Darkest Hour

Chapter 9

They made straight for the station house that for a day had been D Company Headquarters. The slit trenches dug that morning were still manned, but Tanner saw that the men were, once again, ready to march. Primus stoves had been packed away, entrenching tools and bayonets attached to belts and haversacks clipped back onto webbing. As soon as the order was given, the men would sling their rifles and Brens on their shoulders and move out.

Tanner wished he could sit down for a few moments, have a brew and a cigarette to calm himself, but as he paused by 12 Platoon's slit trenches, Peploe said, 'I'm sorry, Tanner, but the OC wants to see you right away. Sykes and Hepworth too.'

Tanner cursed to himself and scowled, unsure that he could trust himself when he next saw Blackstone. Peploe felt in his pocket and pulled out a pale green packet of Woodbines. 'All right,' he said. 'Perhaps there's time for a quick smoke.' He threw the packet to Tanner. 'Here, you chaps, have one of mine.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner, taking one and passing it on to Sykes.

Peploe took a small silver matchbox from his pocket, and lit their cigarettes.

'Nice matchbox, sir,' said Sykes.

'Thank you, Sykes,' said Peploe. 'It was a twenty-first birthday present from my sister. It's damn useful, actually. Never have to worry about matches getting damp.'

Tanner inhaled deeply, then breathed out, a swirling cloud of blue-grey smoke rising into the thickening leaves of the chestnuts beside them. In the fields and woods on the opposite side of the canal, the enemy was no longer anywhere to be seen. He imagined the German reconnaissance troops radioing back the news that the British and French were in retreat again. He wondered whether their efforts in the wood opposite had made any difference. Although it was true that nearly thirty lay dead or wounded and would not fight them again, it was small fry. The main body of the German advance was presumably still ploughing its way towards them. Christ.

'Sergeant?' said Peploe.

Tanner pushed back his tin hat and rubbed his brow. 'Yes, sir,' he said. 'Thank you for that.'

Tanner had calmed considerably by the time they reached Headquarters. The violent rage he had felt towards Blackstone had been replaced by a more controlled anger, so that when he was ushered round the back of the station house to be grilled by Barclay, he was able to keep any murderous thoughts in check.

To his relief, there was no sign of Blackstone, but he was surprised to see Squadron Leader Lyell sitting beneath the oak tree behind the house, his head bound with a wad and bandage.

'Ah, my rescuer, the gallant sergeant,' said Lyell, his words slurred with morphine, 'or, rather, the man who buggered off and left us to be bombed to hell by Stukas.'

'I thought you'd been taken to the battalion MO, sir.'

'Well, he should have been, Sergeant,' said Captain Barclay, emerging from the house, 'but there's been a slight breakdown in communications. Ten Platoon have gone with the truck to Oisquercq. They're leaving slightly ahead of us with the rest of the battalion. Charlie - er, Squadron Leader Lyell was supposed to go with them.'

'I'm glad I'm not in the Army,' said Lyell. 'You lot always seem to be leaving each other behind.'

'It makes little odds,' snapped Barclay. 'We'll be rendezvousing with the rest of the battalion later tonight. We'll just have to carry you until then. It's not far.'

'Where is it, sir?'

Barclay pulled out a crumpled map. 'Er . . . here,' he said, holding it against the grassy bank beside the house and pointing to a wooded area some four miles west. 'Bois de Neppe. Orders from Battalion are for us to meet there at nineteen thirty hours.'

Tanner looked at his watch. It was nearly six o'clock already.

The OC read Tanner's thoughts. 'So we need to get going, smartish.'

'Yes, sir.' He saluted and made to leave, but Barclay stopped him.

'Hold on a moment, Sergeant. There's still time for you to tell me briefly what the bloody hell's been going on. Your orders were to rescue Squadron Leader Lyell yet you disappeared with two of your men and left Ellis and Smailes to get him back on their own. Lucky for you that they made it in one piece.'

'With respect, sir, the Stuka attack would have happened whether I was with them or not. I didn't leave Squadron Leader Lyell until I knew he was alive and that Smailes and Ellis could manage his injuries. But I heard enemy troops a short distance above us, sir, and was worried they might hinder our efforts to get the squadron leader back. I took Hepworth and Sykes with me to investigate.'

'Sergeant Tanner and his men discovered part of a German reconnaissance battalion, sir,' said Peploe.

'Four armoured cars and eight motorcycles. They were reporting our movements by radio and, I think, had been marking targets for the Stukas.'

'Sergeant Tanner and his two men destroyed them, sir,' added Peploe.

'Destroyed them? How on earth could three of you have done that?'

'We surprised them, sir. Surprise is a great advantage,' he said, then added hastily, 'as you know, sir. And they were distracted by the Stukas. Hepworth here cut most of them down with the Bren while Sykes and I crept behind them and disabled the armoured cars with grenades. We captured seven prisoners, but we lost one trying to make it back.'

'That was certainly good work, Sergeant. Captain Wrightson has taken them to Battalion HQ with Ten Platoon.'

'So you managed to get the prisoners to Battalion but not me,' muttered Lyell. 'Nice to know I'm lower in the pecking order than some bloody captured Huns.'

Barclay sighed. 'For God's sake,' he said, through gritted teeth, 'be thankful you're still alive and not being carted off to some German prison camp.' He turned back to Tanner. 'Go on, Sergeant.'

'I also took the chance to have a bit of a dekko, sir. I took one of the bikes to the far side of the ridge and saw the Germans in the distance. At the time, I reckoned they were twelve to fifteen miles away. They'll reach the canal by nightfall.'

Barclay swallowed. 'Right. I see.' He patted his pockets and took out his pipe.

'And, sir, I’d like you to know that Corporal Sykes and Private Hepworth performed well. Sykes alone destroyed an armoured car and Hepworth accounted for at least fifteen enemy.'

'Really? By Jove! All right, Tanner. Thank you. Duly noted. And, er, well done.'

Blackstone joined them from the back of the house. 'Sir, we really should be going. We've been held up long enough as it is.'

'Yes, all right, CSM,' said Barclay, without moving. 'Your old friend here has been performing heroics. How many dead was it, Sergeant?'

Tanner shrugged. 'Wouldn't like to say, sir.'

'About thirty, sir,' said Sykes.

Blackstone's eyes were unblinking. 'Well done, lads. Well done. We saw these boys hurtling down the hill, didn't we, Mr Peploe?' he said. 'At first we thought they were Jerries gone mad, then we heard your shouting and hurried to the bridge.'

'Another part of the enemy reconnaissance battalion opened fire on us, sir,' said Tanner.

'But you made it back,' said Barclay.

Blackstone grinned. 'Touch and go, though, wasn't it, sir?' he said, to Peploe. 'Bullets flying everywhere.'

'I was hit by one.' Tanner glared at Blackstone.

The CSM patted him on the back. 'But you're all right, aren't you, Jack?'

'I was lucky.'

'There!' exclaimed Blackstone. 'Haven't I always said so?' He smiled affably, took out a packet of cigarettes and held it open to them. Hepworth took one eagerly, but Tanner and Sykes ignored the offer. Instead, Tanner saluted Barclay again, then turned sharply and brushed past the CSM.

Soon after the company set off, two platoons and Company Headquarters - seventy-nine men in all. They marched, 12 Platoon following 11, along a dusty, unmetalled road, their backs now to the advancing enemy.

Lieutenant Peploe was walking beside Tanner. 'Still no sign. Hard to believe that less than an hour ago Germans were shooting at us down by the bridge.'

'They'll be up there somewhere,' said Tanner. 'All these woods make damn good cover. We've got a bit of time, though. Jerry can't get across the canal without bridges, so their sappers'll be busy tonight.'

'You think they'll be over by morning?'

Tanner shrugged. 'I reckon so.'

'We don't want to be long at the rendezvous, then.'

'No. I don't suppose we've been told where we'll make the next stand, but the sooner we get there the better. A bit of scoff in that wood and then a long night march, I reckon.'

'What about your wound?'

'Hardly a wound, sir. I've put a dressing on it. I'll have to get my housewife out, though, and sew up my shirt and battle-blouse. Don't suppose we'll be seeing too much of our kitbags in the next few days so what I've got has to last.'

They passed through another small village, as deserted as the others. In the fields, more cows lowed painfully, their udders swollen with milk. Tanner saw one cow already dead, its legs sticking up stiffly into the air, its body rigid and bloated. Two dogs barked and snarled as they passed until a soldier kicked one, and they scuttled away. An elderly woman was watching from a window. A few days before she would have seen British troops marching to the front, Tanner thought. Now they were marching back. What must she be thinking, left alone, her neighbours gone, the Germans just a few miles away?

He wondered whether they would really manage to reverse the retreat. All the momentum was with the enemy now - that was obvious - but he had also heard that the French Army was massive. Chevannes, a French officer in Norway, had boasted about that, and how they had more tanks and guns than the British and the Germans put together. The French had been caught off- guard but surely they would regroup, concentrate their forces, now that they knew the direction of the German advance, and fight back? He remembered his father telling him that something similar had happened at the beginning of the last war - a swift opening attack by the Germans that had taken everyone by surprise but was eventually halted.

Tanner stepped out of line to check his men were all

still present and in good order. Company Headquarters led, followed by three sections of ten men, the last led by Corporal Sykes. He waited until the last two in Sykes's section - Hepworth and Rhodes - reached him, then continued alongside them. 'All right?' he asked.

'I suppose so, Sarge,' said Hepworth. 'I'm sick of all this marching, though. It's all we ever seem to do in the Army.'

'What are you talking about. Hep?' said Tanner. 'Wasn't that enough action for you this afternoon?'

'More than enough.'

'We'll be in that wood soon. Get some scoff. You'll feel better after that.'

The column crossed a railway line, the men climbing up the small embankment and over the rails.

'Sarge,' said Rhodes, as they cleared the line, 'is it true you used to know the CSM out in India?'

'Yes, it is. Why?'

'A few of the others had said so. Just thought I'd find out for myself.'

'Well, now you know.'

'Don't take this the wrong way, Sarge,' said Hepworth, 'but do you and the CSM not get on?'

'What makes you say that, Private?'

'You didn't have that smoke he offered you.'

'I'd had one a few minutes before. So had Corporal Sykes.'

'So had I,' said Hepworth.

'Well, you shouldn't have taken it, then. Doesn't do you any good, you know, smoking too much.'

'Well, I think he's all right, the CSM,' continued Hepworth. 'Seems like a good bloke.'

'Aye,' agreed Rhodes. 'He's certainly a lot better than the bastard we had at training. I hated him good and proper.'

'But am I right, Sarge?' persisted Hepworth. 'About you and Blackie not getting on?'

'It's CSM Blackstone to you,' said Tanner, 'and whatever I think of him is none of your bloody business.'

It was nearly eight o'clock by the time they reached the wood, and the light was fading. Eyes had adjusted to it out on the open road, but under the canopy of the trees, now almost in full leaf, it was suddenly dark - and quiet.

The track led straight through the wood, but a few hundred yards in, with no sign of the battalion, Tanner felt uneasy. He was not alone.

'Where the hell are they?' said Peploe, in a low voice. 'Surely we'd have seen something by now. This wood seems completely deserted.'

'You're right, sir. Even if it's a pretty big one, you'd expect sentries watching the road and looking out for any movement from the east.'

As they reached a fork in the road, Captain Barclay called a halt.

'Come on,' said Peploe. 'Let's find out what the bloody hell is going on.'

They found Captain Barclay with Blackstone and Lieutenant Bourne-Arton of 11 Platoon, studying tracks on the road. The compacted earth, under the canopy of the trees, was still damp rather than dry dust, and there were clear signs of carrier tracks, tyre marks and even footprints.

There was also a three-way signpost, pointing to Virginal-Samme in the direction they had come and, at the fork, to Oisquercq. Ahead, it pointed to Rebecq, just a kilometre away.

'Troops have passed through here, all right,' said Barclay.

The man was a genius, thought Tanner. He walked forward, down the track ahead of them.

'Where are you going, Sergeant?' Barclay called after him.

'I'm looking to see if these tracks move off the road, sir.' He trotted fifty yards, saw nothing, then hurried back. 'If we keep going through the wood towards Rebecq, we'll soon find out whether they've stopped or moved on.'

'State the bleeding obvious, Jack,' said Blackstone. Tanner could see he was seething.

'When did the message come through that this was the rendezvous, sir?' asked Peploe.

'CSM? When was it?' said Barclay.

'About seventeen thirty.'

'And when was the field telephone packed up?' asked Tanner.

Captain Barclay turned to Blackstone.

'Don't look at me, sir. I was at the bridge. But a runner would have been sent if the orders were changed - it's probably some cock-up at Battalion. It's eight o'clock, though, sir. Half an hour after we were supposed to meet them here. I did try and hurry up earlier.'

Captain Barclay seemed about to reply but instead he sighed. Smoothing his moustache, he said, 'Right, let's get moving. We head for Rebecq and hope we catch up with them soon.'

Tanner watched Blackstone go back to the men. He saw the CSM mutter something to several troops from Company Headquarters, then furtive glances at the OC. One of the men was the quartermaster sergeant, Ted

Slater, a man Tanner had barely spoken to since Manston, but someone he had been keeping an eye on. Slater's limp had gone - in fact, there had been no sign of it ever since they had reached France - but Tanner had not forgotten Torwinski, or the other Poles, or that he and Sykes had nearly been burned alive. He was still not certain who had been responsible - the evidence was so maddeningly inconclusive. Damn it, if he was honest, now that he could think a little more calmly, he couldn't swear it had been Blackstone who had shot him on the bridge after all. Suspected it, yes, but the lieutenant had been right - there had been a lot of bullets flying. Nonetheless, Blackstone and Slater were friends, and as a consequence he neither liked nor trusted the quartermaster sergeant. Both men would have to be watched like hawks. As if there isn't enough to think about, he thought.

'What do you reckon has happened?' Peploe asked Tanner, as they rejoined the platoon.

'Orders probably changed.'

'And we didn't get them?'

'No, sir.'

'I suppose we just have to hope they're in Rebecq.'

'We need to stop whether the battalion's there or not, sir,' Tanner replied. 'The men need food.'

'Yes, of course,' said Peploe. 'I'd rather got used to B Echelon following us around.'

'If B Echelon isn't there, sir, we'll have to find something for ourselves.'

B Echelon was not in Rebecq, and neither were any other men of 1st Battalion, the Yorkshire Rangers. A large village, it was eerily quiet as D Company tramped down the main street. At the church they halted, and on Captain Barclay's instructions, Blackstone ordered the men to fall out. Immediately, the disciplined lines of three small columns crumpled as soldiers collapsed on the side of the road, some pulling out cigarettes, others taking thirsty swigs from their water-bottles.

'We'll hammer on the houses round about the church,' said Barclay, as the officers and senior NCOs gathered beside him. 'Peploe, we need your French again.'

While Peploe went across the street and started knocking on doors, Tanner ambled back to the platoon. Most of the men were now sitting beneath a wall by the side of the road. His side was hurting, an irritating, stinging pain, and his head had begun to throb. Too much smoke and cordite combined with fatigue.

He winced as he stood beside Sykes.

'How's the side, Sarge?' Sykes asked him.

'All right.'

'So where the hell is the rest of the battalion?'

'We're just trying to find out. Mr Peploe's putting that French of his to good use again.'

'When are we going to get some grub, Sarge?' said Bell. 'I'm starving.'

'Me an' all,' said Hepworth. 'I don't think I felt this hungry even in Norway.'

'Course you bloody did,' said Sykes. 'That was loads worse. Stop thinking about it, Hep. Think about lovely French and Belgian birds instead.'

'There's none here,' said Kershaw, another survivor of the 5th Battalion. 'They've all buggered off and I don't fancy that old dear over there.' He nodded in the direction of the elderly couple Lieutenant Peploe was now talking with on the other side of the square by the church.

'Use your imagination,' said Sykes. 'You have got one, ain't you, Hep?'

'That's what you do, is it, Corp?' said McAllister. 'Think about girls?'

'Always - that and how I can screw a few more quid out of you, Mac.'

They all laughed, Tanner too.

'We'll get some grub soon, I hope,' he told them. He saw Peploe striding back towards the church. 'Hang on. I'll try and find out now.' He turned towards Peploe as the lieutenant approached them. 'Sir?'

'They said they saw hundreds of men go through a short while ago,' said Peploe as he reached them, 'some in carriers and lorries, others on foot. The last went through a little over half an hour ago. Apparently they were heading towards Steenkerque.' He unfolded Captain Barclay's map and pointed to a small village a few miles to the south-west of Rebecq.

'South-west? Were they sure?' said Barclay.

'Positive,' said Peploe. 'I questioned that as well.'

'Well, that's just marvellous,' said Squadron Leader Lyell, sitting on the lychgate bench. 'Bravo, Hector. First class.'

'Put a bloody sock in it, Charlie,' said Barclay.

'For God's sake,' continued Lyell. 'All that time you were fannying about, listening to Tanner's tales of derring-do, when if you'd just got everyone going we would have reached the rendezvous on time and we wouldn't be in this mess.'

'Will you damn well be quiet?' said Barclay, turning on his brother-in-law. 'I will not have you undermine my authority. You're not with your squadron now, you're with us, and you'll bloody well keep quiet or else I'll leave you here by the side of the road and the Germans can have you instead.' His cheeks had flushed, Tanner noticed, and he was blinking rapidly, as he tried to regain his composure. 'In any case,' he said, now peering intently at the map, 'it's perfectly clear that the orders must have changed. I don't know why, but we didn't receive them.'

Lyell muttered in exasperation, then said, 'So what do you suggest we do?'

'They're only three-quarters of an hour ahead. It's getting dark, but there's light enough to march by. We'll keep going as quickly as we can. Hopefully, they've stopped for the night already and we'll catch them up. The men will just have to wait for their supper.'

But at Steenkerque there was no sign of the battalion; neither had the villagers seen any British troops passing through in the past few hours. There had been some French colonial troops, but that was all.

On the far side of the village, they halted at a farm. Several dogs stood a short distance away from them, barking protectively at the strange figures of the soldiers. It was now coming up to ten o'clock and completely dark, the only light coming from a half-moon and the stars that twinkled amid patchy cloud. And it was cool, now, too, the air damp and fragrant with the smell of uncut hay and dusty soil. Standing by the farm's entrance, Tanner breathed in deeply, remembering the sweet early-summer smell from his boyhood.

A voice yelled at the dogs, then a door opened releasing a thin shaft of light. A man called. Once again, it was left to Lieutenant Peploe to do the talking. He and Captain Barclay approached the farmer; a brief conversation ensued, then both men were ushered into the house.

Of course, the farmer had no choice in the matter - what could he do to stop two platoons of British soldiers who demanded to be fed? - but, as Peploe confided to Tanner a little later, Monsieur Selage was a fierce patriot, hated Germans and seemed only too happy to help his allies, the British, providing cheese, eggs and a number of chickens.

'You've done well, sir,' said Tanner, as they stood in the yard as men from each section collected their makeshift rations. 'That lot should fill a hole.'

'It's only one chicken per ten men, but better than nothing. Mind you, I hope they cook them properly in the dark. Last thing we need now is everyone getting sick from eating raw chicken.'

Someone coughed behind them, and they turned to see Corporal Wallis from Company Headquarters.

'Excuse me, sir,' he said, 'but the OC wants you and Sergeant Tanner in the house.'

'All right,' said Peploe.

They followed him into the kitchen where Captain Barclay, Blackstone, Lieutenant Bourne-Arton and Sergeant Seaton of 11 Platoon were already standing around an old pine table. Squadron Leader Lyell was resting on a cushioned window-seat, while the farmer and, Tanner assumed, his wife stood at the range, attending to some food.

'Ah, there you are,' said Barclay, as they entered. 'I've been thinking about what we should do.'

Tanner caught Peploe's attention, then nodded towards the farmer and his wife.

'Sir?' said Peploe. 'Don't you think we should have this conversation in private?'

'Eh?' said Barclay. 'It's all right - they don't understand English.'

'I speak a little,' said the woman.

'Oh,' said Barclay, straightening.

'For God's.sake,' muttered Lyell.

Flustered, Barclay said to the woman, 'Er, would you mind awfully leaving us for a few minutes?'

She tugged at her husband's sleeve and the two left the room. Then, clearing his throat, Barclay spread the map upon the table. 'Right. God knows where the rest of Battalion have gone. Must have turned off somewhere along here, I suppose.' He pointed to the road between Rebecq and Steenkerque.

'Whatever, Hector,' said Lyell. 'We've lost them. That's the point.'

'Yes,' said Barclay. 'And, frankly, I don't think we can bank on finding them again now. Maybe we will - you never know - but from now on, we've got to think and act for ourselves.'

'Then we head due west, sir,' said Blackstone. 'If we don't bump into the rest of the battalion, we'll probably meet some other British troops. It's a general retreat, after all.'

'Yes, but we don't know where we're retreating to, CSM,' said Barclay. 'Could be south, could be north.' He cleared his throat again. 'But we do know where BEF Headquarters is.' He looked up at the others. 'Arras. I hardly think the Germans will overrun that before we can get there.'

'Arras? But how far's that?' said Blackstone.

'Hundred miles at the most.'

'Why don't we work it out on the map, sir?' suggested Peploe.

Barclay looked at them sheepishly. 'I haven't one - not of that area, at any rate. I'm afraid Captain Wrightson has the maps we used to get here.'

'Now I've heard it all,' said Lyell. He'd done nothing but whine ever since they'd picked him up, Tanner thought, and had they not bothered in the first place, they wouldn't have lost contact with the rest of the battalion. He couldn't understand why the captain wasn't firmer with the man.

'I thought we could ask the farmer if he had a map,' said Barclay, his unlit pipe sticking from the side of his mouth.

'Jesus wept,' said Lyell. 'I've got one.' He delved into the inside pocket of his tunic, took out a crumpled map of Belgium and northern France and handed it to Lieutenant Bourne-Arton.

Everyone gathered round as Barclay spread it out across the table. 'Less than a hundred miles,' said Barclay. 'More like seventy or so. We'll head towards Mons, then Douai and Arras. Agreed?'

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Blackstone said, 'If you say so, sir.'

'Good,' said Barclay, trying to brighten. 'We can't afford to stop for the night - we can rest up at some point tomorrow. I suggest we aim to be on the road again at, say, midnight. All right?'

Tanner left Peploe and the other officers in the farmhouse and went out into the yard to find the platoon. He only had to follow his nose, and headed through a gate at the end of the yard into a pasture that led to the river. Dim lights flickered ahead of him - from torches, from the low paraffin flames of stoves and the glowing red ends of cigarettes. The smell of chicken and eggs, frying in mess tins, wafted into the still night air, blending with the dewy damp of the meadow and the whiff of tobacco smoke.

He found Sykes's section standing or squatting around a Primus stove by an ageing willow on the riverbank.

'So what are we doing?' Sykes asked.

'Keep going tonight.'

'Thought as much. Where are we headed?'

'BEF Headquarters at Arras.'

'Jesus,' said McAllister. 'If you ask me, Sarge, that captain doesn't know his arse from his elbow.'

'That's enough, Mac.'

'It's true, though, sir.'

'I said, that's enough.'

'I'm only saying what everyone thinks. We had the whole battalion not half a mile away and we've managed to lose them.' Bell and Kershaw nodded in agreement. 'One of the lads in Company HQ said that the CSM told the captain we should have all gone to Oisquercq with Ten Platoon and those Jerry prisoners. If you ask me, Captain Barclay should have listened to him.'

Tanner leaned down, grabbed McAllister's collar and yanked him to his feet. 'I'm not asking you,' he said. 'Now listen to me, Mac, were you at Company Headquarters this afternoon? No. Did you hear the orders that were sent to us by Battalion? No, you didn't. Should you listen to idle tittle-tattle? No, you bloody well shouldn't. You're a sodding lance-corporal now, Mac. Start bloody well acting like one, and use your brain rather than your backside.'

Tanner dropped him back to the ground. 'And that goes for all of you,' he said, looking around the men. 'You're soldiers, not bloody schoolboys, so less of the mithering. What's happened has happened. We head in the direction of Arras. Hopefully we'll find some Tommies on the way and they can tell us whether we're supposed to be somewhere else. Now, let's get some grub inside us.'

There was, Tanner knew, something in what McAllister had said - Captain Barclay was a fool - but poisoning the rest of the company against the OC, as Blackstone was doing, was unforgivable. He had seen officers lose the respect and control of their men and it was painful to witness. But while in peacetime such a thing was unfortunate, in wartime it could be very dangerous indeed. Discipline, not dissent, was the best antidote to any crisis. That sodding bastard, he thought.