Rescuing the RAF Man

In the bar in Bray Dunes, a mob of soldiers cornered a terrified RAF man, holding him accountable for the Luftwaffe's freedom of the skies and every Stuka attack. The man, a wiry little fellow with thick, unclean lenses in his glasses, looked like a filing clerk or a telephone operator. He made no attempt to deny his responsibility for the absence of Spitfires and Hurricanes over the beach. A globule of spittle hit the back of his head and fell behind his ear. An artilleryman gave him a hard push in the back, and a hand whipped out and slapped his face, knocking his glasses to the floor. A kick from a steel-capped army boot caught him on the backside, lifting him an inch or two. Someone stubbed a cigarette on his head. The mob's hatred was righteous and escalating; a Welshman from the sappers produced a belt of canvas webbing, suggesting horrors Turner could not immediately grasp. The RAF man's silence seemed like collusion in his fate, and Turner knew that if he did nothing, the single blow would become a cascade, and there would be no turning back.

Mace's Intervention

Just as the situation was about to turn lethal, Corporal Mace barged through the crowd into the circle with a wild hollering yodeling sound, like Johnny Weissmuller's Tarzan. He picked up the clerk from behind in a bear hug, lifting him eighteen inches clear of the ground, and shook the terrified creature from side to side. There were cheers and whistles, foot-stamping and Wild West whoops. Mace boomed, "I know what I want to do with him. I want to drown him in the bloody sea!" This provoked another storm of hooting and stamping. Not everyone was in favor of the drowning idea; the Welshman in particular felt cheated, holding up his webbing and shouting. Still holding his victim in his arms, Mace rushed for the door. Turner and Nettle were ahead of him, making a path through the crowd. When they reached the entrance, they let Mace through, then blocked the way, shoulder to shoulder, shouting and shaking their fists like the rest.

The Escape

Mace ran, not toward the sea, but sharp left, and left again, up a narrow street that curved behind the shops and bars, away from the front. The exultant crowd exploded from the bar like champagne, hurling Turner and Nettle aside. Someone thought he saw Mace down on the sands, and for half a minute the crowd went that way. By the time the mistake was realized and the crowd began to turn back, there was no sign of Mace and his man. Turner and Nettle had melted away too. The vast beach, the thousands waiting on it, and the sea empty of boats returned the Tommies to their predicament. They emerged from a dream. The RAF man was forgotten.

Aftermath and Significance

Turner and Nettle later set out to look for Mace, wanting to congratulate him on the rescue and share the joke of it, but they never found him. The rescue was a rare act of decisive, selfless courage in the midst of the rout, a moment when the mob's righteous fury was outwitted by a single man's quick thinking and physical strength. It also highlighted the deep bitterness and scapegoating among the defeated soldiers, who needed someone to blame for their suffering. The incident left Turner and Nettle to continue their journey toward the beach alone, and the memory of Mace's bravery and the mob's savagery stayed with them.