Darkest Hour

Chapter 17

Sturmbannfuhrer Timpke had managed to assemble most of his battalion to the east of Beaumetz as planned, if somewhat later than he had hoped. Once again, the narrowness and lack of roads had been the problem: his motorcycles and armoured cars - even his half-tracks - couldn't cross the soft, rich clay of the open fields. Metalled roads and firm tracks were the limit of their capabilities - and this was the case for most of the division. He had been thankful that neither the French nor the Tommy bombers had spotted their long columns on the march.

He had, however, identified three passable approaches to Berneville from the south. One track ran diagonally from Beaumetz, while a few kilometres along the Doullens-Arras road, a further track and a metalled road led off at ninety degrees directly into the south of the village. He sent Company 1 from Beaumetz and his P38 tanks off across the fields beside them, then led his remaining two companies along the main road to Arras.

And thank goodness he had, because no sooner had they got going than shells were hurtling over from the ridge to the south-east. From his position in the turret of his scout car, Timpke had been startled by the unexpected explosion a few hundred yards to the north. If that had been a ranging shot, the shells that followed had soon found their mark, hitting part of Regiment 3's column pushing north from Beaumetz.

Timpke had soon spotted the source of the shellfire: a big 88mm flak gun stuck in a copse a couple of miles away. Typical wooden-headed Wehrmacht gunners getting carried away. The shelling didn't last long: someone had obviously pointed out the error of their ways, but to the north of Beaumetz a number of vehicles were burning, thick black smoke pitching into the air.

Wearing a wireless headset, he heard Schultz's voice crackle in his headphones from below. 'Boss, Company One are nearing the western end of Berneville. They're not drawing enemy fire.'

'Good. Order them to keep going. Where are Totenkopf Regiment Two?'

There was a pause. 'They're advancing from Simencourt, boss, along the ridge to the north of Berneville. At least six vehicles were hit by that gun.'

'Those gunners should be shot.'

As they had reached the first track into the village from the main road, he had ordered Company 2 to break from their column and advance along it. No sooner had he done so than he had heard the sound of aero-engines and, scanning the sky, spotted two dozen Stukas approaching from the east. They were flying low, one swarm of twelve aircraft stacked above another, only a few thousand feet high. For a brief moment Timpke had felt a stab of panic that they might attack their columns, but then, one by one, sirens screaming, the planes peeled off, dropping their bombs on Berneville and the ridge behind it.

'Schultz,' said Timpke, 'we'll halt until the dive- bombers have done their work. Relay the order.'

'Yes, boss,' Schultz replied. 'Company One and the panzers want to wait where they are too.'

'Agreed. But as soon as the Stukas go, get them into the village.'

When the dive-bombers finally left, smoke hid the village and the ridge. To the west, however, Timpke could see infantry pressing towards the village - men from Totenkopf Regiment 2. Mortar shells were exploding, machine-gun and small arms cracked, their tinny reports echoing across the open fields. Timpke sniffed - burned wood and rubber - as though to confirm the acrid stench of battle. He ordered his men forward once more, and a few hundred metres further on his small lead column of Company 3 turned off the Doullens-Arras road and sped towards the village.

Ahead, his motorcycles had stopped. A man had raised his hand, beckoning them on. Two others were getting out of their sidecars. Then Timpke saw them: two Opel trucks with white paint daubed across the bonnets. He knew instantly what they were — there could be no doubt.

His scout car halted in front of them and he got down, his anger rising once more. The numberplates had been painted over, but the SS runes were only partially hidden. Jaw clenched, he strode around both vehicles, looking with disgust at the British names written crudely upon them. Yorks Rangers, BEF. Stolen at dead of night and abandoned at the first sign of a fight. He glanced up the road to the village. Where were those men now, he wondered. In Berneville still, or dead, pulverized by the weight of the Stuka attack? Or had they fallen back further already? Dead or alive, he vowed, he wanted those men, those Yorks Rangers who had dared to take these vehicles from him.

'Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, look,' said one of his men now.

Timpke turned back to the direction from which they had come and saw two Krupp infantry carriers rumbling down the road towards them.

'Our friends in the Wehrmacht,' said Timpke, walking back to his vehicle. 'If they think they're going to drive on ahead of us, they're very much mistaken.'

Timpke was getting into the scout car as the first of the Krupps pulled up alongside. To his surprise, one of the Wehrmacht men leaped from the vehicle onto his armoured car. He glimpsed the pale eyes of his assailant, then the man swung his forearm round his neck, choking him, kneed him in the side so hard that Timpke gasped with searing pain, and jabbed a pistol into the small of his back.

It had been so quick and unexpected that none of Timpke's men had had time to react.

'Hande hoch!' a man was shouting from the Krupp. 'Hande hoch!'

One of Timpke's men tried to swing round the machine-gun on his sidecar, but at a quick tap from the MG in the Krupp he jerked backwards with a cry. The rest now put their hands slowly in the air, stunned. Timpke felt the arm against his throat slacken, so that although the muzzle of his own Luger was still pressed hard against his kidney, he was able to turn enough to look at his attacker. His eyes widened. The man had a battered face, a cut on his cheek and lip and severe bruising. He wore a German helmet but, he now saw, a khaki uniform, not field grey. And on his shoulders the curved black patches bore two words in green stitching: Yorkshire Rangers. Timpke curled his lips into a snarl, then shook his head. No! It wasn't possible! How could they have been caught out like this? If only his men following had looked at these Tommies more carefully. German helmets - helmets! Timpke groaned. Surprise - it was one of the golden lessons of warfare, and he had let himself and his men be caught out not once but twice.

'Evening, chum,' said Tanner.

'Who are you?' said Timpke, slowly, in English, his face red with fury.

'Tell your men not to make any attempt to shoot,' said Tanner. He saw Timpke glance up the road towards the rest of his column. Tanner dared not take his eye off him, so he called to Lieutenant Peploe, 'Sir, are we all secure?'

'Yes, Sergeant,' Peploe replied. 'Can he speak English?'

Tanner nodded. 'I told you, sir. The clever ones like this fellow always can.'

Tanner pushed Timpke down against the side of the car and said, 'Now order the men inside this car to leave their weapons and come out.' Timpke looked at him with hatred in his eyes. 'Now!' snapped Tanner.

Timpke barked an order and the two men appeared.

'Tell them to get down on the road and put their hands in the air.'

Again, Timpke did so and the men did as ordered.

'Right, Stan,' said Tanner. 'You can go down and do interesting things with their radio equipment.' He grinned, then cursed as his lip split yet again.

'Has someone got this joker covered?' he called.

'Yes, Sarge,' said Hepworth, from behind him in the Krupp.

Tanner now allowed himself to glance back to the second Krupp. As he had planned with Lieutenant Peploe, it had waited behind the small SS column. The Bren, resting on the wooden side of the Krupp, had the men in the three half-tracks and armoured car covered, while others were now hurrying over to disarm them. Not a bad haul. Tanner scanned briefly for another of their sub-machine-guns.

'Give me your name and unit,' he said, to the German in front of him.

'Sturmbannfuhrer Otto Timpke, commanding officer of the reconnaissance battalion, Waffen-SS Totenkopf Division,' replied Timpke, through clenched teeth.

'Storm-ban-what?' said Tanner. 'What kind of rank is that?'

'Sturmbannfuhrer,' said Timpke. 'In the Wehrmacht it would be the same as a major.'

'I see.'

'I do not know what you think you can achieve by this,' hissed Timpke. 'Your attack has failed. The Tommies have fallen back. Most of our division is advancing from the south and west and a panzer division is pressing forward to the east of here. You are surrounded. You might have a pistol pointing at me now but, believe me, very soon it will be you who have to put your hands in the air.'

'I don't think so,' said Tanner, taking the cigarettes from Timpke's breast pocket. 'You see, you lot are going to help us get back to our lines.' He took a cigarette, felt for his matches and, with his spare hand, struck one. Aaah, he thought, the swirling cloud of tobacco briefly overpowering the smell of burning that hung in the air, I needed that.

'Help you?' said Timpke. 'You must be mad.'

'A bit, perhaps,' said Tanner, 'but not as mad as you lot with your bloody goose-stepping and heil-Hitlers.' He grasped Timpke's neck tightly. 'Now, listen to me, Otto. We're all going to drive on through Berneville, dodging those potholes made by your mates in the Luftwaffe, and we'll keep going over the ridge and back down to Warlus until we find our own side again. And if we get so much as a single shot fired at us, I'll kill you all. Understand?'

Timpke glared at him, the veins at the side of his head pulsing, the muscles on his jaw flexing. Tanner tightened his grip, then said, louder, 'Understand?'

'Yes!' gasped Timpke.

Tanner relaxed his grip. 'Good. Then let's go and tell your men.' He pushed Timpke roughly so that he fell onto the road. Jumping down beside him, the Luger still in his hand, he pulled the German roughly to his feet. 'Come on, then, Otto. Be quick!'

Sykes emerged from the armoured radio car and hoisted himself into the first of the Opels, while Corporal Cooper climbed into the second. Quickly, they manoeuvred them into position between the three halftracks. Peploe then ordered half a dozen men into the trailer of each, with a Bren and a captured Spandau pointed at the prisoners in the half-tracks.

'The motorcycles and scout cars should lead, don't you think?' Peploe said to Tanner, as he and Timpke returned to the lead vehicle.

'Yes, sir. You'll follow, will you?'

Peploe nodded.

'And shall I go in the scout car with Otto here? If we spot any of our lot we'll simply put our own helmets back on and push one of the Opels in front.'

Peploe breathed out and smiled nervously. 'Christ, Tanner,' he said, 'if I'm still in one piece by midnight, I'll be a happy man.'

Tanner grinned. 'We'll be fine, sir.' He turned to Timpke. 'I'll get in first.'

The inside of the armoured car was hot. Tanner had shoved the radio operator into one of the Opels but even with just Timpke and the driver the smell of oil and petrol was almost overpowering. Sweat ran down his neck and back; the thick serge of his trousers rubbed scratchily against his legs. When they rolled forwards, though, a breeze through the vents brought relief. To one side, the radio, with the connection leads to the transmitter, receiver and power units, had been disconnected. Good for Stan. He hadn't destroyed but deactivated it.

'You are finished,' said Timpke. 'Even if we reach your Tommy lines tonight, it is only a question of time. And I promise you this: I will find you, Herr Tanner, and kill you.'

'Put a sock in it, will you?' said Tanner. He noticed the sub-machine-gun hanging on cream hooks on the metal wall. He wiped his brow. His hand was clammy, the wooden grip of the Luger slippery with sweat. He stared at Timpke. Good-looking, he thought, but arrogant too - a sneering superiority was etched across the man's face. They were an efficient military machine, all right, but too many of them seemed to have been seduced by a madman with a strange haircut and an even odder moustache. He couldn't imagine feeling superior about that.

'France is falling, then so too will Great Britain,' said Timpke. 'We wondered whether you Tommies would put up more of a fight than your French allies, but after today's little exchange, it would seem not.'

Tanner ignored him. Peering through the vent, he saw they were now turning into the main street of the village. He could hear distant gunfire, but the village itself seemed quiet. He stood upright, took the sub-machine- gun from its hooks, then slung it round his neck. 'This looks like a good bit of kit, Otto,' he said. 'I took one from some of your lads the other night. At least, I think they were the same ones. They had that fancy-dress skull and crossbones on their collars.' He eyed Timpke and was pleased to see the German stiffen with anger again. 'Actually, it's funny what you were saying about the French and us because your boys rolled over easy as pie. We silenced a few sentries, nicked four vehicles and blew up half a building without so much as a cross word. Couldn't have been easier, frankly. So I'm not sure you lot are that good.' He examined the sub-machine-gun. 'What do you call this?'

For a moment Timpke said nothing. Then: 'It is a Bergmann MP35. Made exclusively for the Waffen-SS:

'Well, your kit's definitely better, I'll give you that. We've got nothing like this. And that big anti-tank gun.' He nodded in the direction of the ridge behind them, then whistled. 'Quite something.'

Timpke couldn't hide his surprise. 'That was you?'

Tanner nodded. 'Actually, come to think of it,' he added, 'that lot were a bit of a roll-over too.'

He saw Timpke flush with rage but he was curious about that gun and decided it was time for some flattery. 'I really am impressed with your kit. That gun looked like our large anti-aircraft gun. What would it have been?'

Timpke shrugged. 'Probably a Flak 36. It is an antiaircraft gun - 8.8-cm calibre but used in an anti-tank role.'

The driver now spoke and Tanner heard 'panzer'. Timpke spoke back to him - his words short and sharp. Tanner glanced briefly out of the forward vent again and this time saw two German tanks squeaking and trundling slowly towards the crossroads ahead of them.

'Get up into the turret, Otto,' said Tanner, 'and tell them you're advancing to Warlus.' Timpke got to his feet. 'And, Otto, don't try anything.' He pointed the Luger at the German's crotch. 'I bet a good-looking bloke like you has a lot to live for, eh?'

They drove on, Tanner's heart thudding. Beyond the tanks there were more vehicles - several half-tracks and motorcycles. Come on, he thought, keep going. As if to stress the point, he jabbed the barrel of the Luger into 'Timpke's crotch.

Standing in the turret, Timpke saw they were approaching the heart of the village, the hub into which all other roads and tracks fed. A slate-roofed house, built in the centre of the road, stood at this confluence. To the side of it, three of his panzers had ground to a halt while beyond, and from a track to his left, the vehicles of Companies 1 and 2 had now converged. The smoke was clearing although it hung heavy in the air, like a thin filter that made everything seem hazy. Several houses had been destroyed, rubble spreading onto the street. Up the hill another burned fiercely.

Seeing his forces take control of the village made him realize his envelopment had happened as he had planned - except, of course, for the unexpected ambush by these cursed Tommies. Scheisse! he thought. How could it be? He cursed again - but he couldn't undo what had happened. The important thing now was to resolve his predicament. A quandary: he could tell Beeck and Saalbach as he passed them what had happened and order them to rescue him, or he could do as this man Tanner had told him and continue straight to Warlus. A rescue attempt, he was sure, would be successful, but at what cost? These Yorkshire Rangers were, he guessed, some kind of British elite unit - and they were good, he had to admit. In Tanner, he knew he was up against a hard man, who would not flinch from carrying out his threat. But he was also certain that the British were beaten. The Reich's forces would soon overwhelm them so he and his men would not be held captive for long. In any case, there might be some better opportunity to escape: they couldn't keep him in this vehicle for ever.

When they reached the house in the centre of the road, he saw Beeck wave at him from his half-track, then jump down and run towards the scout car as it slowed to pass the panzers.

'We have the village, boss!' Beeck called.

'Yes - and I'm going to push on,' Timpke shouted back. 'Stay here and make sure it's secure.' An idea struck him. 'Then push on with Company Three in all strength towards Warlus.'

'Is your radio working, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer?' Beeck asked. 'We've been trying to call you.'

'No - something's up. Follow soon, understand?'

Beeck saluted, then ran back to his vehicle.

'Otto,' Tanner shouted, tugging at Timpke's breeches, 'what was that about? You didn't tell him to mount a rescue?'

'No,' said Timpke, 'but the whole weight of two divisions will be on your heels soon. You don't have a chance.'

Tanner bent down to the vent again, and saw they were passing tanks and vehicles. Troops were searching the houses as they pressed on up the hill. Would they notice that British soldiers were driving past? The disguises hardly bore close examination. Hold your nerve, he told himself. They're not expecting it. Fortune favours the bold. They were climbing now, the road snaking out of the village towards the ridge between the two villages. Still no exclamations of surprise, no sudden gunfire. He glanced at his watch. Nearly ten to seven. Perhaps Otto was playing ball; perhaps they would get away with it after all.

The armoured car slowed almost to a standstill.

Tanner tugged at Timpke again. 'What's going on?'

'A bomb crater. We will drive round it.'

Once they had successfully negotiated it, they continued their climb until they reached the summit of the ridge beside the water-tower Tanner had noticed on their way to attack the copse. Through the vents Tanner saw bodies and detached limbs strewn at either side of the road - British victims of the Stuka attack they had witnessed half an hour before.

Timpke lowered himself into the car. 'Our Stukas had their fill here,' he said, and smirked. 'There are many dead Tommies.'

Suddenly a surge of anger rose in Tanner's belly. Too many times in the past fortnight he had been forced to keep it in check, to take humiliation on the chin and brush it aside. No more. He had had enough of this madman. Calmly he clenched his left hand into a fist then, quick as a dart, swung it into the side of Timpke's head. The German looked at him curiously, then fell onto his side. Tanner's anger left him. His ability to hit almost equally well with both hands had always been one of his strengths as a boxer. The driver swung round, aghast, but Tanner waved the pistol at him - just keep going.

Now Tanner climbed into the turret himself. Behind, he saw Lieutenant Peploe. He heard small-arms fire to the left and mortars were exploding around Warlus, now just a few hundred yards on the far side of the ridge. Away to his right, but hidden from view by a dense wood, he thought he heard the clatter of tank tracks. Directly ahead there were two more bomb craters. The motorcyclists were slowing to get through them, and as one looked round, Tanner signalled to them to halt.

'Our boys must still be in the village, sir,' he called to Peploe.

'I agree,' Peploe replied. 'I'll tell Sykes to drive on in and warn them. Where's your German?'

'Out cold.' Tanner grinned. 'I'm sorry, sir, but he was getting on my nerves.'

Sykes was waved through. He raised his thumb at Tanner as he passed, mounted the verge, inched past the craters and headed on down the hill towards Warlus.

Tanner waited a moment, listening, but to his relief heard no gunfire directed at Sykes's truck. He climbed back into the car and said to the driver, 'Siegehen.' A jolt, a jerk, and they followed Sykes's lead, clambering onto the verge and past the bomb craters.

They halted in the village. Tanner grabbed Timpke, still unconscious, hoisted him up into the turret and pushed him out, then ordered the driver to follow. As he pulled himself out, he saw that they had stopped in the wide turning towards the church, the small stretch of road they had left barely two hours earlier. It seemed a lifetime ago. A couple of trucks, several carriers and a few cars were already there. He spotted Captain Barclay and Blackstone, standing with several other men on the corner, gazing incredulously at the booty of German vehicles and the prisoners being ordered to the ground. Tanner watched for a moment, the evening breeze cool and welcome after the heat of the scout car. The air was heavy with cordite and smoke but birds were still singing in the trees around the church - last-minute wooing before they roosted for the night.

Blackstone, with Slater in tow, now walked over to Corporal Cooper, who was gathering the prisoners together.

Sykes was wandering towards Tanner, drawing on a cigarette. 'Where's 'e taking them, Sarge?' he asked, nodding towards Blackstone.

'God knows,' said Tanner, as several mortars exploded to the west, making him start. Thumps and machine-gun fire followed. A platoon of Durham Light Infantry hurried across the road by the church and disappeared behind it. More dull cracks and thuds resounded.

'Come on, Stan,' said Tanner. 'Best help me with Otto here. Then I reckon we ought to find out what the hell's going on.'

'We're under attack from the west, I'd say.'

'And soon we'll be under attack from the south as well,' added Tanner. 'Those SS-wallahs aren't going to hang around in Berneville for ever.' He sighed. 'What a bloody mess.' He tucked the Luger into his belt, rifled through Timpke's holster and pockets for any spare rounds - he found three clips - then called to Captain Barclay, who was talking feverishly with Peploe under a large copper beech that was just bursting into full leaf. 'Sir, do you want to question him?'

Barclay looked at him with a flush of irritation. 'Not at the minute, Tanner. Take him with the others. We can interrogate him later.'

'Suit your bloody self,' muttered Tanner.

Blackstone and Slater had taken the prisoners across the road to a large old-brick barn. By the time Tanner and Sykes caught up, the SS men had been corralled inside it. It was dry and dusty in there. A rick of straw was stacked at one end, but otherwise it was empty, save for a dilapidated cart, an ageing plough, a harrow and a few broken-spoked wheels.

There were, Tanner reckoned, more than forty prisoners - all SS but some had been captured earlier. One of the lance-corporals from Company Headquarters was there, keeping guard with a Bren. Tanner and Sykes laid Timpke beside the straw then turned to go.

'How's my favourite rapist, then?' said Blackstone, winking.

Tanner ignored him.

'The women of France should be quaking now his blood's up,' he continued, grinning. 'A bit of fighting today and he'll be terrorizing the ladies tonight.'

Tanner grabbed him by the throat and rammed him hard against the wooden side of the barn. Behind him, he heard the prisoners shuffling apprehensively, as though weighing up whether the time to make a bid for freedom had come. At the same moment, he heard the cock of the Bren pulled back and clicked into place. The lance- corporal was pointing the Bren straight at him.

'Shut your sodding mouth, Blackstone,' Tanner hissed.

'Let go of the CSM,' said a low, gruff voice. Tanner turned and saw Slater beside him, a Webley in his hand.

Fanner glared at him, then loosened his grip.

'Jesus, Jack,' spluttered Blackstone, 'you never could take a joke.'

'Not from you, you bastard.' He noticed the MP35 slung over Blackstone's shoulder. 'What gives you the right to carry that like some bloody trophy?'

'I see you've got another,' he answered, straightening his battle-blouse.

'Yes, unlike you, I got it the hard way.'

'It's a perk of my position, Jack, you know that. And let me tell you something else. It's not clever to go around threatening warrant officers.' He eyed Tanner carefully. 'You were lucky this morning - very lucky. But that matter hasn't gone away, you know. Rape is rape, whoever you are. And now you're showing violent tendencies towards a superior. It won't look good - it won't look good at all. And I've witnesses.' He nodded to Slater and Sykes.

'Don't think I'm one of your lackeys,' said Sykes. 'Come on, Sarge,' he said to Tanner, pushing past the two men. 'Let's leave them to guard this lot. We've got proper soldiering to do.'

Slater grabbed Sykes's shoulder and swung him round. 'Watch your lip, son,' he said. 'You and the good sergeant 'ere might 'ave been leading charmed lives but it don't pay to push your luck.'

'Let go of me,' said Sykes, wriggling free.

'Leave it, Stan,' said Tanner, ushering Sykes away. He turned back to Blackstone and Slater. 'Trust me,' he said, 'it's you two who're pushing your luck. Eventually you'll slip up and I'll be waiting when you do.'

As they walked back towards the square, they were hailed by Lieutenant Peploe. 'There you are,' he said, as they hurried over. The air was now heavy with gunfire and the sound of battle - not only from the south and west of the village but to the north as well. Dull crumps and faint machine-gun sallies were coming from a few miles away.

'Bloody hell,' said Tanner, looking northwards, 'that's Duisans, isn't it?'

'And east of there too.' Peploe rubbed his eyes and cheeks. 'Look, we've got to move into position, back up the road towards the water-tower. Then we'll dig in around the hedgerows along the edge of the village.'

'All right, sir, let's go. Shall we leave the trucks?'

'Yes, they'll be safer here, I hope.'

Tanner called to the rest of the platoon, who had been waiting by the vehicles, and they hurried back up the road that led to Berneville. Past the last of the houses, up ahead, they saw an anti-tank crew bringing their gun into position against the bank at the side of the road, men unloading shells from the carrier beside them. Away to their left, from the direction of the wood, shots rang out, while behind and to the east, guns continued to boom intermittently.

A short way forward from the anti-tank crew, a hedge extended either side of the road.

'Is anyone dug in along here?' Peploe asked one of the DLI gunners.

'No, sir. We've got forward posts in the wood but that's

it.'

'All right,' said Peploe. 'Cooper, take your section and position them to the left of the road, behind the hedge. Ross and Sykes, your boys take the right. We're missing a few men now so we'll have to spread out a bit - five or six yards apart. I want one Bren by the road here opposite the gun and the other two at the end of our defensive lines giving covering fire across the whole of our front. Sykes, your section can be at the end. Ross, I want you a dozen yards in from the road. We need to watch out for any enemy infiltrating from the west but our primary task is to defend the village from the south.' He cleared his throat, then turned to Tanner. 'Happy with those dispositions, Sergeant?'

'Yes, sir.' The lieutenant's learning fast.

'Good - all clear? Then let's go.'

As the men shuffled along the hedgerows, the drone of aircraft thrummed away to the east. Tanner counted a dozen black crosses against the pale evening sky. In no time they were directly overhead, and then they were gone, this time to bomb some other target. To the north, fighting continued, but at Warlus, although desultory mortars continued to hit the village, it was suddenly quieter to the south and east. Tanner moved along the line, checking the men were in position correctly and that those manning the Brens had enough ammunition.

They had lost four men during the attack on the battery, all killed, leaving Sykes's section only eight men strong and the other two with nine each. The shortfall had been made up by men from Company Headquarters, which left himself, Peploe and Smailes.

'All right, Mac?' he said, as he reached McAllister, manning the Bren at the end of their small line.

'No, Sarge. I'm bloody hungry.'

'Me an' all,' agreed Bell.

'And me,' said Tanner. He'd barely thought about food all day but now he remembered they hadn't eaten since morning. His stomach immediately began to grumble. 'Try not to think about it,' he said, to himself as much as to them.

And he was tired. For the past few hours he had barely had time to think of anything but the task in hand. Now, as the battle appeared to have died down and they lay waiting patiently, his remaining energy was ebbing. He found Peploe by the road, took out one of Timpke's cigarettes and lit it, inhaling the smoke deeply. Dew was falling. The day's warmth was seeping away as rapidly as his energy.

'Where's the rest of the platoon, sir?' he asked.

'I'm not quite sure,' Peploe admitted. 'Somewhere to the east of the village. I'm afraid we're a bit of a scratch force here. Two companies of the Eighth DLI never left Duisans - there were some enemy forces to the north-west of there - so it's only A and D Companies here, plus a carrier platoon and a few mortars, and they've lost a fair few during the day. Lieutenant Bourne-Arton is missing and we're down a dozen men so far today - and that's not including the four from this platoon. The Durhams have had it worse - half their number are gone.'

Tanner shook his head. 'Mostly to dive-bombers?'

'You would have thought so, but no. Only about ten went in that. The worst casualties happened when they tried to push forward earlier, and since then there have been others - mortars, small arms and so on.'

'Not good. How long are we expected to stay here, sir?'

Peploe shrugged. 'Colonel Beart's missing too, and so is Captain Dixon. One of the advance-guard motorcycles went back to Duisans to try and get information but hasn't been seen since.'

'It's ridiculous, sir, trying to fight mobile battles with no radio. These SS-wallahs we picked up today, you should've seen their kit. Sykes disabled a beauty in the scout car.'

'I know. I'm beginning to think we're not really prepared for this war. That gun was something, wasn't it?'

'Actually, sir, I found out what it was. An ack-ack gun, all right, but it seems they use them in an anti-tank role. It's something called a Flak 36, 88mm calibre. I think we should take a leaf out of their book and start using our ack-ack guns in that way.'

'Beasts to move around but they certainly make our little twenty-pounders look a bit feeble.'

'The twenty-pounder's all right, sir, just so long as you use it over short distances. If anything comes over that ridge tonight, I'd back those boys to see it off, but over longer distances - well, that 88 caused mayhem, and we were firing more than two miles.'

'And the pair of them saw off our tank attack,' added Peploe.

They were silent for a moment, and then Peploe said, 'I know we did what we were asked to do today, but that it was all for nothing sticks in my gut. Four good men lost. To think they were eating and breathing and living their lives this morning and now they're lying beside some copse on a French hill.' He sighed. 'I can't help feeling responsible for them - guilty, even. It wasn't something I ever considered when I was at OCTU.'

'You might have lost more men if we'd stayed here, sir. And we learned a lot from that attack. Do you remember our conversation when we first got to Manston, about experience being the best training? Don't you feel a better soldier now than you did this morning?'

'You're right.' Peploe smiled. 'But another thing they don't teach you at OCTU is how confusing battle is. Most of today I haven't had the faintest idea what's going on. I still don't.'

Tanner grinned. 'I don't think anyone does. You just do what you can in your own part of the battlefield. Try to deal with whatever's flung your way.'

It was quiet now on their front, although to their rear gunfire still thumped intermittently.

'Did you see the CSM?' asked Peploe.

'He's looking after the prisoners. He had Slater with him and another lad from Company Headquarters.'

'Dangerous job.'

Tanner smiled wryly. 'Like I said, he's a coward. All bullies are,' he said. 'He won't get in the firing line unless he absolutely has to.'

'Did he say anything to you?'

'Not really.'

'Tanner, I'll make sure this rape charge is forgotten, you know.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner, 'but we've got to get out of this mess first. If Jerry doesn't attack in the next hour, I reckon he'll wait until morning. He doesn't like attacking at night. But the fact is, sir, I think we're more or less surrounded. If we don't pull out tonight, we'll be in the bag tomorrow.'

'We've been ordered to hold the village, though. What else can we do?'

Tanner sighed. 'That's what's worrying me, sir, because it's a lost cause.'