I eventually reached the Mole during mid-afternoon. More precisely, I reached the end of the queue. A line, four men wide, stretched out before me. And on the jetty, they stood four abreast too, held back about fifty metres along. There, they climbed down onto smaller boats, or swam for it, trying to reach the larger vessels beyond.
I joined in, keeping my head down, and edging forward with the crowd. Most of the men paid me no mind, and we made steady progress for an hour, despite the air raids. It’s hard to explain the constant threat of the planes vividly enough. Imagine being so worn out, so disoriented, that you stand in the open watching on, as death wails and caterwauls towards you like some demonic banshee, and you do not even flinch. For some men, the resignation went beyond even that.
“If you’re going to kill us,” shouted one drained Tommy, “just get on with it. I’m tired of this!”
Suddenly, the men began to cheer. When I looked to see what the fuss was about, my heart leapt in hope. A fleet of boats appeared in convoy, perhaps twenty in total, ranging from three huge destroyers to smaller vessels that seemed like toy ships in comparison. On the jetty, much further out past the troops, I saw some movement and wondered what was going on.
“It’s happening, lads!” someone shouted behind me.
“We’re going home!” yelled another, causing me to think of Milligan the day before.
Within the hour, the situation changed again. The troops were ordered to move along the Mole, right down to the far end. The lines moved at a pace, and about a half-mile away, I watched the ships pull alongside the jetty, and span the gap with ladders and planks. Soon, a stream of troops was boarding at a terrific pace. And above us, on a lookout tower, a senior officer spoke into a loudhailer, organising everything from on high. My spirits soared, and I dared to think about reaching the safety of England again. My only fear was the Germans. From their positions, and through their sorties, news would spread of this new evacuation tactic. It would not be long before they attacked the Mole.
I turned eastwards, expecting to see the planes zeroing in, but instead I saw clear skies. On the beaches of Malo-les-Bains and further along, thousands of men were still wading out to sea, trying to reach a flotilla of rowing boats. And behind me, Dunkirk continued to burn and smoulder, and I wondered where Lillian had gone, and whether she was safe. I watched the scenes to the east for some time, being jostled along, until someone shouted at me.
“You!” I heard.
Someone poked me in the arm.
“You, Private!”
I turned to see a tall and senior British officer glaring at me. He pointed to the Mole.
“Combat troops first,” he told me. “We’ve no space for service corps yet!”
I shook my head.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” I replied. “I’m Private Khan of Company 32, RIASC. My officer, John Ashdown and the rest of my company were evacuated yesterday. We were attacked, and I fell into the sea. I was left behind.”
The officer sneered.
“I don’t care if you’re the king of Hindustan itself!” he roared. “You have no right to take the place of a Tommy!”
“But I must get to England and find my company,” I protested.
“Not before a single Englishman!” the officer replied. “Besides, your orders were to wait behind, if I’m not mistaken. What was the name of your officer again?”
I felt sick. My stomach turned, and my mouth grew even drier. Not one of my fellow comrades intervened on my behalf. Not one protested at the immorality of pushing me aside, when I was as much a part of the effort as everyone else. I was in trouble, and so was Captain Ashdown. I decided to play dumb.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I must be mistaken. I will leave now.”
“You will not—” began the officer, only to be shoved aside by a sudden surge of men.
The Germans were back, and they had come in numbers. As the familiar sounds of whining engines, exploding bombs and strafing bullets resumed, I took the opportunity to escape. Going against the crowd was impossible, so I edged to my left, and out of the line. Then, with my head low, I jogged back towards the town. I only stopped when I had put some distance between myself and the jetty. Finally, I collapsed by a pile of rubble and cursed my luck.
I stayed there for some time as darkness fell, shrouded in self-pity once more. I knew I needed to act but doubt and despair prevented it. Sitting back, I thought of all I had endured until that point, of the cruelty and barbarism I had witnessed. The faith and optimism that had been torn from me, only to be returned in increments then dashed again. What was the point?
Down by the beach, I saw torchlights flashing out into the shallows. Despite the darkness, those men continued to move forward, continued to have hope. Giving up was not an option, and as my grandfather had said in my dream – there is always a way. I stood and headed down to them, careful not to allow myself any confidence. Not yet. As the water lapped against my worn boots, I watched perhaps fifty men call out into the night.
“SOS!” they called. “Is anyone there?”
Another Tommy brushed past, and then another. The third one apologised.
“Sorry mate,” he said, and my mouth fell open.
“Private Smith?” I said in astonishment.
Sid Smith stopped and turned, then shone a torch in my face.
“Blinkin’ hell!” he said. “Private Khan. Why are you wandering about in the darkness?”
I could not contain my smile.
“My company have been evacuated,” I explained. “We got attacked and I was thrown into the water. They left without me.”
Sid nodded. “So, you’re on your own?”
“Yes,” I replied. “And Command has ordered that Indians be left behind.”
Sid grimaced.
“No surprise,” he replied. “Stupid, useless bunch of buffoons!”
“So, I am in a pickle, as you English say.”
“No, Khan,” said Sid. “You’re not. You’re coming with us.”
“But I—”
Sid grabbed my arm.
“There’s fifteen of us –all from various units. We’ve been told to get back by any means possible. We’ve no officers, no posh boys to tell us what to do. You’re more than welcome.”
I began to dream again, but immediately reality kicked my aspiration in the guts.
“They will not let me board,” I told him. “Because I am Indian.”
“Really?” said Sid. “I’d like to see them try. Once you’re out there, Khan, they won’t stop you. Not if you’re with us.”
“Perhaps,” I replied.
“So,” Sid added, “you coming or not?”
I did not have to consider his offer for very long.
“If you will have me, friend,” I told him, “then I am honoured to accept.”
“Stuff honour,” said Private Smith. “That nonsense just gets you killed. Come on!”