Almost There

Chapter 1

Run.

That was all I could think as my feet pounded along the dusty tarmac.

Don't look back.

My breathing grew heavier with every heaving step.

Just. Keep. Going.

The sound of gunfire encompassing me from every angle.

Despite the overwhelming fear flowing through my veins, I couldn't let it take over. Not right now. I had to focus. This was life, or death.

I kept running, my heart thumping so hard and fast that I thought it might explode out of my chest. I turned a corner, then straight ahead of me I spotted my escape; a wooden gate that I could climb over to safety. Well, it would be safer than the empty street, at least.

As I approached I slung my rifle from off my shoulder and hurled it over the gate. I jumped up and gripped the top of it, then with all my might I hauled myself up and over, dropping down onto the rough cobblestones beneath. I snatched up my rifle and looked up to find myself in a small, messy backyard. I spotted a small shed and clambered up onto its roof before disappearing over the fence that bordered the garden.

Almost instantaneously I was being shot at once more; forced to duck behind the protruding flank of a nearby house. But these were not German shooters, they were French.

"English!" I shouted, screaming at the top of my lungs in an attempt to be heard over the rapid fire, 'I'm English! Anglais!"

The fire ceased, and I peeked out from behind my hiding spot to see one of the men signalling for me to go across. Once more, I ran as fast as my feet would carry me until I had scrambled over the sandbags lining their position, to join them on the other side.

"Merci," I huffed, catching my breath.

"Allez Anglais," he said, looking me in the eye before focusing back on his arc of fire.

I made my way out of the area and headed towards the beach where I knew the other troops would be, boarding vessels to take us home, or so I thought.

As I stepped foot onto the golden sands, I was met by the sight of men completely covering the shore, as far as the eye could see. There must have been thousands, hundreds of thousands. I stepped further onto the windy beach, the sand shifting underfoot as I edged closer towards the long rows of men lining the shore.

Where are all the boats? I thought to myself as I stared out at the open ocean dead ahead.

I had made it this far, fight after fight, attack after attack, ambush after ambush; finally, I was so close to home. No one had suspected a thing this whole time. No one had suspected that I was a woman.

I remember the day I left England. I had told my mother I was going out to fetch the newspaper, and would be back soon, but now soon was getting further and further away with every passing hour.

I remember putting on some of my father's old clothes that had been left behind after he died. He had died fighting for our country, and I intended to do the same. I couldn't sit back and watch as the world fell to pieces around me, and innocent lives were being put at risk. I was aware that one soldier may not make a whole lot of difference, but I was determined nonetheless; determined to fight, determined to survive, and determined to win. I would fight until I had no more fight to give, and I would make my father proud.

It seemed so long ago now that I had been walking down the narrow streets of my small hometown to register for the army. It seemed as if years had passed since I had been training alongside my future comrades, all of whom were men of course. It was unheard of that a woman would join the army, especially one of such a young age; women weren't allowed. I was only eighteen at the time, and to my surprise, despite having a very feminine appearance, I was enlisted, and would soon be learning all the skills I would need to protect my nation.

In reality, it had only been a matter of months, however in those few months I had grown a year older in age, and many years older in experience.

I was dragged out of my thoughts when another young soldier began calling to me from up on one of the sandy dunes.

I rushed over to where he was standing by a stretcher, on it lay an injured man with severe wounds to his chest, blood already seeping through the several layers of gauze wrapped tightly around him.

The young soldier was standing at the back of the stretcher and gestured for me to grab the front end. I complied, and we hastily lifted him off the floor and began to run.

By this point, I was exhausted. It felt like I had been running non-stop since I arrived in France a few months ago. My uniform hung loosely over my body, the thick fabric weighing heavy on my small frame. The sling of my rifle was cutting into my left shoulder and pressing tightly against my chest, making it slightly harder to catch my breath. Nevertheless, I carried on.

We both knew where we were headed. There was a boat leaving in a few minutes, and if this soldier wasn't on it, he would surely die. Inside I was also hoping that I might be able to stay on the boat myself and get off the beach as soon as possible, but I knew that was an unlikely outcome.

After shoving our way through the endless crowds of men, we finally reached the ship just as it was about to leave. The young soldier and I hurriedly made our way down onto the deck where we passed off the wounded man to the nurses on board. Just as I had suspected we were then told in a rather harsh manner to exit the ship and wait for the next one with everyone else.

Just as I was walking back up the ramp leading off of the boat, I noticed two men down below me, clinging to the wooden rafters below the pier. I glanced up at the officer to see if he was still watching, then I slipped underneath the railing and climbed down to where the two men were.

As I moved closer, weaving in and out of the beams, one of them noticed me and nodded in my direction at the other man, in order to indicate my presence. The second man turned around, and I realised he was just a young boy, probably around my age, maybe slightly older by a year or two.

He looked at me for a moment, and I deliberated whether or not I should say something, but as I opened my mouth to speak, he cut me off.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Hoping to get on the next boat, same as you."

I knew what they were up to as soon as I saw them, and honestly I didn't think joining them was such a bad idea if it meant I could get off of this beach sooner. Out here, we were all sitting ducks.

He didn't say anything in response, just looked at me for another moment. His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a second I wondered if he could tell who I really was; that I wasn't a man. He looked at me like this a while longer, before regaining his rather stoic expression from before. I was safe.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Briggs. Sam Briggs," I replied, "and you?"

"Tommy," he said.

I offered him a small smile, but it was short-lived.

Soon I began to hear the familiar drone of a fast-approaching plane, getting ready to release a shell onto the crowded beach.