M.J. Hollows - The German Nurse

The bird flew up above the harbour again, looking for more prey. A few seconds later it was joined by another, possibly a mate. They hunted together, whisking through the air with speed, before disappearing again in a hurry.

The air was pierced by the metallic whine of an engine, rapidly rising in pitch as it came nearer. Jack could tell from the timbre that it was some kind of aircraft, but at first he couldn’t see it. The grey of its fuselage blended with the sky, but as it grew closer its yellow nose cone stood out. The first aircraft rushed past Jack, low, the black cross on its side a blur in motion.

Jack pushed himself to his feet, scanning the harbour as he did so. Others around him, including a group of men unloading tomato trucks by the harbour, stared up at the German aircraft. They had seen aircraft from a distance, but never this close. It could be a reconnaissance mission, simply getting a look at the island, before returning to France. Jack tried to convince himself of that, but something in the back of his mind told him he was wrong.

‘The Germans! The Germans are coming!’ a man shouted behind Jack. They had all feared it would happen soon, but why now? Jack was blinded by the glare as he looked up to see another plane. He hadn’t expected them to come in force. They must have known by now that the islands were undefended, that the army had abandoned them. That bitter fact still troubled him. Why had they left, when they could have prevented this?

The other plane came around, the yellow cone of its propeller facing towards Jack. He resisted the urge to jump out of the way, as it zoomed overhead, the roar of its engine deafening in his ears. There were five other planes in its wake. Too many for reconnaissance, and too close to St Peter Port. Not even the Royal Air Force had dared fly this low.

A rising sense of dread left his stomach feeling empty and numb. There was a chattering sound as one of the plane’s guns started up, peppering the road. Chips of stone flew everywhere, almost as deadly as the bullets. Those caught in the road ran or lay where they fell. One of Johanna’s friends, a woman called Susanne, was running across the road. The plane banked, pulling up over the town and wheeled around for another pass. Susanne stumbled, her shoe caught in a gutter.

Jack didn’t think; he ran towards her, grabbing her around the waist. He pulled her aside as she protested, and they fell together into the dirt at the side of the road, rolling down the shallow hill. The fighter roared overhead and away again, as bits of debris covered the pair. They kept their heads down. His face was close to Susanne’s, and he could see the fear in her eyes. They were wide, pupils dilated. There was a moment of intimacy, the feeling of a shared life, safe for a second, before she shifted uncomfortably underneath him.

‘Get off me, Jack, you schwein .’ She pushed at him and it took him a second before he realised that he had been pinning her. He jumped up and helped her from the ground. Jack didn’t know her that well. Like Johanna she had come over from Germany, but it wouldn’t do to be seen this way.

‘You should get out of here,’ he said, guiding her in the direction of the town. ‘There may be more on the way. Everyone needs to get to safety.’

‘Where is safe?’ she asked, walking quickly away from him up the road. He didn’t have an answer. They would have to do something, and fast. He hurried to keep up. ‘If they want to kill us,’ she said, ‘they will. Nothing here is going to stop them.’

‘Just go, Susanne,’ he shouted, over the din of the aeroplanes.

‘What about you?’ she asked.

Jack glanced back towards the harbour. There were still people in danger, and it was his job to keep them safe. ‘Look after yourself,’ he called back over his shoulder as he started to run. He didn’t check to see if she had obeyed his command.

The young boy was the other side of the road from Jack, near one of the now-abandoned tomato trucks. He had been running about, playing in the dirt, but now was scampering in fear. Jack didn’t know where the boy’s parents were. The boy disappeared behind the truck. A horse whinnied as it bolted and took its cart with it, clattering along the cobbles towards town. A shadow crossed the sky and Jack felt a sudden wave of pressure. The truck exploded with a flash of flame. The shockwave struck Jack, pushing him back. A rush of heat washed over him as he hit the ground, and rolled, trying to put some distance between himself and the flames. The sound rang in his ears, drowning out everything else. He thought he could hear crying, but it could have just been the screech of breaking metal. He had never experienced anything like this before. It was like stepping too close to a bonfire. He felt his skin burning, like an intense sunburn that threatened to overwhelm him.

After a few seconds the heat subsided and he managed to roll onto his side. His body was bruised and scratched, and he felt weak. On the ground next to his hand was a small wooden toy, cut into the shape of a car, its varnish now covered in reddish-brown blood. The boy was nowhere to be seen amongst the debris and the flames. A timber yard’s warehouse had been hit and thick black smoke spread across the harbour.

The planes disappeared into the clouds, the roar of their engines a faint hum, but he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. They were attacking an undefended island – nothing could stop them. As they circled back around, using the coast as a reference point, the machine noise of their engines grew louder again.

Jack pushed himself to his feet with a groan. He had to do something. He felt alone on the harbour now, as if everyone else had either fled or been engulfed by flames. The aircraft would be back in a few seconds.

Jack hobbled across the harbour to a boat and climbed over the hand rail. It was a wonder it was still floating, and so far the flames had not spread to its hull. He searched around the netting and supplies for something that would be useful, as he heard the plane’s guns roar into life. He didn’t have much time.

After a few moments scrabbling on his hands and knees, he found what he was looking for: a piece of white cloth, either a discarded piece of clothing or a sheet. He grabbed it and jumped back onto the pier, looking for the planes in the sky. The bright sun burned his eyes and he had to look away, blinking. The bright purple bruise remained behind his eyelids, a warning.

Using his ears to guide him, he ran up the pier in the direction of the aircraft. Others would say that running into danger was crazy, but that was who he was. He ripped the cloth in two, discarding one half. He raised it above his head and waved it back and forth a few times, hoping to catch the pilot’s attention. The wind blew the cloth around his head, further obscuring his view and he ripped it again, pulling off a smaller piece this time. He tried again, not knowing whether it would do any good. Surely by now the pilots must have realised that there was no resistance, no one shooting back. The plane dropped its nose, pointing in his direction once again. Jack could see the barrels of its guns. He stood stock-still, holding the white cloth up in front of him. Sweat was pouring down his brow, but he didn’t dare move. Fear and shock had glued him in place. Time stretched to eternity. Then in a rush of engine noise the plane zoomed straight over his head.

Jack turned on the spot, following its flight. Rather than banking and wheeling around to head back to the harbour, it maintained a straight course, flying over St Peter Port and gradually increasing in altitude. The other aircraft joined up in formation on its wings. Jack stood still as he watched them disappear over the island. He was left with the smell of burning fuel and the taste of iron on his tongue. The planes were gone for now, but he knew with a certainty he hadn’t felt before, that the Germans were on their way.