Last Men Out

Looking back over the stern of the boat, my eye just above the rail, I can see that the men have been moved from the mole. All that remains is a German machine gun squad setting up to fire on us.

Please, either hit me with a bullet or allow me to stop pedaling; I cannot keep going!

We’re about 60 meters out now. Gentle waves carry us out with the morning tide. I can tell that others are suffering from sore muscles too because the speed at which the pedals are moving begins to slow.

“Keep going, Keep going!” another man yells.

We’re all pushing as hard as we can.

The burn is worse than spilling acid on my thighs. When can it end?

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