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.