The soldiers carried Claude, while Ruth continued applying pressure to the tourniquet and placed him into the ambulance. The rear doors of the ambulance closed, and the eyes of three infirm soldiers, hunkered on their cots, fell upon Ruth and Claude.
Lucette got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled away.
“What happened?” the soldier with frostbite said, peering down from a top bunk.
“Railroad accident,” Ruth said, seated next to Claude on a cot. She carefully leaned over him. “We’re on our way to the hospital.”
Claude’s eyelids lowered. Blood dripped from the handkerchief onto the floor.
She tightened the tourniquet. “Talk to me, Claude. Can you tell me where you’re from?”
“Lyon,” he mumbled.
Her eyes gravitated to a gold band on the man’s left hand. “Do you have a family back in Lyon?”
“My wife.” He drew a raspy breath, and his head tilted to the side.
“Claude—stay with me. Can you tell me your wife’s name?”
He swallowed. “Sabine.”
“That’s a beautiful name. What’s she like?”
Tears pooled in his eyes. “She’s sweet to me. I miss her.”
“Tell me about her.”
His body shivered. “I—I’m so cold. Am I dying?”
“Non.” Ruth held him tight. “I got you.”
The ambulance rumbled over the unpaved road. His face turned pale and his breath grew shallow.
“Lucette,” Ruth called.
Lucette glanced at the rear compartment. “Is everything all right?”
“Drive faster.”
Lucette pressed hard on the accelerator. The engine roared as the ambulance turned onto a paved road.
Minutes passed and Ruth, her hand aching from fatigue, fought to keep the tourniquet tight. Claude let out a frail whimper, like a fevered child too ill to wake. She pressed a hand on his handkerchief-covered wound, warm and sticky, and fought to control the bleeding. But the crushing injury, delivered by massive iron clamps that were used to connect rail cars, was far too severe. Blood dripped from the handkerchief to form a puddle. His face turned white. The floor turned red. As the ambulance rumbled en route to the hospital, Claude gave a gasp and his lungs deflated, like partially filled balloons snipped with scissors.
She pressed an ear to his chest. Her vision blurred with tears. With shaking hands, Ruth brushed over Claude’s face to close his eyes.
CHAPTER 10
LONDON, ENGLAND—APRIL 9, 1940
Winston Churchill awoke hours before dawn and went to his study in the Admiralty House, a four-story building of yellow brick that had become his home when he was appointed First Lord of the Admiralty. A mix of anticipation and fervor stirred inside him. After months of lobbying to mine neutral Norwegian waters, to prevent the transport of Swedish iron ore to the German war effort, his controversial plan—Operation Wilfred—was finally coming to fruition. At this moment, a large force of British ships was on its way to lay two minefields, one at the mouth of the channel leading directly to the port of Narvik, and another adjacent to the peninsula of Stadlandet.
He sat at his desk and puffed on a cigar, flaring its ember. A sweet scent of burnt tobacco filled the air. He looked at a large map of the world on the wall. Colored pins, punched into the map, depicted locations of Allied and enemy forces. Determination flowed through his veins. Nazi tyranny must be expunged from Europe at all costs, he thought, clamping his cigar between his molars. Churchill, like a chess master, scoured the map, playing out Hitler’s potential moves in his head.
Since the outbreak of war, Churchill had been a staunch proponent of creating a naval blockade against Germany by mining Norwegian waters. But Prime Minister Chamberlain had rejected Churchill’s proposal on the basis that it would result in political backlash from neutral countries, including the United States. Churchill, undeterred by Chamberlain’s rejection, continued to lobby for Allied support of a blockade, and he took his prowess for public speaking to the airways. He believed that radio had the power to reach the hearts and minds of the British people, and he began to conduct broadcasts to galvanize support for the war. Additionally, he took every opportunity to engage Hitler’s Kriegsmarine while many politicians favored diplomacy to pacify the conflict.
Several weeks earlier, Churchill ordered the commander of a destroyer flotilla to disregard Norway’s jurisdiction and seize the German tanker Altmark to free nearly three hundred Allied prisoners, whose ships had been sunk by the German battleship Graf Spee. Norwegians, who feared being brought into the war, had protested that the action was a violation of its national sovereignty. But the success of the operation turned Churchill into a darling of the newspapers, and the British people began to view him as the sole leader in London who had the guts to take swift action in a dull and dismal Phony War.
Churchill had expected that Chamberlain would grow tired of his bold action and vigor to fight, and that he’d be relieved of his post. But as months passed, it became clear that Chamberlain’s appeasement strategy with Hitler was doomed to fail, and the prime minister gave Churchill more responsibility, rather than less. Chamberlain invited Churchill to join him at the Anglo-French Supreme War Council (SWC) meetings, held in both Paris and London, that included Paul Reynaud, the new French prime minister, and his military leaders, including General Maurice Gamelin. Churchill felt like he had a voice in war strategy, even though the French did not agree with many of his plans, especially Operation Royal Marine, which called for floating fluvial mines down rivers which flowed into Germany from France. They fear Hitler’s retaliation, Churchill had thought, as the French leaders shook their heads in disagreement.
With much debate behind closed doors, Churchill gradually persuaded Prime Minister Chamberlain that some combative measures should be taken against Germany. Chamberlain reshuffled his war ministry to make Churchill the chairman of the Military Coordinating Committee. With his increased authority and the French refusing to participate in mining, Churchill decided that Britain alone would undertake Operation Wilfred.
Churchill placed the stub of his cigar in an ashtray. He poured a glass of whisky, added water, and swirled it, releasing peaty vapors. He took a drink, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle into his stomach.
The telephone on his desk rang.
He set aside his drink and picked up the receiver. “Churchill.”
“Winston,” Prime Minister Chamberlain’s voice said. “You’re awake.”
“Indeed, sir,” Churchill said. “I’m expecting an update soon on Operation Wilfred. I was planning to ring you with the news.”
“No need,” Chamberlain said. “I was contacted by French Prime Minister Reynaud. Germany has commenced an invasion of Denmark and Norway.”
Churchill gripped the receiver. “When?”
“An hour ago. We’ve called an emergency meeting of the SWC. Reynaud and his military cabinet are flying to London.”
Churchill imagined German troops landing on the shores of Denmark and Norway. Anger flooded his chest yet his demeanor remained unflappable.
