Darkest Hour (56 page)

'Blimey, Sarge!' exclaimed Sykes. 'Just look at all
those lovely explosives!'

'But we've already got more than enough, haven't we?'
said Tanner.

'Sarge, you can never have enough gelignite.'

'Actually, Stan, you're right. I've just had an idea -
with all this we can blow the approach roads, can't we? A few big craters'll
annoy Jerry something rotten because he won't get too many vehicles over the
fields, will he?' The water had not risen as high to the south as to the north
of the canal, but the ground either side of the raised roads and tracks was wet
and waterlogged. 'He'll have to send his infantry forward on foot,' Tanner
added. 'That means no tanks and no artillery pieces until he's mended the
roads. And that'll take time.'

'True enough.'

'So let's fetch some of the others and get to it.'

Four roads fed into L'Avenir, two from the south and
two from the north. Heading south first, they stopped two hundred yards beyond
the hamlet and Sykes got to work. He laid a packet of five cartridges of
gelignite on the road, placed a detonator at one end, then crimped a four-foot
length of safety fuse and lit it. That done, he ran back to the others waiting
some hundred yards away. Two minutes later, the gelignite blasted rock,
tarmacadam and dust high into the air. They watched the debris clatter to the
ground and waited for the dust to settle. A hole had opened across the width of
the road. Sykes grinned. 'One down,' he said. 'Dr Nobel does the trick again.'

'Nice job, Stan,' said Tanner. A lone shell screamed
over and they ducked. It exploded harmlessly in the fields several hundred
yards to their right. 'Someone's getting twitchy. Tinker,' he said to Bell,
'you'd better go back to Battalion HQ and tell them what we're doing. And
iggery, all right?'

They paused while Bell trotted off, scrounging some
more tins of food and cigarettes from another abandoned truck, and waited some
more while a newly arrived column of fifty or so troops trudged past on their
way to the perimeter. An almost constant stream of men, both

British and French, had poured through the day before.
The previous evening, one column of French infantry had thrown all their
weapons in the canal as they had crossed over into the perimeter. The Rangers
had watched them, appalled, from their part of the line. 'Sergeant,' Peploe had
said, 'I take back what I said earlier about the French. That was a bloody
disgrace.'

Since then, however, the stream had petered out so now
there was just a trickle of stragglers.

Tanner watched the men stagger down the road, their
uniforms torn and filthy, their faces haggard and drawn. 'Which lot are you?'
he asked.

'DLI,' came the reply.

'Which battalion?'
Tanner asked them. 'Eighth.'

'We were with you lot at Arras,' said Tanner.

'Arras?' muttered one bloodied sergeant. 'That was a
lifetime ago.'

'Here, have some beadies,' said Tanner, handing him a
packet of French cigarettes.

'Cheers, pal,' said the sergeant, pausing to open the
packet and light one.

'How far back's Jerry?' Tanner asked him.

'Not far. Must have crossed the Yser, I reckon, and
that's eight or ten miles away. He'll be here by nightfall, that's for sure.'

'Cheers,' said Tanner. 'Good luck.'

'Good luck yerself.'

'Right,' said Tanner, turning back to the others.
'We'd better get a move on.'

By midday, they had blown the three approach roads and
those leading into L'Avenir in at least two places and were crossing back over
the bridge when they saw, parked just on the north side, a large staff car. A
British general was standing beside it, talking with the colonel of the
Coldstreams, their own OC and a captain. He wore a distinctive high-peaked cap,
breeches and immaculately clean cavalry boots, while above his top lip was a
neat moustache.

Tanner recognized him at once - Brigadier Alexander, as
he had been last time they had met. 'Better look sharp, boys,' he said, and as
he neared the general he saluted as crisply as he could.

The general acknowledged him, then said, 'Excuse me,
Sergeant, we've met before, haven't we?'

Tanner brought his men to a halt and stood to
attention before him. 'Yes, sir, in Waziristan.'

Alexander smiled. 'Of course - Tanner. And a sergeant
now.' He stepped forward and tapped on the ribbon of Tanner's military medal.
'He's a brave man, this one,' he said, to the officers beside him. 'Should have
got a DCM for what he did at Muzi Kor.'

Tanner reddened. 'There were others a lot braver than
me, sir.'

'Well, it's jolly good to see you fit and well,
Sergeant. Do you think we can hold the Hun for a bit?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Are you the chaps who've been blowing the
approaches?' said Colonel Corner.

'Yes, sir,' said Tanner.

'Well done - that was smart thinking.'

'Thank you, sir. Hopefully it'll take Jerry time to
bring the bulk of his heavy fire-power to bear. I can't speak about his indirect
fire but our boys are well dug in, we've got a good OP, and we can certainly
deal with the infantry for a while.'

'Good gracious, Sergeant Tanner,' laughed Alexander.
'I rather think I ought to have you on my staff, although I can see you're
needed here. Anyway, well done, and good luck, all of you.' He saluted, and
Tanner responded, then marched his men back towards their positions.

'Blimey, Sarge,' said Sykes, once they were out of
earshot. 'I've never seen a general before. He certainly looked the part,
didn't he?'

'He was a damned good brigadier, I'll say that for
him.'

'What did you do then, Sarge,' asked Ellis, 'to get
your MM?'

'Nothing much, Billy.'

'I'd love to have a ribbon on my chest,' Ellis went
on. 'Sets you apart, doesn't it?'

'Trust me, Billy, you don't want to worry too much
about gongs. Lots of people get ribbons they don't deserve and many more don't
get the ones they should've got. It's a bloody lottery. Just concentrate on
doing your job and keeping alive. Much more important than glory-hunting.'

Bren teams had been placed all along D Company's front
and there were two in the attic of the house. Tiles had been knocked out of the
roof in several places and two tables, one from downstairs and one hastily
knocked together in a shed at the back, brought up for the Brens to rest on. An
old wooden bucket had been filled with water for cooling the Bren barrels.
Meanwhile, the Lewis gun had been set up on the first floor of the barn behind
the farmhouse. Stockpiles of ammunition were left beside the weapons or in
freshly dug cavities beside the trenches. Along the canal, the abandoned
vehicles were set on fire. Each charred chassis still offered decent cover for
the enemy, Tanner thought, but less so than before. At around six o'clock that
evening, once the last of the stragglers appeared to have passed through, the
bridge was blown.

A couple of hours later Tanner stood with Lieutenant
Peploe in the attic of the farmhouse. Gunfire sounded to the east, dull and
persistent. Behind, black smoke still rolled high above Dunkirk. Tanner had
been watching a dogfight from the dormer window to the rear, high above the
town where the sky was clear, blue and free of smoke; he had seen a German
fighter plunge into the sea. It had been the first enemy plane he had seen come
down in France. Perhaps the RAF boys were learning.

Now he and Peploe were at the front of the farmhouse,
peering through binoculars at a calm summer's evening. Long lines of poplars
were bursting into leaf and the evening sun shone on the watery fields, casting
dramatic reflections.

'We're ready, aren't we?' said Peploe.

'I think so, sir,' said Tanner.

'I just wish they'd get on with it. All this waiting -
it's getting on my nerves, rather.'

'I can live with it. I want those bastards to leave it
as long as they can. With every hour that passes, we can get more men away. The
more that get away, the better the chance we have of making it home.'

'You're right, but you have to admit the waiting's the
worst part.' He bent and pulled a bottle of French white wine from the Bren
cooling bucket and offered it to Tanner. 'It's
tres rustique
,
I'm afraid, but serves its purpose.'

Tanner smiled. 'Thanks.' He took a glug, and then, as
he passed it back, he saw something glint in the distance. Immediately he
brought his binoculars to his eyes again. Ahead, several miles away, he spotted
movement - vehicles - and wished now that he and Sykes had blown the roads even
further back.

'Can you see them, sir?' he said. 'Dead ahead.'

'Christ,' said Peploe. 'Ignore what I said a few
moments ago.'

'Don't worry, sir. I'll doubt they'll attack tonight.
They'll be setting up their artillery, that's all. I reckon we can expect some
shells but the infantry won't attack, I'm sure. Patrols, perhaps, but that'll
be it.'

A short while after, a few shells did follow, but fell
beyond their position. Later, once darkness had fallen, they heard small-arms
fire from the area around the bridge.

'Damn me,' said Peploe, 'the idiots are using tracer.
Look at it, Tanner - you can see lines of the stuff sparking across the canal.
Why would they do that? All they're doing is giving their positions away.'

But Tanner saw it differently.
Cunning bastards.
'They want us to fire at them, sir.
They're just testing the strength of our defences and working out where our
blokes are.' He turned to the lieutenant. 'Sir, if they open fire on us, I
think we should tell the men not to respond. Not unless we see or hear them
trying to cross the canal. I'm certain this isn't a major attack.'

'All right, Tanner. Quickly, then.'

Tanner was crouching along the trench to the right of
the farmhouse when the enemy opened fire on their positions. Small bursts of
machine-gun fire zipped above their heads, but in their trenches the men were
quite safe.

'Don't fire back!' hissed Tanner to Corporal Ross.
'Don't let any of the lads fire back.'

He was impressed by how well the men maintained their
fire discipline - not a single shot was returned and, within twenty minutes,
the enemy had slithered away from the canal. In the east, towards Furnes, the
artillery continued to sling shells through the night, but for the Yorkshire
Rangers, the hours of darkness slipped past quietly. Hours that brought them
closer to a possible withdrawal.

By morning, the vehicles and guns Tanner had seen
moved into place had gone. He couldn't understand it. All night he had been
bracing himself for a heavy assault, but while the battle seemed to have
intensified to the east, the fields to their front seemed as empty and calm as
they had the previous morning. It was another bright early-summer's day, warm
again, too. The water levels had risen higher and now, behind them as far as
the coast, the countryside had become a large, shallow lake, through which
roads and houses, lines of trees, farms and churches could be seen. It was
difficult country through which to attack. Their defences were good and the
twenty-yards-wide canal provided a superb anti-tank ditch.Yet they were only
thirty-four strong in their part of the line; the entire battalion had fewer
than two hundred men, and he had heard the Coldstreams had barely more. It was
probable that equally hard-pressed infantry companies and battalions were
holding the line all the way from Bergues to the coast, yet soon the might of
the German forces, flush with their sweeping victories, would be upon them.
Through the gap in the roof, Tanner peered through his binoculars, but saw
nothing. He went down to one of the bedrooms, lay on an empty bed and closed
his eyes. If Jerry was going to make them wait, he'd get some sleep.

Six miles away, General Lord Gort was eating his last
meal on Belgian soil. It might have been a sunny summer's day, and it was true
that he was having a half- decent lunch in the not unattractive surroundings of
the Belgian king's summer palace at De Panne, but his heart was heavy as he
toyed with his food. He had been ordered home to Britain, lest the Germans use
his possible capture for propaganda, but to leave before his men ran against
all the principles of soldiering he held dear. Outside, across the dunes, the
beaches led down to the sea; beaches on which tens of thousands of his soldiers
still huddled. Some ingenious engineers had built a makeshift jetty out into
the water from otherwise unwanted trucks and vehicles, but it made a pitiful
sight, as did the mass of small boats bobbing on the water crammed with too
many troops.

Major-General Alexander sat opposite him, eating with
measured precision and making polite small-talk with Brigadier Leese as though
nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He looked utterly imperturbable, and
Gort thanked God he had accepted Montgomery's advice and relieved General
Barker of command of the rearguard. Monty had been right: Barker was a hopeless
case. At conference the night before the general had seemed nervy and Gort had
noticed his hands shaking. When he had spoken, he had gabbled and told a poor
joke about dining soon in a
Schloss
overlooking the Rhine.
Gort had originally chosen Barker for the job because he had been the most expendable
of his generals; he had accepted that most of the rearguard might eventually be
forced to surrender and taken into captivity, but there had been something
rather galling about hearing Barker's passive acceptance of their fate. The
rearguard was made up of fine fighting men, and while their surrender had to be
considered, it most certainly did not have to be accepted as inevitable. Monty
had pointed out that in Alexander he had a first- class divisional general,
with a calm and clear brain; he wouldn't flap or be rushed into making hasty
decisions. With him in charge, Monty had urged, there was no need for anyone to
surrender.