Darkest Hour sjt-2

by James Holland

  It meant the men had a long afternoon and evening to kill. Tanner had seen they were nervous, jittery, even - Christ, he felt nervous himself. The feverish atmosphere that consumed the village hadn't helped. There were apprehensive locals - the parish priest among them - and exhausted, frightened refugees with their sad collection of worldly belongings, and not all were pleased to see British soldiers around the church and mairie, or to find army trucks parked between the lime trees in the square. Above, enemy aircraft had buzzed and swirled, prompting panic among the civilians. When, that evening, several Junkers 88s had swept over low, dropping their bombs on the village, pandemonium had erupted. No one had been hurt, but the hysterical sobbing from one young woman in particular had been unsettling.

  'Can't someone shut that silly bitch up?' muttered McAllister, casting resentful glances in her direction. They were spread out in a corner of the church, some cleaning their weapons, some playing cards, others trying to sleep on the hard wooden pews.

  'Poor girl's probably lost everything,' said Sykes. 'Come on, Mac, how would you feel if your home was bombed?'

  'I'd write the Hun what did it a thank-you note,' said McAllister. 'Bloody hovel, my place is.'

  They laughed.

  'Actually, now you mention it, I wouldn't mind them flattening my old place either,' Sykes grinned.

  'I've just remembered, Mac,' said Tanner. 'You're saving up for that house in Harrogate, aren't you?'

  'I am, Sarge. I'm not going back to Bradford. I've got two pounds six and six so far.'

  'You'd better stop playing Stan at cards, then.'

  Blackstone was standing beside them. 'All right, boys?'

  'No, Sergeant-Major,' said McAllister. 'That woman crying - it's getting on our nerves.'

  'Leave it to me, Mac,' he said, and walked up to the front of the church where several other civilians were crouched around her.

  'What's he up to?' said McAllister.

  Tanner now got up from the pew on which he was lying and watched Blackstone squat beside the woman. His back was towards them so it was hard to tell what he was doing, but almost immediately the sobbing stopped, and a few minutes later the woman, surrounded by several others, stood up and walked out of the church.

  'Well, I'm damned,' muttered Sykes.

  "Ere, sir!' McAllister called to Blackstone, who was following the procession. 'What did you say to her?'

  Blackstone came over. 'Told her it was her lucky day and that I'd see her behind the church in ten minutes.' The men laughed. 'Actually, I gave her a slug of cognac and a few francs. Booze and money, lads - it's what makes the world go round.' He grinned. 'Ready for some heroics tomorrow, Jack?'

  Tanner said nothing, so Blackstone turned back to the others, shrugged - what's his problem? - winked and sauntered outside.

  'He's a funny bloke, isn't he?' said Hepworth.

  Ha bloody ha, thought Tanner. He wondered where Blackstone had got the cognac and francs from - knowing him, they'd probably been stolen. He lay down again on the pew and closed his eyes.

  He was awake the moment Hepworth shook his shoulder, although momentarily disoriented. It was dark now in the church, the only light cast by several rows of candles beneath the pulpit. He sat up and looked at his watch-2215. 'What is it?'

  'The OC wants to see you, Sarge.'

  'Where is he?'

  'In the bar across the far side of the square.'

  Tanner stood up, slung his rifle over his shoulder, then went out of the church, round the front of the building and into the square. It was quiet now. Tanner wondered where all the refugees had gone - he supposed they had either moved on or taken shelter somewhere in the village; in the mairie, perhaps, or in some of the abandoned houses. Christ knows. He walked across the road and to the bar. But there was no sign of Captain Barclay so he stepped back outside and began to walk back across the road towards the trucks.

  He was conscious of movement at either side of him, but before he could react, three men had leaped at him, the first hitting him hard with a wooden cudgel across the stomach. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him and doubled up, only for a second man to knock him to the ground, where his head was saved from slamming against the gravel by the rim of his tin hat. He grabbed one man's legs, yanked hard and pulled him over. Then he swung his fist into the man's jaw, momentarily surprised to see, in the dim light, that the fellow wore civilian clothes. Hands clasped his neck and hauled him away. He thrust his arm backwards, heard the man gasp, but the third figure punched him in the stomach, then again across the face. Tanner tasted blood and pain coursed through him. His rifle had fallen from his shoulder and now he kicked out in front of him as, with his left hand, he felt for his sword bayonet. The man behind still had him tightly by the neck, then a blow connected with his kidney, making him cry out in pain.

  'Oi, stop that!' said a voice, followed by a single revolver shot into the air. The effect was immediate: his neck was released, Tanner fell back on to the ground, and two assailants ran off down the street, their footsteps ringing out in the evening quiet. The third got to his feet groggily and ran off too.

  'Good job I turned up, Jack.'

  Tanner's spirits fell further. Bloody Blackstone. 'Thanks,' he muttered, getting slowly to his feet. He leaned back against one of the Opels and felt his face. His cheekbone was cut and his lip was bleeding. His stomach and side were bruised, too, but the damage might have been worse. He had survived harsher beatings than this one.

  'What the bloody hell was all that about?' asked Blackstone, now beside him.

  'God knows,' muttered Tanner. 'They just jumped on me.'

  'Here,' said Blackstone. 'Have a swig of this.' He passed Tanner a bottle of cognac and Tanner drank, the liquid stinging his mouth and burning his throat.

  'Thanks,' he said again.

  'Don't know what would have happened if I hadn't shown up,' said Blackstone. 'Three against one. Could have been nasty.' He struck a match, whistled, then lit a cigarette. 'Whoah! You're a pretty sight, Jack.'

  'I'll live,' said Tanner.

  'Reckon you owe me one now, though.'

  'Oh, here we go,' snapped Tanner. 'What do you want?'

  'No need to be so touchy. Christ, I save your bloody life and you're having a go at me already.'

  'Just spit it out.'

  Blackstone chuckled. 'It's a simple thing, really, Jack.' He moved a step closer. Tanner smelt the mixture of tobacco and brandy on his breath. 'Start being a bit friendly, like. As I said to you the other night, I run this company, all right? We do things my way, not yours and Mr Peploe's.'

  'Jesus,' said Tanner, 'is that what this is about? You and your sodding little fiefdom?' He laughed croakily.

  'Will you start being a good boy, Jack?' said Blackstone. 'You're causing me all manner of trouble.'

  Tanner's fists clenched and he stiffened. 'You set this up, didn't you?'

  Blackstone moved even closer to him. 'I've tried, Jack, tried to be nice, tried to be friendly. Offered olive branch after olive branch. I'm telling you now. Do as I ask, Jack. Life will be better for everyone if you do.'

  Tanner pushed him away. 'Bugger off, Blackstone, will you?'

  'I'm not warning you again.'

  Tanner straightened, then pushed past him.

  'Very well, Jack,' said Blackstone, after him. 'On your head be it.'

  Chapter 15

  It was not until around seven the following morning, Tuesday, 21 May, that General Lord Gort learned that the French would not be attacking simultaneously with Frankforce. It was Captain de Vogue who rang Major- General Pownall to break the news. Shortly afterwards the liaison officer at General Billotte's headquarters, Major Archdale, confirmed the French decision.

  'I'm sorry, my lord, but all they can spare is Third DLM and a few Somua tanks,' said Pownall, from the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of the commander- in-chief's desk that he had spent so many hours on since their move to Wahagnies. He yawned. 'Excuse me,' he muttere
d. Outside, it was warm already. The morning mist was lifting, the haze in the garden suffused with a promising brightness.

  'Here,' said Gort, irritation in his voice. 'Have some coffee.' He stood up and leaned across his desk to the wooden tray on which stood a coffee pot and the remains of a light breakfast. He poured his chief-of-staff

  a cup, then said, 'So Altmayer's cracking up, too, is he?'

  'Says his men are exhausted and in no position to fight today. Tomorrow is the earliest they could join us.'

  'It'll be too damn late by then. You've read the latest sitrep?'

  Pownall nodded. 'The Germans have reached Abbeville.'

  'And Billotte agrees with Blanchard and Altmayer?'

  'According to Archdale, Billotte's been spending his time agonizing over whether a fuel dump should be blown up rather than organizing any counter-attack. And he's moved his HQ to Bethune, which has taken time and caused communication problems. Archdale thinks Billotte's losing his marbles entirely.'

  'The devil!' Gort thumped his fist on the table. 'Now's the time to strike - now! It's only the Hun cavalry that's been sending us reeling. The main bulk of the German Army is still miles behind. A big effort today and we slice the head of the German advance from the body. Delay, and the rest will catch up. Then it'll be too late.' He shook his head. 'At least One and Three Corps are holding their line, but let's face it, Henry, if the Germans reach the coast, our lines of supply are going to be buggered. What's the food and ammunition situation?'

  'Ammunition isn't critical yet, but food's getting short. We've only another two and a half days at current rates.'

  'It's impossible,' he muttered, then added, 'Let's hope General Weygand's got a good plan up his sleeve. How are we getting to Ypres this morning?'

  'By car, my lord. I just pray the roads are clear enough.'

  'God willing. I want to meet Weygand. I want to see whether he's got what it takes and I want to damn well impress upon him the importance of quick decision-making. I've heard he's good, but he's dashed old - seventy-odd, isn't he? Like all these French generals.'

  'And too rooted in the last war, perhaps.' Pownall gulped his tepid coffee. 'And what about Frankforce, my lord? Do we cancel the attack today?'

  'No, Henry. No. We've got to be seen to be acting on our promises. In any case, it might achieve something. I can't say this is a great surprise. It's why I didn't tell Franklyn we were hoping the French would join us. He still thinks it's an operation to clear our southern flank.'

  'And surely that's what it is, my lord.'

  'Yes, that's exactly what it is,' Gort concurred. 'The threats of evacuation have had no effect at all. Tell me, Henry, am I going to have to call in the Navy and move the BEF to Dunkirk before the French wake up?'

  Tanner was in a filthy mood. He had stumbled back into the church and, in the near-darkness, had found a corner and got his head down, but the cover of night would only delay the inevitable. The men had been up at first light and, of course, had seen the cut on his cheek, the bloodied, swollen lip, and he'd been unable to hide the pain in his side. His head throbbed and his body hurt like hell. What was more, the wound he had received at the lock a few days ago had opened again and stung sharply every time he moved.

  In many ways, however, the pain was the least of it. Worse were the comments, the looks, the seemingly endless questions. First Sykes, then the others. 'What happened to you, Sarge?' 'You look terrible, Sarge.' And what could he say? That, for no apparent reason, three Frenchmen had jumped on him and given him a going-over? It was so bloody humiliating. And Blackstone had let slip that he'd rescued him, saved his life, even. The bastard. Tanner had known he was making a bad show of hiding his feelings. When Hepworth said, 'I told you old Blackie was a good bloke,' Tanner had nearly knocked him cold there and then. It had taken much willpower to ignore the comment and walk away.

  If only they could get on with the battle, everyone would forget about it, but six o'clock came and went, then seven and still they had received no orders. Lieutenant Bourne-Arton was sent to liaise with Brigade; soon after he had gone, a swarm of Junkers 88s had flown over and pasted Vimy, but the lieutenant had returned unscathed a short while later, with news that they would be forming up at ten a.m., and that the company was to rendezvous with the rest of the right-hand attack column at eleven a.m. in Neuville-St-Vaast, a village a mile or so on the far side of Vimy Ridge. That meant a further two hours of sitting around, re-cleaning weapons, and suffering the nudges and comments of the men.

  'Come on, Sarge,' said Sykes, as they waited out on the village square. 'Have a tab and cheer up a bit.' He lit Tanner a cigarette and passed it to him.

  Tanner took it and grunted his thanks. He hadn't really spoken to Sykes about it, but now he felt more inclined to do so. 'It was Blackstone, Stan.'

  'I might have known,' said Sykes. 'What did happen between you two? In India, I mean.'

  'It was a bit like now. Him trying to run the show. He had everyone in his pocket - not just the platoon but others too.'

  'Not you, though?'

  Tanner smiled. 'No. I don't know why but I instinctively mistrusted him. I think he sensed it. Anyway, he went out of his way to make life difficult.' Tanner paused to draw on his cigarette.

  'I see,' said Sykes.

  'I began to realize he was a coward,' Tanner continued. 'Throughout the Loe Agra campaign he'd do anything to avoid a scrap. Anyway, one day I told him what I thought.'

  'And it wasn't appreciated.'

  'No. Anyway, he also had this racket going - opium. He was trading with the Wazirs. I'm not quite sure how he did it, but I think he was nicking arms and handing them over in return for the stuff, then selling it on.'

  'Jesus - and them guns was being used against our own chaps?'

  'To be fair, I couldn't swear to it. But, yes, I think so. At any rate, those Wazirs always seemed to have a fair amount of British kit. Anyway, next thing I know, I'm being accused of trading opium and I'm in choky awaiting the firing squad.'

  'So what happened?'

  'I had an alibi. And I'd just been put up for this.' He touched the ribbon on his battle-blouse. 'My record was pretty good and the intelligence officer was a decent bloke. He didn't like Blackstone either and stuck his neck out for me. I got off, but I couldn't nail anything on Blackstone. The bastard.'

  'So that's why you 'ate 'is guts.'

  'That's why. And nothing I've seen of him since joining this mob has made me think he's changed.'

  'Blokes like that never do.'

  'No.'

  He looked up as footsteps approached and saw CQS Slater. 'Here's trouble,' he muttered.

  'Tanner,' said Slater, 'the OC wants you.' He glared at Sykes. 'Now.'

  Tanner followed him in silence to the low brick house a short distance beyond the church that Barclay had made his company headquarters. It had been abandoned by its owner, but most of the belongings were still there, and as Tanner entered he saw pictures on the wall, florid wallpaper running up the staircase, a crucifix and shelves full of books. To one side of the entrance there was a living room, to the other a kitchen. It was startlingly unmilitary in appearance.

  'In there,' said Slater.

  Tanner entered to find Captain Barclay sitting at the head of an old pine table. Behind him, leaning against an unlit range, stood Blackstone. A girl sat beside Barclay at the table. At first, Tanner didn't recognize her, and then it dawned on him that it was she who had been wailing in the church the previous evening - the one Blackstone had managed to silence.

  Tanner saluted. 'You wanted to see me, sir.'

  'Christ, man, look at you!' snapped Barclay. 'You're an absolute disgrace.'

  'I'm sorry, sir,' Tanner replied. 'I was set upon last night.'

  'By three Frenchmen - yes, I've heard, and I'm not surprised after what you did.'

  What's this? Alarm bells rang. 'I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand.'

  'No? Are you sure?' He indicated the girl. 'Are you te
lling me she's lying?'

  'I don't know what you're talking about, sir.' He looked at the girl, who avoided his gaze.

  'Mademoiselle Lafoy here claims you raped her last night.'

  'What? But that's absurd!' Tanner's heart quickened and a dull veil of intense dread swept over him. His legs felt unsteady.

  'It was him,' said the girl, her accent heavy. 'He - he raped me!'

  'I did nothing of the sort,' said Tanner. 'I swear it, sir. She was crying in the church last night. The CSM calmed her down and then she left. That is the only time I've ever seen her in my life.'