Darkest Hour (58 page)

Pulling the big Boys rifle into position so that it
poked through the hedge, he brought the padded shoulderpiece tight against him
and lowered the front support. He had already fitted a five-round magazine and,
having adjusted the backsight to two hundred yards, pulled back the bolt,
lifted the safety catch and aimed straight at the enemy anti-tank gun.

'Hep, you ready with that Bren?'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Good. The moment I fire, open up on those Jerries
advancing towards the bridge, all right?'

'Sarge.'

Tanner squeezed the trigger and felt the big gun kick
hard into his shoulder, then immediately fired again. To his relief, he saw
both .55 bullets smack into the gun- shield and topple it. He fired another and
one of the gunners was almost sheared in half. The mortar team now looked
around nervously -
where the hell had that come from?
- but before they could react, a third bullet had ripped into the weapon.
'That's got you,' muttered Tanner. He jumped up and ran to the other side of
the garden while Hepworth continued to fire short, sharp bursts from the Bren.

Peering through the other side of the hedge, Tanner
saw the gun that had been firing at the attic. Quickly bringing the Boys into
position again, he was conscious of bullets ripping through the hedge, and
twigs being spat onto the lawn beside him. He fired several rounds, saw the
bullets strike home, then called to Sykes. 'Stan - you nearly done?'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Good, let's go. Hep, time to call it a day.' More
bullets flew through the hedge, so he crawled to the side of the cottage, then
turned to see Hepworth make a dash for it. He had not gone two paces before he
fell forward with a cry.

'Hep!' called Tanner.

'Bastard's got me in the back of the leg!'

'All right, I'm coming to get you.' Tanner crawled
back to him, grabbed his shoulders, then pulled him towards the cover of the
cottage. Keeping Hepworth flat on his belly, he pulled out several field
dressings, tore open the thin linen casing and wrapped them tightly round
Hepworth's bleeding leg. 'We need to get him back quickly,' he said.

'Let me plant some jelly mounds in some of the
vehicles, though, Sarge. You think you can carry Hep?'

'I'll have to.'

From the safety of the front of the cottage, Tanner
heaved Hepworth over his shoulder and grabbed the Boys in his spare hand while
Sykes took the Bren. Hurrying onto the road, praying that no German would see
them, he hastened past the line of burned-out trucks to the boat, groaning at
the combined weight of Hepworth, the Boys and his webbing.

'Come on, Stan!' he called, as he squatted with
Hepworth on the bank.

A moment later, Sykes slid down beside him and got
into the boat, which rocked. Passing him the Boys, Tanner said, 'Have you got
her steady?'

'I think so.'

Tanner cursed, then almost lost his balance, with one
foot in the boat and the other still on the bank. A shell hit the canal thirty
yards further towards the bridge and he almost fell over again, but then, with
Sykes's help, he lowered himself, Hepworth still over his shoulder, into the
dinghy.

On the other side of the canal, Peploe and Ellis were
there to help pull Hepworth, crying out with pain and fear, from the boat.
Having passed up the weapons, Tanner and Sykes followed, then scuttled the
dinghy and ran along the trench to the rear of the farmhouse.

'We knocked out a couple of anti-tank guns and a
mortar,' said Tanner breathlessly, 'and Hep got some Jerry infantry but there's
so many of them.'

'Like the hydra's head,' said Peploe. 'You chop off
one, and more grow in its place.'

'A bit like that, yes, sir.'

Peploe took a swig from his hip-flask and offered it
to Tanner. 'Calvados. I just filled up.'

'Thanks,' said Tanner, taking it.

'We've got two more wounded - two men from Ross's
section. That's five now. We need to get them out of here and back to the
beaches, but I can't think how.'

'Can the others walk?'

'One can.'

'Get a runner to go down to Battalion HQ. Maybe they
can send a car up for them.'

'But we're already down to twenty-five men.'

'I know, but all we can do now, sir, is sit in our
trenches and wait for enemy troops to appear. We can't do any more about the
artillery and mortars apart from pray they don't land directly in any of our
trenches.'

'All right. I'll send Ellis.'

Tanner went to see Hepworth. He was laid out with the
other wounded men behind the last of the outbuildings, his face drained of
colour. Smailes was with them, binding wounds and injecting morphine.

'I'm sorry, Hep,' he said.

'My fault, Sarge,' he croaked. 'Should have crawled
like you.'

'At least you'll get away from here. Billy's gone to
get some transport to take you to the beaches.'

Hepworth smiled weakly. 'I'd rather have stayed,' he
said. 'We've been through a lot together the past few weeks.'

Tanner clasped his shoulder, then went back to the
canal.

The enemy's assault on the junction with the bridge
was successfully repulsed by the Coldstreams and the Rangers, and for the next
few hours the German infantry made no further attempt to attack. There was,
however, no let-up from their artillery and mortar teams, and shells rained
down on their positions throughout the afternoon. Nonetheless, Ellis
successfully reached Battalion Headquarters, and just before three o'clock two
carriers made it to the back of the farm and took not only D Company's wounded
but A and B Companies' too.

Unpleasant though it was to be crouching in damp,
muddy trenches as mortar and artillery shells exploded around him, Tanner knew
that in soft ground the enemy ordnance was, for the most part, ineffective.
Plumes of water and earth ballooned into the air, but apart from a regular
shower of mud, the men were safe, so long as no shell landed directly on top of
them. As the afternoon wore on, he and Peploe hurried up and down the trench,
making sure the men were all right and that they had enough cigarettes and
food.

Most were holding up well, but Tanner was increasingly
concerned for Verity, who seemed paralysed with fear in the trench to the right
of the farmhouse. His face was ashen and he would accept no food, drink or
cigarettes; instead, he clutched his knees, trying to make himself as small as
possible.

'I don't know what to do about him, sir,' Tanner said
to Peploe. 'He's better off out of here, to be honest.'

'It's too late for that. We should have sent him out
with the carriers.' He ducked as another shell tore into the upper part of the
farmhouse amid a cloud of dust, grit and tumbling masonry. 'Hell. The poor
fellow.'

'I didn't think of it then, sir,' said Tanner, 'but
I'm worried he's going to be hard to shift. He can't do anything.'

'Well, I don't know what to suggest.' Peploe sighed
wearily and took another swig from his flask. 'I never knew it was so
exhausting being shelled like this. What do you think will happen? I can't bear
the thought of us all ending up in the bag. Such a bloody waste.'

'I don't know, sir. But I'm sure Jerry's preparing for
another attack. Maybe we'll hold him again, but we can't keep on doing so for
ever. There's simply too many of them and not enough of us.'

The attack, when it came, was every bit as hard as
Tanner had known it would be. Just after six o'clock, enemy troops were spotted
moving to their front, and soon after, bursts of machine-gun fire were spitting
towards them. The battle for the canal had begun once more and time was running
out for the defenders. Fast.

'This is no good, sir,' said Tanner to Lieutenant
Peploe as bullets hammered into the mound of earth immediately in front of
them. 'I need some height.'

They were in the trench beside the farmhouse and
although the barn to the rear was now completely destroyed, Tanner reckoned the
main house still offered some decent firing positions. 'Sir,' he continued, 'if
it's all right with you, I think it's time to risk going back into the
farmhouse. I'll do some sniping from the first-floor windows.'

'What about getting some Brens up there too?' said
Peploe.

'Good idea, sir. We've still got some ammo left.'

'Right - use Sykes's section. Get a couple of men up
there with the boxes of ammunition and two more on the Brens. I'll stay here
with Cooper and Ross's sections.'

As the enemy infantry advanced closer to the canal,
the artillery lifted their fire deeper into the perimeter, so that now it was
just small-arms and mortars that were directed at the defenders. Even so, as
Tanner ran along the trench to the back of the farmhouse, he could hear bullets
snapping into the brickwork. Bursting through the back door, he ran to the
staircase as another bullet pinged through a broken ground-floor window and
ricocheted off the hall wall next to him. Upstairs, the roof and most of the
first-floor ceiling had collapsed, but the walls were thick and looked firm.
Entering a now open- roofed bedroom, he ran to the window, cleared the worst of
the broken glass out of his way with his boot, crouched and drew his rifle to
his shoulder, resting the barrel on the window ledge.

Platoons of men were advancing across the ground in
front of him, using as cover the young corn in the fields, the lines of poplars
and willows and the raised banks at either side of the approach roads. He saw a
machine-gun team hurry forward alongside the road on the left that led towards
the canal, then drop to the ground beside a poplar and set themselves up to
cover their comrades' advance. Immediately, he drew a bead, aiming at the head
of the man now feeding a belt into the breech. Even without his scope he could
see the figures distinctly, although their features were not clear. The light
was still bright, he was looking slightly down at the two men, and the ground
between them was level - all factors that could lead to underestimating distance.
Taking that into account, he guessed they were around three hundred and twenty
yards away. Quickly adjusting the range drum on the scope to three hundred
yards, he peered through the lens, fractionally raised the point of aim, let
his finger squeeze until it reached the first point of pressure on the trigger.
Holding his breath, he gripped the rifle tightly and pressed hard against the
second pressure point. A crack, a jolt, and the first man rolled over. Pulling
back the bolt, he aimed at the second. The enemy soldier was now twisting his
head round in panic
- a sniper or a lucky shot?
-
so Tanner aimed at his body, rather than his head.
Aim, breathe out,
steady, squeeze the trigger.
As the Enfield cracked out shrilly
in the narrow room, the second man slumped forward, as dead as his comrade.

He drew back the bolt again, aimed and fired, and
again and again, using his scope to spot officers and NCOs. Although he was not
entirely certain what the German uniforms and insignia denoted, officers were
easy enough to spot, with their leather holsters and baggy twill breeches - he
wondered why armies insisted on making their officers so damned obvious. German
NCOs wore chevrons on the upper sleeves similar to their own, although on a
triangular black patch. He reckoned he'd felled at least seven men with his
first magazine, including an officer, one NCO and the machine-gun team.

As he had been firing, the others had joined him,
McAllister and Sykes setting down Brens at the windows along the front of the
house. Kershaw and Bell were bringing in boxes of ammunition and unloading Bren
magazines. Already, the open rooms were heavy with cordite, which irritated the
back of their throats.

'Thank God the roof's blown off, Sarge,' said Kershaw.
'Gives us a bit of fresh air.'

'Call that fresh?' said Tanner, pressing two more
five- round clips into his magazine. The two Brens were chattering now.

'Watch it, Stan,' warned Tanner. 'Short, sharp bursts,
all right? We need to keep those weapons working - can't afford to overheat
them.'

'We could do with another bucket of water, Sarge,'
said Sykes.

'Do you want me to find one?' asked Bell.

'Yes - but keep your bloody head down back there.'

Now the enemy had located them, so machine-gun and
rifle bullets were whacking into the walls. Tanner peered around the edge of
his window, then jerked back as a bullet hissed past his shoulder and struck
the wall behind him. Then, inching around the window-frame again, he saw more
men crouch-running down the track on their left that led to the canal.

'Stan, get a burst over here,' he shouted. 'Those
bastards nearing the road, ten o'clock.' He fired, then noticed another stream
of Germans scurrying towards the cottage on the far side of the canal, no more
than a hundred and thirty yards away. He adjusted his scope. All along the
canal to the ruined bridge the Rangers were firing, Brens and rifles cracking
out, bullets from both sides whining across the narrow stretch of water. Most,
he guessed, were passing high - he could even see a line of German tracer
arcing well over the trenches. He had been right to try to gain height; the
only danger now, he reckoned, came from a stray bullet or mortars, which had
yet to be directed towards them.