Panic

~2~

I flinched away as a hand touched my shoulder gently.
"Soup." The man dressed in a green uniform carefully passed me a bowl. I muttered a hurried thank you under my breath as I surveyed him scrupulously. His eyes were sunken into their sockets, cheek bones overly pronounced and his face had a certain haunted look about it. I wonder if this was how Gibson looked now.

It had been just under a week since I had last seen him on the beach, when the Germans had dropped bombs and sand had covered my back as a reminder of my luck.

I didn't have much hope of his survival.

Three more war ships had been torpedoed, and many more sunk or damaged by German planes. Even if he got on to a boat, his chances of getting over to Britain were slim at best.

Word was going round that the British navy were sending in a new fleet, one that would be able to evacuate more men quicker.

Of course they were saying that. It created hope. A beach full of hopeless men was a beach full of men ready to surrender.

I looked back at the soldier passing round soup to the small group of us isolated from the air raids by a concrete wall and wooden door, and decided to speak up.
"Do you know Gibson?" He turned to me, slightly shocked at my ability to speak English. I spoke again, clearer this time. "Do you know my brother Gibson?" The man shook his head, a piteous expression on his face.

"Sorry love, but there are hundreds of thousands of men out there. I don't remember a Gibson. Most of the French are guarding the perimeter of the town though... If any chance to go look for him came up." He looked at me, tilting his head slightly as if judging whether his next sentence was a good idea. "Don't go onto the beach, and if you hear any planes at all, get down straight away. Be back here in an hour."

I nodded, slightly surprised by the kindness of this man, but then again, what did one little french girl who was just desperate to cling on to her last familiarity in this apocalyptic town, matter to him. I thanked him, and headed for the door, forgetting about any hesitations that may have played in my mind a few months prior. I checked there was no sound of aircraft or gun fire, then ran.

***

I searched every where in the town, sometimes coming so close to the perimeter I could see the odd German tank: a horrific monster of metal. No sign of my brother. I grew desperate, and felt more and more tempted to run onto that beach and search through every single man in every single line.

Everything was so desolate. Cars were beginning to rust and I saw these sheets of paper the Germans had sent to taunt us, fluttering like birds in the sky, their red ink contrasting sharply with the bleak cream and khaki backdrop. Large holes were dotted along the tarmac and most buildings held nothing but slight memories of a happier time. An old photo frame on a cabinet, or a radio still tuned to a station was all that remained in their empty shells.

The air raids on the town had become a lot less frequent, the Axis forces deciding to focus their efforts on obliterating the British, but their damage would linger here forever. I ran my hands along the wall of a church I had once visited every Sunday, my fingers dancing in and out of the bullet holes, the sharp broken brick and plaster scratching at my nails, the beautiful architecture bearing the scars of human hatred.

This was stupid I knew. He could be out on a ship, he could be in England by now!

Or he could be dead.