Darkest Hour (36 page)

'Right,' continued Beart. 'So, Dix, you've got a scout
troop of motorcycles from the Northumberland Fusiliers, a platoon from 260th
Ack-Ack Battery, a carrier platoon less one section and our new friends from
across the border in Yorkshire. Captain Dixon will lead the advance guard. Dix
- over to you.'

Dixon cleared his throat. 'We're going to get going at
eleven hundred, then RV with Seven RTR's tanks at the village of Maroeuil.' He
turned to Barclay. 'Have you fellows been issued with maps?'

'Yes,' said Barclay, pulling his from his map case.
'Yesterday, from GHQ.'

'Good show,' said Dixon. 'If you have a look you can
see we're here.' He pointed to his own map. 'Here's Maroeuil, about four miles
away to the south-west, and our start line for the attack is this road, eight
miles further south here, running south-west from Arras to Doullens. Beaumetz
is the place to keep in mind. There's been plenty of Jerry activity spotted
south of there, so they're definitely lurking about. A question of flushing the
buggers out.'

'Our chaps are all in Neuville at the moment,' said
Barclay.

'Well, that's all right. We'll pick you up on the way.
You've got a radio, have you?'

'No, I'm afraid not.'

'It'll be all right, Dix,' said Lieutenant-Colonel
Beart. 'We'll just have to make do. Where exactly are you in Neuville,
Captain?'

'By a large French Great War cemetery, sir,' said
Barclay.

'And unless I'm much mistaken, that's
en route
to Maroeuil, isn't it?' He clapped his hands.
'Good. Well, that all seems clear enough. The rest of the battalion will follow
the advance guard. One bit of bad news, though, is that we don't have any
rations. Have your chaps eaten anything today, Captain?' he asked Barclay.

'They've breakfasted, sir.'

'That's something. Anyway, I'm sorry but it's those
buggering refugees again. The food wagons have been held up. I hate to send
fellows into battle on empty stomachs but it can't be helped.'

Beart dismissed them soon after, wishing them a cheery
good luck. As Peploe followed Barclay and Bourne-Arton back to the Krupp, he
couldn't help feeling that the attack plan seemed rather hastily cobbled
together. It was as though a lot was being left to chance. He still had a
headache, but now nausea assailed him. As a pair of collared doves cavorted
above them, he wondered whether he would still be alive at the day's end.
Funnily enough, the debacle with Tanner had taken his mind off things. Ever
since he'd been driven past the shell-holes of Vimy Ridge, however, the
prospect of battle had been brought back into sharp focus. Fighting - killing
or being killed - had seemed so remote on the day he'd joined up, full of
youthful determination to play his part in ridding the world of Hitler. It had
been easy to be brave then and to enjoy the sense that he was undertaking
something rather noble and heroic. He'd imagined himself to be rather like a
Crusader in the stories he had enjoyed as a boy, leaving his weeping mother for
the Holy Land. But those shell-holes and the endless cemeteries had been an
all-too-real reminder of what war could be like. And now this rather haphazard
battle-plan. If he was honest, he still had no idea what they were supposed to
be doing or what to expect. All he knew was that he was scared stiff.

The Durhams' advance guard rendezvoused successfully
with D Company and the Rangers' trucks fell into line behind the motorcycle
scout troop, two command cars, a radio car and two trucks towing two-pounder
anti-tank guns, trundling at a snail's pace along a narrow road to Maroeuil.
Away to their left they could see the tip of the belfry at the heart of Arras.
In between and at either side of them lay open, undulating farmland.

Tanner's mood was slowly improving. He hoped that in
confronting the men he had convinced them; it had made him feel better, at any
rate. The awfulness of those moments when he had been under arrest in a damp
scullery was past. Ahead, he could see Maroeuil being bombarded lightly from
the south-east. The whistle of the shells could be heard faintly above the
rumble of the vehicles, followed by a dull thud and a thin cloud of dust
erupting clear of the buildings. His heart beat faster and he had a familiar
sensation in his stomach and throat. Nerves, certainly, but excitement too.
Fighting was exciting and, in the thick of it, his senses keen, he found it
exhilarating.

Away to his right he could see the lonely ruins of a
church, high on the skyline. He knew his father had fought around here - it had
been 1917, he remembered - and had often talked to him about it. Now he
recalled that there had been a spring offensive at Arras that year. Now, just
twenty-three years later, he was marching on the same ground, ready to fight
the same enemy. His father had died eight years before and not a day went past
when Tanner didn't think of him. His dad had been his best friend as well as
his father. Tanner smiled, remembering.

By the time they reached Maroeuil the shelling had
stopped. Tanner was surprised to see some dead Germans in the village - where
had they come from? - but despite vehicle congestion, the advance guard pressed
on so that by twenty past two they had reached the edge of Duisans, the next village
on their route to the start line of their attack.

The sounds of battle were growing more intense. Away
to the west, tank and artillery fire could be heard. As they descended from a
shallow ridge into the village, a bullet, then several more, fizzed above them
from the wood to their right.

'Look,' said Sykes, pointing to his left. Crawling
over a field up the small hill on the far side of the village were three 'I'
tanks, Matilda Mark IIs with their more-than-three inches of armour. Between
the sounds of gunfire, they could hear them, metal squeaking and clanking. It
was such a high-pitched sound, yet with it came a deep, low rumble, promising
bulk and heaviness.

More sniping whipped around them from the wood, but as
they reached the centre of the village, the buildings shielded them from fire.
A shell whistled overhead, and passed harmlessly above the village to explode
in open country.

Ahead, a DLI officer was talking to Barclay; a minute
later, the company runner came up to their cab. 'We're going to push on. We're
to follow those tanks towards Warlus.'

'What about the enemy in those woods?' asked Tanner.

'B Company's being hurried forward to deal with them.'

'And why are the enemy here anyway? We haven't reached
the start line yet.'

'Don't ask me. I'm just the messenger.'

They pushed on, following the three 'I' Matildas as
they rumbled slowly out of Duisans and onto higher, more open country. Ahead to
the south lay the village of

Warlus, the slate spire of its church poking out above
the trees and houses nestled around it. The anti-tank guns were unhitched and
set up, then the leading cars of the advance guard turned back to Duisans.

The company runner appeared again. 'We're to stay
here. They're trying to bring up more guns.'

'Make your mind up,' muttered Sykes.

To their right they could see vehicles and figures on
the ridge a mile or so away. Then field guns opened fire suddenly from away to
their left.

'What the hell's going on?' asked Peploe. They could
hear shells hurtling over, their whistle and moan as they cut through the sky,
then a series of dull crashes.

'Whose guns are those?' asked Peploe.

'Ours, I think,' said Tanner. 'They're stonking it
before we go in.'

'And what about them to the right?' asked Sykes. 'Are
they Jerries?'

Tanner took out his binoculars. 'I reckon they are,
yes.'

'Well, I don't know about you two,' said Peploe, 'but
I haven't the faintest idea what's going on. All I know is I feel bloody
exposed up here.'

'I agree, sir,' said Tanner. 'Let's get everyone out
until that stonk's over.'

No sooner were the men on the track, shaking their
legs and stretching, than a faint rumble that soon became a roar filled the
sky. Looking up, they saw waves of bombers flying over, like a giant swarm of
locusts. Moments later, bombs were falling on the eastern edges of Arras,
clearly visible to their left.

'Christ - look at them all!' exclaimed Peploe.

'I've counted eighty already,' said Sykes. Soon Arras
disappeared under a pall of smoke. The ground shook and the sound was deafening
- but all the while the British gunners continued to rain shells on Warlus and
the ridge beyond. Now the church spire had disappeared under a haze of dust.

Another company of Durhams, loaded into Bren carriers,
arrived on the track from Duisans, and as the artillery barrage stopped, they
were ordered forward.

A few rifle shots cracked out as the advance guard
entered the village, but as the smoke and dust drifted away, it became apparent
that the village was empty of enemy troops. There was heavy artillery and
machine- gun fire from the south and south-east, however, beyond the ridge.
They paused again by a track that led towards the church. Ahead, the road
climbed sharply to the next ridge and now a Mark VI light tank sped down it, a
cloud of dust following in its wake. Tanner watched with interest as it stopped
near them and the man in the turret hopped out. Lieutenant-Colonel Beart now
arrived in his car, climbed out and the tankman hurried over to him. He was
pointing behind him, showing Beart the map, then nodding furiously. A moment
later, Beart called Barclay over.

'Something's up,' said Tanner, lighting a cigarette
and coughing. He got out his water-bottle and drank.

Beart was now back in his car as Barclay walked
purposefully towards Peploe.

'What is it, sir?' Peploe asked.

'A devil of a job, I'm afraid. Our tanks are attacking
Wailly, a couple of miles to the south-east of here.'

'I can hear them,' said Peploe.

'Yes, and you can hear enemy guns too.' He took out
his map. 'It seems Jerry's got a lot of guns here, Point Three, and is stopping
our advance. The tanks can't get near them. Colonel Beart wants us to send one
platoon over to take out as many of those guns as possible. They reckon there
are four of them, and I want you and your platoon to do it, Peploe.'

Tanner noticed Barclay couldn't look him in the eye.

Peploe swallowed. 'Very well, sir.'

'Beyond this ridge is the village of Berneville, and
Point Three is across the Arras-Doullens road ahead of you. I can't tell you
much more than that. It's a lot to ask, I know, but. . .'

Peploe nodded. 'We'll go straight away, sir.'

'Sooner the better.' Barclay held out a hand, which
Peploe took. 'Well, you'd better be off, then. Good luck, Lieutenant.'

Two trucks and thirty-six men set off immediately, the
Opels labouring as they climbed the hill. As soon as they crested the ridge,
past a large water-tower, they saw drifts of smoke, and the sound of battle was
suddenly closer and clearer in front of them to their left.

'There!' said Tanner, pointing to a cluster of trees
on the next ridge. 'They're firing from that copse. You can see the muzzle
flashes.'

A moment later a shell came down in the field just
fifty yards to their right, sending up a huge fountain of earth. From behind,
the men shouted as bits of stone and mud landed on and among them.

'Damn it!' shouted Tanner. 'I didn't even hear that
coming. What the hell was it?'

'Everyone all right?' yelled Peploe.

'Keep bloody driving, Stan,' said Tanner. 'We need to
get into this village quickly.'

The road led them down to where tightly packed
buildings on each side of the street shielded them from enemy gunners. It wound
left, then right out of the village, still hidden from the crest of the brow
ahead by trees and banks.

'We're going to have to stop, sir,' said Tanner. 'We
won't get much further in these.'

Peploe nodded. 'Pull in before the end of that line of
trees, Corporal,' he said to Sykes.

The road was sunken, running between ten-foot-high
verges at either side. The men got out of the trucks, then, in sections, spread
out either side, and walked briskly up the gently rising ridge. As they reached
the Arras-Doullens road, they stopped. Inching forward with Peploe, Tanner took
out his binoculars. A track, lined by hedges, led up to a farm, about
two-thirds of a mile ahead. To the left of that there was a clump of trees. The
enemy guns they had to capture were somewhere within it. Tanner breathed in
deeply. It was possible, he reckoned. Just about. But it wouldn't be easy.

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