A roar of aircraft engines broke the still air.
Goose bumps cropped up on her arms.
Hundreds of evacuees raised their heads and scanned the sky, spattered with puffy cotton-like clouds.
A soldier pointed. “There!”
Ruth, her heartbeat quickening, got to her feet.
High in the sky, a twin-engine German bomber emerged from a cloud and dived toward the Lancastria.
Oh, God. Ruth, as if by reflex, stashed the toy into a jacket pocket of her uniform and threw on the life jacket.
CHAPTER 43
SAINT-NAZAIRE, FRANCE—JUNE 17, 1940
Jimmie worked his way through the crowded hull with six men, including Horace, who agreed with his recommendation to disobey their orders and follow him topside. Most of the Seventy-Three’s forty ground crew members feared a reprimand and refused to leave, while others diplomatically declined Jimmie’s advice by saying that they would think about coming up after they finished their card game. Considering that the men were playing a time-consuming RAF card game called Clag, an acronym for Clouds Low Aircraft Grounded, he doubted he’d see any of them for hours, or at all.
The group squeezed by several men who were smoking cigarettes, and Jimmie turned to members of his ground crew and lowered his voice. “If anyone questions you, say you’re sick and need to go up to the ship’s railing to vomit.”
“All right,” Horace said. “Lead the—”
The ship’s siren sounded.
Hairs rose on the back of Jimmie’s neck.
Horace’s eyes widened.
Behind them, hundreds of men—stationed in compartments throughout the hull—got to their feet and looked up at the ceiling.
“Hurry,” Jimmie said, darting forward.
They scurried through a bulkhead door and weaved their way through the crowd to the stairwell, and discovered it to be blocked by ground crewmen who were waiting to ascend. Men piled in tightly behind them and pressed against their backs. The siren continued to blare, but the line leading upward did not move.
CHAPTER 44
SAINT-NAZAIRE, FRANCE—JUNE 17, 1940
The ship’s alarm filled Ruth’s ears as she helplessly watched the bomber—diving at a high rate of speed—narrow in on the Lancastria. The roar of the bomber’s engines grew. A French fighter plane soared in behind the bomber and fired its machine guns, but the enemy aircraft continued its dive.
Ruth, her body shaking, crouched on the deck and covered her head with her hands.
Bombs fell from the belly of the German aircraft and shrilled through the air. The nose of the enemy plane pulled up, and the bombs exploded to the side of the ship, sending mountainous columns of water onto the deck.
Soldiers cheered.
“They bloody can’t hit us!” a soldier shouted, shaking a fist in the air.
Ruth stood on unsteady legs and watched the French fighter continue its pursuit of the German bomber. She sucked in air, attempting to catch her breath, and struggled to see through the mass of people. “Jimmie!”
The enemy aircraft avoided the guns of the French fighter and gained altitude. Instead of disappearing into the clouds, it looped around and came in for another attack.
“It’s coming in again!” a man shouted.
Passengers huddled together and covered their heads.
Ruth, feeling powerless, fell to her knees and watched the bomber bear down upon them.
CHAPTER 45
SAINT-NAZAIRE, FRANCE—JUNE 17, 1940
Jimmie weaved his way between men—their faces filled with alarm from the sound of an explosion that reverberated through the hull. He squeezed his way forward and climbed the stairwell, congested with men, until he reached the front of the line. At the open, watertight hatch, he was met by a young clean-shaven midshipman, who was standing on the deck above him and pointing a pistol.
“Get below!” the midshipman said. “We’re under attack!”
“The men need to go topside,” Jimmie said.
“They have orders to remain in the hull,” the midshipman said. “It’ll be safer there.”
“No, it won’t. There are no exits.” Anger flared through Jimmie. He stepped upward, placing him close to the man’s pistol. “Move aside.”
The midshipman swallowed. “You’re a pilot, so you may come up, but the ground crew remains below. I don’t want to do it, but orders are orders.”
“Let us through!” Horace called from behind Jimmie.
“They’re coming with me,” Jimmie said firmly.
