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It hadn't even been five minutes into my trip across the channel. With every meter I sailed, the water grew more rough. Wind whizzed past my ears and blew strands of my hair back. I brushed it away from my face.
Sailing has always been my favorite hobby. It's relaxing, enjoyable, even in times like this, in times of war. Being alone on the boat really gives me time to think.
"I'm sorry" the sudden low voice startled me. I spun around to see Arthur standing there on deck. His voice didn't sound very apologetic. I guess this means I'm not alone anymore. How long as he been on the boat anyway?
Annoyance grew in me. He stood there with his hands buried in his pockets, wind caused his dark hair to sweep back. He almost looked good-looking, but the way he treats me covers all that up. I don't remember what I saw in him the first day we met. At first he was sweet, but he started to get controlling and rude with every passing day.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, turning away from the silver wheel. It was too late to turn around and drop him back off at land. We could miss something important. I look back now, and think how glad I am that I didn't turn back.
"What kind of man would I be to let my weak fiancé sail across the English Channel by herself?"
"I can handle it on my own" I narrowed my eyes "and I'm not your fiancé" the boat rocked with the waves as I retorted.
"You would be if you agreed to marry me" he took a step forward.
"You ridicule me constantly, yet tell me you love me? How can I marry that?" The shore behind was growing thinner and thinner by the minute. I turned away and gripped the wheel. A faint cloud of smoke above the waves could be seen from all the way over here.
That must be Dunkirk. There was a map on the table beside me that shows me how to get from my dock to Dunkirk. It wasn't exact, but it was something.
"Alice, I'm trying to be nice-"
"You're only going to anger me"
"Keep saying shit like that and I'll give you something to be angry about" he hissed, gripping my arm tight with his fingers. I struggled against his grip, giving him a hard look. His jaw clenched tight.
Overhead, the sound of planes roared through the sky. He looked up to the ceiling and pulled his hand away, he was unable to see the sky. His dark eyes grew wide with slight panic. I pulled away from him roughly and ran to the door, taking a look into the sky. They were spit-fire planes, friendly "What the hell is that?!" He spat.
"Planes, our boys" I let my shoulders relax, recognizing the allied planes "Nothing to fret about" I evaded past him and positioned myself at the wheel "Now leave me alone, Arthur" the sound of the planes disappeared from the air. They were heading to Dunkirk.
***
Collins
The back of his plane was smoking from the bullet holes that had just penetrated by the enemy plane. Collins gripped his handles, preparing to make a hard water landing in the English Channel. His plan was to land, escape from the seat, and hopefully be rescued by a passerby. That or get stranded in the water.
Whatever comes first.
His flying partner, Farrier, who was in another plane close by watched as his friend dropped to the water. He flew around in the air, wanting to make sure that his friend would make it. It slowly lost altitude, unable to escape its watery fate. The spit-fire landed roughly on the choppy water. White water splashed up around the vessel.
The enemy plane that had fired on Collins had already been taken care of by Farrier. He didn't stop firing until the enemy plane was long gone at the bottom of the ocean. Collins was able to get the window open a crack, but his leg was caught in between the seat and the interior of the plane.
The radio in his flight mask was damaged, he was unable to communicate with Farrier who was still flying overhead in his plane. He pushed his hand through the crack of the windows, hoping to gain Farriers attention and tell him that he was in trouble.
Farrier thought that his waving signal was telling him that he was okay. Farrier waved back from his window and took off down the channel, leaving Collins behind. Collins punched at the window frustratingly.
He removed the mask from his pale face and dropped it into the seat between his legs. Cold water was now pouring in through the crack of the window, filling up the tiny vessel.
Collins fumbled around with his seatbelt and ripped it off. A pistol was hooked to his belt. He pulled it off and began jamming the grip of the gun into the glass window. It had little effect. He grunted in fear as the water continued to flow in. The gloves over his hands caused the gun to slip from his grasp.
The water was up to his chest. His breath was growing ragged. He searched around in the water for the gun. After a few seconds that felt more like hours, his fingers wrapped around the gun. He slipped off his gloves to get a better hold and started to hit the window again.
The water was relentless. It went to his chin and laughed at his helplessness. Salt water seeped into his pink lips. His pale cheeks were growing red from the frigid water. Blonde hair clung to his soaked forehead. Within moments, the water reached above his head.
He took a deep breath before the water coated him and he kept smashing the gun against the glass. He gritted his teeth, fearing that his end is near. Air bubbles were escaping his lips. Once again, the coldness of the water loosened his grip on the gun and it sunk to the bottom of the plane. He looked up through the watery window, still able to see the sky. Collins thought how beautiful it looked from here.
He thought about how he'd never see something beautiful ever again, this was his end.
That's when the sharp end of a metal hook rod smashed into the plane window from above. His vision was blurry underwater, but he was sure that he wasn't imagining it. A hole formed in the glass and two hands reached down in. He took them without hesitation and pushed through the broken glass to freedom.
