Darkest Hour

Chapter 15

It was not until around seven the following morning, Tuesday, 21 May, that General Lord Gort learned that the French would not be attacking simultaneously with Frankforce. It was Captain de Vogue who rang Major- General Pownall to break the news. Shortly afterwards the liaison officer at General Billotte's headquarters, Major Archdale, confirmed the French decision.

'I'm sorry, my lord, but all they can spare is Third DLM and a few Somua tanks,' said Pownall, from the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of the commander- in-chief's desk that he had spent so many hours on since their move to Wahagnies. He yawned. 'Excuse me,' he muttered. Outside, it was warm already. The morning mist was lifting, the haze in the garden suffused with a promising brightness.

'Here,' said Gort, irritation in his voice. 'Have some coffee.' He stood up and leaned across his desk to the wooden tray on which stood a coffee pot and the remains of a light breakfast. He poured his chief-of-staff

a cup, then said, 'So Altmayer's cracking up, too, is he?'

'Says his men are exhausted and in no position to fight today. Tomorrow is the earliest they could join us.'

'It'll be too damn late by then. You've read the latest sitrep?'

Pownall nodded. 'The Germans have reached Abbeville.'

'And Billotte agrees with Blanchard and Altmayer?'

'According to Archdale, Billotte's been spending his time agonizing over whether a fuel dump should be blown up rather than organizing any counter-attack. And he's moved his HQ to Bethune, which has taken time and caused communication problems. Archdale thinks Billotte's losing his marbles entirely.'

'The devil!' Gort thumped his fist on the table. 'Now's the time to strike - now! It's only the Hun cavalry that's been sending us reeling. The main bulk of the German Army is still miles behind. A big effort today and we slice the head of the German advance from the body. Delay, and the rest will catch up. Then it'll be too late.' He shook his head. 'At least One and Three Corps are holding their line, but let's face it, Henry, if the Germans reach the coast, our lines of supply are going to be buggered. What's the food and ammunition situation?'

'Ammunition isn't critical yet, but food's getting short. We've only another two and a half days at current rates.'

'It's impossible,' he muttered, then added, 'Let's hope General Weygand's got a good plan up his sleeve. How are we getting to Ypres this morning?'

'By car, my lord. I just pray the roads are clear enough.'

'God willing. I want to meet Weygand. I want to see whether he's got what it takes and I want to damn well impress upon him the importance of quick decision-making. I've heard he's good, but he's dashed old - seventy-odd, isn't he? Like all these French generals.'

'And too rooted in the last war, perhaps.' Pownall gulped his tepid coffee. 'And what about Frankforce, my lord? Do we cancel the attack today?'

'No, Henry. No. We've got to be seen to be acting on our promises. In any case, it might achieve something. I can't say this is a great surprise. It's why I didn't tell Franklyn we were hoping the French would join us. He still thinks it's an operation to clear our southern flank.'

'And surely that's what it is, my lord.'

'Yes, that's exactly what it is,' Gort concurred. 'The threats of evacuation have had no effect at all. Tell me, Henry, am I going to have to call in the Navy and move the BEF to Dunkirk before the French wake up?'

Tanner was in a filthy mood. He had stumbled back into the church and, in the near-darkness, had found a corner and got his head down, but the cover of night would only delay the inevitable. The men had been up at first light and, of course, had seen the cut on his cheek, the bloodied, swollen lip, and he'd been unable to hide the pain in his side. His head throbbed and his body hurt like hell. What was more, the wound he had received at the lock a few days ago had opened again and stung sharply every time he moved.

In many ways, however, the pain was the least of it. Worse were the comments, the looks, the seemingly endless questions. First Sykes, then the others. 'What happened to you, Sarge?' 'You look terrible, Sarge.' And what could he say? That, for no apparent reason, three Frenchmen had jumped on him and given him a going-over? It was so bloody humiliating. And Blackstone had let slip that he'd rescued him, saved his life, even. The bastard. Tanner had known he was making a bad show of hiding his feelings. When Hepworth said, 'I told you old Blackie was a good bloke,' Tanner had nearly knocked him cold there and then. It had taken much willpower to ignore the comment and walk away.

If only they could get on with the battle, everyone would forget about it, but six o'clock came and went, then seven and still they had received no orders. Lieutenant Bourne-Arton was sent to liaise with Brigade; soon after he had gone, a swarm of Junkers 88s had flown over and pasted Vimy, but the lieutenant had returned unscathed a short while later, with news that they would be forming up at ten a.m., and that the company was to rendezvous with the rest of the right-hand attack column at eleven a.m. in Neuville-St-Vaast, a village a mile or so on the far side of Vimy Ridge. That meant a further two hours of sitting around, re-cleaning weapons, and suffering the nudges and comments of the men.

'Come on, Sarge,' said Sykes, as they waited out on the village square. 'Have a tab and cheer up a bit.' He lit Tanner a cigarette and passed it to him.

Tanner took it and grunted his thanks. He hadn't really spoken to Sykes about it, but now he felt more inclined to do so. 'It was Blackstone, Stan.'

'I might have known,' said Sykes. 'What did happen between you two? In India, I mean.'

'It was a bit like now. Him trying to run the show. He had everyone in his pocket - not just the platoon but others too.'

'Not you, though?'

Tanner smiled. 'No. I don't know why but I instinctively mistrusted him. I think he sensed it. Anyway, he went out of his way to make life difficult.' Tanner paused to draw on his cigarette.

'I see,' said Sykes.

'I began to realize he was a coward,' Tanner continued. 'Throughout the Loe Agra campaign he'd do anything to avoid a scrap. Anyway, one day I told him what I thought.'

'And it wasn't appreciated.'

'No. Anyway, he also had this racket going - opium. He was trading with the Wazirs. I'm not quite sure how he did it, but I think he was nicking arms and handing them over in return for the stuff, then selling it on.'

'Jesus - and them guns was being used against our own chaps?'

'To be fair, I couldn't swear to it. But, yes, I think so. At any rate, those Wazirs always seemed to have a fair amount of British kit. Anyway, next thing I know, I'm being accused of trading opium and I'm in choky awaiting the firing squad.'

'So what happened?'

'I had an alibi. And I'd just been put up for this.' He touched the ribbon on his battle-blouse. 'My record was pretty good and the intelligence officer was a decent bloke. He didn't like Blackstone either and stuck his neck out for me. I got off, but I couldn't nail anything on Blackstone. The bastard.'

'So that's why you 'ate 'is guts.'

'That's why. And nothing I've seen of him since joining this mob has made me think he's changed.'

'Blokes like that never do.'

'No.'

He looked up as footsteps approached and saw CQS Slater. 'Here's trouble,' he muttered.

'Tanner,' said Slater, 'the OC wants you.' He glared at Sykes. 'Now.'

Tanner followed him in silence to the low brick house a short distance beyond the church that Barclay had made his company headquarters. It had been abandoned by its owner, but most of the belongings were still there, and as Tanner entered he saw pictures on the wall, florid wallpaper running up the staircase, a crucifix and shelves full of books. To one side of the entrance there was a living room, to the other a kitchen. It was startlingly unmilitary in appearance.

'In there,' said Slater.

Tanner entered to find Captain Barclay sitting at the head of an old pine table. Behind him, leaning against an unlit range, stood Blackstone. A girl sat beside Barclay at the table. At first, Tanner didn't recognize her, and then it dawned on him that it was she who had been wailing in the church the previous evening - the one Blackstone had managed to silence.

Tanner saluted. 'You wanted to see me, sir.'

'Christ, man, look at you!' snapped Barclay. 'You're an absolute disgrace.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' Tanner replied. 'I was set upon last night.'

'By three Frenchmen - yes, I've heard, and I'm not surprised after what you did.'

What's this? Alarm bells rang. 'I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand.'

'No? Are you sure?' He indicated the girl. 'Are you telling me she's lying?'

'I don't know what you're talking about, sir.' He looked at the girl, who avoided his gaze.

'Mademoiselle Lafoy here claims you raped her last night.'

'What? But that's absurd!' Tanner's heart quickened and a dull veil of intense dread swept over him. His legs felt unsteady.

'It was him,' said the girl, her accent heavy. 'He - he raped me!'

'I did nothing of the sort,' said Tanner. 'I swear it, sir. She was crying in the church last night. The CSM calmed her down and then she left. That is the only time I've ever seen her in my life.'

'And you think a French girl you claim you've never seen before would make such an allegation if it wasn't true?' said Blackstone. 'Give over, Sergeant.'

Tanner glared at him. 'I don't know what her motives are, sir,' he said to Barclay, 'but I tell you she's lying.' He turned to Blackstone again. 'Someone with a grudge against me must have put her up to it.' And then he saw the girl glance at Blackstone - a brief flicker, but unmistakable. It was all the proof he needed. I'll bloody kill him.

'Well, I'm sorry, Tanner, but I don't believe you,' said Barclay. 'You're a good soldier, I'll admit that, but you're trouble. You have been from the moment you joined this company and I can't help having a dim view of your character.'

'Based on what, sir?'

'Don't answer back, Tanner.'

'This is ridiculous,' snarled Tanner. 'I know who's behind it, sir.' He nodded at Blackstone. 'And I'll prove it too - one way or another.' He turned to Mademoiselle Lafoy. 'How much did he pay you, eh?' The girl flinched, frightened by his anger.

'That will do, Tanner!' shouted Barclay. His face had reddened, and then, as though recognizing the need to compose himself, he placed his hands carefully on the table in front of him and said, in a slow, measured voice, 'You'll have a chance to defend yourself, but for now you're relieved of your duties. You'll wait here until the MPs arrive.'

Tanner stared at Barclay, barely able to take in what the OC had said.

'And you're demoted to the ranks,' said Blackstone, unable to hide the triumph in his voice. He walked to Tanner, took out a clasp knife and grasped Tanner's arm.

Tanner grabbed the CSM's wrist. 'You'll pay for this,' he whispered to Blackstone, 'and that's not a warning. It's a statement of fact.'

'Let go of my hand, Private,' said Blackstone, and then, out of view of Barclay, he winked. Stitch by stitch, Tanner's sergeant stripes were unpicked, first on one arm, then the other, until all that was left were the loose khaki threads still hanging from his serge battle-blouse.

Corporal Sykes was worried about Tanner, but he was also worried for himself and the rest of the lads. They were about to go into battle, and Sykes, for one, knew there was no one else he would rather have at his side than their sergeant. The other lads needed him too - they all did. Yet Tanner was in a bad way - clouted the previous evening and in a black mood like he'd never seen before. And that was before Slater had turned up. Something was wrong, he was sure of it. Tanner had been gone an hour, and they were due to form up shortly.

Sykes paced up and down the square, the scent of the lime trees heavy on the morning air, smoked a cigarette, then decided to find Mr Peploe. They'd barely seen the lieutenant since the previous afternoon - he'd been found digs in the village where he'd been resting and giving himself a chance to recover from his wound. Well, to hell with it, thought Sykes. He'd have to disturb him now.

The house was a short way up the road to Vimy Ridge - a brick affair with curious limestone blocks along the foundations and at the corners. Sykes knocked on the door, which was answered by Private Smailes.

'Smiler,' said Sykes, 'is Mr Peploe about?'

'Good morning, Corporal,' he heard the lieutenant say from inside. He appeared, already wearing his webbing, kitbag and holster.

'How are you feeling, sir?' Sykes asked.

'Better, thank you. Head's still a bit sore, but I have deep reserves of courage and I think I can now resume full duties as platoon commander.' He grinned.

'Glad to hear it, sir.'

'Shall we get going, then?' said Peploe.

'Er, sir,' said Sykes, 'it's Sergeant Tanner, sir.'

'What about him?' said Peploe, anxiety clouding his face. 'What's happened?'

Sykes explained. 'I thought maybe you could check with the OC what's going on,' he added.

'Absolutely, Corporal,' said Peploe, clapping his damaged tin hat back on his head. 'Come with me. We'll see him right away.'

It was a grim-faced Captain Barclay who informed them that Tanner was under arrest on a charge of rape.

'What absolute rubbish!' said Peploe. 'What proof have you got? I've never heard such poppycock in all my life.'

'Lieutenant!' said Captain Barclay. 'I will not have you speak to me like that. Why on earth would the girl make it up? She's clearly distressed, she has identified Tanner quite specifically and, apart from anything else, we can't have our troops raping and pillaging our allies. I'm merely observing the proper procedures.'

Peploe snorted derisively. 'Let me see him, sir. He's my platoon sergeant. I demand to be allowed to speak to him.'

'I'm not sure that's advisable, sir,' began Blackstone, but Barclay cut him off.

'Yes, all right, Peploe. Blackstone, take Lieutenant Peploe to see Tanner.'

Tanner was sitting on a stool in the scullery at the back of the house. He stood up as Peploe and Sykes entered. 'It's not true, sir. I don't know that girl at all. I've been put on the peg for nothing.'

'I believe you, Tanner, don't worry,' said Peploe. Then, seeing his sleeves, he asked, 'What's happened to your stripes?'

'I've been demoted, sir.'

'But that's monstrous!'

'Sir, Blackstone's behind this. He set me up last night - as much as admitted it - and I'm sure he's paid that girl to make the charge. But it's rubbish, a lie - he wants me out of the way.'

'But why, Tanner? What has he got against you?'

'I won't dance to his tune, sir. He likes being in control. He thinks he runs this company, not the OC, and I reckon that, for the most part, he's right. The OC's putty in his hands. The CSM thinks I undermine his authority and his influence on the others. And he's a coward, sir. He always was and he always will be. He'll want to hold back today, sir, keep a low profile, and avoid too much fighting. I reckon he's worried I'll show him up.'

Peploe was thoughtful for a while. 'Let me talk to the girl, and I'll speak with Captain Barclay again. I mean, for God's sake, when were you supposed to have done this?'

'When I went to look for Captain Barclay last night. Apparently I jumped on her and the three Frenchmen who jumped on me had seen me do it.'

'And who are they?'

Tanner shrugged. 'They were wearing civvies but I never saw their faces.'

'And 'ave you asked whether the OC did want to see you, Sarge?' asked Sykes.

'No - I hadn't thought of that,' Tanner admitted. 'Christ,' he added, running his hands through his dark hair.

It seemed that Captain Barclay had asked to see Tanner the previous evening, but in the house, not the bar. Tanner had never shown up, he told Peploe, another reason why he was inclined to believe the accusation. Blackstone had passed the message to Slater, Slater had passed it to Private Hepworth. Slater told Peploe that he had been quite specific to Hepworth that the OC wanted to see Tanner at Company Headquarters.

'Has Hepworth verified this?' asked Peploe.

'We haven't spoken to him yet,' said Barclay.

'There's no real need to, sir,' added Blackstone. 'Slater knows what he told him. Why would Hepworth tell Tanner any different?'

Peploe eyed Blackstone for a moment, then said, 'And where's the girl? This Mademoiselle Lafoy? I'd like to speak to her.'

Suddenly Barclay seemed flustered. 'Actually,' he said, 'I don't know. She was a refugee. But she made the charge and I acted on it. We took a statement from her and she left.'

'How can you charge Tanner without the key witness?' asked Peploe, his exasperation evident.

Barclay looked at his watch. 'Look, Peploe, we've got to form up shortly. This will have to wait until later.'

'Sir,' said Peploe, 'you cannot detain Tanner on the basis of a statement from an unknown and, frankly, emotionally suspect witness who has since disappeared.'

'Tanner has been placed under arrest, sir,' said Blackstone, 'and the MPs will be here at any moment. The captain is merely following correct military legal procedure in such cases.'

'And I suppose you had nothing to do with any of this, CSM?'

'Me, sir?' said Blackstone. 'No, sir. What makes you think that? Has Tanner been trying to pass the blame on to me?' He shook his head. 'He's unbelievable, that man. And to think I saved his life last night. I wouldn't have bothered if I'd known what he'd done. He's a disgrace to the regiment.'

'Well, I don't believe a word of it,' said Peploe. 'He's my best soldier and I want him in my platoon when we go into battle today.'

'I'm sorry, Lieutenant,' said Barclay, 'but he's being handed over to the police and that's all there is to it. Whatever his merits as a soldier, we cannot have rapists among our number.'

'That's bollocks, sir, and you know it. Throughout its history, the British Army has been littered with thieves, murderers and ne'er-do-wells.' He glared pointedly at

Blackstone. 'And, as I've said, I don't believe this baloney for one minute. Let me have him back today, and if we all come through unscathed, I'll prove his innocence afterwards.'

'He's a rapist, sir,' said Blackstone. 'You have a moral obligation to hand him over to the authorities and deal with this in the proper manner.'

'I want Tanner with me today,' said Peploe. 'And, what's more, if you insist on continuing with this farce, sir,' he said directly to his commanding officer, 'I will be left with no choice but to resign my commission immediately.'

Barclay was appalled. 'You can't do that!'

'I can, sir, and I will. I don't want to be part of a regiment that treats its men so monstrously, or to serve under a man who is prepared to believe the word of a young girl about whom we know nothing over a soldier who has repeatedly proven himself courageous, dependable and utterly loyal, a man who has already been decorated for valour in the face of the enemy and whose experience will be an invaluable asset today. I was a farmer before the war, sir. I had no need to join up, but I did so because I believe we have a moral duty to fight and defeat Nazism. I certainly did not join to find myself fighting my biggest battles with those on my own side. Now, I don't wish to add another false allegation, but let me say this: I believe there are certain elements within this company who are far bigger trouble-makers than Tanner will ever be. This nonsense has the ring of a personal vendetta about it, one that needs to be stamped on hard.' He looked straight at Blackstone.

Barclay followed his gaze. 'What the devil are you saying, man?'

'Quite enough. As I say, I prefer hard facts before I make any accusation.'

Barclay bit his lip and knotted his hands. 'Rape's a serious allegation, though. I've got to be seen to do the right thing.'

'In that case, sir, I resign.' He began to unbutton his webbing.

'Sir, you can't just ignore a charge like this,' insisted Blackstone.

Barclay groaned and stood up. 'All right, Peploe!' he exclaimed. 'I'll release him. For now.'

'And I want him to have his stripes back, sir. In Britain, a man is innocent until proven guilty. So far, Tanner's guilt has not been established.'

'This is blackmail, sir,' said Blackstone.

'Be quiet, CSM!' shouted Barclay. He went over to a dresser that stood along one side of the kitchen, picked up Tanner's stripes and handed them to Peploe. 'I was doing what I thought was right,' he said, utterly dejected. 'Let's hope Tanner proves worthy of the faith you have in him, Lieutenant.'

'I have absolutely no doubt that he will,' said Peploe.

'It's a quarter to ten, Peploe. Get Tanner and make sure your platoon are ready in a quarter of an hour.' He sighed heavily. 'But don't think this matter is closed. We've a battle to fight, but afterwards . . .' He trailed off.

Peploe and Sykes saluted, then fetched Tanner.

'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner, as he took his stripes back.

'Here,' said Peploe, delving into his pack for his housewife. 'You'd better get them sewn back on quick. Reckon you can have it done in five minutes?'

'I'll do it, Sarge,' said Sykes.

'Good. I'll go and sort out the men. Meet us by the trucks as soon as you can.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner again. He then stood still while Sykes's nimble fingers quickly stitched one set of stripes, then the other into the thick serge.

'There,' said Sykes, eventually. 'Those should hold for the moment, at any rate.'

D Company set off a few minutes after ten, driving out of the square and up the hill, past the giant Canadian war memorial, erected only a few years before in honour of those killed during the last war against Germany. It gleamed proudly in the morning sunshine. Behind, pockets of mist still hung in the valley. Ahead, young pines sprouted up through the still pockmarked landscape of Vimy Ridge.

'Thank God for mobile warfare,' said Peploe as he gazed out from the cab of the Opel.

Tanner said nothing. The humiliation of the past twelve hours still occupied his mind. None of the lads had said anything to him but there had been glances and knowing looks. Blackstone had made sure they'd heard about the rape charge. Peploe had come to his rescue, but Tanner was conscious that Blackstone had still partly achieved his goal. The men in the platoon would view him differently - warily, even. The trust he had won had been undermined, just as Blackstone had wanted.

They were halted in Neuville by 151st Brigade men and directed to an open area opposite the same massive French cemetery they had passed the day before. A battery of gunners was already there, vehicles and guns lined up ready to move. A brigade staff officer ordered them out of the trucks, while Captain Barclay and his two lieutenants were instructed to take the Krupp, wheel round and head back up the ridge to Petit Vimy where they were to liaise with Lieutenant-Colonel Beart, officer commanding, 8th Battalion, Durham Light Infantry.

Tanner watched them head off. Then, as the rest of the men were getting out of the back of the Opels, he heard the tell-tale thrum of aircraft and looked behind to see a dozen Stukas peeling off and diving down on the ridge. No bombs fell, but machine-guns chattered, the sound clear and sharp. Tanner saw Ellis and Denning flinch. He hoped Mr Peploe was all right.

'Christ, will you look at that?' muttered Sykes.

'They're bloody slow, though, aren't they?' said Tanner.

'Not the Stukas, Sarge - all those bloody graves.' He pointed to the French cemetery. Row after row of white crosses stretched from the road to the ridge beyond. 'There must be thousands and thousands of 'em.'

Tanner wandered over to the small British cemetery that lay beside the French one and lit a cigarette. From the village, now that the Stukas had gone, he could hear tanks, their tracks squeaking. Soon six French light tanks were turning off the main village road towards them.

As the last one passed, Tanner stepped across the road behind it and walked to the other side of the trucks. From the far side of the Opel he could hear a group of men from the platoon talking.

'Well, I still reckon old Blackie's a good sort,' said McAllister. 'He said that bird swore the sarge had had his way with her.'

'What I don't see is why she'd lie about it,' said Bell.

'You reckon he did it, then?' said Ellis.

'I dunno,' said Hepworth. 'Maybe it was someone else. Maybe she got it wrong. It was dark, weren't it?'

Tanner clenched his fists, banged his right hand hard against the side of the truck, then walked round to confront them. A hush fell over the men as he stood before them. For a moment he glared at them, his pale blue eyes staring at each man in turn.

'Sarge, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—' began Hepworth.

'Shut up, Hepworth,' Tanner snarled. 'Listen to me, all of you. I know what you've heard, so I'm going to say this to you once. It's true that I was attacked last night and it's true that some French woman has accused me of raping her.' He eyed them all in turn. 'I did no such thing. You've had your gossip but I don't want to hear another word about it. Today we're going into battle and, believe me, when the shells start falling and the machine-guns are firing, this bollocks will seem very unimportant. What will matter is making sure we beat those bastards and that you come through it in one piece.' He stared hard at McAllister. 'Don't believe everything the CSM says, Mac. Remember this: I've known him a lot longer than you have.'

McAllister's eyes darted about nervously. His cheeks flushed. 'Sarge—' he said.

'Forget it, Mac,' said Tanner. 'Just don't let me down today, all right?'

Lieutenant Peploe could hardly bring himself to speak to Captain Barclay as they drove towards Petit Vimy. He knew the captain was not a bad man, but he also recognized some fundamental failings in the fellow. He was impressionable, not a natural leader of men, probably not terribly bright either. Or, at least, not someone who could think quickly on their feet. No wonder Blackstone had such a hold over him. That confidence, that breezy charm and quick mind - those were useful tools for someone like the CSM.

He looked out of the cab at the hordes of refugees taking cover by the side of the road and in the young woods covering the slopes of the ridge, then realized that the arrival of the Stukas had, in fact, been something of a godsend, enabling Lieutenant Bourne-Arton, who was driving, to reach the little hamlet quickly and just as the enemy attack finished.

The place heaved with troops, most of whom, Peploe thought, were exhausted. Directed to Battalion Headquarters - the village bar - they found Lieutenant- Colonel Beart and his battalion officers already in conference.

'Ah, come on in,' said Beart, ushering them to join the half-circle gathered around him. 'You're the company from the Yorkshire Rangers, aren't you?'

'Yes, sir,' said Barclay. 'We've been attached to you because we've got four Jerry trucks.'

Peploe cringed at the obvious pride with which Barclay announced this.

Beart smiled. 'Good. Then you can come under command of Captain Dixon in A Company.' He pointed to an officer several years younger than Barclay.

'How d'you do?' Dixon shook hands with each man in turn. 'Good of you to join us.'

'Right,' continued Beart. 'So, Dix, you've got a scout troop of motorcycles from the Northumberland Fusiliers, a platoon from 260th Ack-Ack Battery, a carrier platoon less one section and our new friends from across the border in Yorkshire. Captain Dixon will lead the advance guard. Dix - over to you.'

Dixon cleared his throat. 'We're going to get going at eleven hundred, then RV with Seven RTR's tanks at the village of Maroeuil.' He turned to Barclay. 'Have you fellows been issued with maps?'

'Yes,' said Barclay, pulling his from his map case. 'Yesterday, from GHQ.'

'Good show,' said Dixon. 'If you have a look you can see we're here.' He pointed to his own map. 'Here's Maroeuil, about four miles away to the south-west, and our start line for the attack is this road, eight miles further south here, running south-west from Arras to Doullens. Beaumetz is the place to keep in mind. There's been plenty of Jerry activity spotted south of there, so they're definitely lurking about. A question of flushing the buggers out.'

'Our chaps are all in Neuville at the moment,' said Barclay.

'Well, that's all right. We'll pick you up on the way. You've got a radio, have you?'

'No, I'm afraid not.'

'It'll be all right, Dix,' said Lieutenant-Colonel Beart. 'We'll just have to make do. Where exactly are you in Neuville, Captain?'

'By a large French Great War cemetery, sir,' said Barclay.

'And unless I'm much mistaken, that's en route to Maroeuil, isn't it?' He clapped his hands. 'Good. Well, that all seems clear enough. The rest of the battalion will follow the advance guard. One bit of bad news, though, is that we don't have any rations. Have your chaps eaten anything today, Captain?' he asked Barclay.

'They've breakfasted, sir.'

'That's something. Anyway, I'm sorry but it's those buggering refugees again. The food wagons have been held up. I hate to send fellows into battle on empty stomachs but it can't be helped.'

Beart dismissed them soon after, wishing them a cheery good luck. As Peploe followed Barclay and Bourne-Arton back to the Krupp, he couldn't help feeling that the attack plan seemed rather hastily cobbled together. It was as though a lot was being left to chance. He still had a headache, but now nausea assailed him. As a pair of collared doves cavorted above them, he wondered whether he would still be alive at the day's end. Funnily enough, the debacle with Tanner had taken his mind off things. Ever since he'd been driven past the shell-holes of Vimy Ridge, however, the prospect of battle had been brought back into sharp focus. Fighting - killing or being killed - had seemed so remote on the day he'd joined up, full of youthful determination to play his part in ridding the world of Hitler. It had been easy to be brave then and to enjoy the sense that he was undertaking something rather noble and heroic. He'd imagined himself to be rather like a Crusader in the stories he had enjoyed as a boy, leaving his weeping mother for the Holy Land. But those shell-holes and the endless cemeteries had been an all-too-real reminder of what war could be like. And now this rather haphazard battle-plan. If he was honest, he still had no idea what they were supposed to be doing or what to expect. All he knew was that he was scared stiff.

The Durhams' advance guard rendezvoused successfully with D Company and the Rangers' trucks fell into line behind the motorcycle scout troop, two command cars, a radio car and two trucks towing two-pounder anti-tank guns, trundling at a snail's pace along a narrow road to Maroeuil. Away to their left they could see the tip of the belfry at the heart of Arras. In between and at either side of them lay open, undulating farmland.

Tanner's mood was slowly improving. He hoped that in confronting the men he had convinced them; it had made him feel better, at any rate. The awfulness of those moments when he had been under arrest in a damp scullery was past. Ahead, he could see Maroeuil being bombarded lightly from the south-east. The whistle of the shells could be heard faintly above the rumble of the vehicles, followed by a dull thud and a thin cloud of dust erupting clear of the buildings. His heart beat faster and he had a familiar sensation in his stomach and throat. Nerves, certainly, but excitement too. Fighting was exciting and, in the thick of it, his senses keen, he found it exhilarating.

Away to his right he could see the lonely ruins of a church, high on the skyline. He knew his father had fought around here - it had been 1917, he remembered - and had often talked to him about it. Now he recalled that there had been a spring offensive at Arras that year. Now, just twenty-three years later, he was marching on the same ground, ready to fight the same enemy. His father had died eight years before and not a day went past when Tanner didn't think of him. His dad had been his best friend as well as his father. Tanner smiled, remembering.

By the time they reached Maroeuil the shelling had stopped. Tanner was surprised to see some dead Germans in the village - where had they come from? - but despite vehicle congestion, the advance guard pressed on so that by twenty past two they had reached the edge of Duisans, the next village on their route to the start line of their attack.

The sounds of battle were growing more intense. Away to the west, tank and artillery fire could be heard. As they descended from a shallow ridge into the village, a bullet, then several more, fizzed above them from the wood to their right.

'Look,' said Sykes, pointing to his left. Crawling over a field up the small hill on the far side of the village were three 'I' tanks, Matilda Mark IIs with their more-than-three inches of armour. Between the sounds of gunfire, they could hear them, metal squeaking and clanking. It was such a high-pitched sound, yet with it came a deep, low rumble, promising bulk and heaviness.

More sniping whipped around them from the wood, but as they reached the centre of the village, the buildings shielded them from fire. A shell whistled overhead, and passed harmlessly above the village to explode in open country.

Ahead, a DLI officer was talking to Barclay; a minute later, the company runner came up to their cab. 'We're going to push on. We're to follow those tanks towards Warlus.'

'What about the enemy in those woods?' asked Tanner.

'B Company's being hurried forward to deal with them.'

'And why are the enemy here anyway? We haven't reached the start line yet.'

'Don't ask me. I'm just the messenger.'

They pushed on, following the three 'I' Matildas as they rumbled slowly out of Duisans and onto higher, more open country. Ahead to the south lay the village of

Warlus, the slate spire of its church poking out above the trees and houses nestled around it. The anti-tank guns were unhitched and set up, then the leading cars of the advance guard turned back to Duisans.

The company runner appeared again. 'We're to stay here. They're trying to bring up more guns.'

'Make your mind up,' muttered Sykes.

To their right they could see vehicles and figures on the ridge a mile or so away. Then field guns opened fire suddenly from away to their left.

'What the hell's going on?' asked Peploe. They could hear shells hurtling over, their whistle and moan as they cut through the sky, then a series of dull crashes.

'Whose guns are those?' asked Peploe.

'Ours, I think,' said Tanner. 'They're stonking it before we go in.'

'And what about them to the right?' asked Sykes. 'Are they Jerries?'

Tanner took out his binoculars. 'I reckon they are, yes.'

'Well, I don't know about you two,' said Peploe, 'but I haven't the faintest idea what's going on. All I know is I feel bloody exposed up here.'

'I agree, sir,' said Tanner. 'Let's get everyone out until that stonk's over.'

No sooner were the men on the track, shaking their legs and stretching, than a faint rumble that soon became a roar filled the sky. Looking up, they saw waves of bombers flying over, like a giant swarm of locusts. Moments later, bombs were falling on the eastern edges of Arras, clearly visible to their left.

'Christ - look at them all!' exclaimed Peploe.

'I've counted eighty already,' said Sykes. Soon Arras disappeared under a pall of smoke. The ground shook and the sound was deafening - but all the while the British gunners continued to rain shells on Warlus and the ridge beyond. Now the church spire had disappeared under a haze of dust.

Another company of Durhams, loaded into Bren carriers, arrived on the track from Duisans, and as the artillery barrage stopped, they were ordered forward.

A few rifle shots cracked out as the advance guard entered the village, but as the smoke and dust drifted away, it became apparent that the village was empty of enemy troops. There was heavy artillery and machine- gun fire from the south and south-east, however, beyond the ridge. They paused again by a track that led towards the church. Ahead, the road climbed sharply to the next ridge and now a Mark VI light tank sped down it, a cloud of dust following in its wake. Tanner watched with interest as it stopped near them and the man in the turret hopped out. Lieutenant-Colonel Beart now arrived in his car, climbed out and the tankman hurried over to him. He was pointing behind him, showing Beart the map, then nodding furiously. A moment later, Beart called Barclay over.

'Something's up,' said Tanner, lighting a cigarette and coughing. He got out his water-bottle and drank.

Beart was now back in his car as Barclay walked purposefully towards Peploe.

'What is it, sir?' Peploe asked.

'A devil of a job, I'm afraid. Our tanks are attacking Wailly, a couple of miles to the south-east of here.'

'I can hear them,' said Peploe.

'Yes, and you can hear enemy guns too.' He took out his map. 'It seems Jerry's got a lot of guns here, Point Three, and is stopping our advance. The tanks can't get near them. Colonel Beart wants us to send one platoon over to take out as many of those guns as possible. They reckon there are four of them, and I want you and your platoon to do it, Peploe.'

Tanner noticed Barclay couldn't look him in the eye.

Peploe swallowed. 'Very well, sir.'

'Beyond this ridge is the village of Berneville, and Point Three is across the Arras-Doullens road ahead of you. I can't tell you much more than that. It's a lot to ask, I know, but. . .'

Peploe nodded. 'We'll go straight away, sir.'

'Sooner the better.' Barclay held out a hand, which Peploe took. 'Well, you'd better be off, then. Good luck, Lieutenant.'

Two trucks and thirty-six men set off immediately, the Opels labouring as they climbed the hill. As soon as they crested the ridge, past a large water-tower, they saw drifts of smoke, and the sound of battle was suddenly closer and clearer in front of them to their left.

'There!' said Tanner, pointing to a cluster of trees on the next ridge. 'They're firing from that copse. You can see the muzzle flashes.'

A moment later a shell came down in the field just fifty yards to their right, sending up a huge fountain of earth. From behind, the men shouted as bits of stone and mud landed on and among them.

'Damn it!' shouted Tanner. 'I didn't even hear that coming. What the hell was it?'

'Everyone all right?' yelled Peploe.

'Keep bloody driving, Stan,' said Tanner. 'We need to get into this village quickly.'

The road led them down to where tightly packed buildings on each side of the street shielded them from enemy gunners. It wound left, then right out of the village, still hidden from the crest of the brow ahead by trees and banks.

'We're going to have to stop, sir,' said Tanner. 'We won't get much further in these.'

Peploe nodded. 'Pull in before the end of that line of trees, Corporal,' he said to Sykes.

The road was sunken, running between ten-foot-high verges at either side. The men got out of the trucks, then, in sections, spread out either side, and walked briskly up the gently rising ridge. As they reached the Arras-Doullens road, they stopped. Inching forward with Peploe, Tanner took out his binoculars. A track, lined by hedges, led up to a farm, about two-thirds of a mile ahead. To the left of that there was a clump of trees. The enemy guns they had to capture were somewhere within it. Tanner breathed in deeply. It was possible, he reckoned. Just about. But it wouldn't be easy.