to step up.
Wrapped in bandages that were red from his seeping wound, Will looked much older than his eighteen years. His face was gray and his lips were dry. Alec wanted to scoop him up and carry him back to the Britannia, to Dover, to safety. But his bandages told Alec that Will would not leave this place.
"Will," Alec finally whispered. "I've been waiting for you to come home."
Will offered a weak smile.
"I spotted the cross in the medical case," Alec went on. "Knew there weren't many like that one. I was sure it was yours."
Will tried to speak, but no sound came. Then he looked at the nurse, who grabbed a spare blanket and propped it under his head, raising him to face Alec.
"I'm hurt, Alec," Will gasped. "I got meself injured bad."
"I know, Will," Alec whispered back. "But the nurse said you've done better than she thought. She said you're strong," Alec lied.
Will lifted his head and looked at Alec. His smile was gone, and his tired face told Alec what he had already guessed.
"I won't be coming back, Alec," Will answered. "I made my choice and it cost me. Now I must pay the price. I've been a fool."
Alec watched as he settled back, exhausted from the few words. "Will, Will—you did what you needed to do." Alec took his hand. "You came because you thought you should."
"Aye," Will said softly. "I did what I wanted to do. I wish I had waited until my family had wanted it, too. I wish I'd done more to make it easier at home. Now it will be harder yet for them."
Alec wanted to argue with Will, to tell him it was okay, that his family would understand. But he could only stand there, holding Will's hand and watching him struggle for breath, watching the wound in his chest seeping more blood.
"We would've been the best of mates," Alec said.
In a few minutes, Will dozed off, and the nurse motioned for Alec to follow her. Back in the sanctuary, death hovered. Even the church walls could not keep it out. It hung there, waiting to snatch another victim. To take Will.
"He can't go with you, you realize that, Alec," the nurse whispered. "He would never survive the trip to the water, much less the boat ride to England. He wants to stay here. He wants his spot to go to someone else, someone who will live."
Alec knew she was right. He had known it the minute he saw Will lying on that gurney. But he had come so far, given up so much, to be—to be what? A hero? Was that all he wanted? He knew it wasn't that; he had wanted to find Will and make things better. He had wanted to believe that Will had been right to follow his own path. Now Will had said just the opposite; Will had said he'd been wrong.
"You need to go," the nurse said. "Your crew is waiting for you. There's nothing you can do here. I hope you find your cousin."
"Aye—Thomas—Thomas Spencer," Alec murmured, his mind still on Will.
"I'm not remembering the name, but we have a ledger—a record of those we've treated. I'll check it," she said, turning to a large notebook on the table behind her.
As she thumbed through the pages, Alec fingered the Celtic cross. By now, his mum would know he had gone. He pictured her at the Church of St. Mary, touching her cross and thinking of him.
The nurse turned again to him. "I have some news. A T. Spencer was here—two days ago. Suffered an arm wound. Not serious, but enough to bandage. We put it in a sling and sent him off with the others. I'm sorry," she said. "You've missed him.... Now you really should go."
"What's to happen to these men—and to you?"
"Most of these soldiers will not survive the night. Their wounds are too severe. We've got orders to stay as long as we can. We'll be one of the last boats out. By that time, I expect my work here will be done. The doctors are already gathering what supplies they can find to help the wounded on the return ships. The bigger concern," she said, pausing, "the bigger concern is the soldiers on the beach. We need to get them out of France. That will take a miracle."
"Miracle." Alec smirked. "I've been on the little ships for more than twenty-four hours, and it will take a miracle to rescue all the men stranded on those beaches."
"We'll all do what we can," the nurse continued. "Now you need to move along. God only knows how worried your family must be. Get yourself back home. Give yourself time to grow up. I'll take care of Will. He won't be alone."
Grow up? Alec turned to go, but the nurse stopped him. "Wait," she said. "Will asked that I notify his parents when I got back to England. He wanted them to get more than a telegram. I told him I would, but it would be better if they heard it from a friend. Will you let them know? And keep the cross," she added. "He would want you to have it. Guard it well."
Alec held the cross and looked at the nurse. Then he gave her a quick hug and disappeared through the door. Stumbling at first as he swiped at his eyes, he wanted to sink into the sand and not go on. Then he thought about Will, who was never going to leave Dunkirk, and he took off running toward the jetty.
Cresting the hill, he looked down to see the men plodding along in their queues. He doubted they would ever get away. There were just too many. But some blokes were so far back, they couldn't see how hopeless it was.
The men didn't speak as Alec passed them. Like cattle waiting to be fed, they followed one another—helplessly wedged between the German army and the English Channel.
He hurried on, certain that Douglas was ready to leave without him. Moving down the jetty, past the wounded soldiers, he glanced quickly at those who waited. Now they all looked the same: dirty faces and matted hair, their shoulders stooped from all the standing.
An arm wound, the nurse had said. An arm in a sling—two days ago ... Could he be in the queue for the wounded? Alec searched each man's face as he passed. But then he remembered that Thomas stood a good head taller than Alec's father. He would be bigger than most of the others in the queue. Alec needed to be looking higher.
Nearing the ship, he could hear Douglas cursing his name. "Bloody little swine!" the first mate bellowed. "Aah'll give him a thrashing he'll not forget!" But Alec didn't care anymore.
He was nearly at the Britannia, and stretched to try to catch a glimpse of Douglas. He looked past the injured and saw just ahead of him a bandaged arm hanging in a sling, and above it, a face he had last seen on the platform at the Dover Priory.
"Thomas!" Alec called out, pushing his way into the crowd on the jetty. "Thomas, it's me, Alec!"
For a moment, no one paid any attention. The lapping of the waves on the jetty and the shuffling of boots and rifles as the soldiers scraped along the surface drowned out his voice.
"Thomas Spencer! Thomas, it's me! Please, please!" Alec was shouting now. "Please look this way!"
In that moment, the sea of men parted, and Alec lunged for his cousin. Clinging to him like a life raft, Alec couldn't speak. Then he pulled back and looked up.
"Alec," Thomas gasped. "What ... what in the name of ... What are you doing here?"
"I stowed away on the Britannia," Alec confessed. "I came to help you. I've been looking for you since we got here."
Thomas stood there, staring at Alec and shaking his head. "I can't ... I can't believe it's you. Here in France. In this mess. My dad always said you could cut a path where one couldn't be found. No matter, you're a good sight to behold."
Alec brushed at his hair and looked around, embarrassed now by the stares of those nearby.
"Come on, Thomas," Alec said, grabbing his cousin's hand. "Let's go on up. We've got to get you out of here."
But Thomas didn't move. "Alec ... mate, I can't just leave this queue and come with you. Those blokes ahead of me have been waiting longer than I have. They're not going to let me move on past them."
Alec stood a moment, looking at Thomas. He glanced at the others around him. He felt too tired to go on. Then, somewhere inside, he started to get angry. He wasn't angry with Thomas or even with the other men. He was angry that nothing had gone as he'd hoped—until now. And he was not going to leave his cousin behind.
"Just grab your stuff and come with me," Alec ordered. "I'll lead you there."
Thomas looked at Alec and then the other men. Still hesitant, he adjusted his rucksack and watched as Alec pushed through the soliders and moved up the jetty toward the Britannia. In a second, Thomas was right behind him. As they maneuvered their way through the crowd, some soldiers grabbed at them, shouting for them to go back.
"Hey, mate! What do ye think yer doin ? Get in yer queue!"
"Aye!" another screamed. "We've no spot for ye here! Get back where ye were."
Finally, Alec couldn't take any more. He was almost to the ship. He turned, planted his feet, and looked into those faces around him.
"Listen to me, all of you," Alec ordered. "I'm Alec Curtis, galley boy on the Britannia. That's the ship that's docked right there waiting to ferry you out to the destroyer. Now, my captain's been missing me." He pointed to the captain. "And he wants me back soon. If any of you hold me here, I'll remember your faces, and the captain's first mate—he's about as strong as any you'll meet—he will be eager to help you wait for another ship. So stand in my way or get out of it. My cousin Thomas is coming through."
The men stood still for a moment, and then slowly they stepped aside and let Alec and Thomas walk the last few steps without trouble. Climbing over the gunwale, Alec took Thomas's rucksack and helped him find a place to sit. He handed Thomas the blanket he had set aside in hopes he would find his cousin. Then he turned to Douglas.
Glancing from Alec to Thomas and back to Alec, Douglas shook his head. "The lad's right, Captain, we best keep moving. Aah'm ready to make a few more trips if you are. Aah guess it's safer to wait until dark to 'ead 'ome anyway."
The captain stuck his pipe in his mouth and started the engine.
"I see you got it going again," Alec remarked. "Shall I start loading the next bunch?"
"Aye, aye, Alec Curtis, galley boy. You can start anytime," the captain answered. "And let that first mate know if any bloke gives you a hard time."