“All right—I’ll find someone to help us transport her.” He stood and disappeared into the crowd.
Ruth continued to apply pressure to the wound while Aline comforted Lucette by talking to her and holding her hand. Several BEF soldiers and refugees remained with them as they waited for Jimmie to return.
Ten minutes later, Jimmie approached with a bearded man and two French soldiers who were pulling a two-wheeled cart that was loaded with blankets and a few pieces of furniture. The horseless cart, powered by men, gave the wheeled contraption the appearance of a large rickshaw. They pulled the cart near Lucette and stopped.
The bearded man removed the furniture—two chairs and an antique side table—from the cart and rearranged the blankets.
The soldiers lifted Lucette, while Ruth continued to apply pressure to her leg, and placed her in the cart. Ruth scooched in beside her and adjusted her grip on the bandage, warm and saturated with blood.
Ruth looked at Lucette, her face pale. “You’ll be okay.”
She nodded and lowered her eyelids.
Aline scrambled to collect their bags and placed them next to Ruth.
The bearded man and the soldiers lifted the wood shafts on the front of the cart.
Ruth felt a tug and the wheels rolled forward.
“Is there anything you need?” Jimmie asked, walking alongside the cart.
A memory of failing to save a soldier named Claude—who’d been mortally wounded during the Phony War—flashed in her head. A chill ran through her body. “Give me your belt.”
Jimmie, using one hand, unbuckled his belt and placed it on Ruth’s lap.
“Please,” Ruth said, looking at Jimmie, “see if they can pick up the pace.”
“I will.” Jimmie ran ahead, joined the men, and the cart gathered speed.
Ruth pressed on Lucette’s wound. She prayed that the bleeding would stop, and that she wouldn’t need to resort to using a tourniquet.
CHAPTER 38
SAINT-NAZAIRE, FRANCE—JUNE 16, 1940
The muscles in Ruth’s hands and arms burned with fatigue as she fought to keep pressure on Lucette’s wound. Soldiers, their faces covered in sweat, labored to pull the cart over the road that was congested with trudging refugees and troops. Ahead, the Loire River widened into a vast estuary.
Ruth strained her eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of Saint-Nazaire. “I think I can see open water.” She looked at Lucette, her skin pale and eyes closed. “Can you hear me?”
Lucette stirred and tilted her head.
“You need to fight to stay awake.”
Lucette cracked open her eyelids.
“Stay with me.”
“I will,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“We’re about an hour from Saint-Nazaire—you’re going to be all right.”
Lucette placed a palm over Ruth’s hands, pressing against her wound. She took in a shallow breath. “I’m sorry I got hurt.”
“Nonsense,” Ruth said. “You were protecting Aline. She told me that you pushed her away as the bomb was falling. She’s safe because of you.”
Tears welled up in Lucette’s eyes and she blinked them away.
Ruth glanced at the belt beside her. “I’m going to take a look at your wound to check the bleeding.”
Lucette nodded.
Ruth removed her hands from Lucette’s knee, peeked under the bandage, and her heart sank. She covered the wound with the bandage and squeezed.
Lucette grimaced with pain.
“It bleeds when I release the pressure,” Ruth said, trying to control the fear in her voice. “I’m going to keep up the compression with my hands. A tourniquet will cut off circulation to your foot—I’ll use it only as a last resort.”
“All right.”
Ruth looked into her friend’s eyes, filled with angst. “I’m with you. You’re going to be okay.”
The lines on her face softened.
A grind of airplane engines pierced the air, and a Luftwaffe bomber squadron soared overhead toward Saint-Nazaire. Although the planes were headed away from the crowd, scores of people fled the road in search of cover. Soon, sound waves of explosions rolled over the riverway.
Oh, no. They might be attacking ships in the harbor. Ruth’s anxiousness grew.
The group traveled another kilometer and more German planes, as well as a British Hurricane squadron, were sighted on the horizon. Gunfire and bombs echoed over the Loire estuary. Waves of refugees, their faces etched with fear, fled in the opposite direction. But most of the soldiers, including the ones who were lugging the cart, continued their trek toward the sea.
