Chapter 15: The Dunkirk Evacuation (2)
Contrary to the British government's fears, the British people actively cooperated with the government's requisitioning of ships.
Some even sailed their own vessels across the Strait of Dover to Dunkirk.
From massive cargo ships to upper-class cruise liners and yachts, down to the fishermen's small, weathered fishing boats and ferries.
Over six hundred vessels—an astonishing number—made for Dunkirk. To rescue the sons of their homeland.
The soldiers sincerely welcomed the boats that had crossed the sea to save them. Then, without distinction, they plunged into the waves.
"Get on in order! There's plenty of room, so don't rush!"
"Once you're on board, head straight inside! Others need to get on behind you!"
"Towels, towels over here!"
The line that had stretched endlessly like a serpent shrank rapidly, and before long, it was our turn.
The boat assigned to our company was a small fishing boat whose rattling creaks were truly something to behold.
The paint peeling here and there filled those who saw it with unease, but the soldiers climbed aboard without a care.
The fishermen greeted the boarding soldiers warmly and offered them tea.
"Get on, quick! What're you standing there for? Quit dawdling and get inside."
"Here, have some tea. It's cold, but drink it anyway."
"Hey, you there! Don't just stand there, get inside!!!"
...Their tone and manners were a bit rough, but weren't all sailors like that?
Moreover, these were people who had rushed to the battlefield, risking danger to save us. So what if their words were a bit coarse? It was more than forgivable.
"I'm glad to be on a boat, but it's a rather peculiar feeling."
Sergeant Gates, holding his thoroughly cooled tea, let out an awkward smile.
"What can you do? Everyone knows sailors have coarse tongues......"
Because it was such a small boat, it rocked along with every wave. The soldiers who had boarded first often lost their balance and slipped.
But no matter how fiercely the waves surged, I stood perfectly steady.
Seeing this, Adam asked in wonder.
"Platoon Leader, how can you stand so steadily like that?"
"Hm? Ah, it's nothing. Back in the day, to earn travel money, I spent two months of summer break working as a shrimp fisherman under a childhood friend's relative. So this is nothing."
"Sir? Did you say shrimp fishing?"
"I thought you came from quite a wealthy family, Lieutenant...... You worked on a boat to earn travel money?"
...!!! Damn, I slipped up.
This wasn't 21st-century Korea—it was 1940s Europe.
I had forgotten that fact and unthinkingly spoken of something from my life in 21st-century Korea.
Here, I was Arthur Grany, a nobleman. It was only natural for them to react with such surprise.
For a nobleman to work on a boat to earn travel funds was anything but common.
"Your household must be very strict."
It was too late to correct myself, so I simply nodded.
What did it matter? It wasn't a 'complete lie'.
"Haha, hahaha. Well, yes......?"
"I would've thought you'd never done a dish in your life. This is surprising."
"Hehe, even nobles don't all live without ever getting their hands wet, you know."
"But why would you do such things until now...... Ah, pardon me."
At Sergeant Gates's unintentional remark, I felt as though I'd been struck in the head with a hammer.
Ahem, it can't be helped. In reality, I'd caused quite a few blunders already.
This was an indisputable mistake of my own making. So I had no choice but to do better from now on.
"Right, everyone's aboard! Let's go!"
Only after loading soldiers until the draft line exceeded twice its usual depth did the boat begin to thump and back away.
A boat built to carry only about ten people was now laden with over thirty soldiers.
The boat's speed was markedly slow, and it tilted precariously at even the smallest waves, as though it might capsize at any moment.
The soldiers aboard sat quietly, afraid the boat might overturn.
Meanwhile, the boat's crew went about running and jumping with thudding steps, paying no heed to what might become of the vessel.
Is that what you call the composure of veterans?
In any case, they are remarkable people.
"Hey, move aside. How am I supposed to get past if you're sitting there? You think I can fly?"
"S-sorry."
As the boat gradually moved farther from the beach, the soldiers gathered on the shore grew smaller and smaller.
At first the soldiers had been thumb-sized; ten minutes later they were half that, and thirty minutes later they were the size of fingernails.
After an hour they became speck-sized, barely visible.
At this speed, we wouldn't reach England until around evening.
Thinking to get some sleep until then, I leaned my head against the wall, when the sound of artillery fire came from the beach.
"Wh-what?"
"What was that just now?"
The soldiers who heard the artillery reflexively rose from their seats. Because of this, the boat swayed heavily to the right.
The seated soldiers hurled curses at the ones who had stood, and abashed, they quietly sat back down.
"Did you hear that just now too, Platoon Leader?"
"Yes. What in the world......"
"Look over there!"
Sergeant Gates pointed at the beach with his hand, and everyone's gaze turned there.
Black columns were rising in succession from the beach.
"An air raid?"
But not a single plane was visible in the sky.
"Then what on earth is this......"
"Don't tell me...... artillery fire?"
***
May 25th.
"Damn it!"
The great military genius born of Germany, Heinz Guderian, was so frustrated he felt like he was going mad.
Normally mild and laid-back, his fiery rage left his staff officers unable to contain their tension.
Once Operation Sickle Cut began, Guderian led the 19th Panzer Corps, composed of the 1st, 2nd, and 10th Panzer Divisions, across the border and successively devastated the Belgian and French armies.
The Allied forces couldn't catch their breath against Guderian's lightning-fast attacks, as if he had wings on his feet, and the front lines were breached before they could even react.
The great victory he had long dreamed of was right before his eyes.
But, but a halt!
Does this make any sense?
A day earlier, Hitler had issued a halt order to the entire army.
It was a 'tragedy' for the German army born from a combination of concerns over an Allied counterattack and Göring's bombastic boast that the surrounded Allied forces could be wiped out by the Luftwaffe alone.
Upon receiving the halt order, Guderian flew into a rage.
Victory was right in front of him, and he was told to stop advancing!
Who had ever heard of such a thing?
But an order was an order.
He had no choice but to comply, however unwillingly.
Yet he couldn't suppress his yearning to advance.
Guderian agonized.
If he advanced like this, punishment for insubordination later was as plain as day.
But if he stayed put as ordered, he would let slip an enemy all but captured.
He would miss that golden opportunity—which might be the first and last—for his forces to achieve a perfect victory!
"General?"
Worried staff officers cautiously opened their mouths, but Guderian did not answer.
Instead, he glared at the map laid out before him.
To be precise, he focused his gaze on Dunkirk, marked on the map.
Dunkirk.
340,000 Allied troops were gathered there now.
A staggering 340,000!
An ordinary commander would meekly do as ordered from above.
It was none other than the Führer's order—if he said stop, you stop. What could one man do alone?
But Guderian was a man far removed from the word 'ordinary'.
He had always shown innovative, unconventional steps rather than ordinary, commonplace ones, and that was what had made him who he was today.
Now, only two paths remained for him.
The path of obedience and the path of disobedience.
If he chose obedience, nothing would happen, and after the war he would receive the Führer's praise and a promotion as a reward for faithfully carrying out orders.
But if he chose disobedience, the label of having defied the Führer's order would follow him for life.
Not only that, but after the war—no, even before it ended—he would be summoned back to the homeland and punished for insubordination.
In the worst case, he would be court-martialed, stripped of his rank with all his honor and achievements ignored, and forced to spend his life in a dead-end post.
In exchange, he could completely reduce the existence of hundreds of thousands of surrounded British and French troops to 'nothing'.
The number of surrounded troops was one thing, but they were the elite forces Britain had built up over years of blood and sweat.
Such elite troops couldn't be cobbled together overnight.
The value of one elite soldier with proper training and experience was greater than ten raw conscripts freshly dragged into the army.
If such elite forces were lost in one blow, how would the British react?
If nothing else, it was certain they would be put in a very difficult position.
"..."
Guderian was silent for a while.
While he quietly glared at the map, his poor staff officers could do neither this nor that and had to stand respectfully at attention.
When Guderian, who had been silent for a long time, finally opened his mouth, they were startled, having gradually grown weary.
"Yes, I've made up my mind."
At his first words breaking the long silence, the staff officers tilted their heads, not understanding.
"General, what do you mean......"
"I have made my decision, that is what I mean."
Guderian's two eyes shone more brightly than ever before.
"Do we not still have the 10th Panzer Division?"
"Sir? Ah, yes we do. But didn't the High Command order the 10th Panzer Division to be held in reserve?"
Of the three panzer divisions under Guderian's command, the 1st Panzer Division was in the Calais sector, and the 2nd Panzer Division was in Boulogne.
The 10th Panzer Division, which had been scheduled to take Dunkirk, had been designated as the reserve of the 1st Panzer Group led by General Ewald von Kleist.
"Forget the order that came from High Command. From this moment, the 10th Panzer Division shall carry out its original mission."
At Guderian's bombshell announcement, everyone in the command tent turned deathly pale.
Not only the staff officers, but also the radio operators fiddling with their wireless sets and the duty soldiers bringing tea—all of them.
"But General! The High Command will not let this stand!"
"It matters not. From now on, I shall bear all responsibility. So follow my orders without a word of complaint, is that clear!"
Guderian slammed the table with his baton and roared at the wavering staff officers.
"Victory is within our grasp! The golden opportunity to change history is in our hands right now! How can we possibly stand still?"
One hour after Guderian's command was given,
the tanks of the 10th Panzer Division began their collective dash toward Dunkirk.