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London
May 25th
Bill nodded in greeting to the guard at the top of the stairs and waited while he examined his credentials.
“Thank you, sir,” the man said finally, lifting his head and handing the identification back to him.
Bill moved past him and went down the corridor to the office at the far end. Jasper had called him an hour before to ask him to come see him, but this was the first Bill had been able to get away from his office. The messages from France were coming in fast and furious, each one more critical than the last. The Germans were advancing everywhere, Belgium was close to surrendering, and many of their agents were being forced to flee south along with thousands of other refugees. The continent was a shambles, and the only ones who seemed to have any clear idea of what was happening were the Germans themselves. They, unfortunately, were completely unaffected by the chaos engulfing Belgium and France.
He knocked on the last door and opened it when he heard the command to enter.
“Ah, there you are,” Jasper greeted him, glancing up from the reports spread out over his desk. “About time.”
“My apologies,” Bill said, closing the door. “I’ve had messages coming in from Belgium and France all morning. It’s taken all my time to decode them and make sense of what our people are seeing.”
“And? What’s the picture look like?” Jasper asked, waving him to a seat.
“Chaotic, at best.” Bill sat down and crossed his legs. “What agents we have left in Belgium are trying to get to France. I don’t know how much longer we’ll have communication with them. The ones in France are reporting from all over the country, and many of them are also trying to go south to escape the Germans.”
“And the Germans themselves?”
“Still moving west by all accounts. So far, none have made the turn towards Paris.”
Jasper nodded and sat back in his chair.
“No. They’re trying to secure the beaches along the Channel and cut off our troops from any escape. Calais is virtually surrounded now.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Boulogne has fallen. The Germans won that battle today.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Did you hear the king’s speech yesterday?”
“Not all of it, I’m afraid. I was in the middle of coordinating with Percy to try to get two of his agents into Spain.”
“He didn’t pull any punches. He pressed the point home that if we fail in stopping Hitler, it won’t merely be territory that is lost, but our empire itself. It was quite blunt, actually. He made mention of the cruelty of which the Nazis have already proven themselves capable.”
“He’s not wrong. If Hitler takes England, he’ll try for the world. We really are the last stand, I’m afraid, and we’re on our heels.”
“I know.” Jasper replaced his glasses and leaned forward, picking up one of the sheets of paper on his desk. “Calais is being defended, but the units are trapped there. They can’t hold out for much longer. The Germans are close to victory. They keep sending demands to surrender, but the Brigadier is holding and refuses.”
“Can they evacuate?”
“They were going to, but the French commander of the Channel ports has forbidden an evacuation. Our troops have no choice but to comply. It’s a bloody mess, that’s all. They’re running out of ammunition and supplies. I’ll be surprised if they hold it for more than a couple of days.”
“And the rest of our divisions?”
“Everyone who can is withdrawing to Dunkirk.” Jasper looked up from the paper in his hand. “What’s interesting is that General Rundstedt has suddenly stopped advancing towards Dunkirk. The Panzer divisions have halted some twenty miles away.”
“One of the messages I received this morning said as much,” Bill said, nodding. “I’ve been waiting for confirmation before sending the information on.”
“It’s been confirmed by both reconnaissance and reports from Dunkirk. The Germans have halted.” Jasper laid the paper down and looked at him. “I can’t imagine for the life of me why they would, but I shan’t complain. It’s giving our boys time to fill the gap and evacuate all the troops to Dunkirk.”
“All except the ones trapped in Calais,” Bill said grimly.
Jasper nodded solemnly. “Quite. I understand there’s some debate over the Admiralty sending some ships over anyway, but even if they are allowed to evacuate, I’m not sure it would make much difference now. The Germans have already surrounded them. The battle for Calais is doing something, though.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s delaying more German divisions from proceeding to Dunkirk. That’s key, I’m told.”
“Well, of course, but why?”
“Because Churchill is going to attempt an evacuation of all the troops trapped in Dunkirk,” he said calmly.
Bill stared at him, stunned. “What?!”
“Seems incredible, doesn’t it? Yet preparations are underway. He’s calling it Operation Dynamo.”
“How many troops are there?”
“The BEF, most of it anyway, and more French and Belgians coming every day. Estimations vary too much for any kind of accurate count, but the last number I heard was over three hundred thousand all together.”
“Three hundred...” Bill sputtered. “How the devil are we going to pull that many men from the very teeth of the tiger?”
Something like a wry smile crossed Jasper’s face.
“Winston was the First Lord of the Admiralty,” he said. “He’s calling on every vessel that can hold water to go.”
“It will take weeks!”
“We don’t have weeks. Once the Germans realize what’s happening, they’ll close in fast. Our troops aren’t equipped to hold them off for much more than a week, at most. And then, of course, there’s the Luftwaffe. They’ll be all over the skies, bombing the hell out of them.” Jasper exhaled and sat back in his chair, looking very tired. “Winston is hoping to save around fifty or seventy-five thousand, but even he admits that that’s being extremely optimistic. Most of those boys will be lost.”
Bill swallowed and they were silent for a long moment, then Jasper met his gaze across the desk.
“I need any information at all that you’re able to get from France regarding the German troop movements. We need to buy all the time we can to get as many of those men off that beach as possible. Even a few hours will help. If we know where the German armies will go and can delay them, a few more men can be evacuated. The French will hold a perimeter, along with our men of course, but they’ll only be able to hold it for so long.”
“I understand. I’ll get on to what agents I have left in the north and see what I can pass on.”
“Good. The RAF will be sending Fighter Command over to support the evacuation, but they’ve warned that the fighters will only have a limited amount of time over the target due to fuel. This will be an all-hands-on-deck operation, and the prime minister expects all of us to do our part.”
“Of course.”
“Where do we stand with Jian and Oscar?” Jasper asked, sitting back in his chair.
“They’re on their way to Bordeaux. They’ll contact me once they arrive.”
“It’s terrible timing. I don’t know if I can guarantee a ship to bring them home. They’ll all be ferrying troops. Do you have any idea when they’ll reach Bordeaux?”
“No. Refugees are pouring south, clogging the roads. They’re in there somewhere with them.” Bill pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. The headache that had been nagging him all morning was growing steadily worse, and this added news wasn’t helping. “If we can’t get a cruiser to Bordeaux, I’ll try to arrange for a fishing boat. It will take longer, of course.”
“Let me know as soon as you hear something and I’ll see what I can manage, but the way it looks now, there won’t be anything afloat that’s not at Dunkirk. I’ve heard they’re even requisitioning civilian vessels.”
“I understand.”
Jasper nodded and leaned forward again, picking up a pen. “I know you do, and we’ll do what we can.”
Bill stood up and turned towards the door, the interview over. He was just reaching for the handle when Jasper spoke again, glancing up.
“You might say a prayer for our men over there. We’ll need a miracle to get them home.”
Bill thought of Evelyn, caught in the midst of yet another invasion. She’d made it out of Norway, and made it out of Belgium. In both cases, if he’d listened to the intelligence reports and looked at the sheer numbers against her, she should never have succeeded and escaped. His lips twisted into a small smile.
“It’s funny how those miracles can happen, sir.”
Miles climbed out of the cockpit onto the wing, taking a deep breath of fresh air before jumping down and nodding to the ground crew sergeant.
“Refuel and rearm, sergeant,” he said, stripping off his gloves.
“Yes, sir. Happy hunting?” the man asked hopefully.
Miles glanced at him and shook his head. “We ran into Stukas and Dorniers, but no hits, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, well, never mind, sir. I’m sure you’ll get another soon enough. Still plenty o’ time.”
Miles grinned despite himself and turned to watch Chris taxi to a stop a few yards away. The ground crew were taking an inordinate amount of pride in the fact that their pilots were beginning to notch up kills. Miles had heard rumors that there was a pool going on which of the pilots would end with the most confirmed enemy kills. He had no idea what the pool was up to, or what the time frame was, but he knew that he and Chris were leading the pack, with Rob holding a very close third. Considering that he only had two confirmed himself, it wasn’t saying very much. But as the good sergeant had pointed out, there was still plenty of time.
He pulled his cigarettes from his inside pocket and lit one, waiting while Chris shut down his engine and climbed out of the cockpit.
“Are you waiting for me?” Chris called, jumping down.
“Well I’m not standing here for my health, Yank,” Miles called back. “Hurry up. I’m hungry.”
Chris unzipped his leather flight jacket as he strode towards him. “You’re not waiting for the others?”
“Whatever for?” Miles turned and began walking across the grass, away from the landing strip.
“I don’t know. To make sure they all make it back?” Chris fell into step beside him and Miles looked at him in amusement.
“And do what if they don’t? Don’t be wet. I’m going for my lunch.”
“We didn’t get any of the bombers,” Chris said, pulling out a cigarette and shoving it in the side of his mouth. It hung there, bouncing with each step they took, while he fished in his pocket for his lighter. “I keep thinking about the poor bastards trapped in Calais dealing with those dive bombers.”
“Don’t,” Miles advised, glancing at him. “That way leads to madness.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” Chris pulled out his lighter and paused mid-stride to light the cigarette. “They got through. Isn’t that our job? To stop them from getting through?”
“They didn’t get through. They were already there. Our job is to get the ones we can and live to do it again the next time. That’s it.”
Chris grunted. “I guess I’ll get used to it,” he muttered, “but right now I feel responsible for every bomb that falls on Calais.”
Miles threw away his cigarette butt and looked up at the cloudless sky, exhaling. He knew what Chris meant. He felt the same.
“Do you think they’ll make it out?”
“Who?’
“The guys stuck in Calais!”
Miles shook his head. “They’re completely surrounded. If they do, it will be a miracle.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
They fell silent again. Then Chris blew his cheeks out and threw his head back, taking a deep breath.
“So when Calais falls, that just leaves Dunkirk. What about all those troops?”
Miles shrugged. “I don’t know. I know they’re cut off from both reinforcements and retreat. The only way out is the Channel.”
“Think they’ll evacuate them?”
“I don’t see how we can. It would take weeks.”
“This is a real mess, huh?”
“Your talent for understatement never ceases to amaze me,” Miles said with a short laugh. “Yes. It’s a real mess. Or, in my vernacular, a complete cock-up.”
“Yeah, we have a vernacular for that too. It’s called FUBAR.”
“Pardon?”
“If we’re ever in it ourselves, something like that, I’ll explain it to you.”
“Why not simply tell me now?”
“I think you’d be terribly offended, old chap,” Chris said with a grin, mimicking an English accent. Then he sobered. “But seriously, how did it all come to this? How did the Germans even get the resources to do any of this?”
Miles’ lips tightened. “We gave them to Hitler,” he said grimly. “France, Poland, Italy, your country. Everyone wanted to keep him happy and avoid another war. We enabled this. We caused it. Our leaders refused to acknowledge a threat, and now we have to mop up their mess.”
“Yeah, and watch Perry explode in the process,” Chris muttered. “How many have died in France so far?”
“Not as many as will have before this is all over.”
“Exactly. And for what?”
“To stop the disease from spreading,” Miles said promptly. “You’ve seen the news reels. If we don’t do this, the Nazis will be goose-stepping down Whitehall.”
Chris was silent for a moment, then he turned his head to look at Miles.
“You know what really gets me?” he demanded. “Back home, they’re all saying that it’s not our problem and we should stay out of it. What do they think will happen if the Nazis take over all of Europe? Do they think Hitler will just shake hands with Roosevelt and agree to leave the United States alone?”
“I never really got the impression that you Americans thought much at all,” Miles said with a grin.
“I’m beginning to wonder myself,” Chris said morosely. “What the hell is going on, Miles? When did the world go insane?”
“I don’t know, Yank. I suspect it always was to some extent.”
“Yeah, but not like this. I heard that German fighters are strafing civilians. Refugees. They’re just flying over and shooting them.”
Miles felt his chest tighten. He’d heard the same thing from one of the pilots who had just come back from France. He claimed to have witnessed it himself, first in Belgium and then in France.
“So I understand.”
“They really are shits, aren’t they? The Luftwaffe pilots?”
“So it would seem. And that, my dear boy, is why we need to stop them.”
