Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,4

have to make immediate contact with London on the scrambled telephone. We’ve lost the on the River Garonne, less than thirty kilometres out of Bordeaux – and many are dead.’Cardiff Bay

* * *

1U-boat – a German submarine.

2Gendarmes – French police officers.

3Gestapo – German secret police.

CHAPTER TWO

A quarter-hour after it had sunk, all that remained of the were two chunks of superstructure floating mid-river and an oily film on the water which burned the eyes of passengers making the desperate swim to shore. Fishing boats and motor launches were still picking people out of the water, but they were reluctant to use much light lest it draw back German bombers.Cardiff Bay

It was low tide and a broad mud flank was exposed along the southern embankment of the River Garonne. Thirteen-year-old Rosie Clarke was a strong swimmer and one of the first to reach the shore under her own power. The embankment mud sucked off her sandals and she fell on her face, taking a mouthful of evil brown water that combined with breathlessness to cause a coughing fit.

PT Bivott grabbed her sleeve. She’d met him on the three-hundred-metre swim to shore and got her first look at his body as he slid fingers into her armpits and hauled her up with a squelch.

Like many fifteen year olds, PT had a man’s height but not the physique that went with it. His French was perfect but came with an American twist. Dark hair designed to be combed back dangled to his bottom lip.

‘Keep calm, Rosie,’ PT said, pulling her close and squeezing tight. Rosie’s muscles burned and freezing mud slid down her dress, but all she could think about was her brother and she screamed out for him.

‘Paul!’

Her voice wavered. Strong to start and then collapsing into sobs with her head buried in PT’s life vest.

‘If he’s as tough as his sister he’ll do fine,’ PT said encouragingly, as his free hand swept hair up over his head. He’d worked hard on trying to say the right thing, but he hadn’t.

‘Paul’s only eleven,’ Rosie sniffed. ‘He can barely manage a width in a pool, and that current’s …’

‘Don’t cry,’ PT said, tightening his grip before letting go abruptly.

The sudden break-off upset Rosie until she saw that PT had gone after a man wading up the embankment with two small boys latched on his back. As the lads slid off, their red-faced father clutched his stomach and gasped for breath. Blood streaked his chest where tiny nails had dug in.

As PT helped the father stay upright, light shone from a motorcycle headlamp on the riverbank. Rosie squinted into the beam and saw outlines of local men coming to help, while others walked victims up the beach.

‘Get the boys,’ PT ordered, squelching past with the gasping man’s arm draped around his back.

Rosie was shattered and found it tough to stay upright. She lacked blood in her head and had mud past her ankles, but the boys were only up to her waist and the smallest was stuck fast and bawling for his mum.

‘Come on, mate,’ Rosie said, forcing a friendly tone as she grabbed the youngest. His sodden pyjamas and hopeful blue eyes gave her purpose as slippery fingers locked around her neck.

The older boy spoke in English as she hauled him towards dry land. ‘Have you seen my mummy?’

‘There are lots of beaches,’ Rosie answered, as mud squirted up between her toes. She considered explaining how the currents would make people come ashore in different places, but she was breathless and doubted he’d understand. ‘You’ll find her in the morning,’ she answered finally.

‘She can’t swim though,’ the boy said urgently. ‘She might die.’

Rosie was struggling, but PT had an even harder time with their father, who was much heavier than PT and suffering with asthma. Eventually two men in fishing waders stretchered him across an old door, enabling PT to carry the older boy for the final stretch to the river bank.

Local men snatched the boys and guided them up a slippery ramp used to launch boats when the tide was in. The little three year old squealed and demanded to stay with Rosie, but she hadn’t the energy to comfort him and found herself being pulled up the ramp by the leathery hands of an old fisherman.

People in towns had become numb to refugees and suffering, but the victims were lucky enough to wash up near a community of farmers and fishermen. It was their first taste of war, beyond the rumble