Darkest Hour

Chapter 23

Wednesday passed into Thursday, 30 May, and still the enemy did not come, but all along the canal that marked the Dunkirk perimeter, the men made the most of the respite, strengthening defences and preparing for the battle. D Company had occupied an abandoned farm four hundred yards from the bridge. The main house, a solid old brick building with a typically Flemish high- gabled tile roof, overlooked the canal. It had not only a first floor with good views to the south but also an empty attic with a gabled window to the rear. Behind it was a large barn, also with a second storey, offering views both east and west along the canal, and some outbuildings. A track led out of the farm then dog-legged back to the road between the bridge and Krommenhouck.

The men had been digging hard. As Tanner had guessed, the soil was rich and soft, and between them they had soon created a trench system that ran back from the farm and extended along the canal front as far as A and B Companies to either side of them. As the hours passed, it was widened, deepened and strengthened. The sluices all along this drained section of Flanders had been opened in an effort to slow the German advance, and by the morning of the thirtieth, the fields on either side of the road to Krommenhouck lay beneath shallow water. Even so, by using the excavated soil as a makeshift dyke, the Rangers managed to hold at bay most of the rising water along their front; although the trenches were soggy underfoot, they were by no means flooded.

More importantly, the wait had allowed them to stockpile ammunition and supplies. From the abandoned vehicles along the road in front of their position, D Company had requisitioned another fifteen Bren guns, one Lewis gun, two Boys anti-tank rifles, eight wooden boxes of twelve No. 36 grenades, numerous spare rifles and some twenty-five thousand rounds of .303 ammunition. In addition, Sykes had scouted out some more explosives.

'If I'm honest, Sarge,' he confessed to Tanner, 'I didn't look all that hard for those C Company lads in Dunkirk. I got a bit distracted, you see, by some sapper boys who showed me an abandoned truck of theirs a bit further down on the beach. Anyway, they had a wooden box of Nobels and all the gear, so I 'elped meself. I managed to stuff in five cartons of 808, plus detonators and safety fuse.' He grinned. 'You never know when it might come in handy.'

However, it was not only weapons and ammunition they had found but food and other supplies too. The larder in the farmhouse was soon stacked high with tins of bully beef, condensed milk, fruit, vegetables, biscuits, beer, wine and cigarettes. The men would no longer be expected to fight on empty stomachs. Tanner found a new battle-blouse, and also a compass - something he had rarely used before because he had generally relied on the sun and the stars and his own sense of direction, yet he now vowed never to be without one again. Lieutenant Peploe and Kershaw, meanwhile, recovered a No. 9 wireless set from an abandoned carrier. Setting it up in Company Headquarters in one of the outbuildings at the back of the farmhouse, they soon managed to pick up the BBC and, for the first time since they'd arrived in France, were able to hear the news from home. They also discovered some of what was happening in France. The evacuation, it seemed, was going better than had been expected.

That Thursday was a glorious day - warm, sunny, with a deep blue sky and just a few summery white clouds. Late in the morning, stripped to his shirtsleeves, Tanner led a six-man patrol across the canal, partly to see if there was any sign of the approaching enemy but also to scrounge yet more supplies. At L'Avenir, a hamlet a mile or so to the south, they struck gold when they found two abandoned Royal Engineers eight-hundredweight Humber trucks. In the back of the first, sitting there waiting for the enemy to help themselves, were two wooden crates of Nobels as well as an intact fifty-cap blasting machine.

'Blimey, Sarge!' exclaimed Sykes. 'Just look at all those lovely explosives!'

'But we've already got more than enough, haven't we?' said Tanner.

'Sarge, you can never have enough gelignite.'

'Actually, Stan, you're right. I've just had an idea - with all this we can blow the approach roads, can't we? A few big craters'll annoy Jerry something rotten because he won't get too many vehicles over the fields, will he?' The water had not risen as high to the south as to the north of the canal, but the ground either side of the raised roads and tracks was wet and waterlogged. 'He'll have to send his infantry forward on foot,' Tanner added. 'That means no tanks and no artillery pieces until he's mended the roads. And that'll take time.'

'True enough.'

'So let's fetch some of the others and get to it.'

Four roads fed into L'Avenir, two from the south and two from the north. Heading south first, they stopped two hundred yards beyond the hamlet and Sykes got to work. He laid a packet of five cartridges of gelignite on the road, placed a detonator at one end, then crimped a four-foot length of safety fuse and lit it. That done, he ran back to the others waiting some hundred yards away. Two minutes later, the gelignite blasted rock, tarmacadam and dust high into the air. They watched the debris clatter to the ground and waited for the dust to settle. A hole had opened across the width of the road. Sykes grinned. 'One down,' he said. 'Dr Nobel does the trick again.'

'Nice job, Stan,' said Tanner. A lone shell screamed over and they ducked. It exploded harmlessly in the fields several hundred yards to their right. 'Someone's getting twitchy. Tinker,' he said to Bell, 'you'd better go back to Battalion HQ and tell them what we're doing. And iggery, all right?'

They paused while Bell trotted off, scrounging some more tins of food and cigarettes from another abandoned truck, and waited some more while a newly arrived column of fifty or so troops trudged past on their way to the perimeter. An almost constant stream of men, both

British and French, had poured through the day before. The previous evening, one column of French infantry had thrown all their weapons in the canal as they had crossed over into the perimeter. The Rangers had watched them, appalled, from their part of the line. 'Sergeant,' Peploe had said, 'I take back what I said earlier about the French. That was a bloody disgrace.'

Since then, however, the stream had petered out so now there was just a trickle of stragglers.

Tanner watched the men stagger down the road, their uniforms torn and filthy, their faces haggard and drawn. 'Which lot are you?' he asked.

'DLI,' came the reply.

'Which battalion?' Tanner asked them. 'Eighth.'

'We were with you lot at Arras,' said Tanner.

'Arras?' muttered one bloodied sergeant. 'That was a lifetime ago.'

'Here, have some beadies,' said Tanner, handing him a packet of French cigarettes.

'Cheers, pal,' said the sergeant, pausing to open the packet and light one.

'How far back's Jerry?' Tanner asked him.

'Not far. Must have crossed the Yser, I reckon, and that's eight or ten miles away. He'll be here by nightfall, that's for sure.'

'Cheers,' said Tanner. 'Good luck.'

'Good luck yerself.'

'Right,' said Tanner, turning back to the others. 'We'd better get a move on.'

By midday, they had blown the three approach roads and those leading into L'Avenir in at least two places and were crossing back over the bridge when they saw, parked just on the north side, a large staff car. A British general was standing beside it, talking with the colonel of the Coldstreams, their own OC and a captain. He wore a distinctive high-peaked cap, breeches and immaculately clean cavalry boots, while above his top lip was a neat moustache.

Tanner recognized him at once - Brigadier Alexander, as he had been last time they had met. 'Better look sharp, boys,' he said, and as he neared the general he saluted as crisply as he could.

The general acknowledged him, then said, 'Excuse me, Sergeant, we've met before, haven't we?'

Tanner brought his men to a halt and stood to attention before him. 'Yes, sir, in Waziristan.'

Alexander smiled. 'Of course - Tanner. And a sergeant now.' He stepped forward and tapped on the ribbon of Tanner's military medal. 'He's a brave man, this one,' he said, to the officers beside him. 'Should have got a DCM for what he did at Muzi Kor.'

Tanner reddened. 'There were others a lot braver than me, sir.'

'Well, it's jolly good to see you fit and well, Sergeant. Do you think we can hold the Hun for a bit?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Are you the chaps who've been blowing the approaches?' said Colonel Corner.

'Yes, sir,' said Tanner.

'Well done - that was smart thinking.'

'Thank you, sir. Hopefully it'll take Jerry time to bring the bulk of his heavy fire-power to bear. I can't speak about his indirect fire but our boys are well dug in, we've got a good OP, and we can certainly deal with the infantry for a while.'

'Good gracious, Sergeant Tanner,' laughed Alexander. 'I rather think I ought to have you on my staff, although I can see you're needed here. Anyway, well done, and good luck, all of you.' He saluted, and Tanner responded, then marched his men back towards their positions.

'Blimey, Sarge,' said Sykes, once they were out of earshot. 'I've never seen a general before. He certainly looked the part, didn't he?'

'He was a damned good brigadier, I'll say that for him.'

'What did you do then, Sarge,' asked Ellis, 'to get your MM?'

'Nothing much, Billy.'

'I'd love to have a ribbon on my chest,' Ellis went on. 'Sets you apart, doesn't it?'

'Trust me, Billy, you don't want to worry too much about gongs. Lots of people get ribbons they don't deserve and many more don't get the ones they should've got. It's a bloody lottery. Just concentrate on doing your job and keeping alive. Much more important than glory-hunting.'

Bren teams had been placed all along D Company's front and there were two in the attic of the house. Tiles had been knocked out of the roof in several places and two tables, one from downstairs and one hastily knocked together in a shed at the back, brought up for the Brens to rest on. An old wooden bucket had been filled with water for cooling the Bren barrels. Meanwhile, the Lewis gun had been set up on the first floor of the barn behind the farmhouse. Stockpiles of ammunition were left beside the weapons or in freshly dug cavities beside the trenches. Along the canal, the abandoned vehicles were set on fire. Each charred chassis still offered decent cover for the enemy, Tanner thought, but less so than before. At around six o'clock that evening, once the last of the stragglers appeared to have passed through, the bridge was blown.

A couple of hours later Tanner stood with Lieutenant Peploe in the attic of the farmhouse. Gunfire sounded to the east, dull and persistent. Behind, black smoke still rolled high above Dunkirk. Tanner had been watching a dogfight from the dormer window to the rear, high above the town where the sky was clear, blue and free of smoke; he had seen a German fighter plunge into the sea. It had been the first enemy plane he had seen come down in France. Perhaps the RAF boys were learning.

Now he and Peploe were at the front of the farmhouse, peering through binoculars at a calm summer's evening. Long lines of poplars were bursting into leaf and the evening sun shone on the watery fields, casting dramatic reflections.

'We're ready, aren't we?' said Peploe.

'I think so, sir,' said Tanner.

'I just wish they'd get on with it. All this waiting - it's getting on my nerves, rather.'

'I can live with it. I want those bastards to leave it as long as they can. With every hour that passes, we can get more men away. The more that get away, the better the chance we have of making it home.'

'You're right, but you have to admit the waiting's the worst part.' He bent and pulled a bottle of French white wine from the Bren cooling bucket and offered it to Tanner. 'It's tres rustique, I'm afraid, but serves its purpose.'

Tanner smiled. 'Thanks.' He took a glug, and then, as he passed it back, he saw something glint in the distance. Immediately he brought his binoculars to his eyes again. Ahead, several miles away, he spotted movement - vehicles - and wished now that he and Sykes had blown the roads even further back.

'Can you see them, sir?' he said. 'Dead ahead.'

'Christ,' said Peploe. 'Ignore what I said a few moments ago.'

'Don't worry, sir. I'll doubt they'll attack tonight. They'll be setting up their artillery, that's all. I reckon we can expect some shells but the infantry won't attack, I'm sure. Patrols, perhaps, but that'll be it.'

A short while after, a few shells did follow, but fell beyond their position. Later, once darkness had fallen, they heard small-arms fire from the area around the bridge.

'Damn me,' said Peploe, 'the idiots are using tracer. Look at it, Tanner - you can see lines of the stuff sparking across the canal. Why would they do that? All they're doing is giving their positions away.'

But Tanner saw it differently. Cunning bastards. 'They want us to fire at them, sir. They're just testing the strength of our defences and working out where our blokes are.' He turned to the lieutenant. 'Sir, if they open fire on us, I think we should tell the men not to respond. Not unless we see or hear them trying to cross the canal. I'm certain this isn't a major attack.'

'All right, Tanner. Quickly, then.'

Tanner was crouching along the trench to the right of the farmhouse when the enemy opened fire on their positions. Small bursts of machine-gun fire zipped above their heads, but in their trenches the men were quite safe.

'Don't fire back!' hissed Tanner to Corporal Ross. 'Don't let any of the lads fire back.'

He was impressed by how well the men maintained their fire discipline - not a single shot was returned and, within twenty minutes, the enemy had slithered away from the canal. In the east, towards Furnes, the artillery continued to sling shells through the night, but for the Yorkshire Rangers, the hours of darkness slipped past quietly. Hours that brought them closer to a possible withdrawal.

By morning, the vehicles and guns Tanner had seen moved into place had gone. He couldn't understand it. All night he had been bracing himself for a heavy assault, but while the battle seemed to have intensified to the east, the fields to their front seemed as empty and calm as they had the previous morning. It was another bright early-summer's day, warm again, too. The water levels had risen higher and now, behind them as far as the coast, the countryside had become a large, shallow lake, through which roads and houses, lines of trees, farms and churches could be seen. It was difficult country through which to attack. Their defences were good and the twenty-yards-wide canal provided a superb anti-tank ditch.Yet they were only thirty-four strong in their part of the line; the entire battalion had fewer than two hundred men, and he had heard the Coldstreams had barely more. It was probable that equally hard-pressed infantry companies and battalions were holding the line all the way from Bergues to the coast, yet soon the might of the German forces, flush with their sweeping victories, would be upon them. Through the gap in the roof, Tanner peered through his binoculars, but saw nothing. He went down to one of the bedrooms, lay on an empty bed and closed his eyes. If Jerry was going to make them wait, he'd get some sleep.

Six miles away, General Lord Gort was eating his last meal on Belgian soil. It might have been a sunny summer's day, and it was true that he was having a half- decent lunch in the not unattractive surroundings of the Belgian king's summer palace at De Panne, but his heart was heavy as he toyed with his food. He had been ordered home to Britain, lest the Germans use his possible capture for propaganda, but to leave before his men ran against all the principles of soldiering he held dear. Outside, across the dunes, the beaches led down to the sea; beaches on which tens of thousands of his soldiers still huddled. Some ingenious engineers had built a makeshift jetty out into the water from otherwise unwanted trucks and vehicles, but it made a pitiful sight, as did the mass of small boats bobbing on the water crammed with too many troops.

Major-General Alexander sat opposite him, eating with measured precision and making polite small-talk with Brigadier Leese as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He looked utterly imperturbable, and Gort thanked God he had accepted Montgomery's advice and relieved General Barker of command of the rearguard. Monty had been right: Barker was a hopeless case. At conference the night before the general had seemed nervy and Gort had noticed his hands shaking. When he had spoken, he had gabbled and told a poor joke about dining soon in a Schloss overlooking the Rhine. Gort had originally chosen Barker for the job because he had been the most expendable of his generals; he had accepted that most of the rearguard might eventually be forced to surrender and taken into captivity, but there had been something rather galling about hearing Barker's passive acceptance of their fate. The rearguard was made up of fine fighting men, and while their surrender had to be considered, it most certainly did not have to be accepted as inevitable. Monty had pointed out that in Alexander he had a first- class divisional general, with a calm and clear brain; he wouldn't flap or be rushed into making hasty decisions. With him in charge, Monty had urged, there was no need for anyone to surrender.

Gort took a sip of his wine. He didn't much like Monty - he was an irritating, conceited little man - but he knew his stuff, and when it came to organization there was no one to beat him. The way he had moved 3rd Division overnight to cover the gap left by the Belgians had been stunning. And Monty wasn't a bad judge of character either - as he watched the man in front of him, he felt certain his remaining troops within the bridgehead were in the safest possible hands.

Even so, he hardly envied Alexander the task. After lunch he handed him handwritten notes of the orders he had given him earlier. Alexander was to remain under the command of the French Admiral Abrial, whom Gort believed to be out of his depth physically and metaphorically; he knew the admiral hadn't emerged from his bunkers in Bastion 32 since the crisis had begun. Furthermore, it had been agreed by the French and British governments that French troops should share the chance for evacuation, an order with which Gort instinctively disagreed. Not for the first time, he had cursed the French as he had written those instructions. Only one French general had agreed to fight on at Dunkirk - de la Laurencie with his III Corps; that damned fool Blanchard had sacrificed his entire army at Lille. He couldn't help feeling that the war would be a lot more straightforward once the French were out of the fight.

Gort led Alexander into the palace drawing room; for the past couple of days it had been his office. He offered him a cigar and brandy. Then, as they puffed out clouds of smoke, he said, 'There's far too much politicking going on, Alex, with London trying to placate Paris and so on. HMG thinks it's essential that we're seen to be helping the French to the last. You'll find Abrial's a decent enough fellow but, like so many French commanders, not really in touch with the reality of what's going on here. You must be respectful but firm with him. Yes, we'll help the French escape, but your prime task is to defend the bridgehead for as long as possible in order to allow the most men to get away. We've done well so far - more than I'd ever hoped - but we mustn't throw in the towel now.'

'I understand,' said Alexander. 'How long should I hold the perimeter? I've toured First Division's sector and the men are keen and reasonably well stocked, but they won't be able to hold out for long. Thankfully, the Hun seems only to be attacking in any kind of strength from the east, but that won't last.'

'That's for you to judge, Alex. Only you can make that call now.'

Near by, several bombs exploded, shaking the palace. From the drawing room, Gort saw high plumes of sand thrust into the air. Alexander barely flinched.

'Good luck,' said Gort, holding out his hand. 'May God be with you and I pray you may return safely to Britain.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Alexander. 'I'll do my best.'

Dawn, Saturday, 1 June. Tanner had done no more than catnap and at three a.m. had woken for good. He helped himself to some breakfast in the farmhouse kitchen, then roused the rest of the slumbering men and told them to get some food inside them. Half an hour later, with the first hint of dawn streaking the horizon to their left, he walked up and down their line, making sure the men were awake, alert and at their posts. Enemy troops had been spotted moving into position the previous evening and long-range artillery had opened fire soon after. Desultory shellfire had continued ever since, screaming over their heads towards the coast.

Now he accompanied Lieutenant Peploe to the attic where McAllister and Chambers were waiting beside their Brens. Ahead, the fields beyond the canal were shrouded in mist. A row of poplars half a mile to the south rose spectrally above it against the pink and pale orange early-morning sky.

'Another beautiful day,' said Peploe.

'Those bastards are out there, though,' said Tanner. 'If they've got any bloody sense they'll attack now, while they've got some cover. This'll burn off soon enough.'

But, apart from continued artillery fire, the enemy did not attack and when, at around eight o'clock, the mist lifted, they saw, to their amazement, large numbers of German infantry standing several hundred yards away in the waterlogged fields of young corn.

'Bloody hell,' said Tanner, bringing his binoculars to his eyes. 'They're digging in. They've got spades, not rifles. Mac, Punter, five hundred yards - get firing!'

Both Brens opened, spewing bursts of bullets. To begin with, they fell short, cutting into the corn in front of the startled enemy, but both men adjusted them and Tanner watched as German troops were mown down. Men fell to the ground, some hit, others desperate to find cover in the corn, but Tanner kept the two machine-guns firing until he could see no further movement.

Cordite from the Brens filled the attic, and several empty magazines now lay on the bare wooden floor. Tanner delved into his haversack, took out his Aldis scope and fixed it to his rifle.

'I can see Germans moving into those cottages six hundred yards in front of us,' said Peploe, his binoculars held to his eyes. He turned to Tanner. 'Time for some sniping?'

'Absolutely, sir.' Tanner was already poking the barrel of his rifle through a hole in the roof. He could see two small guns being brought up, infantry scampering behind them, most with rifles but others with machine-guns. He aimed at one of the gunners, pulled back the bolt, made adjustment for the range and squeezed the trigger. The man fell back, and the others threw themselves onto the ground. Tanner pulled back the bolt again, saw a machine-gunner run forward, and pulled the trigger again. He, too, stumbled to the ground. 'Mac,' he said, 'wait for my word but get a bead on the approach to that cottage ahead, all right? I reckon it's six hundred yards, but the moment I give the word, open fire.'

'Yes, Sarge.'

Tanner peered through his sight, waiting for the enemy soldiers to get up and move again. Sure enough, before long anxious helmeted heads lifted and then, when no sniper's bullet arrived, the men got to their feet.

'Fire!' said Tanner, and McAllister sent out another withering burst. More enemy troops tumbled.

For the next two hours, Tanner sniped while the Brens and the Lewis gun in the barn kept up their harassing fire. Despite their best efforts, however, it was clear that enemy troops had reached and occupied the half-dozen cottages and buildings that dotted the open fields in front of them. The attackers were using the elevated camber of the roads as cover, and although from the attic the Rangers could see glimpses of half-hidden moving enemy troops, their fire could only slow their progress, not prevent it entirely. By mid-morning enemy guns were in place all along the Hondschoote-Bergues road, which ran parallel to the canal some two miles in front of them. Shells began to hurtle over and gradually found their range. Mortars were also in action, and shortly after eleven, several hit the road on the other side of the canal. Then a flurry landed in and around their positions.

'We're not going to be able to stay up here much longer, sir,' said Tanner. 'One shell in the right place and we'll be lying under a pile of rubble.'

'What do you suggest?'

'I'm not sure. This and the barn are the only place where we can really see the enemy, but the buildings stand out like a sore thumb. If only those damned vehicles weren't in front of us we might have a better line of fire.'

No sooner had he said this than two large shells screamed over in quick succession and hit the barn. Someone yelled, and then there was a grinding crack of breaking timbers, tiles and brick.

'Oh, Christ,' said Peploe, his face ashen. He stared at Tanner, then sped down the stairs. Tanner ran to the rear window and saw that half of the barn had collapsed. Jesus, he thought, how many were in there? Half a dozen?

McAllister and Chambers were firing again, the burst of bullets deafening in the narrow confines of the attic. Suddenly McAllister's Bren stopped and he cursed. 'Sarge, I think the firing pin's melted. Bastard won't fire anymore.'

'Go and get another. How are we doing for ammo?'

'Running quite low, Sarge,' said Chambers.

'Mac, get another MG and send someone up here with more mags.'

'Sarge,' said McAllister, hurrying downstairs.

Tanner now stood at the embrasure in the roof once more and, raising his rifle, saw several German artillerymen running down the road from the cottage towards the canal, towing a small anti-tank gun. Quickly, he drew back the bolt, adjusted his aim and fired, hitting the first man clean in the chest. The other three ducked, but he hit them, too, with his next four shots, then saw one man, evidently wounded in the leg, hobbling off the road. He aimed again, fired, and saw him trip over the edge of the road and into the ditch. Already, though, another antitank gun was being run off the road and into the cover of some poplars.

'Did you see that, Punter?' called fanner. 'Get some fire over there - quickly!'

Chambers gave out a burst but not before the antitank gun, some three hundred yards away, had opened. Tanner saw the flash of the muzzle and a split-second later a shell shot past one end of the house.

'Quick, Punter, time to go!' said Tanner, and then a second shell burst through the roof to hit the central beam. It bounced off and landed on the floor. 'It's an anti-tank incendiary!' yelled Tanner, almost pushing Chambers down the stairs. 'Out! Out!' he shouted, to Hepworth and Ellis, who were still manning a Bren on the first floor. Together they raced down the stairs as two more shells hit the roof. Hurrying to the back of the building they saw Peploe running from the barn with Sykes. Half of the building still stood, including part of the first floor. A ladder had already been leaned up against it and Tanner saw Corporal Cooper climbing it with another Bren.

'Four dead from Cooper's section and another two badly wounded,' said Peploe.

'I'm sorry,' said Tanner, 'and now the attic's been hit.' He looked up and saw smoke wisping from the damaged roof, but there had been no blast.

'Hold on,' he said, ran back inside the house, up the stairs and cautiously to the attic. Three shells were smouldering on the floor, apparently spent, so he ran across to the bucket, poured water over them liberally, then dashed back downstairs again. 'I think we might be all right up there,' he said, as he rejoined Peploe at the back of the house, 'but the bastards have got guns on it now, so the moment we start using it again we'll be in trouble.'

Another mortar crashed behind them, hitting one of the sheds, and causing them to dive to the ground.

'The problem is that we can't see them clearly enough,' said Tanner, as they got to their feet again. 'If only we could get across to the other side of the canal we could use that cottage fifty yards up the road and get stuck into them from there.'

'There's that dinghy, Sarge,' said Sykes, 'by the woodpile the other side of the farmhouse.'

'Don't be mad,' said Peploe. 'You can't use that.'

'Why not, sir?' said Tanner. 'We can take a couple of Brens and the Boys. If we get a move on we can occupy that cottage before Jerry does, let rip, then come back again. It might just delay him a bit more.'

'I'm not sure - it seems horribly risky to me.'

'No more so than staying here,' he said, gesturing to the remains of the barn.

'I'll rig up something for Jerry to remember us by in the house as well, sir.' Sykes grinned. 'Maybe put something interesting in those vehicles too. Don't know why I didn't think of it before.'

'I suppose there's something to be said for that,' agreed Peploe.

'Good,' said Tanner, taking that as his cue. He turned to Hepworth. 'You can come too, Hep.'

'Why do you always pick on me, Sarge?' said Hepworth.

'I'm doing you a favour, Hep. It's better to be doing something than sitting here getting stonked.'

Having picked up the Boys anti-tank rifle, a Bren and some spare magazines, they found the dinghy, ran to the front of the farmhouse and lowered it into the water. They rowed the short distance across, scrambled onto the far bank, secured the boat and hurried, crouching, along the road to the cottage. It was only a one-storey building, but had a small, neat garden and a hedge that ran round the back, protecting it from the fields beyond, and a willow tree in the far corner.

Intermittent shells and mortars continued to rain on their positions along the canal, but now, from the direction of the destroyed bridge, there came a sudden escalation of small-arms fire from both sides.

'Sounds like Jerry's making a play for the bridge,' said Tanner, as they crept to the back of the cottage. 'Stan, get to work on the cottage, will you? We don't want any Germans using it. Hep, come with me.'

They ran, in a crouch, across the lawn to the far corner beside the willow and, lying on the ground, Tanner peered between the hedge and the tree. He could see the road from L'Avenir leading to the bridge but a track went to a farmhouse by the bridge. German troops were scurrying forward, either side of the road and track, using it as cover. At the end of the track, perhaps two hundred yards away, there was a small cottage and a barn. From where he was, Tanner could just see a mortar team and another anti-tank gun behind it.

Pulling the big Boys rifle into position so that it poked through the hedge, he brought the padded shoulderpiece tight against him and lowered the front support. He had already fitted a five-round magazine and, having adjusted the backsight to two hundred yards, pulled back the bolt, lifted the safety catch and aimed straight at the enemy anti-tank gun.

'Hep, you ready with that Bren?'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Good. The moment I fire, open up on those Jerries advancing towards the bridge, all right?'

'Sarge.'

Tanner squeezed the trigger and felt the big gun kick hard into his shoulder, then immediately fired again. To his relief, he saw both .55 bullets smack into the gun- shield and topple it. He fired another and one of the gunners was almost sheared in half. The mortar team now looked around nervously - where the hell had that come from? - but before they could react, a third bullet had ripped into the weapon. 'That's got you,' muttered Tanner. He jumped up and ran to the other side of the garden while Hepworth continued to fire short, sharp bursts from the Bren.

Peering through the other side of the hedge, Tanner saw the gun that had been firing at the attic. Quickly bringing the Boys into position again, he was conscious of bullets ripping through the hedge, and twigs being spat onto the lawn beside him. He fired several rounds, saw the bullets strike home, then called to Sykes. 'Stan - you nearly done?'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Good, let's go. Hep, time to call it a day.' More bullets flew through the hedge, so he crawled to the side of the cottage, then turned to see Hepworth make a dash for it. He had not gone two paces before he fell forward with a cry.

'Hep!' called Tanner.

'Bastard's got me in the back of the leg!'

'All right, I'm coming to get you.' Tanner crawled back to him, grabbed his shoulders, then pulled him towards the cover of the cottage. Keeping Hepworth flat on his belly, he pulled out several field dressings, tore open the thin linen casing and wrapped them tightly round Hepworth's bleeding leg. 'We need to get him back quickly,' he said.

'Let me plant some jelly mounds in some of the vehicles, though, Sarge. You think you can carry Hep?'

'I'll have to.'

From the safety of the front of the cottage, Tanner heaved Hepworth over his shoulder and grabbed the Boys in his spare hand while Sykes took the Bren. Hurrying onto the road, praying that no German would see them, he hastened past the line of burned-out trucks to the boat, groaning at the combined weight of Hepworth, the Boys and his webbing.

'Come on, Stan!' he called, as he squatted with Hepworth on the bank.

A moment later, Sykes slid down beside him and got into the boat, which rocked. Passing him the Boys, Tanner said, 'Have you got her steady?'

'I think so.'

Tanner cursed, then almost lost his balance, with one foot in the boat and the other still on the bank. A shell hit the canal thirty yards further towards the bridge and he almost fell over again, but then, with Sykes's help, he lowered himself, Hepworth still over his shoulder, into the dinghy.

On the other side of the canal, Peploe and Ellis were there to help pull Hepworth, crying out with pain and fear, from the boat. Having passed up the weapons, Tanner and Sykes followed, then scuttled the dinghy and ran along the trench to the rear of the farmhouse.

'We knocked out a couple of anti-tank guns and a mortar,' said Tanner breathlessly, 'and Hep got some Jerry infantry but there's so many of them.'

'Like the hydra's head,' said Peploe. 'You chop off one, and more grow in its place.'

'A bit like that, yes, sir.'

Peploe took a swig from his hip-flask and offered it to Tanner. 'Calvados. I just filled up.'

'Thanks,' said Tanner, taking it.

'We've got two more wounded - two men from Ross's section. That's five now. We need to get them out of here and back to the beaches, but I can't think how.'

'Can the others walk?'

'One can.'

'Get a runner to go down to Battalion HQ. Maybe they can send a car up for them.'

'But we're already down to twenty-five men.'

'I know, but all we can do now, sir, is sit in our trenches and wait for enemy troops to appear. We can't do any more about the artillery and mortars apart from pray they don't land directly in any of our trenches.'

'All right. I'll send Ellis.'

Tanner went to see Hepworth. He was laid out with the other wounded men behind the last of the outbuildings, his face drained of colour. Smailes was with them, binding wounds and injecting morphine.

'I'm sorry, Hep,' he said.

'My fault, Sarge,' he croaked. 'Should have crawled like you.'

'At least you'll get away from here. Billy's gone to get some transport to take you to the beaches.'

Hepworth smiled weakly. 'I'd rather have stayed,' he said. 'We've been through a lot together the past few weeks.'

Tanner clasped his shoulder, then went back to the canal.

The enemy's assault on the junction with the bridge was successfully repulsed by the Coldstreams and the Rangers, and for the next few hours the German infantry made no further attempt to attack. There was, however, no let-up from their artillery and mortar teams, and shells rained down on their positions throughout the afternoon. Nonetheless, Ellis successfully reached Battalion Headquarters, and just before three o'clock two carriers made it to the back of the farm and took not only D Company's wounded but A and B Companies' too.

Unpleasant though it was to be crouching in damp, muddy trenches as mortar and artillery shells exploded around him, Tanner knew that in soft ground the enemy ordnance was, for the most part, ineffective. Plumes of water and earth ballooned into the air, but apart from a regular shower of mud, the men were safe, so long as no shell landed directly on top of them. As the afternoon wore on, he and Peploe hurried up and down the trench, making sure the men were all right and that they had enough cigarettes and food.

Most were holding up well, but Tanner was increasingly concerned for Verity, who seemed paralysed with fear in the trench to the right of the farmhouse. His face was ashen and he would accept no food, drink or cigarettes; instead, he clutched his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible.

'I don't know what to do about him, sir,' Tanner said to Peploe. 'He's better off out of here, to be honest.'

'It's too late for that. We should have sent him out with the carriers.' He ducked as another shell tore into the upper part of the farmhouse amid a cloud of dust, grit and tumbling masonry. 'Hell. The poor fellow.'

'I didn't think of it then, sir,' said Tanner, 'but I'm worried he's going to be hard to shift. He can't do anything.'

'Well, I don't know what to suggest.' Peploe sighed wearily and took another swig from his flask. 'I never knew it was so exhausting being shelled like this. What do you think will happen? I can't bear the thought of us all ending up in the bag. Such a bloody waste.'

'I don't know, sir. But I'm sure Jerry's preparing for another attack. Maybe we'll hold him again, but we can't keep on doing so for ever. There's simply too many of them and not enough of us.'

The attack, when it came, was every bit as hard as Tanner had known it would be. Just after six o'clock, enemy troops were spotted moving to their front, and soon after, bursts of machine-gun fire were spitting towards them. The battle for the canal had begun once more and time was running out for the defenders. Fast.