“Six million,” Nicolas muttered. “I talked to my cousin last night. He told me that six million people fled Paris ahead of the German invasion, with everyone going this same direction.” The truck barely moved, inching along within the exhausted masses tramping alongside them.
Edging through the ruined countryside northwest of Paris, they saw a dark cloud hanging over the “City of Lights.” Nicolas nudged Jeremy and pointed at clumps of dead birds alongside the roads. “My cousin said that when the Germans entered the city, the smoke and dust were so thick that it suffocated the birds. The people of Paris burned garbage and fuel to create dark clouds so that German bombers could not see and destroy our national treasures.” He stopped and glanced in the direction of the city center. “If not for the smoke, we’d be able to see the Eiffel Tower from here.” He surveyed the teeming thousands snaking over the landscape. “We’re fortunate. Most of the people have already gone before us. The air has thinned out.”
Jeremy reached over and grasped his shoulder. “Go home,” he said. “You have your own family to see to. I’ll make my way to Marseille. In this crowd, I’ll pass for just another refugee. The Nazis will need weeks to put up all the checkpoints for population control, France still has an army in the south, and your navy is intact.”
“The French army,” Nicolas grunted with disgust. “It was useless. Totally useless. The government escaped to Tours without resisting at all. And why hasn’t our navy been active against the Germans? It’s been sitting in port somewhere in North Africa.” He stepped on the brake lightly, bringing the truck to a halt as an old man bumped into it with vacant eyes, oblivious to what he had just done.
As Nicolas waited for a few inches of road to clear ahead of him, he turned to Jeremy. “If we dare hope to get our country back, the French people will have to do it.” His voice took on an urgency edged with hopelessness. “My cousin and I talked late into the night. We agreed that my job now is to get you home with the message that the French people will not give up our country without a fight.”
“Is that why you’re taking me farther south instead of into Paris? I thought that someone else would take me to the next contact, and so on until I got to Marseille, and then to Gibraltar to get on a boat.”
Nicolas gestured toward the crowds with his chin. “We need help, and soon. The message you carry is more urgent. Our people are organizing to sabotage, get intelligence, and help soldiers like you escape France so they can rejoin the fight, but we need contact in England.” He sighed and leaned his head against the back wall of the truck’s cab.
Jeremy blew out the air in his cheeks. “What’s the plan now, for me?”
Nicolas closed his eyes momentarily. “We’re going to put you in greater danger, my brother.” He opened his eyes and turned to look directly at Jeremy. “You can say no, and I’ll take you on to Marseille. Otherwise”—he inhaled sharply—“we have to get in front of this crowd and head west before the Germans get much farther south along the coast. There are ports to the west where boats are still able to leave. Not many are trying because the German U-boats patrol there, but if you can make it across the Channel, that will be the quickest way of getting you home to England.”
Jeremy sat quietly, contemplating the implicit request. Having grown up on a tiny island in the often stormy and ferocious waters separating France and England, he knew intimately how furious Mother Nature could be there. With the added danger of German U-boats and fighter planes on the prowl, he understood in an instant the alternatives being offered, the equivalent of choosing to play between the paws of a hungry lion or slapping its mouth and hoping either way to emerge alive.
The sun had sunk to their right, casting its rays inside the cab. Nicolas raised his palm to block them so he could study Jeremy’s face.
“You can’t be pinning your hopes on me,” Jeremy said after several moments.
“I’m a hopeless romantic, not a fool,” Nicolas said. He shook his head sadly. “Amélie will hate me forever if she learns of the choice I offered you, but no, you are not the only one. Tens of thousands of your soldiers were captured after Dunkirk and are being force-marched to Germany. But a lot got away. Local groups are trying to find and help them. We hope one or two of you might make it to England soon.”
Just then, the old truck sputtered and shook. Nicolas looked down again at the gas gauge. Seeing that it registered past empty, he let the vehicle coast its remaining few inches to a halt. “This is as far as we ride,” he said with a wry grin. “Whichever way we go, we’re on foot, unless we get lucky.”
He reached down and grasped a cloth bag containing bread and cheese. Slinging it over his shoulder, he climbed down from the driver’s seat onto the street. Without a backward glance, he started walking.
As Jeremy clambered from the truck, he noticed that the gaunt men and women still clinging to its bed barely took note for having known so many starts and stops. Now, if they noticed Jeremy and Nicolas’ departure at all, they did so with blank stares.
With Nicolas leading the way, they continued their trek, two more exhausted men trudging through the ruined countryside. After many hours, they came to a major road intersection outside of Le Mans. Nicolas halted.
Turning to Jeremy, he pointed in the direction of a road headed south. “That way leads to Marseille,” he said. “It’s
