Darkest Hour sjt-2

by James Holland

  '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.

  Gort took a sip of his wine. He didn't much like Monty - he was an irritating, conceited little man - but he knew his stuff, and when it came to organization there was no one to beat him. The way he had moved 3rd Division overnight to cover the gap left by the Belgians had been stunning. And Monty wasn't a bad judge of character either - as he watched the man in front of him, he felt certain his remaining troops within the bridgehead were in the safest possible hands.

  Even so, he hardly envied Alexander the task. After lunch he handed him handwritten notes of the orders he had given him earlier. Alexander was to remain under the command of the French Admiral Abrial, whom Gort believed to be out of his depth physically and metaphorically; he knew the admiral hadn't emerged from his bunkers in Bastion 32 since the crisis had begun. Furthermore, it had been agreed by the French and British governments that French troops should share the chance for evacuation, an order with which Gort instinctively disagreed. Not for the first time, he had cursed the French as he had written those instructions. Only one French general had agreed to fight on at Dunkirk - de la Laurencie with his III Corps; that damned fool Blanchard had sacrificed his entire army at Lille. He couldn't help feeling that the war would be a lot more straightforward once the French were out of the fight.

  Gort led Alexander into the palace drawing room; for the past couple of days it had been his office. He offered him a cigar and brandy. Then, as they puffed out clouds of smoke, he said, 'There's far too much politicking going on, Alex, with London trying to placate Paris and so on. HMG thinks it's essential that we're seen to be helping the French to the last. You'll find Abrial's a decent enough fellow but, like so many French commanders, not really in touch with the reality of what's going on here. You must be respectful but firm with him. Yes, we'll help the French escape, but your prime task is to defend the bridgehead for as long as possible in order to allow the most men to get away. We've done well so far - more than I'd ever hoped - but we mustn't throw in the towel now.'

  'I understand,' said Alexander. 'How long should I hold the perimeter? I've toured First Division's sector and the men are keen and reasonably well stocked, but they won't be able to hold out for long. Thankfully, the Hun seems only to be attacking in any kind of strength from the east, but that won't last.'

  'That's for you to judge, Alex. Only you can make that call now.'

  Near by, several bombs exploded, shaking the palace. From the drawing room, Gort saw high plumes of sand thrust into the air. Alexander barely flinched.

  'Good luck,' said Gort, holding out his hand. 'May God be with you and I pray you may return safely to Britain.'

  'Thank you, sir,' said Alexander. 'I'll do my best.'

  Dawn, Saturday, 1 June. Tanner had done no more than catnap and at three a.m. had woken for good. He helped himself to some breakfast in the farmhouse kitchen, then roused the rest of the slumbering men and told them to get some food inside them. Half an hour later, with the first hint of dawn streaking the horizon to their left, he walked up and down their line, making sure the men wer
e awake, alert and at their posts. Enemy troops had been spotted moving into position the previous evening and long-range artillery had opened fire soon after. Desultory shellfire had continued ever since, screaming over their heads towards the coast.

  Now he accompanied Lieutenant Peploe to the attic where McAllister and Chambers were waiting beside their Brens. Ahead, the fields beyond the canal were shrouded in mist. A row of poplars half a mile to the south rose spectrally above it against the pink and pale orange early-morning sky.

  'Another beautiful day,' said Peploe.

  'Those bastards are out there, though,' said Tanner. 'If they've got any bloody sense they'll attack now, while they've got some cover. This'll burn off soon enough.'

  But, apart from continued artillery fire, the enemy did not attack and when, at around eight o'clock, the mist lifted, they saw, to their amazement, large numbers of German infantry standing several hundred yards away in the waterlogged fields of young corn.

  'Bloody hell,' said Tanner, bringing his binoculars to his eyes. 'They're digging in. They've got spades, not rifles. Mac, Punter, five hundred yards - get firing!'

  Both Brens opened, spewing bursts of bullets. To begin with, they fell short, cutting into the corn in front of the startled enemy, but both men adjusted them and Tanner watched as German troops were mown down. Men fell to the ground, some hit, others desperate to find cover in the corn, but Tanner kept the two machine-guns firing until he could see no further movement.

  Cordite from the Brens filled the attic, and several empty magazines now lay on the bare wooden floor. Tanner delved into his haversack, took out his Aldis scope and fixed it to his rifle.

  'I can see Germans moving into those cottages six hundred yards in front of us,' said Peploe, his binoculars held to his eyes. He turned to Tanner. 'Time for some sniping?'

  'Absolutely, sir.' Tanner was already poking the barrel of his rifle through a hole in the roof. He could see two small guns being brought up, infantry scampering behind them, most with rifles but others with machine-guns. He aimed at one of the gunners, pulled back the bolt, made adjustment for the range and squeezed the trigger. The man fell back, and the others threw themselves onto the ground. Tanner pulled back the bolt again, saw a machine-gunner run forward, and pulled the trigger again. He, too, stumbled to the ground. 'Mac,' he said, 'wait for my word but get a bead on the approach to that cottage ahead, all right? I reckon it's six hundred yards, but the moment I give the word, open fire.'

  'Yes, Sarge.'

  Tanner peered through his sight, waiting for the enemy soldiers to get up and move again. Sure enough, before long anxious helmeted heads lifted and then, when no sniper's bullet arrived, the men got to their feet.

  'Fire!' said Tanner, and McAllister sent out another withering burst. More enemy troops tumbled.

  For the next two hours, Tanner sniped while the Brens and the Lewis gun in the barn kept up their harassing fire. Despite their best efforts, however, it was clear that enemy troops had reached and occupied the half-dozen cottages and buildings that dotted the open fields in front of them. The attackers were using the elevated camber of the roads as cover, and although from the attic the Rangers could see glimpses of half-hidden moving enemy troops, their fire could only slow their progress, not prevent it entirely. By mid-morning enemy guns were in place all along the Hondschoote-Bergues road, which ran parallel to the canal some two miles in front of them. Shells began to hurtle over and gradually found their range. Mortars were also in action, and shortly after eleven, several hit the road on the other side of the canal. Then a flurry landed in and around their positions.

  'We're not going to be able to stay up here much longer, sir,' said Tanner. 'One shell in the right place and we'll be lying under a pile of rubble.'

  'What do you suggest?'

  'I'm not sure. This and the barn are the only place where we can really see the enemy, but the buildings stand out like a sore thumb. If only those damned vehicles weren't in front of us we might have a better line of fire.'

  No sooner had he said this than two large shells screamed over in quick succession and hit the barn. Someone yelled, and then there was a grinding crack of breaking timbers, tiles and brick.

  'Oh, Christ,' said Peploe, his face ashen. He stared at Tanner, then sped down the stairs. Tanner ran to the rear window and saw that half of the barn had collapsed. Jesus, he thought, how many were in there? Half a dozen?

  McAllister and Chambers were firing again, the burst of bullets deafening in the narrow confines of the attic. Suddenly McAllister's Bren stopped and he cursed. 'Sarge, I think the firing pin's melted. Bastard won't fire anymore.'

  'Go and get another. How are we doing for ammo?'

  'Running quite low, Sarge,' said Chambers.

  'Mac, get another MG and send someone up here with more mags.'

  'Sarge,' said McAllister, hurrying downstairs.

  Tanner now stood at the embrasure in the roof once more and, raising his rifle, saw several German artillerymen running down the road from the cottage towards the canal, towing a small anti-tank gun. Quickly, he drew back the bolt, adjusted his aim and fired, hitting the first man clean in the chest. The other three ducked, but he hit them, too, with his next four shots, then saw one man, evidently wounded in the leg, hobbling off the road. He aimed again, fired, and saw him trip over the edge of the road and into the ditch. Already, though, another antitank gun was being run off the road and into the cover of some poplars.

  'Did you see that, Punter?' called fanner. 'Get some fire over there - quickly!'

  Chambers gave out a burst but not before the antitank gun, some three hundred yards away, had opened. Tanner saw the flash of the muzzle and a split-second later a shell shot past one end of the house.

  'Quick, Punter, time to go!' said Tanner, and then a second shell burst through the roof to hit the central beam. It bounced off and landed on the floor. 'It's an anti-tank incendiary!' yelled Tanner, almost pushing Chambers down the stairs. 'Out! Out!' he shouted, to Hepworth and Ellis, who were still manning a Bren on the first floor. Together they raced down the stairs as two more shells hit the roof. Hurrying to the back of the building they saw Peploe running from the barn with Sykes. Half of the building still stood, including part of the first floor. A ladder had already been leaned up against it and Tanner saw Corporal Cooper climbing it with another Bren.

  'Four dead from Cooper's section and another two badly wounded,' said Peploe.

  'I'm sorry,' said Tanner, 'and now the attic's been hit.' He looked up and saw smoke wisping from the damaged roof, but there had been no blast.

  'Hold on,' he said, ran back inside the house, up the stairs and cautiously to the attic. Three shells were smouldering on the floor, apparently spent, so he ran across to the bucket, poured water over them liberally, then dashed back downstairs again. 'I think we might be all right up there,' he said, as he rejoined Peploe at the back of the house, 'but the bastards have got guns on it now, so the moment we start using it again we'll be in trouble.'

  Another mortar crashed behind them, hitting one of the sheds, and causing them to dive to the ground.

  'The problem is that we can't see them clearly enough,' said Tanner, as they got to their feet again. 'If only we could get across to the other side of the canal we could use that cottage fifty yards up the road and get stuck into them from there.'

  'There's that dinghy, Sarge,' said Sykes, 'by the woodpile the other side of the farmhouse.'

  'Don't be mad,' said Peploe. 'You can't use that.'

  'Why not, sir?' said Tanner. 'We can take a couple of Brens and the Boys. If we get a move on we can occupy that cottage before Jerry does, let rip, then come back again. It might just delay him a bit more.'

  'I'm not sure - it seems horribly risky to me.'

  'No more so than staying here,' he said, gesturing to the remains of the barn.

  'I'll rig up something for Jerry to remember us by in the house as well, sir.' Sykes grinned. 'Maybe put som
ething interesting in those vehicles too. Don't know why I didn't think of it before.'

  'I suppose there's something to be said for that,' agreed Peploe.

  'Good,' said Tanner, taking that as his cue. He turned to Hepworth. 'You can come too, Hep.'

  'Why do you always pick on me, Sarge?' said Hepworth.

  'I'm doing you a favour, Hep. It's better to be doing something than sitting here getting stonked.'

  Having picked up the Boys anti-tank rifle, a Bren and some spare magazines, they found the dinghy, ran to the front of the farmhouse and lowered it into the water. They rowed the short distance across, scrambled onto the far bank, secured the boat and hurried, crouching, along the road to the cottage. It was only a one-storey building, but had a small, neat garden and a hedge that ran round the back, protecting it from the fields beyond, and a willow tree in the far corner.

  Intermittent shells and mortars continued to rain on their positions along the canal, but now, from the direction of the destroyed bridge, there came a sudden escalation of small-arms fire from both sides.