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It was the waiting that was really starting to get to Kevin. The standing around in neat lines, two by two, like the animals lining up before Noah and his ark. Days spent waiting for salvation, with the sand blowing in his eyes and the groans of the wounded for company.
Nobody spoke. A grunt or two, a passed water flask and a nod of thanks. There was no point learning the name of the man next to you. No point while they stood here, picked off like cattle, lamb to the slaughter. With each passing plane, each bloody bomb, another dropped dead, just like that. So easy. So painfully easy.
Kevin’s fairly certain he’s been here for a week now. On the first day, he’d been left gasping for air, sprinting away from rapid fire bullets, driven to the beach, cornered, to be sacrificed with the rest of them.
On the second, he’d replaced his broken boots with a pair off a dead man, neck at an unnatural angle, blood flecking his face, cold, dead eyes staring blankly. It had been unsettling, and after, he’d dragged the man to the dunes, covering him in sand in an attempted burial.
On the third day, there were two dozen new bodies. Kevin stopped bothering trying to help after the first five.
On the fourth, the man who’d been next to Kevin, waiting, walked into the sea and didn’t come back. Kevin had watched on the fifth, as a body that looked awfully familiar washed back to shore, blue and still.
On the sixth, Kevin thought about joining him.
There’s a small blond man next to him now. He’s got these eyes that might be quite pretty if they didn’t look so dead, and dark circles that look like stains on his pale skin. His blond hair is sticky with sand and sea salt, and the bandage wrapped around his hand reveals that maybe he’s been here for a while.
Kevin asks for his name.
A stupid question.
They both know they won’t be here much longer.
The blond man humours him, arching a pale eyebrow as he speaks.
“Aaron.”
His voice is tired. Kevin can relate.
“Kevin.”
Aaron wraps his good hand around Kevin’s and shakes. his skin is dirty and calloused, and Kevin entertains a brief thought of kissing his knuckles. Ha. Chivalry is dead too, though.
Kevin offers him water, because he’s kind like that, and also because Aaron’s clearly misplaced his own. Aaron’s eyes crinkle with gratitude, and he takes a large swig, like a dying man (which Kevin supposes he is), and Kevin does a hundred percentage not watch his throat bob as he does it.
Their fingers brush again as Aaron passes the bottle back.
—
If the plane engine wasn’t obviously enough, someone yells it out. Bomber overhead. Kevin’s instinct is to save himself, when he sees Aaron’s eyes widen in this expression he’s seen on too many soldiers who have seen too much. Kevin grabs his wrist, and Aaron flinches, jolting back into reality and throwing himself on the floor, hands grasping his head, covering his ears. Kevin, and every other man here is mirroring him.
Kevin flinches when the first bomb hits. His hands are shaking so hard his teeth are jittering too, heart smashing against his ribs so quickly he feels sick. He’s not watching Aaron anymore, eyes squeezed shut, but he can hear the desperate mumbled prayers falling from lips that have likely lost faith in God many, many months ago.
The booms are getting closer. The ground shakes. Kevin feels sand hit his hands as screams reverberate in his ears.
There’s a soft thump to the left of him. He knows what it is and doesn’t want to look at the poor soul.
The next bomb is so close Kevin could have sworn that another meter closer and Aaron would be the next rag doll. Instead, there’s another haunting scream, gurgling off and the plane engine tapers out, flying away.
Kevin lifts his head, glancing over at Aaron. He’s still alive. In one piece. Kevin is more relieved than he should be.
Aaron’s hazel eyes are fixed on the corpse that’s touching him.
Kevin doesn’t think anyone that mangled actually counts as a corpse anymore. He can’t tell what limbs are what, and Aaron’s retching and promptly vomiting obscures it even more.
Some of the blood is on a pale cheek. Aaron stays still and lets Kevin’s trembling fingers wipe it away.
—
When the med ship arrives the next day, Kevin almost cries with relief. It’s his chance to get out, break the cycle of waiting. The wounded, carefully laid out on stretchers, are quickly grabbed by men, and Kevin grabs Aaron’s wrist, pulling him quickly towards a casualty from yesterday, a man with a gaping head wound, barely conscious, but enough to be their ticket to freedom. He grabs the handles and the front, and Aaron the back, and the pair of them run like the bombers are on their tail again. The solider lets out a low moan, eyes screwing shut. Aaron bites out an apology for jostling him, but doesn’t slow down.
The dock is slippery underfoot, and the trio fall into line behind another group, just like theirs. Two tired men, a wounded, who Kevin isn’t entirely sure is still breathing, judging by the mess of bloodied bandages haphazardly thrown over his chest.
They pile on the ship, and it’s all a blur, but Kevin’s got a death grip on Aaron’s arm and he’s not letting go. Aaron lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping with relief as a nurse takes the dying man away and another presses a plate with jam and toast into his hands. He meets Kevin’s eyes with a sticky mouthful and smiles. Kevin’s throat catches on an inhale. It changes his face, softens sunken cheeks and makes his eyes sparkle. Kevin can’t help but grin giddily as well, although his mind wanders to the thought of kissing the upturned corners of those chapped lips.
—
Kevin knows hope is a dangerous thing. Hope has killed more of his friends than the bullets and bombs combined.
He’d clung to it anyway.
Now he faces the consequences.
Of course the boat had been too good too last. To much like freedom for him.
So when the torpedo hits the ship from underneath, sending the whole thing jolting to the side, he can’t be surprised. When Aaron’s face, now ghostly white turns to his, he can’t say this wasn’t unexpected. Because it’s them. Because it was never going to be that easy.
Kevin’s knees are wet now, and he’s frozen in horror, those horrid blue corpses flashing in his eyes, and within fifteen minutes he’ll be one of them.
It’s Aaron’s turn to grab him now, thin fingers yanking him towards the stairs, towards the door that two others are already prying open.
The boat lurches. Kevin thinks he screams but he’s not sure. The water rises. The door snaps open, and those two men scramble out, Kevin and Aaron on their heels.
The next lurch does make Kevin and Aaron scream this time, the ship tipping sideways, sending them sprawling. Aaron grabs the railing in one hand and Kevin in the other, and the man who opened the door helps haul him up, yelling to jump. Aaron asks if he’s crazy.
He says maybe, and takes a wild leap of faith.
The boat lurchs again and Kevin grabs Aaron’s middle and throws them both off the side, Aaron’s horrified scream piercing his ear, the cold water piercing his lungs when they land, and holy shit it’s so god damned cold.
The life jackets from earlier make them float. Kevin’s still holding Aaron, trying to move them both, because one more torpedo to the oil tank and they’re done for here.
Aaron clearly can’t swim, so Kevin holds his life jacket and pulls, kicking away from the boat, Aaron kicking his feet too, although it’s more ungraceful doggy paddle, it’s still helping put distance from them and the ship.
The water is dark and murky. Kevin thinks about letting go. He doesn’t. He can’t, he’s too much a coward.
Aaron’s frantic yells get his attention. The water is dark for a different reason, the surface shimmering.
Oil.
The tanker is broken.
Suddenly, Kevin has a lot more motivation to swim.
He can hear rapid fire from planes above them, and he’s not stupid enough to not know that if one crashes into the water right now, they’re toast.
Literally.
He doesn’t stop swimming, kicking away, panic a better motivator then any.
He doesn’t stop when a large splash is followed by a roar.
He doesn’t stop for the screams of men beyond saving.
He keeps kicking.
—
After the war, Kevin is never going to a beach again. When he comes too, Aaron is pulling him across sandy shores, hands grasping Kevin’s uniform. He can hear the sea crashing against the shore and knows where they are again. Aaron drops to the floor beside him, defeating.
“We’re never gonna leave this place.” He sighs, voice devoid of feeling. Kevin twists his head to look at him.
“Maybe.”
Aaron startles out a laugh that sounds more like a choking sob, going quiet. He stares out to sea, hair fluttering like string in the wind.
“I had a brother, before I came here.” He says at last, jaw working like he’s forgotten how to speak. Kevin realises that aside from desperate yelling and an exchanging of names, they haven’t actually spoken properly yet. This is a first.
“His name was Andrew.”
“Were you close?” Kevin asks, pushing himself up to sit with tired arms.
“Identical twins.” Aaron answers honestly. He pauses, and his shoulders deflate. “I don’t know where he is know. We didn’t get assigned to the same place.” He gestures around. “And as you can tell, we get no mail here.”
Kevin hums quietly.
“I didn’t have a biological brother, but I had Jean. He was a good substitute.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm. He was a lot like me but more moody.”
Aaron lets out a huff Kevin thinks is supposed to be a laugh.
“Where is he know?”
Kevin points up at the sky.
“He couldn’t take it anymore. Ran head first into enemy fire.” Kevin looks down at his hands, shaking still, and exhales. “I miss him.”
“I’ll bet.”
The conversation splutters out, but Aaron stays against Kevin’s side, tired and aching but still warm.
—
The bombs come and go. Another day passes, and Kevin mourns a full stomach. He’s fantasising about a good cup of tea right now. Maybe with a biscoff biscuit.
He turns to Aaron, who’s half awake on the sand beside him, near the dunes. They’ve given up waiting in lines. They won’t get out, they might as well be comfy when they die.
“I want tea.”
Aaron opens his eyes, raising an eyebrow.
“I think we all do.”
“Tea that’s reasonably milky, no sugar.”
Aaron wrinkles his nose.
“You’re strange. Tea milky, two sugars.”
“How do you still have teeth? Crikey.”
Aaron pokes him in the side, but Kevin is numb and cold and wearing a thick coat, so it isn’t very effective. He acts offended anyway.
“I want scones with my tea as well.”
“Scones or scones?”
“I’m not having an argument about the correct pronunciation of scones right now.” Aaron huffs. “Anyway, we all know it’s pronounced scone.”
“You’re so wrong. I bet you put the jam first before the cream.”
“Who does that? Cream is like butter so it goes on first. That’s how civil people eat them.”
“I agree, that’s what I always say.”
“If we make it out, wanna go get scones and tea together?” Aaron asks quietly, tracing shapes in the sand with his finger.
“Absolutely. And it’s scones, not scones.”
Aaron gives him two fingers. Kevin snorts a weak attempt at a laugh.
—
When Kevin wakes up, it’s to yelling. Aaron’s got his arm, and he’s shouting, pulling Kevin hard.
Kevin jolts upright, fear spiking, they’re here, the guns, they’re going to die, but then he looks at Aaron, who has a maniacal grin on his face and tears in his eyes.
“They came Kevin. They came.”
“Who came?” Kevin gasps out, scrambling to his feet. Aaron laughs like a dying man.
“Home.”
Kevin looks beyond him at the sea, at the lines upon lines of fishing boats, strung out like bunting.
Fishermen are hauling soldiers aboard, packing boats to the brim, before turning around and sailing out. Sailing back across the channel. Sailing back to England.
Aaron is still yanking his arm, and Kevin stumbles along with him, desperately trying to rub sleep from his eyes, tripping over sand as they run towards a boat, towards a man who looks well into his sixties who grabs their forearms and hauls them aboard.
“Good lads. You did well.”
Kevin is gasping, chest heaving and they stumble across worn wooden deck, making space for four more men before the fisherman decides the boat is packed (which it is, Kevin can hardly move), and then the boat is turning around.
Kevin’s wet and he’s shaking, he touches his cheek and is surprised to find it damp.
Aaron makes a noise that makes Kevin realise that he’s actually crying, tears cutting through the grime on his cheeks, arms reaching up and curling around Kevin’s neck, hugging him close. Kevin squeezes Aaron tight, the boat rocking them as they embrace, the sandy shores growing further and further away as they go.
At some point, a biscuit is handed to Kevin, the fisherman clapping him on the shoulder. Kevin feels a bit numb now, a heavy feeling in his chest. The world seems disconnected, he barely makes out a thank you, eyes unfocused. Shock, or something like that. The biscuit crumbling in his fingers feels like a promise.
—
It’s dark when they arrive, street lamps lit as the boat docks. The world is a blur as someone pulls Kevin off the boat, spinning dangerously as he staggers. A bottle of something is pressed into his palm.
“He’s dehydrated!” Someone calls. “I need more water!”
It all feels very surreal, and Kevin’s hands are trembling as he raises the bottle for a drink, ignorant of the stray drops dribbling down his chin. Water has never tasted so good before.
He’s being pushed along, stumbling along a street, and he twists, calling for Aaron, and a shaking hand grabs his coat, when he looks down he’s there, eyes wide and tears staining his face.
“We made it.” Aaron heaves out, chest jumping with sobs he can’t contain properly. “We made it.”
Kevin tries to comfort him but he’s shaking so much himself and the world still feels surreal, so he can’t tell what he’s saying over the ringing in his ears, but he knows he says something right because Aaron squeezes him tighter.
—
They’re loaded onto a train, and that’s where they are now, bumping along slowly as the sun starts to rise. Aaron’s asleep on the window, mouth open slightly, hair a mess across his forehead and Kevin can’t help but think he looks kind of sweet like that, even if he’s dribbling a little.
Kevin himself can’t possibly sleep, and he’s glad, the sun looks so perfect coming up over the clouds that he nudges Aaron, who snorts as he wakes.
Kevin points at the warm oranges and pinks, and Aaron hums happily, the colours reflecting his eyes. Those eyes still look dead, and Kevin imagines they will for a while, but he hopes he’s around when they come back to life. He tells Aaron this, and Aaron smiles, grabbing the pencil and newspaper left on their table and scribbling something down, pushing it over to him.
An address.
It’s not a far stretch away from Kevin’s town, and that’s oddly funny, that they would only meet under the most god awful circumstances and not on a nice walk through a field. Kevin writes down his own, tearing off the corner when his eye catches the headlines.
Churchill Addresses Dunkirk Evacuation in Commons
“He’s made a speech.” Kevin says in realisation. There’s a pit of dread in his stomach. He can hear the distant scorn and ridicule already, the faces of people who will never understand what they’ve seen.
“Let’s hear it then.” Aaron answers, so Kevin clears this throat and braves it.
“Wars are not won by evacuations. But there was a victory inside this deliverance, which should be noted. Our thankfulness at the escape of our army must not blind us to the fact that what has happened in France and Belgium is a colossal military disaster. We must expect another blow to be struck almost immediately.”
Kevin glances up, and Aaron is looking out the window. There’s a crowd there, waving and jumping, cajoling in merriment.
“We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France. We shall fight on the seas and oceans. We shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend our island whatever the cost may be.
We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”
Kevin’s voice breaks, and he looks up at Aaron, at the man who stuck this through with him.
“And even if this island or a large part of it were subjugating and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God’s good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.”
Kevin’s mouth is dry as he looks up towards Aaron. The crowd outsides cheers as Kevin pulls his lips upward into a smile.