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"Aren't you waiting for the navy?," the young George asked, the white rope that attached the boat to the dock, he held in his fragile hands. He looked between the men dressed in dark blue uniforms and Mr. Dawson.
"They've asked for the Moonstone, they'll have her. With her captain."
"And his son."
"Let's not forget the daughter."
Mary took the large pile of vests out of Peter's arms and stacked them in the pretty small bedroom. The sheets were covered with the bright orange life vests, it wasn't a place to sleep anymore, it was a place to hide. She closed the thin door when she exited the room, pushing the lock so that it won't fall open during the boat ride.
"Thanks for the help, George," Peter said, stretching out his hand to take the rope from the boy. But, instead, he jumps onto the stern, not wanting to let them leave by themselves. He sat down on the side of the moving boat and Mary just simply laughed because of the faces of her dad and her brother who had a very shocked expression.
"You know where we're going?," the youngest sibling asked.
"France."
"Into war, George!," Mr. Dawson exclaimed with a stern voice.
"I'll be useful, sir."
Mary took the young boy in her arms and ruffled through his hairs with her soft fingers, kindly telling him that he is an idiot for doing this but that she understand why he wants to join them. Her father looks at them, decided that he didn't want to argue with him and pushed the throttle forward. The motor of the boat started working and pushed them out of the harbor into the English Channel, to rescue the soldiers that needed them.
As they were sailing on the waters of the sea, the captain of the Moonstone prepared his precious boat. He fits the tiller that helped them with steering from the outside. Peter stood next to him, rather interested in what was his father was doing.
George looked at the plane that flew over their heads. He grew quite distrusted towards it, believing it could be their enemies who were ready to kill thousands of men with the bombs. Mr. Dawson assured him it was an English aircraft who were trying to find the Germans.
Mary rested on the hard wooden floor of the boat. She blocked the sun with her hands, stopping it from shining in her light brown eyes. Her long hairs were stretched out on the ground and her dress spread widely, it was a very lightweight dress with a couple of layers. The bow around her middle gave her body more shape, accentuating the smallest part of her waist. It was a very long dress, almost touching the ground when she stood on her feet, but it was so delicate and beautiful on the young lady.
A large ship passed the small boat, hundreds of men waited by the railing. Their clothing looked horrible, it was extremely heavy and warm for the season they were in. The soldiers looked like ghosts, they were men traumatized by the cruel they saw in the war. Their eyes looked dull, as if they were already dead.
Mary stood up from the ground, she wanted to get closer to the ship, closer to the poor men. None of them had a smile, which the young lady knew was normal. But it was so heartbreaking to see so many people distraught and hurt, they were mentally and some physically destroyed. There was no movements in their bodies, they just stood there, like many statues on a row. These men were going home, that's what Mary kept in mind, they look so exhausted now, but the worst time of their lives are over and it's finally time for them to rest.
Mr. Dawson placed a hand on his daughter's right shoulder when he passed her. The sight of explosion far in front of them drew him to the front of the boat. The black smoke was very visible, it appeared so scary from this far away. The sailors couldn't imagine what it must feel like for the soldiers waiting for their rescue on the beach.
"Pete, there is someone on that boat there!," Mary screamed to her brother. She took the longest rope they had and gave it to him since he asked her to. Their father ran to the well and listened to the instructions his children were giving him.
"Dad, can you get closer?"
"Can't risk it." He had to scream his answer, the noise of the waves hitting against the boats was too loud for them to communicate on a normal volume.
Bodies drifted next to the wreck, only one man had survived. He sat in a cradle position, his arms held his knees together and his head rested on his legs. He was shivering, not only from the cold but also from the loss and pain he felt.
"Can you swim?"
The soldier stared at the blonde boy but didn't answer his normal question, no sound escaped his bleeding lips.
"Can you get closer?"
Mr. Dawson looked down the side of the boat, but decided it was too dangerous, the risk would be too high.
"Mary, George, get to the ladder and help the man on the boat."
She took the young boy by the hand and leaded him to the other side of the boat, while the soldier was jumping in the water and tried to swim to his rescuers. Peter reeled him in with the rope, the soldier hanged on very strongly but also swam so that the blonde man didn't have to use all his strength to help him.
Mary grabbed the soldier by his shirt, he held on to her wrists tightly. The man first believed it was someone trying to attack him, but as he looked up and saw the faint smile on her lips, he calmed down a bit and allowed the sailors to drag him on the boat. Mary helps him to a seat and George ran inside where he took a warm blanket that he put around the soldier's shoulders.
"What's your name?," Mr. Dawson asked, but the man didn't answer. He was slowly shaking with his head and rocked back and forth. Something was terribly wrong with him and it was something they couldn't just fix. The man wasn't himself anymore, he was an empty shell destroyed by bombs and deaths.
