The Siren of Paris

by David Leroy

  “Marc, there are going to be dozens of ships. Just look over there,” Marc pointed to a two-stack liner about a mile away. “No one is going to be left behind, but I cannot help who, how and when everyone gets aboard a ship home.”

  “Rank and unit?” the officer asked as they crossed the threshold.

  “I am in the diplomatic corps, and so is my friend here, from the American Embassy,” Marc said. The soldier looked perplexed, as if he couldn’t decide what to do next.

  “Like officers, except we’re civilians working for the embassy,” Marc explained.

  “Excellent, yes. Here are your cabin numbers and a ticket for the dining room,” the officer said.

  They made their way down to C Deck and to their assigned cabin. Allen opened the door and there were already two men inside. One of the men had a white Angora rabbit on his chest and the second read a book through his thick glasses.

  “Welcome,” said the man with the rabbit.

  “The bottom bunks are yours.” Soon after Marc and Allen got settled in, another group of men came to the door and had tickets with the same cabin.

  “Sorry, we are all out of room,” Allen said to the weary young soldier. The hallways filled fast with soldiers trying to get from deck to deck and cabin to cabin. Each of the men carried a duffle or sack of some sort with their gear. The voices of commanders pierced the thin wood walls of the staterooms.

  On the docks later that morning, civilians mixed with soldiers in line for a boat out to one of the ships.

  “Sister, should we wait for Marc and Allen?” Mr. Longoux asked her as they approached the trawler on the side of the dock.

  “I’m sure they will get aboard a ship fine. We cannot wait,” she said to him as the line drew closer. “Have you seen the two little ones?” she asked, looking out over the crowds.

  “No, they walked off again. They will be back, I am sure,” he said, scanning the line.

  Crossing the threshold of the ship, the officer then asked, “How many and are you all together?”

  “I have two families here, with women and children. There are two sisters from the YMCA, and the rest are with the Church Army.”

  “Right. I will give the cabins to the families. How are the rest of you with the lounge?” the officer asked.

  “If the lounge is heading back to England, it will be a splendid place to stay,” Sister Clayton said, smiling.

  “Welcome aboard, Sister. Always good to have a woman of prayer aboard,” he said.

  “My honor. What is the name of this ship?” The sister asked.

  “RMS Lancastria,” he answered.

  “Well, then, may the Lord watch over and keep her,” Sister Clayton said as she left down the hallway.

  Marc rested on his bunk in the cabin on C Deck. Outside the door he listened to the men move back and forth down the hallway.

  “This way. The forward hold is through that bulkhead.” “Move along, move along.” “Is there any food?” Voices came through the wooden door as they passed.

  “Are they serving food?” Allen asked.

  “Yes, I got our names on the list,” Marc left, followed by John, the young, bespectacled Scotsman. Marc felt a restless need to leave the cabin.

  “What are you reading?” he asked John, trying to make some small talk as they moved down the hall.

  “Ulysees. It is a strange book, by James Joyce,” he answered back. He was shorter than most Scots Marc had met. Marc wasn’t sure if John was younger than he was, but he couldn’t have been much older.

  “I know the author and the publisher back in Paris. Do you know the other fellow well?” Marc asked him, fighting through the passageway as men heavy with gear looked for various cabins.

  “Horus? Yes, we trained together. So you say you know the author?” John said to him.

  “I have never heard anyone called Horus from Scotland before.” Marc looked perplexed.

  “Oh, that is not his name. Just my nickname for him,” John responded.

  “Why does he have a rabbit?” Marc pressed.

  “For his daughter. He wanted to bring her something back, so he picked up the rabbit along the way,” John said.

  “Did you have trouble getting out of Paris?” Marc asked, wondering how one had time for souvenir hunting while in retreat.

  “Never got there. We have been out here nearly the whole time. In charge of supplies,” John said as he gave their names for the dining room. “That is why I call him Horus. He bragged he would watch everything like a hawk. So, what better name for a hawk man?” John smiled through his wire glasses.

  A gangway extended from the trawler to the single-funnel liner. Soldiers and various civilians crossed over to the open passageway.

  “Hold it there, kiddies. I can’t let you bring the dogs aboard. Against the rules,” the officer said at the threshold of the ship. The Belgian boy and his sister looked confused and then he started to hug the golden retriever. A gray-haired woman stepped forward and, in French, began to explain what the officer said to them.

  “But, he must. I cannot leave them. It is not right that I should be allowed to save my life yet let my best friend go,” the boy said in extremely fast French, crying and using the back of his hand to wipe away tears. His sister clung to the mane of her own dog.

  The officer could not bear to take in the gray eyes of the boy. “I suppose regulations are meant to be broken. You can come aboard,” he finally relented.

  “Can you take on more? There are two thousand still waiting back at the dock,” barreled across the sea from the captain of another trawler full of refugees.

  “We are all full now, overcrowded. Go to one of the other ships,” the officer yelled back from the gangway threshold.

  “That’s it! Shut up the hatch,” he said to the crewmen.

  “What is the count?” the first officer asked.

  “Count? I reckon I don’t know, sir. I stopped counting at seven thousand,” the steward responded.

  “Bloody hell, we really are overloaded,” the first officer said as he walked down the hallway toward the front of the ship.

  Sister Clayton walked out onto the promenade deck, past the place where the men had stacked their rifles. Over the bay, another large two-stack liner stood anchored in the sea. Just about this time, a single German plane entered the sky around the ship and dropped a bomb. On the decks of the Lancastria, soldiers stared as the bomb took away the bridge of the ship just a few miles away.

  Return gunfire could be heard coming from the liner. Another plane came near the Lancastria and dropped a series of bombs, but they missed the ship and splashed into the sea just to the port side of the ship.

  “Oh dear God, help us all,” Sister Clayton whispered as the soldiers cheered that the bombs had missed the ship.

  From the inside cabin on C Deck, Marc heard a thundering cheer coming from the upper decks. He did not know it was for the bombs that had missed their target. The planes then left as quickly as they’d arrived, leaving just the liner several miles away with a smoldering, smashed bridge deck.

  About three-thirty in the afternoon, Allen, Marc and his two cabin mates got the call for the dining room. Marc had been petting the rabbit and gave it to Horus, who then put it on the bunk and told it to stay, promising to bring back some food.

  “Be good now and stay put,” Marc said, as he left the cabin to join the group walking toward the dining room. He passed both young and older men and, most of all, the tired. Reaching the main dining room, Marc was shocked at just how crowded the entire ship felt to him. In every direction, through passageways, stairways and rooms, soldiers stood talking or just waiting.

  Marc looked at the menu card. He couldn’t explain it, but all the way down into the dining room, he kept thinking of the previous year with Dora, David, and Nigel. He started to wonder if they were able to get out and then stopped worrying as he realized they had left weeks before him. But it seemed odd that he couldn’t shake it. David would come
to his mind and he could see him just as he was before he left for Genoa. He was smart for getting that ticket, Marc thought. Marc then looked down at the menu card and read the name Lancastria.

  “I’ve never heard of this ship before,” Marc said to John.

  “She is a Cunarder, British,” John answered back, looking out over the crowded dining room. David’s words flashed in Marc’s mind from that night the year prior on the Normandie.

  “Never sail British,” Marc could see in his mind’s eye. He shook the chill off his back and pushed the memory aside.

  “They changed the name sometime ago. I can’t remember the first name, but Lancastria is the second name,” Horus said.

  “Allen, the others made it aboard. I saw Mr. Lougoux’s youngest children with the dogs earlier. I cannot say I really like him that much,” Marc said, looking at the card.

  “What do you mean? He is a fine fellow,” Allen asked.

  “It is just that he dotes over his oldest son, but pays no attention whatsoever to his other boy and little girl,” Marc said, irate at Allen for not seeing the neglect.

  “Marc, those are not his children,” Allen said, looking directly at him.

  “What do you mean? The little boy told me that was his father,” Marc said, surprised by the statement.

  “He knows, he knows. They followed them from Belgium. He thinks their parents might have been killed on the road fleeing, because they nearly were killed themselves. He’s not sure, and felt sorry for the two, but all the same, they are not his children,” Allen finished.

  “I had no idea. I just assumed that …” Marc said.

  “Look, friend, it has been a long trip. What do you want from the bar?” Allen asked. After getting the order, Allen left and joined a long line of men who were waiting at the bar for drinks.

  “Nothing to worry about. They missed us,” the steward said to another group of men near Marc’s table. It caught Marc’s ear and he wondered what ship the steward was talking about.

  “We are a lucky ship. We just got back from Norway and not a scratch on us.” Marc looked over at the steward.

  “You’re safe on this old gal!” he then walked away to the galley.

  Chapter 20

  “Don’t sell my seat. I’m going to the head,” Horus said as he left the table.

  Marc’s senses seemed to intensify as he became ultra-aware of his surroundings. A deep sense of anticipation filled his chest but he could not pinpoint what it was that he was expecting. The memory of David on the Normandie the previous year spooked him. But his eyes were now open in a way they had not been when he boarded the ship.

  “This ship is overcrowded,” he said to John sitting across from him.

  “Damn right, it is. A lot of men sure are in a hurry to get home, and damn glad to be heading home.” John then turned to talk to someone passing.

  “Do you think it is—” Marc stopped mid-sentence because it was pointless. John’s back was turned and the room was so loud, he could hardly hear his own words.

  Mr. Lougoux and his son walked out from the lounge out onto the promenade deck. The Belgian boy and little girl walked past them with their dogs, as he pointed his sister toward a beautiful chrome bicycle. It sparkled in the sun while strapped to the side of the railing.

  “Papa, it appears everyone from Paris made it aboard,” his son said to him.

  “Yes, it does. See, everything works out for the best if you don’t worry about it,” Mr. Lougoux said with a smile, as he looked at the bike and patted his son on his shoulder.

  “Do you hear that?” his son asked him.

  “Uh, yes, where is it?” he said as he looked toward the sky.

  “George, George, over here!” John got up from the table to walk across to a soldier. Marc felt a slight nausea in his gut. He wondered if it was due to hunger or if he was starting to get the flu.

  On the stern of the ship, men started to get up from lying down on the deck. “Someone get the guns!”

  “Where is it? I can’t see it for the sun!” another man hollered. Then a sharp whining noise filled the air.

  The first bomb hit just aft of the funnel. Sister Clayton was thrown to the deck. The second bomb hit directly into the second cargo hold. The little Belgian boy and girl fell against the bulkhead to hide.

  The ship rocked heavily and, even down in the dining room, it was clear that something was wrong. Marc held the sides of the table. A few of the men slipped on the floor as the ship rocked.

  The third bomb ripped through several of the decks and penetrated the dining room. After a horrific flash, the pungent smell of coralyte filled the air. Marc had been blown several feet away from the table. Screaming filled the room as china flew and crashed to the deck. A sugar bowl whacked Marc on his back after flying through the room from the blast. He yelled out in pain as it thudded against his body.

  After regaining his balance, Marc looked for John, but he was gone. Only perhaps ten seconds had passed and everyone scrambled to make for the dining room doors and out to the main stairwell. The ship rocked back and forth heavily. Marc’s vision became myopic as he focused through the smoke to follow the soldiers.

  “Hurry, hurry! Make way, make way!” Mr. Lougoux said to his wife and the others in the lounge. Another family had a small child already in a life vest. The men parted so to allow them through the lounge out to the stairway and up the boat deck.

  “Will it hold us?” his wife asked as they climbed. The timbers cracked under the weight of all the soldiers. Out on the deck, they climbed into a boat that had been swung out from the ship. Another group of soldiers came and started to fill the boat. But then the boat flipped over, and Mr. Lougoux fell toward the sea in midair as his son held his hand.

  Sister Clayton clung to the side of the rail, looking down into the water. Men climbed up on top of the rail and jumped with full gear and life vests on. She looked down and saw each of the men snap their necks as the vest would fly up and catch their helmets.

  “No, no, look!” She held a young soldier back from jumping into the sea. “Take it off, or you will snap your neck,” she said to him.

  A large group of women with children then came out on the deck as she turned. “Oh dear God,” she said as the frantic passengers started to fly over the railing. From the deck above, a lifeboat fell halfway from the davits, pointing straight down to the sea.

  “Come along,” the Belgian boy said, holding his dog. He could see the water pouring over the bow of the ship from near the bridge. “They say the stern always goes down last,” he said to his sister as they walked aft past the chrome bicycle.

  Allen stumbled to his feet. He looked around, trying to gain his focus in the dark. His head felt empty and his ears rang so loud, he could barely hear anything outside. He started to stumble down past bodies laid out dead in every direction. He caught a light down the hallway as it started to fill with water.

  Marc, making his way to the stairwell, was caught up in a huge crowed of men pouring out from passageways and cabins. The gear they carried with them added to the confusion and congestion.

  Marc reached the staircase and heard a cracking sound from above.

  Snap … snap, snap … crack …snap. He looked up and saw that a part of the staircase was separating from the upper landing. Another part of the staircase had already snapped, causing the stairs to sag. The sheer number of soldiers and their gear was causing the stairs to fail.

  Marc became sick with panic on how he could climb the stairs before they fully disconnected. A long, loud grinding sound could be heard from above, within the next round of stairs, and was followed by a very loud snap muffled by the sound of falling men and duty bags, shouts and hollers, as the stairs began to collapse.

  Another soldier, as Marc hesitated to climb the stairs, pulled him back to cut in front of him. Just as the separation from the upper landing became complete, the stairs crashed down on the man in front of Marc. Marc fell backwards into the soldiers behind
him in the foyer as men and gear poured down from above.

  Marc pulled himself up off the deck and scooted away from the stairs.

  “Is there another staircase?” one soldier said, frantic.

  “Rope! Anyone have a rope up there?” another called above the yelling.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Marc caught a glimpse of a man followed by another crewmember as they passed through a small hatchway. Marc went for the hatch, and was followed by another man. He entered a remarkably small crew stairway leading up from the engine room.

  Marc turned on the stairway about four times until he came to an open hatch door that landed on the promenade deck on the starboard side of the ship. A group of guns stood in a stack on the deck right outside the main foyer landing. Just as another group of soldiers came out of the main foyer doors to the deck, the guns came entirely loose and started sliding across the deck while discharging, hitting one unlucky fellow square in the head as he fell back dead into the crowd trying to escape the ship.

  Marc stumbled against the bulkhead and looked down the deck as a lifeboat slid down the side of the ship.

  “Everyone to the port side,” came over the ship’s intercom. The ship started to lurch heavy to port, and Marc’s eyes widened with fear as the view of the sky now became a view of the sea. Men, women, and children who had gathered around the boats lost their footing and fell into the sea in front of him.

  Marc fought his way back through the ship’s rooms to the other side, along with men desperately looking for a way to get out.

  Marc came out on the other side of the promenade deck, acutely aware of the growing tilt of the ship as his weight pressed against the bulkhead.

  “She is going over! She is going over!” a young soldier yelled in terror. Marc knew he needed to act quickly and so, before the deck became so slanted he couldn’t climb it, he made it to the railing just next to the chrome bicycle.

  As he reached the railing, he pulled himself over and turned back and saw several soldiers trying to reach the side. He held out his hand to help pull them up and over the railing. About five or six made it up and over this way.