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.