We stood on our precarious construction for over an hour, waving our flags and shouting until we grew hoarse. But no little boats came. Behind us, many of the men had waded as far as they could and stood expectantly in the cold water. The officers were halfway across the makeshift jetty, sitting with their legs dangling into the sea.
On the beaches, the crowds were now so large, that many men simply stood in lines, facing the sea, but without any hope of rescue. Fires raged across the scene, from west of Dunkirk’s port, all the way around and past us, and on towards the east. The sound of shelling and gunfire and explosions did not let up. And soon we began to see the occasional body bobbing on the water’s surface, many having been burnt.
“They’re concentrating attacks on the boats now,” said Vince, before licking his lips.
The skin around his mouth had dried and begun to peel through dehydration. The paradox of being surrounded by water with none to drink made me think of Coleridge’s poem, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, which we had learned at school. I mouthed its most famous line and smiled a little.
“Don’t look good,” said Milligan. “We could be stuck here for days.”
“It won’t last that long,” I told them. “The Germans can’t be more than six miles out and they’re getting closer every hour. If we don’t get out soon, we’ll be overrun.”
I glanced back to see a bombed-out Bofors gun sitting on the seafront road, long since rendered useless. With so little firepower, we couldn’t even fight back.
“If this goes belly up,” said Vince, “it’s over. Hitler and his boys will have conquered most of Western Europe.”
“With the entire British Armed Forces in captivity,” I added.
“And England next on his list,” said Milligan.
“What a mess!” said Vince. “I thought we’d put up a better show than this.”
“Me too,” I told him.
“British have messed up the war,” Mush added. “Idiot tactics!”
Vince glared at Mush for a second, before bursting into laughter.
“Too right, friend!” he said. “Shameful this is. Running home like scared children.”
“If we escape,” I said, just like many times before, “we can rebuild and fight back. Sometimes retreating is the only option.”
“Won’t win me any medals, though, will it?” said Milligan. “I always fancied me a Victoria Cross or some such thing.”
“You’ll be lucky to get a pint and a pork pie, lad,” said Vince.
“What is a pint?” I asked.
“Beer, Private Khan,” he said. “It’s sold in pints back home. You must have beer in India.”
“We do,” I told him. “But I am not allowed to drink it.”
“Not allowed?” asked Vince, looking aghast. “Who’s stopping you?”
“God,” I replied. “Alcohol is forbidden in my religion.”
“Blimey” said Vince. “I’d change religion, mate! I love a nice pint of an evening.”
I smiled.
“I am happy with my religion,” I told him. “But, I hope you get your pint!”
“Twenty-two miles,” said Vince. “That’s all there is between us and home, and the nearest pub!”
Mush smirked.
“Not for us,” he replied. “Thousands of miles for us.”
Vince looked at Mush and then shrugged.
“Mate,” he said. “If you’re fighting with us against the Germans, you’ve as much right to call England home as anyone. I’d stand you a pint any old time.”
“I am Muslim too,” said Mush. “No beer.”
“Blimey!” said Vince. “I’ll stand you a pint of blinkin’ water and a pork pie then!”
This time I burst into laughter.
“What?” asked Milligan.
“Pork is also forbidden,” I explained, wiping away a tear and remembering something Sid Smith had said.
“Dear God!” said Vince. “Is that a religion or torture?”
“A cheese sandwich and some tea, perhaps?” I added, not taking offence at his joke.
Vince grinned.
“How very English,” he joked.
I heard Captain Ashdown shouting.
“BOATS!” he yelled, holding up his field glasses. “BOATS ARE COMING!”
We peered at the near horizon and saw nothing, and then suddenly, a rowing boat appeared, with a single man at the oars.
“At last!” said Vince.
“We’re going home!” yelled Milligan, grabbing Mush in a bear hug and almost knocking them both into the water. “We’re going home!!!”
A second boat appeared and then three dinghies, and before long there were ten small vessels closing in to our position. Behind us, Captain Ashdown began to organise the men, telling them to make their way towards us. Those in the water already waded further and began to climb onto the makeshift jetty. It rocked and wobbled a little but stayed strong. And finally, a naval vessel appeared - the source of the smaller boats. It flew a red flag and Vince identified it immediately.
“Merchant Navy,” he told us. “Looks a good size, too!”
The wailing started to the south this time, quiet but ominous, and then louder and louder.
“WATCH OUT!” yelled Milligan, as the Stuka homed in and began to fire its machine guns. A second appeared behind it, before banking right so that they flew in parallel. I froze to the spot, watching the bullets zip across the water in our direction, and then three bombs, one after the another – PUFT! PUFT! PUFT! – in an almost perfectly straight line. What felt like a mountain of water erupted over us and then I was falling into the sea, screams all around me, perhaps mine, perhaps not.
I landed on my back with a slap, and then I was coughing and spluttering and trying to grab onto something. My left hand found the handle of a truck door, and I managed to pull myself towards it, and then above salty water, gasping for air. I clung on, desperate to find Mush and Vince and Milligan, but they were nowhere to be seen.
With my shock residing, I hauled myself up and out of the sea, and clambered onto the roof of the vehicle underneath me. Part of our construction had collapsed, but it was still standing, and when I looked, the boats were still coming. I crouched and took deep breaths and then began to call for my friends. Behind me, Captain Ashdown found his voice and called for the men to keep moving forwards.
“Get on the boats!” he yelled. “Move!”
I began to panic then, scared that my friends had been killed, but Mush appeared opposite me, and Vince with him. They were soaked and shocked, and glad to be alive.
“Where’s Milligan?” Vince asked.
“I cannot find him,” I replied. “He must be in the water.”
We searched the area around the makeshift jetty but couldn’t see Milligan’s massive frame anywhere. As the first of the rowing boats neared us, Vince shook his head.
“I’m not leaving without him,” he said, before calling call out his name. “Milligan! Milligan!”
I shook my head and looked at Mush.
“He is gone,” Mush said in Punjabi.