Courageous by Yona Zeldis McDonough

Author:Yona Zeldis McDonough
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

It’s tough going, thinks George as he slogs through the water to escort the men into the waiting boats. At first he’s surprised to see that there’s not a military boat in the batch. They’re all manned by civilians, and some of the ships are such wee things that they barely have enough room for two passengers. But every last one of them is important.

The boats have come from up and down the British coast—Dover, Deal, Kent—and George is enormously moved that all these people, folks no different from his mum and dad, have risked so much to travel here this morning. He wonders how his mum and dad are, and makes a vow to write to them as soon as he’s able. And he wonders if anyone from his hometown is here in these waters today—it’s certainly possible. It’s even possible that his parents could be here … But enough daydreaming. He’s got a job to do. Resolutely, George turns to the soldier who’s been leaning heavily on the arm of his friend, waiting patiently until it’s their turn.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” says the friend. “There weren’t any medics, so I decided to take him with me. Just want to get him home is all. Home’s the place for him. They’ll fix him up as good as new.”

“Here,” George says. “I’ll get on one side and you get on the other, and we’ll head toward that fishing boat right there.” He gestures farther out. “She’ll ferry you both to that tugboat.” But when George reaches for the other man’s arm to hoist it over his own shoulder, the man lets out a howl of excruciating pain and doubles over, nearly knocking George off-balance and into the water.

“Easy now, mate,” says George, hovering near the wounded soldier. He needs to take his arm if he’s going to get him into that boat, so very carefully, he tries again. This time, the soldier twists so violently that he’s the one knocked off-balance and he lands face-first in the water.

“Hugh!” cries his friend. “Hugh, are you all right?” He drags Hugh to his feet, dries his face with his sleeve, and attempts to prop him up again. But Hugh is not responding and doesn’t seem able to stand, even with help. His head is slumped, his eyes are closed, and a thin trickle of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth. His face is an awful, bleached color, like an old sheet.

George puts a hand on Hugh’s chest. Nothing. Then he reaches for Hugh’s wrist to get a pulse. There is none. “I’m afraid Hugh is … gone,” he says as gently as he can.

“Gone!” echoes the friend. “What are you talking about? He can’t be gone. He was fine just an hour ago, right as rain. Then that cursed grenade exploded. Got him in the side, ripped a hole in him. I didn’t want to leave him behind; I thought he’d be better off with me. But I was wrong—it’s my fault that he’s dead.

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