Darkest Hour sjt-2

by James Holland

  Tanner stepped around the bodies and walked a little way along the track until he could look down to the canal. A thick pall of smoke hung heavily over the French positions and was drifting in front of their own lines, but he could hear vehicles starting up. Then another explosion ripped through the air and he saw the bridge across the lock disappear in an eruption of smoke, dust and debris.

  'Bollocks,' he muttered. Then he saw that the bridge at Oisquercq had been blown so that only its stone struts still stood, lonely columns jutting out of the water. Amid the fury of their small battle, he had not heard it go up. He reached for his binoculars. A hole had been blown in the bridge over which they had come; the iron fencing stood bent and twisted. But the gallery directly beneath it, which stood sentinel over the lock, remained intact. He realized that the charges under the structure must have failed and that the crater on the bridge must have been caused by a poorly aimed bomb. He reckoned that any vehicle would struggle to cross it, but they themselves would still get over. Now he let his eyes rest on the farm. The roof of the house had collapsed, rubble and broken tiles heaped in the yard. Behind, a number of vehicles stood burning and broken. There was no sign of life. He lowered his binoculars, then brought them back to his eyes. Yes, there could be no doubting it. Columns of men and vehicles were trailing west. The French were pulling back.

  Tanner hurried to the others. 'Hep, work out how to drive this thing,' he said, pointing to the armoured car. 'Stan, get the prisoners onto the front.' He noticed Sykes still held a pistol. 'Got enough bullets for that?'

  'Half a dozen clips, Sarge.'

  'Good. I'm going to get the bike and have a quick look behind us. Then we'll go.'

  He strode past the line of wrecked armoured cars and saw that, despite his intention to save both motorcycles at the back of the column, the first lay on its side, petrol still leaking from its tank. The second looked to be all right, so Tanner sat on it, knocked back the stand and kicked down hard on the starter. The BMW engine roared into life. He gunned the throttle, put it into gear, wheeled round and sped off.

  Soon, he had cleared the wood. The road forked north and south, but although there was another large wood half a mile to the south, ahead, looking east, he had a clear line of vision. There was a village a couple of miles off and beyond it the countryside stretched away, softly undulating. He paused to peer through the binoculars. Ahead, in the far distance, he saw a cloud of dust rising. 'The German advance,' he muttered to himself. How far away was it? Ten miles? Fifteen? If he was right, they would reach the river in an hour, maybe two.

  At the sound of vehicles he turned. Another column of German armoured cars and motorbikes was emerging from the wood to the south. He waved at them, turned the bike round and sped back.

  Drawing up alongside the armoured car, he was relieved to hear the engine ticking over. Sykes was standing half out of the turret. 'There's another recce column half a mile away,' he said. 'Has Hep worked out how to drive that thing?'

  'I think so.'

  'Good. Head straight down this track - it leads to the canal - and make a lot of noise. We don't want any of our lot shooting at us.'

  Sykes shouted at Hepworth. The gears ground noisily and then, with a jerk that nearly jolted several prisoners off the front, the armoured car lurched forward. Slowly - too slowly, thought Tanner - they rumbled out of the wood and down the slope towards the canal. The dust and smoke had now all but gone and Tanner saw ever more clearly the damage done by the Stukas. Craters dotted the far bank and the fields behind the farm. The buildings were more wrecked than he had first appreciated.

  As they reached the track along the canal, a shot cracked out from the far bank, then another. Both were wide, but Tanner stopped and waved his arms frantically above his head. 'Don't shoot!' he shouted. 'We're Rangers!'

  Then a burst of machine-gun fire came from behind, kicking a line of earth between him and the armoured car. Turning, he saw several motorcycles speeding out of the wood, manned machine-guns in the sidecars.

  'Damn it!' said Tanner, and gunned the throttle as another burst of ill-directed fire hissed over his head. 'Stan!' he yelled. 'Get Hep to put his bloody foot down!'

  Hepworth did so, and the armoured car was suddenly speeding forward. His steering was wild and as he swerved against the bank of the track, one of the prisoners fell. Tanner nearly lost control as he dodged round the man. He glanced back. For the moment, they had lost their pursuers. Dust and grit were getting into his eyes and he cursed himself for not taking a set of German goggles. On they sped, round the turning circle in the canal, and then they were climbing back up the bank towards the lock.

  Hurtling past the armoured car, Tanner skidded to a halt, leaped off the motorcycle and quickly examined the bridge. The damage was far worse than he had originally thought. An ugly crater lay at one end, while large cracks ran down the side and across the gallery. Suddenly, he heard the structure creak as though it might collapse at any moment. If that happened while they were crossing they would all be dead.

  'Stan, get Hep out quick!' he shouted.

  Sykes motioned to the prisoners to jump off and, with his pistol, led them to the damaged bridge. 'Go on,' he said, waving his arms. 'Cross the bridge. Geht!'

  They did as they were ordered, sidling past the crater, as Hepworth jumped down from the armoured car. The bridge groaned again, prompting anxious glances from the prisoners. Tanner looked back down the track. Where were the enemy? Perhaps they feared attack themselves. He turned to Hepworth. 'Go on, Hep!' he said. 'Bloody get your arse over that bridge.'

  There were shouts now from the far side and Tanner turned to see Peploe emerge from the trees, urging them to hurry. A moment later a cannon shell whammed into the ground not ten yards from where Tanner was crouching.

  'Jesus!' Looking round, he saw an armoured car and several motorcycles on the brow of the hill directly behind them. Another cannon shell hit the side of the armoured car, then a machine-gun sputtered and Tanner ran onto the bridge as bullets kicked into the ground.

  'Come on, Sarge!' yelled Sykes, as a Bren opened up from the other bank. Tanner saw him sheltering behind a small brick hut on the far side of the bridge. The prisoners now ran across the open ground between the hut and the safety of the trees. Tanner saw one fall. Another burst of enemy machine-gun fire ripped through the centre of the bridge. Bloody hell, he thought, then took a deep breath and raced over the crater. Immediately another burst chattered, bullets pinging around him. A second Bren opened fire, and rifle shots cracked from the far bank too. Bullets whistled overhead and along the bridge, clattering into the metalwork and concrete and into the murky water in the lock. The bridge groaned again as he sprinted towards the hut, sliding behind it beside Sykes and Hepworth. But it was still another thirty yards to the trees.

  'Come on, boys,' muttered Tanner, looking towards the Rangers hidden in the trees, 'keep bloody firing.' He glanced back and saw that the enemy armoured car and motorcycles were now pulling back. Thank God. Several more rifles cracked out and a Bren clattered.

  'Looks like Jerry's had enough,' said Sykes. 'Reckon it's safe to make a dash for it?'

  Tanner nodded. Sykes went first, then Hepworth, and when he had watched them scurry across the open ground, he made a run for it himself. As he did so, he felt something sear his side. Grimacing as he ran, he gazed up and saw Blackstone, kneeling by a tree towards the canal bank, lowering his rifle.

  Anger welled as he ran the last few yards. Then he turned back towards Blackstone, his face set and fists clenched.

  A hand on his shoulder. 'Tanner, what in God's name have you been doing?'

  It was Peploe. 'We discovered a German reconnaissance unit, sir.' He glanced again to where Blackstone had been but there was no sign of him. 'We destroyed it, sir,' he added. 'Did Billy and Smiler get the squadron leader back all right?'

  'Yes - just after the Stuka attack.'

  'Good. Did we lose anyone?'

  'Three wounded in El
even Platoon, but otherwise no. Here,' he said, pulling out his hip-flask, 'have a nip of this. Then we need to get back quickly. The battalion's moving out.' As Tanner swigged, he said, 'Your side's bleeding. Christ, what have you done?'

  Tanner hitched up his battle-blouse and shirt. The bullet had grazed him, carving a cut two inches long across his side. He had been lucky. 'It's nothing serious, sir,' he said.

  'I'm amazed any of you are alive.'

  'It was Blackstone who did this, not the Jerries,' said Tanner. 'It happened just now - as I was crossing the open ground between the bridge and the trees.'

  'Blackstone? Are you sure?'

  'I saw him lowering his rifle.'

  'Are you absolutely sure it was him? There were bullets flying everywhere. Any one of them could have hit you.'

  Tanner was in no mood to mind what he said to the lieutenant. He had been involved in a hard-fought engagement, had killed a number of men and very nearly been killed himself. Adrenalin still coursed through him. Had Peploe not confronted him, he was certain he would have knocked Blackstone down. Even now, his fists remained clenched and his jaw tight.

  'I know it was him, sir,' he told Peploe. 'Oh, it won't stick and I'm sure Captain Barclay would back him to the hilt, but I'll have to watch that man like a bloody hawk.'

  'And I'm watching him, too,' said Peploe. 'But my advice is to keep away from him. For both your sakes.'

  They hurried through the trees that lined the canal and rejoined the track leading to the farm, past empty slit trenches and abandoned ammunition boxes. Tanner saw a dead North African, his leg twisted back on itself. Bomb craters pockmarked the ground and ripped branches littered it. The air was still thick with lingering smoke and the stench of cordite and burning rubber. It was only half past five - just twenty-five minutes since they had made their attack on the enemy.

  Sykes and Hepworth were thirty yards in front and turned now to wait for him. Tanner raised a hand and felt another stab of anger as he spotted Blackstone ahead, with two other men and the prisoners. Claiming them as his own. That bastard. Just as he had feared, he was now fighting two enemies in Belgium - and right now, he knew which one was the more dangerous.

  Chapter 9

  They made straight for the station house that for a day had been D Company Headquarters. The slit trenches dug that morning were still manned, but Tanner saw that the men were, once again, ready to march. Primus stoves had been packed away, entrenching tools and bayonets attached to belts and haversacks clipped back onto webbing. As soon as the order was given, the men would sling their rifles and Brens on their shoulders and move out.

  Tanner wished he could sit down for a few moments, have a brew and a cigarette to calm himself, but as he paused by 12 Platoon's slit trenches, Peploe said, 'I'm sorry, Tanner, but the OC wants to see you right away. Sykes and Hepworth too.'

  Tanner cursed to himself and scowled, unsure that he could trust himself when he next saw Blackstone. Peploe felt in his pocket and pulled out a pale green packet of Woodbines. 'All right,' he said. 'Perhaps there's time for a quick smoke.' He threw the packet to Tanner. 'Here, you chaps, have one of mine.'

  'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner, taking one and passing it on to Sykes.

  Peploe took a small silver matchbox from his pocket, and lit their cigarettes.

  'Nice matchbox, sir,' said Sykes.

  'Thank you, Sykes,' said Peploe. 'It was a twenty-first birthday present from my sister. It's damn useful, actually. Never have to worry about matches getting damp.'

  Tanner inhaled deeply, then breathed out, a swirling cloud of blue-grey smoke rising into the thickening leaves of the chestnuts beside them. In the fields and woods on the opposite side of the canal, the enemy was no longer anywhere to be seen. He imagined the German reconnaissance troops radioing back the news that the British and French were in retreat again. He wondered whether their efforts in the wood opposite had made any difference. Although it was true that nearly thirty lay dead or wounded and would not fight them again, it was small fry. The main body of the German advance was presumably still ploughing its way towards them. Christ.

  'Sergeant?' said Peploe.

  Tanner pushed back his tin hat and rubbed his brow. 'Yes, sir,' he said. 'Thank you for that.'

  Tanner had calmed considerably by the time they reached Headquarters. The violent rage he had felt towards Blackstone had been replaced by a more controlled anger, so that when he was ushered round the back of the station house to be grilled by Barclay, he was able to keep any murderous thoughts in check.

  To his relief, there was no sign of Blackstone, but he was surprised to see Squadron Leader Lyell sitting beneath the oak tree behind the house, his head bound with a wad and bandage.

  'Ah, my rescuer, the gallant sergeant,' said Lyell, his words slurred with morphine, 'or, rather, the man who buggered off and left us to be bombed to hell by Stukas.'

  'I thought you'd been taken to the battalion MO, sir.'

  'Well, he should have been, Sergeant,' said Captain Barclay, emerging from the house, 'but there's been a slight breakdown in communications. Ten Platoon have gone with the truck to Oisquercq. They're leaving slightly ahead of us with the rest of the battalion. Charlie - er, Squadron Leader Lyell was supposed to go with them.'

  'I'm glad I'm not in the Army,' said Lyell. 'You lot always seem to be leaving each other behind.'

  'It makes little odds,' snapped Barclay. 'We'll be rendezvousing with the rest of the battalion later tonight. We'll just have to carry you until then. It's not far.'

  'Where is it, sir?'

  Barclay pulled out a crumpled map. 'Er . . . here,' he said, holding it against the grassy bank beside the house and pointing to a wooded area some four miles west. 'Bois de Neppe. Orders from Battalion are for us to meet there at nineteen thirty hours.'

  Tanner looked at his watch. It was nearly six o'clock already.

  The OC read Tanner's thoughts. 'So we need to get going, smartish.'

  'Yes, sir.' He saluted and made to leave, but Barclay stopped him.

  'Hold on a moment, Sergeant. There's still time for you to tell me briefly what the bloody hell's been going on. Your orders were to rescue Squadron Leader Lyell yet you disappeared with two of your men and left Ellis and Smailes to get him back on their own. Lucky for you that they made it in one piece.'

  'With respect, sir, the Stuka attack would have happened whether I was with them or not. I didn't leave Squadron Leader Lyell until I knew he was alive and that Smailes and Ellis could manage his injuries. But I heard enemy troops a short distance above us, sir, and was worried they might hinder our efforts to get the squadron leader back. I took Hepworth and Sykes with me to investigate.'

  'Sergeant Tanner and his men discovered part of a German reconnaissance battalion, sir,' said Peploe.

  'Four armoured cars and eight motorcycles. They were reporting our movements by radio and, I think, had been marking targets for the Stukas.'

  'Sergeant Tanner and his two men destroyed them, sir,' added Peploe.

  'Destroyed them? How on earth could three of you have done that?'

  'We surprised them, sir. Surprise is a great advantage,' he said, then added hastily, 'as you know, sir. And they were distracted by the Stukas. Hepworth here cut most of them down with the Bren while Sykes and I crept behind them and disabled the armoured cars with grenades. We captured seven prisoners, but we lost one trying to make it back.'

  'That was certainly good work, Sergeant. Captain Wrightson has taken them to Battalion HQ with Ten Platoon.'

  'So you managed to get the prisoners to Battalion but not me,' muttered Lyell. 'Nice to know I'm lower in the pecking order than some bloody captured Huns.'

  Barclay sighed. 'For God's sake,' he said, through gritted teeth, 'be thankful you're still alive and not being carted off to some German prison camp.' He turned back to Tanner. 'Go on, Sergeant.'

  'I also took the chance to have a bit of a dekko, sir. I took one of the bikes to the far side o
f the ridge and saw the Germans in the distance. At the time, I reckoned they were twelve to fifteen miles away. They'll reach the canal by nightfall.'

  Barclay swallowed. 'Right. I see.' He patted his pockets and took out his pipe.

  'And, sir, I’d like you to know that Corporal Sykes and Private Hepworth performed well. Sykes alone destroyed an armoured car and Hepworth accounted for at least fifteen enemy.'

  'Really? By Jove! All right, Tanner. Thank you. Duly noted. And, er, well done.'

  Blackstone joined them from the back of the house. 'Sir, we really should be going. We've been held up long enough as it is.'

  'Yes, all right, CSM,' said Barclay, without moving. 'Your old friend here has been performing heroics. How many dead was it, Sergeant?'