Darkest Hour (43 page)

'Someone scarpering?' asked
McAllister.

'Hopefully to fetch some bloody
relief,' muttered Tanner.

'It's not looking good, is it,
Sarge?' said Sykes. 'We should all bloody well scarper if you ask me.'

Tanner sighed. 'I know, but
we've been given specific orders to stay.'

Fighting continued in the wood,
while mortars fell regularly on the village. Several houses were burning, so
the crisp night air grew heavy with smoke. Apart from occasional bursts of
machine-gun fire, the enemy were quiet to the south. Tanner checked on the rest
of the men and, as he was doing so, heard engines turning over. None would
catch. Again, they whined, like bleating sheep, but none would start.
Bloody hell.

'Sounds like our vehicles are
on the blink, sir,' he said, as he reached the lieutenant once more.

'I might go and find out what's
happening,' said Peploe. 'It seems pointless to stay here.'

'Who exactly is in charge, sir?
Who gave the orders to stay put?'

'I'm not sure. I was given my
orders by Captain Barclay.' As though this had confirmed his thoughts, he said,
'Yes, I'm going to head back quickly into the village. See what's what. All
right with you?'

'Yes, sir. Good idea.'

Peploe slipped away, but was
back within twenty minutes.

'I saw Captain Barclay,' said
Peploe breathlessly. 'He's in a bit of a dither, I'm afraid. Colonel Beart's
been found - he's wounded in the leg and should be all right - but Captain
Barclay's now the most senior fit and able officer. They think Captain Dixon's
dead and the OC of D Company's missing. Anyway, the posts have been forced out
of the wood, so to the east and south-east there's just a skeleton force
holding the perimeter of the village.'

'And us.'

'Yes.'

'What about the vehicles?'

'That's what's really got the
OC. They won't start. It seems someone's taken the rotor arms out of the
distributors.'

'Sabotage. Must be one of the
prisoners. What's happened to them?'

'I don't know. I must admit,
I'd forgotten about them.' 'And where the bloody hell are Blackstone and
Slater?'

'Presumably still guarding the
prisoners. They weren't with Captain Barclay.'

'Damn it all,' muttered Tanner.
'Does the OC have a plan?'

'He does now.' Peploe chuckled.
'Did you hear that vehicle go off about half an hour ago?'

'Yes.'

'It was an armoured car - one
of the DLI's - attempting to get help, or so the OC told me. I suggested to
him that we wait here until midnight and if there's still no sign of help we
evacuate on foot.'

'And he agreed?'

'Er, not entirely.'

Tanner sighed. 'Bloody hell.
And I'm absolutely starving.'

'Here,' said Peploe, passing
him his hip-flask. 'I managed to get a refill in Givenchy. Nothing like as good
as the single malt I brought out with me, but when in Rome, eh?'

Tanner took a swig. 'What is
it, sir?' he asked.

'Calvados.
It's French - made from apples.' He took a swig himself. 'Cheers, Sergeant.
Here's to getting out alive.'

Tanner's exhaustion was growing
but he knew he had to keep awake and alert, and make sure the men did too.
Twice he shook Hepworth, while he had to cajole, back- slap and urge the others
to think not of food and sleep but of Jerries pouncing on them if they weren't
watchful. Time seemed to have slowed, and he found himself repeatedly looking
at his watch. Desultory mortar fire fell on the village, but otherwise the
front remained quiet.

Yet with every passing minute,
Tanner felt sure their chances of escape were melting away. His cheek still
hurt, his lip kept splitting and his ribs - no, his entire body - ached.
Fighting was tiring. What wouldn't he do for a bed?

Eleven o'clock passed, then
eleven thirty.
So no one's coming.
But then, just before
midnight, they heard the tell-tale squeak and rumble of tanks approaching the
village from the north.

'Hear that, sir?' said Tanner.

'Yes,' said Peploe. 'What do
you think? Friend or foe?'

'I'm hoping it's the bloody
cavalry - if it's Jerry, he's acting out of character.'

'Well, you go this time,
Tanner.'

'All right, sir.'

'Fingers crossed.'

Tanner hurried down the road,
exhaustion forgotten. The centre of the village glowed from another burning
house so that the vehicles, dark and looming, were silhouetted against the
flickering light. Several Durham men stood around, smoking and flinching every
time another mortar hurtled over.

'Seen any officers?' Tanner
asked them.

'Your skipper's in the church,
mate,' said one.

The sound of tanks grew louder,
then Tanner heard other vehicles rumbling with them. He ran down the road, and
there, two hundred yards ahead, a column of tanks was approaching, their bulky
shapes silhouetted against the now dull glow of the sky. Not British but
French. He recognized them as the same models he had seen earlier that day in
Neuville-St-Vaast.
Thank God.
He turned and ran to the church.

He found Captain Barclay
sitting on a pew at the front. A number of candles had been lit.

'Sir?' said Tanner.

'Sergeant Tanner,' said
Barclay. 'I was just trying to think and, er, offering a few prayers. Silly,
probably, but I thought it might help.' He scratched the back of his neck.

'It might have done, sir. Some
French tanks are here.'

'Really?' said Barclay,
surprised. 'I must say, I'd always hoped there was a God.' He tapped his foot
on the stone floor. 'There's a bunch of civvies down below, you know. They've
been praying all night.'

When Tanner and Captain Barclay
hurried outside, the tanks were in the centre of the village, and rolled to a
halt by the other vehicles.

'Bonsoir
.' A French officer saluted.
'We heard you were in difficulty,' he said in English, 'so we have come to take
you out.'

'But my orders are to stay here
and defend this village,' Barclay replied.

Tanner clutched his head in
exasperation. 'But, sir, we haven't got a hope of holding out.' He counted six
tanks and two tracked troop carriers. 'There are two entire enemy divisions out
there.'

Barclay ignored him. Instead he
turned to the Frenchman and asked, 'Where have you come from?'

'From Duisans. A German tank
formation attacked from the north-east but they have moved further east now.
Your battalion is still holding the village but they will be falling back soon,
I think.'

'And what are your orders?'

The French officer shrugged.
'To help you.'

'Very well. We stay.'

'Sir - please,' said Tanner.

'No, Tanner. I'm the senior
officer and those are my
orders. Our armoured attack will no doubt take place in the morning. If
we lose this ground they'll have to start all over again.'

'But, sir, how do you know
there's going to be any more armour?'

'These boys are here, aren't
they?' Barclay snapped. 'Now get back to your platoon, Sergeant.'

A renewed barrage of mortar
fire fell on the village as Tanner loped back up the road. At one point, he
flung himself to the ground as a mortar crashed forty yards from him. Then
another building was burning, angry flames crackling into the sky.

'It's madness, sir,' he told
Peploe, on his return. 'We're getting stonked to hell, all part of Jerry's
softening-up process. Keeps us awake, hopefully causes a few casualties and
frays nerves. At first light they'll send over some Stukas, and when they've
gone they'll storm the place with all guns blazing. To stay here now is
suicide.'

'All right, Tanner,' said
Peploe, 'but this is a hell of a stonk. I reckon we're safer here than in the
village. Let's wait for it to die down and then I'll talk to Captain Barclay.'

Mortars continued to rain on
the village and more houses blazed. Tanner's agitation and anger grew. He knew
the men felt much the same.

'This is madness, Sarge,' said
Bell. 'Let's pack up and get the hell out of here.'

'Calm down, Tinker,' he said,
moving on down the line.

'I'm cold and damp, tired and
hungry, Sarge,' said Sykes. 'I wouldn't mind so much if I could see the point
of it. Has the OC gone mad, then?'

'God knows.'

But at one a.m. news came that
they were to move back into the village. One of the French carriers rumbled
forward to hitch up the twenty-pounder while, muttering and cursing, the
Rangers walked back down the road, rifles at the ready, circling regularly to
check that no one was following them. At least a dozen houses were now ablaze
and the centre of the village was lit up as though by gas-lamp. One of the
captured SS trucks was also burning, destroyed by a direct hit. The air was
thick with the stench of burning wood and rubber.

Men were taking cover by the
vehicles, some DLI, others from 11 Platoon. Peploe told the men to wait and set
off in search of Captain Barclay.

'Bloody hell, Sarge,' said
Sykes, beside him. 'We need to get everyone together and bugger off sharpish.
Where's old Barclay?'

'God knows,' said Tanner. He
lit one of Timpke's cigarettes. 'And where's Blackstone? I can't believe he's
been patiently guarding those SS-wallahs all this time.'

'There's one way to find out,'
said Sykes.

Another mortar crashed near the
church as they hurried across the road and into the yard. The place was dark,
the glow of the flames shielded there by the walls and height of the barn.
Slowly, Tanner pushed open the wooden door, which creaked on its hinges.
'Hello?' he called. Silence answered him.

'They've been moved, I reckon,'
said Sykes.

'Hang on, Stan. What's that
smell?' He felt into his pack, took out his torch and switched it on.

'Oh, my God,' said Sykes.
'Christ alive, what's happened here?'

'They've been shot, Stan.
They've been bloody shot.'

'You mean murdered, Sarge.'

Tanner shone his torch across
the prostrate bodies. Buttons undone, pockets rifled.
Jesus.

'Blackstone?' said Sykes.

'Who the bloody hell else would
have done it?' Tanner snapped. 'That bastard - that absolute bastard! And where
the hell is he?' He strode out of the barn and back across the yard.

Two more mortars fell, one a
short way behind them, another further on. Tanner ducked, but continued towards
the vehicles. Barclay was there now, cowering beside one of the French tanks,
Peploe too. The French officer was gesticulating -
Let's go, Monsieur
Capitaine.

'Sir,' Tanner said directly to
Barclay, 'where are Blackstone and Slater?'

'Good God, man, can't you see
I'm busy? How the devil should I know?'

'Sir,' insisted Tanner, 'they
had taken charge of the prisoners. But they're not in the barn. The prisoners
are and they've been shot, sir.'

'What the devil are you talking
about?' said Barclay.

'Oh, Christ, no,' said Peploe.
'All of them?'

'Yes,' said Tanner. 'Every
single one.'

'Show me.' Peploe turned to
Barclay. 'Sir, you should come too.'

Tanner saw the panic in
Barclay's face. The OC was struggling - it was clear as day.
He doesn't know what to
do. And now this.

'Yes - yes, all right,' he
snapped. His right eyelid was twitching.

They ran back across the road
and over to the barn. Once more, Tanner shone his torch upon the dead SS men.