Darkest Hour (28 page)

'What about Norway, though?'

'The Norwegians were rather like the Poles only they
had even less kit,' Tanner replied. 'We hardly had any guns, any armour and
almost no air force. It was easy for the Germans - just a skip across the
Baltic. They could keep themselves better supplied. But don't forget it's still
going on, sir.'

'We're going to lose there, though, aren't we?'

Tanner took out his packet of German cigarettes,
offered one to Peploe, then helped himself. 'All I'm saying, sir,' he said, as
Peploe struck a match, 'is that everyone seems to have got it into their heads
that the Germans are somehow better than everyone else. But I don't believe it.
I reckon if our boys and the Frogs stood still for a bit, rather than scarpering
back to the next line at the first sign of trouble, we'd soon give them something
to worry about. I thought the French had the biggest army in the world - at
least, that's what a French officer once told me.'

'You may be right, Sergeant, and hopefully, if we find
the battalion again, we can do exactly as you suggest.'

Tanner grinned. 'We've just got to find them, haven't
we, sir?'

Captain Barclay stepped up into the cab. 'Right,
Sergeant,' he said. 'You've got what you wanted - full tanks all round. Now
let's get a bloody move on.'

It was now nearly half past three on the morning of
Monday, 20 May. The town of Valenciennes lay a couple of miles ahead.

'Strange smell,' said Peploe, sniffing.

'Burning, sir,' said Tanner. 'There's been a fire nearby,
I'd say.'

'Damn great river running through this place,' said
Barclay, 'by the look of it on the map, at any rate, and the road south follows
its course pretty much. I'm afraid it's not a part of France I know - but the
name's ringing a bell for some reason. Have a feeling our chaps may have been
here in the last war.'

'The river - what's it called?' asked Peploe.

Barclay peered more closely. 'The Escaut. Hang on a
minute - we crossed it further north on our way to the front.'

'I remember it, sir,' said Peploe. 'And I remember
thinking it was quite a major natural barrier then.'

A natural barrier.
Tanner cursed himself.
Of course!
He thought of the map again - where had that line been marked? Between Le
Cateau and Cambrai, and Cambrai was not far south from where they were now. His
mind raced: if Cambrai was the limit of the enemy's advance so far then the
town must either be almost or already in German hands.
Think
, he told himself.
Think.
They had heard fighting the previous afternoon and had
seen
enemy troops - yet it was at least fifteen miles
back that they had last glimpsed any sign of Germans. But neither had they met
any French. None - no night-time leaguers, no troop movements, no army
vehicles. Nothing at all. Because they had already fallen back.

'Sir,' he said, to Captain Barclay, 'I'm sorry - I
should have thought of this earlier - but I think we might run into French
troops at any moment.' He slowed and brought the Krupp to a halt.

'How can you possibly know that, Tanner?'

'Because we heard fighting earlier - yesterday afternoon,
sir - and we've seen no sign of either enemy or Allied troops since Quievrain.
The French must have gone somewhere and the most obvious place is behind a
natural barrier like the Escaut. But Valenciennes is quite a big town, and you
said the river runs right through it. That means they'll almost certainly
defend it - or, at least, the approaches to the river.'

'And we need to cross the Escaut to get to Arras,'
added Peploe.

'Yes, sir.'

'So when they see a column of four German trucks
they'll think the enemy's trying a stealthy night-time attack.'

'Exactly, sir.'

'You have to admit, sir,' added Peploe, 'that it would
be a bit annoying to have come this far only to get mown down by our own side.'

Barclay looked down at the map again in silence, his
brow furrowed.

He doesn't know what to
do
, thought Tanner. 'Sir, I have a
suggestion.'

Barclay sighed. 'What is it?'

'We avoid Valenciennes, sir. My guess is that it may
well be thick with French forces but also refugees. We haven't seen any in the
countryside but I'd have thought a big town is the first place they'll all have
headed. Surely we can turn south, avoiding the town, then cut west towards
Denain?'

Barclay nodded. 'Yes. Might take a bit more time, but
there are certainly the roads to it.'

'Then when we reach the river we'll park the trucks
and approach a bridge on foot. Hopefully it won't have been destroyed yet.'

'And then?' said Barclay.

'We shout across, asking for safe passage.'

Barclay was silent a moment, then sighed heavily.
'Yes. I was, er, going to suggest much the same. All right, Tanner. Let's get
moving again.'

It was almost light by the time they reached the edge
of the village of Neuville, a mile or so south of Denain. Behind, the sun was
rising once more, spreading its golden rays across the flat countryside, the
air sharp and fresh. Dew and the night's rain glistened on the grass and in the
hedgerows, but ahead, to either side of the village, they could see a thin
mist rising from the river.

Tanner drove slowly into the village, then stopped by
a tall-spired church, the other three trucks pulling to a halt behind him.

'Right, sir,' he said. 'If Mr Peploe would accompany
me, we'll head towards the bridge.'

'Very well,' said Barclay. 'I'll tell the rest of the
men.'

'Ready, sir?' Tanner asked Peploe.

The lieutenant nodded. The village was quiet, although
in the trees the birds were in full song. Tanner listened and his heart lifted.
He hadn't heard a May dawn chorus since he'd left England eight years before,
yet the sounds were as familiar to him now as they had been when he was a boy.
He wished he could return to that life - a life that seemed so completely apart
from the one he had led ever since. Yet, even so, he knew that his childhood -
those precious years in Alvesdon with his father- had moulded him into the man
he had become. A lifetime ago now, and it only needed the sound of a blackbird
singing at dawn to carry him back, bringing to his mind a thousand details as
fresh and vivid as ever.
One day perhaps.

A sweet smell filled the air.

'Delicious,' murmured Peploe. 'Someone's baking. I've
been to France a few times and the fresh bread and croissants first thing in
the morning are one of the best things about it. I'm tempted to forget Arras
and spend the rest of the day in that bakery.'

Tanner smiled. 'It's reminding me how hungry I am.'

'Well, perhaps after we've cleared our passage across
the river, we can come back and pay it a quick visit.'

They had walked around a shallow bend in the road and
now saw the river directly ahead at the end of the main village road. On the
far side a single house loomed spectrally out of the mist.

'Hang on a minute, sir,' said Tanner. He delved into
his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief, which he tied to the end of his
rifle.

Holding it high, they moved towards the bridge. A road
ran either side of the river, which they now saw was not as wide as they had
first thought. Barges were moored along the bank. The bridge, it seemed, was
part of a lock system. The Escaut had been turned into a canal.

'Not at all what I was expecting,' said Peploe. He
cupped his hands around his mouth, about to holler across the river, then
Tanner saw vague figures on the far side and, a moment later, a spurt of orange
flame. Two bullets flew over his head as he dived to the ground, pulling Peploe
with him, then two more. He heard Peploe gasp and felt the lieutenant's body go
limp.
Oh, no. Damn it all, no.

Another short burst of machine-gun fire spat out, the
bullets zipping over Tanner's head as he crouched next to Lieutenant Peploe,
the report echoing off the buildings along the village street.

'Stop!' shouted Tanner. Then, trying frantically to
remember the phrase card he had been given, he added,
'Nous sommes anglais! Nous sommes anglais
/' He raised his
rifle with its white handkerchief into the air and waved it from side to side.

The firing stopped and now he heard voices -
French?
- from the far side of the river, then from
behind him.

Still hidden behind the bend in the road, Captain
Barclay called, 'Peploe, Tanner, are you all right?'

'Lieutenant Peploe's hit, sir,' Tanner yelled back.
The lieutenant's face was ashen and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his
right temple. At the side of the helmet there was a hole where a bullet had
entered - a glancing blow, but enough to penetrate the steel. Tanner put his
ear to Peploe's mouth, heard shallow breathing, then felt for a pulse.
Thank God.

'Tanner?' It was Barclay's voice again.

To his right, a man was now emerging from a house -
thick white moustache, black jacket and cap. He held up his arms. '
Arretez! Arretez votre fusillade/'

Carefully Tanner eased off Peploe's helmet and heard
something drop. On the cobbles beside him he found a spent bullet. Quickly he parted
Peploe's thick flaxen hair and saw, to his relief, that the bullet had only cut
his head, not penetrated.

The Frenchman was now beside him, crouching. His face
was deeply tanned and lined, a two-day grey beard flecking his cheeks. The
soldiers were across the bridge now, hurrying towards them.

'Imbeciles!
'
said the man.
'lis sont nos allies.'

Tanner stood up. '
Nous sommes anglais
,'
he said again, to a young clean-shaven French lieutenant.

The lieutenant took out his pistol, stepped forward
and pointed it at Tanner's stomach. 'There are no British here,' he said, in
heavily accented English. 'They are to the north and west.'

'We are, sir,' said Tanner. 'We got detached from the
rest of our battalion on the Brussels-Charleroi canal a couple of days ago.'

'And you made it here? Nonsense! You are lying.'

'It's true, sir. Yesterday evening we discovered some
Germans between Mons and Valenciennes and managed to take some of their
vehicles.'

The French officer laughed. 'You expect me to believe
that? What do you take me for? No, you are Germans - fifth columnists.' There
was triumph on his face. Tanner groaned to himself.
Hell
, he thought.
That's all we
need.

'Tanner? Tanner!' Barclay again. Tanner turned and saw
Captain Barclay with Blackstone, McAllister, Ellis and several others advancing
cautiously down the street.

'Tanner!' called Captain Barclay again, as half a
dozen French soldiers raised their rifles.

The French lieutenant followed their gaze and, at that
moment, Tanner thrust forward with his left forearm, knocking the officer's gun
away from his stomach. Then, with his right, he grabbed the pistol. The
startled lieutenant had no time to react before Tanner had brought his left arm
tight round the Frenchman's throat and dug the pistol into his side.

'Tell your men to drop their weapons,' hissed Tanner,
fractionally lessening his grip around the man's throat to enable him to speak.
'Now!'

'Jetez vos armes!'
he gasped. The men did as they were ordered, a
mixture of fear and anger in their eyes.

'And tell your men on the other side of the bridge to
cease firing.'

Tanner loosened his grip a fraction more, but pressed
the barrel of the pistol more firmly into the Frenchman's side.

'I'm sorry, sir, but I swear we are who we say we
are,' said Tanner in his ear. 'British soldiers from the First Battalion, the
King's Own Yorkshire Rangers, Thirteen Brigade, Fifth Division, British
Expeditionary Force. We are trying to reach British Headquarters in Arras and
want safe passage across the Escaut.'

'Don't shoot, please,' said the lieutenant.

'I won't,' said Tanner.

'Monsieur, s'ilvous
plait,'
said the older man,
looking up at Tanner with an appalled expression,
'votre ami .
. .' He swept his hand downwards and Tanner saw that Peploe had opened his eyes
and was clutching the side of his head.

'Tanner, what the devil's going on? What's happened to
Peploe?' said Captain Barclay, now hurrying up to them, anger and indignation
etched across his face.

'Our allies opened fire on us, sir,' said Tanner, 'and
Lieutenant Peploe was hit in the head.'