Darkest Hour (44 page)

'No,' murmured Peploe. Barclay
retched and vomited,

then left them. Tanner and
Peploe followed, but he waved them away, hurrying back across the road. Tanner
watched him lean against one of the German half-tracks, wiping his mouth with
his handkerchief. Then he took a swig from his water-bottle, straightened and
went to the tanks.

'Sir?' said Peploe, walking
towards him.

'What, Lieutenant?' Barclay's
hand gripped the edge of the French tank.

'The best part of forty Germans
have been shot. What are we going to do about it?'

'We're going to leave.'

'But I thought you wanted to
stay here.'

'I've changed my mind. We'll
withdraw. Back to Chateau Duisans. Help round up the men.'

'But, sir, we can't just leave
those bodies there.'

'And what else do you propose
we do, Lieutenant? Bury them? How long will that take?'

'But you must find out who did
this. Those men were murdered, sir.'

'Yes, but what can I do about
it?' He was shaking now, his voice rising. 'We're being mortared like mad and
we've lost God knows how many men. I simply can't think about that now.'

'Sir, when Tanner left those
men, the CSM and Sergeant Slater were guarding them.'

Barclay looked at him with a
mixture of anger and incredulity. 'Blackstone? You're saying he did this? He
wasn't responsible.' He turned to Tanner. 'I do hope, Sergeant, that this is
not some warped retaliation for what happened earlier.'

'Sir, really,' said Peploe.
'Sergeant Tanner hasn't accused anyone. But where are they? You have to admit
it's odd they're not here.'

'Not at all,' said Barclay. 'I
sent them back with Lieutenant Worthington from A Company and four of his men
an hour or more ago. They took the DLI's armoured car. Worthington thought he
and his little group were the only survivors of A Company. I told him he should
try to get help, but he seemed a bit washed out so I told Blackstone and Slater
to go with them. I wanted someone I know and trust for such a task. And,
frankly, it seems to have paid off because our French friends have now
arrived.'

'That doesn't mean anything,
sir,' said Peploe.

'Look here,' said Barclay,
prodding Peploe in the chest, 'you listen to me. Those men are dead and I
cannot undo that, but I have to make sure as many of our troops get out of here
as possible. That's my main concern, not the fate of forty enemy dead. You may
not approve, but I can't help that. Now, get your men ready, Lieutenant. Check
the far side of the church and chateau grounds for stragglers. We leave in five
minutes.'

Peploe glared at Barclay. 'Yes,
sir,' he said, and shouted to the men to load themselves onto the tanks and
into the carriers. Tanner began to follow, then ran to the church and into the
manor-house gardens. One of the outbuildings was on fire. Moving between the
trees to the edge of the house, he saw figures and shouted, only to realize
they were not British but German. Running for the cover of a tree, he crouched
and peered around. The light of the flames was in front of him, not behind.
Inexperienced enemy troops had not grasped that they were silhouetted in
perfect clarity. He could see them, moving forward, half crouching between the
trees. How far away were they? Forty yards? He unslung the sub-machine-gun and
glanced at the length of the muzzle. It wouldn't be much use at distances of
more than that but at thirty yards, he reckoned, it should do the job
perfectly. 'Come on,' he whispered to himself. There were only a few - ten,
perhaps, a patrol, nothing more. Cautiously, they continued forward, and then,
when the lead man was just ten yards away, Tanner stepped around the tree and
opened fire. He saw four men drop immediately while others dived for cover. He
took a grenade from his haversack, pulled the pin and hurled it. Seconds later
it exploded and a man cried out. Tanner fired another burst then ran back,
through the trees and bushes, past the church until he saw the six tanks and
carriers. Another mortar shell crashed behind him, near the church, but he
barely flinched. He saw Sykes and Hepworth clinging to one of the tanks and
Sykes held out an arm. The engines were running, clouds of exhaust fumes mixing
with smoke and cordite.

'Come on, Sarge!' Sykes
shouted. Tanner gripped his hand and hauled himself aboard the iron body of the
tank. A moment later, it jolted and moved off.

'Not before time,' said Tanner,
breathing heavily. 'Not before bloody time.'

Sturmbannfuhrer Timpke had
watched their departure. He had hidden in an abandoned house opposite the
vehicles. It had a strong, deep cellar in which he had sheltered during quiet
periods, while on the ground floor there was an open window from which he could
see and hear what was going on without being spotted.

A short while before he had
been congratulating himself for successfully disabling the vehicles - it had
been almost ridiculously easy. No one had been around - no guards - and it had
been dark, too, unlike now with so many houses blazing. Then, to his annoyance,
he had heard first one, then two vehicles start up and head northwards. He had
not spotted them earlier - they must have been parked in a different part of
the village. Nonetheless, he had remained optimistic that the bulk of the small
British garrison would be trapped.

Such hopes had fallen away when
the French tanks had turned up. However, watching from an open ground- floor
window, Timpke had followed events with mounting incomprehension. Why had those
Tommies not left immediately? Then he had seen the officer in charge and had
recognized a man promoted beyond his capabilities. The fool had been paralysed
by the weight of responsibility on his shoulders and unable to make a decision.

Then the dead prisoners had
been discovered, and from that moment on, the Tommy officer had not been able
to leave soon enough.
He's walking away from it.
Timpke's anger had risen once
more. He had seen Tanner standing beside two officers and then, as men had
loaded themselves onto the tanks, run off towards the church and disappear from
view. As the engines started and still he saw no sign of Tanner, his hopes
rose. He was sure he had heard gunfire from beyond the church, but then that
tall figure had emerged from the gloom, running towards the tanks. An arm was
outstretched and Tanner had scrambled on.

'No!' hissed Timpke to himself.
'No!' In a kind of stupor, he had walked out of the house and stood in the
middle of the road, watching the last of the vehicles disappear from view,
until all he could hear of them was the faint squeak and rattle of tracks. Then
a mortar shell whistled over and landed on the roof of the big barn where so
many of his dead comrades still lay. A moment later, a second and then a third
followed. In what seemed like no time at all, the building was aglow, angry
flames rising from the broken roof, wooden timbers cracking and spitting.

Timpke felt the rotor arms in
his tunic pocket under his camouflage smock. At least he had his vehicles back,
but that was small consolation. Only one thing would give him peace, and that
was revenge. Revenge for his humiliation. Revenge for his dead comrades.
Revenge. Revenge.
Revenge.

It was a slow journey. Near the
edge of the village, the survivors from Warlus had had to stop to clear burning
debris from the road but, thankfully, they had met no resistance. It was still
dark by the time they reached Duisans, but the stench of battle was heavy on
the air. The chateau and village were now deserted; whatever had remained of B
and C Companies had clearly fallen back.

On they trundled, back up the
ridge that ran between Duisans and Maroeuil where earlier they had seen British
tanks advancing. By the time they rumbled into Neuville-St-Vaast, the first
streaks of dawn were creeping over the horizon. Smoke still drifted over
Arras, but the distant tower of the belfry still stood. Despite the discomfort
of sitting on the back of a moving French tank in the crisp cold of early dawn,
Tanner dozed, imagining a big plate of bacon, egg and bread fried in beef
dripping, as he and his father had eaten when he was a boy. When he woke again,
it was nearly six and they had driven back over Vimy Ridge and come to a halt
in Vimy village.

Seventy-four men and officers
were all that remained of nearly three infantry companies, an anti-tank battery
and a carrier platoon. Exhausted, they slid off the tanks, scrambled out of the
carriers and collapsed at the side of the road. Men milled about. Vehicles -
trucks, carriers and several cars - lined the road beneath a row of young
horse-chestnuts. Tanner smoked the last of Timpke's cigarettes as Captain
Barclay and the lieutenant headed off towards Brigade Headquarters.

'What happens now?' Sykes asked
Tanner. It would be another sunny day, and the air was filled with birdsong.

'God knows. Hopefully get some
grub.' Several of the men were already asleep, stretched out on the dewy grass
beneath the horse-chestnuts. Tanner wondered when the fighting would start
again. Enemy bombers would be over soon, and those two German divisions would
be gearing themselves up for the next surge forward. It was supposed to have
been a counter-attack - an attempt to push the enemy back, but here they were,
one day on, in exactly the same place as they had started, but with good men
dead, wounded and taken prisoner. In their own company, they were now down to
just two officers; 11 Platoon were short of eighteen men - half their number.
He wondered whether Timpke had been among the dead in the barn; he'd not seen
him, but then again he'd not looked that hard either. But, Christ, all those
bodies. Prisoners were a pain in the backside when you were busy fighting, but
killing them in cold blood - he could barely believe it, even now. He closed
his eyes. No doubt Blackstone would turn up, winking and slapping the lads on
the back, everyone's mate. The murdered Germans would be swept under the
carpet while the accusations of rape would be brought to the fore. And,
overhead, the
Luftwaffe
would be swirling, diving
and dropping their bombs.
Damn them.
Barclay was a bloody fool. How could he not see through Blackstone?
Good leadership required many things but the ability to judge character was
one; another was the guts to take clear-headed decisions. Squadron Leader Lyell
had been right: the captain was a hopeless soldier.

Sykes nudged him now. 'The
lieutenant's coming.'

Tanner glanced up and saw
Peploe approaching.

'Tanner,' he said, 'come with
me a moment, will you?'

Tanner stood up and went to
him. Dark circles surrounded Peploe's eyes and a growth of gingery beard
covered his chin. It was amazing, Tanner thought, how much fighting a war aged
people.

'Captain Barclay wants to talk
to us,' said Peploe, 'with Blackstone.'

'Bloody hell.'

'He wants to clear the air.'

Tanner eyed him, expecting to
see an ironic smile, but the lieutenant's face was set hard.

They found Captain Barclay and
CSM Blackstone standing outside a bar that had evidently been requisitioned as
part of 151st Brigade's headquarters.

'Ah, there you are,' said
Barclay, taking his pipe from his mouth. His eyelid flickered and he rubbed it
self-consciously.

'Morning, Jack,' said
Blackstone. 'How's the head?' He circled a finger around his own face.

Tanner didn't answer. 'You
wanted to see me, sir.'

'Yes, all three of you,
actually,' said Barclay. 'We've had a difficult twenty-four hours and we've
probably got some difficult days ahead. Jerry's snapping at our heels and we've
lost some damn good men.'

Tanner wished he'd get to the
point.

'Now, I know that you, Tanner,
and the CSM are not exactly friends, but I want you to bury the hatchet. I
don't want to hear any more about this girl or the dead prisoners.'

'But, sir,' interrupted Peploe,
'you can't just sweep it under the table. Forty men were murdered.'

Barclay smoothed his moustache.
'Blackstone has given me his solemn word that neither he nor Slater had
anything to do with it, and his word is good enough for me.'

'But Tanner's word wasn't good
enough for you yesterday morning.'

'I've told you, Lieutenant,
that I consider both matters closed.'

'We handed over guarding the
prisoners to some of the DLI lads,' said Blackstone.