Fifteen minutes later he was having a cup of tea with the Captain of a tank squadron.
*
‘General Mackinder!’ Captain Lucas clearly could not believe his eyes. But he had been one of those, as a young second-lieutenant in the hussars, whom Murdoch had helped to retrain for armoured combat. ‘By all that’s holy, sir .
‘Thought I’d drop in,’ Murdoch said. ‘Actually, I’m on my way out of Holland.’
‘Ah,’ Lucas said. ‘But...’ he looked up.
‘I had a friend. I’m afraid things are a little nasty up there.’
‘Things are a little nasty down here too, sir. We just don’t seem able to stop them. We’re just pulling back all along the lines. We’re told we must go back to the Scheldt tomorrow. The Belgian Government is abandoning Brussels. Well, I’ll get on the radio to brigade, and arrange for you to be taken out, sir.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Murdoch said. ‘You’re part of the Light Brigade, aren’t you?’
‘Well, I suppose you could say that, sir.’
‘Concentrated?’
‘Well, no, sir. We’ve been split up into regiments to give support to the infantry as they fall back.’
Bloody fools, Murdoch thought; the only effective way to use armour was in concentrated masses, as Napoleon had taught the world how to use artillery. But he was here, and he was going to stay here, until the battle was won. If Lee would be alarmed when his plane did not reach England, she would not know he had been shot down, would presume he was at worst still in Holland. As for Ironside or Gort...they just did not know where he was. ‘Do you know where the Royal Westerns are?’
‘Yes, sir. They are about twelve miles to our south. South of Brussels.’
‘Can you supply me with transport to get over there?’
‘Yes, sir. But...don’t you want to regain your command?’
‘They are my command,’ Murdoch told him.
‘Oh. Brigadier Destry...’
‘Is expecting me,’ Murdoch said. ‘My pilot just dropped me in the wrong place, that’s all.’
‘Ah,’ Lucas said, clearly totally mystified, but not wishing to appear so before a lieutenant-general.
‘My arrival should be kept secret.’ Murdoch said.
‘Oh, quite, sir.’ Lucas was disappointed.
‘So, if you can provide that transport...’
‘It’ll be a tank,’ Lucas pointed out.
‘Why not?’
Half an hour later he was sitting behind the driver, beside a very anxious Lieutenant, who had clearly never been so close to top brass in his life before. ‘Do you know,’ Murdoch confided, ‘this is the first time I have ever actually driven in one of these contraptions?’
*
He was riding a high of exhilaration, a mixture of excitement and despair, battle fury and blood-lusting vigour such as he had not known since he had seen Chand Bibi’s Mahsud army arrayed before him. He wanted to take on the whole world, and especially the whole German army, and he wanted to do so with the Westerns. That done, they could retire him. He would have fought his last battle.
He was also exhausted, and fell asleep a few minutes after the tank moved off. It bumped and rattled and stank, and every so often he half woke up, then nodded off again. He was surprised when it finally came to a halt. The hatch was opened, and he painfully climbed out, to find himself surrounded by more beret-wearing soldiers. He looked over his shoulder, saw that the glow of Brussels was now to the north.
‘Good God,’ he remarked. ‘How long did that journey take?’
‘Four hours, sir,’ said the Lieutenant.
Murdoch realized that there was actually a hint of dawn fringing the darkness. He shook hands. ‘Thanks. Your name?’
‘Prettilove, sir.
‘I’ll remember it.’ He faced another officer. ‘Take me to Brigadier Destry.’
The young man peered at the bareheaded, dishevelled figure with the unshaven chin. ‘Who the hell...my God!’
‘Quite,’ Murdoch said. ‘But we’ll keep Him out of it, Captain Mackinder. I want Brigadier Destry.’
Fergus looked about to faint, but he gave orders, and a few minutes later Murdoch was in a command car bouncing over what might have been a ploughed field. ‘Are you all right?’ Fergus asked anxiously. ‘You look quite done in.’
‘Nothing a few hours’ sleep and a square meal won’t fix,’ Murdoch said.
‘But...where on earth did you come from?’
‘The Hague,’ Murdoch said.
Fergus scratched his head. ‘Must have been tricky. The enemy aren’t all that far away. We don’t seem able to stop them.’
‘Well, we’re going to try,’ Murdoch said. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
*
‘Sir Murdoch!’ Brigadier Colin Destry shook his hand. ‘By all that’s holy, but it is good to see you.’
Billy Rostron was there too, and a few minutes later Major Ian Mackinder also appeared.
‘And to see you, gentlemen,’ Murdoch said. ‘I’ll have to borrow a razor and a cap, I’m afraid.’
‘I’m afraid we have nothing with quite the right amount of scrambled egg on it, sir,’ Rostron said.
‘That’s all to the good. I don’t want anyone to know I’m here. Yet.’
‘But... . you mean you weren’t sent to take command of the army, sir?’
Murdoch grinned at them. ‘I’m a volunteer on this one, gentlemen. But...if you’ll have me...’
‘By God,’ Destry said. ‘Just show us where to go and who to fight, Sir Murdoch. We’ve done nothing but retreat. We have orders to pull out of here tomorrow morning and establish ourselves behind the Scheldt.’
‘I heard that from the hussars. Let’s have a look at the situation,’ Murdoch said.
Maps were spread in front of him, with the latest German positions marked. ‘But it’s changing all the time,’ Ian said gloomily. ‘Every hour they advance still further.’
‘Thus every hour they are getting more exhausted, and their machines are getting more worn out,’ Murdoch reminded them. ‘Show me the latest information that you have.’
Destry pointed. ‘We know that Guderian’s tanks are already some ninety kilometres west of Sedan. That is, actually, west of our position here at this minute. The real point is that he’s ignoring Paris, and continuing to drive west. He’s making for the Channel, to cut the Allied armies in two.’
‘Therefore he’s leaving exposed flanks,’ Murdoch argued.
‘You would suppose so,’ Destry agreed. ‘But things aren’t quite what they were in 1914. These are the old Hutier tactics on a grand scale, save that they are being supported by aircraft on a grand scale too. The speed of Guderian’s advance is what has taken everyone by surprise, and quite frankly, not all the French generals seem to want to fight. You heard about the Ninth Army? It just disintegrated.’
‘I heard about it,’ Murdoch said. ‘Corap should have been cashiered.’
‘He has been sacked, anyway. Giraud has taken over the command there. But it’s a patchwork affair. Add to that the Stukas. They are playing merry hell behind the lines, dive bombing or shooting up everything that moves. They’re letting the civilians have it too, and this of course is causing a massive panic, which hampers troop movements; every road is clogged with refugees.’
‘But it doesn’t hamper the Germans.’
‘No,’ Destry said. ‘They just shoot them out of the way.’
‘And the situation up here?’
‘Well, we have been holding them at the Dyle. But we’ve been ordered to retreat to the line of the Scheldt, as you know.’
‘Why, if we’re holding them? Why this constant preoccupation with defence and retreat?’
Destry shrugged. ‘It’s a combination of several things. Tactically, I suppose HQ is anxious about Guderian getting round behind us...’
‘One armoured column?’ Murdoch snorted.
‘Strategically, I believe they may be having some trouble
with King Leopold, who is apparently stunned by the whole thing.’
‘For God’s sake, his father fought the Germans for four years, with just a scrap of Belgium unoccupied.’
‘Unfortunately, this is the son,’ Destry pointed out. ‘But I think most important of all, psychologically, everyone seems to have the idea that the Germans are just unstoppable.’
‘That is something that has to be changed, and right now. They know they’re not unstoppable. They can’t understand why they haven’t been counter-attacked already. Colin, can you get me to Gort’s headquarters?’
‘Well, I should think so.’ He looked at his watch. ‘When it’s daylight.’
Murdoch nodded. ‘I could do with a few hours’ sleep. And that razor.’
‘You realize I am pulling out today.’
‘Get me to Gort,’ Murdoch said. ‘But first, I would like to have a word with Private Albert Manly-Smith.’
‘He’s Corporal Manly-Smith, now,’ Ian said.
‘His mother would be proud of that,’ Murdoch said.
*
The boy listened to the story of his mother’s death with a stony expression, not overawed by the presence of a lieutenant-general; he had known Murdoch since his birth.
‘We are going to beat them, sir?’ he asked when Murdoch finished.
Murdoch squeezed his hand. ‘We are going to beat them out of sight, Bert.’
Because he had no doubt that they would, given the chance. He slept heavily, awoke to the sound of the guns, and columns of weary and despondent infantrymen, mostly in trucks but some on foot, wending their way to the rear.
‘The Germans are in Brussels,’ Destry told him over coffee. ‘And they’ve blown Middelburg in Holland flat. I thought the Dutch had surrendered.’
‘Not Middelburg,’ Murdoch said. Those gallant men, he thought. ‘When do you leave?’
‘As soon as the last of the infantry are through. We’re to cover their retreat. There is some evidence that the German advance is slowing up, at least here.’
‘Then now’s our chance. Let’s go, Colin.’
Rostron was left in command of the brigade, and Destry and Murdoch drove off to find the BEF headquarters. It took them all day, and then they discovered that Gort wasn’t there, having been called to a high-level conference with the French Command. They were given beds for the night, awoke on Saturday morning to be told that Guderian had reached the Somme at Peronne, and that Antwerp had fallen. Everyone seemed in a state of shock at the continuous disasters which poured upon them.
‘I don’t think we’re doing any good here,’ Destry muttered; Murdoch was wearing an ordinary greatcoat and cap and no one had recognized him. ‘I’d like to get back to brigade.’
‘Hold on another ten minutes,’ Murdoch said. He had seen a command car bouncing down the road, and a few minutes later Gort entered the building, looking anxious, but also pleased.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ he told his staff. ‘One positive step has been taken, at least: General Gamelin is going to be dismissed. It will be announced tomorrow. General Weygand will take command. We have a fighting soldier at our head at last. And a fighting French cabinet; M. Reynaud is himself taking over defence. Now, let’s look at these maps.’
He took in the latest situation, then one of his aides mentioned the presence of Brigadier Destry. ‘Ah, Destry, he said. Murdoch remained at the back of the room. ‘All going well?’
‘So far as I know sir. Permission for a private interview, sir.’
Gort raised his eyebrows. Now was not the time for personal matters. ‘Five minutes. Gentlemen.’
The office was cleared. The ADC looked at Murdoch closely for the first time, gulped, and turned towards the Commander-in-Chief. But Gort was already concerned with Destry. ‘Speak.’
‘I...ah...’ Destry also turned to look at Murdoch, who closed the door.
Gort stared at him. ‘My God! You’re dead.’
‘Am I?’ Murdoch asked, coming into the centre of the room.
‘I have a report that the Lysander taking you from Holland was shot down over the North Sea, and that there were no survivors.’
‘That was inaccurate. We were shot down over the Scheldt estuary, and there were three survivors. Now there are only two. Or possibly, only one. Johnnie, we have got to counter-attack these fellows.’
‘Now, Murdoch, this isn’t 1918.’
‘That is exactly it. It is a totally fluid instead of a totally static situation. The Germans are almost out of control, they are advancing so fast. And I can tell you that they are scared of their own success. One check, and they will start pulling back.’
‘You would like to attack with the armoured brigade.’
‘Yes, I would. I believe that will end this myth of German invincibility once and for all, and completely alter the situation.’
‘Are you aware that such a counter-attack was carried out yesterday by French armour, led by a colonel name de Gaulle? He tried to stop Guderian at Moncornet, but was beaten off.’
‘That is no reason why we shouldn’t have a go.’
‘Yes.’ Gort was suddenly thoughtful, as he picked up a report which had been lying on his desk. ‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘I see that two panzer corps are being reported as moving south, behind the German lines.’
Murdoch snapped his fingers. ‘To reinforce Guderian. After one, unsuccessful counter-attack. That’s how nervous they are. So that’s weakened their armour here. If we now counter-attacked. they’d either crumble or send for that armour back again. We’d have them reeling.’
‘Yes. Hm.’ Gort stroked his chin, looked at the map. ‘I’ll put the idea before Weygand.’
Murdoch pounded the table. ‘It has to be done now, Johnnie. Can’t you give the orders?’
‘We’re supposed to be working with the French,’ Gort pointed out. ‘Give me twenty-four hours. Very good, Brigadier. Return to your command and stand by. I’ll get you some action if it’s humanly possible. Now, Murdoch, we must see about getting you home.’
‘I’ll stay with Colin,’ Murdoch said.
‘My dear fellow, we can’t have you up in the line. You’re a lieutenant-general.’
‘I’m dead,’ Murdoch pointed out.
‘Yes, but...’
‘Just let’s leave it that way for a few more days.’
‘But...your wife...’
Murdoch hesitated. But if Lee had been told he was dead, then the shock of discovering he was still alive would be as great in a week’s time as today. And to tell her that he was alive now, and then that he had been killed in battle in a week’s time — as could easily happen — would cause far greater distress. ‘No one,’ he said. ‘Until we’ve sorted this out.
Gort sighed, and pointed. ‘You have no command, and no officer will take any orders from you, Murdoch.’ He looked at Colin Destry. ‘Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And no action is to be undertaken without specific orders from me,’ Gort said. ‘Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then I’ll pretend you didn’t come here today, Murdoch.’ Gort shook hands. ‘For God’s sake don’t get yourself killed twice. If I am allowing you to stay, it’s as an observer, nothing more.’
Murdoch grinned at him. ‘It’s the best way to get killed, twice.’
He sat beside Destry in the back of the command car. ‘He didn’t say anything about advice, now did he, Colin?’
*
The brigade, consisting of the Westerns, the hussars, and the lancers, had by now re-established itself, with the rest of the army, behind the Scheldt, which left them really a very small corner of Belgium to hold, together with the Belgian army and the French First. But the position looked defensible, and as Murdoch told Ian and Fergus, after a tour of the brigade, ‘We’re better off than in 1915, at least.’
Yet the news continued to be bad. While Weygand’s appointment was made public, that same day the French Ninth Army was again scat
tered, and its commander, General Giraud, taken prisoner. That was on the British right, and the Germans stormed through St Quentin. Murdoch hardly slept that night, fretting and waiting for orders to attack, but there were none, and next day news came that Guderian’s panzers were in Abbeville, at the mouth of the Somme, and the Allied armies had indeed been cut in two.
At last that night the orders came for the brigade to move south as rapidly as possible and link up with the French armour in an attempt to cut Guderian’s now very long lines of communication. This had apparently been decided at a conference between Weygand, King Leopold and General Billotte, the new French commander in the north; Gort had been unable to get to the meeting in time, but he had accepted the plan, which had been in any event partly based on Murdoch’s recommendations, although it was not in the direction he had suggested, against the weakened northern wing of the German panzers — the real urgency was now to reopen communication between the severed halves of the Allied command.
Murdoch was just happy to be attacking, in any direction. The three tank regiments moved south under cover of darkness, passing retreating Belgian troops as they did so; the Belgian officers told them they had been ordered to take up new positions on the line of the Yser, behind the Scheldt. As the Yser was the very last river position before the beaches of the North Sea, it seemed to reveal that the Belgians had very little hope of an Allied success in the coming counter-stroke.
‘We’ll have to show them different,’ Murdoch said to Ian, with whom he was sharing a tank. It was the oddest form of warfare he had ever known, the clanking, grinding noise of the machines, the stench of petrol, the constant chatter of the low-range VHF radio sets with which each vehicle was equipped — and yet the feeling of immense power with which one was surrounded.
‘It gets to you,’ Ian agreed. ‘But do you know, Dad, we have never actually taken these things into action? I mean, properly?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Murdoch said.
At dawn they reached the village north of Lille which had been appointed as their rendezvous. This was very familiar territory to Murdoch; he had retreated through these coalfields with the regiment in 1914, desperately fighting off the masses of Germans coming down from the north. Now he was going to try to fight off masses of Germans coming up from the south!
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