Page 78 of Never Tear Us Apart

Chapter Seventy-Five

The sky blackens with the swarm of bombers, all focused on the harbour.

Everything is noise; all my five senses are assaulted by it, a cacophony of violence so enormously loud that it makes tears stream down my face as I run.

It opens up the ground around me in a series of craters that seem to come from below somehow.

It topples buildings into vicious stone splinters and makes every step I take one into the unknown.

Still, I press on with only one thought in my mind: I cannot fail.

The closer I get to the airfield, the more intense the bombardment is. The enemy is targeting the planes on the ground as well, doing their best to churn up the landing strip so badly that it makes it impossible for the Spitfires to take off or land.

I am utterly alone out here and still more than twenty minutes away from Luqa, probably thirty. The impossibility of the task I have been so confident of achieving hits me hard. I can’t make it on time. I will die here.

That will be the footnote of my life found at the bottom of a page. The world is ripping itself apart around me. Everywhere I look, I see fire; every breath I take is full of burning oil and dense smoke. I’m tired – I’m so tired – and I know I can’t make it now.

Except that I must. I don’t care what logic and reason might tell me. Logic and reason have no place in my heart in this moment. I will get there in time; I refuse to allow any other outcome.

So, there’s no time to stop, no time to take in this vision of hell or the dangers I am clawing my way through. I must keep going.

Then something cuts through the noise, a thin high screech. Even though it’s muted by the noise of war, it still raises hairs on my arms. In the next second, I am knocked off my feet by the force of another body. Sprawling onto the sharp rubble, my palms skid through fragmented debris.

Before I can turn to see who has attacked me, a punch detonates in my face. For a second, everything goes black – then reality roars in again, and it’s worse than I could ever have feared.

I see Nicco bearing down on me. Blood runs down his face; his eyes are red with fury; his balled fists smash into my ribs, one after another on repeat. I don’t know how he got out or why he’s here. All I know as I feel my bones crunch and my organs bruise is that he will kill me.

‘No!’ I shout into his face, feeling the word vibrate in my chest. Frantically, I try to push him off me, scratching at his wrists and face.

Nicco catches both my wrists with one hand, pressing them into the ground. I can feel the fragile bones in my hands bow and splinter.

His mouth contorts with furious, hate-filled words that I can’t hear; spittle from his tirade sprays in my face. As I turn away, his hand gropes for something – then he finds it. He picks up a large rock, some piece of masonry that is more than heavy enough to cave my head in.

Anger burns through me in a wild inferno. No! No, I will not die like this. I will make it to the airfield in time.

With all that’s left of my strength, I twist and buck, just enough to unbalance him a little.

In that one second, I wrench my wrist free and, sitting up, punch my elbows into his throat.

It’s not enough to really hurt him, but it gives me enough time to crawl from under him and to scramble to my feet.

Then we stand opposite one another, the world burning around us. The sun is blotted out entirely. He stands in the way of where I have to go.

Nicco rushes at me, the rock held high, ready to strike. All I can do is run at him, shoulder first. He is stronger than me, but he is not a tall man, and when we meet, my shoulder hits him dead centre in his chest. He swings the rock at me but misses.

I try to run past him and as I do, he falls.

I keep running, hoping to gain some earth.

A fighter swoops down, machine gunfire strafes the ground, a thousand tiny explosions surround me.

I fall to the ground, hands over my head.

The sound of the fighter recedes, and I turn over.

Scratches but no injuries. Then I remember, where is Nicco?

When I turn to look, he is lying prone on the ground. Maybe he is dead, maybe unconscious. I don’t know. I could go back, but I don’t.

This is war.