Even so, this respite did little to lift Brigadier Somerset’s mood. At around eleven, he and his chief of staff strode up to the windmill at the top of Mount Cassel. The old mill was miraculously still in one piece, but all around the evidence of the past two days of shelling was all too clear to see. A large number of buildings had been hit, several had caught fire, the stench of which, even now the flames had subsided, still hung heavy on the air. Around the town, many of the trees had been blasted, jagged stumps remaining where just the day before they had been proudly standing in full bloom. Blackened vehicles stood mangled and burnt out on every street. It was raining too, the brightness of the day before replaced by leaden skies and low cloud.
Both men peered through their field glasses, the brigadier facing north.
‘Enemy columns to the north,’ he muttered. ‘And to the west.’
‘There are more to the south too, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Bullmore. ‘But there’s no sign of them attacking. It’s strange. I can’t work out what Jerry’s playing at.’
Somerset lowered his binoculars and turned to his chief of staff. ‘I can,’ he said. ‘He hammered us from all sides yesterday, and now he’s cutting off all our lines of retreat and stabilizing his front to the north. God knows what’s going on with the rest of the BEF, but no doubt the enemy’s still pressing forward. Closing the ring. He knows that the more ground he secures, the more hopeless is our situation here.’
Bullmore sighed. ‘Does he still need Cassel?’
‘I think so, yes. It’s the apex of five major roads and it’s still the best vantage point in all of Flanders.’
‘If only we knew what was happening at Dunkirk.’
Somerset rubbed his mouth, deep in thought, then said, ‘Bully, do you think we should try to pull out tonight? We’ve held up the Huns for more than a day, but is there anything more to be achieved by staying here?’
‘Our orders are to stay, sir. To fight and hold off the enemy until thirty May.’
‘Yes, but they were also to hold up the enemy for as long as possible in an effort to give the rest of the BEF a chance to escape. Are we still holding up the enemy?’
Bullmore thought for a moment. ‘Yes, sir, I think we are. They’re still shelling us, so that’s tying up artillery pieces, and as you pointed out a moment ago Jerry still needs to take Cassel. The harder we make it for him, the better.’
Somerset breathed in heavily. ‘All these men,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be the one that throws them to the lions.’
‘You’re not, sir. It’s GHQ who ordered us here. We’re just carrying out our orders.’
‘It doesn’t feel that way.’ He sighed. ‘So you think we should stay put until we receive instructions to the contrary, or for a further two days – or until such a point that we can no longer continue?’
‘It seems bleak, I know,’ said Bullmore.
‘No, you’re right, Bully.’ Somerset sighed again, then looked up at the sky and felt the light rain patter down upon his face. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s get back. No point getting soaked as well as shelled.’
Hawke did not know it, but Captain Astell had been of rather the same opinion as the brigadier. With the rain falling and with no sign of any massing enemy to the south, he had given orders to his platoon commanders that picquets should continue keeping watch from the forward positions just as they had through the night, but that the rest of the men could keep watch from the buildings behind.
Hawke had spent the morning cleaning his rifle, packing and repacking his kit and staring out of the ground-floor window at the rain. Shelling had continued, but none had landed near them. Hawke barely flinched at all now when the missiles screamed over, their dark shapes scything through the sky towards them.
At noon, he and Hebden had taken their turn on picquet duty. The farm where they had been stationed for three days was still smouldering, thin wisps of smoke rising through the rain. Both Hawke and Hebden had put on their gas capes, designed to protect them against any possible gas attack, but more use against the wet. They still felt damp, however. The rain pattered against their steel helmets.
‘I’ve got drips running off the edge,’ said Hebden.
‘Me too,’ said Hawke. ‘Imagine having to live in trenches all the time like they did in the last war.’
‘They had dug-outs, though,’ said Hebden. ‘And they were rotated, weren’t they? They weren’t in the front line all the time. But I know what you mean. I’ve got great big clods of earth on my boots and my backside’s getting wet.’
They were silent for a moment, and then Hawke said, ‘All that fighting yesterday and now look at it. Oxelaëre seems pretty quiet today.’
‘What’s left of it. I wonder what’s happened to those cows and chickens. I hate to think of animals being in distress.’
‘I was wondering what’s happened to the rest of the company. Over a hundred men moved into the village the other day, and how many came out? Our lot plus a dozen others. That’s less than forty men.’
‘It’s sad. The company’s gone. I’ve always been in B Company. Mind you, I’ve always been in Sixth Platoon too, and at least that’s still living and breathing.’
‘But what do you think has happened to them?’ said Hawke. ‘All those blokes?’
Hebden shrugged. ‘I suppose Jerry took their rifles away, then marched them off somewhere. Eventually, they’ll probably be sent to Germany, to some POW camp. How they’ll be treated, I wouldn’t know.’
‘Well, I’m not going to be taken prisoner,’ said Hawke.
‘What if we’re all surrounded and there’s no alternative?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll run, or hide, or something until they’ve gone, then sneak out at night.’ He turned to look at Hebden. ‘I’d rather die, Bert! All I know is that I’m not going to spend the rest of the war in POW camp.’
‘All right, Johnny,’ said Hebden, ‘all right. But remember we’ve hopefully both got a lot of life left yet. I don’t want to be a Jerry prisoner either, but given the choice I think I’d rather live than be killed for no good reason.’
‘We shouldn’t even talk of such things,’ said Hawke. ‘Somehow we’ll get out of here. I can’t believe we won’t.’
Hebden grinned at him. ‘That’s the spirit. You know, I’m glad you joined us, Johnny. Don’t get me wrong, Charlie’s a great bloke, and so are the other lads, but it’s good to have a bit of optimism about the place. Good for morale, I reckon.’
The afternoon wore on, and the rain began to ease, although low cloud covered the skies. Hawke found himself becoming increasingly restless. There was too much waiting – waiting for an enemy that would not attack, and yet even though Hawke was only a private, he was keenly aware – as they were all aware – that their situation was hardly good, isolated as they were, completely cut off from the rest of the BEF. Food was running low and so too was ammunition. Hawke had forty-five rounds – nine five-round clips – and that was it. The stash of tins of Bren magazines was also getting low: just thirteen remained. That was one hundred and fifty-six for all three Brens in the platoon, each containing thirty rounds. For a light machine gun that had an effective rate of fire of 120 rounds per minute, that was not a great deal. He wondered how many rounds the gunners and mortar men had left. One thing was certain: they could not last here for too much longer. Another day? Maybe two? Three, perhaps, if the Germans left them alone for a while longer.
It was all so uncertain, but the previous day, when so much had happened, Hawke had not thought about such things. Now, however, he had time to brood and to worry. It wasn’t death that was troubling him – that was simply too impossible to imagine – but, rather, the thought of being taken prisoner, and of being dragged into Germany. It made him feel an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia just to think of it. He’d meant what he’d told Hebden, and the more the afternoon wore on the more he was determined tha
t no German would make him his captive.
Hawke was conscious that he was not the only one finding the tension increasingly difficult to stomach. The men were all subdued. All were hungry, all were filthy. There was still running water in both houses, but none that was hot, and although they could wash there was no point in being too thorough because their clothes were all soiled and dirty and there was nothing they could do about that. The single lavatories in each house had long since become blocked, and the stench pervaded the buildings, mingling with the smoke and dust and sweat and stale tobacco.
By mid-afternoon, Hawke had begun to itch again. Removing his battledress and shirt he had burned off several lice from the seams, as had most of the rest of the section. Yet it was not the growing number of lice that was worrying Hebden, but the dwindling rations of tea.
‘I can live without milk in my char,’ he said, ‘but I do need a regular brew.’
‘You’re being ridiculous, Bert,’ McLaren told him. ‘We’ve got bigger things to worry about here than the lack of tea.’
‘I don’t think so, Corp,’ Hebden replied as they stood on the ground floor watching the south from the now smashed windows. The glass had been cleared up, but there were still shards lingering between the dust and dirt on the floor. ‘It’s what keeps me going.’
‘It’s only a bleedin’ cup of tea,’ said McLaren.
‘No it’s not. It’s the looking forward to the next one, the lighting of the stove, the brewing it and adding the sugar, then the drinking of it. If I can’t brew up, I might as well hand myself in to Jerry now.’
‘Then you’ll be even less likely to get a brew,’ said Drummond.
‘When we’re stood down tonight, I’m going on a scrounge,’ said Hebden. ‘There must be tea lurking about the place somewhere.’
‘Can I come with you?’ asked Hawke.
‘And me,’ said Drummond. ‘I’m sick of this place. Anything for a change of scene.’
‘You’ll need permission from the lieutenant or the sarge,’ said McLaren. ‘But, if you do go, for God’s sake don’t just bring back tea. It’s grub we need more than char. That small square of Froggie cheese and thin slice of ham we had for tiffin has left me feeling starving. My stomach’s grumbling something rotten.’
The platoon was stood down at 7 p.m., and Lieutenant Farrish gave Hebden permission to look for rations with Drummond and Hawke, but ordered Spears to go with them.
‘Where do you think we should try, then, Sarge?’ asked Hebden as they emptied their sacks and haversacks into an empty cupboard in the kitchen.
‘There’s a number of houses up around Mount Cassel, near the windmill,’ said Spears. ‘I reckon we should head there. It’s near Brigade HQ so I’m hoping they’ll have had less need to loot. Also, there’s quite a lot of rubble to clamber over, which might have put off some others.’
Outside on Grand Place, the town looked even more desolate. Another day of shelling had taken its toll. Several more houses had been hit and now lay partly strewn across the cobbles. There were other troops out and about, all looking tired and drawn, their uniforms dirty and torn. As they turned off the square, they saw a telegraph pole had been knocked over and that wire now lay limply across the road. A group of sappers were in the process of clearing it, but since their way was still blocked Spears led them down a narrow lane and then up some steps to the foot of the windmill at the summit of Mount Cassel.
Too late, they saw the brigadier with two of his staff officers approaching from the right, from the direction of Somer Force Headquarters. Immediately, Spears brought the other three to attention and saluted.
The brigadier saluted back. ‘At ease, at ease,’ he said, pausing beside them. ‘How are you chaps?’
‘Fine, thank you, sir,’ said Spears. A sudden rumble from the sky made them all look up. Overhead, just below the cloud cover, a dozen enemy fighter planes roared over.
‘All right for some, eh?’ said the brigadier. He smiled. ‘You’re Rangers. What company are you in?’
‘B Company, sir,’ said Spears, ‘or rather, we were, sir. Now we’re attached to A Company.’
‘Good Lord!’ said Somerset. ‘You weren’t the fellows I watched take out those panzers yesterday were you?’
Spears allowed himself a faint smile. ‘Possibly, sir. We managed to successfully pull out of the farm at Oxelaëre and then saw the enemy tanks approaching as we were trying to reach the town, sir.’
‘What’s your name, sergeant?’
‘Spears, sir.’
‘Well, it was a damn good show, Spears, and right in front of everyone too – gave everyone a lift, I can tell you. I know it did me.’ He shook their hands all in turn, then, seeing Hawke, his eyes narrowed in recognition. ‘Now I remember bumping into you the other day. What was the name again?’
‘Hawke, sir. And you met Privates Hebden and Drummond too, sir.’ Spears glared at him.
Somerset smiled. ‘So I did, so I did. Good to see you men. Now, are you here for any reason?’
Spears cleared his throat. ‘We’re looking for some rations, sir.’
‘We’re getting low on tea, sir,’ added Hebden.
‘Well, we can’t have that. I’m sure I can help you on that score,’ said Somerset.
‘We’ve plenty of tea at Headquarters,’ said the captain standing beside him.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hebden, his face brightening.
Somerset raised a hand. ‘It’s the very least I can do after what you chaps did yesterday.’
He glanced at the captain. ‘Robson, take these men back to Headquarters, give them some tea and do whatever else you can.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Spears. ‘And, sir? Do you know how much longer we’ll be here?’
Somerset glanced at his chief of staff. ‘I wish I could say, Sergeant, but I hope not much longer. We have been playing a vital role, however. That much I can say. Good luck, and keep up the excellent work.’
Spears saluted again. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Follow me,’ said Captain Robson.
They followed, Hebden wearing a big grin on his face and punching one hand with the other in delight. At the entrance to Headquarters, Robson asked them to wait. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said.
‘You’re a jammy beggar, Bert,’ said Spears once Robson had disappeared inside.
‘I thought we were going to get a rollocking at first,’ said Hawke.
‘Me an’ all,’ said Drummond.
‘He’s a good bloke, is the brigadier,’ Hebden grinned. ‘As I’ve always said, it’s not what you know, but who you know.’
‘It’s the sarge here who got us the tea ration, Bert,’ said Drummond. ‘He was the one who took out them panzers, not you. That’s why the brig helped us out.’
‘I was joking, Charlie, only joking.’
‘Yes, well, maybe I’m just not feeling in much of a jokey mood,’ muttered Drummond. ‘The only thing that’s going to perk me up is getting out of this hole. You heard the brig. We’re not going anywhere any time soon and he knows it.’
‘Look,’ said Spears, ‘feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help. We don’t know what’s going to happen – we really don’t, so there’s no point worrying about what we don’t know. Now, let’s get our tea ration, then find some scoff, and when we get back we can have a brew and something to eat. Tomorrow’s another day. Let’s worry about it then.’ He patted Drummond on the back. ‘Come on, Charlie, we’ve survived another day, haven’t we? At least we’re all alive, eh?’
‘For now,’ muttered Drummond, ‘but for how much longer?’
20
BLITZ
They had eaten well the previous evening thanks to the food that had been found among the shattered remains of a row of houses not far from Somer Force Headquarters. The amount of rubble and the precarious state o
f the damaged buildings had clearly deterred other scavengers. But in return for the risks taken, they had been rewarded with half a dozen cured sausages, a couple of plucked chickens and three ducks, more cheese, as well as several bottles of Armagnac. And, of course, there had been the generous tea ration handed over by Captain Robson. It had meant that at first light, on Wednesday 29 May, the men of 6th Platoon had all been able to have a warming mug or two. Even Drummond had been grateful for that.
Hawke and Hebden had been on prowler guard, as picquet duty was known, from six in the morning – one of the best slots and recompense for having had the worst the previous evening. The rain had stayed away during the night, but patchy grey cloud still covered the sky, and just before six, as Hawke and Hebden sipped mugs of hot, sweet tea, it had still been cold, so that Hawke had fastened the top clip of his battle blouse and turned up his collar, and clutched his enamel mug with both hands.
At six, they clambered down over the ramparts and made their way back to their slit trench. The soil was still damp from the previous day’s rain, while out to the south a grey light covered the endless flat plain of Flanders.
‘It still seems quiet, doesn’t it?’ said Hawke.
‘Very,’ agreed Hebden. He glanced across at Merryweather and Grimshaw, the Bren crew from 2 Section, also keeping watch, and gave them a brief wave. ‘They’ve lost a few of their mates in this fight,’ he said. Merryweather waved back, and Hebden added, ‘But they seem all right. We’ve been lucky so far. I hope it lasts. I’m sure it will.’
‘I can’t really imagine it,’ said Hawke. ‘Dying, I mean. I can’t imagine any of our lot getting themselves killed. Even the other day, in all that fighting, I couldn’t really think about anything happening to me. It’s strange.’
Dunkirk Page 18
