Menace
Dakar, French West Africa
September 23, 1940
Frederick Atkinson watched impassively from the flight deck of the HMS Ark Royal as a flight of Swordfish biplanes buzzed across the water towards the city of Dakar. It had been a day since a request had been made to the Vichy French Government that occupied the bastion of French West Africa to surrender the city, and their silence told the British Navy all they needed to know: The Nazi-puppet government wouldn’t surrender peacefully.
It came as no surprise to Atkinson. He had spent the last four months developing intelligence in and around the city, and privately held reservations about the planned invasion. It was too audacious, too complex, too French. Nothing about the attack had been endorsed by the British flotilla commander, but it had been force-fed to the War Office by the Prime Minister and the leader of the Free-French Forces, General Charles de Gaulle, who had in turn force-fed it to the Navy and on down the admiralty.
Atkinson couldn’t help but wonder if the whole undertaking was ill-advised as he pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his khaki suit and studied the flight deck of the aircraft carrier as air crews moved to-and-fro and prepared to launch the next flight of aircraft.
“Do you have another one of those?” A voice called behind him.
Atkinson turned and flashed a thin smile under his heavy mustache and nodded, “Commander Fairfield, I thought an air operations officer was shackled to the bridge?”
“And I thought spies dressed like cat burglars.” Fairfield pulled a lighter from the pocket of his tropical military tunic and extended it to the cigarette between Atkinson’s lips.
“How are things on the bridge?”
Fairfield shrugged and placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “I’ve got two frogs screaming in French over the radio at my pilots about what they can and can’t bomb, and the commodore of the flotilla asking me when our aircraft will be out of the airspace so our gun batteries can commence bombardment.” He plucked a stray bit of tobacco from his lip, his eyes lighting up as he remembered one more grievance, “Oh, and a battalion of French commandos making their way ashore to take the city. It’s a bloody nightmare.”
Atkinson nodded silently and the two men puffed in reflective silence as another flight of Swordfish droned overhead. Atkinson watched absently, the obvious question burning inside him. The one no one dared to ask. He looked over at Fairfield, his mustache twitching like a cat’s tale before pouncing on a mouse. “So, do you think we’ll take the city?”
Fairfield paused in thought as the flight of Swordfish vectored toward Dakar, a five-hundred-pound bomb glistening under the belly of each plane. He looked over at Atkinson and around the flight line to make sure they were alone, “I still think it’s a bit of a reach. Do you really think a few bombers and some Free-French commandos can take the city? If the shoe was on the other foot, do you think Churchill could take London?”
“De Gaulle thinks so, and that’s all that matters.” Atkinson exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked over at Fairfield, “This is politics old boy. Nothing more. General de Gaulle and his Free-French forces need to show the people of France that the Vichy Government isn’t legitimate. They think this is the best way to do it.”
“Do the French really need much incentive?” Fairfield snorted snidely, “The Vichy we’re installed by the Nazis once the Wehrmacht steamrolled through Champagne all the way to Paris. Are you telling me that unless we take Dakar, the French, who have been invaded by Germany twice in the past thirty years, may not act on their anger at being a conquered people?”
“The War Office seems to think so.”
“What about your lot, the SOE?”
“Special Operations Executive is hesitant to give an opinion.”
“Bloody politicians.” Fairfield scoffed, “Other than this malarky about French support, is there any other strategic point of value in taking this back-water city?”
“You know as much as I do.” Atkinson lied, shutting the discussion down before it went any further. He wasn’t at liberty to say, but there was more to this back-water city than a French show of force. His eyes drifted to the coastline where a squadron of gunboats could be seen chugging through the surf.
“Best of luck lads.” He muttered softly and tossed his cigarette over the railing.
***
The echo of the British armada’s guns reverberated throughout the harbor. With each new volley, the ground shook and the sky cracked thunder as the British guns traded fire with the French coastal battery that defended the city of Dakar.
From the safety of the harbor docks, Gavin Briggs listened absently to the muted thud of the French shore batteries as they responded to the whistling barrage of British naval artillery. He paid the gunfire no mind, knowing full well the British wouldn’t dare target the harbor, unless absolutely necessary.
When it came to the harbor of Dakar, access wasn’t something the Brits would want to restrict, especially if they had the chance of taking the city. Whatever mess they made today would have to be cleaned up tomorrow if they conquered the city; not that it mattered.
As far as Gavin could tell, the Brits had no chance of taking the city. Save for a few barrages that had missed their mark, the British armada’s gunfire was solely focused on the French coastal defenses. They weren’t aiming for the rest of the city, and you didn’t need to be a military genius to figure out that the salvos were just a form of posturing by the Brits to coerce the city into surrender.
He absently ran his thumb over the face of his father’s old wristwatch. His only inheritance from his parents. The watch’s pale white face and metal bezel glinted in the sunlight. The leather straps had eroded long ago and had been replaced by a cord of rope. Gavin’s eyes drifted away from the naval show of force on the horizon and looked down at the cracked casing, the watch hadn’t worked in some time, but Gavin had learned long ago that just because something was broken didn’t mean you threw it out.
“Idiots,” Gavin muttered under his breath as he looked back up and watched plumes of smoke belch from the British destroyers’ gun batteries. His eyes lingered on the closest destroyer to the harbor.
The grey ship bobbed above the waves; the red, white, and blue Union Jack waving proudly from the conning tower.
“What do you think, Tom? I think we can swing it.” Gavin turned and looked down from his perch on one of the dock pylons at his fellow smuggler.
Tamsir Diagne cast a doubtful glance out past the harbor entrance. He looked back up at his American friend and shook his head, “Not today, we’d be intercepted or blown out of the water before we even made it out of the harbor.”
“They haven’t fired on the harbor at all.”
“Because nothing has come out of it.”
“Do you really think they’ll give a damn about our rickety little boat?”
Tamsir looked over at the French naval vessels that sat on the far side of the harbor. “As soon as we cast off, they’ll stop and board us.”
“They’re too busy with the giant British fleet knocking on the harbor door.” Gavin said, hopping down from his perch on the pylon and dusting off his raggedy pants, “We’ve got five days to make it to Agadir, we can’t wait till the British leave. David will kill us if we’re late.”
“If we lose our cargo to the British or French it’ll be worse.” Tamsir shot back.
Gavin bit his lip and looked down at the little luzzu jammed full of cargo crates. Tamsir was right, he knew that, but the choice was between bad or worse. He eyed the little boat bobbing up and down with the tide, it hardly looked like a boat able to take on the open ocean. “We can’t wait. We have to risk it.”
Tamsir grumbled and ran a hand through his thick black hair. He cast a cautious glance down at the thirty-foot luzzu bobbing in the water, “The Jasig isn’t a blockade runner. She’d never outrun a British vessel.” He argued feebly.
Gavin nodded but stayed silent.
Everyone was desperate for supplies in this conflict, whether it was the British or the Nazis. At any other time, a fleet as big as the British’s wouldn’t care about a smuggler’s skiff. But this wasn’t ordinary times and the rubber they had on board the Jasig was a hot commodity.
Gavin crossed his arms, his mood souring at the thought of not being able to move their cargo. David was not a patient man, and he was already owed. After their last bungled delivery of his property, the man wouldn’t offer a second chance at redemption.
He cast a sideways glance across the harbor, there must be a way. Gavin thought, his eyes searching the harbor for a solution. They were the only ones foolish enough to remain in the harbor. Every other merchant with common sense had fled inland. Save for the French sailors and military ships on the opposite side of the harbor, they were the only ones prepping a vessel to get underway.
“How can we escape?” Gavin muttered to himself, “How can we-” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening in realization. “Tom!”
Tamsir unglued his eyes from the spectacle of British ships on the horizon and followed Gavin’s gaze.
“We don’t need the Jasig to outrun the Brits, we just need her to outrun that!” Gavin jerked his finger towards the other side of the harbor, “The Vichy are going to make a blitz for it!”
Tamsir looked where Gavin was pointing and nodded slowly as he realized what Gavin was suggesting. The French frigate, L’Audacieux, was preparing to cast off. French sailors scrambled over her like ants on a corpse preparing her for a run at the British blockade.
“They’re insane, they can’t outrun the Ark Royal’s aircraft.” Tamsir gaped at the French frigate as her mooring lines were cast off and she started to churn into the middle of the harbor.
Gavin hopped down into the luzzu, excitement filling his voice. “As long as we keep her between us and the British, we can make it.”
Tamsir hesitated, he didn’t feel the same level of confidence Gavin was exuding. Optimism was Gavin’s default and Tamsir could tell that he desperately wanted this plan to work. If only wishing made it so. Tamsir thought darkly.
He watched as Gavin started to untie the Jasig’s moorings, his movements feverish but precise. As he finished untying the last mooring line, he looked back at Tamsir, the look on his face a combination of anxious energy and impatience.
“Come on! We only get one chance at this, get this bucket ready.”
“Gavin, stop, think. This isn’t a good plan.”
“It’s the best one we have.”
Tamsir shook his head, “You’re letting the fact that this is the last smuggling run we owe David sway your decision. This is too risky.”
Gavin stopped moving about the luzzu and looked over at Tamsir, “If we don’t leave today, we’ll be in an even deeper hole with David than we are already. Do you have a better idea?”
Tamsir gave a resigned breath “No,” He walked back to where the engine sat out of the water. “But keep talking that way about my boat and you can swim to Morocco.”
“No need to be cranky!” Gavin turned and looked up toward the front of the Jasig, “Baobacar, wake up!”
Tamsir looked up from what he was doing and shot his brother a look of disapproval. His little brother lay sprawled out along the prow of the boat, his eyes were shut tightly, and his mouth was contorted into a grimace as Gavin stirred him from his drunken slumber.
“If you expect us to pity you for having a hangover, think again! Wake up!” Tamsir blazed. He quickly covered the length of the bow in a single bound and delivered a none-to-gentle kick to his brother’s ribs.
Baobacar let out a groan and brought his knees up to defend his stomach.
“Stop being a useless drunk and get up!”
Baobacar struggled to his feet and looked around in bleary-eyed confusion.
Tamsir eyed him in disgust, “Help Gavin cast off and then dunk your head, you still look drunk.”
Baobacar towered over his brother and shot him an annoyed look. Although younger, he was a head taller than Tamsir and as strong as an ox, but he knew better than to quarrel with his littler brother. He gave a wordless grunt and sidled over to the bow of the boat, dunked his head, and helped Gavin undo the lines.
Tamsir watched his brother in mild frustration. He loved him dearly, but at eighteen, Baobacar still acted like a child when he needed to be a man.
Dakar wasn’t a city children survived in. In order to survive you had to grow up, and Baobacar was stubbornly slow to learning that lesson.
He continued to watch Baobacar a moment longer as he finished wrestling with the moorings and proceeded to inspect the cargo and ensure it was secure. Satisfied he was doing his job, Tamsir returned his attention to the Jasig’s engine.
“L’Audacieux is about to leave, we need to get moving!” Gavin shouted as he threw the last line onto the dock.
Tamsir nodded wordlessly and primed the engine. He took his time and refused to rush. The Jasig was old, nearly as old as Tamsir and Baobacar’s father. As boys, the two of them had grown up on her sun-bleached planks catching mullet and burrfish. They knew every splinter on her decking and knew her limitations. Built for the meandering rivers of Senegal, she wasn’t built for coastal fishing; so, taking her on a five-day journey up the coast to southern Morocco was treacherous at the least.
Tamsir checked the engine’s gearbox and made sure that a coat of oil was poured heavily on the rusted metal. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the L’Audacieux churning through the harbor.
“Let’s go, Tom! The L’Audacieux is about to be out of the harbor!”
Tamsir grunted in acknowledgment and started the engine. Black acrid smoke coughed out as the engine grumbled to life and the propeller started to turn.
“Stop! You’re grinding the gears!” Baobacar cried, covering his ears.
Tamsir deftly pulled the engine cowling up and looked inside. The sound roared even louder without the cowling to deafen it, but Baobacar was right. The noise was coming from the gearbox.
Tamsir grabbed the oil can and started to spurt oil into different spots. The grating of the gears slowly subsided and turned into a smooth churn as the lubricant started to work. Tamsir wiped the sweat from his eyes and closed the gearbox. He shook the can of oil and was greeted with nothing, “That was the last of the oil. We’ll need more if we’re going to make it to Agadir.”
“We can buy some in Nouadhibou,” Gavin said absently, his eyes transfixed on the L’Audacieux. The race had begun. Gavin watched anxiously as the frigate slowly moved toward the harbor entrance.
“Good. Looks like she’s going to make a break north.”
Tamsir revved the engine and Baobacar shoved the boat away from the dock. As the skiff drifted away from its berth, the noise of the Jasig’s engine grew louder as Tamsir accelerated.
Gavin watched Tamsir pull on the rudder and slowly drift to the right, angling out of the harbor. Gavin’s eyes darted between Tamsir and the L’Audacieux, his face screwed up into an anxious squint as the L’Audacieux remained a good distance ahead of them.
“We’ll catch her at the mouth of the harbor,” Tamsir assured as Gavin impatiently eyed the frigate. The harbor was empty of any traffic other than the L’Audacieux. The Jasig and her crew were the only other fools willing to brave the British blockade.
Tamsir kept a firm grip on the tiller and scanned the coast. The sun reflected off his black skin as he sat hunched over watching the waves. He still had significant reservations about what they were attempting, but as Gavin had said, they had no other choice. With the British in front of them and a wrathful David behind them. There was no question which was the more dangerous to face. He delicately pushed and pulled on the tiller as the Jasig cleared the mouth of the harbor and the chop of the waves increased as they passed the sea wall.
Taking the Jasig out on the open ocean was no small task and was something that required significant skill on Tamsir’s part. It had taken him years to hone his seamanship skills with the Jasig before he had ever dared to take her on any body of water bigger than the Senegal River. But with time came experience and Tamsir had learned how to navigate the Jasig in the littorals while fully loaded with cargo. He kept his head on a swivel and scanned the tides, keeping a wary eye open for any rogue waves that might tip his ship. His eyes darted up towards the L’Audacieux, making a point of staying on the leeward side of her.
“We’ll need to keep L’Audacieux between us and the British!” Tamsir shouted as he tacked to get behind the French frigate. She was barely a hundred meters in front of them, and Tamsir could see a handful of French sailors on her aft pointing and motioning towards the Jasig.
Gavin inspected the rigging that secured their cargo one last time and scrambled to the back of the boat and sat down next to Tamsir, “We’ll only have one shot, you sure you can do it, Tom?”
Tamsir eased off the throttle as the Jasig crested a wave and slid down the back of it, “If you think I’m ever letting you take the tiller again after that incident in Banjul think again.” He growled, his eyes never leaving the L’Audacieux.
Gavin raised his hands in surrender, “In my defense, Baobacar told me to do it.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, pal.”
The swells bucked the luzzu, throwing it violently up and down as waves crashed over the tops of the prow as Tamsir urged her as fast as she could go. Tamsir pushed the tiller and the Jasig gently angled left to avoid the L’Audacieux’s wake and tensed as the luzzu bucked over the top of a wave and crashed down into its trough, cascading the entire length of the luzzu with water. He had misjudged the size of the swell and eased off the throttle.
Gavin’s head snapped back towards Tamsir as the whine of the engine lessened, “What’re you doing?”
“The L’Audacieux’s wake is too rough. I need to slow her down.”
“Don’t you dare Tom, if you do, we’ll never get out of here!”
Tamsir chewed his lip but pushed back down on the throttle. As daring and reckless as Gavin was being, both men knew that now wasn’t the time to be cautious. Tamsir gripped the tiller tightly but kept his speed. Getting away from Dakar and the British fleet would require every ounce of his skill and no shortage of luck.
Baobacar moved away from the front of the boat and joined Gavin and Tamsir at the aft. He pulled a set of coastal charts from a worn canvas haversack and started to study them. “Once we get around to the north west side of the city we should get back into the shallows.”
“I’d like to keep her shallow until Nouadhibou.” Tamsir agreed, concern in his voice, “If we have any more problems with the engine I don’t want to be too far out from the coast.” He could tell by the vibration in the tiller that a gear was still grinding in the engine.
“Makes sense,” Gavin agreed. He looked about anxiously, his eyes darting about the harbor and the ripple of waves around them. He ran a hand over the back of his neck as his hair stood on end.
“You, ok?” Tamsir asked.
“Smuggler’s jitters,” Gavin said with a dismissive shrug as his stomach tightened. The confidence he tried to exude wasn’t felt. Ever since he was a child, he had always felt this way. Whether it was before he stole a piece of food to survive as a boy, or before they had smuggled some contraband up the African coast, he had always felt that feeling. A gnawing sense that everything he was working towards was about to be undone. He could feel the bile rising in his throat and swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit.
Tamsir eyed him for a long moment but didn’t say anything. He had seen Gavin this way a hundred times and knew better than to say anything about it.
Baobacar pulled a canteen from the haversack and drank greedily from it.
“Hey! Go easy on the water! We only have so much.”
Baobacar glared at his brother but put the stopper back in the canteen and returned it and the charts to the haversack and eyed the L’Audacieux. She was nearing full speed, crashing over the waves trying to make a break for open water.
“You think she’ll make it past the blockade?”
Gavin squirmed in his seat. “Maybe,” he allowed himself a moment of optimism. “This may go our way for once.”
“We get this cargo to Agadir by the end of the week, and we can pay David back in full.” Baobacar grinned.
“Both of you stop daydreaming and focus on the here and now.” Tamsir barked, “We still have a way to go before we’re out of danger.”
Gavin’s face reddened , embarrassed by the chastisement. Tamsir was right though, nothing was guaranteed. He steadied himself and stood up, trying to get a better look. To their right was the rocky edge of the peninsula Dakar sat on. Like a tooth jutting out into the ocean, it sat sheltering the harbor from the high seas; and nestled atop it was the dusty capital of French West Africa.
Gavin watched the city as they passed her low cliffs on the southern coast. Against the shimmering heat and dust, she glimmered like a hazy mirage. The minarets of her mosques towered proudly above the white washed buildings that encompassed the city, leaving all who beheld her wondering if Dakar was real or a figment of a fever-dream.
It was a sight that never failed to impress Gavin, both in leaving and returning, Dakar was always an awe-inspiring sight from the water.
He continued to watch the city, pausing only as the low baritone of a foghorn filled the air. “What was that?”
“Nothing good,” Tamsir said as the Jasig rounded the bend of the rocky peninsula. Tamsir’s eyes widened in horror as he craned his neck and looked past Gavin, “Looks like another British cruiser. She must have been lying in wait in case anyone decided to make a blitz out of the harbor.”
Gavin followed Tamsir’s gaze. The grey behemoth crashed over the waves off the port bow of the L’Audacieux as she tacked to intercept her.
Baobacar clambered shakily to his feet, struggling to stay upright as the boat bucked beneath him. “What does it matter? I thought as long as we keep the Vichy ship between us and them, we would be fine?”
Tamsir looked back towards the harbor. The British flotilla had sailed closer in to cut off L’Audacieux’s escape, there was no going back.
“The only way is forward,” Gavin said, arriving at the same conclusion Tamsir was making.
Baobacar scrambled across the luzzu to his brother’s side, “Well what are we going to do?”
Gavin looked around frantically, “L’Audacieux is going to have to either face the flotilla or the frigate. It’s a lose-lose scenario. Maybe we can-”
Before he could finish, the gun batteries on the British cruiser fired and sent a deafening volley whistling towards the L’Audacieux. The rounds soared harmlessly over the French frigate and landed twenty feet short of the Jasig, spraying them with geysers of water.
“Christ that was close,” Gavin shouted, wiping the water from his face, “That was a warning shot, we should pull power and let the current carry us until the frigate is closer. Maybe we can outrun them in the shallows?”
Tamsir ignored Gavin and turned the luzzu towards the shore.
“What are you doing?”
“We go now. If we wait the British may send ships from the flotilla.”
Gavin gripped the railing as the luzzu slipped down into the trough of a wave, “We won’t last long if they man a gunboat.”
“We’ll last longer than we will here.”
“Look! They’re firing again!”
“Get down!”
The three of them ducked as the British cruiser fired on the French frigate. This time the barrage didn’t soar harmlessly over the L’Audacieux but scored a hit. An explosion rumbled across the water from the impact and fire and smoke spewed from where the barrage impacted.
Tamsir and Gavin peaked over the rim of the Jasig to survey the damage.
“Why isn’t she moving? Shouldn’t she be taking evasive actions?”
“They must have hit her boilers; she looks to be without power.”
Tamsir reached for the tiller and checked the engine, “Now’s our chance.” He opened the throttle and the Jasig started to pick up speed, bobbing up and down on the waves like a porpoise.
The L’Audacieux drifted with the waves, the current slowly pushing her bow to face the coast. Black acrid smoke spewed from amidships in waves as the frigate struggled against the current. If the sailors aboard couldn’t get her under power soon, Tamsir suspected she would be beached on a sandbar in minutes. He watched as sailors scrambled for the lifeboats while others dashed to man the guns. It may have been the boilers that the British cruiser had hit, but the French frigate seemed to have lost its leadership too. Half the crew was moving to abandon ship while the other half was moving to defend her.
The Jasig skirted past the L’Audacieux unhindered and continued to make for the shallows. A handful of French sailors called out to the Jasig for assistance, but Tamsir ignored them. They were roughly a kilometer from shore, close enough to get their hopes up, but still far enough away for something to go wrong.
“The Brits are putting a gunboat in the water,” Gavin remarked. His voice was cool and calm but had an unmistakable edge in it.
Tamsir wordlessly grunted an acknowledgment and gauged the distance from the cruiser. “With a little luck, I think we can make it to that inlet and lose them.” He said, pointing towards an inlet that had filled with the tides.
“We need to hurry; how much faster can we go?”
“Not much.”
Gavin anxiously eyed the inlet and looked back towards the British gunboat. The sound of its engine carried over the water as it shot away from the cruiser towards them.
“Faster Tom.”
“Any faster and I’ll roll her and lose the cargo!”
“The gunboat is gaining!”
Tamsir gritted his teeth and urged the luzzu faster.
“Now isn’t the time to be cautious.”
“Shut up, Gavin.”
The Jasig crashed up over a swell and boomed down into its trough, spraying Tamsir with water. They were close, less than a hundred meters, but Tamsir could hear the roar of the gunboat’s engines. They were closer now. He pushed the Jasig to her limit, summoning every ounce of speed he could.
“Watch those breakers!” Baobacar cautioned as they got closer into shallow water.
A crack of a rifle echoed behind them and the snap of a round zipping by served as a warning that the gunboat was in range.
They were so close, Tamsir refused to quit now.
“Kill the engine, Tom! Their next shot won’t be a warning!”
Tamsir didn’t move to shut off the engine, they were so close. He risked a look behind them and saw the gunboat was less than fifty feet away. He could see a pair of British Marines sitting up on her prow, a Bren machine gun trained on the luzzu. We can still make it. Tamsir thought, he urged the luzzu faster up over a wave.
“Dammit man kill the power!” Gavin screamed, lunging at the tiller.
Tamsir cried and reflexively moved the tiller away from Gavin’s grasp. It was only for a moment, but the damage was done. The Jasig was on the crest of the wave and by moving the tiller, the luzzu was being pushed down the wave at a sharp angle.
Tamsir wrestled with the tiller, trying in vain to correct the course but the Jasig refused to cooperate. The more he struggled the more the Jasig became perpendicular to the crashing wave. As they coasted downwards the luzzu’s center of gravity shifted and Tamsir could feel his boat rolling out from under him.
“Jump! Abandon ship!”
“The cargo!”
“Damn the cargo, jump!”
The three of them jumped off the Jasig just as the luzzu bucked underneath the surf. The rigging securing the cargo snapped, and their cargo rolled off the luzzu and started to sink.
“No!” Gavin moaned as a wave overtook them, pushing them under. Tamsir thrashed back to the surface and gasped for air. He looked around and spotted the Jasig tumbling slowly through the surf towards the shore; their cargo slowly submerging in the surf.
A sinking feeling hit Tamsir in the pit of his stomach. All that contraband they had spent weeks acquiring was gone.
David would have their heads; Gavin wouldn’t be able to talk them out of it this time. Tamsir trod water and swam towards Gavin and Baobacar.
“Are you both ok?”
“I’m fine,” Gavin grunted, a long cut ran along his cheek, and was weeping blood.
Tamsir nodded and looked at his brother who gave him a silent thumbs-up.
“You three! Swim to the boat, attempt anything else and you will be shot!”
Tamsir turned and looked up at the British gunboat that bobbed a few feet away. The two British Marines continued to point their Bren at the three of them.
“Don’t shoot! I’m American!” Gavin shouted.
“Swim to us or be fired upon!”
Tamsir exchanged a glance with Gavin and shook his head. How did this happen? He started to swim towards the gunboat. He had no idea how’d they get out of this. Either the Brits would kill them, or David would.
