Darkest Hour (29 page)

'Good God!' Barclay knelt down beside the still prostrate
lieutenant.

'I reckon he'll be all right, sir,' added Tanner.
'This French officer thinks we're German fifth columnists. He was going to
shoot, so I'm afraid I was forced to disarm him and order the others to lower
their weapons.'

'Fifth columnists!' snorted Barclay. 'What absolute
rot!' He stood up again and faced the French lieutenant. 'Now look here,' he
said, 'we're who we say we are. British soldiers. Please take us to your
superior officer.' He pointed down to Peploe. 'This man needs attention.'

'Sir,' said Fanner, loosening his grip and allowing
the Frenchman to stumble free, 'perhaps show him some documents.'

His face reddening, Barclay said, 'Very well.' From
the breast pocket of his battle-blouse, he produced his identity card, dog-tags
and a letter from his wife. 'Here. Will this convince you?' He pointed to the
address in Pateley Bridge. 'There. Do you think Fd have all this lot if I was a
bloody Hun spy?'

The French
sous-lieutenant
peered at the letter, then at the pale pink military identity card with its
different types of ink, its Leeds stamp and photograph. Tanner then showed him
his own AB64 paybook, careful not to reveal the German packet of cigarettes as
he delved in his pocket.

The Frenchman's face now flushed. 'Er, sir
, pardon.
It seems I was mistaken.' Triumph had been
replaced by contrition. 'I am very sorry, but we have been warned repeatedly to
keep a watch for fifth columnists and we have seen no other British troops.' He
now stood up straight and saluted. 'Sous-Lieutenant Marais, Tenth Pioneer
Company of the Fourth Infantry Regiment, Fifteenth Division, Four Army Corps.'
He turned briskly and snapped some orders to the men behind, who, with an eye
on Tanner, gingerly picked up their rifles, then bent over Peploe and lifted
him carefully.

'What happened?' mumbled Peploe. Then his eyes opened
and he saw the French soldiers. 'Who are you?'

'Don't worry, sir,' said Tanner. 'You took a blow to
the head but you'll be fine.'

'Follow me,' said Marais. Then he turned to Tanner and
held out his hand. 'My pistol, Sergeant, if I may.'

Tanner handed it to him, holding his gaze -
I would have killed you -
then turned to the old man,
now standing beside the road watching the troops head over the river.'
Merci, Monsieur
,' he said, offering his hand. The old man
took it, then heaved a big sigh.

'J'ai fait partie de la derniere guerre. A Verdun.
C'etait terrible. La guerre est monstrueuse.'
He
shook his head and turned sadly away.

Marais's company commander, Capitaine Marmier, an
apparently less impetuous man, brushed aside concerns about fifth columnists,
apologized profusely and insisted Marais drive Peploe to the 4th Infantry
Regiment field dressing station. In the meantime, he urged Captain Barclay to
bring the vehicles and the rest of D Company across the bridge and to wait at
his command post, a roadside house a short distance from the river on the
western side.

Tanner left Barclay and Blackstone with him, then
walked back to fetch the vehicles. Ten minutes later, having fended off
numerous questions about what had happened, he brought the Krupp to a
standstill outside the French company headquarters, jumped down from the cab,
crossed the road and went into the house.

'Ah, Tanner,' said Barclay, as he was led into
Marmier's makeshift office. He was sitting in an old high-backed wooden chair
across the desk from Capitaine Marmier. Both men were smoking cigars, with
small cups of coffee in front of them. 'Our hosts are kindly going to feed us.
As soon as Peploe's back, we'll be on our way.'

Tanner
nodded. '
Merci,
Capitaine.''

'You're very welcome, Sergeant.' Tanner guessed he
was, like Barclay, about thirty. He had a lean, cleanshaven face, with dark
skin and intelligent eyes, although he had yet to put on his jacket; instead he
sat in his breeches, shirt and braces -
It
is
only five o'clock, though.

'We've been swapping intelligence,' said Barclay, his
mood clearly much improved. 'Capitaine Marmier is most interested to learn
there are SS units in the area. Apparently there is still fighting to the
south, but Four Corps have been told that the Escaut is the front line now in
this area. French Five Corps holds the line to Douai and then our chaps are
along the river Scarpe to Arras.'

The Scarpe.
The name rang a bell in Tanner's mind. Yes, he
remembered now. It was there, near Arras, that his father had once fought, back
in the last war, with the Wiltshires. Tanner cleared his throat. 'I was
wondering, sir, whether they might have some paint - white preferably.'

'Paint, Tanner? What in God's name for?'

'For the trucks, sir. To cover up the German markings
on the numberplates and write our own name on the bodywork. We're back behind
Allied lines now, sir. We don't want people thinking we're Jerries.'

'Yes, of course,' said Marmier, before Barclay could
reply. He called, and a moment later an NCO appeared. Marmier spoke with him,
then turned back to Tanner. 'Follow him. He's the company quartermaster. He has
some paint.'

When Tanner returned to the trucks armed with a brush
and a tin of white paint, a number of French troops were examining them. He
noticed several pointing at him as he approached. Ignoring them, he walked over
to the Krupp, where he found Hepworth and Verity both fast asleep despite the
hubbub around them.
Good.
It was important to
sleep whenever possible. Ten minutes here, half an hour there: it could make
all the difference.

He painted over the two SS runes on the numberplate
beneath the radiator, then daubed 'Yorks Rangers' on the bonnet and, in even
larger letters, 'BEF' beneath it. Then he did the same on the wooden side
boards before turning his attention to the truck behind.

Squadron Leader Lyell still sat in the Opel's cab.
'Sergeant,' he called, as Tanner painted new markings on the bonnet.

Tanner stopped, then went to the window.

'So we're back behind Allied lines,' said Lyell.
'We've almost made it.'

'A little way to go yet but, yes, hopefully, sir.'

Lyell eyed him thoughtfully. 'Do you know why I chose
to become a pilot, Tanner?'

'No, sir.'

'I'll tell you. It was because I wanted to fly, of
course, but not just so I could see the world from the sky or even because of
the thrill of it - though it is a thrill. It was also because I was damned if I
wanted to bother with the spit and polish and crap that comes from being in the
other services. I know I have men under my command, but it's not like old
Hector and his company of infantrymen. We're a team, all right, but we're
individuals too. We pilots live by different laws, different codes of conduct.
Not quite so much yes-sir, no-sir, or cap-doffing, if you know what I mean.'

Tanner wondered why he was telling him all this. 'I
see, sir,' he said.

Lyell hadn't finished. 'When you shot my tyre out back
at Manston, I decided you must be just like all those other bloody hare-brained
infantry types - following orders to the letter, with no imagination, no
ability to think for yourself.'

'I'm sorry you thought so, sir,' said Tanner.

'Well, I don't any more. You're a rare bird - a bloody
competent soldier. My brother-in-law . . .' He shook his head. 'You know, I've
always thought he was a bit of a prig, albeit a good-natured one, but he's
harmless enough in day-to-day life. Worked quite well for his father - they've a
family business in Harrogate, you know - but hopeless as a soldier. Doesn't
have a clue.'

'It's new to a lot of the men, sir,' said Tanner.
'There's a big difference between training and doing it for real. It takes time
to learn.'

Lyell chuckled. 'Certainly a bit different from the
weekend soldiering he was doing before the war. A few drills, a few marches and
a few shots on the firing range, plus a two-week camp every summer. And now
this.'

'He's got us here in one piece, hasn't he?' said
Tanner.

'Now you're being disingenuous, Sergeant. No, I've
learned something these past couple of days, which is what I wanted to say to
you in this rather long-winded way - that is, I now realize I shouldn't tar you
all with the same brush. Some of you do actually think for yourselves - you
especially. That I'm not in some Jerry bag is down to you, Sergeant. And if I
get safely to Arras, that will also be largely down to you. I've been an ass
and, I suspect, a pain in the arse to you all. Frustration, I'm afraid, and exasperation.
Shouldn't ever have allowed myself to be knocked out of the sky. Fed up with
all the dithering, and angry that I'm not leading my squadron. No excuse, but
an explanation - of sorts, at any rate.'

'Don't mention it, sir.'

'And one other thing, Tanner.'

'Sir?'

'We can forget about the car.'

'I already had, sir.'

They were on their way again before eight. They had
been delayed for several hours but, if he was honest, Tanner had been glad of
the pause. He'd been fed - French Army rations, but a lot better than some of
the food he'd eaten in his time - and had even managed to get some sleep,
stretching out in the back of the Krupp while they waited for Lieutenant
Peploe's return. Moreover, it had given them a chance to reorganize themselves.
Captain Barclay, Blackstone and the rest of Company Headquarters had taken
command of the Krupp, while the two platoons had been split between the three
Opels, with Sykes, Tanner and Lieutenant Peploe up front in the cab of the
truck following the Krupp.

Peploe had come back to them in good shape, all things
considered: he'd been shot in the head but all he had to show for it were a bad
headache, mild grogginess, four stitches and a bandage. 'The French MO reckoned
the bullet had lost a lot of velocity by hitting the helmet at the side,'
Peploe told Tanner and Sykes, as they drove off towards Douai. 'He thinks it
spun round the lining where it eventually ran out of puff and fell out.'

'It didn't fall out, sir. At least, not straight
away.' Tanner reached into his pocket and took out the squashed bullet. 'Here
you are, sir. A little memento.'

'Well, what do you know? Thank you, Sergeant.'

'You're a lucky man, sir. Maybe you're one of the
charmed ones. What do you reckon, Stan?'

'Oh, definitely, sir,' agreed Sykes, winking. 'Some
people have it - the Luck - and others don't. Just one of those things.'

'Oh, I'm not so sure about that.' He chuckled. 'But
it's certainly a comforting thought.'

Soon after, the lieutenant was asleep, his head
resting against the door, snoring lightly.

Tanner took out the German cigarettes, lit two and
passed one to Sykes.

'Cheers, Sarge.'

Tanner stared out at the softly rolling Flanders
countryside. Away from the road, on a shallow crest, he could see a couple of
villages - a knot of houses and a church spire sticking out above the roofs;
small, tight communities not so very different, he supposed, from the village
where he had grown up. And now the war was cutting a swathe through them and
people were leaving their homes in droves. He wondered what the inhabitants of
Alvesdon would do if the Germans ever reached Britain. Would they run? He hoped
not.

'Sarge?' said Sykes. 'I've been meaning to ask. How
did you get those two guards last night? I never heard a sound.'

Tanner smiled. 'It was pretty straightforward,
actually,' he said. 'I knew we had surprise on our side. They weren't expecting
anything and they made it easier for me by splitting up so I could confront
each in turn. Forearm tight round the neck to smother the voicebox, then a short
sharp stab in the kidney. They were both dead before they knew what was
happening. I learned a long time ago that the kidneys are the place to go for
if possible.'

'Why's that?'

'Ever been hit there?'

'Yes.'

'And it hurt, right?'

'Like hell.'

'Exactly. Shove a bayonet in one and the pain is so
intense the body packs it all in immediately. The brain can't take it and
neither can the heart. And it's not particularly messy.'

Sykes nodded. 'I'll remember that, Sarge.' He was
quiet for a moment. 'By the way, did you smell burning near Valenciennes?'

'Yes - why?'

'Seems the population fled just after the balloon went
up and then the French Army moved in. Anyway, they weren't best behaved and
managed to set alight a huge fuel dump that caused a massive fire in the centre
of the town. So we could have gone through there after all.'

'Bloody Frogs,' muttered Tanner.

The road was soon filled with refugees again, the same
trail of wretched civilians traipsing along, some on foot, others on carts, a
few in vehicles. The road had clearly been busy for some time now. All along it
there was human detritus: bags, suitcases - some flung open - paper, even books
lined the verges. Here and there a shirt or dress was caught in a bush or on a
branch and flapped helplessly in the breeze. There were cars and other vehicles
too, run off the road and abandoned. Those too exhausted sat or lay on the
grass - mostly the elderly and children, the former gazing outwards with blank
disbelieving expressions, the latter often crying, tears streaming down grubby
cheeks, anxious parents trying vainly to comfort them.