Shouts and panic-stricken voices boomed from the upper decks.
The midshipman’s hand, brandishing the pistol, began to tremble.
“For God’s sake, allow them to pass.”
The midshipman’s eyes rose to the ceiling. “To hell with it.” He lowered his weapon and ran away.
Jimmie looked at Horace and the ground crewman on the stairwell below him. “All right. Follow me.”
He ascended the final steps from the hull, and a clamor erupted from the upper decks. His adrenaline surged and he shot forward, hoping to lead the men topside before another attack.
CHAPTER 46
SAINT-NAZAIRE, FRANCE—JUNE 17, 1940
Ruth’s breath stalled in her lungs as she watched the German aircraft release four bombs. The first fell down the Lancastria ’s huge funnel, the next two struck the holds of the ship, and the last landed near the vessel’s port side. Enormous explosions hammered the cruise liner, casting bodies and hunks of steel high into the air.
Ruth’s back slammed against a steel railing. A sharp pang pierced through her neck and spine, and she tumbled to the ground. Her brain, shaken from the concussive blast, struggled to process the chaos and destruction that surrounded her.
Soldiers scrambled across the deck and looked over the railing to assess the damage. An elderly refugee couple hunkered on the ground and clutched each other. A sailor, holding a hand to a laceration on his face, stumbled through the crowd in a state of shock.
Dozens of people stepped over Ruth, curled in a fetal position as she fought to clear cobwebs from her head. The heel of a boot smashed her hand, sending pain through her fingers and stimulating her senses. She pushed herself into a sitting position and shakily got to her feet. Fires flared from the bow and stern of the ship, sending thick smoke into the air. An acrid smell of cordite burned her nostrils, and her ears throbbed with high-pitched ringing and shrieks of injured people.
Oh, my God! This can’t be happening!
She scanned the deck and her eyes were drawn to a huge hole, surrounded by maimed soldiers, splintered wood, and billows of smoke. Her heart pounded inside her chest. She gathered her strength and made her way through the pandemonium to help the wounded.
CHAPTER 47
SAINT-NAZAIRE, FRANCE—JUNE 17, 1940
Jimmie was the first man to exit the hull through the watertight hatch. He stepped forward and a massive explosion hurled him over the passageway. His head slammed against the overhead, he tumbled over the ground, and the lights went out. Something heavy struck his shoulder, sending a twinge through his bad arm. The ship listed, and a hot gust of air shot up from the hull, as if doors of a blast furnace had swung open. Groans and yawps filled the stygian darkness.
A toxic-smelling vapor penetrated Jimmie’s nose, giving rise to a flurry of coughs. We need to get out of here. He got to his feet, but the tilt of the ship forced him to lean against a wall to maintain his balance. “Horace!”
“Down here!” Horace shouted.
“Move!” Jimmie, his pulse pounding his eardrums, blindly clambered forward and located a stairwell leading upward. With each step, the howls of men in the hull continued to grow.
“Help!” a man yelled. “Water is coming in!”
Jimmie froze. “Come on!”
“We can’t get through!” Horace shouted. “The hatch is blocked, and she’s flooding fast!”
His blood went cold. Gushing water resounded from the hull. Jimmie, refusing to leave the ground crewmen behind, reversed his course and descended the pitch-black stairwell toward cries for help.
CHAPTER 48
SAINT-NAZAIRE, FRANCE—JUNE 17, 1940
Ruth, her heart racing, darted to a soldier who suffered scalds to his face and hands. Several meters away, a ruptured boiler pipe spewed steam over an entrance to the interior of the ship. She kneeled to the man, on his back and grimacing in pain.
“I’m here to help,” Ruth said, trying to keep him from touching his face.
“I can’t see,” the man gasped.
“You’re going to be all right,” Ruth said. “I’ll get you to a lifeboat. Do you think you can walk?”
“I think so.”
Ruth got behind him, placed her hands under his arms, and helped him to his feet. She led him over the tilted deck and discovered that several of the lifeboats were destroyed in the raid. Oh, no. We’re sinking and there’s not enough boats. She gathered her nerve, worked through a crowd of panicked refugees, and placed him on the ground next to an undamaged lifeboat. She enlisted the help of a sailor to place the soldier into the boat, partially filled with women, children, and injured military men.
She navigated through people who were shrieking and shouting. Near the side of the ship, she aided a well-dressed, elderly woman who was pressing a handkerchief to a laceration on her scalp. She led the woman to a lifeboat, packed with people who were standing. A crewman took the woman’s hand and helped her to squeeze into the boat.
“Clear away!” a naval officer called through a loud-hailer.
Two seamen released ropes and the lifeboat gradually lowered to the water.
Ruth glanced at a section of nearly full lifeboats and the dense crowd of people who were vying for a place on board. She shook away her dread and labored her way to the deck, all the while searching for Jimmie. She joined a group of soldiers to carry a man with a shattered leg and place him in one of the few remaining spaces in a lifeboat. Within seconds, the lifeboat began to lower but one of the ropes jammed in a davit and the boat tipped, tossing its occupants into the sea.
“No!” Ruth cried, feeling helpless.
Men shot to the ship’s railing and tossed pieces of broken boards into the water. Passengers, who were struggling to swim, fought to cling to floating debris.
She returned to the deck to provide aid, but the Lancastria tilted, and its stern rose into the air.
“She’s going down!” a naval officer shouted.
