Fleeing France by Alan Hlad

Author:Alan Hlad [Hlad, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2024-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

PARIS, FRANCE—JUNE 3, 1940

Jimmie’s adrenaline surged from the sound of bombs detonating over the city. He helped Pierre, who was struggling to keep pace with the fast-moving crowd, to the entrance of an underground metro station that served the neighborhood of Le Marais. They followed Ruth and Aline down a narrow set of concrete stairs that was swarmed with people who were desperate to get underground. Once inside, they squeezed their way through the throng and hunkered together on the landing.

The ground trembled, and a piece of ceiling tile fell onto the train track. Beneath the rumble of bombs, whimpers and recital of prayers filtered through the subterranean passage. The lights, mounted to the tunnel walls, flickered and everything went black. A woman screamed, and a baby began to cry. Several people ignited cigarette lighters, and a few others turned on electric torches that they’d brought with them to the shelter.

Aline hugged her grandpapa.

Pierre drew a raspy inhale and held her tight. “It’ll be all right. The bombs can’t hurt us here.”

Jimmie looked at Ruth. A dull torch light shimmered on her face, filled with apprehension. He reached out his hand and felt her clasp his fingers.

More bombs rumbled from above. Heads rose to the arched, tile-covered ceiling.

Pierre kissed his granddaughter on her head. He stood straight with his chin raised high, placed his beret over his heart, and began to sing the French national anthem.

Ruth squeezed Jimmie’s hand. She closed her eyes, drew a breath, and sang along with Pierre. Her enchanting voice, like the timbre of a rare violin, resonated through the tunnel.

Wails and whimpers faded away, and Parisians steadily joined in, drowning out the muted rumble of explosions.

Jimmie, who didn’t know the words, hummed the chorus. He admired Ruth’s and Pierre’s determination to inspire people with hope and unity. A deep resolve burned within him, and he vowed to return to his squadron and do his part to rid the Luftwaffe from the sky.

The singing ended, but the raids continued. In total, five waves of German bombers dropped their payloads on Paris before the all-clear siren sounded. People, many of whom were fearful to leave the protection of the underground, cautiously made their way out of the station.

On the street, Jimmie was met by an acrid smell of expelled explosives. A fire burned in a nearby neighborhood, but—in the west of the city—countless thick plumes of smoke rose high into the atmosphere. Horns of fire trucks blared.

Bloody hell. How could pilots knowingly drop bombs on civilians? Anger flared inside him.

“Come on,” Ruth said, touching his shoulder. “We need to go.”

Jimmie turned away from the fire plumes. He followed her and the others down a congested sidewalk, packed with people—their mouths agape in a state of shock and dismay.

The four traveled several blocks to a Lutetian limestone building next to a closed Jewish bakery. They entered, climbed the stairs to a third-floor landing, and Ruth removed a key from a pocket of her uniform and opened the door.

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