Edgar nodded, took the paper from the young man. “Thank you, Judson.”
The sailor nodded, saluted, and departed. Edgar returned to his office. He sat down at his desk and read the short message. Then he stared at it, frowning, and read it again.
“What the hell is this all about?” he said out loud to the empty room. The message did not make sense to him.
Suddenly it did. He jumped up, dashed out, and went two doors down to see Vice Admiral Ramsay. He knocked hard, and when Ramsay said, “Enter,” Edgar did so.
Ramsay stared at him. “Something wrong, Jollion?”
“I’d use the word strange. I’ve just received this wireless message from headquarters in Dunkirk. General Rundstedt’s just ordered General Kleist’s Panzer division to halt at the front line. Not to go forward. Absolutely not to do that. Stay put, in other words.”
Ramsay was flabbergasted. He exclaimed, “But they have us right in their sights. I’ve been worried they would move forward, capture our men in that pocket of land our boys have been maneuvered into by the Panzers.” Ramsay shook his head. “Strange indeed, Jollion.” There was a pause, and the vice admiral then said, “Are we sure of this information?”
“I would say so, sir. Yes. But to be safe, let’s check with the source. Send a message back to headquarters in France.”
“Do it at once. I’d like to know how we’ve suddenly found out about the plans of the Wehrmacht.”
* * *
Within several hours Ramsay and Jollion had their answer from Lieutenant Colonel Lord Bridgeman of the Rifle Brigade on the Continent, who worked with Lord Gort, head of the British Expeditionary Force.
The message they had received was accurate.
General Kleist had remained on the heights above Flanders, which looked down on Dunkirk. Eventually his Panzer divisions had moved, but they had not gone down into Dunkirk to take it, or to attack and kill the British and French soldiers trapped in a pocket of land close by. Instead they had retreated.
It was Commodore Jollion who reasoned that perhaps the German general was leery of taking his tanks into the lower area of Flanders, which was full of canals, streams, and marshes. And there was another possibility he had pointed out to Ramsay. Maneuvering tanks in built-up areas such as villages and towns was usually difficult. Perhaps he had retreated for this reason as well.
But whatever had caused this sudden retreat of the Nazi tanks, Lord Gort, commander in chief of the BEF, Bridgeman, Ramsay, and Jollion grabbed the opportunity to start evacuating more troops from Dunkirk at once.
Thousands of British and French soldiers were soon scrambling onto the big British ships anchored off Dunkirk over a calm and sunny forty-eight-hour period.
Commodore Jollion considered this a God-given blessing. Because the attacks from Kleist’s Panzer divisions soon started again and the Allied troops were mowed down relentlessly. Jollion was heartsick, knowing that almost the entire British army was over in France. There were not many soldiers left in Britain to defend it against the enemy. His country was vulnerable if the Germans decided to invade.
Forty-eight
Captain Charlie Stanton of the Coldstream Guards knew they had to leave the little town of Poperinghe as soon as possible. Right now, in fact.
They were on the southern perimeter of Dunkirk, and it was time to make the move back to the beaches. In the background, he could already hear the German guns, and he was certain they would soon be overrun by enemy troops. The British Expeditionary Force was surrounded. Doomed.
Last night he had been told by headquarters to take what was left of his platoon back to Dunkirk. There were now only twenty men but they were as ready and willing to leave as he was.
As he glanced around he saw Kenny Bourne walking over to him. They had left Oxford and gone through officer training at Sandhurst in 1939, and managed to stay together by joining the same regiment. They were lucky that the Coldstream Guards did most of their recruiting in the northeast of England. Kenny was a lieutenant, and the only other officer still alive in this troop.
“We’re ready to go,” Kenny said, and Charlie nodded. The plan was to get everyone into two trucks and a lorry and make a dash for it. This they did, and they were relieved to be heading to the coast of France where the rest of the regiment was, along with British battleships, destroyers, and hospital ships waiting offshore. It was going to be a huge rescue. Every regiment was being pulled out by the end of May.
Charlie’s relief soon changed to impatience as he realized they might have been better off walking. The road was totally choked with fleeing soldiers, marching forward at a steady pace, and blocking their way at times.
Kenny, driving the Humber Snipe truck, kept his eyes on the busy road when he said, “Bugger! It’s started to rain. That’s going to slow us down even more.”
“Maybe,” Charlie answered, and then grinned. “But let’s face it, rain keeps the Luftwaffe out of the air. If it was a sunny day we’d be sitting ducks.”
“What a relief it’s weather for ducks instead,” Kenny shot back with a laugh.
The two men fell silent as they edged their way to Warhem, the next town on this route. It was filled with so many soldiers Charlie was astonished. There were thousands of men moving down this road, not only British but French and Dutch, as well. He was certain of that. None of them were defeated in spirit yet, but they had certainly been outnumbered. The Wehrmacht was massive, the greatest army in the world with the biggest supply of armaments and enormous fire power, not to mention those deadly Panzer tanks.
As they drew even closer to headquarters in Dunkirk, their trucks were brought to a sudden standstill by military police. Charlie rolled down the window to ask what was wrong.
“Sorry, Captain, but you must leave your trucks and the lorry behind. In that field over there, alongside the other abandoned vehicles. Set fire to them. Good thing it’s stopped raining.”
Charlie asked, “Why do we have to abandon them?”
“Orders, Captain. The top brass don’t want traffic jams in Dunkirk. I’ll instruct your men to follow you.”
Charlie nodded his understanding and told Kenny to drive into the field. When they jumped out of the Humber they saw that many of the abandoned cars, trucks, and lorries were still burning, smoldering, or were totally burned out.
Charlie and Kenny looked at their possessions inside the Humber Snipe, and then stared at each other, grimacing. “I hate to leave my things behind, but we’ve no choice,” Charlie muttered, and reached for his haversack.
“So do I, but we’ve got to travel light,” Kenny replied, and also took only his haversack. “I’m leaving everything else.”
Then the men followed suit. Once they had taken out their haversacks, Charlie told them to set light to the vehicles, which they did, if somewhat reluctantly.
Charlie turned away. Nonetheless, he could not resist going over to one of the trucks left behind earlier which had not been burned. And much to his surprise and pleasure he saw guns in the back, as well as food. Obviously it had been left hurriedly by other fleeing British troops.
He beckoned to Kenny and the men, and told them to take a rifle each and as much food as they could carry. They did so. Having a weapon in their hands again, as well as food, brought smiles to the faces of his men. And Charlie felt a lift in his spirits.
They were loyal and stalwart, and had obviously been relieved when he had taken charge of them after Major Barton had been killed in a heavy Luftwaffe attack. Charlie knew he could rely on them; these Coldstreamers were the salt of the earth. He also knew they were bone tired after three weeks of intense fighting in the fields of Flanders, protecting different perimeters. He was determined to find somewhere for them to sleep tonight. That was mandatory.
* * *
His men were standing waiting, looking at Charlie as if trying to read his mind. Most of them were wondering why they were lingering in the field filled with their burning vehicles.
Si
nce they were staring at Charlie and had their backs to the main road, they could not see what he was gazing at across that road.
In fact it was smoke. Not drifting smoke from the burning trucks, but smoke of an entirely different kind. It was a spiral floating up into the sky, obviously from a chimney which Charlie could not see. But he thought that behind the stand of trees across the road there was probably a farmhouse.
That is what he told Kenny and the men, and added, “I don’t want us to get caught up in those throngs pushing on to Dunkirk. We’re going to go over to that field behind you and see what we can find.”
Joe Wortley, the lance sergeant, understood at once. “You think there’s a farmhouse back there, sir, don’t you?”
“More than likely. Look, we all need a rest. Food. And if possible some sleep. Before we tramp back to headquarters. Seeing hundreds of soldiers on this road tells me a vivid story. It’s going to be very crowded in the port of Dunkirk tonight. I’d like us to get some of our strength back, leave for the port tomorrow morning.”
The lance sergeant nodded. “A good plan, Captain. I assume you can speak French, so let’s go and look for the farm.”
Charlie laughed. “I learned it at school. So come on, let’s walk across the road, calmly. No pushing and shoving through the marching soldiers.”
The men did exactly as he instructed, crossing the busy road in twos and threes, not all at once and together. Charlie followed the men with Kenny, who said, “I’d give anything for a cig and a cold beer. But to tell you the truth, I’d prefer a kip. It would do me more good.”
“Me, too. I wish I could lie down right here and go to sleep,” Charlie answered. “Aha!” he then exclaimed, and waved back to the lance sergeant who was grinning ear to ear. Through the stand of trees a house was now visible.
Within minutes Charlie was leaning on a wooden gate, talking to the farmer who owned the property, which had not been visible from the road.
He looked wary when he first saw Charlie and his troops, but Charlie started to speak French immediately. He said he was English and introduced himself, explained he was taking his men to Dunkirk. He asked the farmer if they could rest at the farm for the night if he had a barn. He added that his men were at the point of exhaustion after fighting the Germans in the trenches.
The farmer spit, and exclaimed angrily, “Les boches! Merde!” He opened the gate, welcomed Charlie and his men. Leading them around the back of the farmhouse, he showed them a big old barn. It was full of bales of hay, a water trough, and old harnesses hanging on a wall. “Voilà!” He grinned and told Charlie they were welcome, that he was going to bring them blankets, water, and bread.
Charlie thanked him profusely; he told his men to find a spot and settle down, explained they could rest here for the night. It was with relief that they slipped off their haversacks and sat down on the bales of hay; a couple of them fell asleep almost immediately.
The farmer was as good as his word. He soon returned with his wife and son. The farmer was carrying two large pitchers of water, and his wife and the boy were holding trays of assorted old mugs and glasses. The farmer’s wife poured the water, and she and her son passed the mugs and glasses around. The farmer left, returning a few minutes later with several long baguettes, and large chunks of cheese on several platters.
Charles thanked the farmer and his family, and the men tucked into the cheese and bread, as well as some of the food they had brought from the abandoned truck.
“The farmer told me they hadn’t seen any German troops. Yet,” Charlie said. “But I promised him we’d be out of here tomorrow morning early. He was very understanding of our plight.”
“I could tell,” Kenny said. “He was charmed, no, perhaps ‘flattered’ is a better word … because you spoke French, Charlie. They like that, you know, the French.”
“It helps to know French in France,” Charlie said, and made a face. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
“This bloody haversack is heavy,” Kenny said the next moment. “I’m going to dump everything in it.”
“But not here,” Charlie warned swiftly. “We can’t put the farmer at risk. The Jerries might arrive and find your stuff. They’d know at once it was English, and wonder about it.”
* * *
Charlie lay awake on his bales of hay, listening to his men sleeping. They had pretty much all passed out from total exhaustion hours ago and were enjoying their first real sleep in several weeks. There were little noises, light snoring, and rustling, but for the most part the barn was quiet.
Moonlight filtered in through a small window set high on one of the barn walls, and pushing himself to his feet Charlie crept across the floor, opened the huge door carefully, and slipped out.
He took several deep breaths. The night air was cool on this May night, and refreshing. Glancing up at the full moon floating high in the dark sky, he realized what a lovely night it was. And the quietness was soothing. What a relief not to be pounded by the noise of gunfire, rifle shots, and bombs exploding.
Silence is golden, he thought, remembering an old saying his mother had used when they were growing up. His mother. His beautiful, adoring mother.
He knew he must keep himself safe so he could go home to her. If he didn’t make it she would never forgive him. He smiled at the thought. Evelyne Bourne, Kenny’s mother, wouldn’t forgive him, if her son didn’t make it, either. Maybe all mothers feel the same way, he decided.
He took a cigarette and lit it, inhaled deeply, sat down on a low stone wall to enjoy his smoke. The farmer had warned them not to even think of lighting a cigarette in the barn full of hay and they had abided by his rule.
Thoughts of his sister crept into his mind. Alicia had been gung ho for joining the ATS, but had suddenly changed her mind and enrolled with the Red Cross. She chose the division that served abroad, much to their parents’ horror, who imagined her working in the trenches and getting killed. But she was apparently still in London, undergoing training. Charlie knew why she had chosen to help make the wounded well. She had always been a caring and compassionate child, worrying about their sick pets and any wild little thing that got caught in a trap. She would make a good nurse; she had an affinity for it … in a certain sense it was a calling.
He heard a noise and glanced across the yard. In the moonlight he saw Kenny slipping out of the barn; his best friend walked over to join him on the wall.
“I’m not used to sleeping this much,” Kenny said in a low voice, and lit a cigarette. “I suppose because we’ve kept going on only a few hours in the last few weeks.”
“I know what you mean. I feel the same, but I did have a deep sleep, and it’s done me good,” Charlie confided.
“What time do you plan to leave here?” Kenny now asked.
“I’d like to be on our way to Dunkirk by five or six o’clock. The sooner we’re back at headquarters the better I’ll feel.”
“Do you think we’ll be evacuated immediately? After all, the Coldstream Guards were the first regiment to arrive in France. We’ve been here the longest. By rights we should go out first.”
Charlie chuckled quietly. “We’ll probably be the last! But we’ll soon know. If we start out early today we should be back on the coast by this afternoon.”
“The men will make a big effort, Charlie.”
Kenny sat smoking in silence for a short while, then said in a quiet but intense tone, “If anything happens to me and I don’t make it, please tell my parents and my sister that I loved them very much.”
“I promise. But don’t think like that, Kenny. You’re going to make it. You’re a tough sod like me. And I’m definitely going to make it.”
Kenny ignored this comment, and continued, “And I want you to thank Cecily, and tell her how much her support has meant to me over the years. Hiring that tutor for me and then giving me one of her scholarships so I could go to Oxford was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me in my life.”
“I will. Bu
t you’ll be doing that yourself. We’re going to be evacuated within the next forty-eight hours, Kenny.”
“I believe that, too,” Kenny answered. “But I just needed to get that off my chest, to say these words aloud.”
Charlie nodded, and glanced up at the sky. Dawn was breaking, and it looked as if it was going to be a nice day. A nice day for walking back to Dunkirk, going to headquarters, and planning their evacuation. Which was more than likely planned already. We’ll make it home, Charlie thought. We must.
Forty-nine
Their second in command, Major Tommy Riley, had sent them out on a recce, and Charlie was happy that he had. Like the major, he was all for checking and double-checking everything, and most especially things which were happening at the moment in Dunkirk.
There were thousands of troops everywhere: the British and the French, their ally; and the Germans, enemy of them both. And any situation at all could change in seconds. The Wehrmacht army was fast encroaching on Dunkirk, hitting all the different perimeters, and the Luftwaffe kept up constant attacks, bombing the town and the vessels anchored out at sea.
Kenny had been assigned to come with him and, at the last minute, the major had told Joe Wortley to accompany them.
The lance sergeant was in the Regular Army and had been in the Coldstream Guards since he was seventeen. An old hand, one of the best, just like most of the Regular soldiers who had made the army their career.
Charlie and Kenny had always paid strict attention to anything he had to say to them, and to anyone else, for that matter. Joe had taken to them the moment they had arrived for duty, and went out of his way to help them, teach them as much as he could. He knew good lads when he saw them.
Walking through the town, they had noticed that the beaches were a bit less crowded this afternoon, and out at sea, in the deep water, there was a big convoy of British battleships, destroyers, and other large vessels. They were reinforcements which had sailed in after the huge Royal Navy losses in the last couple of days.