Darkest Hour

Chapter 16

It had been around three o'clock when Sturmbannfuhrer Otto Timpke had first heard the sounds of battle to the north - dull thumps, the faint rip of machine-gun fire - and immediately his heartbeat had picked up. An impatient sense of anticipation gripped him. Where were the enemy? What was happening? He experienced a stab of irritation that, yet again, 7th Panzer might be getting all the action. They had been instructed to follow Totenkopf Infantry Regiment 3 with the battalion's Panzer 38s, but infantry and artillery units of 7th Panzer were also using the same narrow roads and, with the additional weight of refugees, progress had been agonizingly slow. For several hours they had been forced to wait in the village of Mercatel, a few miles south of Arras, until Regiment 3 appeared.

The reconnaissance battalion had made the most of the wait to refuel and collect more ammunition for their tanks from a pre-prepared supply dump. Once Timpke had overseen this, however, there had been nothing to do but wait in the village square. The smell of petrol, diesel and hastily heated rations filled the still air. He stood by his command car, an olive-grey French Army Citroen, taken the previous day in Solesmes, watching with mounting frustration as the gunfire came closer. The tepid coffee in his tin cup rippled with every boom, and he could feel the explosions pulsing beneath his feet.

He was drumming his fingers on the roof of the car and smoking French cigarettes - he had run out of Turkish - when another staff car pulled in alongside him, the rubber tyres rolling noisily across the cobbles. An army major stepped out of the passenger seat and asked for a light. 'We're not used to moving in such a big force,' he explained, gesturing towards the vehicles crawling through the village as Timpke pulled out his lighter. 'Two divisions are on the move today - so far it's been one regiment spearheading at any one time - so there's a lot more traffic than usual.' Some infantrymen were shouting at a family in a cart, trying to cross the road at the far end of the square. 'And too many damned refugees,' he added.

'Shoot at them,' Timpke suggested. 'I find that gets them moving.'

The major looked aghast. Then, clearly having decided that Timpke was joking, broke into a smile. 'Perhaps we should.'

'You should,' said Timpke, flatly. 'It would save a lot of time.'

The major smiled again, thanked him for the light, then got back into his car and drove on.

Regiment 3 arrived soon after and, having cut in front of a company of 7th Panzer infantry, Timpke's reconnaissance force followed on behind. As they progressed into open farmland beyond the village, he could see clear to Arras, some six kilometres to the north-east. A large formation of bombers thundered over and attacked the city. Black puffs of anti-aircraft barrage dotted the sky, then mushrooms of smoke rolled into the air as the bombs detonated. Nearer, though, he could hear tank and artillery exchanges. Suddenly, from over a shallow ridge behind them, a number of tanks appeared and opened fire at the column of vehicles behind them. Timpke found himself flinching as an ammunition truck blew up less than a kilometre back, the jagged sound catching him by surprise. So, too, he saw, did Kemmetmuler, sitting beside him.

'A flank attack,' said Kemmetmuler. 'What's going on? I thought we were the ones attacking.'

There was pandemonium as vehicle after vehicle was hit. Artillery and anti-tank crews tried frantically to unhitch their guns and retaliate. Above, a Feisler Storch lolled over and dropped a small canister.

'A message!' said Timpke. 'Stop!' From the scout car behind them, one of his men hurried over to where it lay in a field of young wheat. He found it soon enough and ran back and handed it to Timpke. He unscrewed the tin, pulled out the note and read, Strong enemy armoured forces advancing. 'I think we'd already gathered that.' He screwed up the piece of paper. 'The idiots. Wait here, Kemmetmuler.' He jumped out of the Citroen, slamming the door behind him, and hurried over to the scout car. 'What's the news, Schultz?

'The enemy is also attacking strongly across the Arras-Doullens road towards Wailly. We're to move on towards Beaumetz and, with Regiment 2, push the enemy back towards Berneville and Warlus,' Schultz told him, handing him a hastily scribbled wireless message.

Timpke looked again at the enemy tanks. They were out of range, and seemed interested only in the 7th Panzer column directly in front of them. He unfolded his map, his eyes running over the mass of roads, villages, rivers and contours. They were five kilometres from Beaumetz and there were thick woods to the west of Berneville that would offer good cover for an attack. He could see now that the enemy armour must have swept in an arc southwards from the west of Arras; if General Rommel's artillery could stem this advance then the Totenkopf, swinging their forces wide, could outflank the enemy tanks and come round the back, ensnaring them in a deadly trap.

He took out his binoculars and looked again at the tanks crawling across the fields to the north-east. British, he reckoned. Some appeared only to have machine-guns, but others were jabbing away with their heavier guns, small flashes of fire appearing from their muzzles. Thick black smoke and flames were billowing from the 7th Panzer column behind; he could hear screams and shouting too. But already German anti-tank guns were responding and he saw now that one of the smaller British tanks had been hit.

'Schultz,' he said, climbing into the turret of the scout car, 'get a signal out. I want the battalion to rendezvous on the Arras- Doullens road to the east of Beaumetz and then we'll attack towards Berneville.'

It was already past four o'clock. With luck they'd be in position sometime after five.

'Kemmetmuler!' he shouted to his adjutant. 'I'm going to stay in the scout car.' He wanted to be able to see clearly, which was impossible from the low, recessed seats of the Citroen. He ordered the column forward once more, drumming his fingers on the metal top. A memory had entered his thoughts: he had been sixteen, at a deer-shoot on his uncle's estate in Bavaria. He remembered the excitement of spotting his first stag, of watching it come closer to him. He could almost smell again the thick resin of the firs around him. And he remembered the intense thrill of capturing it in his sights, of squeezing the trigger and watching it drop to the ground, dead. He had dreamed of that moment from the instant his uncle had invited him to shoot, and when it had come, he had not been disappointed. His triumph had been every bit as thrilling as he had hoped. The Tommies might have caught the Wehrmacht boys off guard, but soon they would find themselves hunted. Timpke grinned. A stag or dead Tommies, what was the difference? He was looking forward to experiencing again the sensation of triumph that had been so indelibly imprinted on his memory.

Twelve Platoon crossed the main Arras-Doullens road in sections, one man at a time. It was not a true crossroads: the men had to dash, crouching, diagonally some forty yards to their right to reach the track. Artillery fire was booming regularly, as well as from the wooded copse ahead. British tanks still lumbered down the crest to the east of Berneville, and they could hear others firing even closer.

Tanner had led the men across the road, then ducked down against the track's bank. A hawthorn hedge grew from the top on the left-hand side, but it was sparse and intermittent on the right. The road was sunk below the hedge line, but only by a few feet. As he was taking this in, Lieutenant Peploe dropped down beside him, breathing heavily.

'This side'll be all right, sir,' said Tanner. 'We'll have to crouch, but we should be able to reach the edge of the farm undetected. We don't know what's behind that ridge, though. There's a village, but we've no idea whether Jerry forces are down there, and whether it's simply a battery up in that copse or a mass of infantry taking cover and waiting to counter-attack.'

'I see,' said Peploe. He bit at a fingernail.

'And I can't quite see where that other gun's firing from.' He pointed towards the right.

'I suppose there's only one way we're going to find out.'

Tanner smiled. 'Yes, sir. I think you might be right.' The track ahead rose gently towards the farm, just under a mile away. Peering through the hedge, he could see the farm buildings - the track turned left sharply towards them near the top of the ridge and he wondered what cover the buildings might offer at that point; it depended on whether the track ran behind or in front of them. Bloody hell. If only they had a proper map rather than the hasty sketch Peploe had made from Captain Barclay's. It was a tall order.

Once the men were safely on the track, they moved off once more, Tanner and Peploe leading with sections following, spread out but now hugging the left. It was back-breaking work, bent double all the way, rifles and Bren in hands, ammunition pouches and packs bumping against bodies. Then, just a couple of hundred yards from the top of the ridge, they reached a railway line, a single track of old, rusting rails running across their path and parallel with the Arras-Doullens road below. Tanner had not spotted it before and, again, cursed the lack of a map. Would the enemy see them as they crossed it? He peered through his binoculars. The guns were firing ever more regularly now, the blasts sending tremors through the ground. Lying flat, he wriggled forward to the edge of the track. A British tank, some three hundred yards away to their left, had almost reached the railway, but had been hit. It was one of the more heavily armoured Matilda IIs, but it was burning, smoke and flames gushing from the turret. He wondered whether the crew had got out. Probably not. Poor bastards. He looked again at the copse but while he could see muzzle flashes and hear the guns ever louder, he couldn't distinguish a single enemy soldier.

'If we can't see the enemy, sir,' said Tanner, 'then hopefully he can't see us.'

'Then we must make a dash for it, Tanner,' said Peploe. He sighed. 'Come on, then.'

Platoon Headquarters went first, then Sykes's section, followed by Cooper's and Ross's, the men nipping one by one across the narrow stretch of the railway.

'Well,' said Peploe, once they were all over, 'if they did spot us, they're not letting on.'

They pushed on, keeping low or crawling, along the dusty, stony track until they reached a bend where the hedge thinned. They were now almost at the summit of the ridge. Forty yards ahead, the track forked. To the left, it ran straight to the farm, but in front of the buildings. To the right, it ran down the other side of the ridge - presumably, Tanner guessed, to the village of Wailly. He glanced around. Where was that other gun? About a mile away there was a wood - in there. Yes, he was sure of it. Those Jerry gunners would have hidden themselves well: near the edge of the trees with plenty of aerial and ground cover, but with a clear line of fire in front of them. On the far side of the wood there was another village - Beaumetz? - while directly behind them Berneville was as clear as day. Warlus must be behind the next ridge, where he hoped the rest of the company were still waiting. He could now see several burning tanks, stopped between the two ridges, their tracks having carved dark lines across the fields of young crops. Others were still wheeling about, creeping in beetling lines across the open countryside, easy targets for the German gunners now only a hundred yards or so away. The battery in the copse was doing its job effectively, round after round being fired. Past the copse, away to their left, machine- gun fire and the dull thump of the Matilda IIs' guns could still be heard amid the din of German artillery. Suddenly a shell hit the edge of a barn, knocking out a chunk of stone. Probably, Tanner guessed, a two-pound shell from one of the Matildas. Good. They're still coming.

'What do you think, Tanner?' said Peploe, sidling up to him.

'We need to find out what's on the other side of the ridge. Then we'll know if we can use the barns to cover our approach or even sweep round the back of the position undetected. But the less movement the better, so let me have a dekko on my own.'

'All right.'

Still crouching, Tanner hurried to the summit, past the track that veered left to the farm. Reaching the crest at last, he lay flat and squirmed forward on his stomach. He realized the track he was now on was the long side of a triangle. The fork to the farm was one of the short sides, while another led at right angles to join the main track by a walled cemetery. A number of vehicles - two Krupps, an eight-wheeled armoured car and three half-tracks - were clustered there. But no massed infantry. He looked down towards the village. Several houses were on fire, the flames dulled by the smoke. Through the haze he saw vehicles moving. The battery, still booming a short way to his left, was hidden by the farm and he breathed out heavily, the tension momentarily eased, then wriggled back a few yards and signalled urgently to Peploe to bring the rest of the men up.

'Don't let anyone go beyond this point, sir,' he said, as Peploe joined him. He glanced at the men approaching, then back to the farm. 'We've done the tricky bit - got here without being spotted - so we can cut across this pasture and take cover behind that brick barn. I reckon there's at least four guns there. Ideally, we want to attack from two different angles, but the most important thing is surprise. That means working out a good plan first, then hitting them hard and quick. I'll scout ahead now, if it's all right with you, sir, and take Corporal Sykes with me.'

'Of course. I'll wait for your signal to bring the men over.'

Tanner ran back, beckoned Sykes to follow him, then the pair climbed over the fence and ran fifty yards through a flock of anxious sheep to the edge of the barn. Pausing briefly to catch his breath, Tanner delved in his pack and pulled out his Aldis scope, unwrapping the cloth round it, then screwed it onto the pads on his rifle. Pushing his helmet to the back of his head, he said to Sykes, 'Stan, go down the other end of the barn and have a quick dekko,' then went to the nearside edge of the old brick and stone building. When he reached the rubble that had been blasted from the wall a few minutes before, he crouched as several guns boomed in succession. Another incoming cannon shell hit a building out of his line of vision. There was machine-gun fire too - a rapid chatter. A Jerry MG. The slower, more laboured rattle of a British machine-gun responded, but much further away, and no sooner had he caught its sound than it was smothered by battery guns unleashing yet another salvo. The noise was deafening; Tanner's ears began to ring and deaden.

Taking off his helmet, fearing the silhouette of its distinctive rim would be a give-away, he peered cautiously through a gap in the rubble. No more than seventy yards away, half hidden under a large ash tree, a small anti-tank gun, the like of which he had seen several times in Norway, was pounding out its shells. His heart began to thump, though, when he realized what stood just beyond it, partially hidden from view by the trees and foliage. It was an enormous artillery piece, resembling the 3.7-inch anti-aircraft guns they had had at Manston. The difference was that, instead of pointing into the sky, the barrel was tilted straight down the ridge to the valley below, where a number of British tanks were still groping their way towards them.

A big barrel thundered and recoiled - a double crash - then another gun boomed, and Tanner saw the tip of a second identical barrel recoil from the bushes and trees some forty yards on. Just five seconds later they fired again in staccato, their reports reverberating around the farm, shaking the ground and pulsing through Tanner's body, while the smaller gun continued hurling out cannon shells as well. Several fallen bricks near him tumbled further onto the ground. What a gun, he thought.

They were indeed anti-aircraft guns, but were being used in an anti-tank role. A simple idea, but brilliant. He'd seen those 3.7-inch ack-ack guns fire before - they could send a shell more than twenty-five thousand feet into the sky. The velocity was incredible. And now these beasts were firing over open sights at the advancing British armour. Christ. No wonder the tanks' advance is stalling.

Two further guns, he now realized, were also firing - howitzers of some kind, by the sound of them - from somewhere within the trees. Several men were coming out into the open between the small and large anti-tank guns - so there's a hollow - and, to his astonishment, he saw that the one nearest to him wore the collar tabs and red striped breeches of a general. Bloody hell, he thought. What's he doing there?

Leaning on the fallen bricks and masonry, he brought his rifle into his shoulder. His ribs still hurt like hell; more so now that he was lying on knobbly rubble. He grimaced, which split his lip again. The general was peering through a pair of field-glasses. The two big guns crashed again and Tanner counted. One, two, three, four, five, six. Boom-boom. He counted again, his scope aimed at the general's head. Two, three, four. Breath out. Five. Hold breath. Six. Tanner pressed his finger against the trigger. The guns thundered again and his rifle cracked, the butt recoiling into his shoulder. In that instant the general turned, as though in answer to someone speaking behind him, and the officer standing next to him, slightly taller, was hit in the neck. Immediately he sank to his knees beside the smaller gun. The general swung back, crouching over the prostrate figure. Tanner pulled back the bolt, but two more men had emerged from the clearing so the general was almost hidden from view. Men were looking around, as though they were shocked and perplexed. They seemed unable to understand how, or from where, the officer had been hit.

'Damn it all,' Tanner muttered. He scrambled back from where he was crouching behind the rubble, hurried behind the barn and along to the other end. There was no sign of Sykes. Gingerly, he peered round the corner. He was looking out on to a small yard and a track that ran between the barn and an old brick farmhouse, which also gave them cover from the battery on the other side of the house but not from the vehicles some two hundred yards away down by the cemetery. Sykes was at the far side of the house, peering towards the back of the battery, when suddenly he turned and scuttled back to the cover of the barn.

'Blimey, that was close!' he gasped. 'They've got two prisoners. And there's some big cheese with 'em, too.' Sykes turned towards the rear of the battery, Tanner following his gaze. Four men were striding towards a gate below the farmhouse that joined the track leading to the cemetery: the general, then an NCO with silver chevrons on his sleeve holding a sub-machine-gun, and two British prisoners - tankmen wearing black berets.

Tanner glanced back towards Peploe and the others, motioned to them to keep low and out of sight, then brought his rifle to his shoulder once more.

'He was out front a minute ago,' he whispered to Sykes. 'The silly sod moved just as I was taking a shot at him. Got the man next to him instead.' He pulled back the bolt, and peered through the scope. A British prisoner was blocking his view. 'Get out the bloody way,' he muttered.

'Bit risky, wasn't it, Sarge?'

'Not really. I fired in time with the guns. No one had a clue where it had come from.'

'Sarge,' said Sykes, urgency in his voice. The general was now slightly behind, and Tanner could see half his head.

'Sarge,' said Sykes again, 'if you fire now you'll blow our chance of surprise. And those prisoners will probably end up getting killed an' all.'

'He's a sodding general, though, Stan. Might be a really big cheese.' The German commander's head now filled his sight. He curled his finger around the trigger.

'Sarge, our orders was to destroy the guns.'

'I've got a clear shot.'

'Don't do it, Sarge. Please. You'll scupper the mission.'

A split second. That was all it would take. His finger was on the trigger, the general's head still in his sights. The four men had now reached the gate.

'Let him go, Sarge,' whispered Sykes. 'If he comes back, shoot him then.'

Tanner closed his eyes a moment, then lowered his rifle. 'All right, Stan.' The four men were through the gate now and striding down the track towards the vehicles. The general signalled and the engine of the eight-wheeled armoured car roared into life. Tanner watched the four men slipping below the ridge and the armoured car drove slowly up towards them, its high profile dominating the track. It stopped and they clambered on. Tanner watched the general step onto the turret, the guns still booming on the far side of the farmhouse, although at a less frenetic rate of fire. I could get you now. He raised his rifle once more, but a moment later, the big beast was reversing down the track. At the cemetery it turned, then headed off in clouds of dust towards the smoking village.

Tanner cursed, then signalled to Peploe to bring the men over.

'You did the right thing, Sarge,' said Sykes.

'Maybe. Anyway, what do you think? What did you see from over by the house?' He looked at his watch. Ten to six. They needed to get a move on.

'The house is in an L-shape,' Sykes told him. 'There's some outbuildings the far side, a few bushes and small trees beyond it.'

'Before the copse?'

'Yes. They'll give cover, I think. But 'ere's another thing. That copse is just a circle of trees that overlook a kind of dip, but the land falls away to the right where there's a track leading into it. There's a bank again the far side, though. I reckon it was a quarry once. Grassed over now, but there're two 'owitzers in it. It's a brilliant position unless your attackers are right on top of you.' He grinned. 'Then it's a bloody death trap.'

'What kind of field guns?'

'Quite big. Like the ones they had in Norway when we were outside Lillehammer.'

'105s,' said Tanner. 'There are two big anti-tank guns at the edge of the copse and a smaller one.' The rest of the platoon were now hurrying, a line of ants, towards the cover of the barn.

'No one saw me, Sarge,' said Sykes. 'They're just gunners, I reckon, and bloody busy they seem too. They're firing at an 'ell of a rate.'

'There's an MG team somewhere. The far side of the copse, maybe.'

Peploe joined them. 'What was going on?'

'Just waiting for the coast to clear, sir,' said Tanner.

'Have you got a plan, Sergeant?'

'Yes, sir.' Tanner felt hot, suddenly, and wiped his brow, then tried unsuccessfully to suppress a cough - the cordite was irritating his throat. Peploe beckoned the section commanders to gather round.

'Sergeant Tanner's got a plan of attack,' he said to them. 'Sergeant?'

Briefly, Tanner explained the layout of the farm and copse. 'Rosso,' he said to Corporal Ross, 'you head out first and put your section in the bushes in front of the farm. Make sure your Bren has a really clear line of fire. Stan, I'll come with your lads round the back. Hopefully we can cross the gap without being spotted, but if we are, Rosso's section can keep them busy. At the same time, sir, you lead Cooper's section around the other side.'

'Like Hannibal at Cannae,' said Peploe. Seeing Tanner's puzzled expression, he said, 'A pincer movement. Hit hard at the front and envelop either side.'

'Exactly, sir. But, Rosso, it's important your boys don't open fire until Stan and I have got past. Sir, your lot must move under the cover of Rosso's fire - but you can use the bushes and there are some outbuildings that'll give cover. Speed and weight of fire is the key to this.'

'Good,' said Peploe. He was pale, his eyes darting from one to another. 'Brief your men and then let's go. Corporal Ross, as soon as you're ready.'

'One minute, sir,' said Tanner. His heart was hammering again. Shaky hands undid the clips on his ammunition pouches. From his respirator bag he produced half a dozen hand grenades, which he stuffed into his deep trouser pockets for ease of access. 'Then he walked down the line of men. Knuckles showed white around rifles, eyes stared at him. Men bit their lips. 'You'll be fine, lads,' said Tanner. 'Now iggery, all right? Once the shooting starts, keep moving. They're only bloody gunners so they'll all be deaf as posts and won't hear you coming.'

It was nearly six o'clock. He looked at the lieutenant, who nodded to him, then patted Ross's shoulder. He watched the corporal breathe in deeply, then turn the corner of the barn and sprint across the yard to the edge of the house, the rest of his section following. Tanner winked at Corporal Cooper, then said to Sykes, 'Right, Stan, let's go.'

Clutching his rifle in his right hand, he ran across the open yard, the dust kicked up from Ross's section catching in his mouth. As he rounded the end of the house he was relieved to see Ross's men already diving for cover among the bushes that perched on the lip of the hollow. He could now see the route into the quarry. Sykes had been right - it was quite a drop, some ten or twelve feet deep, and they'd have to scramble down and up the other bank. He breathed out, then waved at the rest of the section to hurry.

A glance at Ross, who raised his thumb. Good, thought Tanner. Bren in position. He motioned to McAllister to move beside him - he needed that Bren at the van of their movement. 'Mac, I'm going to count to three,' he said. 'Then we're going to make a dash for it.'

McAllister nodded, and gripped his Bren with both hands.

'One, two - three!' They were up and running down the shallow grass bank. Tanner scanned the hollow - glimpses of men gathered round the guns in a web of shadows. The big howitzers fired in turn, the recoil sending them lurching back on their wheels. Tanner gasped as he scrambled up the other slope. A shout - German - Damn, we've been spotted - and Ross's Bren opened fire. Tanner was conscious, from the corner of his eye, of men falling.

Rifles cracked - a yell - then Tanner urged his men on. Past several trees and then another gap, giving a view down into the pit of the hollow. Keep going, keep going. He was now on the other side of the hollow. The chatter of Bren fire behind, snapping rifle fire, bullets zipping, leaves and branches sliced by their passage. McAllister was still with him - good - and then, up ahead, across a narrow pasture, he saw men crouch-running among a further clump of bushes. A second later he heard the burp of a machine-gun and bullets penetrating the branches behind.

He raised his rifle, saw one two-man team through his scope, pulled back the bolt and fired. A head jerked backwards. More bullets spat and this time their height was better. Where were they coming from? Someone cried out, and Tanner flung himself to the ground, conscious of McAllister dropping onto the grass too, the bipod on his Bren already pulled out into place beforehand. Good lad. Bullets tore over his head - long bursts that were supposed to rake the ground but were firing high. Barrel's overheating. Gingerly he lifted his head.

Another burst of fire and this time he saw them, the dark shapes of the men manning them, a faint muzzle, from the direction of some bushes dead ahead, by the track that ran in front of the whole position. He brought his cheek to the butt of his rifle and peered through the scope, drew back the bolt and fired. Another man jerked backwards, and for a moment the splutter of bullets stopped.

Tanner leaped to his feet again, and hurtled across the grass towards the bushes. Grabbing a grenade, he pulled the pin and hurled it at the enemy machine-gun, then drew his rifle to his shoulder once more. Movement - a man crouch-hurrying ahead - another trying desperately to get behind the momentarily abandoned MG. Bolt back, fire - the grenade exploded - a man screamed and Tanner fired again. He sprinted to the MG, saw another man stretching for the weapon, kicked him out of the way, then dived into the shallow pit, lifted the machine- gun and, unable to hold the barrel because of the heat, let it plunge to the ground, drew back the bolt and fired towards the big anti-tank guns.

Bullets pinged off the metal but he was aware that none of the guns was firing now. Had they done it? He could still hear Bren and rifle fire but he couldn't see any enemy troops.

Sykes was beside him now. 'I think we've got 'em all, Sarge,' he said, between gasps for breath.

'Maybe,' muttered Tanner. Pushing himself to his feet, he said, 'Cover me,' then dashed forward to the first of the big anti-tank guns. Ten yards from it he hurled another grenade. As it landed, a terrified gunner stood up and ran for cover in the trees. Tanner raised his rifle and fired, the man falling forwards and tumbling down the sides of the hollow with a scream. He ran to the next gun and there saw Lieutenant Peploe, a stunned expression on his face. They had encircled the position.

'Hold your fire!' Tanner shouted, then turned to the lieutenant. 'Are you all right, sir?'

'I think so, Sergeant.' He laughed. 'Christ, I don't believe it - we've bloody done it! We've bloody well gone and done it!'

Tanner grinned, then wished he hadn't as his lip cracked again. 'They'll be coming up from the vehicles, sir, and maybe even the village. We need to be quick.'

'Why don't we use those vehicles?' suggested Peploe.

'Good idea, sir. Perhaps you should do that while Sykes and I make sure no one uses these guns again.'

'Yes. I'll come back straight up this track here. Meet you by the farmhouse.' He loped off, shouting to Cooper and Ross. When Tanner turned, he saw that, without prompting, the corporal was taking out a cartridge of Nobel's, sticking in a small stretch of fuse, then lighting it and placing it in the muzzle of the first big gun. Thirty seconds later, it exploded amid a cloud of smoke and a hollow, tinny clang.

More Bren and rifle fire a short distance behind. The lieutenant's attempt to capture some transport. But Tanner now had his rifle slung on his shoulder and his binoculars to his eyes. Heart plummeting, he saw that the British tanks were no longer advancing. A number had ground to a halt, some burning, others less obviously disabled. Two stood smoking on the ridge a short way to his right. Heavy firing was still coming from the village behind and to the right, but he could see now that other tanks were pulling back, weaving slowly across the open farmland between the two ridges.

'Damn it all,' muttered Tanner. They had silenced the guns but too late. No wonder that general had buggered off. He must have known he'd halted the attack. Damn, damn, damn. Then movement to his left caught his eye. He swung round with his binoculars and saw, heading north to the west of Berneville, a long column of enemy troops. He looked at the second of the big guns. How hard could it be to fire one of those things? He hurried over to it.

Three men lay sprawled around it, one staring up at him with wide, lifeless eyes. Large wooden shell boxes stood a short distance away. Could they really fire at that column?

'Boys!' he called. 'Here - quick!' He peered through his binoculars again. Some panzers and several halftracks were advancing over the rolling fields towards Berneville. He looked for their own transport, but they had done a good job: they were hidden from view. Christ, not only had they silenced the guns too late, they were in danger of being cut off, stuck behind enemy lines.

'Sarge?' said McAllister.

Tanner looked at them. McAllister, Verity, Bell, Chambers and Kershaw. 'Where's Hepworth?'

'Helping the corp,' said Kershaw. A moment later there came another explosion as one of the howitzers was blown.

'Denning and Rhodes?'

'Both dead, Sarge,' said McAllister. 'Stupid idiots didn't get down quick enough when that second Spandau opened up.'

Two young men gone. Tanner sighed. And for what? He picked up a stone and hurled it angrily. 'We're going to try and fire this bastard.'

'How do we do that, Sarge?'

'Dunno,' said Tanner. He went over to the box, took out a long, heavy, twenty-pound shell and pushed it into the open breech.

'Shouldn't there be a door or something to hold it in place, Sarge?' said McAllister.

'Can you bloody well see one?'

McAllister shrugged.

'It must be a sliding breech. We need to turn it somehow. Those wheels at the side must do something.' He turned one to the right and discovered the barrel moved downwards. He reversed the action and the barrel rose. Another wheel turned the entire gun on its central column. 'See?' he said. 'Told you it couldn't be that hard.'

'That must be the firing mechanism, Sarge,' said McAllister, pointing to a lever to the right of the breech.

Tanner swivelled the gun so that it was pointing towards the enemy column, raised the barrel a few inches, said, 'There's only one way to find out,' and pressed down on the lever. In a deafening blast and a puff of choking smoke, the breech hurtled backwards in recoil, spitting out the smoking brass casing as it did so. Tanner stumbled backwards and fell over as the shell hurtled through the air and detonated a moment later in a field some distance short of the target.

'You need to elevate it a bit, Sarge,' said McAllister, lugging another shell to the breech. Tanner's ears rang shrilly as he got to his feet, raised the barrel and fired again. Another ear-splitting blast. The men spluttered and coughed, but this time the shell landed close to the target.

'Blimey, Sarge,' said Sykes, now emerging from the hollow with Hepworth, his hands over his ears.

'Grab some shells, lads, iggery,' said Tanner. 'Watch this, Stan.'

McAllister flung the next shell into the breech as Tanner raised the barrel an inch more. 'Keep out the way, Stan.' Tanner grinned. 'This thing's got a hell of a kick.' He pressed down on the lever, the great gun thundered, and this time they saw the shell explode almost on top of the enemy column some two miles to the north-west. A cheer went up, but Tanner barked at them to put another shell into the breech. He fired again, and once more found their target, then again. 'Right, Stan, time to silence her. We need to go.'

As Sykes prepared his demolition, Tanner peered through his binoculars again. He could see vehicles on fire, and others wheeling crazily around the mayhem he and his men had unleashed. Two of the panzers heading for Berneville had stopped, he now saw, uncertain, he guessed, as to what was happening and what they should be doing. He smiled grimly.

The sound of vehicles. Tanner turned towards the farmhouse and saw Peploe wave from one of the Krupps he had seen earlier outside the cemetery.

'Come on, lads,' he said. 'Time to get going.'

He ran along the track, leaving behind a mist of pungent, acrid smoke, more than twenty dead and, as the gelignite in the big gun exploded, the useless wrecks of five enemy guns. But as he clambered into the Krupp beside the lieutenant he brought his binoculars to his eyes and saw Stukas diving on Berneville and the ridge beyond. One after another, relentlessly, they screamed down, their bombs exploding amid clouds of dust, smoke and grit so that soon the entire view was shrouded in a thick pall.

Then he saw more enemy troops hurrying down the main Doullens-Arras road. Two armoured cars, motorcycles and, following behind, a half-track.

This is going to be a close-run thing. A very close thing indeed.

The last of the men was now aboard. 'Let's get out of here,' said Peploe.

'Hold on, sir,' said Tanner. He was looking again at the enemy vehicles speeding along the Doullens-Arras road. 'I've just had a bit of an idea.'