The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue (52 page)

‘I expect we’ll know it when we see it,’ said Leo grimly.

From the rail of
The Sara Luz
, the Turnarounders watched the shelling above Northern France. The shoreline slid past and now, to their right, they saw the buildings and steepled church of Calais, silhouetted by white bright bursts of machine gun fire and the red glow of flames. The faint rat-a-tat of the guns bounced over the water.

They sailed on and the buildings gave way to an immense stretch of beach, silver in the moonlight. Dotted over its entire surface
were what looked like clusters of bushes and lines of shrubs leading down to the sea. Of all of them, only Seth had truly felt the touch of war, so perhaps that’s why he was the one who first realised what they were actually looking at.

‘Mensch!’ he said in awe. ‘It’s not bushes. It’s men!’

Abruptly, the scale of the situation became clear. The beach was not overgrown. Instead its white sands crawled with soldiers. Thousands upon thousands of men waited there to be rescued.

The Turnarounders stood and stared at them all until the first of Dunkirk’s ‘moles’ came into view. This long arm of harbour wall jutted westwards into the sea in front of them like a
pointing finger. Behind it crouched the harbour itself and the jetties; wharves and warehouses that provided temporary shelter for thousands more troops who wanted to go home.

Leo had been right. They didn’t need a sign to tell them they’d reached their destination. The harbour walls were loaded with
soldiers, soldiers spilled from side roads and alleys, soldiers stood in lines ten deep on the wharves and the jetties were full to overflowing with silent waiting figures. Fear scuttled through the streets along with the rats.

Valen looked at her watch. ‘It’s nearly half ten,’ she said. ‘How are we supposed to help
the Natus in this mess? It’s going to be like trying to find needles in a haystack,’ Val whispered.

Ralf silently agreed with her but it turned out they were both wrong. Finding the Arbuckles was easy. It would be hanging on to them that was difficult.

The night was alive with noise. They heard clipped urgent voices giving orders, the conversations of the boarding men, boats thumping against each other in the dark, the toll of a distant bell and a constant background hum of gunfire, shouts and explosions.

In the centre of the harbour noise and confusion, an Isle of Man packet steamer,
The Mona's Isle
, was at anchor. It had blinkered lamps fore and aft but the rest of the ship was in darkness, its two funnels columns of deeper black shadow against the night sky. But even in the gloom, through the patches of low-lying mist on the water they could see the vessel was a hive of activity. On the port side of the ship bobbed one of the King’s Hadow fishing boats. As they chugged closer Ralf recognised
The Griffin
, from which a line of men scurried up a dangling ladder like so many ants.

They almost didn’t hear the shocked but familiar voice cut across the water.

‘Oh Lor! Ralf?’ Ben Cheeseman sounded utterly confounded. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We thought you might need some help!’ Leo yelled back.

‘Old Bill will have some choice words for you, I’m betting!’ Ned Beechy shouted from his place at the tiller. ‘You’d best get over there now! Can you see them?’

He pointed to the furthest mole and waved them on. Ralf could just make out the shadow of other small boats in the darkness. They were here then, he thought, relieved. He nodded, clunked
The Sara Luz
into gear and they putted towards them.

The Fisher King
was packed with soldiers but Old Bill was still waving men aboard. Ron stood at the wheel, Tom holding a line at the prow, whilst Michael kept a look out from a bench in the stern. When they were about twenty feet away he seemed to notice them for the first time.

‘What the –?’ Michael rattled off a long rant, peppered with a variety of fishermen’s expletives that made Ralf wince. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing? Oh – and, great – you’ve brought half the kids in the village!’

‘I ought to send you straight back home!’ Old Bill roared, but he shook his head as he spoke.

‘They’d be safer to stay,’ shouted Tom. ‘Even in this shambles!’

Old Bill nodded. ‘Well, since they’re here, they can make theirselves useful,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll hop on over to
The Sara Luz
.’

‘I’ll go, Dad,’ called Ron, already moving. ‘Pull up alongside, Ralf!’ he called.

Old Bill started to protest but Michael hobbled over and nudged Tom away from the wheel with his walking stick.

‘Go with him, Tom,’ Michael ordered. ‘I can manage the wheel here. I think it’d be better if there were two of you aboard with the five o’ them.’ Old Bill nodded reluctantly and the two youngest Arbuckles made the jump onto
The Sara Luz
.

Ralf and Leo exchanged a look. That had been easier than expected! They now had two of
the Natus safely aboard
The Sara Luz
and Walter Sedley was within sight on
The Griffin
. All they had to do now was locate Gloria, Keen and Munton.

Ralf scanned the harbour once more as they untied from
The Fisher King
but saw no sign of the Kingston-Hawkes’ craft.

‘Have you seen
The Sea-Hawke
?’ he asked Ron.

‘She’s round the other side of the mole, taking wounded from a medical post,’ Ron said, shaking his head as he checked over
The Sara Luz
. ‘Niall’d have a fit if he knew.’

‘We have to get over there,’ Ralf urged. ‘Gadd Munton’s aboard.
Kemp's alive but Gadd’s the one who set the Bakery fire and he’s on the run. We need to make sure Gloria’s okay.’

‘What?’ Ron looked thunderstruck. ‘That dirty, rotte
n…Him and his no good brother…When I catch up with him after this…’

‘I know, Ron, but Gloria! She may be in danger now.’

‘Well, she’s
here
isn’t she?’ said Ron. ‘That’s danger enough!’

‘She’ll be alright, Ralf,’ Tom interjected. ‘She’s got Captain Keen and young Julian with her. They’re more than a match for that snivelling weasel Gadd.’

‘Please!’ Ralf begged.

But Ron shook his head. ‘There’s nothing we can do. We need to get on. Now, get those lines! There’s men over there as wants to go home.’

Ron took the wheel and turned
The Sara Luz
about, whilst Tom directed the Turnarounders to clear the deck and cabin to create as much space as possible. When they got to the mole, they tied up and Tom began counting the waiting soldiers aboard.

Ralf and the others couldn’t help but stare. The men were grim, grey and streaked with dirt, sometimes blood. Some were wounded, arms in makeshift slings or hobbling on sticks with the aid of their fellows. Some had bandages around their eyes, seeping watery pink. All of them looked gaunt and tired. All were immeasurably pleased to see them and if they were surprised that five children crewed their rescue vessel they did not show it. Those on the mole queued patiently, shuffling forwards to take their turn. As they did so, Ralf squinted to make out their colours, which in the dim light looked like the blurred rainbow you see in a drizzle of petrol on dark water.

Once on board, the men stood shoulder to shoulder whilst Tom, dazzling in the peacock splendour of his own bright colour, finished counting. ‘Fifty-four...fifty-five... fifty-six! That’s all!’ he yelled to the waiting men. ‘She’s too low in the water as it is!’

A murmur ran through the crowd o
n the mole as the men there realised they would not be going this trip.

‘We’ll be back for you shortly!’ Ron shouted, bracingly. ‘Won’t take long!’ Then he reversed from the wall and
The Sara Luz
departed for the steamer. Tendrils of fog began to form and they puffed through them on route to
The Mona's Isle
.

It was coming up to eleven o’clock. They’d made two journeys and were just about to head back for their third load, when–

‘Ahoy there!’ a ridiculously chirpy voice chimed out of the darkness.

The Sea-Hawke
hove into view and the Turnarounders gaped.

King, wearing a peaked
Captain’s cap, tipped at a jaunty angle, seemed to have forgotten all animosity towards them in the excitement of the moment. He spread his arms wide to take in the wounded men he had on board, the broken bodies and the weary faces, and flashed them a bright smile. ‘Isn’t this FUN!’ he cried to no one in particular.

Ralf’s blood boiled. King r
eally was a complete and utter berk.

The two boats nudged each other and bumped into the thick hull of
The Mona's Isle
. There was a clack of gunfire from inland. Something droned in the distance but Ralf hardly heard it, his attention was so focused on
The Sea-Hawke
. Men at the rail had parted to reveal a windswept Gloria whose russet and gold colours could have put that evening’s sunset to shame.

‘Ralf!’ she exclaimed. ‘I had a feeling you’d come!’

‘Gloria!’ he cried, joyfully. ‘Thank goodness you’re safe!’

King made retching noises at the comment but Ralf didn’t care he was so pleased to see her. Gloria made a swipe at her brother and gestured with her thumb toward Captain Keen who was just emerging from
The Sea-Hawke
’s cabin. ‘I’m fine! Of course I am. He was trying to leave on his own, though!’ she said. Keen grinned sheepishly. ‘Couldn’t let him, obviously. Damn fool thing to do! So we four came along as crew.’

Leo frowned. ‘Four?’

‘Yes, Mr Munton hopped aboard to help and George?’ Gloria enquired, turning. ‘Where’ve you got to? George?’

Tank Tatchell pushed his way through the men to stand at Gloria’s side. Unlike King, he seemed as unfriendly as usual. It was probably something to do with the length of time his miniscule brain took to process information, Ralf thought. Tank glowered at Leo then spotted Seth and shot him a hate filled look.

‘Enemy at twelve o’clock, Captain!’ he shouted.

‘Don’t be daft, George!’ said Gloria dismissively. ‘We’re all in this together. Now get over there and hold the ladder.’

For a second Tank looked like he wasn’t going to budge and he rocked from foot to foot menacingly.

‘Tank!’ King snapped, his good humour beginning to evaporate. ‘Just get on with it!’

Grudgingly, Tank did as he was told.

‘Hold fast that line, Captain Keen, and get Munton on deck’ King ordered. ‘We’re drifting.’

‘Right you are, Captain!’ Keen did a mock salute and gave Gloria a swift wink. He hauled on the line and
The Sea-Hawke
edged closer to the steamer. ‘Just remember, King, you are the Captain – but I am in charge. Mr Munton get up here now!’

Ron moved to the prow of
The Sara Luz
and beckoned to Keen. The Captain struggled with his balance for a second then leaned over the rail towards Ron who began speaking in a low, urgent voice.

‘What are you going to do about Munton?’ Ralf asked Tom from the corner of his mouth.

‘Ron’s telling Keen to keep an eye out right now,’ said Tom, curtly. ‘There’ll be time enough for anything else later.’ He saw Ralf’s expression and his voice softened. ‘Look, Ralf. I know he’s a bad ‘un but he’s a good seaman and right now King needs him. None of those others are sailors.’

‘But, Tom!’ Valen spluttered.

‘No, Val,’ said Tom firmly. ‘If Ron takes him now, he’ll be useless for the rest of the night. If we leave ‘im be, he’ll help. There’s nothing to be gained from starting a fight now when there’s lives at stake. From what you’ve said the game’s up with him anyway. Kemp’s alive, and Hart’ll soon be safe if he isn’t already.’

‘What if he does a runner, though?’ Alfie asked.

‘Where to?’ Tom asked. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the Nazi’s can have ‘im!’

Ron finished his conversation with Keen and returned to the wheel. The Captain seemed thoughtful then, hand clutching his service revolver. He frowned, glanced at Munton, then marched to the rail and positioned himself next to Gloria. He gave Ralf a long, complicated look and then nodded. Ralf looked at Leo but there was nothing he could say that would change the Arbuckles’ minds.

‘Alright,’ said Ron. He squinted up the rope ladder to see their last man reach the safety of
The Mona's Isle
. ‘Time for the next lot. We’ll keep an eye out for you, Keen! Give us a shout if you need any help, Gloria.’

Gloria grinned. ‘Will do!’

Nervously, Ralf checked his watch and his eyes met Valen’s as she looked up from checking her own. It was eleven fifteen.

Tom turned the boat and they chugged back across the harbour. The fog was thicker now, hanging a foot above the surface of the water. Ron had put Ralf on lookout duty in the prow but it was hard to navigate because it felt like he was looking through a thin white veil. He frowned. With everything that was going on in his head, he barely registered that the droning sound he’d heard earlier was getting louder. Was it the noise or his concern about Gadd that was causing the electric prickle on his neck? He couldn’t be sure it was either but he knew that something wasn’t right. A couple of seconds later he realised what.