Darkest Hour

Chapter 21

Somehow they had managed to get lost. Thick cloud had rolled in, the sun had disappeared and, with it, the opportunity to navigate their way easily due east. Before long, it had begun to drizzle, and the flat, featureless Flanders landscape had been consumed by a dull mist. The inaccuracy of their road map had compounded their difficulties. The Rangers had certainly avoided refugees but instead had found themselves tramping a web of tracks and narrow roads, none of which seemed to correspond with what was shown on the map.

After a couple of hours, and still no sign of Poperinghe, Tanner was frustrated. He prided himself on his sense of direction yet, to his extreme annoyance, he had lost his bearings - not that he wanted to admit this to the lieutenant who, he knew, was feeling much the same. The men's spirits had been low when they had left Steenvoorde, but now they were plummeting rapidly. Heads were dropping, feet were dragging; there was grumbling among the ranks. Just one more crossroads, another couple of hundred yards, Tanner kept telling himself.

'Sarge,' said Sykes, after they had been tramping for nearly three hours, 'we've got to stop. Old Blackie'll be feeding off this one. Admit defeat, and let's stop for the night.'

Tanner nodded. 'All right, Stan.'

The lieutenant agreed, but added, 'Let's keep going for another half-hour. Poperinghe can't be far now.'

But no cluster of buildings or high-spired church appeared through the mist. Poperinghe remained as elusive as ever, so when, at just after eight o'clock, a large white farmstead loomed ahead, Peploe called a halt.

'Chaps, I'm sorry this has been a difficult afternoon,' he said to them, from the road leading to the farm. 'The lack of a good map and particularly the weather haven't helped. I'd hoped to get us to Poperinghe, but it's not to be, so we'll stay here for the night.'

It was a large, rambling place of whitewashed brick and grey slate, built around three sides of a square, with a narrow moat-like pond running along one edge. The farmhouse itself had a high-pitched roof, with a collection of different-sized barns and outbuildings, presumably added on at differing times but which, over the years, had moulded together, and now spread round the inner yard.

As the Rangers walked across the flat wooden bridge over the pond and into the yard by the front of the house, a few chickens scurried about - an encouraging sign. As Peploe approached the main door, a man appeared. Wearing a dark jacket and well-cut trousers, with thick greying hair and a moustache, he gazed defiantly at the exhausted, footsore and hungry men before him.

Immediately Peploe stepped up, offered his hand, and began to speak to him in French. Tanner watched carefully, trying to gauge the farmer's response. A shrug, a finger pointing towards one of the barns.

'Do you think he's playing ball, Sarge?' said Sykes, beside him.

'I don't think he's got much choice. But Mr Peploe's a well-brought-up fellow. I'm sure he's asking very nicely.'

Now they saw Peploe smile, shake the farmer's hand, then trot back down the steps. 'Monsieur Michaud is kindly allowing us to stay here tonight,' he told the men. 'He suggests we stay in the long barn, which is mostly empty except for straw and hay. He's going to see what food he can find, and we'll cook in sections. The well water in the yard comes from a natural spring so it's perfectly safe to drink and, indeed, wash and shave with. We'll sort out food now, but try to clean up a bit and then we can get some rest.' He glanced around at them. 'All right, dismissed.'

The farmer offered them cheese, milk, half a dozen old chickens and a bag of the previous season's apples and potatoes. Men from each section were issued the rations, then left to cook a meal, either on Primus stoves or on small fires made with logs from the woodshed. The drizzle had stopped, but it was cool, the air damp, as the men huddled round their fires and stoves. Savoury aromas soon wafted across the yard, mixing with the smell of straw and animal dung, reminding Tanner of how hungry he was. Seeing the lieutenant standing by the entrance to the farm, he wandered over to him.

'We should post some sentries, sir,' he said.

'Oh, yes - I suppose we should. I hadn't thought of that.'

'Shall I sort it out?'

'Thank you, Tanner - yes, please.'

As Tanner turned, Peploe added, 'I think morale's picked up a bit now, don't you?'

Tanner smiled. 'I'd say so, sir, although it'll be even better when they've eaten.'

He had just organized the sentries when he heard a vehicle approaching. Stepping out into the road he saw a British ambulance driving towards him. As the truck drew level, the driver, a sergeant with a Red Cross armband, leaned out of the window.

'Boy, am I glad to see you,' he said. 'We're horribly lost. Any idea where we are?'

Tanner looked at him, then at the passenger sitting next to him, a woman wearing the grey uniform of a Queen Alexandra's nurse and a tin hat. She stared at him as though she recognized him, then caught his eye, smiled and looked away.

'Er, not entirely sure, I'm afraid,' he said. 'We're lost too. We were trying to get to Poperinghe.'

'You stopping here for the night, then?'

'Yes. Where are you headed?'

'Ypres. We've been on the go non-stop since yesterday evening, taking wounded blokes up to Dunkirk and back. This is our third run but we were trying to be clever and avoid the civvies on the roads. The plan backfired rather.'

'Same happened to us,' said Tanner. 'Have you any idea what's going on at the moment?'

'Has anyone?' He grinned ruefully. 'The evacuation's begun.'

'Evacuation?' said Tanner. 'Really?'

'Yes. From Dunkirk. Bloody mayhem there - you've never seen anything like it. Men are falling back and making straight for the coast while other divisions hold the Jerries back. Yorkshire Rangers, eh?' he said, looking at the black and green shoulder flash on Tanner's battle- blouse. 'We had one of your lot in the ambulance this morning.'

'Where from?' said Tanner eagerly.

'Just south of Ypres somewhere. Wijtschate, I think it was.'

Tanner pushed his helmet to the back of his head. 'How many are they hoping to lift?'

'Search me. Not too many, looking at the place. Dunkirk's been badly knocked about. The port's absolutely had it.' He turned to the nurse beside him. 'What do you think, Lucie? Shall we stop here tonight? No point getting even more lost and we need a rest.'

She yawned. 'Yes, let's. I'm done in. I won't be any use to anyone until I've slept.'

The medic turned back to Tanner. 'Something smells good.'

'We're just cooking some food up now. Ma'am, I'm sure there's room in the farmhouse for you - and your name was?' he asked the sergeant.

'Greenstreet, Jim Greenstreet. And this is Lucie Richoux of the QAs.' He held out a hand.

Tanner shook it. 'You all right dossing down with us in the barn, Jim?'

'Perfect, mate.'

Despite the now fading light, Nurse Richoux received a fair number of stares and glances as she stepped out of the ambulance. Tanner introduced her and Sergeant Greenstreet to the lieutenant. 'The evacuation's begun, sir,' Tanner told him. 'It sounds like First Battalion is one of the units helping to keep a corridor open until the rest have passed through. I bet that's where 151st Brigade were heading - to help keep the Jerries at bay in the Ypres area.'

'Christ,' said Peploe. 'I can hardly believe it. It's not even been three weeks.' He sighed heavily. 'So we were right, then, to head in the direction of Ypres.'

'Sounds like it, sir.'

'Then we'd better try and join them tomorrow. Or at least look for them.' He knocked on the farmhouse door and ushered the nurse forward. 'We'd better make the most of this rest.'

By half past ten the men, Tanner included, were asleep in the barn, their appetites sated. One man, though, was still very much awake. Sergeant-Major Blackstone couldn't sleep. Instead, he lay on the straw drinking a bottle of wine he'd taken earlier in Steenvoorde. The news of the evacuation was the final straw - and still that bloody upstart of a lieutenant wanted them to head to Ypres in the morning. Peploe, Tanner and Sykes - the trio seemed bent on ruining everything. He'd had the whole company eating out of his hand - especially that idiot Barclay. The captain had been just the sort of man Blackstone had wanted as OC. A weak character, suggestible and easily persuaded.

It had been almost ridiculously easy, Blackstone reflected. He'd laid it on pretty thick that he was a highly experienced soldier while subtly yet repeatedly reminding Barclay of his own shortcomings. He'd won over the men in no time, through a combination of charm, easy-going affability and sudden savage threats. A tried and tested formula. In no time at all he'd been running the show, enjoying an easy life and a satisfying amount of power. And when they were thrust into action, as he had known at some point would surely happen, it had been his intention to steer them - and, of course, himself - away from the fray. He saw no reason to get himself killed for King and country when plenty of others were willing to do so.

And there had been rich pickings, too. He'd been building quite a nice little nest egg. When the war was over, he planned to retire in style. It was by chance that he had discovered Slater's criminal past but the two men had quickly come to a working agreement. Blackstone's influence created opportunities that Slater's criminal mind could exploit. Together they were quite a team. The fuel racket at Manston had proved particularly lucrative.

Then Tanner had turned up. Damn him to hell. He'd been just the same in India - full of misplaced honour and tediously incorruptible. Of all the sergeants in the world, why had Tanner had to join his nice little set-up? He'd groaned the moment he'd seen him again and his forebodings had been justified. Everything had started to go wrong the moment the bastard had arrived and started sniffing around their fuel scam. He'd tried charm, he'd tried threats - Christ, Slater had tried to kill him and that interfering sidekick of his in the stores at Manston - but the idiot wouldn't take the hint. He'd taken a shot at Tanner on the canal but he'd never been much good with a gun and had missed. Then he'd suggested they split up the company. For once, he'd thought he'd got through to him, but Tanner had gone and spoiled everything with his damned heroics. Next, Blackstone had bribed that silly French bitch to accuse Tanner of rape and that hadn't worked either. Then Slater had killed all those SS monkeys in an attempt to implicate him. Blackstone had balked at the idea, but it had been a good plan - and, anyway, they had been SS Nazis. Who was going to mourn them? The first part had been to make sure Barclay and the rest of the company remained in the village. With a bit of talk to the captain about duty and honour and obeying his orders to the letter, that had been easy enough. The second part of the plan was to wake the unconscious SS officer and talk about Tanner loudly; and the third was to make sure he and Slater got the hell out of there - which they had by telling the OC they were going to get reinforcements. It had all been working perfectly until they'd discovered another vehicle had got away - and that the stupid bastards in it had got reinforcements. Rather than Tanner being left to a slow, painful death at the hands of the SS, his nemesis had turned up again with the rest of them the following morning. Blackstone had felt like shooting him down there and then.

Now he got up and walked out of the barn into the yard, still clutching the bottle. It was a still, cool night, with just the hint of a breeze. For a moment, he wondered whether he and Slater should take the ambulance and scarper with the loot they'd acquired since they'd been in France, but he knew that wasn't the answer. After Warlus, he wouldn't make the same mistake of assuming the lads would all end up dead or captured. In any case, the survivors would be bound to report them. No, he needed to get the boys on his side, which he'd been working hard at the past few days. He reckoned he'd done quite well, too, but with the lieutenant now in charge, his authority had been weakened. And he was all too aware that most of them, especially those in Peploe's platoon, still respected Tanner. Somehow he needed to get Peploe out of the way. Yes. Peploe first, and then he'd sort out Tanner once and for all.

A light at the top of the house caught his attention and he looked up to see the nurse standing at the window in her underclothes, drawing the thick curtains. He felt his loins stir and took another glug of wine. An idea occurred to him - a plan that would not only get rid of Peploe, but would allow himself a bit of fun with the girl. There were, as far as he knew, only four people in the farmhouse: the farmer and his wife, the lieutenant and the nurse. He took another glug of wine. Courage, lad. This little plan might just work. A bit reckless, perhaps, but the wine was making him feel so, and the sight of the girl had awakened in him the urge to find female company. Let's see what Ted makes of it. Returning to the barn, he trod softly among the snoring men and woke Slater, who followed him silently outside.

'All right,' said Slater, once Blackstone had explained his plan. 'But we should leave it another hour. Make sure everyone's properly asleep.'

'All right. You can have the girl after I'm done.'

'Not my type,' muttered Slater. 'And there's a shotgun in the kitchen. I saw it earlier. I'll get that and I've got the captain's Webley too.' He grinned. 'Hang on a minute. I bet there are supplies in that blood-wagon. Some chloroform could come in handy.'

Blackstone chuckled. 'I like it. I'll go and talk to the sentries outside the front while you have a little rummage.'

It was a quarter to midnight when they crept into the dairy next to the house and, from there, found some steps and an open door that led into the kitchen. Using their torches they soon spotted the shotgun resting in a corner by an old oak dresser. Both barrels were loaded. Slater smiled. 'They were always going to be,' he whispered. 'After all, this is a time of war.'

They trod softly up the stone stairs. From the landing there were a number of rooms but they had already guessed from the open windows they had seen in the yard where the farmer and his wife, and the lieutenant, were sleeping. Stealing down the corridor, Blackstone saw, to his relief, that the lieutenant's door was ajar. He listened and heard his slow, rhythmic breathing, then nodded to Slater. Putting on his respirator, Slater took out a two-ounce tube of chloroform and entered the room. Blackstone waited breathlessly, but half a minute later Slater reappeared, taking off his gas mask. 'He's out for the count. You go and get him, then have your oats,' he whispered. 'I'll sort out Mr and Mrs Farmer.'

Lieutenant Peploe was laid out on his bed, still wearing his trousers and shirt. Blackstone listened to the faint breathing, then hoisted him onto his shoulders with a gasp, staggered out of the room and up the second flight of stairs to the top of the house. He was hot and breathing heavily by the time he got there, and, he realized, his senses weren't quite as keen as he would have liked. He'd had too much of that damned wine. He shook his head, then moved towards the door at the end of the short passage.

It opened before he had reached it, and there, before him, was the nurse, hastily buttoning the neck of her dress. 'What's the matter?' she asked. Her dark hair, he noticed, was cut short and hung to her shoulders. She had a trim, shapely figure.

'It's the lieutenant,' he said. 'He's unwell.'

She switched on the corridor light, then glanced up at him guardedly. 'All right,' she said. 'Put him on the bed.'

He did so, then stood back. At that moment, there was a commotion from below. The farmer's wife screamed, then there was a crash and the farmer himself began to shout.

'My God, what on earth's going on?' said the nurse, alarm in her voice.

'Never you mind,' said Blackstone, grabbing her wrist.

'Let go of me!' she shouted, but Blackstone had both her wrists now and pushed her to the floor. She was wriggling and kicking as he heard Slater and the farmer thumping up the stairs.

'You nearly done, Will?' Slater called.

'No, I'm bloody not,' he gasped. 'Keep still, will you, lass?'

'Too bad,' said Slater. 'I'm coming up.'

Blackstone saw the girl's eyes widen as Slater entered the room. Turning, he saw his friend's hand was over the farmer's mouth and the shotgun was pressed to his side. Now he flung the man against the wall, then calmly pulled the trigger. Plasterwork fell as Monsieur Michaud slumped to the floor. Blackstone was momentarily stupefied, then felt a violent pain in his groin. Rolling over in agony, he was conscious of the nurse jumping to her feet and running out of the room.

'For God's sake, Will!' snarled Slater. He took off after her, and as Blackstone, still wincing, got to his knees, he heard a second blast and then, faintly, a splash.

Tanner had been awake the moment he heard the shotgun. Others were stirring too, but he grabbed his MP35 and ran out of the barn, across the yard and into the house. Flailing in the dark, he was halfway up the stairs when the second shot rang out. Flinching, he hurried on.

'Sir!' he shouted. 'Sir!'

It was not Lieutenant Peploe coming down from the top landing, but Slater.

'Sergeant Tanner,' he said, his voice more animated than Tanner had ever known it. 'I never thought I'd say this, but thank God you're here.'

'What the bloody hell's going on?' He noticed the sergeant was holding a Webley revolver.

'It's the farmer,' he almost gabbled. 'He tried to have his way with the nurse. Too much grog. He's whacked his wife, struck the lieutenant with his shotgun, then Blackie and me got there and we had a bit of a tussle. I'm looking for the girl.'

'What? Where did she go?'

'I don't know - I think she may have jumped out of a window. I heard a splash.'

Tanner glanced up to the landing, then into the room nearest him. He went in and ran to the window, forced it wide and leaned out. Then there was a crack on his head and his mind went blank.

In the top room, Blackstone could hear men shouting and talking outside as they hurried across the yard. The pain had eased, and so he moved Peploe from the bed and swung the door into the lieutenant's head. Looking up, he saw Slater at the top of the stairs.

'We've got be quick, Will,' said Slater, urgently, as he ushered him back into the room. 'You need to go out into the yard and tell the men what's happened. The sky's cleared and the stars are out. Explain to them that the best course for them is to start heading for the coast. We can use the Pole Star, but my guess is we've been heading north anyway. Make it convincing, all right?'

Blackstone nodded. 'What about Tanner?'

'I don't think we need to worry too much about him. I coshed him over the head and pushed him out of a window into the pond. He's probably drowned. You can tell them he jumped after the nurse. I'll go and search for them now. If either of them's found, they won't be making any trouble, that's for sure.'

'And the farmer's missus?'

'I've dealt with her.'

Blackstone swallowed. 'All right, Ted.'

'Good - you do the talking, and I'll hunt for Tanner and the nurse.'

He hurried off, leaving Blackstone in the top bedroom. The CSM glanced back at Monsieur Michaud's lifeless body and tried to think clearly. He could hear the men in the yard and in the house downstairs. Slater spoke to some of them as he passed. Hurrying to the window, he leaned out and said, 'All right, boys, everything's under control.' Then, as he dashed for the stairs, he saw Sykes, McAllister and Greenstreet, the medical orderly.

'What's going on?' said Sykes.

'A bit of a to-do with the farmer, lads,' said Blackstone. 'Can you come up here and give me a hand with the lieutenant? I'm afraid he must have been coshed.'

Sykes pushed past and hurried to Peploe. 'Sir?' he said, and then, as he checked the lieutenant's breathing, he noticed Monsieur Michaud's bloodied body. 'Christ alive!' he said, jolting backwards.

'Slater got him,' said Blackstone, then turned to Greenstreet. 'I'm sorry, mate, but the bastard was trying to have his way with your nurse friend.'

Panic spread over Greenstreet's face. 'Where is she?'

'She got away from him - kneed him where it hurt most, I think. We got here just after he'd fired a shot at her on the landing. Then Ted pounced on him and eventually managed to shoot him. We never saw her, but I think she jumped out of the window in the adjoining bedroom.'

'Oh, my God,' said Greenstreet, leaving Peploe to run down the corridor and into the next room. 'Lucie!' he shouted, from the window. 'Lucie!'

Following him, and deliberately blocking the top of the stairs, Blackstone said, 'Slater's taken some men to look for her.'

'Then I must go and help,' said Greenstreet.

'No. You stay here and make sure the lieutenant's all right. There's enough people already searching for her.' Blackstone ran down the stairs.

'Sergeant,' Sykes called to Greenstreet.

'Sorry-yes, I'm coming,' Greenstreet replied. 'This is bloody unbelievable.'

Sykes saw him glance at Monsieur Michaud as he came back in. Then Greenstreet cleared his throat and said, 'We should take the lieutenant back to his room. Can't leave him to come round in here with - with all that blood.'

Sykes and McAllister lifted Peploe, carried him down the stairs and laid him on his bed. Greenstreet felt his pulse, then put his ear to Peploe's mouth.

'He's still breathing, all right.'

'What about his head?' asked McAllister.

'A bad bump, that's all. He's out cold, though.' He stood up. 'Look, I'm sorry, but I've got to find Lucie.' Muttering under his breath, he hurried from the room.

When he had gone, Sykes said, 'There's something going on here, Mac.' Now he remembered Tanner. 'And where's the sarge - where the bloody hell is he?'

'I don't know,' said McAllister. 'I haven't seen him.'

'Jesus Christ,' muttered Sykes. 'Right. You stay here, Mac, and keep an eye on the lieutenant. I'm going to look for the sarge.'

He ran from the room, down the stairs, across the hallway and out into the yard. 'Has anyone seen Sergeant Tanner?' he said, grabbing at the others. 'Where's the sarge?'

'It's all right, boys,' said Blackstone. 'Sergeant Tanner jumped out after the nurse, but there are men looking for them.'

'Sod that,' said Sykes. 'Three Section! To me!'

He ran from the yard, around the front of the house and down to the moat, his men following. As he ran he took his torch from his pocket, although up ahead, lights were already flickering along the pond's bank. He slowed now, sweeping his torch across the narrow strip of water. It was still and dark, thick with weed and bulrushes.

'Keep your eyes peeled,' said Sykes.

Slater came over to them. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'We've searched the whole length but there's nothing.'

'There must be,' said Sykes. 'Didn't the sentries see anything?'

Slater shook his head. 'They came into the yard when they heard the shots. We've looked - we've had half a dozen torches on it, but there's a lot of weed and God knows what else in there.' He called over the rest of his men. 'Come on, he said. 'I know the CSM wants to talk to everyone.'

'We'll just have another quick look,' said Sykes. 'He is our sergeant.'

'I'll stay too,' said Greenstreet.

Slater nodded. 'Be quick about it.'

Once Slater and his men were out of sight, Hepworth said, 'Bollocks, Corp, there's only one way to find him,' and began to take off his boots and trousers.

'He's right, Corp,' agreed Bell, following suit. When they had undressed to their underwear, both men lowered themselves into the water.

'Jesus, it's cold!' said Hepworth. 'Wherever he is now, I hope the sarge appreciates what we're doing for him.'

'How deep is it?' asked Sykes.

'Not very,' said Hepworth. 'Five foot maybe.' They waded up to the bridge, then back again and down the length of the farm buildings. But there was nothing.

'Where can they have gone?' said Greenstreet. Sykes thought he seemed close to tears. 'She was a great girl, Lucie, plucky as they come.'

Slater called to them from the bridge. 'Come on, you lot! The CSM wants to speak to you.'

While Hepworth and McAllister dried themselves with their battle-blouses, Sykes looked into the dark still water. As he did so, a thought occurred to him. 'Hang on a minute,' he mumbled to himself. Then he turned to the others. 'Hey, boys, I don't reckon we need to feel too gloomy just yet. Hep and Tinker haven't had a dip for nothing.'

'What do you mean?' said Bell.

'Well,' said Sykes, in a low voice, 'think about it. If he's not there and neither is Nurse Richoux, they must be somewhere else, which means one or other must be alive. They're not both going to vanish into five foot of a ten- foot-wide pond, are they?'

Hepworth's face brightened. 'Bugger me, Corp, you're right!'

'Ssh!' said Sykes. 'Keep your flaming voice down! Now, listen, don't let on that the pond's only five foot deep, all right? Not yet, at any rate. Me and the sarge have had our suspicions about the CSM and Slater for some time and if we're right then something fishy's going on and I don't think it'd be a good idea for Slater to think they're still alive.'

'You think Slater and the CSM tried to do 'em in?' said Bell.

'I'm not sure, Tinker, but maybe, yes.'

Bell whistled.

'Jesus,' said Greenstreet.

'But listen to me. If you want to help the sarge and Nurse Richoux, you follow my lead, all right?' He shone his torch at them. 'Yes?' They nodded. 'Good. Then let's go'

Blackstone had assembled the men in the drawing room of the house, a large space with electric lighting where antique tapestries and old portraits hung on the walls. He explained what had happened - how he and Sergeant Slater had been in the yard and had heard a commotion inside the house; how they had found the lieutenant unconscious and the farmer assaulting the nurse. The lieutenant had been hit on the head. It was all very unfortunate.

'So, boys,' said Blackstone, solemnly, 'it means that, for the time being, I'm in charge. And things have changed a lot for us since yesterday. We've lost our skipper and the lieutenant's out of action. More than that, we know what's going on. We've all sensed the battle hasn't been going our way, but it's now a fact that the BEF is being evacuated. It seems likely that Fifth and Fiftieth Divs are doing a hell of a job holding back the enemy in the Ypres area while the rest of the boys in between make a dash for the coast. But what the hell can we do? Forty-odd men aren't going to make any difference. Our battalion walked out and left us behind in Belgium and now Eighth DLI have deserted us too. We've done all that's been asked of us, and more, but right now, it's time we thought of ourselves.' There was a shuffling of feet and a murmur of agreement. 'Look,' he continued, 'we're all awake now, we've got some grub inside us - and it's not as if we haven't had a rest, is it? The rain's gone and we've a clear sky above us. I know it wasn't what we intended, but last evening we were heading north - you know, maybe someone's trying to tell us something. If we get going now, we can follow the Pole Star and make good progress before all those refugees are on the move. We'll be there by lunchtime and we can rest all we like. With a bit of luck, we'll be back in Blighty by the following morning.' There were further murmurs of agreement. 'The alternative is that we wait here until morning, battle against the flow of refugees, eventually get to Ypres, find our boys have already gone and end up in the bag. Or, worse, dead.' He paused again. 'So, who's with me?'

Hands were raised, and Blackstone smiled. 'Good,' he said. 'We leave in five minutes.'

'Hold on a mo', Sergeant-Major,' said Sykes, as he and McAllister entered the room. 'I know my section would rather wait here until Lieutenant Peploe comes round.'

'But there's an ambulance,' said Blackstone. 'Sergeant Greenstreet can take care of him.'

'We'd still rather stay here. It sounded to me like you were givin' us a choice a moment ago. What's more, there's also Sergeant Tanner,' Sykes continued. Another ripple of murmuring from the men. 'You see, that pond's not very deep and we've trawled it pretty carefully and found nothing. That makes me think that the sarge and the nurse got out.' The room had gone quiet now as the men listened to him. 'There's no way I could let my men leave this place until we've found both of 'em, and I'd like to think Rosso and Coop would feel much the same way.'

Cooper and Ross nodded.

'If they're still alive why aren't they here?' said Blackstone.

'Perhaps they're fearful for their safety, Sergeant- Major,' Sykes replied.

'That's ridiculous. Why on earth should Tanner feel that?'

'Maybe because he's been nearly burned to death, shot in the side, and falsely accused of rape. I'd have thought that's reason enough.' There was an audibly sharp intake of breath from the others.

Blackstone cursed to himself. He was losing them. Damn Sykes to hell. They'd taken care of Peploe and Tanner but overlooked the third man in the trio. Careless, very careless. And now the Cockney runt was on the point of ruining everything. 'And you think I was responsible for all that?' Blackstone said, hoping his feigned incredulity was convincing. 'Don't make me laugh.' He jabbed a finger at Sykes. 'Corporal, you're talking out of turn.'

'What I'd like to know,' said McAllister, suddenly speaking up, 'is where Madame Michaud is?'

'The farmer's wife?' said Blackstone. Panic now coursed through him. He glanced at Slater - help me out here.

'The farmer killed her, then attacked the nurse,' said Slater.

'You know what?' said McAllister. 'I reckon that's a load of old bollocks. I reckon the whole story's bollocks.'

'You - be quiet!' said Blackstone.

'No, I won't,' said McAllister. 'Why would a gentle old farmer suddenly do his wife in and cosh an officer when he's surrounded by that officer's troops? It don't bloody well make sense.' The men were all talking now. Blackstone had his hands in the air trying to silence them when a shot rang out. The effect was immediate. All the men stopped talking and stared at Slater, who held a revolver pointed at the wooden floor.

'Listen, all of you,' said Slater, and Sykes noticed that several men from Company Headquarters had positioned themselves by the door, fully armed. One held a Bren at his waist. 'We're leaving now. All those coming with us, move to the door. The rest stay where you are. I'm going to count to three. One.'

Half a dozen men from 11 Platoon stepped forward, but the rest, including all of Peploe's platoon, remained where they were.

'What are you going to do now?' said Sykes. 'Shoot us like you did those Jerries?'

'Shut up!' said Blackstone, then said to Slater, 'Don't even think of it, Ted. We'll put them in the cellar.' He wondered for a moment whether Slater might ignore him and shoot them all anyway. Christ alive, he thought, and his stomach lurched. It was one thing killing Nazis, but to slaughter men on your own side - men you'd lived alongside for the past couple of months? That was a step too far.

'If you insist,' said Slater, pushing past him. 'Right,' he said, waving his Webley, 'those of you with weapons, drop them on the floor and get into single file.' He shoved several men forward.

The entrance to the cellar was in the kitchen across the hall from the drawing room and the men, most of whom were stupefied by the turn of events, were led there at gunpoint, then shoved through the door. Ten feet below, at the bottom of a flight of stone steps, there was a large, cold, musty cave, its vaulted bays partially stacked with wine. 'There,' said Slater, as he followed them. 'Have a drink on us.' He grabbed a couple of bottles. Then, satisfied that the men were all there, he walked backwards up the stone steps and shut the door.

'How can you do this?' protested a corporal from 11 Platoon.

'More easily than you'd think,' said Slater, and closed the door.

From the cellar, the only light the men could see came from the outline of the door. In silence, they heard a padlock click shut across it. Then there was a heavy scraping sound as furniture was moved in front of it. Finally, the lights went out, and a minute later, they dimly heard the ambulance being driven away.

Tanner heard the ambulance leaving, too, opened his eyes and wondered where the hell he was. Lying on straw with a pounding head and, he realized, someone close to him with their arms round him. He jolted into full consciousness.

'You're awake,' said a voice.

The nurse. 'Where am I?'

'In one of the stables.' She unfolded herself from him and Tanner felt a wave of cold as her warm body moved away from his. 'I'm sorry for the intimacy, but you were wet and cold. I didn't want you to get hypothermia. How's your head?'

'Sore.' He propped himself up on his elbows. 'What happened?'

'One of your men tried to rape me,' she said, her voice catching. 'I got away and jumped from a window into the pond. I saw you looking for me but you were hit from behind and pushed out.'

'Slater hit me with his pistol. Knocked me out.'

'I saw you fall and pulled you out - only just in time. One of them - the man who killed Monsieur Michaud - he came looking for us with some other men. They had torches, so I dragged you behind this barn. There was a strut sticking out that hid us. Then I saw this door and inside found all this straw.'

'You saved my life - thank you.'

'I've never been more terrified.'

'You're very brave.'

'We need fresh clothes,' she said, 'but I daren't go out. I've used up my courage quota for one night.'

Tanner stood up, stumbled, then steadied himself. 'Wait here,' he said. 'Don't move a muscle. I'll be as quick as I can but I must find out what's going on.' He crept out of the door at the back of the farmstead, then saw he was beside the long barn in which they had been resting. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark.

In moments, shapes emerged - the looming bulk of the house, trees and bushes, stars reflected in the pond. He made his way back down the track, round the house and into the yard. The ambulance had gone and there were no longer any lights on in the house - had Blackstone and Slater left? It seemed likely but he couldn't be certain. He ran to the yard, entered the barn and found no one there. Yet his kit and rifle were. He put on his webbing over his wet shirt, felt in his pack for his torch and switched it on, then hurried back across the yard and into the house. Immediately he heard banging and muffled shouts from the kitchen.

'Help! Get us out! Help!'

Tanner went into the kitchen, shone his torch and saw that the dresser had been moved in front of the cellar door. He moved it clear, then smashed the door with the butt of his rifle until at last it swung free. He shone his torch on the stairs. 'Stan?' he said, seeing his friend. 'What the bloody hell's been going on here?'

Despite the pain in his head, Tanner's spirits were higher than they had ever been since he'd arrived at Manston. Blackstone and Slater had gone. An enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He ordered the fire in the kitchen to be relit, brought Lucie in from the barn and led her to a chair in front of the fire. Then he detailed Corporal Cooper to organize a burial party for the bodies of Monsieur and Madame Michaud. Everyone else was sent back to the barn. They would rest until morning, he told them, by which time he hoped Peploe might have recovered. Sergeant Greenstreet had agreed to remain with the lieutenant, who was already showing groggy signs of coming back round to consciousness.

Having overseen the burial of the farmer and his wife, Tanner staggered back into the kitchen, where he found Lucie wrapped in a rug and warming herself by the fire; her uniform hung over a chair.

'There's some brandy on the table,' she said. 'You should have a glass. It'll do you good.'

Tanner poured himself a tumbler, then sat in an armchair next to her. 'I'm sorry about what happened,' he said. 'Those two have been making life very difficult for some time. I just couldn't nail anything on them. But I'm truly sorry you should have been caught up in it.'

'It was frightening but, actually, he'd barely laid a finger on me before I hit him hard between the legs.'

'A good place to go for - it's always painful,' said Tanner.

'Yes, well, it did the trick. Far more upsetting was seeing Monsieur Michaud killed like that. I've seen some terrible things since coming to France and I've got a strong stomach, these days, but that was just so - so brutal, so cold-blooded.' She shivered.

Tanner sipped his brandy, the liquid searing the back of his throat. Christ, his head throbbed. He gazed at the flames and noticed steam coming from the thick serge of his still-wet trousers and shirt, then saw that Lucie was staring at him. He met her gaze and smiled. She was undeniably pretty - slight, with large deep-brown eyes. There was vulnerability in them, he thought. 'Richoux,' he said. 'Jim said your name was Richoux. Doesn't sound very English.'

'It's not. My father's French. My mother's English, though, and I was sent to school in England. But I think of myself as French, really. It's home. And now it's overrun with Germans.'

'What will you do if France falls?'

'Go back to England, I suppose. I joined the QA in London,'

'And what about your parents?'

'They're still here. At least, I hope they are. We live near Cherbourg - I don't think the hysteria's reached there yet.' She sighed. 'You should take off those wet clothes and let them dry. I must look at your head - you might need a couple of stitches.'

'Maybe,' he mumbled. He took off his webbing, then undid his boots and put them before the fire.

'And the rest,' said Lucie. 'Don't be shy on my account.'

He knew she was right; wet clothes were to be avoided if at all possible. He needed to be fit in the days to come. Even so, he felt self-conscious as he took off his trousers, then his shirt.

'What happened to you?' she asked, seeing the mottled yellow and purple bruising across his right side.

'Nothing much - a bullet graze and a bit of a kicking. All thanks to those two.' He yawned. 'Maybe we should get some rest now. There are plenty of bedrooms upstairs.'

'Yes, you're right. But I'd rather not go back to that room at the top.'

'Of course not,' said Tanner, standing up. 'Come on. We'll find you a room on the first floor.'

They crept upstairs. The house was still once more, the only sound the gentle snores coming from Peploe's room.

'That's Jim,' whispered Lucie. 'I've heard him snore even louder than that.'

The bedroom door opposite was open. It was the same room from which Slater had thrown Tanner. The window was still open, and there was a large, unused bed. 'Why don't you sleep here?' he suggested. 'I'll get your kit from upstairs.'

'Thank you.'

He returned a minute later. 'Goodnight,' he said, having placed her kit on the bed.

'Sergeant,' she said, 'just let me look at your head first. Really-I should.'

Tanner sat on the edge of the bed, conscious of his near-nakedness. Lucie knelt behind him, her delicate fingers parting his hair. He winced as she touched the wound.

'Sorry,' she said. 'It does need a couple of stitches. There's no point leaving it open and letting it get infected. And you've some old stitches too that should be taken out. What have you been doing?'

'Soldiers tend to get bashed about a bit,' he said.

'But not usually by your own side.'

'You'd hope not.'

She delved into her surgical haversack, took out a syringe and a phial, then a rolled cloth pouch that reminded him of his housewife. 'I'm just going to give you a small injection of procaine,' she said. 'It'll numb your head a bit.'

'Good,' said Tanner. 'You can give me a big one if you like.'

She laughed, a soft, infectious sound. 'Just keep your head still. This won't take long.'

When she had finished, she ruffled his hair, then put away her surgical scissors and thread. Something made him linger, then turn to her. She gazed at him a moment, then ran her hand across his cheek. 'You remind me very much of someone,' she said. 'Someone I used to know.' She leaned towards him, lips parted, and kissed him. 'Stay with me,' she breathed. 'Stay with me tonight.'