Chapter Three: Dunkirk: Part one

May 31, 1940

By now, he was used to the plane. He no longer had that funny sensation in his stomach when they took off, or when they did an odd maneuver. He knew how to lean to keep himself from toppling over or losing his balance when they titled left or right. He knew how to lean forward when they were making a dive, or to lean back when they were going steeply up. By now, he really was an airman.

Corporal Peter Newkirk's first week was more of schooling than anything. He had been assigned to Flying Officer Murray's crew, to replace Sergeant Matthews. The crew welcomed him fairly enough, but were rather timid around him at first. Since the crew was grounded without their plane, they took unregistered planes and practiced different maneuvers around the base and over the English countryside. Peter ended up in the tail gun turret, and found himself a little ill after the first flight. The next day he was more nervous, but was at least prepared. Each day they would fly some, and then work on other assignments of theirs. Peter was rapidly being taught about navigation; he figured that they were trying to make a navigator out of him. There were several others in his little class, all of whom had had more schooling than he. There were some mathematic skills that he did not acquire, but was determined to learn what he needed to learn. He was determined to get out of the gun turret. He had not even seen battle, yet, but was sure he did not want to be hanging off the end of a bomber when the time came.

So, he flew with his crew for half the day, and spent the other half with his nose in books. This was something he had never expected to be doing. He was being quick about learning how to gauge distance with time, and how degrees were used to turn a plane. Although he knew the others in his class had a greater advantage, this just made him even more determined to learn it all. He wanted to show that even though he had not gone to school, he was still bright enough to learn and go further. Really, the more he thought about it, the more he thought that he was blessed to be given the opportunity. He had never expected an opportunity like it.

But then, the plane was ready, which meant there were missions to be flown. The first day the plane was ready, Peter found himself leaving English air. It was off to France…and Jerry…and Messerschmitts.

The fierce battles in the air caught him off guard, but he quickly caught on. And he also realized that it was not so much the enemy fighters he should be worried about; it was the ack-ack batteries on the ground. The anti-aircraft guns were deadly. They had no need to be whizzing around while aiming, so most often, they were able to hit something. Peter originally thought that this would not be the worst of his problems. He was gravely mistaken. On the first day, they were flying so low because of the dense fog. The fighters were actually above them, troubling one another, leaving the bombers to do what they must. When they went low to drop the bombs on the advancing Panzer divisions, Peter used his gun to strafe as many Nazi soldiers as he could. Then, when they came up above the clouds, and back into the vulnerability of the Messerschmitts, he turned his gun to the dodgy fighters.

There were different experiences each time he went up. On the third day, they did not even reach their destination, because they received such bad damage from a Messerschmitt, they had to return to the base for repairs. They barely made it, and their landing was less than a comfortable one. The damage grounded the plane for two days. Peter was sure it was back to the books. Instead, the next morning he was put in another plane to replace a wounded man while he recovered. He also changed position from being off the tail, to being in the nose turret. He felt a bit safer, because most fighters were trying to get on the tail of a bomber. Still, he was precarious.

He was wounded his second day in that plane, but not severely. Some bullets struck the gun turret, coming through the glass on his right. He had seen it coming, and ducked some. That had saved his life. He would have gotten hit in the face if he hadn't. But the glass shards flew everywhere, cutting up his face. He went through the rest of the mission with his face bloody from all of the little cuts on his face. When they got down, he was taken to the infirmary and treated quickly. He got some stitches on two, and then was sent back to dinner.

The next day, the doctor told Flying Officer Murray that Peter should not go up because he might tear his stitches. Peter had no idea how that could happen if they were on his face, but decided not to argue. Since he was grounded, he thought he would be sent back to class, but he was not. Instead, he was thoroughly disappointed to find out that his classes were being "canceled" until the overseas "situation" was resolved to a more "stable" environment. Peter had thought that he had been conned. He felt that he would be stuck in the gun turret forever now.

A few days later, his stitches were removed and replaced with bandages. They became so annoying however, that he took them off during breakfast. When they were boarding the plane, the doctor saw him, and would have thrown a fit if it had been any other time. Peter found himself enjoying the harassment of the officers by now. Everyone in his crew had rank over him, but he was also one of the oldest. They teased him about it, but he could only tease them right back. He was now a part of the crew, and even though he had only been in battle with them for a week, he could feel that he was one of them. They knew it too.

There was Flying Officer Murray, who Peter already knew rather well since he was always taking care of his plane. Murray had the nickname "Skip" amongst his men. The others Peter knew mostly by sight, but he had rarely spoken to them. There was the co-pilot Pilot Officer Thom "Tommy" Radcliffe. The navigator was Flight Sergeant Edmund "Scouser" Truce. The wireless operator was Chief Technician Weston "Ash" Wood. Then there was Flight Sergeant Jarod "Davy" Davis, the bomb aimer. Someone tried to call him "Jarry" once, but rumor was that he had him sorted out over lunch break. Lastly, there were two other gunners: Sergeant Jackson "Jackie" Wilks, who was the top gunner; and Sergeant Jon "Hatter" Sherwin, the front gunner.

They were all decent men, and Peter got along with each of them. Once they learned that he and Matthews had been good friends, they were friendlier towards him. They threw around several nicknames for him, including "Owl", a name often thrown around to describe a thief. Then, the name "Bow-Bell came around. But the calls against him for being a Cockney had grown old at the base, so that name was forgotten. What they finally settled on was "Gaffer". Peter originally disliked it, since they teased him about being older. However, this name stuck, and he soon got used to it. Corporal Newkirk was only used as protocol. He was now Gaffer, and as funny as it seemed to him, he kind of liked the idea that he had a nickname. It meant it was actually a part of the crew.

But he had not forgotten the friends he had on the ground. Keeping to his word, he spent as much free time as he had (meal times) with Sergeant Dales and his crew. They still brought their torn clothes to him to mend, which only gave his new crew something to back up their new name for him. But he was not fazed. He enjoyed helping the younger men, and lightening their moods. His friends on the ground wanted to hear all about his schooling and the battles. All he ever told them was that school was as boring as it was when he was twelve, and that battle was both exciting and scary. After one week in the air, he had two kills of Messerschmitts and never thought twice about who he had strafed on the ground when given the chance.

Things in France were getting worse every day. Now, on his fourteenth day in the air, they were still keeping the Nazis at bay while Dunkirk was being evacuated. The Nazis were advancing everywhere else though, while the British and French were backed up against the coast. Since they were pinned down, there was almost no one to retaliate against the Nazis. It was almost as if they were strolling through France now.

On that fourteenth day, when Peter had boarded the plane with the doctor glaring at him, it was also the seventh day of the evacuations at Dunkirk. As of now, the bombers were going over to just bomb as much of the Panzer divisions as they could. The RAF fighters continued to duel with the Luftwaffe. Peter could not even see the ground because the fog was so dense. He had no idea how low or high they were, but every time they were jolted when struck, he was sure they were going down. The air was felt crowded that day, too.

They had left the base at ten, and arrived over Dunkirk around noon. Before they went over land, and there were some breaks in the clouds, they could see the hundreds of ships along the shoreline, and the winding lines of the evacuees. Then, over land, they saw more soldiers everywhere. Some were walking, others lying or sitting, and further inland, others making their way to the coast, leaving the fields open for the advancing Nazis. But Peter could not blame anyone for leaving the fields for the coast. If you wanted to survive that would be the place to go. Otherwise, the woods and fields were crawling with Nazis. They were advancing at a crawl by now, as if they were toying with the Allies. Seeing their forces from above, Peter was sure that the Nazis could squash the Allies like a bug anytime they wanted.

They did not hit any resistance until they were about ten miles inland. They saw Messerschmitts first, but then were diving below the clouds to make their bombing runs. The ack-ack batteries came to life. They kept flying straight on, though, depleting their load of bombs before swooping up and turning their nose west. Now, they had to get back to the coast. But as they were swooping up, the plane jolted terribly, and there was an explosion. Peter knew immediately that they had been hit.

"That's our left wing," cried Jackie.

The radio crackled. There were more sounds of the ack-ack batteries, and then a scream.

"That was Hatter!"

Peter grimaced when he heard the Skip radio that. He had a nasty feeling about what had just happened.

The plane started going down, the terrible sensation of falling that comes over one's stomach, penetrating the airmen's senses.

"Sir, we need to abort!" Scouser's voice was adamant.

"There's no time! We're too close to the ground!" Skip desperately tried to keep the plane up, or at least from not making a nose dive.

There was the sound of glass shattering.

"Tommy!"

Skip's petrified scream echoed nearly shattered the men's earpieces. And the plane continued to spiral down. Peter swallowed. They were going to have to make a crash landing. He knew he would probably not survive it in the gun turret, so he climbed out quickly.

Just as he was doing so, there was another burst of ack-ack guns, and the canopy exploded with glass. Skip slumped over. Davy saw this, and abandoned his post to conclude that Skip was dead. When he turned, he saw Ash calling over the radio to the other planes telling them that they were making a crash landing.

"They're both dead," cried Davy, pointing to the pilots.

Peter was closest to the hatch that opened up near the tail, the only door in the bomber. He knew they needed to parachute out if they had no pilots. But as reached for the door, his finger tips grazing it, there was a jolt, as the plane came into contact with something. Then, there was another, and Peter slammed his head into the ceiling. That knocked him off his feet, and the sensation of falling engulfed him. He heard someone shout, but closed his eyes, knowing this was it. He felt someone grab his leg.

Then, he felt nothing.

()()()()()()

There was no end in sight to it all. It would all be there. The blood…the tears…the endless bombing…the gunfire…the screams. He was sure that it would never end. Even when he slept, he could hear and see it all. He was being tormented by it. This was torture. Forget what Germans might do to you for information; the ceaseless battles were enough to make him go mad.

Louis hated it. There was never rest, no moment of tranquility, even in the moments where there was no fighting. During those times, his mind was still racing. His mind was still coping. And in the moments where sleep came, he was plagued with nightmares. But the nightmares were real. He dreamt of the dead, and then woke up to kill, or see his comrades kill, or for them to be killed, and always waiting for the bullet that was meant for him. Louis knew that war was not for him.

However, he could never turn away from a fight. He could never turn away from the duty he believed he owed to his country and his fellow people that could not fight. But even closer to him was that he could never turn away from his comrades, who had become his brothers-in-arms. That would be the most traitorous thing he could do, he believed.

Jean was a blessing to Louis. They remained close to one another, and watched out for one another. They also remained close to their platoon. But the first day in battle, their platoon lost one man: Anstel. The first day of fighting was a shocking blow to Louis. He felt that no matter how much he trained and fought, he would never be able to really deal with the mentality of seeing men die every day; especially since he had grown close to so many of them. Jean however, was quite different about it all compared to Louis.

He disliked it, yes, but when the time came, he took the battle on with a cry. Louis was silent. And afterwards, Jean talked constantly, and cracked jokes, laughing over their next meal. Louis would get sick if he thought of the wrong thing while eating. But all of this Louis was grateful for, because Jean was the other side of him that he could not get out. And to Jean, Louis was a reality check at times. To Jean, Louis was the mature one who he envied for taking everything in stride. Louis thought the same of Jean. So, it worked out, because each knew he needed the other. They stuck close, as if the thought they looked away for too long, they would turn around, and find that their other half was no longer there.

On May 25th, five days into the fighting, their company was cut off from the rest of the regiment, and pushed west. They were still a good deal away from the coast, but they knew what was going on in other parts of the battle. They joined up with other companies and units cut off, and were able to hold a line for the following day and night of May 26th. They were keeping a thin line through forests and some farmlands. There were a few small towns where the civilians helped how they could or fled, knowing that battle was coming their way. Then, on May 27th, before sunrise, the Nazis ploughed through the French's poorly held line.

As the Nazis came in force with Panzers and outnumbering infantrymen, it was clear that it would be a blood-bath and a loss of ground. No matter how valiantly the French fought, there was nothing they could do against the overwhelming Nazis. There was simply and plainly just too many of them with far outstanding equipment at their disposal. Finally, when the call for the retreat further west came, they shamelessly turned their backs to the battle.

But the retreat was greatly unorganized, and units got scattered and torn apart. No one knew exactly where the safe haven was. In some areas, the Nazis had pushed further in, or had cut off an escape route, so that French soldiers found themselves running straight into the enemy's hands. Now, Louis, Jean, and Etienne had somehow stuck together but were separated from everyone else by nightfall on May 27th. They had been on a north-westerly course, although they had not known it at the time. They were also running towards the more terrible spots of battle. However, since that night, they found some respite, as they huddled in the brush, listening for anyone nearby.

Around midnight, they stopped so that each of them could get a few hours sleep. They moved on afterwards, a bit more rested. They started heading west, because they knew that the coast lay there, and less Nazis lay there. However, they were very wary of their surroundings. They had no idea if they were behind lines or not. And they would prefer to not meet another living soul until they reached their own men. They came to the edge of the woods, and found themselves looking out on flat fields of farmland, broken up by some small roads. The grass was tall, though, and they could see the next line of trees ahead about four hundred yards away. They would take their chances.

They went out in single file, crawling through the grass slowly and as quietly as possible. The soft ground muffled their hands and knees. Then, they heard some soft voices ahead. So, they stopped, and lay flat and still. Jean nodded to them, recognizing that the voices were German. They tried to breathe as quietly as possible, but every sound they made, no matter how soft, sounded so loud to them. Their adrenaline was pumping at its maximum. Louis was ready to jump up at a half-moment's notice.

For how long they had laid there, they did not know. Minutes seemed like hours. After some time, Louis looked up and saw that the stars had moved. Another hour passed, and the voices were still there. They got louder as the first rays of light peeked over from the east. Louis, Jean, and Etienne were still lying flat. Louis could feel that his hand was asleep from being underneath his gun for so long. He slowly rolled his rifle over and flexed his fingers. Jean craned his neck some, and the freed join cracked loudly.

The voices paused for a moment. Then, they resumed, perhaps thinking the noise had come from one of their own. Suddenly, they were louder, and movement was easily heard. Louis almost passed out when he saw a Nazi soldier stand up, not ten feet away from him. But he wasn't the only one. Ten Nazis stood up, stretching and yawning. Louis, Jean, and Etienne were frozen. One of them looked over their way, and locked eyes with Louis.

"Run," cried Louis. He fired two shots, hitting the Nazi directly in the chest. Jean and Etienne fired as well, and two more unsuspecting Nazis fell. The other Germans, not entirely sure what was going on, hit the deck.

Louis jumped up and started running for the cover of the woods, Etienne and Jean right beside him. They fired shots as they went, hoping to keep the Nazis' heads down. But some returning fire came, and they found themselves crouching low in the field, praying the bullets missed them. But it was not to be so. Etienne cried out as he was hit in the shoulder and stumbled to the ground. Louis skidded to a halt and turned around. He was frozen in place as he looked down at Etienne, who was groaning on the ground. Jean turned and grabbed Louis's collar, and yanked him into the cover of the trees. They stopped there and started firing back at the Nazis in the field. Most of the Nazis were still on the ground, but now that they were unseen, it was more difficult for Jean and Louis to get a clear shot at them.

Jean signaled Louis. "Cover me," he cried.

Louis nodded. He made sure his rifle was loaded to the max and then signaled Jean. Jean took a deep breath and then ran out. Louis turned out at the same moment, and shot fire after fire to the Nazis, hoping to keep their heads and guns down long enough for Jean to get to Etienne. Etienne was only about ten yards away, and stumbling up as Jean got to him. Jean grabbed his arm roughly and pulled. Etienne jumped to his feet, but no sooner did he do that, did Jean jerk and fall to the ground. When he fell, Louis clearly saw that one side of Jean's face was nearly gone. Jean was dead.

Louis was so shocked, he stopped firing. There, lying before him was his best friend. The friend who he had grown up with, from doing work at the farms in their little hometown, getting into mischief from school to church, double dating girls together, working in Paris together, signing into the service together, and now it was over. One bullet, and there was no more together.

He came back to the present as one bullet struck the tree beside him. He suddenly remembered the situation. With a sudden energy and fire he had not previously felt, he started firing back at the Nazis. His only care at that moment was to kill as many as he could. The Nazis must have realized they had the advantage, and started standing up and firing at Louis. Louis hardly batted an eye. He just kept firing away, standing up as tall as he could, as if daring the enemy to take a shot at him. And they did. But what would destroy Louis more than a bullet and just as much as losing Jean, was that while he continued to fire at the Nazis, in his lust for bloodshed, Etienne was taken out by another bullet. The younger man hit the ground and lay still as well.

Louis cried out, shot twice more, then turned, and ran.