The Dragons of Dunkirk (Worlds at War Book 1) by Damon Alan

Author:Damon Alan [Alan, Damon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: All or Nothing Books
Published: 2018-03-28T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18 - Behind All the Lines

May 27, 1940

A morning smoke is a delightful thing. The rush of nicotine into the lungs filled his soul with gratification. The health effects of cigarettes were well known to the Western world. A stimulant that cleared the mind and activated the body for a day of, well, in this case, war. (author note: not true, see glossary)

Harry flipped the spent smoke onto the ground.

Miller played with the radio, looking for any station still live that might provide any information. A group of French children stood around watching. One of them spoke broken English, so if Miller found a French station that was still broadcasting, Harry planned to put the kid to work.

For a smoke, probably.

His radioman had worked out a lot of details regarding their situation over the last two days. To the east a line of the dead stretched from the Maginot line down to south of Paris, in a death zone usually at least five miles wide. Trying to get through that line wasn’t something Harry was willing to do, even if the reports were sporadic and mostly from the air. Heading west to join the main of the British Expeditionary forces was out of the question.

On a bright note, he’d been promoted. Headquarters determined that it was unsuitable for him to be a sergeant considering the task they had for him, so they promoted him to Lieutenant. His new rank wasn’t reflected by his uniform, but that was the least of his worries.

HQ, still based at Dunkirk with the evacuation on hold, determined that Harry, having access to a radio and a working knowledge of the enemy, would reform and organize the British troops on the east side of what was now titled The Dead Zone.

Harry saw several problems with that. First, he had a very limited working knowledge of any enemy. He knew that to kill the dead they had to be shot in the head, which was the limit of his intel. Or maybe they could be stabbed. He wasn’t sure. Secondly, he hadn’t seen a living British soldier, or civilian for that matter, since the camp at Arras had been overrun and sacked by the risen soldiers of WWI. Many of which had probably been British, so there was that. The dead Brits didn’t seem interested in being reformed or reorganized, other than at the biological level.

Thirdly, he was really only interested in avoiding contact with the Germans, the short men, or the dead until he could get far enough south to turn westward toward the coast. But if he had to, he’d go to the Mediterranean and steal a boat to get his men home.

He was, quite honestly, getting desperate.

Food stocks were what they could find in abandoned houses, but those supply sources were becoming less common as they moved south. A lot of French civilians simply didn’t believe the story about the dead, even if Miller played it for them on the radio.

It was, Harry admitted, something that had to be seen with one’s own eyes.

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