Darkest Hour

Chapter 8

They said little as they hurried towards the bridge. It was further than Tanner had appreciated - three-quarters of a mile, at least - and he wished he had asked whether there was a boat at the farm they could use. He also felt a stab of irritation that the Frenchmen had not offered one of their many vehicles to take them the short drive. Christ, they had enough of them. But they were twitchy, that had been clear. The Germans were pushing them back, and retreat sapped confidence - he'd seen it in Norway - like rot setting in. Reversing it was damnably hard.

Commandant du Parc had been expecting the Germans to attack at any moment and Tanner suspected the Frenchman was right. He hoped they still had time to fetch Lyell safely but it was best to be prepared so he had insisted that each of his small rescue party bring plenty of ammunition. Every man was now carrying four Bren magazines as well as at least half a dozen clips of rifle bullets. He had also shoved half a dozen Mills bombs into their haversacks and respirator bags.

'You don't need a sodding gas-mask, Billy,' he had told Ellis. 'Get rid of it and stuff the bag full of ammo instead.'

'I thought this was supposed to be a cinch,' Hepworth had grumbled.

'And so it will be, Hep,' Tanner had replied, patting him on the back. 'Just in case, hey?'

He now noticed that Hepworth, carrying the Bren on his shoulder, was lagging. He trotted back to him, took the machine-gun and slung it over his own shoulder instead. 'Come on, Hep. Stop being such a bloody old woman.'

'I'm still knackered from a five-day march.'

'Did he grumble this much in Norway, Sarge?' asked Ellis.

'He was worse,' said Sykes, whose eyes were on the field where the pilot lay. 'The squadron leader's still up there, Sarge,' he added, as Tanner came alongside him. 'Look.'

Tanner used his spare hand to raise his binoculars. 'He's still lying down, too,' he said, pausing briefly to steady his view. 'Bastard better not be dead.'

At the bridge the French lieutenant ushered them past the sentries, then left them. The lock was deep, perhaps as much as forty feet. Under the bridge there was a kind of gallery from which observers could watch traffic approaching or moving in and out of the lock.

'This'll take some blowing,' said Sykes. 'It's a big old piece of engineering.'

'There's certainly nothing like this on the Rochdale canal,' said Hepworth, unable to resist peering over the rails to the viewing gallery and the water below.

'Move your arse, Hep,' said Tanner.

The five men hurried across. Just beyond the canal lay the original tributary of the river Senne - clearly the Belgian navvies had been unable to widen the river into the shipping canal it had become along the stretch towards Brussels.

They nipped down the bank to a track that ran beside the large turning circle in the canal below the lock, then hurried along it by the water's edge. Tanner led them up the bank and through a meadow to another track beside some farm-workers' cottages. As they reached a thick hedge on the far side, he paused.

'It's the field above, I'm sure,' said Sykes, reading his thoughts.

'Yes - but we need to find a way through this. It's denser than it looked from the other side.' To Tanner's right, the hedge seemed to thicken into a copse, so he led them to the left and, sure enough, at the field's corner found an open gate and a track that led up the side of the meadow. Feeling the sun behind him, he looked through his binoculars again and saw the prostrate pilot a couple of hundred yards ahead, the blue of his uniform trousers just visible through the grass.

'There he is,' he said.

'Is he moving?' asked Sykes.

'No. Come on. Let's go and get him, dead or alive.'

The meadow was already thick with wild flowers - a wet April and a warm first two weeks of May had seen to that. The grass was two foot high in places, Tanner noted, and caught at their feet, making it hard to walk through. It was no wonder they could hardly see Lyell now.

The men were no more than twenty yards from the immobile body when he moved suddenly, pushing himself up on his elbows.

'Jesus, you made me jump,' said Lyell. 'Thank God you're not Germans.'

So he wasn't dead or even dying, thought Tanner. 'Sorry, sir,' he said. 'We've come to rescue you.'

Lyell looked at the blood on his hand and his face twisted with obvious pain. 'I think I've been out cold,' he muttered. 'Only came to a few minutes ago. Christ, my bloody head hurts.'

'We'll get you back to our lines and then an MO can attend to you, sir,' said Tanner.

'How long have I been out?'

Tanner looked at his watch. 'It's just gone five now and we watched you come down about twenty past four. So, that's three-quarters of an hour.' Tanner now stepped up beside him. 'Squadron Leader Lyell, is it just your head or are you hurt anywhere else?'

Lyell looked at him sharply. 'How the devil d'you know my name?'

Tanner pushed his helmet back. 'We met at Manston, sir.'

'You!' exclaimed Lyell. 'What the bloody hell are you doing here? Don't tell me I've survived only to be shot at again by a mad Tommy.'

Tanner couldn't help smiling. 'You're not drunk in charge of a vehicle this time, sir. We're with the rest of the battalion, dug in along the far side of the canal.'

Lyell struggled to suppress a cry of pain. There were beads of sweat and blood on his brow and a dark gash near the top of his forehead. 'My bloody head.'

'Lads, keep your eyes peeled,' said Tanner. Then, with Smailes, he squatted beside Lyell.

Lyell winced. 'I survive Christ knows how many bullets and cannon shells, then hit my head trying to bale out.'

Smailes placed his hands gently around the cut on the squadron leader's head. Immediately he yelled with pain. 'Christ, man! Jesus, aargh! Get your sodding hands off me.'

'I've got to determine what you've done, sir.'

'Isn't it bloody obvious? Just get me out of here.'

'Let me give you some morphine, sir. It'll relieve the pain.'

'Yes,' gasped Lyell, leaning his head back. 'Please do.'

As Smailes took a syringe and a phial from his medical bag, Tanner had a good look round. The meadow was, he guessed, about a dozen acres, lined with hedgerows of varying thickness. There were more meadows at either side and tracks, too, linking them. To the top was the wood they could see from the far bank. How deep it was, or what lay on the other side of the ridge, he had no idea.

Having eased off Lyell's Irvin, Smailes pushed up his sleeve and injected the morphine into his arm.

'Aah,' sighed Lyell.

'All right, Smiler,' said Tanner to Smailes. 'We should try to lift him now and get him to safety. Here, Billy, help Smiler with Squadron Leader Lyell.'

Ellis and Smailes each put an arm round his back and placed his on their shoulders.

'One, two—'

'What's that?' said Tanner, turning his ear to the woods above them.

'Just help me up, will you?' groaned Lyell.

'Sssh! Sorry, sir, but keep quiet a moment, will you?'

He listened again, and then they all heard it. Engines - several of them.

'Sounds like motorbikes to me,' said Sykes, in a hushed tone.

'Exactly,' said Tanner. 'Right. One, two, three - up.' Lyell's silk parachute lay on the ground. 'Leave that,' he said, seeing Lyell glance at it. 'Quick, get him to that hedge at the side of the meadow.'

They hurried over to it, then put Lyell back on the ground.

'Right,' said Tanner. 'Billy and Smiler, can you two carry him on your own?'

'I think so, sir,' said Smailes.

'Good, then give us your ammo and get going, quick as you can make it. If Jerry comes and you don't think you can get across the bridge safely, take cover and wait, but make sure you use the same route we took to get here. Iggery, OK? Stan, Hep, you come with me.'

'Where are we going, Sarge?' asked Hepworth, eyes wide.

'Just a little recce. Here, take the Bren - and no more grumbling.'

Crouching, he led them along the edge of the field. He could still hear the motorcycles, moving around on the hill above them. Instinct told him they were German - after all, the Belgian Army was on the left flank of the BEF, not here, and they'd seen few Belgian civilian motorcycles on the road. As they reached the edge of the wood, he still couldn't see them, but the sound was louder and coming from either side of them - several motorcycles seemed to be moving away to their left and more to their right. Indicating to Sykes and Hepworth to crouch behind an oak each, he paused to look back over the French and British lines. He could see Oisquercq clearly, the bridge intact. Some trucks trundled through the village, the mirror or windscreen of one glinting until it turned out of the direct line of the sun. And there were the farm and the lock. There was no sign of the other three. Good. They're out of the meadow.

'I want to get a better look,' he hissed. 'We'll move forward through these trees, but make sure you keep your ears sharp and your eyes open.'

They pushed on, half crouching, using the trees as cover. The wood floor was a carpet of bluebells. Shafts of sunlight poured through the canopy of oak, beech, birch and spruce. There were a few bushes here and there, bracken and rotten logs or fallen trunks, but otherwise it was easy to move, and, thankfully, soft underfoot.

Tanner now heard more vehicles moving forward, then a voice. It was too distant to make out clearly, but he sensed there was a road or track ahead to their right. He pointed to the direction of the engines, conscious that he could still hear a motorcycle moving away to their left and now almost behind them.

Suddenly he glimpsed something ahead, crouched lower and signalled to the other two to do the same.

'What is it?' whispered Sykes.

'I saw something - a large vehicle, I think,' hissed Tanner. 'There must be a road up there - or a track, at least. Let's move up a bit but make sure you keep your heads down. And no bloody noise.'

The ground ahead rose and then they could see a road bisecting the wood. Along it, engines running, stood a column of German armoured cars and motorbikes.

'Christ, Sarge!' whispered Hepworth. 'What the hell are they doing?'

'I'd say they must be the reconnaissance. Advance guard.' There were four armoured cars, squat four-wheeled vehicles; two had small cannons and machine-guns fitted to the turrets, but on the other two tubing extended from the hull and stretched round the turret.

'Any ideas what those two are about, Stan?' Tanner asked.

'I reckon they must be radio cars, Sarge. Yes, that'll be it.'

'Reporting back.' Tanner stroked his chin. He counted six motorcycles, all with sidecars and a machine-gun attached to them. Two more motorcycles appeared from away to their left, without sidecars. Tanner noticed their riders had rifles slung across their backs.

'Look,' said Tanner. 'See that fallen trunk? Let's try and get to it.' It was another fifty yards or so, thick with ivy. It offered cover and, underneath it, the perfect place from which to observe the enemy.

'Don't you think we've seen enough, Sarge?' said Hepworth, eyes still wide.

Fanner winked. 'No, Hep. We can have some fun here, I reckon.'

'Fun, Sarge?' Hepworth was clearly horror-stricken.

'Think about it, Hep. Our lads are falling back and so are the Frogs. Our job is to hold up Jerry as long as possible to give the rest of the boys as much time as we can to get back to wherever we're going to make a stand. These jokers here are obviously Jerry's advance guard. If Stan's right, they'll be sending radio transmissions back to the main bulk of the German advance, reporting on what they've seen and pinpointing targets, but they can't do that if we put them out of action, can they?'

'And how do we do that?' His face had drained of colour. 'There's only three of us.'

'Yes, but we've got the element of surprise. Look at them - they're having some kind of pow-wow. The last thing they're going to expect is an attack. And we've got the Bren, plenty of rounds, three rifles and a load of grenades. I'm sure we can think of something to do with that lot.'

'And a few other bits and bobs.' Sykes grinned.

Tanner smirked. 'Like what, you sly dog?'

'A couple of tins of safety fuse, two cartons of Nobel's finest, a tin of detonators, and something else I think you might appreciate, Sarge.' He delved into his respirator bag and pulled out a small tin about four inches long.

'What are those?' asked Tanner.

'Mark One time delay switches. You add a detonator to one end and put your detonator into a pack or more of Nobel's. There's a phial you snap that releases some kind of 'orrible corrosive and when it's burned through a thin tube of copper it releases a striker and a spring, and bang - off goes your gelignite.'

'What's the delay?'

'Depends on where you set the strip of copper, fen minutes, half an hour, an hour and a half, and so on. They're new, apparently. I've only got five of them, mind. That's all you get in a tin.'

Tanner shook his head. 'Where on earth did you find this stuff?'

Sykes winked. 'Pinched it from Division sappers back in Tournai. I like having a few explosives about me, these days. Never know when they might come in handy.' He put away the tin. 'Norway taught me that much, Sarge.'

'Why didn't you tell me, Stan? We could have taken twice as much.'

Sykes looked sheepish. 'I thought you were probably in enough trouble, Sarge. No one's watching me particular, you see.'

'You're probably right.'

'I still don't know what we can do, though,' said Hepworth.

'Nor do I yet,' said Tanner. 'Let's get to that tree first. We'll think of something.'

They inched forward, the trees and some thicker foliage, with the engine noise of an armoured car, providing them with cover. At the fallen tree, they lay down on their stomachs. The enemy were about sixty yards away, still deep in conversation. Tanner brought his binoculars to his eyes. Immediately he spotted the officer in charge - different shoulder tabs, jacket, belt and breeches - standing in front of the leading armoured car, one with a gun turret. He didn't think much of the uniform. It was too stiff, too formal - impractical. Another officer's head was poking out of the radio car, headphones over his cap. The rest were other ranks - privates and NCOs - between twenty and thirty in all. He looked back in the direction from which the Germans had evidently come. He couldn't see far, but there was no sign of any others.

'We need some kind of distraction,' he whispered. 'Something to keep them busy while we get round the back and disable those armoured cars.'

'How about setting off a couple of packets of gelignite?' suggested Sykes. 'I could push round a bit, set them for ten minutes, then scarper back here. Then Hep can open up with the Bren and we'll hop in from behind with some grenades.'

Tanner nodded thoughtfully. 'Can't think of a better plan. All right. I'll try to pick off the officers when Hep opens up with the Bren.' He glanced through his binoculars again and saw that the senior officer was now peering towards the sky with his own. Others were also gazing upwards.

'Hello,' he whispered. 'What's going on here?'

Then he heard it. The faint, rhythmic thrum of aero-engines.

'Bombers,' he murmured. The sound of the approaching aircraft grew until it became a roar. Then, glancing up through the canopy, they glimpsed two dozen Stukas and a moment later the first aircraft began its dive, siren wailing, followed by another and another, as each hurtled down towards its target. Amid the screaming sirens and whine of the engines came the whistle of falling bombs and the rattle of machine-guns. The bombs detonated, cracking the air and rippling the ground so that Tanner could feel the vibrations even from where they were, nearly a mile behind. Christ. I hope Smiler and Billy have got Lyell safe.

Sykes nudged him. 'Couldn't have timed it better myself.'

'Get going now,' Tanner told him. 'I'll see you over there, by that big oak.' He pointed to a large tree roughly in line with their present position but behind the enemy column. 'Be as quick as you can.'

Sykes scampered off. Tanner unloaded his Bren magazines and laid them beside Hepworth. He put a hand on the private's shoulder. He liked the lad for all his bellyaching; they'd been through so much together in Norway and he hadn't let Tanner down yet. 'You'll be fine, Hep. When the explosions go off, wait a few seconds, then open fire. Just make sure you knock down as many as you can.'

'All right, Sarge.' He swallowed hard and Tanner saw that his hands were shaking as he moved the spare magazines.

Tanner patted Hepworth's back then set off, half crouching, half running, between the trees until he reached the large oak. There he stopped, put his binoculars in his haversack and took out his Aldis scope, carefully unwrapped it from its cloth, and fitted it to the pads on his rifle. He'd had it zeroed at four hundred yards, but the distance here was way less - maybe seventy. That meant adjusting the range drum and aiming a good deal lower than the main point of impact as indicated by the scope. He moved round the oak, found a cluster of brambles and positioned himself behind it but with enough of a view through the tangle of leaves and stems to pick out the two officers. Both were still watching the Stukas' attack. The bombs had been dropped, but Tanner heard the aircrafts' change of pitch and whine as they swooped and attacked with their machine-guns. He was certain they were targeting the French, rather than the British at Oisquercq and Tubize, but there was no doubt that D Company would be feeling the force of the attack. He hoped they were bearing up, and reminded himself that a soldier properly dug in had only a lucky direct hit to fear. And the enemy would want that bridge intact - they would have been careful where they dropped their loads.

Having reassured himself, he glanced at his watch, then saw Sykes coming towards him. 'How long have we got?'

'Two or three minutes.' He puffed out his cheeks. 'I hate the wait.'

'Got the grenades ready?'

Sykes patted his haversack - he'd undone the straps.

'Good,' said Tanner. 'There's only one way to do this.'

'Run?'

'Yes. There's plenty of trees and it's not far. We should be fine. Let's leave the motorcycles at the back alone, though. I'm going to make straight for those radio cars. You take the rear turreted one.'

'You don't think by sniping you'll make them realize we're behind them?'

'No - with the explosions and with Hep opening fire, they won't be able to tell what the hell's going on.'

The Stuka attack was lessening as aircraft flew away from the fray. The sound of machine-gun fire slackened. Tanner glanced at his watch again. 'Damn it, come on!' he muttered. Anxiety was etched across Sykes's face.

The first time-bomb exploded. Tanner saw the enemy soldiers flinch and brought his aim to the officer, whose head was still just visible among the swathe of men around him. He adjusted the distance, breathed in, held it and squeezed. The shot cracked loud and sharp among the trees, the butt of the rifle pressing back into his shoulder. The officer dropped, spraying blood. At that instant, Hepworth opened fire with the Bren. Sykes had already gone, but Tanner moved his aim to the second officer, who had initially ducked into the turret but had now poked his head out again. It was the last movement he made: Tanner pressed the trigger of his Lee-Enfield a second time.

Breathing out heavily, he took the rifle in his left hand and ran forward. Men were already scattered on the ground. Flitting between the trees, he sprinted forward. Ahead, Sykes was near the first armoured car. Movement - a soldier was hurrying back to the motorcycle and now grabbed the machine-gun. Tanner paused, pulled the rifle to his shoulder, drew back the bolt and fired as the German was swivelling the weapon towards Sykes.

Tanner sped forward. Sykes had clambered onto the back of the first armoured car. A crewman poked his head from the turret and Sykes brought down his rifle butt, jerking the man's head backwards against the circular steel rim. Then, with his teeth, Sykes pulled the pin from the grenade, dropped it inside and jumped away.

'Watch out!' yelled Tanner, as another soldier ran towards them, his pistol pointing from an outstretched arm. The grenade went off, knocking the German off- balance, and Tanner shot him at almost point-blank range, then ran on past, smashed another stunned soldier's head with a short, hard swing of his rifle butt, and leaped onto one of the radio cars as shells and bullets detonated inside the first vehicle. He dropped a grenade into the turret, then swung himself off the metal radio frame as the rear armoured car blew up.

'Bloody hell!' he said, as the blast swept over the radio car and shards of jagged metal clattered against it. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet and ran forward as the second grenade detonated, shrapnel rattling. Ahead, he saw dazed men getting to their feet, so he took another grenade, pulled the pin, hurled it towards them and leaped onto the next radio car. A driver raised his head and a pistol but Tanner ducked and the bullets fizzed uselessly over his head. Cocking his rifle, he stood up and fired, hitting the man in the neck. He went down amid a fountain of blood. As Tanner jumped onto the back of the vehicle, another German appeared round the side, aimed his rifle, then fell backwards with a cry as a rake of bullets from Hepworth's Bren hit him. Tanner threw another grenade into the car, jumped off and realized the Bren had stopped firing.

'Hep!' he shouted, as he crouched by the side of the fourth armoured vehicle. 'Hep! Why have you stopped firing?' With his rifle ready, pulled into his shoulder, he sprang out in front of the car only to meet Sykes with a German pistol in his hand. Ammunition inside the vehicle behind them was going off like fireworks, so they got down, waiting for the next blast.

'There's no one left to shoot, Sarge,' said Sykes. 'Look.'

Bodies were strewn across the road, blood seeping into the grit and dust. The smell, mixed with the pungent stench of explosives, petrol and burning rubber, was sickening, and Tanner's stomach tightened. The motorcycles were ruined. Two were burning, while the others stood awkwardly, riddled with bullet holes. Seven stunned Germans staggered in front of them, their arms raised in surrender. Bullets were still detonating in the armoured car behind them, whistling and pinging as they ricocheted around.

Tanner got to his feet. 'Right,' he said. 'We need to move. We can't be sure this lot were the only recce troops around here.'

'What about the prisoners?' asked Sykes, as Hepworth, eyes wide and disbelieving, came towards them.

Tanner tutted. 'We should probably take them with us.' The lead armoured car was still untouched, save for a few dents from Hepworth's bullets. The tyres were also undamaged. 'We could take this. Make them sit on the outside. One of us can drive, another watch them from the turret and the other ride one of their motorcycles. Check them for weapons, then get them to move this lot off the road. And give them some beadies. Poor bastards've just lost their mates.'

Tanner stepped around the bodies and walked a little way along the track until he could look down to the canal. A thick pall of smoke hung heavily over the French positions and was drifting in front of their own lines, but he could hear vehicles starting up. Then another explosion ripped through the air and he saw the bridge across the lock disappear in an eruption of smoke, dust and debris.

'Bollocks,' he muttered. Then he saw that the bridge at Oisquercq had been blown so that only its stone struts still stood, lonely columns jutting out of the water. Amid the fury of their small battle, he had not heard it go up. He reached for his binoculars. A hole had been blown in the bridge over which they had come; the iron fencing stood bent and twisted. But the gallery directly beneath it, which stood sentinel over the lock, remained intact. He realized that the charges under the structure must have failed and that the crater on the bridge must have been caused by a poorly aimed bomb. He reckoned that any vehicle would struggle to cross it, but they themselves would still get over. Now he let his eyes rest on the farm. The roof of the house had collapsed, rubble and broken tiles heaped in the yard. Behind, a number of vehicles stood burning and broken. There was no sign of life. He lowered his binoculars, then brought them back to his eyes. Yes, there could be no doubting it. Columns of men and vehicles were trailing west. The French were pulling back.

Tanner hurried to the others. 'Hep, work out how to drive this thing,' he said, pointing to the armoured car. 'Stan, get the prisoners onto the front.' He noticed Sykes still held a pistol. 'Got enough bullets for that?'

'Half a dozen clips, Sarge.'

'Good. I'm going to get the bike and have a quick look behind us. Then we'll go.'

He strode past the line of wrecked armoured cars and saw that, despite his intention to save both motorcycles at the back of the column, the first lay on its side, petrol still leaking from its tank. The second looked to be all right, so Tanner sat on it, knocked back the stand and kicked down hard on the starter. The BMW engine roared into life. He gunned the throttle, put it into gear, wheeled round and sped off.

Soon, he had cleared the wood. The road forked north and south, but although there was another large wood half a mile to the south, ahead, looking east, he had a clear line of vision. There was a village a couple of miles off and beyond it the countryside stretched away, softly undulating. He paused to peer through the binoculars. Ahead, in the far distance, he saw a cloud of dust rising. 'The German advance,' he muttered to himself. How far away was it? Ten miles? Fifteen? If he was right, they would reach the river in an hour, maybe two.

At the sound of vehicles he turned. Another column of German armoured cars and motorbikes was emerging from the wood to the south. He waved at them, turned the bike round and sped back.

Drawing up alongside the armoured car, he was relieved to hear the engine ticking over. Sykes was standing half out of the turret. 'There's another recce column half a mile away,' he said. 'Has Hep worked out how to drive that thing?'

'I think so.'

'Good. Head straight down this track - it leads to the canal - and make a lot of noise. We don't want any of our lot shooting at us.'

Sykes shouted at Hepworth. The gears ground noisily and then, with a jerk that nearly jolted several prisoners off the front, the armoured car lurched forward. Slowly - too slowly, thought Tanner - they rumbled out of the wood and down the slope towards the canal. The dust and smoke had now all but gone and Tanner saw ever more clearly the damage done by the Stukas. Craters dotted the far bank and the fields behind the farm. The buildings were more wrecked than he had first appreciated.

As they reached the track along the canal, a shot cracked out from the far bank, then another. Both were wide, but Tanner stopped and waved his arms frantically above his head. 'Don't shoot!' he shouted. 'We're Rangers!'

Then a burst of machine-gun fire came from behind, kicking a line of earth between him and the armoured car. Turning, he saw several motorcycles speeding out of the wood, manned machine-guns in the sidecars.

'Damn it!' said Tanner, and gunned the throttle as another burst of ill-directed fire hissed over his head. 'Stan!' he yelled. 'Get Hep to put his bloody foot down!'

Hepworth did so, and the armoured car was suddenly speeding forward. His steering was wild and as he swerved against the bank of the track, one of the prisoners fell. Tanner nearly lost control as he dodged round the man. He glanced back. For the moment, they had lost their pursuers. Dust and grit were getting into his eyes and he cursed himself for not taking a set of German goggles. On they sped, round the turning circle in the canal, and then they were climbing back up the bank towards the lock.

Hurtling past the armoured car, Tanner skidded to a halt, leaped off the motorcycle and quickly examined the bridge. The damage was far worse than he had originally thought. An ugly crater lay at one end, while large cracks ran down the side and across the gallery. Suddenly, he heard the structure creak as though it might collapse at any moment. If that happened while they were crossing they would all be dead.

'Stan, get Hep out quick!' he shouted.

Sykes motioned to the prisoners to jump off and, with his pistol, led them to the damaged bridge. 'Go on,' he said, waving his arms. 'Cross the bridge. Geht!'

They did as they were ordered, sidling past the crater, as Hepworth jumped down from the armoured car. The bridge groaned again, prompting anxious glances from the prisoners. Tanner looked back down the track. Where were the enemy? Perhaps they feared attack themselves. He turned to Hepworth. 'Go on, Hep!' he said. 'Bloody get your arse over that bridge.'

There were shouts now from the far side and Tanner turned to see Peploe emerge from the trees, urging them to hurry. A moment later a cannon shell whammed into the ground not ten yards from where Tanner was crouching.

'Jesus!' Looking round, he saw an armoured car and several motorcycles on the brow of the hill directly behind them. Another cannon shell hit the side of the armoured car, then a machine-gun sputtered and Tanner ran onto the bridge as bullets kicked into the ground.

'Come on, Sarge!' yelled Sykes, as a Bren opened up from the other bank. Tanner saw him sheltering behind a small brick hut on the far side of the bridge. The prisoners now ran across the open ground between the hut and the safety of the trees. Tanner saw one fall. Another burst of enemy machine-gun fire ripped through the centre of the bridge. Bloody hell, he thought, then took a deep breath and raced over the crater. Immediately another burst chattered, bullets pinging around him. A second Bren opened fire, and rifle shots cracked from the far bank too. Bullets whistled overhead and along the bridge, clattering into the metalwork and concrete and into the murky water in the lock. The bridge groaned again as he sprinted towards the hut, sliding behind it beside Sykes and Hepworth. But it was still another thirty yards to the trees.

'Come on, boys,' muttered Tanner, looking towards the Rangers hidden in the trees, 'keep bloody firing.' He glanced back and saw that the enemy armoured car and motorcycles were now pulling back. Thank God. Several more rifles cracked out and a Bren clattered.

'Looks like Jerry's had enough,' said Sykes. 'Reckon it's safe to make a dash for it?'

Tanner nodded. Sykes went first, then Hepworth, and when he had watched them scurry across the open ground, he made a run for it himself. As he did so, he felt something sear his side. Grimacing as he ran, he gazed up and saw Blackstone, kneeling by a tree towards the canal bank, lowering his rifle.

Anger welled as he ran the last few yards. Then he turned back towards Blackstone, his face set and fists clenched.

A hand on his shoulder. 'Tanner, what in God's name have you been doing?'

It was Peploe. 'We discovered a German reconnaissance unit, sir.' He glanced again to where Blackstone had been but there was no sign of him. 'We destroyed it, sir,' he added. 'Did Billy and Smiler get the squadron leader back all right?'

'Yes - just after the Stuka attack.'

'Good. Did we lose anyone?'

'Three wounded in Eleven Platoon, but otherwise no. Here,' he said, pulling out his hip-flask, 'have a nip of this. Then we need to get back quickly. The battalion's moving out.' As Tanner swigged, he said, 'Your side's bleeding. Christ, what have you done?'

Tanner hitched up his battle-blouse and shirt. The bullet had grazed him, carving a cut two inches long across his side. He had been lucky. 'It's nothing serious, sir,' he said.

'I'm amazed any of you are alive.'

'It was Blackstone who did this, not the Jerries,' said Tanner. 'It happened just now - as I was crossing the open ground between the bridge and the trees.'

'Blackstone? Are you sure?'

'I saw him lowering his rifle.'

'Are you absolutely sure it was him? There were bullets flying everywhere. Any one of them could have hit you.'

Tanner was in no mood to mind what he said to the lieutenant. He had been involved in a hard-fought engagement, had killed a number of men and very nearly been killed himself. Adrenalin still coursed through him. Had Peploe not confronted him, he was certain he would have knocked Blackstone down. Even now, his fists remained clenched and his jaw tight.

'I know it was him, sir,' he told Peploe. 'Oh, it won't stick and I'm sure Captain Barclay would back him to the hilt, but I'll have to watch that man like a bloody hawk.'

'And I'm watching him, too,' said Peploe. 'But my advice is to keep away from him. For both your sakes.'

They hurried through the trees that lined the canal and rejoined the track leading to the farm, past empty slit trenches and abandoned ammunition boxes. Tanner saw a dead North African, his leg twisted back on itself. Bomb craters pockmarked the ground and ripped branches littered it. The air was still thick with lingering smoke and the stench of cordite and burning rubber. It was only half past five - just twenty-five minutes since they had made their attack on the enemy.

Sykes and Hepworth were thirty yards in front and turned now to wait for him. Tanner raised a hand and felt another stab of anger as he spotted Blackstone ahead, with two other men and the prisoners. Claiming them as his own. That bastard. Just as he had feared, he was now fighting two enemies in Belgium - and right now, he knew which one was the more dangerous.