The Fleethaven Trilogy (72 page)

Kate felt Danny’s eyes on her. ‘You go, Kate. I’ll manage . . .’

‘No!’ she said with far more strength than she felt. She was bone-weary, wet, cold and hungry. Her mind kept wandering so that she imagined herself fourteen again and walking across the Wolds in the pouring rain to find her grandfather. Only will-power was keeping her going – as it had then – only sheer determination made her drag her frozen mind back to the present.

But the decision was taken from them, for as Danny revved the engine to head back once more towards the beach, it spluttered twice and died.

‘We’re out of fuel’ he said flatly, as their boat bobbed silently up and down on the waves.

‘We’ll – get the oars out, then,’ Kate said and dragged herself to where they were stowed at the side of the boat.

They were just drifting away from the side of the larger boat, struggling to get the oars in position and aware that Gordon was still watching them anxiously from the deck, when they heard the sound of an enemy plane screaming towards them, a dive-bomber aiming for the laden ship.

‘Row, Kate, for God’s sake – row!’

Frantically, they pulled on the oars, trying to put distance between themselves and the target. Kate panted and strained at the oars, sobbing with fear and frustration. After all their efforts, all the men they had saved – especially Gordon and the airman – were going to be bombed. Killed or, at best, thrown back into the water.

The Stuka screamed towards them in a steep dive, its black crosses on the top of each wing clearly visible.

One bomb left the aircraft, hurtling down towards them. Then from under the wings, four smaller bombs were released. One landed on the far side of the ship, sending up a plume of water. Another fell between the hospital ship and the little boat trying desperately to escape. It hit the water and exploded, causing such an eruption that the larger ship rocked, sending men slithering about the deck. Only Gordon hung on to the deck rail, fearful for the fate of the little boat.

The vibration thudded through Kate and the surge of water bore their fishing boat aloft, held it suspended for a timeless moment and then plunged it downwards, capsizing it and throwing both Danny and Kate into the sea.

The last thing she remembered hearing was Danny’s desperate cry of ‘Kate!
Kate!
’

Someone was holding her head above the water. Someone was shouting at her but she could not hear properly for the rushing sound in her ears. Then some kind of strap was being put around her under her armpits and she felt herself being hoisted clear of the water, her legs dangling limply. Then willing hands were reaching out for her, pulling her on to the comparative safety of the deck of the ship. Blankets were wrapped around her and she was being carried.

‘Danny?’ she croaked. ‘Where’s Danny?’

‘What’s she say?’ A voice spoke above her.

‘Never mind,’ said another. ‘Get her below – to the doc.’

She was carried below and found herself being placed, with surprising gentleness, on a narrow bed. But no sooner did they set her down than Kate began to struggle. ‘No, no. Danny – I must find Danny. He’s in the sea. He can’t swim.’

‘Now, now, young lady.’ A man was bending over her. ‘I’m a doctor. You just lie still.’

‘But Danny – is he safe? Please, I must . . .’

The doctor jerked his head at one of the soldiers who had carried her down, ‘See what you can find out. She’s obviously very distressed.’

The soldier gave Kate’s arm a swift pat. ‘Don’t worry, Miss. One of our lot dived in when your boat capsized. He got to you first, but he’s still looking for – who is it? Danny?’

Weakly, Kate nodded. She sank back against the pillow as exhaustion claimed her.

‘That’s better. Leave it to the lads. They’ll find him.’

Kate closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer. ‘Oh please, dear Lord, please let them find him!’

Later, warm and dry and placed in a bed alongside other casualties aboard the hospital ship, Kate still fretted for news of Danny. The ship was so crowded that the beds in the ward had been pushed close together and men lay on the floor on stretchers or just on blankets.

‘It’s bloody murder up top,’ one of the stretcher bearers said, as they struggled to find a clear space to put down their burden. ‘The deck’s that crammed, fellers are lying on top of each other.’

It wasn’t much better down here, Kate thought ruefully, glancing round. There was scarcely a clear foot of floor space between the soldiers. The nursing sisters of the Queen Alexandra’s Nursing Service had to step carefully over patients to tend the wounded. The ward was filled with the sounds of groaning and coughing, and now and then a scream of agony.

Kate raised herself a little. ‘Please – do you know if the young man from the little fishing boat has been rescued?’

The stretcher-bearer shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sorry, Miss . . .’ He turned away and bent over a soldier whose whole face seemed to be a mass of congealed blood, a filthy bandage round his head.

Kate bit her lip. No one seemed to know down here what had happened to Danny and no one had time to go and find out for her.

She became aware that someone in the next bed was watching her. Kate turned her head to find herself looking into the bluest eyes she had ever seen in a man. His fair hair was short and curly, brushed straight back from his broad forehead. His face was lightly tanned yet there were rings of exhaustion around his eyes. His left arm was freshly bandaged, but instead of a proper white sling, his arm was still supported by her scarf.

It was the airman she had cradled in her arms and willed to live.

He was older than she had thought him to be, but he had looked young and vulnerable lying unconscious in the bottom of the fishing boat. Yet, even then, Gordon had said the insignia on his jacket was quite a high rank. What was it he had said? Squadron Leader?

She smiled weakly at him. At least now, clean and dry, he looked more like a member of – what was it the disgruntled soldier had called the RAF? Oh yes, that was it – the glamour boys.

Kate felt her eyelids close, but she opened them again as he spoke. His voice was deep, yet a little croaky from his recent ordeal.

‘I want to . . .’ he began, but Kate said, ‘Don’t, please don’t. I just want to know what’s happened to Danny . . .’ Her voice broke and she turned her head away towards the wall so that he should not see her tears. She knew he was going to start thanking her, maybe telling her how brave she had been. She didn’t want that, because she didn’t feel she had been particularly courageous. She had only come to be with Danny. How could she explain to the airman that for some reason she had not even felt afraid, at least, not for her own safety. The only fear she felt was to think that all this carnage could happen in England; that had made her angry.

Now, however, her terror was very real. She was desperately frightened for Danny.

Hearing the airman move, she looked back at him again. He was struggling to rise from the bed. ‘I’ll go – and see – what I can find out.’

She put out her hand to stop him. ‘No, no, you mustn’t. You’ll . . .’

‘And just what do you think you’re up to, young feller?’ Gordon’s cheerful face appeared round the door. Carefully he stepped between the soldiers on the floor and came towards them. He was soaking wet, his hair plastered down, and rivulets of water were running down his face. The airman sank back on to the bed as Gordon grinned broadly at Kate and said, ‘He’s okay – we’ve got him. He’s taken in a lot of water. They’re pumping him out now. But he’ll be all right.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ she whispered. ‘It was you, Gordon, wasn’t it?’

‘Me – what do you mean? What have I done?’ He drew the back of his hand across his eyes and blinked.

‘It was you found him, wasn’t it? Did you pull me out too?’

The grin widened as he turned away to go and dry off. ‘Well, you know what they say? One good turn deserves another . . .’

With that, he was gone.

Gordon appointed himself personal nurse to the three of them – Kate, Danny and Squadron Leader Philip Trent. ‘Just don’t let on I’m looking after one of the boys in blue,’ he grinned, ‘or me life won’t be worth living.’ The nurses, overwhelmed by the numbers, welcomed Gordon’s help. Moving among the wounded and exhausted men, the cheerful soldier was as good as a tonic.

An hour or so later, he brought Danny into the cabin, his strong arm under the younger man’s shoulder. ‘Here you are, girl. He’s all safe and sound. And we’re nearly half-way home. Just let’s hope that Luftwaffe don’t find us!’

Danny grinned sheepishly at Kate. ‘I really ought to learn to swim, didn’t I?’

‘I’ve been telling you that for years, but do you ever take notice of me?’ She was smiling at him, so thankful that he was safe. But she knew if she were to fling her arms around him, as she felt like doing, it would only embarrass him. So her mock admonishment covered their deeper emotions.

He sat down carefully on the bed beside her.

‘Are you hurt?’ she asked anxiously.

‘No – just bruised. How about you?’

‘I’m fine. I ought to get off this bed, really. There are far worse than me . . .’

‘You lie still, girl,’ Gordon ordered, ‘You took in a lot of water. ‘Sides, you’ve earned a bed, if anyone has!’

One or two soldiers nearby, less injured than some, heard Gordon and raised a cheer of agreement. Kate felt herself blushing.

Danny grinned at her and then, sobering suddenly, looked up at Gordon. ‘Do you know what happened to me boat?’

‘Sorry, mate, blown to smithereens.’

Danny closed his eyes and groaned. Kate watched him anxiously. What would Robert Eland say when they returned home? That boat was his livelihood.

As if catching some of their anxiety, Philip Trent asked, ‘Is it a great loss to you?’

When Danny didn’t answer, Kate explained quietly, ‘It’s his dad’s. He’s a fisherman.’

Danny opened his eyes. ‘Oh, he’d have come himself, if he could have done, only he had to stay. He’s coxswain of our lifeboat . . .’

‘Oh, so this rescuing business runs in the family, does it?’ Gordon laughed and Danny and Kate smiled. The loss of the boat – even though a big loss to Danny’s father – was nothing in comparison to the many lives they had saved.

Robert Eland would understand.

Their homecoming to Fleethaven Point was greeted in differing ways.

‘Thoughtless, irresponsible, selfish . . .’ Esther Godfrey’s tirade went on. ‘Fancy just telling our Lilian you were going out in the boat with
him
and then disappearing for nearly a week. We thought you’d been drowned.’

Calmly, Kate said, ‘Him? His name’s Danny, Mother. And if you’d taken the trouble to ask Mrs Eland – she knew where we were. Well, sort of . . .’

Obviously her private thoughts had been right, Kate realized. Not even the safety of her own daughter had been enough to make Esther Godfrey speak to Beth Eland.

Reluctantly, Esther muttered, ‘Ya dad did speak to Mester. He said you’d both gone off down south. We thought it was a pleasure trip and then I find out you’ve been getting yarsen into
this!’
Esther rattled a daily newspaper under Kate’s nose. Plastered all over the front page were dramatic accounts of how an armada of ships of all shapes and sizes had brought back thousands of men from the beaches of Dunkirk.

Kate grinned. ‘What – no picture of us on the front page? Well, I’d have thought we warranted that at the very least!’

‘I’ll have none of your sarcasm, Miss,’ her mother snapped, and flung the paper away from her in disgust.

‘I suppose you’ll be wanting to join up next.’

There was a long silence between them; a waiting silence.

Kate met her mother’s fierce gaze. ‘I’m thinking about it – yes.’

She saw the colour drain swiftly from her mother’s face and Esther put out her hand to steady herself against the table. A small gasp escaped her open lips and her green eyes – so like Kate’s own – stared at her daughter.

Kate felt a stab of remorse. She hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt, and yet, she had to make her mother understand. She turned and began to pace up and down the kitchen, spreading her hands. ‘You don’t understand, Mam. It was awful over there. All those soldiers trapped on the beach and in the water – thousands of them. There were bodies too . . .’ She gulped and closed her eyes for a moment, then she went on strongly, ‘We’ve all got to do our bit – even the women this time, Mam. We can’t let Hitler just walk into our country and take it over. And he will – if we don’t stop him. You don’t understand, Mam . . .’ she said again and then stopped.

Her mother had sunk down into a chair on the opposite side of the kitchen table and was resting her arms on the scrubbed surface. Wearily, she said, ‘Yes, I do, Kate. It was the same for me when I went to France after the last war.’

‘What? You – you went to France?’ Kate could not hide the surprise in her voice, and hearing it, her mother smiled. ‘Yes – can you imagine me leaving Fleethaven Point to go all the way to France?’

Kate lowered herself into a chair and faced her mother across the table. ‘Tell me about it, Mam?’ she asked softly.

There was silence in the kitchen, the only sounds the ticking of the clock and the singing of the kettle on the hob.

‘I went out there with the Squire. His eldest son had been killed and he was trying to find his grave. I – went to try to . . . She stopped, glanced swiftly at Kate and then dropped her gaze again. She took a deep breath and continued. ‘When I saw their land . . .’ Esther’s eyes took on a faraway look, as if she were not here in her warm kitchen in 1940 but out on the battlefields of France in 1919, ‘absolutely devastated, gouged with trenches as far as you could see. Not a living thing for mile after mile – not a blade of grass; trees, blackened and dead; no birds – only rotting bodies and rats!’ She shook her head, murmuring, ‘Those poor folk, they can only just have recovered from all that, and now it’s happening to them again.’ She raised her eyes and met Kate’s gaze steadily. ‘Oh, I understand all right, Kate, just how you feel. I saw for myself what all our men fought for – and died for – last time. It’s just that—’ She reached out with fingers that shook slightly to clasp Kate’s hands. ‘You’re my daughter and I – I don’t want you to be in danger . . .’