Author's Note: Thank you sooo much to those who read and reviewed my last chapter. This one, however, I'm even more nervous about; I haven't written anything like this before. Ever. Dunkirk is a story I've been fascinated with for years, and it seems amazing that I'm able to publish this chapter just in time for the release of the film 'Dunkirk'. (Which stars my fav Cillian Murphy as "The Shivering Soldier", as well as Harry Styles, if that's your sort of thing!) I'm going to see it as soon as I can. Can't wait!

A VERY important note: many things that happen in this chapter are inspired by real-life events (see end notes). But PLEASE keep in mind that this is fanfiction, at the end of the day. Whatever I write can never, ever do the real events justice. I'm also not a history student or a WWII expert; I'm going to make mistakes and take certain liberties with the history. Therefore, criticism and discussion are welcome, but only if they're delivered rationally (and perhaps with a sense of humour!)

Reviews are (almost) better than that glorious BTS video from 'The Last Jedi'. So please leave one if you can!


Previously: Jyn and Cassian are people with pretty messed-up past. Through their friends, Shara and Kes, who are (sort of) seeing each other, they meet for the first time in November, 1939. The meeting doesn't go particularly well. Jyn and Shara are off to become female pilots with the ATA, while Cassian, Kes, and Kay are part of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) who are shipped off to France.


Chapter Two

On Such A Full Sea Are We Now Afloat

.

The next thing I remember was someone saying, "Come on, chum! Have a cup of tea!" I had a mouthful of tea and then he said, "Do you want to see the white cliffs of Dover?" And there they were, coming up.

Private Albert Dance, Rifle Brigade


There were stars tonight, tiny, twinkling jewels that made the bleakness seemed almost beautiful. Clouds dotted across the darkness pale as milk, while a sliver of moon hung low in the sky as if it were a teardrop. It was not yet dawn.

Cassian Andor was waiting for dawn.

"You should be asleep," a voice rang out from behind him.

Cassian turned and looked up from his place in the trench to see his best friend James Kay standing there in the dark. Kay was a tall man, blond with sharp blue eyes, his frame as slim as a blade. In his hand was a chinked cup, brimming with steaming hot tea. A rifle slung over his left shoulder. The cut he had received from yesterday's battle was still visible on his left cheek, and it gave his chiselled cheekbones an even more hardened look in the dark.

"I couldn't sleep," Cassian said.

"You never can." Kay had a habit of stating the obvious. He dropped down onto the earth beside Cassian, his every movement as graceful as a cat's. "I'd tell you that it's a problem but I already know you wouldn't care."

"It's a habit now, Kay. You get used to your habits."

"Even unhealthy ones?"

"Especially those. Are you here just to nag?" Cassian asked, but he was not really that annoyed.

"Unfortunately no," Kay answered regretfully. "As it happens, I think your horrid habit is rubbing off on me. I can't seem to sleep either."

"How are the men?"

"Sleeping." Kay paused for a moment, and then announced, "I have news."

Cassian relaxed his grip on his own rifle. A small, tired smile tugged at his lips. "And how did you come by this news?"

"Perfectly legitimately. I listened in on the Major's correspondents, of course."

"Good man."

Kay shrugged. "I know you'll want to hear this," he said. "It is about our order."

"What about our order?" asked Cassian, his voice blank.

It was only two days ago when Cassian and his unit were posted here at Wormhoudt - a town situated between Bergues and Cassel - with 'the order'. A few rifles, anti-tank guns, and smoke bombs were the only weapons they were given. Yesterday, the German infantry had come over the hill and their unit had battled them back. But tomorrow they would come again, and then again the day after, until everyone on the British side was dead or captured.

Kay recited the order harshly, "Hold at all cost. Fight to the last man and the last round." There was a grim slant to his mouth. "Well, I've discovered what we are holding for. General Gort has finally pulled the plug; the BEF are pulling out of France. The Belgians are surrendering, and the Jerries now have us trapped with our backs to the ocean."

Cassian nodded. "We know this already." They had heard the confirmation on the wireless only a few days ago.

Kay smirked. "Yes, but that's not all there is. They're trying to evacuate us out. As many men as they can, back across the channel. They have a plan, Gort and Churchill and all the rest. Well, a plan…of sorts. We'll see how well it actually works once things are put into motion."

Cassian stared at his friend. "Where is the evacuation point going to be?"

"Dunkirk."

He sucked in a sharp breath, the realisation coming to him at last. "And we're the rearguard. We are to beat the Germans back as best we can so that our men can make their escape."

Kay nodded stiffly. "Correct."

It should scare him more, the prospect of dying. But somehow it did not, and he did not think he wanted to know what that meant. He looked across the field over to the hill beyond, and he wondered if the Germans on the other side felt the same.

Kay took a sip of tea. His rifle was now lying next to him on the ground. "I suppose it is quite obvious. The chances of us surviving are - "

"Slim."

"Very slim."

"Well, I've had worse odds." It was true. Almost. "They're coming over again tomorrow."

Kay sighed. "I know. And we're running out of smoke bombs to throw at them. They must be quaking in their boots."

"Will they bring tanks? Did the Major manage to get any intel on that, at least?"

The Germans had halted their tanks for three days now. No one quite knew why. If those tanks had continued to advance, the entire BEF would have been crushed by now. Perhaps the bastard is not as clever as he thinks, Cassian thought. Or perhaps he is toying with us, like how a dog toys with his food before he eats…

Kay shook his head. "I don't know. I expect we shall find out tomorrow."

When dawn comes. Cassian lit a cigarette as the silence sat heavy on them both. Eventually he said, "Kay, we've known each other a long time. I never once - "

"Hey, ho, what's this?" came a shout. It was Kes Dameron, grinning brightly as he swung down into the trench beside Cassian. The mongrel he had named Garret - a brown little dog he'd found on the side of the road many months ago - was at his heels. The animal immediately came to lick Cassian's hand, its tail wagging enthusiastically. Kay stared at Dameron with annoyance, but the newcomer looked unbothered. "You're drinking tea in the trench, Kay? Why, you posh bastard!"

"I don't see how drinking tea - "

Dameron chuckled. "Calm yourself, mate, I'm just taking the mick."

Kay scowled. "I don't suppose you can sleep either, Dameron."

"Oh, I've slept enough these past six months. Now that there's real fighting going on…sleeping is a waste of time." Dameron put out a hand and Garrett came running to him, as excited as a child. "What were you lot going on about before you were so rudely interrupted by yours truly?"

"Fighting," replied Cassian.

"Ah." Dameron too had his own souvenir from yesterday's battle: a horrific gash in his right arm that was now wrapped in bandage. For someone who had never seen combat before, Cassian thought he had handled himself remarkably well. "Do you think we'll survive tomorrow?"

"Kay thinks we're not going to."

"Ever the optimist." Dameron chortled.

Kay bristled. "If they bring tanks - "

"We'll use our anti-tank guns. That's what they're for," said Dameron, scratching Garrett behind the ear. His easy smile was evident on his face as he turned to look at his friends. "Honestly, Kay, I don't want to go into battle thinking I'm fucking doomed. Doesn't that make it worse?"

"One drop of realism is always better than a full pint of delusion."

Dameron's smile turned into one of fondness. "Now you sound like Shara."

Kay did not seem to understand. "Shara?"

"A bird I'm seeing." He stared at Kay, incredulous. "How come you don't know who she is? Who do you think I keep writing to every other day?"

Kay shrugged. "Your mother?"

Dameron rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows about Shara. Even Andor has met her."

Kay turned his accusatory glare to Cassian. "You have? Where was I?"

"You were sick with the flu."

"Was I? I don't recall!"

"Yes, you were," said Cassian, sighing. "It was our last day off in London and you couldn't get out of bed because you were too sick to move."

"I don't remember ever being that ill. How is it possible that - "

"Do you know what the two of you sound like?" Dameron grinned. "Like an old married couple."

"Piss off, Dameron." Kay glared. "And this woman of yours…this…Shauna - "

"Shara. She's American."

Kay sneered. "For goodness' sake, Dameron."

"She's alright, you know. A pilot. Even Andor likes her."

Kay's eyes narrowed suspiciously at Cassian. "You do?"

"I only met her once," Cassian said quickly. Only once, and it was not the American who had made an impression on him that night.

"You told me you thought she was nice," Dameron reminded him.

"She was. I think."

Dameron's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps your attention was on someone else that night."

"Who?" Kay asked, his voice suddenly sharp.

"Shara brought a friend," Dameron explained. "A pilot who's in the ATA with her. Jyn Erso. A bloody handful, but the best kind."

"Jyn Erso?" Kay could not look anymore disapproving if he tried. "And you enjoyed the company of this…Jyn Erso, Cassian?"

Cassian sighed wearily. This was not the conversation he wanted to have at all. "Jyn Erso was drunk and annoying and angry, so no, I did not enjoy her company."

Dameron snorted. "You walked her home."

"Because you and Shara asked me to."

"You've never told me this before, Andor, but did anything happen?"

"Of course not. And I'd appreciate it if we could drop the blasted subject!"

Kay's look of contempt said he would rather not, but to Cassian's immense relief, Dameron was the one who spoke. "You know, half the time, I don't understand how we're friends."

"We're not friends," Kay corrected in a tight voice, but it only made Dameron grin even wider.

"See? I'd miss this."

"I thought you said we're going to survive."

"I didn't say we're going to survive, I just said I intend to." Dameron picked up a tiny branch and threw it away for Garrett to run and catch. "I intend to survive the Jerries' attack tomorrow. I intend to return home and see London again. To eat proper Cuban food and not this ghastly stuff they keep giving us. Maybe take Garrett to a park…"

The dream was a nice one, thought Cassian, but from the way Kay's eyes hardened, he knew his best friend did not share his view. He lit another cigarette as Kay emptied the rest of his tea into the dirt.

They all watched as the mongrel came running back to Dameron with the stick clutched between his sharp teeth. Dameron gave him a compliment in Spanish before throwing the stick away again. As Cassian watched Garrett chase after it, he thought that the dog might be the only creature in this damned town who did not care one whit about the shadows looming up beyond the hill.

Perhaps I've become soft…and I don't want to die after all.

His rifle had turned cold by the time he touched it again.


The Germans came at dawn, but so did the rain.

It was not the soft rain Cassian remembered from his well-worn memory, with its touch as gentle as a lover's caress. The rain that came was ferocious and cruel, flooding and destroying every thing in its path, as though the sky had had its heart ripped from its chest and all the blood had come pouring out.

"Tanks," Kay told him grimly. His friend was huddled beside him in the trench, his rifle at the ready.

Once again, Kay had stated the obvious; Cassian could already see the monstrosities coming toward them through the rain. The mud began caking up its giant wheels as they rolled and rolled. Their mechanical groans were swallowed up by the wind.

Cassian shook the water out of his eyes. "Bring the guns."

Kay roared the order for the rest of their unit. Men scurried, fell in the mud, and scrambled through the mire to get their hands on the items in question. Faintly, Garrett's barks could be heard above the sound of thunder.

"Men!" Kay shouted. "Aim! FIRE!"

And on and on it went, as never ending as the storm. The Germans kept trying to drive the tanks forward, and Cassian and his men kept firing back with their meagre supply of anti-tank guns. The sound of bullets rang as loud as the drumming of the rain upon the earth. The ground beneath them had begun to turn into a river. They stood ankle-deep in the mud, soaked to the bone as wave upon wave of bodies and machines kept coming at them. Far away, someone in their right column let out a blood-curling scream. Then - BOOM!

"We can't hold forever!" Kay shouted at Cassian. "We've lost the right flank!"

He found himself nodding. He was oddly calm. "We beat them back," he told his friend. Then he raised his voice and shouted the same words down the column. He heard a cheer that sounded like Dameron's rising up in answer.

A friend, Cassian thought vaguely. A friend. Still alive.

He did not know much time had passed until the tanks finally stopped rolling forward. The marshy ground seemed to have done its part in hindering their progress, and he supposed the anti-tank guns must have done their work. However, everyone on their side were too tired to cheer, and there was no time to rest before someone to their left screeched out, "They're coming!"

German soldiers were trudging down from the opposite hill, but they were only black, blurry shapes to Cassian's eyes. A lad to his right shouted a curse in panic and lifted his rifle to his shoulder. Then - BANG - he was nothing but a dead man at Cassian's feet, a stray bullet having sliced through his throat.

Kay was yelling again. "RIFLES!"

It was more like playing Russian roulette in a burning building, Cassian thought to himself. He could hardly see; he had no way of knowing if there was a bullet shooting toward him or whether his own bullet had found a target. His entire world had now shrunk down to two simple, but awful acts: fire and reload, fire and reload, fire and reload. There was blood on his hands, but he did not know whose it was. The only sounds he could hear were men dying all around him, bullets flying from guns, the rain pouring down vengefully. It could have been days, months, years, he could not tell.

It will never end. God help me, this will never end.

But it did end. Sometime in the afternoon, the Germans called a halt. And when the coast was clear, Cassian tossed away his gun and stood up. He immediately noticed that he was among the only few who could.

Kay was the one nearest to him, the only one nearest to him that was still alive. There was a lost, horrible look in his friend's eyes, and dread cut through Cassian's heart like a knife. He heard himself ask in a hollow voice, "Where's Dameron?"

They found Garrett first. The mongrel was lying in a pool of mud and blood, his eyes wide open and his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Someone had shot him, and more than once too, judging by the numerous horrific wounds in his tiny body. A few yards away from the corpse was Dameron.

Cassian crouched down beside his friend. "Are you hurt?"

But Dameron could only nod and point down. His right leg was bent grotesquely at the ankle, as though some giant monster had tried to yank it out of its socket. One look at it was enough to tell Cassian that it was broken.

Dameron fisted a weak hand into Cassian's collar and yanked his face down to his. "I…I can't get up." There was no easy smile now, no twinkle in his brown eyes. His face was white as a sheet. "It…it hurts like a motherfucker."

"We'll…we'll get you some help."

Kay came to stand beside the two of them, but did not say anything. His lips were pursed together, his whole posture as rigid as a statue's. Even Cassian could not read him.

Dameron winced. "No…I don't…"

"We found Garrett," Cassian told him.

Dameron's eyes clouded over with more pain. "Some…some bastard got him. I…I don't know…ours or theirs…"

"Don't talk. Save your strength."

"I intend to survive this, remember?"

"You're doing a bloody shoddy job of it right now, you know that?"

"Yeah…well…I…"

"Sir!" A young soldier came running at them out of the darkness. As he saluted them, Kay put out an arm and stopped him in his tracks.

"What is it, lad?" Kay demanded.

The lad looked scared out of his wits and his voice shook tremulously above the rain. "The Major, sir. He's sent word. The position is almost lost. The Germans have the town surrounded and our unit on the west side can't hold any longer. There's been a new order, sir." His eyes flickered from Kay's face to Cassian's. "Every man for himself, he says."

The lad's words were met by eerie silence from Cassian, Kay and Kes, but they were not the only ones who had heard. A crowd had begun to form around them; Cassian could see old Mick whose right arm was now in a make-shift sling, the Scouse lad Jimmy with his puppy-dog eyes, Harry who was leaning against his rifle, Jack with the lazy eye, Frank with his scarred face. A few more whose names he did not know rounded up the group. Some were trying to move their injured friends out of the rain into any sort of shelter. Some were simply sitting on the ground, too exhausted to move. There was a young man - brown-haired and solemn dead eyes - who was shell-shocked. He stood not far from Dameron, as still as stone and staring into nothing.

"That settles it, then," said old Mick. "We're fucked."

Jack shook his head. "Not if we surrender."

"Come off it, man! We're not surrendering!" piped up Jimmy, his face reddening.

"What would you have us do then, you wanker? Die?"

"I didn't say - "

"We must get to higher ground," said another solider who Cassian did not know by name.

Harry scoffed. "Hard to find higher ground than this, mate."

"Well, I don't plan on dying in the mud."

"Where do you prefer to die, then? In a bloody castle?"

The argument turned more heated then, and before long, almost every man had chimed in with his opinion. The only ones who had remained silent were those who were too injured to speak, the shell-shocked lad, and Cassian himself. Kay, too, had not uttered a word, and while the conversation raged on around them, the blond man eventually crouched down next to Dameron. His eyes, however, seek out Cassian's.

"So…what's the plan?"

Cassian glanced around before he answered in a low voice. "We're not surrendering. That's obvious."

Dameron's face scrunched up with both pain and curiosity. "Why not?"

"We're not surrendering because we don't know who we're surrendering to." He had learnt this lesson a long time ago back in Mexico: in war, people cannot be trusted no matter how noble their intentions might be. His father's face seemed to appear before him, the old man's eyes full of foreboding. "If it's the Wehrmacht we're surrendering to, we might have a chance of making out of this war alive, but if it's the SS…"

"Then things can get a little hairy."

"Yes, and that's putting it mildly."

Kay's piercing blue eyes turned hard. "What do we do, then? Dameron can't even move an inch without bringing the entire German army down upon us."

"Careful, mate!" Dameron groaned through gritted teeth.

Cassian gave his friend a long, searching look. "If I hold you up, can you hop along on one leg?"

Kay stared at Cassian, aghast. Dameron, however, considered the question seriously for a moment.

"If you hold me up, then…maybe. What are you thinking of?"

"We're going to fight our way out. I'll give you a gun. All you have to do is shoot."

"And hobble," Kay remarked darkly. "Cassian, this is a rubbish idea. The chances of us surviving are - "

"Slim, I know." He knew his friend meant well, but he had no time for Kay's by-the-book cautiousness at the moment. "We'll gather as many men as we can. Those who don't want to surrender can come with us. We'll use the rain for protection, and fight through the German line. Smoke bombs, rifles, bayonets. Everything we've got."

"Dameron might not make it," said Kay.

"Then I won't make it," Dameron said bluntly, but Kay ignored him and turned to Cassian instead. His eyes were as pleading as Kay's eyes could ever be.

"Cassian, this is folly. Every man for himself does not mean every man has to die. We're not going to make it a yard out of this town. And if we did, where would we even go?"

Cassian returned his friend's gaze, surprised. "Why, we go to the sea, of course," he answered. "We go to Dunkirk."


Cassian saw the boy looming up before him through the rain.

The boy - why must they always be boys? - was only a frightened little thing, all blond hair, small beady eyes, sharp features. Cassian felt pity surged through him for one brief moment, but then he drove his bayonet through the boy's chest, right above where the heart was. He did not wait to see if the boy died quietly or loudly. He scrambled over the lad's body and fought on, bullet after bullet, cut after cut, with Dameron's arm around his shoulder as he dragged his injured friend along. The Germans had not expected them, all thirty or so of them. The alarm must have been raised, but the heavy rain had quelled all that. It was now just chaos, commotion, scrambling tooth-and-nail through the muddy terrains.

A few moments later, when they were afforded a bit of respite, Cassian managed to gasp, "You alright?"

"Still alive so far, mate," Dameron gasped back.

"You'll tell me, right, if - "

"If I decided to drop dead?" In the grim darkness there was a ghost of a smile on Dameron's lips. "Come to think of it, I might after all. Just so my last words could come back and haunt you for the rest of your sodding life."

"I'm glad that's all you want, Dameron. I never thought I'd - "

"Get down!" It was Kay, shouting suddenly from their left. "Get down NOW!"

They threw themselves onto the ground immediately just as the sound of machine guns rang out overhead. Cassian could see from the way Dameron's face was twisting that the impact had put him in more pain, but his friend did not let out a sound. Wordlessly, they began to crawl. Then suddenly a hand grabbed Cassian by the collar and yanked them along faster. It was Kay, he realised, come to drag them from the mouth of hell with fresh blood on his cheeks.

Cassian yelled, "Kay, where are the others?"

"This is not - "

Whatever it was or wasn't, Cassian never found out. Suddenly, the sound of machine guns ceased entirely. A high, whooshing noise that Cassian knew all too well, but had not expected to hear rang out in its place. It cut through the air as sharp as a sword through paper. Sniper shots, he realised with a jolt. Sniper shots!

Kay looked back at him, dumbfounded, but he found himself smiling even though his entire body ached and ached. He saw the enemies scattering before them, some shot down, some jumping into the nearby rushes, some even fleeing for their lives.

"The Worcester Yeomanry," Cassian said through clenched teeth. He had forgotten. The Worcester Yeomanry were stationed on the south side of town, and must have seen them making a break for it and decided to lend a helping hand. "God bless them," he muttered. God save them.

And so they crawled and crawled and crawled. They crawled over dead bodies of friends and foes, through mud, through rivers, through wet grass and sharp thorn bushes. They crawled until it felt as though they could crawl no more. Until finally the sound of gunshots fell away, lost to the thundering of the rain, and they were now among the thick leaves and barks of the forest. Kay, who was at the head of their little company, called a halt and stood up. They could see nothing ahead of them but darkness.

Cassian struggled to his feet, and pulled his friend close to him so his voice could be heard above the storm. "Where are the others?"

Kay shook his head sorrowfully; he did not know.

"Dameron?" Cassian dropped to his knees once more beside his friend. All the colour had gone out of Dameron's face, and it seemed as though his leg was hurting too much for him to speak. But he was still alive and conscious. Think, Andor, think!

"We must keep moving, Cassian," Kay told him. "The Germans will catch up with us for certain if we don't keep going."

"You're right, but we'll have to - "

Suddenly, through the trees, a figure came stumbling straight for them. The figure collided with Cassian and fell to the ground in a heap as if it were made out of nothing but crumbling bones. With shaking hands, Cassian turned him over. It was the shell-shocked lad, he recognised immediately. The youth who had stood by as the rest of them argued back at the town, unable to move or speak.

He heard Kay gasp in shock. "Bloody hell, how did he - "

"Help me get him up."

Kay grabbed the lad by the armpits and hoisted him up until he was sitting hunched over himself like a rag doll. His eyes were half-closed, his right hand pressed against his side. Cassian pushed the hand away and found blood, black as ink, seeping from the lad's side. Somebody - probably the lad himself - had the present of mind to wrap a make-shift bandage around it. It was a strip of cloth looked to have been torn from a sleeve, but it was soaked through now, almost useless. And when Cassian put a hand to the lad's forehead, he felt the skin burning beneath his touch.

"Kay, I'm going to carry him."

"Carry him?" Kay's eyes were wide saucers in the dark. "Cassian, Dameron alone is bad enough. Another injured man will slow us down even more. And look at him! Look at the lad! He will die whether we help him or not!"

"I'm going to carry him, Kay. You're going to carry Dameron."

"Cassian - "

"Kay, just do what I say."

He would be a liar if he said that Kay's doubt did not make him afraid, but he quickly smothered down the fear; it had become easier to do that over the years. When they continued walking once more, Dameron was on Kay's back and the bleeding lad was on Cassian's. Have I doomed us all with my guilt? he thought fleetingly, but staggered on.

The rain continued pouring down from the sky as unrelenting as ever. The pitch-darkness also did nothing to help matters. By now, Cassian had been soaked to the bone for what felt like years. I will never be dry again, he thought. His boots were filled with mud, every layer of his clothing heavy and cold like icy fingers pinching his skin. Forever whipping and lashing at their faces was the wind. The howling, howling wind. The sea had never felt more like a dream, and the weight on his back made every step he took a torture.

Strangely, he found his mind straying to Jyn Erso, the woman he had met only once one night in London. He had tried not to think of her much; what good would it do? But perhaps exhaustion worked like intoxication, because now he was allowing himself to dwell on her when he couldn't before. He could not help but recall how fiery her eyes had shone and how warm she seemed, so very different from the cold he felt now. The rain that night had been different too. How he had wanted to be the one to brush those raindrops away after they had touched her skin…

But I am not a man who is meant for dreams, he remembered.

He wondered if he would ever see her again, and if he did, would she even remember him?

The rain finally stopped when dawn came. Cassian had no notion of how long they had been walking, and it was only when the skies began turning red and pink did they pause for a short break. The lad on his back had fallen into a fevered-sleep, and his blood had soaked through the back of Cassian's jacket. Dameron's face was simply blank, as though the pain had struck him unconscious. They had no dry bandages for changing and no food to eat. All they could manage were a few hurried gulps of water from a nearby stream. There, Cassian spotted a German leaflet in the mud. It had been dropped from the skies by the Luftwaffe; hundreds of them scattered across the French countryside. The faded black letters seemed to scream at him when he looked at them: "BRITISH SOLDIERS! YOU ARE ENCIRCLED! WHY DO YOU FIGHT FURTHER? PUT DOWN YOUR ARMS!" Kay, who was drinking next to him, saw it too, and stomped on it for good measure before they started out again.

Now that the sun had risen, the world began to wake with them. As they trudged on through fields, forest, and mud, they saw men, women and children taking to the roads. There were farmers, merchants, families, many with packs on their backs or huge bags in their arms. Only a few of them bothered to drag along a cart or a wagon; they seemed to understand that too much luggage would slow them down. British and French soldiers walked among them. Some had rifle slung over their shoulders, some had nothing but the clothes on their backs, but everyone had a drawn, haggard look, as though they had not eaten for days. When Cassian looked at their faces, he saw nothing behind their eyes. And he could not help but wonder if he was seeing his own face just then, or the faces of his friends.

It was near noon when they came upon the ambulance by the road. One of its wheels had gotten stuck in the mud. A nurse in the uniform of the Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps was standing next to it. She had tried to push the vehicle out of the ditch by herself; there was mud on the front of her white apron and her sleeves were rolled up. She waved them over when she caught side of them coming down the lonely, rugged path.

"I have injured soldiers in the back," she told them. "We're trying to get to Dunkirk like everyone else. Please - can you help us?" She took one look at the lad on Cassian's back. "Your friend…he's hurt."

"He's not our friend," said Kay sharply. He lowered Dameron down on the ground clumsily. "But, yes, he is hurt."

"His bandage needs changing. We have loads of them in the back." She pointed to the ambulance. She was a haughty-looking young woman, her short red hair all flames. "Please, help us, and you can ride with us all the way to the sea. We have room."

Kay looked to Cassian, who immediately nodded. "Alright. Let's get on with it, then."

Half an hour later, the four of them were squeezed into the back of the ambulance with three other injured soldiers. The whole vehicle smelled of blood, sweat, and infection, but none of them complained; it felt like heaven to sit down again. The nurse was behind the wheel, eyes locked ahead, giving Cassian instructions on how to change the young lad's bandage as they sped along slowly through the countryside. Cassian was only half-listening to her; he already knew how to change bandages. He touched the lad's forehead again.

"He's burning up," he whispered to Kay, who only nodded grimly. Dameron, however, lifted his tired eyes and gave the lad a long, sad look.

"I told you," muttered Kay. "He's not going to live very long."

And Kay was right, as he usually was. The sun was low in the sky when the lad finally opened his eyes. Blue eyes, soft and wet and scared. They found Cassian's brown ones, and a faint light seemed to flicker in them for a brief moment.

"Sir…is this…is this the end of the world?"

Cassian had not fallen asleep like the others, but Kay's head was resting against his shoulder so he tried to move as little as possible when he reached out to take the lad's hand.

"No, this is not the end of the world," Cassian answered. He forced himself to smile. "We're in France, mate. Have you forgotten?"

The lad's hand fell to the wound at his side. His entire face contorted with pain. "I don't…I don't remember. Please…sir…" He moved his shaking hand inside his jacket pocket and drew out a small stack of letters, tied together with a string. The edges of the papers were wet and frayed and torn. "Here…" He pushed them into Cassian's hands. "They're all I have…."

Cassian glanced down and saw an address scribbled on the top envelope in neat, tidy handwriting.

He made himself smile at the lad again. "Don't worry. I'll deliver them for you."

But he did not think the lad heard him; the boy was burning up so badly and his eyes had begun to close again.

"Please tell my brother, sir…tell Davits…tell him I'm sorry."

Cassian did not understand. "Why are you sorry?"

"I'm sorry…sorry I'm not brave enough…tell Davits…tell him I want to be brave…"

Then the lad's eyes closed completely, and this time, they did not open again.

They did not have the time or the shovels to bury him. They could only leave him on the side of the road next to the bodies of so many others. He had wanted to be brave, Cassian thought, but the lad had been scared out of his wits. He remembered how shell-shocked the lad had been after the attack at Wormhoudt; the fact that he had managed to slip through the German lines at all was a miracle. Why must they always be boys?

Cassian rubbed his forehead wearily as he stowed those letters inside his own pocket. Kay looked at him with worry in his eyes when he got into the ambulance again.

"Cassian, you did all you could," Kay said quietly, and not unkindly. But Dameron simply stared, and somehow that was worse.

Cassian did not speak again for the rest of the ride.


They first glimpsed Dunkirk from afar, a great giant ball of fire that seemed to have swallowed up the horizon. The columns of smoke rose as high as the clouds, while the flames grasped up at the sky as if they were giant fingers intent on pulling down the sun.

The nurse pushed her red hair away from her sweaty forehead. There was a grim, hard look in her eyes as she removed the cigarette from her lips. "I assume that's Dunkirk."

Kay moved forward so he could stare out the windscreen with Cassian. Disbelief was written across his face. "And we're supposed to go into that?"

Yes, and don't look back, a voice seemed to whisper.

And for one dreadful moment, Cassian thought he was looking at another village from a lifetime ago. He thought he smelled the once familiar scent of burnt grass, melting flesh, sweat and blood when his father had grabbed him by the neck and pushed him down to the ground. Dirt had gone into his eyes, he remembered, blinding him just as much as the smoke did. "Stay low," his father had hissed with death in his eyes. "Then run for the river, and don't look back. Don't look back."

But then he shook his head, blinked, and the memory disappeared.

The nurse exhaled smoke. The singular white column contrasted greatly with the black ones billowing from the town ahead. "We're running out of time," she said.

They drove on. Closer and closer they came to the ball of fire. When their tyres struck sand, the nurse pulled the ambulance to a stop. Before them stretched miles upon miles of beach and ocean, a country of never ending madness. Even from where they were, they could see bodies littering the sand and the shallows of the water. The entire place stank of death.

Cassian and Kay helped carry the injured soldiers out of the ambulance and over to the nearby group of Royal Army nurses; there were stretchers at the ready, and more wounded men who were being tended to. Afterward, they gave their thanks to the red-haired nurse who had driven them, and together with Dameron, made their way closer to the sea. Dameron had found a crutch in the ambulance so he no longer needed to be carried, but he kept an arm around Cassian's shoulders for balance. The pain was still too great, however, and he did not talk much.

Is this the end of the world? the dead lad had asked Cassian before he died. The countryside hadn't been, Cassian thought, but this place…this place might just be. The more they walked, the bleaker things seemed. Cars and tanks were burning everywhere. Mountains of weapons were going up in flames. All around them, men were crying, laughing, talking, screaming, dying. Everyone of them was too exhausted to be entirely conscious; some were even sleeping as they stood. As they walked, they saw one man going mad, and he ran screaming into the ocean, hoping to drown himself in the waves. It took three others to wrestle him back ashore.

Don't look back, Cassian repeated to himself for what felt like the hundredth time. Don't you look back.

They could do nothing but wait. Wait for ships to come across the sea. For rescue. For hope. Cassian and his friends joined the men queuing up on the beach, and the three of them shared a canteen of water and a pack of biscuits that Kay had found in a smashed-up lorry. Often enough, they saw Messerschmitts flying overhead like vultures with giant dark wings. Whenever a bomb was dropped, every man on the beach fled their positions, scrambling to find shelter. Only after the planes had disappeared again did those who were still alive came stumbling back to claim their places in line. The men waiting in the shallows of the water had no such luxury; the water could not lessen the impact of the explosions as well as the sand could. "Where the bloody hell is the RAF?" one solider asked mournfully, but no one could answer him.

Day turned to night, then to day, and then to night again, until all the hours melted together as one. And still the line kept dragging along, like a great giant beast crawling on its belly. Inch by inch they came closer and closer to the shimmering water and the mole - a long stone jetty at the mouth of the port where the ships, boats, and barges came to dock by light of the moon. Kay kept dozing off, but Cassian could not bring himself to sleep during the entire first day. Dameron too was wide awake. Once, after a shelling, the man made a rare joke about the Luftwaffe having terrible aim, and Cassian started laughing even though he did not find the joke particularly funny. Both of his friends chuckled along with him, but afterward, they all fell into a long, depressed silence. We are going insane with hunger, Cassian thought numbly.

He finally fell asleep when the half-moon was high up in the sky on the second night. He did not dream often, but tonight he did. He dreamed that he was a child again, a helpless boy with scratches on his knees and palms. He was running as fast his little legs could carry him. Hot tears streamed down his face. Behind him the village burned, and he could hear his father screaming from far away. Run for the river. Don't look back. Don't look back.

Then suddenly he was no longer a boy, but a man grown. And this was another dream he had dreamt before. He was walking through the streets of London as he did on the night he had met Jyn Erso. He was back at Trafalgar Square; before him Nelson's Column rose up into the dark sky. The marble lions studied him with their black empty eyes while the rain fell as it always did, its touch on his face so loving and sad. Ahead of him walked a woman, but her face was shrouded in shadows. And no matter how loud he called out for her, she never turned….

Run for the river. Don't look back.

Then the rain turned into blood, huge splatters of red that stuck to his clothes and burned his skin as if they were acid. The woman ahead was disappearing, fading. He opened his mouth to scream, to call her back, but no sound came…

And this was the moment he woke. Someone was shaking him awake roughly, hurriedly. When he had scrambled to his feet, he discovered that he was now at the end of the mole. How or when he had gotten there, he could not have said. A small ship floated before him in the dark.

This is still a dream, he thought. But the captain of the ship seemed real enough. A large man with a bushy beard, his eyes were kind even in the dark.

"Come now, lad," the captain said to him, almost gently. "We're taking you home."

Afterward, Cassian could not recall how he and his friends managed to get into the ship. All he knew was that not long after, they were sailing away from Dunkirk and into the great vast darkness. The sailors on board gave all the soldiers blankets to cover themselves with, and they huddled together, too tired to feel fortunate. They were not yet safe, Cassian knew; German U-boats were lurking somewhere close by. In the far distance, another ship had just been sunk, its passengers screaming as they fell into the depths below. A part of him did feel frightened, but the fear was not enough to keep him awake. His head felt too dizzy, his eyelids too heavy. Sleep was taking over, wrestling him to the ground as if he were a helpless infant. I'm willing to die so long as they do not wake me before I go, was the last waking thought he had.

The feel of warm sunlight on his face finally woke him. The ship was still rocking along in the rough waves, but the sky was now slashed with flashes of pink, red, and orange. When he turned around, he saw that Dunkirk had disappeared into the horizon. Can it be? Have we made it out alive? He looked about him and could not find Kay, but Dameron was curled up beside him on the deck, shaking slightly beneath his blanket. Some of the men had begun to wake; a few were walking around, others sitting up with cups of drink in their hands. When a sailor noticed that Cassian had woken, he too got a cup of tea, as well as two very dry biscuits. He nibbled on one, and kept the other for Dameron.

He was licking the crumbs off his fingertips when his friend opened his eyes.

"Are we alive?" Dameron croaked. His face was still dead-white, like a corpse's. He struggled into a sitting position, his broken leg stretched out before him like an awful, crooked thing.

"Miraculously, yes," answered Cassian. He offered Dameron the biscuit. "Here. Eat. You'll need your strength."

"Where's Kay?"

"God knows."

Dameron bit carefully into his biscuit. "I thought…I thought we were finished."

"So did I."

A few moments passed in silence as Dameron ate the biscuit and Cassian drank his tea. The only sound was the crashing of the waves against the side of the ship. Then suddenly, Dameron spoke. "I lied."

"You…lied?"

"Back at Wormhoudt…when I said I wanted to go home so I could see London again…so I could walk Garrett in a proper park." His smile was not carefree anymore, but bitter. There was something different in his eyes. "I lied, Andor."

Don't we all? All the time? "What's the truth, then?" he asked.

"I want to get married," Dameron replied. There was no hint of humour in his tones. Just honesty. "I want to get married. White dress for the bride, flowers, rings, a church…the whole lot. That is…if Shara will have me." He turned to look at Cassian, and attempted his old easy smile. "And now you're looking at me like I'm bloody insane. Like I'm nothing but a naive little boy."

"I often forget that you're not."

"Has the world always been this heavy on your shoulders, Andor?"

"Not as heavy as you, Dameron."

His friend let out a laugh. "You won't ever let this one go, will you?"

Somehow, he found it within himself to smile. "No, I won't," he answered.

He went looking for Kay after Dameron had gone back to sleep, and found him at the stern. The blond man was staring out at sea, at the burning town that had now disappeared from sight. There was a serious, far-away look in his sharp blue eyes, and no cup of tea was in sight. He was smoking a cigarette instead.

"When did you wake?" Cassian asked in way of greeting.

Kay did not look at him. "A little before dawn."

"Kay - "

"I'm not angry with you, if that's what you're worried about."

Cassian moved to stand next to his best friend, and stared with him out at the dark-blue, rippling waves. They could always read each other like a book.

"Kay, I know sometimes I ask you to do things you don't want to do."

Kay sneered. "Like carry along a dying stranger. Like taking on the German army with nothing but a few guns and rusted bayonets."

Kay's words twisted inside him painfully, and he found himself thinking of their unit, those who had decided to surrender, and those who were separated from him by the storm as they fought their way out together. Were they alive? Were they now in boats and ships like him, fortunate enough to be sailing back home? Or were they as dead as the lad he had left on the side of the road? He had no way of knowing. Those letters seemed to burn a hole in his pocket even now.

"I never want you to feel that you can't say no," he told his friend quietly.

Kay looked thoughtful. The cigarette was at his lips, but he did not smoke it. "I know. But ever since we met, I always do everything you tell me to do anyway, God help us all. I never seem to understand why."

"I don't either." He sighed. "Maybe we are so bloody different that it makes no matter."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Kay frowned. "All I know is that I trust you. Don't take it for granted."

"I won't."

I never keep my promises, Cassian thought, but perhaps I can keep this one. Let me keep this one. And so they stood together, and watched the sun climb up the sky.

When the shout came, it came from the bow, shrill and excited, followed by jubilant cheers that rang up and down the ship like church bells on Christmas morning. "Blighty! Blighty! Blighty, up ahead!"

Cassian could not have said how they found the energy or the inclination to care, but before he knew it, they were both moving. They pressed past sailors handing out food and drink, past men who were still asleep, and shouldered through soldiers who had gathered on the deck. Someone nearly knocked him over when the second round of cheers went up, but he managed to dodge the blow and walk on.

Don't look back.

And there…there they were…coming up before him as high as the world, as magnificent as the dawn: the white cliffs of dover.

.

.

.


Author's Note: All chapter titles are quotes from Mr. Shakespeare. Now onto the history:

- The British Expeditionary Force (BEF) were dispatched to France since the start of the war in September, 1939. However, no fighting actually took place until May, 1940, when Germany invaded Belgium and the Netherlands, and three of their Panzer corps attacked France through the Ardennes. By 21 May, the Germans had trapped the BEF, the Belgian and French forces in an area along the northern coast of France.

- 'General Gort' is General Viscount Gort, the Commander of the BEF, who began to see that evacuation across the English channel was the best course of action. Withdrawal to Dunkirk was ordered, and evacuation began on 26 May, 1940. Allies soldiers were rescued by over 800 boats, including the 'little ships of Dunkirk' which consisted of hundreds of fishing boats, pleasure barges, and merchant boats. This was not a victory, but the success of the operation was deemed a "miracle", and the "Dunkirk Spirit" became a defiant phrase used by the British throughout the war.

- The German tank 'halt order' mentioned by Cassian was the inexplicable 'halt order' Hitler gave on 24 May, 1940. For 2-3 days, German tanks did not advance, giving the Allies time to set up key defences in towns such as Lille, Cassel, Bergues, Ypres, and Wormhout, the setting of the earlier part of this chapter. Soldiers - French and British alike - who manned these strongpoints around the 'Dunkirk perimeter' were the rearguard. Their heroism and sacrifice allowed the rest of the Allies soldiers to escape to Dunkirk. "Fight to the last man and the last round" was the order for those in the rearguard. When or if they were told to retreat, the order became, "Every man for himself, make for Dunkirk".

- On 28 May, the town of Wormhoudt was taken by the Germans. By 18:00, the three companies of Warwicks who were defending the town were badly reduced and surrounded. Cassian, Kay, and Kes' escape was inspired by the 74 soldiers who fought their way out, led by a Major Hicks. (That's why there's mention of a 'Major' in this chapter.) They managed it thanks to the heavy rainstorm and excellent shooting by a troop of the Worcester Yeomanry, who I gave somewhat of a 'sniper role' to. Also, anti-tank guns manned by resolute troops can cause heavy casualties to armoured formations, and on 28 May, the Germans were surprised by the heavy destruction that the anti-tank guns at Wormhoudt managed to cause to their Panzer Corps.

- Those left at Wormhoudt surrendered to Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler of the 20th Motorised Division. On the next day, the SS murdered 90 of these men in a barn in Wormhoudt. Another massacre occurred in Le Paradis, where 97 men were executed. Only a few survived to tell of these atrocities. Right after his escape, one survivor even met an ordinary Wehrmacht soldier who was appalled when he heard of what had happened. After the war, many of those responsible were prosecuted, but some - including the commander responsible for the Wormhoudt massacre Wilhelm Mohnke - managed to escape justice.

- During the evacuation, the BEF had to abandon nearly all their vehicles, tanks and equipment; many had to be burned so that the Germans could not make use of them. A total of 338,226 soldiers - British, French, and some Belgian - were evacuated, but the BEF lost 68,000 men in France. On 4 June, 1940, the Nazi flag was raised over Dunkirk.

- The two books that were invaluable for my research were "Dunkirk: Retreat to Victory" by Julian Thompson and "Forgotten Voices: Dunkirk" by Joshua Levine. The dog Garrett, for example, was inspired by a real life story from Forgotten Voices. Other things like the condition on the beaches, the men's mindset, their frustration with the RAF (who were actually there, but maybe not so much at the beaches) etc. were taken from these books.

If you've gotten this far, well-the-friggin-done! I know I'm asking a lot for you guys to be interested in this story; it is very unconventional for fanfiction, and I really, really am muddling through everything! So if by some luck I still have your attention, PLEASE let me know your thoughts. I also welcome any corrections or random questions you may have.

.

Up Next: "We Few, We Happy Few" - in which Jyn and Shara do their duty (and more) in the Battle of Britain