LOUISE SPENT THE NEXT FEW HOURS BELOW DECK. She knew she couldn't stomach the sight of the sea still, so the best thing she could do was hide from it. But her boredom was getting to her once Peter and George left her to her own devices, so she decided to move back outside.

She took a seat on the other side of Mr Dawson, next to Murphy - like before - but she chose to sit a few inches closer to the edge of the boat in case Murphy has another tantrum. Louise could feel Murphy's gaze stuck to her, his gaze scanning across the white bandages around her neck and arms. She didn't need to look at him to see his look of guilty radiating off of him. She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders tightly before having the confidence to look Muprhy in the eye.

Her dark brown orbs locked his with piercing blue eyes. "How're your injuries, Murphy?" She planted her pointed chin in her wrapped palm. Murphy remained silent, only shaking his head slightly as he turned his head away from her and looked forward. Louise scoffed under her breath, turning away to see George sat on the steps leading up to a higher level on the deck, let his neck was twisted to see what had caught Murphy's attention. Louise strained her neck painfully, as she tried to see over George. The large black cloud of smoke in the distance caught her attention immediately.

"Where are we going?" Murphy asked, standing up from his seat to stare up at Mr Dawson.

"Dunkirk," The older man calmly answered, continuing to steer towards the battlefield.

"No, uh, no, no! We're going to England," Murphy protested, his hands wringing the edges of his blanket.

Mr Dawson winced slightly as he recognised the blatant fear settled in Murphy's facial expressions. "We're going to Dunkirk first,"

Murphy began to hyperventilate, his chest rising with every heavy breath he took. "Look, I can't go back! I'm not going back," Murphy begged. "Look at it!" He pointed towards the black smoke. "If we go there, we'll die!" 

Mr Dawson processed his words, looking between Murphy and the smoke that they were nearing. "I see your point, son. Well, let's plot a course," Mr Dawson beckoned George over to the steering rod as the older man guided Murphy below deck.

"Wait!" Louise shouted, yet her loud voice didn't last long as the burns wrapping around her neck stretched painful as she talked. "That's treason! You can't possibly be considering it, right?" Louise bitterly laughed. "You'll really leave all those men to die. Even if you save 5 of them, you're still surviving your country. We can't just turn back and pretend it was too late!"

Murphy shook his head. "You wouldn't understand, love. So just sit down and be quiet,"

Getting angry was common for a hotheaded Louise, but angry didn't even begin to explain how she felt in that very moment. She was furious, frustrated and explosive. Her blood boiled under her skin as she stood from her seat. "I wouldn't understand! I may just be a nurse, mate, but I've seen thousands of soldiers - all bloodied, wounded and close to death - so don't you dare say that I don't understand what waits for us when we get to Dunkirk. My father, my older brother and my cousin were all drafted the day before my birthday. And I have no fucking clue where my sister and sister-in-law are. They were on our ship. They could be dead for all I know. I'm drifting in the middle of my biggest fear. And to top it all off, I was stuck with an inconsiderate bully like you for three whole fucking days. And threw your bloody tea on me, giving me multiple second-degree burns!" Louise seethed bitterly. "So if you seriously think that I will sit back and watch you betray my country and my family, then you have clearly misread me, Murphy."

Mr Dawson sensed Murphy's rigid figure, if he hadn't hurt Louise enough, he knew that Murphy would've slapped her then and there. So the older gentleman quickly directed the soldier below deck so Peter could find him a place to rest.

Mr Dawson came back outside to hear Louise giving an earful to George. "Mr Dawson! You can't seriously -"

"No worries, Miss Davies. We're still going to Dunkirk. I just need him to think differently for now," Louise sighed in relief, sinking back in her seat.

"Is he a coward, Mr Dawson?" George asked the older man.

"He's shell-shocked, George. He's not himself. He may never be himself again," Mr Dawson spoke. Three spitfires began to fly over the boat, close to the sea surface. "Spitfires, George. Greatest planes ever built."

"You didn't even look," George commented as the three planes roared over them. 

Mr Dawson smiled. "Rolls-Royce Merlin engines. The sweetest sound you could hear out here," The older man spoke whimsically.

Peter's blonde head emerged from below deck, his voice hushed. "He wants to come out," he whispered up to his father.

"What have you done? Locked him in?" Mr Dawson spoke in worry and annoyance. "Let him out, for God's sake," All three men walked inside in a hurry, but Louise remained in her seat, her head turning to the rushing sea that went past her. She crossed her forearms over the edge of the boat, resting her sharp chin over her arms as she stared at the dirty blue ocean. She felt her fear of the ocean drift away, similarly to the way the water drifted past the wooden boat. It must've been the amount of time she had spent at sea that caused the anxiety to slip away. 

She heard a small commotion so she turned her head towards where her three saviours were situated. She saw that Murphy had managed to escape the room that Peter had locked him in. "You haven't turned around," Murphy accused, his breath shaking.

Mr Dawson stared at him in disbelief. "No. We have a job to do."

Murphy bitterly chuckled. "Job?! This is a pleasure yacht! You're weekend sailors, not the bloody navy! A man your age?!"

MR Dawson seemed offended. "Men my age dictate this war. Why should we be allowed to send our children to fight it?" 

"You should be at home! She should be at home!" Murphy pointed to Me Dawson then to Louise who simply glared at him. "You should all be at home!"

"Well, there won't be any home if we allow a slaughter across the Channel. There's no hiding from this, son." 

Murphy scoffed, turning to look at the sea briefly. "What is it you think you can do out there, on this thing?"

"There's not just us. A call went out," Mr Dawson explained. "We aren't the only ones to answer, you know."

"You don't even have guns," Murphy exasperated. "You're an old fool. Turn it around. Turn it around!" Murphy yelled at the old man. When Mr Dawson ignored his orders, Murphy pushed his way towards the steering wheel. Louise stood in a panic, moving to stand beside Peter by the doorway, watching the two men fight over the wheel.

Murphy raised his elbow back, hitting Geroge directly in the head, causing the young boy to bash his head against the wall and to fall down the stairs leading below deck. Louise gasped, pushing past the Dawson's who struggled to restrain the angry Murphy.

George was whimpering into his arm as he laid uncomfortably on the wooden floor. Lousie rushed to his side, her hand gently caressing his side. "George? George, are you alright?"

Peter rushed down the stairs, but Louise held her hand to him, stopping him from coming closer. "Is he alright?"

Lousie softly turned George's head towards her even though his protesting. "He's got a gash on his head. Peter, pass me a couple of life jackets and the first aid kit. Quickly!" Peter hurried around the room, getting the things that Louise asked for. "Help me move him over to the bed, Peter," The two struggled to move the wriggling George around the room. Once George was on the hard bed, Louise gently held his head in her head and gestured for Peter to place the jackets under his head. "Alright, George. I'm gonna keep some pressure on your head, ok. There we go,2 Louise spoke to the younger boy. She found out that quickly that speaking through her actions to her patients help distract them from their pain so that's what she always did. "Peter, pass us the first aid kit. You keep that cloth pressed to his head, alright?"

"Like this?" Peter asked nervously, his heart hammering in his chest. Louise looked over his technique, gently moving his hand up slightly to cover a bit more of the wound for him.

"Just like that," Louise nodded, hastily opening the first aid kit on the floor. Her hands rifled through the box quickly. She huffed in annoyance when she couldn't find a medical needle and thread. "Oh, shit," Seh softly mumbled under her breath.

"What is it?!" Peter panicked.

Lousie cursed herself for speaking loudly. "Nothing. Ok, George, I'm going to wrap your head up, ok? We want it tight so it can keep the pressure on it if one of us isn't here with you, ok? Can you hear me, George?" George mumbled a soft yes, causing a smile to twitch onto Louise's lips as she wrapped his head with a white bandage. "Brilliant, George. You're a brave lad. Right, Peter, you take over while I go speak to your father, ok?" Lousie stood up, looking down at her blood-stained hands with distress. "Just keep talking to him. Ask him questions to keep him awake, yeah?"

Peter shifted to replace Louise's spot, his hand keeping pressure on his friend's wound. Lousie moved up the stairs, her eyes immediately fleeting towards a defeated-looking Murphy before she turned to a worried Mr Dawson who kept looking back towards the soldier. "Mr Dawson? You don't happen to have another medical kit on board. The one we have down there doesn't have a needle or thread," she spoke quietly to the man.

Mr Dawson shook his head in annoyance at himself. "No, that's the only we have. Is he bad?" He whispered.

Louise winced slightly. "As long as we can reduce the blood loss, then he could hopefully survive until we get back to London where you can get him into a hospital as soon as possible. But if the cut isn't properly treated, there is a possibility that he might not make it," Louise winced softly. "But I'll do everything I can to keep him with us. I promise you that, Mr Dawson."