Courageous Read online

  Bullets and shrapnel rain down all around him and the screams of the wounded resound in his head. The land and the sea are shaking with the awful impact of the bombs.

  A German soldier jumps onto the barge and suddenly he and George are face-to-face, eyeing each other warily. The German’s face is slick and black with oil—he must have landed in the water after his plane exploded.

  George sees Jerry position his machine gun and take aim but some superhuman force comes over George. He tackles the German before he can fire. There is a fierce, brief scuffle, all fists, knees, and sharp elbows. At first it seems like the German is winning as he pins George down with his powerful arms. But George’s legs are free and he uses both of them to deliver a fierce kick that knocks the German soldier right off of him and onto the deck. George charges, using his shoulder as a battering ram, and pushes him over the railing and off of the barge. The German lands with a loud splash. Beyond the railing, George can see the man flailing frantically in the waves. He must have inhaled a lot of water, because he is coughing, sputtering, and trying desperately to stay afloat. But the heavy ammunition strapped to his chest drags him down, deep below the surface. In a matter of moments, the German is swallowed up and gone, claimed forever by the sea.

  George is stunned. He didn’t shoot the man, but he was responsible for his death just the same, and the knowledge is a shock to his soul. He knows he had no choice. If he hadn’t pushed him, the German would have killed him on the spot. That’s what war is—kill or be killed. And yet the German soldier was a person, not just a faceless enemy. He was a young man, probably a lot like George himself, or the soldier from the barn, whose wallet is still in George’s pack. But this is no time for pondering such weighty moral and ethical questions. This barge isn’t safe and George has to get out of here—immediately.

  Aidan crouches, arms over his head, as the missiles rain down all around them. The sound is deafening and the explosives fill the air with smoke. Aidan’s throat and lungs begin to burn. Coughing and gasping, he frantically digs in his pocket. It must be here, it has to be here—there it is! With trembling fingers, he dips the wadded-up handkerchief from his pocket into the pool of water that has collected at the bottom of the boat. Then he places the wet cloth over his mouth and nose—ah, that’s so much better. His brother George told him about that trick, and it works.

  But Sally’s breathing is still labored and harsh.

  “Do you have a handkerchief?” he says.

  “W-why are you asking about a handkerchief now?” She can barely get the words out.

  Aidan’s mind is racing as fast as his heart. The missiles continue to land, though now they are not so close—maybe all the smoke has made it hard for the pilot to see the position of the boat? But they are still stuck here and if Sally is choking—Aidan looks down at his shirttails, which have come untucked from his pants.

  He takes a shirttail in his hands and yanks once, twice—no, the material is too strong, but he has to, he has to—he pulls again, using all the force he has, and this time he is able to rip off a piece. He could weep with relief.

  He dips the torn cloth in the water and hands it to Sally. “Here,” he barks. “Put it over your nose.” She copies the way he’s holding his own handkerchief, and in seconds her breathing eases. And it looks like the plane may have moved on too—there haven’t been any new missiles in the last few minutes.

  With shaking legs, Aidan stands and offers Sally a hand up. That was a close call, but the worst seems to be over. Now they have to summon the strength and will to keep going. Again, George’s words echo in Aidan’s mind. I can be brave, George, he silently promises his brother. I can and I will. But just then, he hears a whistling noise, and he freezes. A final missile comes hurtling down—and this one hits the nose of the little dory straight on.

  George scrambles off the barge, looking for another, safer place to hide. He sees several men in front of the dugout and the sight is chilling. The heavy sandbags have been pushed and the men are lifting bodies—Wounded?—from the opening, and carrying them off. Cautiously, George creeps closer. He doesn’t know what happened. But when one of the men turns to him and says, “Go on, get in—there’s room now,” he doesn’t ask any questions; he just scrambles inside. It’s hot and crowded and the sound of the missiles hurtling down makes everyone jumpy. Every time George hears it he flinches.

  After a while, though, the sound of the missiles tapers off—Jerry must be off bombing elsewhere—and the men begin to relax just a little. Someone produces a sack of apples and starts passing the fruit around. George takes his apple, and though it’s bruised and mealy, he’s grateful for the sweetness it offers. It’s gone in minutes and when he’s passed another—this one mostly rotted—he eats that one too. Nothing like his mum’s apple tarts, of course … or even the cinnamon-laced applesauce she liked to serve with a pork roast. Then the men start to talk, and he can feel an almost electrical current buzzing through the chatter.

  On the beach, they said … boats are coming … rescue operation … Dynamo, they’re calling it. Operation Dynamo.

  So the British navy is conducting a rescue operation? But with what boats? How are they going to rescue anyone? He looks around and bolts upright when he sees that some of the men are making their way outside again. “Where are they going?” he asks.

  “Down to the water, mate,” says the fellow standing next to him. “The little ships are coming to take us home.”

  George follows him from the dugout. Even in the darkness, the scene is still horrifying to behold, and for a few seconds George wants to go right back inside, away from the destroyed buildings, knee-deep rubble, and everywhere the awful stench of burnt buildings and garbage. He thinks he will be sick right on the spot, but he takes a few deep breaths and keeps going, marching along with the others and finally running down to the water. When he reaches the shore, he can see dozens, scores, maybe even hundreds of men milling around.

  And then he sees the lights on the boats, tiny as toys at first, but growing bigger by the minute. Can this really be true—that this motley, ragtag little armada is coming here, to Dunkirk, to gather them up and take them home? It just doesn’t seem possible. But look—they’re here!

  It’s amazing that the dory hasn’t been smashed to bits. But it’s been badly damaged and water is seeping in at an alarming rate. Aidan and Sally are bailing out as fast as they can. Still, their efforts are not enough: They have to figure out a way to repair the boat.

  “What are we going to do?” Sally says. Her hair is plastered to her face and forehead, and she pushes it back out of her eyes.

  “Can you handle the bailing while I go find the tool kit?”

  “Yes,” she says. “But hurry!”

  The tool kit is always kept in a cupboard right up front, but when Aidan opens the door, it’s not there. Panic rises up like the waves hitting the boat. Where could it be? He gropes around on the shelf. Finally, his hand clasps the familiar wooden box and he’s flooded with relief.

  He pulls the box onto his lap and opens it up. Wrench, hammer, nails, and a saw, but nothing that can help him now. He looks around the boat frantically. What about those life vests? Can they be stuffed into the opening and sealed up with—well, exactly what isn’t clear at the moment but there’s no time to think it through—he’s got to try something. He tosses one of the vests to Sally. “Can you stuff that in there?” he asks.

  “Umm, let’s see,” she says. It takes her a few minutes to position it and wedge it in tightly, and she holds it in place as she swivels to look at Aidan. “Do you have another?” she asks.

  He grabs the others and tosses them over one at a time. To his amazement and relief, the flow of water is stopped by the four life vests that have been crammed into the opening. But Aidan is pretty sure that once the boat picks up speed, their makeshift repair won’t be watertight. They have to figure out some way to seal the crevices around the life vests.

  “Maybe we can use
the flag,” says Sally. She detaches it from the boat and crams it into the hole. “And that tarp too.”

  The tarp was folded up and Aidan hadn’t even noticed it. “We’ll fit it around the life vests and secure it somehow.”

  “Good idea,” Aidan says, and immediately gets to it. The tarp is kind of bulky and flaps in the wind but Aidan manages to subdue it enough to wrap around the mass of life jackets. It looks like a mess but who cares? At least the water’s not seeping in any longer. Meanwhile, Sally is rummaging around in the tool kit. She finds a roll of steel wool and several sponges and reaches under the tarp to stuff all of it underneath. Now the section of tarp covering the life jackets is pulled taut. “There,” she says, stepping back. “I think it looks pretty seaworthy.”

  “Good work,” says Aidan. “We should keep going.” He consults the compass and adjusts the dials. They sail on, battered but undefeated. Soon they start to see ships, just a few at first, then more and more as they press ahead. There are tugboats and sailboats, pleasure boats and fishing boats—even a rowboat or two. The bigger boats and the tugboats pull the smaller boats in their wake—that must be their way of conserving fuel.

  Even as Aidan thinks this, the Margaret’s engine begins to sputter. Oh no. Aidan knows all too well what this means—they’re out of petrol.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Sally. “The engine sounds funny.”

  “We’re out of petrol,” he tells her. “Let me just get the extra can.” The boat’s not moving now, so Aidan gets up to search for the petrol. He finds the can, tucked away where it always is. The only trouble is that it’s light as a wicker basket—there’s nothing in it. Like the empty bait bucket, the empty petrol can is one more sign that his dad isn’t minding the boat properly. Aidan brings the empty can to show Sally.

  “What are we going to do?” she says. Aidan hears the fear in her voice.

  “I don’t know.” He can see other boats out on the water, but none of them are in shouting distance. And even though Sally’s a good swimmer—he’s teased her by saying she was born underwater, and with fins—it’s just too far between boats in this cold, choppy ocean for her to attempt safely.

  Anxiously, Aidan scans the horizon, praying that a solution will come to him. And it does. In the distance, he can make out the lines of a rowboat, painted white, and it reminds him that there is a pair of oars tucked into a special compartment under the seat. His father keeps them there for emergencies—or at least he did. Who knows if they’re still there, or what condition he’ll find them in?

  Quickly, he opens the compartment and is bathed with relief. The oars are still there. They look a little dried out, but they’ll do the job. “Here.” He hands an oar to Sally. “Can you row?” Aidan takes the other oar and then he and Sally position themselves on either side of the boat. “All right,” Aidan says. “Let’s go!”

  The current is against them and Aidan feels like they are rowing through sludge, not water, as they struggle and strain to push the oars through the waves. It’s hard work, and rowing is a treacherous business—it’s so easy to get thrown off course. But he tries to use the boats in the distance as a guide.

  For the longest time, it seems as if they are not moving at all, but rowing in place. Aidan’s hands are slippery with sweat, and his arms are aching too. He can feel a blister forming in the place between his thumb and forefinger. It hurts. But he cannot stop rowing.

  “Do you think we’re getting anywhere?” Sally asks.

  “Yes.” He’s quiet for a moment. “No. I really can’t tell. Can you?”

  “No.” She lets the oar rest for a moment to wipe her brow. Then she picks it up and they begin again. The wind has changed though, and now it feels like they are moving, slowly at first, and then a little faster.

  At last, the lights of the other ships look closer, and closer still. And then it seems as if they are surrounded by them, the brightness of the lanterns reflecting on the dark water. Each of these boats is going to Dunkirk. And so is the Margaret.

  Aidan’s heart fills with pride as he looks at all these brave men and women, defying the odds and rushing to help their boys in danger. And he’s even more proud that he and Sally are a part this courageous effort. He stretches out his arm and waves to some of the people whose forms he can make out in the dark.

  “Ahoy!” cries an old man who wears a black woolen cap. The stout woman at his side returns his wave, moving her arm in a swooping, graceful motion.

  George spots CO Rogers and rushes over. He’s been separated from his unit ever since they arrived in Dunkirk and he’s relieved to find him again.

  “You’re all right, then?” asks Rogers.

  “Aye, sir,” says George.

  There’s a pause, and Rogers says, “Then you and I are the only ones who are.”

  “What are you talking about?” asks George.

  “We took a hit,” says Rogers. “Just as we debussed. We lost five men instantly. And everyone else is wounded.”

  “Who did we lose?” George asks. But does he really want to know?

  “Chambers, Ivers, Crowson, Dillard, and Westin.” Rogers rattles off the names.

  George can picture each of them so clearly in his mind. Now they are gone—all gone. “And the rest of the men, sir?” He wills his voice not to crack.

  “Taken to the emergency medical vehicle. Docs will patch them up as best they can—supplies are low and some of those men were in pretty bad shape when they went in.” Rogers gives George a shrewd and appraising look. “It’s just you and me, mate,” he says with a sigh. “We’re the only ones from our unit left and now it’s up to us to carry on.”

  Together, they turn toward the sea. The boats are coming closer now. “Let’s start with getting our lads aboard,” says the CO.

  “Aye, aye, sir.” George salutes, turns, and wades into the chilled, churning sea.

  It’s almost noon, but the sky overhead is gray and overcast. A few gulls circle above, hungry and looking for a meal. The sound of their cries is mournful and jarring.

  Even though he and Sally have been up since dawn, Aidan is anything but tired. The events of the last few hours have sharpened all of his senses and his whole body feels tightly wound and on high alert.

  Aidan and Sally got fuel from another of the small boats a little while ago, and now they are nearing the beach at Dunkirk. The water is teeming with soldiers. Most are Tommies but he recognizes some French and Belgian uniforms mixed in too. And somewhere in this crowd of anxious, desperate men is his brother. Or at least he hopes he is—for all Aidan knows, George could be wounded somewhere. Or dead. No. He won’t let himself think that way. Instead, he forces himself to focus on an image of George as he was on the day he shipped out, uniform neat and pressed, cap set jauntily on his head.

  “George is here, on this beach. I can feel it,” Aidan says to Sally.

  “He has to be,” Sally says. “I just hope we find him.”

  “We’ll find him, all right,” says Aidan. “I’m sure of it.”

  Just in front of them are three British soldiers. One is tall and skinny, another is short and skinny, and they are holding the elbows of a third man, who can’t seem to stand on his own. The wounded man’s eyes are closed and he moans softly in pain.

  “We can easily take these three,” says Sally. “And maybe even a fourth. See that big boat over there?” She points to a large vessel at some distance out in the water. “We’ll bring the men out to it.”

  “Not yet,” says Aidan. “I want to find George before we start helping anyone else.”

  “But what about these soldiers?”

  “We’ll help them after. First I’ve got to find George. He’s my brother, after all.”

  “I know he’s your brother.” Sally’s voice sounds clipped. “But that means we’re going to leave these men. How can we do that? They’re counting on our help.”

  As if on cue, the soldier in the middle moans again. His face is deathly pale and Aidan can
see beads of sweat on his forehead. How badly is he wounded?

  “It’s my dad’s boat,” Aidan says. “I’m in charge here.” He doesn’t like to bring this up, but Sally’s being so stubborn—he has no other choice. “I didn’t have to take you along with me.”

  “No, but you’re lucky you did,” Sally says quietly. “I fixed that leak, didn’t I? We’re a team and you should remember it.”

  “Who says I don’t?” Aidan is sullen because he knows she’s right and her words shame him slightly. She’s thinking not just of them, but of the reason they’ve come all this way.

  Aidan looks at the three men in the water, waves lapping at their knees. They’re shivering. “Can you climb up?” he calls out.

  “We sure can,” says the tall soldier.

  “What about your mate there?” asks Sally. “He looks like he’s been hurt.”

  “We’ll pull him up. The two of us can manage it.”

  Aidan brings the boat in closer and the two men hoist their comrade up and gently place him onto the floor of the boat. Then the two other men climb aboard. The tall one pulls a blanket from his clobber and covers the wounded man, then stuffs the clobber under the man’s head for a pillow. Aidan takes off in the direction of the larger boat. As soon as he and Sally reach the larger boat, the men climb out and up the net ropes that have been let down for them. Sally waves but Aidan just watches silently as the bigger boat moves away. He doesn’t even know their names, he thinks. And they’ll never know his.

  Having delivered their passengers safely, Aidan and Sally head back toward the shore. More men are waiting in the water, waving their arms in the air, desperate to be picked up.

  Aidan is torn. He wants so badly to find George, but all these men need their help too. Each one is someone’s son, husband, brother, best friend. Each one has family and friends, a whole host of people praying for their safety, waiting for him to come home. Aidan can’t abandon these men any more than he would be able to abandon George.