Churchill lowered his brow. “How many Allied troops are surrounded?”
“Over three hundred thousand, sir,” Ismay said. “Two-thirds are British and one-third are French.”
Churchill’s mind raced, searching for tactical methods that might enable the troops to fight their way out. There is no chance of victory when outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded by the enemy. If they remain on the shore of France, they’ll most surely be killed or captured. He took a deep inhale on his cigar, filling his lungs with smoke. “Make preparations to evacuate forces from Dunkirk.”
“Yes, sir.” Ismay adjusted the bottom of his tunic. “It might take several weeks, given the current positions of our naval vessels, to evacuate three hundred thousand troops. The men will need to dig in and fight until we can get them to safety.”
“That is far too long, Pug,” Churchill said, using Ismay’s lifelong nickname, given because of his meaty, bulldog-like jawline.
Ismay straightened his back.
“If our men are left trapped on the beaches for weeks under German fire,” Churchill said, “they’ll be annihilated.”
Ismay ran a hand over his thin hair. “We could request vessels from Canada, or make a plea to President Roosevelt for American hospital ships. But even if we are successful with acquiring them, they’d arrive too late. The best course is to redeploy Royal Navy vessels that are in defensive positions in the North Sea.” He drew a deep breath. “Even if we utilize most of our naval vessels, it will take time to conduct an evacuation of this magnitude.”
Churchill flicked ash from his cigar. “Then we will expand our navy.”
Ismay wrinkled his forehead.
“We must call on the British Admiralty to muster all available vessels—and to assemble the aid of civilian seamen near the Strait of Dover. To save our men, we’ll need the use of every ship, sailing craft, and fishing boat in the South of England.”
“Civilian craft?”
“Indeed,” Churchill said.
For several minutes, Churchill debated with his chief military advisor on whether an evacuation plan to include hundreds of civilian boats would work. He trusted Ismay’s keen military logic and, most of all, he valued the man’s willingness to challenge his impulsiveness.
“If we call on ordinary citizens to rescue our soldiers,” Ismay said, “it may be viewed as an act of desperation. We could lose the confidence of our people, and our allies.”
Churchill puffed on his cigar. “Dark times call for daring measures.”
Ismay looked at the map, as if pondering the prime minister’s plan. “Are you confident that this will work?”
“No,” Churchill said, candidly, “but we must fight to save our armies at all costs. If they are wiped out on the beaches of France, we’ll have no means of defending our island against a German invasion.”
Ismay nodded. “You have my full support. Shall we notify the French?”
“In due time,” Churchill said. “First, we prepare our evacuation plans.”
“Yes, sir.” Ismay pointed to the lines of Panzer tanks on the map. “Eventually, the Germans will make an advance toward Paris and the remaining coast of France. In addition to Dunkirk, we should prepare to evacuate those who are south of the German line. I recommend that we develop similar operations to take place in Le Havre and the Loire estuary.”
Churchill nodded. “Do you have an estimate of how many will need to be rescued in the south?”
Ismay thumbed through a report on a nearby table. “Another two hundred thousand. Maybe more, considering that most of the RAF ground crews will need to be evacuated by sea.”
An acidic burn rose from Churchill’s stomach. He tamped out his cigar in an ashtray and looked at Ismay. “For now, our priority will be Dunkirk. But initiate plans to evacuate those who are left behind.”
“Yes, sir.”
Churchill eyed the map. “A thin sea separates our island nation from the forces of Nazi brutality. Belgium and France will inevitably fall, and Britain will stand alone against that madman and his quest to conquer Europe.”
“In addition to evacuation plans,” Ismay said, “we should prepare the Home Guard.”
An image of old men with tarnished helmets and hunting rifles flashed in Churchill’s head. “Very well.” He looked at his pocket watch. “I will call an emergency meeting in an hour. It should provide you with ample time to inform the heads of the military before we convene.”
“Indeed, sir,” Ismay said.
Churchill retrieved his hat and left.
The prime minister traveled a short distance down the corridor and entered his private bedroom in the underground bunker. He poured a glass of whisky with a splash of water and sat at his desk. It will require more than the navy to save our troops. We’ll need fearless fishermen, sailboats, and a miracle.
Churchill took a gulp of his whisky, the warmth of the alcohol doing little to soothe his vexation. He retrieved a piece of paper and a fountain pen and began to draft another plan, one with an aim to galvanize the hearts of the British people and instill the will to fight.
CHAPTER 25
BRUMETZ, FRANCE—MAY 28, 1940
Ruth—her feet and her legs aching—slogged alongside Aline, Jimmie, Lucette, and Pierre on a gravel road. Despite that it was late in the day and had started to drizzle, scores of refugees continued their trek through the countryside.
“Are you doing okay, Aline?” Ruth asked, walking beside her.
“Oui.” Aline wiped rain droplets from her face. “Merci for carrying my backpack.”
“Je t’en prie,” Ruth said.
“When it starts to feel heavy,” Aline said, “you can give it back to me.”
Ruth patted the backpack’s strap on her shoulder. “I’m good for now.”
