But I’m certain Mr. Powney will be home before tonight. The Home Guard meets on Wednesday nights, and he never misses.”
And he doesn’t like to drive in the blackout, which means the soonest he’ll be willing to take me is tomorrow morning, and it’ll take all morning to get there. The evacuation would be half over.
He couldn’t afford to waste any more time here. He’d already missed three days of the evacuation he could never get back. I’m going to have to go back through to Oxford to make Badri find me a drop site closer to Dover.
“Don’t be angry,” Daphne was saying. “I’ll fry you a nice piece of cod for your tea, and Mr. Powney will be here by the time you’ve eaten it.”
“No, I’ve got to go.” He stood up. “I have to file my story with my paper in London.”
“But your tea’s nearly ready. Surely you’ve time—”
Time’s just what I don’t have, he thought. “No, I’ve got to get it in the afternoon edition,” he said and walked quickly out of the pub, out of the village, and up the hill, anxious to get to the drop before it got dark. The shimmer would be less visible in the daytime. Whichever boat had been offshore last night and prevented the drop from opening was halfway to Dover by now, but he wasn’t taking any chances. And the earlier he left 1940, the earlier Badri could set the new drop for.
I won’t care if it takes Badri a month to find me a new drop site, he thought, trudging up the hill. It’ll give me a chance to catch up on all the sleep I’ve lost. Or get over his time-lag. Whichever it was, he could barely make it up the hill. Thank God he was nearly to the top. I hope I don’t fall asleep waiting for the drop to open and miss it—
A half dozen children stood on the edge of the cliff, right above the path down to the beach, talking excitedly and pointing out at the Channel. He looked where they were pointing. A smoky pall covered the horizon, and several black columns rose from it. The fires of Dunkirk.
Christ, what next? Maybe I can bribe them to go away, he thought, and started over to them, but they were already scrambling down the path. “Wait!” Mike called, but it was no use. There were more children down on the beach, and several men. One of them had a pair of binoculars, and two of the kids were standing on Mike’s rock for a better view.
They’d be there till sundown, and if the fires themselves were visible from here, half the night. And in the meantime, what the hell am I supposed to do? he thought. Just stand here and watch my chance at observing the evacuation go up in smoke? Boats full of rescued soldiers were already pulling into Dover.
He turned angrily and started back down to the village. There had to be some other way to get to Dover. The Lady Jane was still here. Maybe Jonathan could pilot it. Or I could. He could follow the coast. And end up on the rocks. Or at the bottom of the Channel, he thought, remembering the water in the hold, but he went out to the quay anyway. Jonathan might know somebody who had a motorbike. Or a horse.
But Jonathan wasn’t on board. “Ahoy! Jonathan!” Mike called down the hatch. “Are you down there?”
No answer. Mike climbed down the ladder, stopping just above the water, which had gotten deeper since this morning. It was nearly up to the bottom rung. “Jonathan?”
He wasn’t there. I’ll have to go back to the Crown and Anchor and ask Daphne where he lives, he thought wearily, looking over at the Commander’s bunk. The gray wool blankets and filthy pillow looked incredibly inviting.
If I could just get an hour or two’s sleep, he thought, suddenly overwhelmed with drowsiness, I could think what to do, I could figure out something. And by then Powney may be back. Or the Commander. He took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pant legs, waded over to the bunk, and climbed in.
Maybe I’d better start the bilge pump, he thought, but he was suddenly too tired to move. This has to be time-lag. I’ve never felt this tired in my life. He could hardly pull the wool blanket up over him. It smelled of tar and wet dog, and the