Courageous

by Yona Zeldis McDonough

  For hours, Aidan and Sally work side by side, helping soldiers—some of them wounded, all of them famished and exhausted—to the larger boats as they arrive. Aidan is hungry and thirsty, and at one point, he gratefully accepts a sip of water from the canteen one of the soldiers offers him and Sally. “You look like you could use a hand too,” says the soldier. “It’s not an easy job you took on here.”

  Despite his fatigue, Aidan smiles as he hands the canteen back to the soldier. “We’re in this thing together,” he says. “Back home, we’ve all been thinking of you. Day and night. And now we have the chance to help.”

  Bombs continue to explode—clearly Jerry’s keeping busy. For now, the explosions are at some distance—Aidan can see the planes though they are still far off in the sky. Who knows how long they’ll have this brief reprieve? Aidan and Sally try to step up the pace, keenly aware that the blasts on the horizon may soon be much, much closer. Aidan can only pray that George is all right, and that someone else is helping him, the way he and Sally are helping the men they see. Because that’s what this is about it, isn’t it? Each of them helping in any way that they can.

  After a while, the faces and voices of the men begin to blur. It doesn’t matter. Aidan is deep in the rhythm now. Bring the boat in, gather a few men, and ferry them to a larger boat, then turn around and start again. Stop to refuel if necessary. He and Sally do this over and over and over. It begins to seem like they’ve never done anything else. And that they never will.

  It’s tough going, thinks George as he slogs through the water to escort the men into the waiting boats. At first he’s surprised to see that there’s not a military boat in the batch. They’re all manned by civilians, and some of the ships are such wee things that they barely have enough room for two passengers. But every last one of them is important.

  The boats have come from up and down the British coast—Dover, Deal, Kent—and George is enormously moved that all these people, folks no different from his mum and dad, have risked so much to travel here this morning. He wonders how his mum and dad are, and makes a vow to write to them as soon as he’s able. And he wonders if anyone from his hometown is here in these waters today—it’s certainly possible. It’s even possible that his parents could be here … But enough daydreaming. He’s got a job to do. Resolutely, George turns to the soldier who’s been leaning heavily on the arm of his friend, waiting patiently until it’s their turn.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood,” says the friend. “There weren’t any medics, so I decided to take him with me. Just want to get him home is all. Home’s the place for him. They’ll fix him up as good as new.”

  “Here,” George says. “I’ll get on one side and you get on the other, and we’ll head toward that fishing boat right there.” He gestures farther out. “She’ll ferry you both to that tugboat.” But when George reaches for the other man’s arm to hoist it over his own shoulder, the man lets out a howl of excruciating pain and doubles over, nearly knocking George off-balance and into the water.

  “Easy now, mate,” says George, hovering near the wounded soldier. He needs to take his arm if he’s going to get him into that boat, so very carefully, he tries again. This time, the soldier twists so violently that he’s the one knocked off-balance and he lands face-first in the water.

  “Hugh!” cries his friend. “Hugh, are you all right?” He drags Hugh to his feet, dries his face with his sleeve, and attempts to prop him up again. But Hugh is not responding and doesn’t seem able to stand, even with help. His head is slumped, his eyes are closed, and a thin trickle of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth. His face is an awful, bleached color, like an old sheet.

  George puts a hand on Hugh’s chest. Nothing. Then he reaches for Hugh’s wrist to get a pulse. There is none. “I’m afraid Hugh is … gone,” he says as gently as he can.

  “Gone!” echoes the friend. “What are you talking about? He can’t be gone. He was fine just an hour ago, right as rain. Then that cursed grenade exploded. Got him in the side, ripped a hole in him. I didn’t want to leave him behind; I thought he’d be better off with me. But I was wrong—it’s my fault that he’s dead.” He buries his face in his hands.

  “No, it’s not your fault.” George tries to comfort the grieving man. “Not unless you started this war.” The man keeps his face covered, muffling the sound of his sobs. “Where are you from?” George asks him.

  “Devonshire.” The man lifts his face and swipes at his red-rimmed eyes.

  “Don’t you want to go back home and see your folks? Let me help you.”

  The man allows himself to be led to the boat. But he won’t let go of Hugh and drags the heavy, lifeless body behind him and through the water. “I’m bringing him back with me,” he says. “His family will want to give him a decent burial.”

  George nods. Once the man is safely on board, he turns to help the next man, and then the next. There are so many, the line stretching endlessly behind them. He sees them into the small boats and once these boats have brought them to the larger vessels, they come back again, ready to receive more passengers.

  But after a couple of hours, it’s clear that there is another problem and it’s a major one: There are no more big boats, only the little ones.

  George slogs through the water and finds his CO on the beach. “No more big boats, sir,” he reports.

  “I know.” Rogers sighs. “Maybe we’ll start using the smaller boats to carry ’em across until the big boats came back. Even taking two or three at a time would be better than nothing.”

  “But there are so many men, sir. We won’t be able to save them all.”

  “No,” says Rogers. “We won’t.” His face looks sad and weary. “We’ll do the best we can though, won’t we?”

  “Aye, sir.” George salutes before wading back into the water, ready to help the next soldier. This time it’s a group of three men that he escorts, bringing them to a small dory with the name Margaret written in script across the prow. What a funny coincidence—that’s the name of his dad’s boat.

  And when he looks up, he realizes that seeing the boat is more than a coincidence—it’s a regular miracle, because he’s staring straight at his father’s boat. And standing at the steering wheel and looking anxiously out at the water is none other than his little brother, Aidan. Aidan! How in the world did he get here?

  But before he can even call out his brother’s name, a loud noise from above makes him spin around and look up. There, in the gray-blue sky, are Jerry’s planes, flying in strict formation. They’ve been at some distance for a while, but they’re now moving in closer—again.

  There are still dozens of men in the water, and not enough boats to get them out of here. What’s going to happen now? George can’t even begin to imagine. “Aidan!” he shouts, signaling wildly to attract his brother’s attention. “Aidan, over here!” But the words are swallowed up, drowned out by the awful roaring of the planes that are overhead and moving right toward them.

  Aidan has just started moving toward a soldier in need of transport when a persistent buzzing up above causes him to glance quickly into the sky. There, in a sharp formation, are the German planes that had been off in the distance earlier in the day. Now they are getting closer and their mission is clear.

  Aidan turns to Sally, but before he can utter a word, he hears his name being called out, again and again. He whips around, trying to see where the voice is coming from. When his eyes settle on the source of the voice, his mouth falls open in astonishment. It’s George! George is here, and he’s calling to him!

  “Sally, look!” he cries, grabbing her arm and directing her gaze. “George is out there! Do you see him?”

  Sally’s eyes scan the water and then she sees him too. “We found him!”

  “Or he found us!” Aidan immediately steers the boat toward George, just as George is making his way through the water toward the Margaret, and when the boat is close enough, Aidan scrambles down and into the water.

&n
bsp; George grabs him, and for a few seconds the two brothers embrace tightly, not saying a word. It’s only when George releases him that the questions start tumbling out, one after the next.

  “How in the world did you get here? Do Dad and Mum know? How are they? How are you?”

  Aidan doesn’t answer right away. He just stands there in the water, grinning. George is alive and standing right in front of him. His brother looks older. Thinner too. His uniform is wrinkled and filthy. But he’s here, he’s really here. And now Aidan and Sally can bring him back to England.

  “Mum and Dad—they do know we’re here, but they didn’t want me to come. In fact, they flat-out locked me in my room. Sally helped spring me though. And now we’re here, which is where we belong.”

  “Poor Mum …” George says. “After Trevor and all, she must be mad with worry.”

  “I know,” says Aidan. “And I’m truly sorry to make her unhappy. But I went to the town meeting and, oh, you should have heard them there, George. Especially Mrs. McAllister. She lost both her boys, you know, but she was so determined that she had the whole town wanting to pitch in and help. And then I got your last letter and I realized I had to come find you. And look—we did.”

  “You’re very brave,” says George. Then he looks over at Sally. “You’re the bravest two kids in all of England. Maybe even all of Europe.”

  Sally is grinning at the compliment and Aidan feels so proud that his courageous soldier brother thinks he’s been courageous too. But his mission isn’t over yet. He’s got to get George safely back to England. Then, and only then, will Aidan feel he’s done the job he set out to do.

  “… they told us we’d be safe at Dunkirk, that we’d get a hot meal and some rest,” George is saying. “But it wasn’t like that at all. When we got here, the city was already under siege.” He glances up. “And it’s about to begin again.”

  “I know. So hurry up and get in the boat and we can get you out of here as soon as possible. There aren’t any more big boats. But we got across the Channel and we’ll get back across it again if we hurry.” And this time he’ll make sure he has a spare can of petrol before they attempt to make the crossing.

  “Aidan, I can’t leave now,” George says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. My unit took a serious hit. Five men were killed straightaway and everyone else was hurt, some pretty badly. My CO and I are the only ones left standing. We’ve got to stay here and see this thing through.”

  “But we’ve come all this way for you! We want to help you. We can’t just leave you here.”

  “You are helping me,” says George. “Seeing you and Sally has boosted my spirits more than I can even say. But my duty is here and my mind’s made up. I couldn’t leave now even if I wanted to.”

  Aidan is crushed. Leave George here, when the German planes are so close—how could he do such a thing? “No. I’m not leaving without you,” he says. “I’m going to stay right here until you get into this boat.”

  George smiles, a weary smile that doesn’t touch the sadness Aidan can see in his eyes. “You’re a good, loyal brother,” he says. “I’m proud of you, I really am. And I want you to be proud of me too. That means I have to obey my orders and stay here.” He gestures to the hordes of men waiting on the beach. “Besides, it’s not even my turn. How would it look to the others if I went back with you just because we’re brothers? Would that be right? Or fair?”

  “I suppose not …” Aidan says.

  “You know it wouldn’t. Yes, I’m your brother, but all those boys out there, well, they’re our brothers too. We can’t let them down, not even a single one.”

  Aidan looks at George. His expression is so serious and so resolute that Aidan knows there’s no arguing.

  “Send my love to Mum and Dad,” George says. “Tell them I’ll write to them as soon as I can. But I’ve got to be going now. My lieutenant is waiting for me.” George reaches out and hugs Aidan again. Aidan wishes he never had to let him go.

  When he finally does, he remains in the water, watching as George makes his way toward the beach. When George gets to the shore, he turns and waves. And he smiles. Even from here, Aidan can see it’s one of those sad smiles, the kind that isn’t about joy as much as it is about endurance. Then George begins to jog in the direction of a jeep where a soldier is waiting behind the wheel.

  “Come on, get in!” calls Sally. She’s still in the boat and has seen—and heard—everything. Aidan climbs into the boat just as the first flashes start up. The Germans are dropping bombs now. They’re still some distance off but the sight and sound of them are terrifying.

  “Let’s take as many as we can and start heading back,” Aidan says. Sally nods. If they squeeze in, they can take four men across. Four hardly seems like very many, though it’s better than none.

  But before they can pick up any of the men, the planes above begin to drop their terrifying cargo. The skin on the back of Aidan’s neck prickles each time he hears the whooshing of a missile falling toward the soldiers in the water. The brilliant streaks of heat and flame shoot down, but some of them don’t land on the water; some of them land right on the men waiting for the boats that have come to save them. Aidan can’t tear his gaze away as a boat capsizes, spilling its wounded passengers into the waves. A man flies high into the air and then drops, a broken puppet, into the water below.

  Aidan closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see any more. But it’s useless. The images are already burned into his memory—he can never forget them. And even without seeing what’s happening, he can still hear the explosions and the agonized screams of those who’ve been hit. How he and Sally have not been hit is a miracle, and he knows it will not last. To think they could have come so far and endured so much, only to be crushed now that they’ve reached their men and are on the way home—

  “What’s the matter with you?” Sally screams. “We have to get out of here!”

  Aidan opens his eyes. There is a lone soldier standing just a few feet away from them in the water. He looks so young—hardly older than Aidan himself. The soldier’s arms are wrapped tightly around himself and he’s trembling violently. “Come on.” Aidan extends a hand to the shivering soldier. “Get in. And then we’re getting out of here as fast as we can.”

  Overhead, the planes have moved on and the bombs have stopped pelting down, but his heart is still racing—why have they stopped? What if they come back?

  The soldier whom they’ve just picked up is seated next to Sally. He’s got a blanket one of the other soldiers left behind wrapped around his shoulders and his shivering has stopped—at least for the time being. Aidan turns away from them and focuses on steering the boat.

  But a thud makes him turn sharply around. Sally’s slipped off of the seat—that sound he heard was her body falling to the deck of the boat.

  The soldier crouches next to her, shaking her shoulder until her eyes flutter open.

  “What’s wrong?” Aidan cries as he looks at her with alarm.

  “I don’t know …” Taking the hand the soldier has extended, Sally gets up off the deck and eases herself back into the seat. “I just feel very faint all of a sudden.”

  “When did you eat last?” asks the soldier.

  “I don’t remember,” Sally says. “But not for a while. Certainly not since we left the village.”

  “But that was forever ago!” Aidan says. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I wasn’t until this very second,” she says. “But now that you mention it, I’m starving!”

  “That can happen,” the soldier tells her. “When you’re in the thick of things, you don’t feel hungry or thirsty. But that doesn’t mean your body doesn’t need to eat or drink. You should have something right away. You don’t want to pass out again.” He eyes Aidan for a second. “And something for you too—I’ll bet you haven’t eaten anything in a while either.”

  “But we don’t have any food,” Aidan says. “We left in
such a hurry that we didn’t think to pack anything.”

  “Some of the others will,” the soldier says. He stands up and waves to a man on a nearby boat. “Hey, mate,” he calls out, “these two need some tea and whatever you’ve got on board. Can you spare something?”

  “Of course we can!” the man calls back. “Just get a little closer.”

  Aidan brings the boat in and the soldier reaches for the parcel and the thermos that the man is offering. But Sally, who is clearly very weak, has slipped off the seat again. This time she doesn’t come to right away.

  “I think she’s fainted!” Aidan says.

  “Help me pick her up,” says the soldier.

  Aidan does as he’s told, and together they prop Sally up. Her head lolls back and her hair is a wild mass of snarls.

  “Better send her over to that boat,” says the soldier. “It’s bigger and she can lie down.”

  “But I don’t want to be apart from her,” Aidan says. “We came out here together and she’s my best friend and …” He trails off, aware of how feeble this sounds. Sally does need help.

  “I understand,” says the soldier. “But she’ll be better off. She’s no help to you here and you can’t do much for her either. You want her up and about again, don’t you?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” says Aidan. Sally would be more comfortable if she could stretch out, and the dory is too small.

  “Can you take her?” the soldier asks the man in the other boat.

  “Aye, we can,” says the man. “My wife will look after her.”

  Aidan brings the dory very close and passes the anchor over, tethering the two vessels together. Then he and the soldier carefully lift Sally up and pass her over to the man and his wife, waiting on the other boat. Sally’s body is as limp as a rag doll’s.

  When she’s safely on the other boat, Aidan retrieves the anchor and turns to the parcel of food. He has no idea of what time it is, but he knows he’s hungry. Ravenous, in fact. He unwraps the waxed paper to find a ham sandwich inside. He could inhale the whole thing in a single gulp but offers half to the soldier.