Marceau was sitting on his bed with his eyes gently closed, carefully listening to the distant bombs, only dropped a few kilometres away.
BOOM! BAANG!
He couldn't sleep. I assume you guessed why. He really tried, but he couldn't. He was worried about his mother's and his own safety in a village near the Belgian border. He cringed and tears elegantly made their way to his cheeks. Surely the French forces could halt German advance through Belgium, right? Surely his papa…
You see, in 1939, the French government decided to station thousands of French soldiers near the German border. This was due to the news of Hitler and the Nazis. Marceau's father was one of the thousands of troops mobilised in the Alsace-Lorraine region. Now it is 1940 and both his mother and Marceau still haven't heard of him.
BOOM!
No way! My papa can beat all those Nazi idiots! Nothing can stop the hope of a 9 year old boy, and with that, he drifted to sleep.
;
Marceau woke up with a-
BOOOM!
Buildings shattered to the ground, shrieks, and loudest of all, his scream.
"MAMAN! AU SECOURS! MOM, HELP ME!"
His mother instantly came up the stairs. With an unreadable expression on her face, she gently lifted her son over her shoulders and whispered,
"Be brave."
His mother ran out of the house and onto the road, and almost simultaneously, their house blew up from a German shell.
BOOOMMM!
Her mother whimpered and she lost her balance, but quickly stood straight to keep her son from falling. Marceau noticed her bleeding leg.
The little boy kept his mouth shut, despite the commotion. Perhaps he was scared, perhaps his brain was still processing. At the same time, a group of French policemen turned around the corner and ran past them shouting,
"LES ALLEMANDS, ILS VIENNENT! THE GERMANS, THEY'RE COMING!"
His son, now on the ground, pulled at his mother's finger.
"Come on, maman. We need to go!"
His mother defiantly looked at him, as if deciding if he were good enough to sell for some rations. She snapped away from her stare, shook her messy, brown hair and pulled her son by the arm towards the town's square.
"HE ! ATTENDS! WAIT UP!"
That was the French commander of the town's barmy army.
"Florence," he cautiously said,
"Your husband. He is encircled at Dunkirk-"
BOOOM! BANG! WHIZZ!
German gunfire was now appearing from the forest.
"ALLEZ! ICI!"
The commander led them inside a house, not yet torn by the shells directly, but still damaged by nearby shells.
"We cannot order his retreat-"
CRASHH! BANG!
A scream.
"OUR POSTMEN ARE ALL SLAUGHTERED! GET TO THE BUNKER AND TELL THE SOLDIERS THAT-"
WHIZZZ.
The man widened his eyes in terror, quietly mumbling to himself in distress and fell to the ground, violently shaking while a pool of blood formed around his head.
German troops are coming.
Even though Marceau witnessed everything, his mother covered his eyes with her hand.
"BOUGE! MOVE! WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!"
She picked her son up and started limping to the square. On the way she almost lost her balance 2 or 3 times, but nothing could stop a mother from saving her child.
They reached the town square and called out but stopped in the middle of the sentence. The French troops looked different. Why were they all in grey and not in red or blue? And their helmets…
"Les Allemands…"
His mother whispered.
She silently dragged her son to the nearest building, but that was the moment her left leg gave up. She fell. Noise aroused. Germans turned. Guns firing. Screaming. Marceau took a look at her mother. She looked back at him with deep and empty eyes.
Croaking, she whispered,
"Je t'aime, Marceau. I love you."
And with that her eyes locked to the heavens. Holes everywhere in her body. Tears fell. A mixture of Depression and Rage filled his body. He looked around.
"Come here, Saukerl."
No. I'm not coming to anyone who shot my mother.
He noticed an unscathed bicycle with his peripheral vision. It was painted blood red, with black flames at the sides. He leaped at it.
German guns fired.
He jumped on and rode his bike away, dodging all the bullets.
"DU FRANZÖSISCHER SCHWACHKOPF! YOU FRENCH IMBECILE!"
Was what he last heard the German said.
After a few minutes of riding, he thought. He thought hard. Then he saw a sign leading to Dunkirk. He turned on that path.
"I'm going to Dunkirk"
;
Marceau rode his bike. Up and down the roads. Observing the fallen down trees and crater holes everywhere. He rode for a good 20 minutes. Now it was the middle of the day and he passed several villages here and there, usually stopping at every one of them to take a sip out of their wells. It was the same as his village. All the towns he passed were either abandoned or shelled. At one point, he passed a crater near to the road and a shiny object glinted in the sun. It shone so intensely that Marceau closed his eyes for a brief 5 seconds and in doing so, fell off his bicycle. His dry skin met the beaten Earth as he fell and rolled. Skidding to a halt, he stood up. He stared at the object; it was at the bottom of the crater. He trudged up to it and realised it was the helmet of a German corpse. The body was still in good shape with the clothes and everything. He took a small step, then another. The body reminded him of his mother, her unblinking, brown eyes staring up to the heavens. Those Nazis took no hesitation to shoot a mother with her child right on the spot. Shivering, Marceau looked at the helmet's strap and clicked it open; he placed it on his head and tightened the strap around his neck. He also noticed the rifle and picked it up, only to be met with disappointment when he realised it was out of ammo. Then, he noticed the handgun from the holster. He reached down, stared at the German and hesitated. He grabbed the handgun and gently extracted it from the holster. He pulled, and the gun broke free from its leather jail. He observed the gun. Aimed at the earth and fired.
PAF!
The sound rang like an echo in the French canyons; Marceau coughed, and dirt flew up to his eyes. He now had a weapon to defend himself.
;
After a few hours of tremendous effort on his bicycle, he pedalled over a hill and spotted something peculiar indeed. It was a pole barrier, guarded by two men all in grey.
"Nazis."
Marceau muttered under his breath.
The young boy instantly hit the brakes, got off the bicycle, and laid flat on his stomach, with the bike at his side. He observed; there was a shelter to the right of the barrier, off the path. It only contained a bed sheet on four thick, up right sticks and frequently fell, so both soldiers had to balance it all over again. In their make-shift shelter was a table. He couldn't quite see and identify the contents but that didn't matter. All he needed to do was get through. He needed a plan.
;
He laid there on his belly at the top of a hill for about an hour and he still hadn't thought of a plan. Marceau looked at the darkening sky and noticed the approaching stars. He decided to wait until night.
Nighttime finally came, like a smooth blanket, decorated with stars, covering the sun. However, a tint of sunlight, the colour of a cooked yolk of an egg, streaked the horizon. He waited for midnight.
The young boy, now 10 years old a few minutes ago, carefully dragged his bike to the right of the dirt path, hiding it in the thick grass behind the hill. Marceau, on the other hand, crawled towards the roadblock, pistol in hand. It took him several minutes but he made it; he overheard the Nazi conversation:
"Oh, meine frau! I miss her so badly. I wish this war actually ends at Christmas"
Whined a Nazi, quietly sobbing on his chair.
"Oh, I'm sorry Karl, but I think the Führer announced that we are here for the long term on the radio."
Responded the other.
Marceau listened while crawling ever so close to them. He was finally in range for his handgun.
Wait a minute. These Germans sounded like they didn't like war. Like they were against Hitler. But… Whatever. They were still Nazis at the end of the day. So with this fueling information, he muttered through gritted teeth,
"Nazis cochons!"
And with that, he aimed at the Germans, and shot two bullets, silencing the world from their words. Two thumps hit the Earth. A million birds flew away from the sound.
Marceau stood up, did not dare to look at the corpses, afraid to see his mother again, and walked to the shelter. A banana, a water bottle, and two cigarette butts. He happily pocketed the banana and the water bottle and scoffed at the cigar butts. He blew them to the ground. He returned to his bike, skipping on the way. He pulled his bike upright and sat in the seat. He started pedalling, descended the hill, and passed the roadblock as easy as cutting butter.
The 10 year old boy rode until dark that day, got off his bicycle, laid on the grass and ate his pocketed banana. It had been so long since he had last eaten back at his house. He took a long sip from his water bottle. After a few minutes of resting, the boy got back on his bike and began pedalling all over again.
At last, Dunkirk. He had arrived at the north-western shore of France. Unfortunately, because of the sand, he sometimes had to get off his bike and drag it along with him. Slow and steady steps. He looked down, down at his feet, and reflected on his adventure. He closed his eyes and listened to the waves crashing along the shoreline. He had come all this way, hoping his father was still there. He shall never give u-
BOOOOMMM!
The boy jumped in fright and fell to the ground. Distant shells. He was getting near. He looked back at his bike, placed it on the ground and saluted. He then ditched his bike and began running. He often fell due to the rough patterns of sand, but he stood back up and ran again.
Finally, he saw. Men charging back and forth, gunfire.
PAF! PAFPAF!
Suddenly, a strong fog settled in and he couldn't see ten metres ahead of him. Marceau panicked but that didn't stop him. Now the gunfire was overpowering his ears and shells were bursting his ear drums. He ran forward. Everything stopped. The sound and everything. Confused, he looked around. Then, a noise became evident. It was far at first, but then, it became louder.
pheeeEEEEWWWWWWOOOOO!
Marceceau understood now. He dropped to the ground and almost instantly, a shell hit right to his left.
BOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The boy was sent flying in the air, surprisingly, no shrapnel entered his body. However, when he landed, he sprained his ankle, making it impossible for him to stand up. By now, he could hear screams, commands, and shouts of encouragement. Wait a minute. The armies are coming towards him! Marceau lay defeated in his crater hole and sobbed quietly to himself. He didn't care about the pain. He just wanted to see his father one more time. Secondly, if we just gave up now, his mother's sacrifice would've been for nothing. Rage built up in him. With determination, he heaved himself up and stopped crying. He waited for the perfect moment and plus, he couldn't see through the fog, so he just had to wait. Finally, a British soldier came running towards him.
"Bloody hell, you better get the hell outta here, mate"
Of course, Marceau didn't understand, he just nodded at the soldier. Then the battle came to him. He crouched and suddenly, Germans, British, and French forces were on the beach with him. Again, panic overwhelmed him but he stayed where he was. The pain. The sprained ankle began to burn. He grimaced, but held his ground. He searched. He searched everywhere for his father, but he saw no papa. He felt like he wanted to disappear, he felt so insignificant and small compared to the men. Suddenly, a beam of sunlight made its way through and shone upon two men a rough hundred metres away. It was a German and a French. Papa. Stripped of words, Marceau sprinted to the two men despite the pain and pulled his handgun from his pocket. Suddenly, a German jumped in front of him, as if predicting what he was going to do.
"Abruti! Degage! Idiot! Get out of my way!"
The German raised his rifle, but Marceau was quicker; he tackled the German to the ground, punched him in the groin and shot his handgun three times. One in the arm, one in the shoulder, and one in the chest. The German laid where he was, lifeless. Marceau went back to sprinting. He stared at the two men; the sun's beam was still on them. Both men were fighting with fists now, their rifles on the ground. Marceau jumped on the German.
"YOU DON'T TOUCH MY PAPA LIKE THAT, YOU STUPID PIG!"
He gave that German a hard slap across the face.
His papa finally realised him.
"Marceau? C'est toi?!"
Marceau looked at his dad and nodded.
"Get out of here, Marceau. You're gonna get killed! Where is your mama?"
Rage boiled once again inside Marceau.
"Elle est morte. She is dead. Those Nazis idiots!"
He attempted to give the German another slap, but the Nazi didn't fancy it, so he shoved the kid off him and raised his fist. His father came at him.
"Go, Marceau! I love you! Go! Have a happy life!"
"NON, PAPA. I WILL STAY WITH YOU!"
"Please Marceau! My dying wish!"
"Don't say such a thing, papa! You're gonna survive, right?"
Before he could answer, a noise aroused.
phheeeeWWWWOOOOO
The father looked at Marceau with haunting eyes.
The young boy looked back at his papa.
The German stared at both of them.
The trio looked up, only to be met with a shell.
THE END…