Darkest Hour (52 page)

Blackstone had assembled the men in the drawing room
of the house, a large space with electric lighting where antique tapestries and
old portraits hung on the walls. He explained what had happened - how he and
Sergeant Slater had been in the yard and had heard a commotion inside the
house; how they had found the lieutenant unconscious and the farmer assaulting
the nurse. The lieutenant had been hit on the head. It was all very
unfortunate.

'So, boys,' said Blackstone, solemnly, 'it means that,
for the time being, I'm in charge. And things have changed a lot for us since
yesterday. We've lost our skipper and the lieutenant's out of action. More than
that, we know what's going on. We've all sensed the battle hasn't been going
our way, but it's now a fact that the BEF is being evacuated. It seems likely
that Fifth and Fiftieth Divs are doing a hell of a job holding back the enemy
in the Ypres area while the rest of the boys in between make a dash for the
coast. But what the hell can we do? Forty-odd men aren't going to make any
difference. Our battalion walked out and left us behind in Belgium and now
Eighth DLI have deserted us too. We've done all that's been asked of us, and
more, but right now, it's time we thought of ourselves.' There was a shuffling
of feet and a murmur of agreement. 'Look,' he continued, 'we're all awake now,
we've got some grub inside us - and it's not as if we haven't had a rest, is
it? The rain's gone and we've a clear sky above us. I know it wasn't what we
intended, but last evening we were heading north - you know, maybe someone's
trying to tell us something. If we get going now, we can follow the Pole Star
and make good progress before all those refugees are on the move. We'll be
there by lunchtime and we can rest all we like. With a bit of luck, we'll be back
in Blighty by the following morning.' There were further murmurs of agreement.
'The alternative is that we wait here until morning, battle against the flow of
refugees, eventually get to Ypres, find our boys have already gone and end up
in the bag. Or, worse, dead.' He paused again. 'So, who's with me?'

Hands were raised, and Blackstone smiled. 'Good,' he
said. 'We leave in five minutes.'

'Hold on a mo', Sergeant-Major,' said Sykes, as he and
McAllister entered the room. 'I know my section would rather wait here until
Lieutenant Peploe comes round.'

'But there's an ambulance,' said Blackstone. 'Sergeant
Greenstreet can take care of him.'

'We'd still rather stay here. It sounded to me like
you were givin' us a choice a moment ago. What's more, there's also Sergeant
Tanner,' Sykes continued. Another ripple of murmuring from the men. 'You see,
that pond's not very deep and we've trawled it pretty carefully and found
nothing. That makes me think that the sarge and the nurse got out.' The room
had gone quiet now as the men listened to him. 'There's no way I could let my
men leave this place until we've found both of 'em, and I'd like to think Rosso
and Coop would feel much the same way.'

Cooper and Ross nodded.

'If they're still alive why aren't they here?' said Blackstone.

'Perhaps they're fearful for their safety, Sergeant-
Major,' Sykes replied.

'That's ridiculous. Why on earth should Tanner feel
that?'

'Maybe because he's been nearly burned to death, shot
in the side, and falsely accused of rape. I'd have thought that's reason
enough.' There was an audibly sharp intake of breath from the others.

Blackstone cursed to himself. He was losing them.
Damn Sykes to hell.
They'd taken care of Peploe and
Tanner but overlooked the third man in the trio.
Careless, very
careless.
And now the Cockney runt was on the point of ruining
everything. 'And you think I was responsible for all that?' Blackstone said,
hoping his feigned incredulity was convincing. 'Don't make me laugh.' He jabbed
a finger at Sykes. 'Corporal, you're talking out of turn.'

'What I'd like to know,' said McAllister, suddenly
speaking up, 'is where Madame Michaud is?'

'The farmer's wife?' said Blackstone. Panic now
coursed through him. He glanced at Slater -
help me out here.

'The farmer killed her, then attacked the nurse,' said
Slater.

'You know what?' said McAllister. 'I reckon that's a
load of old bollocks. I reckon the whole story's bollocks.'

'You - be quiet!' said Blackstone.

'No, I won't,' said McAllister. 'Why would a gentle
old farmer suddenly do his wife in and cosh an officer when he's surrounded by
that officer's troops? It don't bloody well make sense.' The men were all
talking now. Blackstone had his hands in the air trying to silence them when a
shot rang out. The effect was immediate. All the men stopped talking and stared
at Slater, who held a revolver pointed at the wooden floor.

'Listen, all of you,' said Slater, and Sykes noticed
that several men from Company Headquarters had positioned themselves by the
door, fully armed. One held a Bren at his waist. 'We're leaving now. All those
coming with us, move to the door. The rest stay where you are. I'm going to
count to three. One.'

Half a dozen men from 11 Platoon stepped forward, but
the rest, including all of Peploe's platoon, remained where they were.

'What are you going to do now?' said Sykes. 'Shoot us
like you did those Jerries?'

'Shut up!' said Blackstone, then said to Slater,
'Don't even think of it, Ted. We'll put them in the cellar.' He wondered for a
moment whether Slater might ignore him and shoot them all anyway.
Christ alive
, he thought, and his stomach lurched. It
was one thing killing Nazis, but to slaughter men on your own side - men you'd
lived alongside for the past couple of months? That was a step too far.

'If you insist,' said Slater, pushing past him.
'Right,' he said, waving his Webley, 'those of you with weapons, drop them on
the floor and get into single file.' He shoved several men forward.

The entrance to the cellar was in the kitchen across
the hall from the drawing room and the men, most of whom were stupefied by the
turn of events, were led there at gunpoint, then shoved through the door. Ten
feet below, at the bottom of a flight of stone steps, there was a large, cold,
musty cave, its vaulted bays partially stacked with wine. 'There,' said Slater,
as he followed them. 'Have a drink on us.' He grabbed a couple of bottles.
Then, satisfied that the men were all there, he walked backwards up the stone
steps and shut the door.

'How can you do this?' protested a corporal from 11
Platoon.

'More easily than you'd think,' said Slater, and
closed the door.

From the cellar, the only light the men could see came
from the outline of the door. In silence, they heard a padlock click shut
across it. Then there was a heavy scraping sound as furniture was moved in
front of it. Finally, the lights went out, and a minute later, they dimly heard
the ambulance being driven away.

Tanner heard the ambulance leaving, too, opened his
eyes and wondered where the hell he was. Lying on straw with a pounding head
and, he realized, someone close to him with their arms round him. He jolted
into full consciousness.

'You're awake,' said a voice.

The nurse.
'Where am I?'

'In one of the stables.' She unfolded herself from him
and Tanner felt a wave of cold as her warm body moved away from his. 'I'm sorry
for the intimacy, but you were wet and cold. I didn't want you to get
hypothermia. How's your head?'

'Sore.' He propped himself up on his elbows. 'What
happened?'

'One of your men tried to rape me,' she said, her
voice catching. 'I got away and jumped from a window into the pond. I saw you
looking for me but you were hit from behind and pushed out.'

'Slater hit me with his pistol. Knocked me out.'

'I saw you fall and pulled you out - only just in
time. One of them - the man who killed Monsieur Michaud - he came looking for
us with some other men. They had torches, so I dragged you behind this barn.
There was a strut sticking out that hid us. Then I saw this door and inside
found all this straw.'

'You saved my life - thank you.'

'I've never been more terrified.'

'You're very brave.'

'We need fresh clothes,' she said, 'but I daren't go
out. I've used up my courage quota for one night.'

Tanner stood up, stumbled, then steadied himself.
'Wait here,' he said. 'Don't move a muscle. I'll be as quick as I can but I
must find out what's going on.' He crept out of the door at the back of the
farmstead, then saw he was beside the long barn in which they had been resting.
He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark.

In moments, shapes emerged - the looming bulk of the
house, trees and bushes, stars reflected in the pond. He made his way back down
the track, round the house and into the yard. The ambulance had gone and there
were no longer any lights on in the house - had Blackstone and Slater left? It
seemed likely but he couldn't be certain. He ran to the yard, entered the barn
and found no one there. Yet his kit and rifle were. He put on his webbing over
his wet shirt, felt in his pack for his torch and switched it on, then hurried
back across the yard and into the house. Immediately he heard banging and
muffled shouts from the kitchen.

'Help! Get us out! Help!'

Tanner went into the kitchen, shone his torch and saw
that the dresser had been moved in front of the cellar door. He moved it clear,
then smashed the door with the butt of his rifle until at last it swung free.
He shone his torch on the stairs. 'Stan?' he said, seeing his friend. 'What the
bloody hell's been going on here?'

Despite the pain in his head, Tanner's spirits were
higher than they had ever been since he'd arrived at Manston. Blackstone and
Slater had gone. An enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He ordered the fire in the kitchen to be relit,
brought Lucie in from the barn and led her to a chair in front of the fire.
Then he detailed Corporal Cooper to organize a burial party for the bodies of
Monsieur and Madame Michaud. Everyone else was sent back to the barn. They
would rest until morning, he told them, by which time he hoped Peploe might
have recovered. Sergeant Greenstreet had agreed to remain with the lieutenant,
who was already showing groggy signs of coming back round to consciousness.

Having overseen the burial of the farmer and his wife,
Tanner staggered back into the kitchen, where he found Lucie wrapped in a rug
and warming herself by the fire; her uniform hung over a chair.

'There's some brandy on the table,' she said. 'You
should have a glass. It'll do you good.'

Tanner poured himself a tumbler, then sat in an armchair
next to her. 'I'm sorry about what happened,' he said. 'Those two have been
making life very difficult for some time. I just couldn't nail anything on
them. But I'm truly sorry you should have been caught up in it.'

'It was frightening but, actually, he'd barely laid a
finger on me before I hit him hard between the legs.'

'A good place to go for - it's always painful,' said
Tanner.

'Yes, well, it did the trick. Far more upsetting was
seeing Monsieur Michaud killed like that. I've seen some terrible things since
coming to France and I've got a strong stomach, these days, but that was just
so - so brutal, so cold-blooded.' She shivered.

Tanner sipped his brandy, the liquid searing the back
of his throat. Christ, his head throbbed. He gazed at the flames and noticed
steam coming from the thick serge of his still-wet trousers and shirt, then saw
that Lucie was staring at him. He met her gaze and smiled. She was undeniably
pretty - slight, with large deep-brown eyes. There was vulnerability in them,
he thought. 'Richoux,' he said. 'Jim said your name was Richoux. Doesn't sound
very English.'

'It's not. My father's French. My mother's English,
though, and I was sent to school in England. But I think of myself as French,
really. It's home. And now it's overrun with Germans.'

'What will you do if France falls?'

'Go back to England, I suppose. I joined the QA in
London,'

'And what about your parents?'

'They're still here. At least, I hope they are. We
live near Cherbourg - I don't think the hysteria's reached there yet.' She
sighed. 'You should take off those wet clothes and let them dry. I must look at
your head - you might need a couple of stitches.'

'Maybe,' he mumbled. He took off his webbing, then
undid his boots and put them before the fire.

'And the rest,' said Lucie. 'Don't be shy on my
account.'

He knew she was right; wet clothes were to be avoided
if at all possible. He needed to be fit in the days to come. Even so, he felt
self-conscious as he took off his trousers, then his shirt.

'What happened to you?' she asked, seeing the mottled
yellow and purple bruising across his right side.

'Nothing much - a bullet graze and a bit of a kicking.
All thanks to those two.' He yawned. 'Maybe we should get some rest now. There
are plenty of bedrooms upstairs.'