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The German Nurse. M.J. Hollows
Читать онлайн.Название The German Nurse
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008386979
Автор произведения M.J. Hollows
Издательство HarperCollins
‘You should get out of here,’ he said, guiding her in the direction of the town. ‘There may be more on the way. Everyone needs to get to safety.’
‘Where is safe?’ she asked, walking quickly away from him up the road. He didn’t have an answer. They would have to do something, and fast. He hurried to keep up. ‘If they want to kill us,’ she said, ‘they will. Nothing here is going to stop them.’
‘Just go, Susanne,’ he shouted, over the din of the aeroplanes.
‘What about you?’ she asked.
Jack glanced back towards the harbour. There were still people in danger, and it was his job to keep them safe. ‘Look after yourself,’ he called back over his shoulder as he started to run. He didn’t check to see if she had obeyed his command.
The young boy was the other side of the road from Jack, near one of the now-abandoned tomato trucks. He had been running about, playing in the dirt, but now was scampering in fear. Jack didn’t know where the boy’s parents were. The boy disappeared behind the truck. A horse whinnied as it bolted and took its cart with it, clattering along the cobbles towards town. A shadow crossed the sky and Jack felt a sudden wave of pressure. The truck exploded with a flash of flame. The shockwave struck Jack, pushing him back. A rush of heat washed over him as he hit the ground, and rolled, trying to put some distance between himself and the flames. The sound rang in his ears, drowning out everything else. He thought he could hear crying, but it could have just been the screech of breaking metal. He had never experienced anything like this before. It was like stepping too close to a bonfire. He felt his skin burning, like an intense sunburn that threatened to overwhelm him.
After a few seconds the heat subsided and he managed to roll onto his side. His body was bruised and scratched, and he felt weak. On the ground next to his hand was a small wooden toy, cut into the shape of a car, its varnish now covered in reddish-brown blood. The boy was nowhere to be seen amongst the debris and the flames. A timber yard’s warehouse had been hit and thick black smoke spread across the harbour.
The planes disappeared into the clouds, the roar of their engines a faint hum, but he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. They were attacking an undefended island – nothing could stop them. As they circled back around, using the coast as a reference point, the machine noise of their engines grew louder again.
Jack pushed himself to his feet with a groan. He had to do something. He felt alone on the harbour now, as if everyone else had either fled or been engulfed by flames. The aircraft would be back in a few seconds.
Jack hobbled across the harbour to a boat and climbed over the hand rail. It was a wonder it was still floating, and so far the flames had not spread to its hull. He searched around the netting and supplies for something that would be useful, as he heard the plane’s guns roar into life. He didn’t have much time.
After a few moments scrabbling on his hands and knees, he found what he was looking for: a piece of white cloth, either a discarded piece of clothing or a sheet. He grabbed it and jumped back onto the pier, looking for the planes in the sky. The bright sun burned his eyes and he had to look away, blinking. The bright purple bruise remained behind his eyelids, a warning.
Using his ears to guide him, he ran up the pier in the direction of the aircraft. Others would say that running into danger was crazy, but that was who he was. He ripped the cloth in two, discarding one half. He raised it above his head and waved it back and forth a few times, hoping to catch the pilot’s attention. The wind blew the cloth around his head, further obscuring his view and he ripped it again, pulling off a smaller piece this time. He tried again, not knowing whether it would do any good. Surely by now the pilots must have realised that there was no resistance, no one shooting back. The plane dropped its nose, pointing in his direction once again. Jack could see the barrels of its guns. He stood stock-still, holding the white cloth up in front of him. Sweat was pouring down his brow, but he didn’t dare move. Fear and shock had glued him in place. Time stretched to eternity. Then in a rush of engine noise the plane zoomed straight over his head.
Jack turned on the spot, following its flight. Rather than banking and wheeling around to head back to the harbour, it maintained a straight course, flying over St Peter Port and gradually increasing in altitude. The other aircraft joined up in formation on its wings. Jack stood still as he watched them disappear over the island. He was left with the smell of burning fuel and the taste of iron on his tongue. The planes were gone for now, but he knew with a certainty he hadn’t felt before, that the Germans were on their way.
28 June 1940
Despite the warm summer sun, the sea swelled as if a storm was coming. It rose then fell, throwing the lifeboat from side to side in anger. The wind blew across the ship, whipping the seven men on deck with white spray. Richard had sailed this way many times before, but never under these circumstances. The boat rocked and he set his face in grim determination against the salty wet spray as he thought of what he had been asked to do. After the British army had left the islands, the powers that be had thought about what else the island had in its possession and fell on the idea of their lifeboats. He’d received a telegram telling him that under no circumstances could the lifeboats fall into German hands. The only option left had been to collect them and deliver them into the care of the navy at the mainland.
As such, Richard had assembled a crew of seven men, who were now on their way to Jersey across the Roussels, the stretch of water between the islands, to collect their lifeboat, tie it to their own and begin the arduous journey over to England. They hoped they could be done before the Germans arrived, but they had no idea what was really happening on the continent.
One of his sons pushed a mug of hot tea into his cold hands and muttered something that was lost in the noise of the engine. He moved away from the pilot’s position, leaving Richard with his mug of tea, and spoke to his brother, patting him on the back in his usual manner. It wouldn’t be long until they approached Jersey. He’d had someone phone ahead to tell them he was coming, so he hoped they wouldn’t kick up a fuss about him taking their boat. They wouldn’t be happy about it, either way. For communities that relied on the sea, a lifeboat was vital. Richard had rescued many a struggling fisherman from a tricky sea when things had grown out of their control. He didn’t dare think what would happen without them.
He had considered simply hiding the lifeboat away somewhere, but had decided against it in the long run. He wasn’t a good liar, and they would no doubt find the boats before long. He had been unable to think of an alternative and, as he stood at the prow of the boat he had spent so long working on, he wondered whether he should have simply refused and taken the consequences.
Suddenly there was the sound of an engine, rising in pitch, breaking through his reverie. At first Richard thought it was the lifeboat, but the rhythm was different, at a counterpoint to their own ship. He looked around for the sign of another boat, but they were alone in the seas not far now from Jersey. The sound came again, this time much closer. Richard crossed the front of the boat and finally saw it. There was a faint grey shape silhouetted against the sky. Then he saw another, its companion. They were getting closer, turning into the unmistakable outlines of aircraft. The German cross was clearly visible, black against the grey of the underwings.
Richard hoped they would be ignored, due to the giant red cross that was painted on the top of the lifeboat, but his illusion was soon shattered by a spitting sound. Spray jumped out of the sea in front of the boat like sprites in two parallel lines, getting closer.
‘Get down!’ Richard shouted as he heard the splintering of wood. Bullets hit the fuselage as he ducked down to find some cover. The crew cried out in surprise as they hid. There was a sound like a saw against wood. Shards of timber came loose as rounds cut through the hull, then the