The only easy day…

Written in memory of the 86 children and 18 adults killed at the bombing of the French School in Copenhagen 21st of March 1945. The bombing was executed by the allied forces in order to hit a German Archive but by terrible mistake ended up hitting the school.

English is not my first language and this is un-betaed. Feel free to correct me, but please do so kindly (betas are always appreciated!).

I own nothing

Hastings, Spring 1934

Superintendent Christopher Foyle was doing paperwork on his latest case when a knock on the door to his small office brought him back to reality. With one last look at the file he was working on, Foyle drew his attention to the door and called out,

'Enter'

The door was opened and Phillip Bellamy, one of the constables working the front desk, popped his head in with an unusual serious expression on his boyish face.

'Sir?', he started out, obviously not comfortable with the situation.

'Yes?', Foyle said, a little annoyed to be interrupted and even more so when Bellamy apparently was unwilling or lacking the courage to speak up.

The younger constable seemed to understand that his stalling did not do him any good and stepped fully into the room.

'There has been a call from Saint Thomas' School – there has been a gas explosion'

For a moment Foyle seemed paralyzed but then he jumped out of his chair and in four steps was across the room and in Bellamy's face,

'Are the children okay?', he almost whispered and his sea blue eyes begged Bellamy to confirm his question. The younger constable just shook his head in an apologetic gesture,

'I don't know, Sir – Johnson took the call and he did not ask…' before Bellamy could continue Foyle was out the door and down the hall to the reception area.

'How could you not ask if the children were okay?' he yelled at Johnson, and older officer working part time at the desk. The older man looked up with an offended expression

'Excuse me Detective Foyle' he said with a stressing of the detective part.

'I didn't know you were in charge here', the sarcasm was spilled effort since the detective in question was already out the door.

'What was all the rambling about?' PC Fisher asked while coming into the reception area.

'I'm sorry Sir – he was yelling about information on the explosion at the school but I do not have any information'

'What school?' Fisher asked with his eyes at Johnson, but it was Bellamy whom had silently entered the room that answered,

'Saint Thomas Elementary, Sir'

Both Johnson and Fisher looked at him but where Johnson's eyes were calm, Fisher's were suddenly almost as worried as Foyle's had been moments before.

'Bellamy, with me', he then commanded and disappeared out the door leaving a flabbergast Johnson behind.

Meanwhile Foyle had leaped down the back stairs of the police station and found himself in a chaos of uniformed police officers and fire fighter getting ready to drive out to the scene of emergency. In the sea of people, Foyle recognized Miles James, a firefighter often at the station and he managed to get the other man to give him a lift to the scene. Arriving at the school Foyle was met with absolute chaos – first responded had only arrived shortly before Miles and Christopher, and the firefighters were running like mad to establish water ways and evacuate the many children being escorted away from the school. Locals from the area were helping where they could, and Foyle recognized worried men and women looking for their children or already holding on to some. An older firefighter, Winston McLean, seemed in charge of the children and guided the boys away from the building and over to the nearby park where ambulances and doctors had started to arrive along with the parents.

Foyle crossed over to Winston and touched his shoulder. Winston turned towards Foyle and he immediately knew the answer to his unspoken question – the look in Winston's eye said everything and Foyle refrained from asking and instead said,

'How many?'

Winston instinct knew what his friend was asking and placed a hand on Foyle's shoulder.

'We managed to get most of the youngsters out, the middlers were almost all outside playing and the oldest are away on a fieldtrip today thank god – but we still lack some – I'm sorry Chris!'

Foyle nodded and looked at the building were the firefighters were working on getting the fires under control and supporting the fundament. With a last nod to Winston he moved towards the building but was bodily pushed to the ground when another explosion shook the building. Around him the boys were screaming in panic and little pieces of debrief were raining down. Grapping his hat which had been knocked off his head Foyle moved through the gate and into the school yard. The new explosion still covered the area with smoke but Foyle was still paralyzed by what he saw - Half the old building was crumpled to the ground so that it looked like a little girl's dollhouse where the front part had been pushed away so it was now possible to see directly into the building. The building was empty except for two small boys hanging on to a plank that uses to be a windowsill about two floors over the ground. One was a redheaded boy around five years old with big tearful eyes and he was clinging to the other child – a dark-haired, slender lad around eleven whom had one arm around his charge and the other tightly around a piece of the brick wall sticking out. The little guy was quietly crying but the older one was dead silent and his eyes were so huge that they seemed to take up all the space in his head. Both were covered with ashes and dirt and the oldest boy had a bleeding cut on his knee. Right now they were focused on the firemen below working with fanatic speed at securing a safety net. Foyle whom had been paralyzed suddenly came back to himself and was halfway across the yard when somebody bodily stopped him with an arm around his shoulders. Foyle struggled to free himself but instead found himself face to face with Winston,

'Let me go', Foyle kept struggling but Winston was both bigger and stronger did not let up his hold.

'Chris, no! You will only distract him! Christopher – listen to me, for his sake!' the last part apparently did the trick. Foyle relaxed and with a shudder stopped fighting. A shiver ran through him but he kept still and felt the arm fall away.

'He be alright' Winston's voice assured him and Foyle nodded in spite of himself – all right! He had to be – oh God. Turning Foyle saw that the firefighters had secured the safety net and now looked up at the boys. The little one was crying loudly now and had both arms around the older, his head buried in his shoulder. The older boy still had one arm around the wall – the only thing keeping the boys safe, but Foyle could see his thin arm tremble under the stress. He could see the older boy speaking to the younger but could not make out the words, but somehow he seemed to convince the lad to jump down. The little one was caught by the safety net and one of the firemen lifted him up and carried him away – the boy clinging to him. The older boy whom was now waiting for the men below to set up the safety net again, was almost curled up around the piece of brick sticking out and Foyle could see him tremble with fatigue and fright. Suddenly the boy shifted his gaze and Foyle found himself looking directly into dark eyes. For a moment the two just looked at each other as if under a spell, but then the magic was broken when a fireman called out to the boy to let go and jump. For a moment the boy's eyes filled with doubt but Foyle nodded encouragingly. This seemed to do the trick and the boy let go and landed safely on the net.

Foyle wanted to move, to run the last few steps to the safety net. He knew Winston would not stop him, not now, but somehow he could not move, his legs seemed detached from his body, absent from his control. Then one of the firemen lifted the lad from the net and tried to carry him away, but the boy fought to get down and as soon as his feet hit the ground, ran towards Foyle whom easily caught his son and lifted him into his arms. Andrew wrapped his legs around his father's waist and his arms around his neck and buried his head in Foyle's shoulder like he had done a long time ago when he had been a little boy - before Rosa died, before it was just the two of them, before everything changed... But right now none of that mattered, Foyle just held his young son close and whispered soft words of encouragement into his ear. For a long moment, the only thing Foyle focused on was having Andrew in his arms and silently thanked God that his son was safe and sound. It was Winston's voice calling his name which brought Foyle back to the real world. He had no idea how much time had passed and deep down he did not really care either, but with Andrew safe in his arms Foyle shifted his focus to his friend.

'Christopher – we need to leave', Winston said. Looking around, Foyle agreed. The firemen had tried to stabilize the building but the latest explosions had destroyed many of the fundamental parts and the firemen were clearly about to clear out the premises. One of them, whom Foyle recognized from the police station, looked over at Foyle and Winston and with a movement of his hand let them know that they had to leave. Foyle looked back at Winston and nodded,

'I agree', he said.

All this time, Andrew had rested peacefully in Foyle's arms but when Winston started to move away, he lifted his head from his father's shoulder and looked around for a second before meeting Foyle's eyes. Andrew's eyes were red from a combination of crying and dust, and his dirty face was tear stricken. He had a cut above his right eye which was still sluggishly bleeding and overall he looked completely worn out. In spite of this Foyle was still a little surprised that Andrew had not demanded to be put down. Andrew had always been an active child, always running or climbing, always in the search of a new adventure, but had also as a youngster sought the security of his father's arms when the world became too big and scary. This had all changed when Rosalind died, suddenly Andrew became quieter, more mature and more aware of what he would allow – and being picked up was not one of these things. Foyle was therefore even more surprised when Andrew with one last look around simply nestled down in Foyle's arms. The knowledge that he still had the ability to make his son feel safe and protected filled Foyle with warmth and with a parent's long practice shifted Andrew to his hip and carried his slender son towards the gate where Winston waited for them.

'Told you he would be okay, eh?', he asked with a small smile and Foyle could do nothing but return the smile and nod.

"That you did, Winston – that you did".