by Bali Rai
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I told him.
“Do you ever worry that we might not make it?”
“Yes,” I replied. “But that decision rests with someone else. I will simply carry out my duty. If I am to meet my end, so be it.”
“Don’t Hindustani’s believe in reincarnation?” said Cummings.
“I am a Muslim, sir,” I explained. “We do not believe in that. We believe in Paradise, much like a Christian Heaven.”
Cummings glanced at me.
“Thanks for clearing up my ignorance,” he said, his expression genuine. “I’m fascinated by other religions and cultures. Met a Buddhist in London last year. A very fine fellow. I’m not sure I believe in anything, however. War certainly shakes a man’s faith.”
“It does,” I replied. “But we must try, sir.”
“Perhaps I will visit India one day,” he said. “When all of this madness ends, of course. Seems a distant dream, just now.”
We sat a little longer, before I heard Mush calling for me.
“I must go, sir,” I said. “Thank you for sitting with me.”
“No, no,” said Cummings. “The pleasure was all mine. Bonne chance, as the French would say.”
“Does that mean good luck?” I asked.
“Indeed,” Cummings replied.
“Then bonne chance to you, too, sir.”
Captain Ashdown gathered us together and broke the news we had expected. We were ready to move, and he wanted us to be aware of what might await us. His translator stood by him, as always.
“The Germans have outflanked us,” he admitted. “They are now east and south of us, and drawing in. I’ve spoken to Command, and it seems we’re in a pickle.”
Beside me, Mush began to chuckle.
“So very English,” he whispered. “Why does pickle signify danger to these people? My wife’s pickle is dangerous but only because she puts so much chilli into it!”
“Idiot!” I whispered in return.
“Operation Dynamo has been given the go-ahead,” Captain Ashdown continued. “We will make our way to Dunkirk, and there, we will be evacuated to England…”
The men began to murmur. Some wore fearful expressions – wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“As long as we stick together and follow orders, we will stand a good chance,” the Captain added. “But I must warn you that the road will be difficult, and we will face great danger.”
He cleared his throat.
“This is not what we expected, men, and certainly not ideal,” he said. “But, our orders are clear, and we must obey them. We move out in five minutes.”
Again, the men murmured fearfully, and I took Mush aside.
“This is nothing but a retreat,” he told me. “There is no honour in this!”
“It is practical,” I countered. “We must survive.”
“We should turn and fight,” said Mush. “We cannot run away like beaten dogs.”
I sighed.
“What else can we do?” I asked. “We are beaten.”
Part of me felt as Mush did, but I was also excited at the prospect of visiting England and seeing its glory for myself. My grandfather had been hospitalised in Brighton during the Great War, and I longed to see it and London too. I wondered if I might get the chance. Mush seemed agitated, however, and remained angry.
“So much for this great British army,” he whispered. “How did they ever seize our country?”
I kept quiet and left him there, fuming. I found my mules and checked them one last time.
“Here we go again,” I said to Baba, as I heard the call to ship out. “Don’t worry, friend. I will not leave you behind.”
Baba nudged me with his head, and I patted his haunches in return. A hundred yards away, Cummings held up his hand in farewell. I returned the gesture before setting off.
8
Cassel was barely twenty miles from Dunkirk, and we should have made it sooner. Only, the roads were now packed with local civilians, and fellow troops from the British Expeditionary Force – thousands and thousands of them. Abandoned and ruined vehicles lined the route, yet more evidence of our retreat. As we slowly progressed, I saw evidence of bombs and many casualties. Here and there, medics tried to help soldiers and civilians, but many were beyond saving.
Elsewhere, we saw ragged and scared locals, bewildered by the turn of events. I sensed an air of shock and dismay, and perhaps anger comparable to that we’d experienced on leaving Marseille. Many cast suspicious glances our way, and on one occasion, a boy threw stones at us. I could not fault their sense of betrayal, but I could not condone it either. We were losing the fight, and we had to try and save ourselves. Perhaps return to fight another day.
I thought back to my childhood, and my school days. I had changed schools, to one that better suited my parents’ aspirations for my future. Two local boys, both older, took an instant dislike to me. I had been eight years old then, and the bullies terrified and tormented me. One evening, I cried in front of my grandfather, and he took me in his arms.
“What’s the matter, child?” he asked.
He was a bear of a man, with a barrel-chest and huge arms and hands. But his eyes remained soft, at least in my presence, and he had never raised his voice to me. He preferred patience and explanation to physical punishment, unlike my parents. Looking back, I wondered if his distaste for violence stemmed from his experiences of war.
I told him of the bullies, and he shook his head.
“You are weak, Fazal,” he told me. “Your arms are too skinny and your legs scrawny. We must build you up, if you are to defeat these boys.”
Only, I did not want to defeat them. I only wished for them to leave me in peace. But my grandfather was not to be denied. He began to train me: running and gymnastics, and basic self-defence and boxing skills. In the meantime, he explained that there was no shame in walking away from a fight.
“You must weigh the odds,” he told me. “If they are not in your favour, you run away and await your time. It will come–”
However, the first time I ran, I was ridiculed as a weakling by my schoolmates. I gained a reputation for being spineless, and this only encouraged the bullies. But, I remembered my grandfather’s advice, putting up with the bullying and derision for two entire school years. In that time, I grew stronger and more determined, but I did not let it show.
Finally, I was ready to confront the boys – Mohammed and Nazir –and they had no inkling of my new-found strength. I felt older and more confident, too, and ready to take on anything.
One afternoon, they accosted me as school finished. We were made to wear shorts, as English schoolboys did, and caps too. Nazir grabbed my cap in a crowded yard and threw it into the air. Meanwhile, Mohammed tried to pull down my shorts. The other boys egged them on, and I grew angry.
“Please don’t,” I asked them. “I do not wish to fight you.”
Nazir mimicked my words.
“Look at the girl!” Mohammed added. “Shall we dress you in women’s clothes and make you dance?”
I shook my head.
“I do not wish to fight you,” I said again.
Only, neither bully was willing to listen. Without warning, I punched Nazir on the nose, and he let out a cry and began to wail. The other boys grew instantly silent, staring at me in disbelief. Mohammed moved to strike me, but I stepped aside and placed him in an armlock, shoving him headfirst into a hedge. When I let go, he sprang to his feet and came again.
I swept his legs away and he landed on his backside, his humiliation complete.
“Please,” I repeated a third time. “I do not wish to fight.”
And with that, I picked up my cap and my school bag, and walked away. Neither boy bothered me again, and my reputation amongst my schoolmates improved dramatically. When I told my grandfather, he ruffled my hair, but also issued a warning.
“Don’t become a bully yourself,” he said. “Ego and pride are enemies of decency. You stood your
ground, and that is wonderful. But only fight if you must. Fighting should always be the very last resort.”
Now, I found myself remembering my grandfather’s words once more. And I let go of any shame or humiliation I was feeling. Ego and pride would not help me to survive. Running away would.
The first air assault occurred moments later, and I was not ready for it, Daydreaming had left me exposed. The sudden droning of hornet-like Stukas snapped me to my senses.
“ENEMY PLANES!” yelled someone behind me.
The bullets came thick and fast, as the fighters swept low and raked the road with machine gun fire. Several civilians and soldiers fell, and I darted left, pulling my mules with me. They did not hesitate, and we bounded into the treeline. All around me others followed, screaming and wailing, and trying to escape with their lives. On the road, the Stukas made a second pass, higher this time, and dropped their payloads. Three separate explosions knocked me from my feet, and reduced visibility to almost nothing. The air was thick with smoke and dust and pierced by the cries of the wounded.
Shell-shocked and deafened, I crawled forwards, and tried to get my bearings. As the smoke began to clear a little, I saw a little girl, no more than five or six, lying motionless and bloody on the ground. Her mother lay close by, eyes wide open and life gone. I called out for a medic, but none appeared, so I tended to the child myself. She was unconscious but breathing and had only a flesh wound. I sat up, removed my jacket and covered her mother, lest the girl awaken and see her lying dead.
It took until nightfall for us to assess our losses, and again, we were lucky. Not a single member of the company nor any animal had been hurt, most of them making cover well before the Stukas closed in. Civilian casualties, on the other hand, were great because many of the locals had hidden under and behind carts and motorised vehicles. The carnage was sickening, and as more soldiers arrived on the scene, we began the sorry task of removing the dead and leaving the wounded by the roadside.
“We must move on,” Captain Ashdown insisted. “Those are my orders. We cannot risk being caught.”
When some of the men complained, the captain held his temper. He looked as sad as the rest of us, and just as guilty.
“I cannot accept this,” said Mush as we found each other. “It is shameful to leave them.”
“But we must,” I told him, even though I agreed with every word.
“We will answer for this,” he replied. “On the Day of Judgement.”
I turned away, unable to offer any response.
And so, under cover of darkness, we left the injured civilians behind, and my spirits fell once more. Never had our motto of Hukam Hai felt hollower.
9
The second attack came next morning, as we closed in on Dunkirk. I was tending to my mules, having slept only fitfully and rising before dawn. Weariness infected the men, and each of us wore haunted expressions, as though we might already have died. I heard the droning long before the Stukas arrived, but that was all the warning I required.
“ENEMY!” I yelled, trying to rouse my sleeping comrades.
Captain Ashdown had not slept at all. He was some thirty yards away, drinking tea and reading a letter.
“Khan!” he screamed. “Get the animals and men into the woods!”
It felt like a recurring nightmare. Marching, hearing the bombers, finding shelter on the roadside amongst the trees and bushes, emerging to find destruction and death. An endless cycle of terror and despair. Once again, I led Baba and the others off the road, but this time, cover was sporadic and light, and we were easy targets. Hundreds of my comrades leapt to their feet and did the same, stumbling and falling and as panicked as stampeding water buffalo.
It was a terrible scene, with soldiers and civilians scattering once more, desperate to stay alive in the Germans’ onslaught. From my position, I watched my fellow humans fall under machine-gun fire, and then three thumps, one after the other, and explosions and then ringing ears and temporary silence. I shook my head and ran to help, but Captain Ashdown ordered me to halt.
“Don’t be a fool!” he hollered. “Wait!”
When it became clear that the bombers had moved on to new targets, the captain led the way, but there was little to be done. Another officer joined him, and they began to discuss something, as the rest of my company emerged. Captain Ashdown was angry and animated, but his fellow officer remained calm, merely shaking his head. He produced a slip of paper for Ashdown to read.
“Can you hear them?” Mush asked, appearing at my side. His face was streaked with dirt and his breath was as stale as my own.
“No,” I replied. “Have we lost any men?”
Mush shrugged.
“It does not seem so,” he told me.
In the distance, I heard more thuds, followed by explosions. I wondered how many troops were on the road to Dunkirk, and how many casualties we had sustained.
“They are closing in,” said Mush. “From all directions.”
“No,” I replied. “Not from the north. That is where our troops are. The Germans are only bombing the road to Dunkirk. They have not reached the town. Yet.”
Captain Ashdown removed his cap and lowered his head. He appeared saddened and dismayed, and when he returned to us, he did not look us in the eye.
“We’ve been ordered to cut them loose,” he said softly.
“Whom?” I asked.
He seemed to regain his composure in an instant, standing tall and replacing his peaked cap.
“The animals,” he said, his tone gaining confidence.
“But…” said Mush.
“They are too burdensome,” said Captain Ashdown. “And we cannot take them with us.”
“But, that is not right,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Khan,” the Captain replied, too saddened to notice my insolence. “I cannot disobey direct orders.”
I shook my head.
“How can we just leave them behind?” I asked. “Where will they go?”
Captain Ashdown lowered his head again.
“I’m sure the locals will have them,” he replied. “We have no choice, Khan. Our orders are clear.
Sergeant Buckingham approached, and could not have been less sympathetic. He was drunk again, and grinning.
“About time, if you ask me,” he said. “I don’t know why we came this far with the darned things. Sheer luck that we haven’t lost men whilst herding the useless things.”
I almost snapped but thought better of it. There was no use in getting myself court-martialled for insulting a sergeant. Yet, that is exactly what I wished to do. How could Buckingham think the mules useless? They had been our faithful servants, enduring as much hardship as any of us. We had mutilated them, and taken away their voices, and for what? To turn them loose when they became a burden? It was cold-hearted and wicked, and I hated the very idea.
“We should have eaten them,” Buckingham added, before winking at me. “Or is mule stew against your religion, Private Khan?”
Captain Ashdown cleared his throat.
“Perhaps you’d be best served organising the men, Sergeant?” he suggested.
“Yes, sir,” said Buckingham, with barely disguised insolence.
Captain Ashdown ignored his reaction and took me aside once he’d gone.
“I don’t like this any more than you,” he admitted. “It sticks in my throat. These animals have served us since India, and I’m saddened to see them discarded in such a pitiless manner. But we must follow orders, Khan. No matter what our personal feelings.”
“And if they discard us next, sir?” I asked.
For, were we not as voiceless and burdensome as our animals? And, in the eyes of men like Buckingham, just as lowly and dispensable?
“That will not happen,” Captain Ashdown insisted. “I can assure you of that.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
Captain Ashdown nodded.
“This order angers me and
makes me despair,” I admitted.
“Duly noted, Khan,” Captain Ashdown replied. “Thank you for your candour. Now, please carry on.”
“Yes, sir!” I said.
I trudged back to Baba and the others and stood beside them for a long while. I rubbed their snouts and brushed their coats, and whispered sorry, over and over again. Baba stamped his front legs and pushed into my midriff with his head, and I grew even gloomier. Many people thought mules ugly and awkward, but to me they had proved their magnificence. They had been loyal and hardworking since our departure from India, despite their obstinate natures. Never failing us, never causing us problems, never ceasing to carry all that we laid upon their shoulders. They were as much our comrades as any man, and yet we were to betray them.
“This is awful,” said Mush as he joined me. “Such a cruel waste.”
“They will die,” I replied. “I am certain of it. Who will care for them and feed them once we are gone?”
“Perhaps the civilians will have use for them?” Mush suggested.
“No, brother,” I told him. “We are leaving the civilians behind too. They will be busy trying to escape the Germans. What use will they have for additional hungry mouths?”
“I can’t bear to think of it,” said Mush.
“Nor me,” I told him. “It feels immoral.”
“Remember when we first began to train with them?” asked Mush.
“Yes,” I nodded. “They seemed so smelly and pointless. I wanted to be a soldier, not a muleteer. I had expected a gun and instead I got…”
“A dumb animal!” Mush said with a smile.
“Not so dumb,” I replied. “Well, not until they were mutilated.”
“I wonder if we will answer for this?” said Mush. “On the Day of Judgement. I wonder if their fate will determine ours?”
I shrugged.
“We are not doing this,” I pointed out. “We did not give the order.”
Mush stroked Baba and gave a wry smile.
“We are not so different to these beasts,” he said. “We are but dumb animals, forced to follow orders and with no right of reply.”
“At least we will get a chance to survive,” I told him. “And we are not being abandoned to this war and all of its brutality.”
