Blackout

Dunkirk, France-29 May 1940

MIKE MUST HAVE BEEN KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS BY THE bomb’s concussion, because when he came to, the light from the flares had faded, and he was trussed up in a rope and being hauled up the side of the Lady Jane. “Are you all right?” Jonathan asked anxiously.

“Yes,” he said, though he seemed to have trouble hanging on to the railing as Jonathan and one of the soldiers helped him over the side, their hands under his arms.

“Hypothermia,” Mike explained, and then remembered he was in 1940. “It’s the cold. Can I have a blanket?”

Jonathan ran off to get one while the soldier helped him over to a locker-he seemed to be having trouble walking, too-so he could sit down. “Are you certain you’re not hurt?” the soldier asked, peering at him in the darkness. “That bomb looked like it fell bang on top of you.”

“I’m fine,” Mike said, sinking down onto the wooden locker. “Go tell the Commander I cleared the propeller. Tell him to start the engine.” Then he must have blacked out again for a few minutes because Jonathan already had the blanket around him and the engine had started up, though they weren’t moving yet.

“We thought you were a goner,” Jonathan said. “It took ages to find you. And when we did, you were floating face-down with your arms out, just like that body we saw. We thought-”

He looked up, and so did Mike. The sky overhead blossomed with flares, shedding greenish-white sparks as they fell.

“For what we are about to receive…” one of the soldiers muttered.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Mike said, getting up to go help the Commander guide the boat out of the harbor and then sitting shakily back down. “Go navigate! We’ve got to get out of here before they come back.”

“I think we’re too late,” Jonathan said, and Mike looked frightenedly up at the sky, but Jonathan was pointing out across the water. “They’ve seen us.”

“Who?” Mike staggered over to the railing and looked at the mole, where soldiers were running toward them, wading, swimming out to the Lady Jane through the green-lit water. Hundreds of them, thousands of them. Because I blacked out and they had to waste time rescuing me, Mike thought. “Go tell your grandfather to cast off,” he shouted. “Now!”

“And just leave them?” Jonathan asked, his eyes wide.

“Yes. We don’t have any other choice. They’ll swamp the boat. Go!” Mike shouted and gave him a push, then staggered back to the stern, hanging on to the rail for support, to pull up the rope they’d let down to him.

But it was too late. The soldiers were already climbing up it hand over hand, grabbing for the sides, clambering over the rail. “You’ll swamp her!” Mike shouted, trying to untie the rope, but they weren’t listening to him, they were swarming aboard like pirates, scrambling over each other, jumping down onto the deck.

“Move to the other side!” Mike shouted, clinging to the rail. He was still too wobbly to stand. “You’ll tip her over!” He shoved at them, trying to move them forward into the bow, but no one was listening.

The deck began to slant. “Listen! Move-”

“Duck!” somebody yelled, and the men flattened themselves against the deck. The first bomb hit close enough to spray water all over them, and the second just as close on the other side. The hordes of soldiers still on the mole ran back along it, and the ones in the water began to swim back toward shore.

A few were still swimming out to them, still climbing aboard, but the bombs provided intervals, and the threat of strafing made it possible to convince some of the soldiers to go below. “Space yourselves in the hold,” Mike told them, working his way along the rail. “Not all on one side. And no moving around. Sit down and stay put.”

“Stop sending them forward!” Jonathan shouted back to him over the crowd. “There’s no room up here!”

“There’s no room back here either!” Mike yelled. “Tell the Commander to get out of here before we take on any more.” The launch was already riding perilously low in the water, and God knew how much water was in the hold by now. He could hear the bilge pump wheezing even over the sound of the engine. He should go below and make sure it didn’t break down under the strain, but the soldiers were packed in too tightly to let him get through, or even away from the rail. Maybe that was why they weren’t moving, because the Commander couldn’t get to the wheel.

Someone grabbed at the neck of his shirt, yanking him back against the rail, and then clutched at his shoulder, using Mike to haul himself up over the side. It was a very young, very freckled soldier. “Just made it,” he said. “I was afraid you were going to leave without me. I say, it’s a bit crowded, isn’t it? We won’t sink, will we?”

We will if we don’t get out of here now, Mike thought, looking toward the bow. Come on, and the Lady Jane finally, finally began to move, backing out from the now-burning mole. There was a whoosh and a scream, and a bomb crashed down where they’d been moments before, spraying water over the bow.

“We made it,” the freckled soldier said jubilantly.

If we can make it out of the harbor, Mike thought, and the Commander can find his way back to England. And the engine doesn’t break down. Or they didn’t run into something.

He should be up in the bow, serving as lookout. “Coming through,” he shouted, and tried to push his way forward, but he wasn’t going anywhere-the soldiers were packed in too tightly-and as soon as he let go of the railing, the shakiness came back. It’s reaction, he thought, grabbing for it again.

And relief. It was the force of the bomb that had knocked the body free, that had unfouled the propeller, not his attempts, and it was obvious the soldiers would have gotten on board with or without him. So I don’t have to worry about having affected the outcome of Dunkirk.

“I didn’t think anyone was going to come for us,” the freckled soldier said. “Except the Germans. We could hear their artillery, there on the beach. They’ll be here by morning.” He looked anxiously at Mike. “Seasick, mate?”

Mike shook his head.

“I always get seasick,” the soldier said cheerfully. “I hate boats. My name’s Hardy. Private First Class, Royal Engineers. Bit crowded, isn’t it?”

That was an understatement. They were crammed in as tightly as the pilchards in that can the Commander had made his stew with.

And I don’t have to worry about having taken up anyone else’s space on board, Mike thought. He wasn’t taking up any space at all. They were so wedged in the other soldiers were holding him up. Which was a good thing. Without them and the rail, his legs would have buckled under him.

I should have eaten that stew when I had the chance, he thought. And hung on to that blanket. He’d lost it somewhere, trying to work his way forward, and his wet clothes were icy against his skin. He couldn’t even feel his feet, they were so cold.

But the soldiers were even worse off. Many were shirtless and one was dressed only in boxer shorts and, of all things, a gas mask. He had a gash on the side of his head. Blood was dripping down his cheek and into his mouth, but he seemed oblivious. He doesn’t even know he’s injured, Mike thought.

“How far is it?” Private Hardy asked at his ear. “Across the Channel?”

“Twenty miles,” Mike said.

“I was afraid I was going to have to swim for it.”

They were out of the harbor and into open sea. Mike could tell by how much colder the wind had gotten. He began to shiver. He tried to hug his chest, but his arms were wedged tightly to his sides. He wished fervently he still had that blanket and that Hardy would shut up. Unlike the other soldiers, his relief at being rescued had taken the form of talking compulsively. “Our sergeant told us to head for the beaches,” he said, “that there’d be ships to take us off, but when we got there, there wasn’t a ship in sight. ‘We’re for it now, Sergeant,’ I told him. ‘They’ve left us behind.’”

The Lady Jane continued to plow through the darkness. We’ve got to be at least halfway across, Mike thought, and it’s got to be daylight soon. He tried to free his arm to look at his Bulova and then remembered he’d left it up in the bow along with his coat and shoes.

The sea grew rougher, and it began to rain. Mike hunched his shoulders against it, shivering. Hardy didn’t even notice. “You’ve no idea how it feels to sit and wait for days, not knowing if anyone’s coming for you or if they’ll be in time, not even knowing if anyone knows you’re there.”

The night-and Hardy’s voice-went on and on. The wind picked up, blowing the rain and the spray right into their faces, but Mike barely felt it. He was too exhausted to hold on to the railing, even held up as he was by the mass of soldiers.

“Our sergeant tried to send a Morse signal with his pocket torch, but Conyers said it was no use, that Hitler’d already invaded and there was no one to come. That was the worst, sitting there thinking England might not be there any longer. Oh, I say, look, it’s getting light out.”

It was. The sky lightened to charcoal and then to gray. “Now we’ll be able to see where we are,” Hardy said.

So will the Germans, Mike thought, but there was no one else on the wide expanse of slate gray water. He scanned the waves, looking for a periscope, for the wake of a torpedo.

“It was odd,” Hardy droned on. “I could bear the thought of being captured, or killed, so long as England was still there, but-I say, look!” He unwedged his hand to point at a smudge of lighter gray against the gray horizon. “Aren’t those the White Cliffs of Dover?”

They were. I’ll finally be where I’ve been trying to get for days, Mike thought. Talk about taking the long way around. But at least now I know where the small craft docked. And he wouldn’t have any trouble getting access to them. Or to the men coming back from Dunkirk. It had just never occurred to him he’d be one of them.

They were pulling into the harbor, maneuvering their way through the maze of boats arriving, loading, setting out. “Dear old England,” Hardy said. “I never thought I’d see her again. And I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for you.”

“For me?” Mike said.

“And your boat. I’d completely given up hope when I saw your signal light.”

Mike jerked his head around sharply. “Signal light?”

Hardy nodded. “I saw it weaving about out there on the water, and I thought, that’s a boat.”

The flashlight I made Jonathan shine on the propeller, Mike thought. He saw the light from it when Jonathan was searching for me in the water.

“If I hadn’t seen it, I’d still be back on that beach with those Stukas. It saved my life.”

I saved his life, Mike thought sickly as the Commander guided the Lady Jane in toward the wharf. He wasn’t supposed to have been rescued.

“We have injured aboard,” the Commander shouted to the sailor tying them up to the dock.

“Yes, sir,” the sailor said and took off down the wharf. Jonathan rigged a gangway. The soldiers began stumbling off the boat.

“Do you happen to know how one goes about finding one’s unit?” Hardy asked. “I wonder where I’ll be sent next.”

North Africa, Mike thought, but you aren’t supposed to be there. You were supposed to have been killed on that beach. Or captured by the Germans.

The sailor was back, leading orderlies with stretchers and an officer who knelt as soon as he was on deck and began bandaging a soldier’s leg.

“Fetch us some petrol,” the Commander said to the sailor. “We’re heading back to Dunkirk as soon as we get this lot unloaded.”

“No,” Mike said, starting toward him. He swayed and nearly fell. Hardy grabbed him to steady him and helped him over to the locker to sit down. “I’ll fetch the captain,” he said, but the Commander was already heading toward him.

“I can’t go back to Dunkirk,” Mike said to him. “You’ve got to take me to Saltram-on-Sea.”

“You’re not going anywhere, lad,” the Commander said. He turned and called, “Lieutenant! Over here.”

“You don’t understand,” Mike said. “I’ve got to get back to Oxford and tell them what’s happened. He wasn’t supposed to make it back. He saw the light.”

“There, now, Kansas,” the Commander said, putting his hand around Mike’s shoulder. “Don’t go upsetting yourself. Lieutenant!” he bellowed, and the officer who’d been tending the wounded stood up and started toward them.

“You don’t understand,” Mike pleaded. “I may have altered events. I’ve got to warn them. Dunkirk’s a divergence point. I may have done something that’ll make you lose the war,” but they weren’t listening. They were all looking down at the deck, at the bloody mess that had been his right foot.