Darkest Hour sjt-2

by James Holland

  'Yes,' said Barclay. 'And, frankly, I don't think we can bank on finding them again now. Maybe we will - you never know - but from now on, we've got to think and act for ourselves.'

  'Then we head due west, sir,' said Blackstone. 'If we don't bump into the rest of the battalion, we'll probably meet some other British troops. It's a general retreat, after all.'

  'Yes, but we don't know where we're retreating to, CSM,' said Barclay. 'Could be south, could be north.' He cleared his throat again. 'But we do know where BEF Headquarters is.' He looked up at the others. 'Arras. I hardly think the Germans will overrun that before we can get there.'

  'Arras? But how far's that?' said Blackstone.

  'Hundred miles at the most.'

  'Why don't we work it out on the map, sir?' suggested Peploe.

  Barclay looked at them sheepishly. 'I haven't one - not of that area, at any rate. I'm afraid Captain Wrightson has the maps we used to get here.'

  'Now I've heard it all,' said Lyell. He'd done nothing but whine ever since they'd picked him up, Tanner thought, and had they not bothered in the first place, they wouldn't have lost contact with the rest of the battalion. He couldn't understand why the captain wasn't firmer with the man.

  'I thought we could ask the farmer if he had a map,' said Barclay, his unlit pipe sticking from the side of his mouth.

  'Jesus wept,' said Lyell. 'I've got one.' He delved into the inside pocket of his tunic, took out a crumpled map of Belgium and northern France and handed it to Lieutenant Bourne-Arton.

  Everyone gathered round as Barclay spread it out across the table. 'Less than a hundred miles,' said Barclay. 'More like seventy or so. We'll head towards Mons, then Douai and Arras. Agreed?'

  For a moment, no one spoke. Then Blackstone said, 'If you say so, sir.'

  'Good,' said Barclay, trying to brighten. 'We can't afford to stop for the night - we can rest up at some point tomorrow. I suggest we aim to be on the road again at, say, midnight. All right?'

  Tanner left Peploe and the other officers in the farmhouse and went out into the yard to find the platoon. He only had to follow his nose, and headed through a gate at the end of the yard into a pasture that led to the river. Dim lights flickered ahead of him - from torches, from the low paraffin flames of stoves and the glowing red ends of cigarettes. The smell of chicken and eggs, frying in mess tins, wafted into the still night air, blending with the dewy damp of the meadow and the whiff of tobacco smoke.

  He found Sykes's section standing or squatting around a Primus stove by an ageing willow on the riverbank.

  'So what are we doing?' Sykes asked.

  'Keep going tonight.'

  'Thought as much. Where are we headed?'

  'BEF Headquarters at Arras.'

  'Jesus,' said McAllister. 'If you ask me, Sarge, that captain doesn't know his arse from his elbow.'

  'That's enough, Mac.'

  'It's true, though, sir.'

  'I said, that's enough.'

  'I'm only saying what everyone thinks. We had the whole battalion not half a mile away and we've managed to lose them.' Bell and Kershaw nodded in agreement. 'One of the lads in Company HQ said that the CSM told the captain we should have all gone to Oisquercq with Ten Platoon and those Jerry prisoners. If you ask me, Captain Barclay should have listened to him.'

  Tanner leaned down, grabbed McAllister's collar and yanked him to his feet. 'I'm not asking you,' he said. 'Now listen to me, Mac, were you at Company Headquarters this afternoon? No. Did you hear the orders that were sent to us by Battalion? No, you didn't. Should you listen to idle tittle-tattle? No, you bloody well shouldn't. You're a sodding lance-corporal now, Mac. Start bloody well acting like one, and use your brain rather than your backside.'

  Tanner dropped him back to the ground. 'And that goes for all of you,' he said, looking around the men. 'You're soldiers, not bloody schoolboys, so less of the mithering. What's happened has happened. We head in the direction of Arras. Hopefully we'll find some Tommies on the way and they can tell us whether we're supposed to be somewhere else. Now, let's get some grub inside us.'

  There was, Tanner knew, something in what McAllister had said - Captain Barclay was a fool - but poisoning the rest of the company against the OC, as Blackstone was doing, was unforgivable. He had seen officers lose the respect and control of their men and it was painful to witness. But while in peacetime such a thing was unfortunate, in wartime it could be very dangerous indeed. Discipline, not dissent, was the best antidote to any crisis. That sodding bastard, he thought.

  Chapter 10

  Saturday, 18 May, was a long day for the men of D Company, 1st Battalion, the Yorkshire Rangers, and one in which tempers had begun increasingly to fray; it had started shortly after midnight and had continued as dawn had given way to morning, and morning to midday. They had not seen a single British soldier, let alone the rest of the battalion, but their route had been dogged by people. Countless numbers of refugees - men, women and children, the elderly and even infirm - had appeared on the roads the moment the sun had risen and had seemingly increased with every passing hour. Their plaintive questions and appeals for help got on the nerves of the men and reminded them that they were heading backwards from the Germans too: running away from the enemy.

  Above, aircraft had droned, mostly formations of enemy planes rather than British or French. Behind them, and to the south, they occasionally heard muffled explosions and the distant crump of guns. Around noon, they reached a crossroads in the middle of the flat, wide countryside just to the north of Mons, and were forced to watch as a French column turned onto the road, heading south towards France. The troops' progress was painfully slow. Carriers, guns, lorries and other trucks crammed with soldiers inched their way through the refugees, the men shouting at them to move out of the way. Tanner saw a woman on a bicycle hit by the wing mirror of one lorry - it only clipped her, but she tumbled into the side of the road. She got to her feet, waving a fist and cursing.

  Their own small column was halted while the French troops passed on their way, the men moving off the road and collapsing onto their backsides in a field of green corn. The air was thick with dust, fumes and the misery of Belgian civilians struggling to escape the Germans. Away to the south, they heard the faint dull thud of explosions.

  'Bombers?' Peploe asked Tanner.

  'Must be.' Tanner gestured at the crawling French vehicles. 'Worth asking them for a ride, sir?'

  'Nothing ventured,' said Peploe. In front of them, a staff car had ground to a halt while a man with a laden wooden cart battled to get his mule over the crossroads. The French officer was yelling at him, and Tanner smiled as Peploe interrupted. The response was an irate torrent of abuse.

  'Nothing gained,' said Peploe, ruefully, as he rejoined Tanner and the rest of the platoon. 'They're heading to St Quentin anyway, which is too far south for us. Apparently every transport is already chock-full of men. He reckoned we'd be quicker on foot - although he didn't express it quite as politely as that.'

  'Bloody Frogs,' said Tanner. 'I'll remember that next time one of them asks me for help.'

  'Sir,' said Sykes as he came over to Peploe, 'surely we could ask the Frogs to take the squadron leader?'

  'They didn't seem very keen to help, I'm afraid,' Peploe replied. 'I did ask.'

  'But if Captain Barclay tried?' suggested Sykes. 'And perhaps a different Frog officer?

  'It would certainly be good to offload him, sir,' said Tanner to Peploe. 'It's not as if he's been particularly grateful. He's complained more than the men have.'

  'All right,' said Peploe. 'I'll ask Captain Barclay.'

  Tanner, Sykes and several others watched Peploe pick his way through to Barclay. They saw the captain shake his head, despite Peploe's best efforts to persuade him otherwise.

  'Nothing doing, I'm afraid,' said Peploe as he rejoined them a few minutes later. 'The French have their hands full.'

  'Bollocks, sir,' said Sykes. 'We saw him - he didn't even ask them.'
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  'I'm sure he has his reasons,' said Peploe.

  At this point Tanner spotted McAllister muttering to Bell and Ellis, and gesticulating covertly at the OC. When he noticed his sergeant's eye on him, he stopped immediately.

  Tanner turned back to Sykes and Peploe. 'The lads are fed up. We need to watch morale, I reckon.'

  'They are, Sarge,' agreed Sykes, 'me an' all. The sooner we get to Arras the better.'

  By afternoon, as they continued west of Mons, the numbers of refugees had thinned, but progress was no faster because the effort of marching for the best part of sixteen hours was taking its toll. Feet were sore, legs ached and stomachs were empty. To the east and south, more dull explosions ruffled the air.

  'Some poor bastards are gettin' a pastin',' said Sykes, as Tanner tramped alongside him.

  Tanner looked up to the sky. 'Nasty amount of bombers been going over.'

  'Where's ours, Sarge? That's what I'd like to know.'

  'You and me the same, Stan. Looks one-sided from down here, doesn't it?'

  Just before four o'clock they stopped for their hourly ten-minute breather. They were on a low ridge of woods and open farmland, overlooking a river valley to the south. Tanner lit a cigarette and regarded the men, most of whom had lain down on the grassy verge. Several had their eyes closed, almost asleep already. He felt tired too, and hungry; his stomach groaned. All day they had had nothing but scraps they had scrounged on the way - a bit of bread and some cheese but nothing that could be considered a proper meal.

  'Sarge.' Sykes quickly ran his comb through his hair and replaced his helmet. 'They're almost done in, Sarge. If you're worrying about morale, we need to lie up for a bit. It's one thing trekking on and on when you haven't got any choice in the matter, but the Jerries don't seem that close behind us, do they? I think that's what's getting to everyone a bit.'

  'I know, Stan, and we need some bloody scoff, too. Mr Peploe's talking to the OC about it now. Hopefully this'll be almost it for a while.' He picked out a farm not far away. 'Don't see much wrong with trying there.'

  When Peploe rejoined them, however, he told them the OC wanted to push on a bit further first.

  Tanner sighed. 'Bloody hell, sir. How much further, exactly?'

  'Not far. Can you see that village over there?' He pointed to a church tower that poked up through the trees a few miles away, on the far side of the river. 'He wants us to find food there, then lie up.' He turned to the men. 'Another hour, boys, that's all. Then we'll get food and you can all have a sleep.'

  The men groaned. 'Another hour, sir?' said Hepworth. 'I'm going to need a stretcher soon.'

  'It's all right for you, Hep,' muttered McAllister. 'You haven't had to carry a sodding great Bren.'

  'Listen, Mac,' said Tanner, putting an arm round McAllister's shoulders, 'I know you're fed up. We all are - it's dispiriting, trudging backwards - but remember Norway? We had it tougher there, didn't we? And we had our fair share of arseholes to carry too.'

  McAllister smiled ruefully. 'That Frog lieutenant, Chevannes. You're right, Sarge - he was worse than the squadron leader.'

  'Come on. Another hour and we can put our feet up. That's not so long.'

  'Suppose so, Sarge.' He got up. 'All right, then. Get it over and done with, eh?'

  It was approaching five o'clock by the time they had dropped down into the valley and crossed the poplar- lined river that snaked its way sleepily through the Flanders countryside. They marched on beside a thick wood, then emerged into open country. Less than a mile ahead the village with the church spire was clearly visible. Before that, however, there was a farm, and Captain Barclay called a halt. As the men marched through an aged brick archway into the yard, chickens clucked and scurried about, a dog barked lazily, and a number of fat geese waddled towards them honking loudly.

  While Lieutenant Peploe and Captain Barclay went to find the owner, Tanner had a look round. The farm and outbuildings were protected by a wall, while a rickety tower stood above the archway.

  'Bloody nice old place this, Sarge,' said Sykes, beside him.

  'It is, Stan. I might go and have a dekko from up that tower - looks like a damn good OP to me. I don't like being down in this valley - can't see much. It was better when we were on that ridge.'

  'Good idea, Sarge. I'll come with you.'

  There was a door beside the archway. 'They opened it and found a staircase. It led straight up to another door that then opened into the tower. It was dusty inside, old straw strewn across wooden floorboards.

  'Christ,' Sykes whistled. Some pigeons fluttered from their perch, making the two men jump. Fifteen feet above them there was a wooden gallery, then the roof. Sunlight poured through holes where tiles had fallen away, highlighting a million dust motes swirling in the still, musty air. A ladder in the corner went up to the gallery.

  'Careful, Sarge,' said Sykes, as Tanner began to climb. 'That ladder don't look too safe to me.'

  'It'll be all right,' said Tanner. Despite the woodworm, he reached the gallery and peered through a hole in the roof. Away to the west, in the distance some dozen miles away, he could see Mons. Ahead of him lay the village and beyond, as the ground gently rose, a railway, then a road on which traffic appeared to be moving. Good. He tried to remember the map. The Mons-Cambrai road, it had to be, and from Cambrai it was no great distance to Arras. If they could get a ride to Cambrai that would be something. Delving into his respirator bag, he took out his binoculars and peered through them.

  What he saw made his heart sink and his stomach lurch. 'Jesus,' he muttered. 'How the hell?' A long column of grey tanks was rolling through the Flanders countryside, with armoured cars and artillery pieces.

  'Stan!' Tanner called down. 'Get yourself up here.'

  'What is it?' asked Sykes.

  'Come on up and you'll see.'

  Sykes clambered gingerly up the ladder and stood beside Tanner, who passed him the binoculars.

  'Look up on that ridge beyond the village. A mile or so away.'

  'Blimey!' said Sykes. 'Sweet bloody Nora! It's the flamin' Jerries. How on earth did they get there?' He turned to Tanner. 'And how come there's that many of 'em just there?'

  'Don't ask me, Stan.' More dull explosions rumbled from the south-west. 'Jesus,' he said. 'We've been thinking it's bombs we've been hearing, but what if it was fighting?'

  'Perhaps that's where those Frogs was heading earlier.'

  'Well, if Jerry's already taken the land to the south of here, they aren't going to get very far, are they?'

  'Christ, Sarge, do you think we're surrounded?'

  'I don't know. Let me think a moment.' He looked again, and then scanned to the north as well, from where they had just come. Nothing. 'No, I'm sure we're not,' he said at length. 'Think about it. We've not heard much fighting behind us, have we? I reckon those Jerries must have just punched a hole to the south. No wonder those French scarpered so bloody quickly yesterday. The whole of their line must have been collapsing. But we've not seen anyone today, have we? No, Stan, I'm sure we're not surrounded yet.'

  'But I thought the Germans were attacking to the north and that was why we moved into Belgium.'

  'Maybe they're doing both - a two-pronged attack.'

  'Which means we're stuck in the middle.'

  Tanner rubbed his chin. 'Christ, what a bloody mess. If only we had a radio. I can't believe they sent us out here without one. How can anyone possibly know what the bloody hell's going on?' He sighed, took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his dark hair. 'We should have a quick think about what to do.'

  'Can't rely on Captain Barclay.'

  'Or Blackstone.'

  'The men won't be happy about moving again.'

  'I'm not so sure we should move. If someone stays up here in the tower, we can hopefully get some scoff, then decamp to that wood. With the village between us and that ridge, they won't be able to see us and they don't seem very interested in heading this way. We get some kip in the wood and move
on again at midnight, as the captain suggested. You stay here for the moment, Stan, and I'll go down and talk to Mr Peploe. Perhaps he can persuade the OC it's our best course of action.'

  'All right, Sarge.' Sykes peered through the binoculars again. 'But I'll tell you what I'm thinking.'

  'What?' said Tanner, as he began to descend the ladder.

  'That we're going to have a hell of a job getting out of this mess. I told myself we wouldn't let Norway happen again but now I'm not so sure. Those bastards are whipping us good and proper.'

  'We're not beaten yet, Stan,' said Tanner. 'Never say die.'

  Where the SS Totenkopf were now concentrated to the west of Philippeville, south of Charleroi, there was no shortage of radio sets, telephones or even decoding machines. If anything, Brigadefuhrer Eicke and his staff had too much information; from what they were hearing, it sounded as though all of France and the Low Countries were folding up before the Wehrmacht's panzers - and before the Totenkopf would have a chance to show the rest of the Reich and, indeed, the world what they were capable of.