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Operation Pied Piper
By
Darryl Martel
On the morning of September 1st, over a million children gathered at train stations across Britain, small hands gripping suitcases and gas masks, name tags pinned to their coats. Mothers knelt down, straightening collars, whispering reassurances they weren't sure were true. Fathers stood stiffly, hiding their emotions behind stern nods and tight handshakes.
Alice and Rose Thompson stood among them, two sisters holding hands so tightly their fingers ached.
Alice, eleven, felt the responsibility of being the older sister like never before. She kept her chin high, her blue eyes scanning the crowded station, taking in the weeping mothers, the officials with their clipboards, the children waving goodbye as if they were simply going on a school trip.
Rose, nine, gripped her suitcase, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to be brave, like Alice. She wanted to pretend this was an adventure. But her stomach churned, her legs felt unsteady.
Their mother crouched before them, smoothing Rose's dark curls, holding Alice's face in her hands.
"Stay together," she whispered. "No matter what."
Their father placed a firm hand on Alice's shoulder. "Look after each other. And write, every week."
The train whistle blew.
It was time.
Tears fell, but there was no time to wipe them away. No time for long goodbyes. The war did not wait for sentiment.
And so, Alice and Rose climbed aboard, pressing their hands to the window as the train pulled away, watching as their parents grew smaller and smaller until they disappeared entirely.
They had been promised they would stay together.
They believed that promise.
But promises, like cities, could be shattered.
And as the train carried them farther from home, neither sister knew that this journey would change everything.
