De Vogue cleared his throat, then said quietly, 'There has been no order to counter-attack.'
'Good God, man, why the devil not?' said Gort, bringing his hand down hard on the table. His voice rose. 'In the last war, the French Army was proud and fearless.
Any one of the commanders would have taken it upon themselves to throw out a weak advance guard like the one that took Cambrai yesterday. When is the French Army of old going to stand up and fight? When? Because if they don't start doing so, Capitaine, the Germans will get to Abbeville and Calais and then I will have no choice but to fall back on Dunkirk and sail my men back to England. I'm not prepared to lose my forces trying to defend a country that's already given up. Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'Now, go back to General Billotte and tell him we need Blanchard's First Army to attack simultaneously tomorrow. Much as it pains me to say this, I think it's probably our last chance.'
When de Vogue had gone, he picked up his telephone and had himself connected to Captain Reid, his liaison officer at Blanchard's First Army Headquarters. He drummed his fingers impatiently.
'Hello, sir,' said a voice eventually, the line crackling with static.
'Reid?' said Gort. 'I want you to take down a message.'
'Of course, sir.'
'Ready? It runs as follows: "If this attack - i.e. the counter-attack tomorrow - is unsuccessful, we cannot remain longer in a position with our flank turned and German penetration proceeding towards the coast. Stop." Have you got that?'
'Yes, sir,' said Reid.
'Good. Relay it to Blanchard, and make sure that Billotte and Weygand see it too.'
'Yes, sir.'
Gort hung up the receiver and breathed out heavily.
Ironside and Pownall had gone to stiffen the French commanders' resolve in person; he had spoken more than plainly to de Vogue; now he had sent a further message that he hoped would jolt them into action. He could do no more. But if the French failed them tomorrow, he would have to start preparing the evacuation. He had told de Vogue it was their last chance - and that had been nothing less than the truth.
Sturmbannfuhrer Otto Timpke had woken at first light to find his command post still in disarray. The tower had completely collapsed, as had half of the barns at either side, and there were no fewer than twenty-six casualties. Yet although his command car had been badly damaged by falling masonry, three of the motorcycles and the two armoured cars inside the yard were largely unscathed and, it seemed, in running order. Furthermore, in the cool light of dawn, a route was quickly established through a gate at the back of the yard, leading out onto a pasture and around the walled confines of the farmstead to the road. Leaving the dead and wounded at the farm, with a small burial detail, he had then marched the remainder into the village where they had rendezvoused with the rest of 1 Company and the panzer squadron, in the square by the church, just after five.
Scouting the area in the fresh first hours of daylight, with Timpke in the radio scout car, they had found a largely deserted stretch of countryside. Timpke's mood had begun to improve. With his head clear of the turret and the breeze in his face, he had enjoyed the chance of activity; he felt like a warrior of old, looking down from his high position, a hunter sniffing out the enemy.
They had spotted a stranded unit of French colonial troops in the small town of Solesmes. Calling in 2 and 3 Companies, they had stealthily approached like lions stalking their prey. With the bridge and routes from the town blocked, they had rushed upon the Frenchmen in the square and captured them with barely a shot fired. It had been almost ridiculously easy, as though the French had been waiting to be taken. More than seventy Moroccans had been captured - but a far more important booty had been the three Citroen troop trucks.
Late in the morning, a signal had come through informing him that the whole division was now moving west, while his own orders had been to push on through Cambrai, cross the Escaut and, in direct support of Major-General Rommel's 7th Panzer Division, to probe west towards St Pol, some thirty-five kilometres west of Arras. Shattered vehicles had littered the countryside near Cambrai - some civilian, others military. The roads had been busy, too, with both refugees and retreating French troops. Timpke had driven on - several motorcycles in front, another two armoured cars and three half-tracks behind - past one long column of French and North African soldiers, as many as eighty strong. What a pathetic bunch of men they had been: exhausted and demoralized, with sagging shoulders and leaden feet. Timpke had been disgusted. They were a disgrace to their country. Not one man had so much as aimed his rifle at them as they had rolled past.
Progress had been swift. By early afternoon they had been south-west of Arras and had passed some of 7th Panzer's lead units. It had been a proud moment for Timpke. At last his men - men of the SS-Totenkopf - were in the van of the German advance. Not long after, as they pushed north towards Aubigny, they saw, ahead, a large formation of French forces in retreat. The road to Abbeville was dense with horse-drawn and motorized columns heading west. Watching the procession, Timpke's contempt grew. The lead motorcycle now turned and slowly rolled up to the radio car.
'How are we going to get across, boss?' asked Untersturmfuhrer Ganz.
'We push straight through them,' Timpke replied. 'Let's get the panzers to help. Two Group is only a few kilometres away. They can bulldoze their way through and the rest of us will follow.'
Ganz grinned. 'Good idea, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.'
The four fast-moving Czech-built Panzer 38s of II Armoured Pursuit Group were quick to join them and, rattling and squeaking, made their way noisily to the front of Timpke's leading reconnaissance column. Advancing in line abreast, two on the road, and two on the grassy verge at either side, in full view of the trudging French forces ahead, they opened fire with their twin MG37 machine-guns and 37mm cannon, raking the French column with bullets and shells. The sound of the firing ripped through the air. Startled soldiers yelled, horses whinnied; a truck ploughed off the road and caught fire; a group of frightened horses bolted across a field near Timpke's relentlessly advancing panzers. A few men fired shots towards them, but the bullets pinged off the tanks' armour harmlessly.
Calmly, steadfastly, the tanks reached the road, and then, tracks clanking, they turned to face the mangled ends of the severed French column, crushing several carts and fallen Frenchmen as they did so. Watching this scene of carnage with satisfaction, Timpke then gave the order for the rest of his column to follow. There was barely any sign of resistance from the French - perhaps they were too stunned and devastated by what was happening to them to respond - and so, calmly, the SS men rumbled on over the debris. Timpke saw blood spreading across the road, and the mashed remains of what, a few minutes before, had been a horse and living soldiers. Stupefied, disbelieving faces stared up at him amid the cries and wails of the dying and wounded. Then a Frenchman cursed and raised a rifle, aiming towards him. The man's defiant shout had acted as a warning, though, and Timpke quickly drew out his Luger, aimed, then squeezed the trigger. A shot of no more than ten metres, and even though the scout car had been moving, the single bullet hit the man square in the forehead and he collapsed, bulging eyes glaring back angrily at his killer. Timpke felt a wave of renewed exhilaration sweep over him.
As they neared Aubigny, they drew some enemy fire - a few machine-guns chattered as they crested a ridge overlooking the shallow valley, but it was wildly inaccurate. By the time shells were being fired towards them, Timpke had withdrawn his men to a safe distance; his instructions were to reconnoitre only. Enemy north of Scarpe, but in disarray and retreating to south of Aubigny, he signalled back to Division.
Having sent the message from his radio car, he was about to push west towards St Pol when another signal arrived, recalling his entire reconnaissance battalion back to the southern Arras area, where they were to screen the roads and villages south of the city. At the same time, the rest of the Totenkopf would be moving up from Cambrai that eve
ning. More refugees and troop stragglers flooded the roads, and although at times they
dogged their progress, the open countryside allowed them, for the most part, a long view ahead, enabling them to avoid the more congested roads. Once again progress had been rapid.
'Boss,' called Schultz, Timpke's radio operator, as they reached the rail stop at Beaumetz, twelve kilometres south-west of Arras, 'another signal for you.'
Timpke lowered himself from his standing position in the turret to the hot belly of the scout car. 'What is it?' Immediately sweat was running down his neck; even with the vents open, it was warm and clammy down there and the air smelled strongly of oil, metal and body odour.
'It's from Obersturmbannfuhrer Geisler, sir,' said Schultz, passing him a hastily scrawled note.
Timpke snatched it and stood up, the evening breeze refreshingly cool on his face. Rec. Bn. to remain screening south of Arras. Stubaf Timpke to report to 7 Pz Div CP Vis-en- Artois 1900 hrs. 04 Geisler.
Timpke glanced at his watch. Nearly 1810 - less than an hour to make his way through too many villages and along too many winding country roads to reach Rommel's command post almost halfway along the Arras-Cambrai road. But it had to be done. Leaving Kemmetmuler in charge, he took his scout car and two machine-gun- carrying motorcycle outriders, and set off, speeding along the country lanes of Artois through seemingly deserted villages - Riviere, Ficheux and Mercatel. Only when they reached Neuville-Vitesse, where they found the centre of the village clogged with refugees, was their progress slowed.
The irony of the village's name was not lost on Timpke, but he failed to find any humour in it. 'Get out of the way!' he shouted. 'Vite vite!' Frightened and angry people scuttled clear of the motorcycles as the riders gunned the throttles. As the vehicles inched forward through the village, their path began to clear, but up ahead, as the road narrowed past the church, a rickety cart, piled high with belongings, blocked the route.
Timpke yelled at the occupant. The old man, wearing a battered felt hat, shrugged - I'm going as fast as I can. Again Timpke ordered him to hurry, but the old man just shook his head.
'Not good enough,' Timpke told him. 'I haven't time for this. Sturmmann Reigel,' he called, to the lance- corporal manning the machine-gun in the sidecar of the motorcycle in front of the scout car, 'shoot the man and his horse.'
Reigel drew back the bolt on his MG34, then opened fire with a three-second burst. Around fifty bullets, at a velocity of 755 metres per second, sliced across the horse and cart, then raked the man. Neither beast nor man knew a thing about what was happening to them; in the first second of fire both were dead, the man almost cut in half by the power of the bullets. There was a dull thud as the horse collapsed onto the road, followed by a loud crash as the movement caused the cart to yaw, a wheel to buckle and break and the entire wagon to tumble over.
While the onlookers were stunned into horrified silence, Timpke ordered Reigel and his rider to grab the thick tow-rope wound around the front of the scout car and loop it onto the cart. That done, the vehicle reversed, the rope grew taut and then, with a jarring, scraping sound, the horse and cart were dragged clear of the road to the side of the square, the corpse of the man rolled and pummelled among the bloody remains.
'Good,' said Timpke. 'Let's move.' He lowered himself back into the scout car and studied his map, away from the breeze.
'Why did we open fire, boss?' asked Schultz. 'I didn't see. Trouble with the locals?'
'A foolish old man was in our way and wouldn't move,' replied Timpke. He wiped his brow and neck with a handkerchief, and took off his field cap. 'He was nothing - a nobody. What are the lives of one old man and an ageing horse, Schultz? We are at war, and the sooner it's over, the sooner our own men will stop being killed. If shooting an ancient Frenchman saves the life of a young German, I'll do it.'
They reached the long, straight road to Cambrai, found it largely clear of traffic, and arrived in Vitry with time to spare. At a fork in the road a number of vehicles were parked. There was a large cafe-bar, outside which stood a half-track and an eight-wheel armoured car. More half-tracks - most towing artillery pieces - armoured cars, trucks and motorcycles lined both sides of the road through the village. Timpke paused in his scout car, then spotted Brigadefuhrer Eicke's Adler, with its distinctive SS numberplate.
He clambered out and strode towards the bar. The end of the building was painted with a giant advertisement for Stella Artois beer and Timpke realized how thirsty he was. Opposite, he noticed, at the fork in the road, stood a memorial to the dead of the last war, crested by a statue of a dying soldier clutching a French flag. He was gazing at it when he heard his name called and turned. Standartenfuhrer von Montigny, the division chief-of-staff and Ia, was standing at the entrance to the bar.
'Good evening, Herr Standartenfuhrer,' said Timpke, raising his arm in salute. Von Montigny stepped towards him and they shook hands. 'We've seen a few more dying poilus today,' he went on, nodding towards the memorial. 'It seems the French are on the run.'
Von Montigny smiled. 'You've done well today, Otto. Papa Eicke's pleased.'
Good, thought Timpke. They don't know about the loss of the trucks at Hainin.
'But tomorrow we fight the British,' said von Montigny, 'and they might be a tougher nut to crack.'
As they passed the half-track, Timpke peered into the open back where several men were tapping away at encoding machines, wearing headphones. Leaning over the signals men, however, stood a man wearing the red- striped breeches, plaited triple cord shoulder straps, and red and gold collar tabs of a major-general. As he looked up, Timpke saw that an award hung close to his collar: the blue and gold Maltese cross of the Pour le Merite - the 'Blue Max', Germany's highest award for valour in the last war. He had a handsome face - a square, resolute jaw, full lips and grey eyes that seemed both determined and intelligent. Timpke knew immediately who he was.
'Von Montigny,' said the general, his lips breaking into a smile. 'I'll be inside in a few moments.' His eyes turned to Timpke, who saluted. Major-General Rommel nodded in acknowledgement.
Inside the bar there were only a few staff officers, their faces grimy with dust and oil. Friedling and Goetze, commanders of the Totenkopf Regiments 2 and 3, were drinking beer with Brigadefuhrer Eicke. They greeted Timpke warmly and put a bottle into his hand. Cigarette smoke swirled about the room, mixing with the smell of beer and sweat. Regiment 1, it seemed, had had a busy day, and although the division had suffered its first combat losses, many more Frenchmen had been killed and captured. Eicke was pleased.
Soon after, Rommel swept in and asked the officers to gather round an old table on which he spread a map of Arras and the surrounding countryside. Taking off his cap, he followed a few imaginary lines with his finger.
'My plan, gentlemen, is now to thrust northwards, towards Lille. The bulk of both our divisions have caught up at long last, we have received new supplies of fuel and ammunition and we can afford to launch this next thrust with far more men than we have done so far.' There were a few amused glances. 'Tomorrow Seventh Panzer, led by Oberst Rothenburg's Twenty-fifth Panzer Regiment, will push west of Arras and try to capture the bridges over the river Scarpe at Acq - here.' He pointed to the village, some ten kilometres north-west of Arras. 'Two rifle regiments, the Sixth and Seventh, will follow, while the Totenkopf will thrust on our left flank and take the bridges at Aubigny.' He turned to Timpke. 'I understand you reached Aubigny this afternoon, Major?'
Ignoring Rommel's use of Wehrmacht rank rather than Waffen-SS, Timpke cleared his throat and said, 'Yes, Herr General. We came under some inaccurate machine-gun fire, followed by a few howitzer shells, but nothing much. The river looked narrow there, too. Fordable in places, I'd say.'
'In any case,' said Rommel, 'the Scarpe to the northwest of Arras is far smaller than it is east of the city - and considerably less well defended. We will encircle the city from the west and sever the British lines of communication.'
'Wha
t about aerial support?' asked Eicke.
'The Luftwaffe has been bombing the area and will continue to do so this afternoon and tomorrow morning.' He stood up. 'Any more questions?' He looked at Eicke. 'Thank you, Brigadefuhrer, for joining us. How you deploy your men is, of course, entirely up to you.' Briefly, he was silent. 'We have yet to come up against the British so do not underestimate them. But we have achieved great things so far. Fortune, momentum and, of course, experience are now with us. They are formidable attributes, especially when combined.' He smiled and his face, stern and patrician a moment before, now softened. 'Good luck, gentlemen. Tomorrow will be an exciting day.'
As Rommel left the bar, Timpke drank from his bottle of beer. The general's men might not have come up against the British, but Timpke had - those swine had taken four of his vehicles from under his nose, and had killed and wounded a number of his men. A renewed flash of anger swept over him as he recalled the events of the previous night. Well, he would have his revenge. No Englander would enjoy such success against him or his men again, he promised himself.
D Company, 1st Battalion, the Yorkshire Rangers, had made it to Vimy, had found the brigade-major and been sent promptly to the nearby village of Givenchy, near the base of Vimy Ridge, where they were told to lie up. At dawn the following morning they were to form up back in Vimy, where they would join the right-hand column attacking south.
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