LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 4

       28 June 1940

      Jack stayed at the harbour for as long as the flames from the ruined trucks would allow him. It was his duty to make sure that everyone else got away safely, at least, those who could. The clean-up operation would take some time, but that was the least of their worries. The German planes were dropping bombs on the rest of St Peter Port and the island, and he even saw one land near the hospital. Before long the planes would have to return to the continent to refuel, but they would be back, of that he was sure. He had grown almost accustomed to the sounds of explosions, but he had yet to see the full consequences.

      There was still no sign of the boy who had been playing on the road. The tomato trucks that lined the way out of the harbour were ruined wrecks, some of which were still on fire. Their metal frames were a stark reminder of the terrible damage aircraft could cause. The few ambulances on the island had struggled to get through the wreckage and it had been some time since Jack had last seen one. If he found anyone else alive, he would have to either treat them himself, or somehow get them the help they needed.

      He crawled under the wreckage of one of the trucks. It was still warm, like a fire late at night, and there was a smell of burnt tomatoes. As he crawled, his hand came up covered in a watery red paste. A pool of crimson liquid was spreading out, staining everything it touched. The cloth knees of his trousers were sodden, and he thought he would never get those marks out. It wasn’t the only thing; the horror of the last hour would haunt him forever. Most of the colour was from the tomatoes, but he didn’t doubt there was some blood mixed in there. He knew it wouldn’t be the last of the islanders’ blood to be spilt. He just hoped that wherever Johanna was, she had kept away from the bombs.

      His search under the truck was futile. If any of the people who had hidden under the vehicles were still there, then they would need a lot more than a policeman to find them. The boy was dead and he couldn’t do anything about that. There was no sign of his parents either, and Jack wondered if they had perished together.

      He crawled back out from under the ruined cab in shock and wiped his hands on the thighs of his trousers. He looked up as he heard a scraping noise, instantly on guard. A man, only a few years older than Jack, was shuffling along the road, awkwardly dragging one leg as if he had been hit. He had a white cloth or piece of clothing tied round his head, in an attempt to staunch a head wound that was still bleeding. The blood stained his neck and shirt, and his skin was covered in a patina of black ash from the fires. He didn’t seem to notice Jack as he passed, absorbed in his own personal hell. The man was far from the first walking wounded Jack had seen and he was sure the hospital would be inundated. The island didn’t have much in the way of medical facilities, and the population was only small. They never expected it to come to this.

      Jack moved closer and reached a hand to put an aiding arm around him. ‘I’ll be all right,’ the man said, his voice barely a whisper, and shrugged Jack off with a wince of pain.

      Jack let go, but the man stumbled. He managed to right himself, with a groan, but then the strength seemed to ebb from him completely and he dropped to one knee. The man sagged further before Jack could catch him. He was a deadweight in Jack’s hands as he eased him to the ground and then knelt down to check his pulse. His heartbeat was still strong and he was breathing, if faintly. He would need medical help and there was no way that Jack could leave him there.

      Jack looked around but he was alone, apart from a few firemen who were trying to put out the remaining fires. Jack cradled the man’s head with one arm while he reached around his waist with the other and prepared to lift him up. He didn’t want to risk his head dropping onto the hard road, but he needed to get a good enough grip. There was no way the man would be able to carry himself to the hospital. Bending his knees, Jack hauled him onto his shoulder. The man groaned like someone coming around from sleep. It was a lift they had been taught in their police training, but it didn’t do much to displace the man’s weight. It did, however, make him easier to carry and less likely to slip off Jack’s shoulder.

      He lurched forward, hoping that the man’s weight would add to his momentum, but cautious not to let him pull both of them over. With each step Jack could feel his own wounds more, not just scratches and grazes, but bleeding cuts where shrapnel had hit him. They both needed help, and he would do his best to get them to the hospital.

      *

      As Jack arrived at the Country Hospital, there were still German planes circling in the sky. The smell of cordite and smoke was strong, but it didn’t appear to be coming from here. The walk had been tough, more of a stumble, and he hadn’t known whether he would make it.

      He could already hear the hubbub of frantic noise coming from inside the hospital, and what sounded like someone shouting in pain. A pair of legs stuck out from under the engine of an ambulance and Jack could hear a hammering as the mechanic tried to get it going again. On a normal day Jack would have gone over to see if he could help, but he could be more use inside, even if he lacked much in the way of medical know-how. Johanna was far better qualified to help, but she wasn’t here. He clung on to the hope that she hadn’t been hurt in all this; she couldn’t have been.

      He crossed under the porch, walking as quickly as he could, his limbs exhausted. Unusually, there was no one other than the mechanic outside the building. It was as if the whole island had been abandoned, thrown into a silence of reflective mourning. Jack could hear the faint birdsong in the trees, enjoying the summer evening. It was strangely peaceful against the backdrop of such chaos. What care did the birds have that humanity was destroying itself?

      Jack pushed his way through the hospital’s double doors and was immediately hit with a wall of noise. He could hear people shouting down the corridors. A loud cry of pain was masked by the scream of an order or instruction. The hospital was almost as chaotic as the harbour had been.

      Jack headed for the nearest room, looking for a bed for the man on his back. The room was occupied by a man with a white bandage wrapped around his head, sitting up calmly in the bed as if reading a book. Jack moved on, struggling to keep the man on his back, as if being in the hospital had given his body enough reason to give up. Nurses moved through the corridors, going from one room to the next. None of them seemed to notice him. He thought he saw Johanna’s red-brown curls float past the end of the corridor, Johanna wearing a nurse’s uniform. She was a trained nurse, but it couldn’t be, because she didn’t have a job. His mind was playing tricks on him.

      There was a narrow bench in the corridor,

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