Darkest Hour (37 page)

The reconnaissance battalion had made the most of the
wait to refuel and collect more ammunition for their tanks from a pre-prepared
supply dump. Once Timpke had overseen this, however, there had been nothing to
do but wait in the village square. The smell of petrol, diesel and hastily
heated rations filled the still air. He stood by his command car, an olive-grey
French Army Citroen, taken the previous day in Solesmes, watching with mounting
frustration as the gunfire came closer. The tepid coffee in his tin cup rippled
with every boom, and he could feel the explosions pulsing beneath his feet.

He was drumming his fingers on the roof of the car and
smoking French cigarettes - he had run out of Turkish - when another staff car
pulled in alongside him, the rubber tyres rolling noisily across the cobbles.
An army major stepped out of the passenger seat and asked for a light. 'We're
not used to moving in such a big force,' he explained, gesturing towards the
vehicles crawling through the village as Timpke pulled out his lighter. 'Two
divisions are on the move today - so far it's been one regiment spearheading at
any one time - so there's a lot more traffic than usual.' Some infantrymen were
shouting at a family in a cart, trying to cross the road at the far end of the
square. 'And too many damned refugees,' he added.

'Shoot at them,' Timpke suggested. 'I find that gets
them moving.'

The major looked aghast. Then, clearly having decided
that Timpke was joking, broke into a smile. 'Perhaps we should.'

'You should,' said Timpke, flatly. 'It would save a
lot of time.'

The major smiled again, thanked him for the light,
then got back into his car and drove on.

Regiment 3 arrived soon after and, having cut in front
of a company of 7th Panzer infantry, Timpke's reconnaissance force followed on
behind. As they progressed into open farmland beyond the village, he could see
clear to Arras, some six kilometres to the north-east. A large formation of
bombers thundered over and attacked the city. Black puffs of anti-aircraft barrage
dotted the sky, then mushrooms of smoke rolled into the air as the bombs
detonated. Nearer, though, he could hear tank and artillery exchanges.
Suddenly, from over a shallow ridge behind them, a number of tanks appeared and
opened fire at the column of vehicles behind them. Timpke found himself
flinching as an ammunition truck blew up less than a kilometre back, the jagged
sound catching him by surprise. So, too, he saw, did Kemmetmuler, sitting
beside him.

'A flank attack,' said Kemmetmuler. 'What's going on?
I thought we were the ones attacking.'

There was pandemonium as vehicle after vehicle was
hit. Artillery and anti-tank crews tried frantically to unhitch their guns and
retaliate. Above, a Feisler Storch lolled over and dropped a small canister.

'A message!' said Timpke. 'Stop!' From the scout car
behind them, one of his men hurried over to where it lay in a field of young
wheat. He found it soon enough and ran back and handed it to Timpke. He
unscrewed the tin, pulled out the note and read,
Strong enemy
armoured forces advancing.
'I think we'd already gathered that.'
He screwed up the piece of paper. 'The idiots. Wait here, Kemmetmuler.' He
jumped out of the Citroen, slamming the door behind him, and hurried over to
the scout car. 'What's the news, Schultz?

'The enemy is also attacking strongly across the
Arras-Doullens road towards Wailly. We're to move on towards Beaumetz and, with
Regiment 2, push the enemy back towards Berneville and Warlus,' Schultz told him,
handing him a hastily scribbled wireless message.

Timpke looked again at the enemy tanks. They were out
of range, and seemed interested only in the 7th Panzer column directly in front
of them. He unfolded his map, his eyes running over the mass of roads,
villages, rivers and contours. They were five kilometres from Beaumetz and
there were thick woods to the west of Berneville that would offer good cover
for an attack. He could see now that the enemy armour must have swept in an arc
southwards from the west of Arras; if General Rommel's artillery could stem
this advance then the Totenkopf, swinging their forces wide, could outflank the
enemy tanks and come round the back, ensnaring them in a deadly trap.

He took out his binoculars and looked again at the
tanks crawling across the fields to the north-east. British, he reckoned. Some
appeared only to have machine-guns, but others were jabbing away with their
heavier guns, small flashes of fire appearing from their muzzles. Thick black
smoke and flames were billowing from the 7th Panzer column behind; he could
hear screams and shouting too. But already German anti-tank guns were
responding and he saw now that one of the smaller British tanks had been hit.

'Schultz,' he said, climbing into the turret of the
scout car, 'get a signal out. I want the battalion to rendezvous on the Arras-
Doullens road to the east of Beaumetz and then we'll attack towards
Berneville.'

It was already past four o'clock. With luck they'd be
in position sometime after five.

'Kemmetmuler!' he shouted to his adjutant. 'I'm going
to stay in the scout car.' He wanted to be able to see clearly, which was
impossible from the low, recessed seats of the Citroen. He ordered the column
forward once more, drumming his fingers on the metal top. A memory had entered
his thoughts: he had been sixteen, at a deer-shoot on his uncle's estate in
Bavaria. He remembered the excitement of spotting his first stag, of watching
it come closer to him. He could almost smell again the thick resin of the firs
around him. And he remembered the intense thrill of capturing it in his sights,
of squeezing the trigger and watching it drop to the ground, dead. He had
dreamed of that moment from the instant his uncle had invited him to shoot, and
when it had come, he had not been disappointed. His triumph had been every bit
as thrilling as he had hoped. The Tommies might have caught the
Wehrmacht
boys off guard, but soon they would find
themselves hunted. Timpke grinned. A stag or dead Tommies, what was the
difference? He was looking forward to experiencing again the sensation of
triumph that had been so indelibly imprinted on his memory.

Twelve Platoon crossed the main Arras-Doullens road in
sections, one man at a time. It was not a true crossroads: the men had to dash,
crouching, diagonally some forty yards to their right to reach the track.
Artillery fire was booming regularly, as well as from the wooded copse ahead.
British tanks still lumbered down the crest to the east of Berneville, and they
could hear others firing even closer.

Tanner had led the men across the road, then ducked
down against the track's bank. A hawthorn hedge grew from the top on the
left-hand side, but it was sparse and intermittent on the right. The road was
sunk below the hedge line, but only by a few feet. As he was taking this in, Lieutenant
Peploe dropped down beside him, breathing heavily.

'This side'll be all right, sir,' said Tanner. 'We'll
have to crouch, but we should be able to reach the edge of the farm undetected.
We don't know what's behind that ridge, though. There's a village, but we've no
idea whether Jerry forces are down there, and whether it's simply a battery up
in that copse or a mass of infantry taking cover and waiting to
counter-attack.'

'I see,' said Peploe. He bit at a fingernail.

'And I can't quite see where that other gun's firing
from.' He pointed towards the right.

'I suppose there's only one way we're going to find
out.'

Tanner smiled. 'Yes, sir. I think you might be right.'
The track ahead rose gently towards the farm, just under a mile away. Peering
through the hedge, he could see the farm buildings - the track turned left
sharply towards them near the top of the ridge and he wondered what cover the
buildings might offer at that point; it depended on whether the track ran
behind or in front of them.
Bloody hell.
If only they had a proper map rather than the hasty sketch Peploe had made from
Captain Barclay's. It was a tall order.

Once the men were safely on the track, they moved off
once more, Tanner and Peploe leading with sections following, spread out but
now hugging the left. It was back-breaking work, bent double all the way,
rifles and Bren in hands, ammunition pouches and packs bumping against bodies.
Then, just a couple of hundred yards from the top of the ridge, they reached a
railway line, a single track of old, rusting rails running across their path
and parallel with the Arras-Doullens road below. Tanner had not spotted it
before and, again, cursed the lack of a map. Would the enemy see them as they
crossed it? He peered through his binoculars. The guns were firing ever more
regularly now, the blasts sending tremors through the ground. Lying flat, he
wriggled forward to the edge of the track. A British tank, some three hundred
yards away to their left, had almost reached the railway, but had been hit. It
was one of the more heavily armoured Matilda IIs, but it was burning, smoke and
flames gushing from the turret. He wondered whether the crew had got out.
Probably not.
Poor bastards.
He looked again at the
copse but while he could see muzzle flashes and hear the guns ever louder, he
couldn't distinguish a single enemy soldier.

'If we can't see the enemy, sir,' said Tanner, 'then
hopefully he can't see us.'

'Then we must make a dash for it, Tanner,' said
Peploe. He sighed. 'Come on, then.'

Platoon Headquarters went first, then Sykes's section,
followed by Cooper's and Ross's, the men nipping one by one across the narrow
stretch of the railway.

'Well,' said Peploe, once they were all over, 'if they
did spot us, they're not letting on.'

They pushed on, keeping low or crawling, along the
dusty, stony track until they reached a bend where the hedge thinned. They were
now almost at the summit of the ridge. Forty yards ahead, the track forked. To
the left, it ran straight to the farm, but in front of the buildings. To the
right, it ran down the other side of the ridge - presumably, Tanner guessed,
to the village of Wailly. He glanced around. Where was that other gun? About a
mile away there was a wood - in there. Yes, he was sure of it. Those Jerry
gunners would have hidden themselves
well: near the edge
of the trees with plenty of aerial and ground cover, but with a clear line of
fire in front of them. On the far side of the wood there was another village -
Beaumetz? - while directly behind them Berneville was as clear as day. Warlus
must be behind the next ridge, where he hoped the rest of the company were
still waiting. He could now see several burning tanks, stopped between the two
ridges, their tracks having carved dark lines across the fields of young crops.
Others were still wheeling about, creeping in beetling lines across the open
countryside, easy targets for the German gunners now only a hundred yards or so
away. The battery in the copse was doing its job effectively, round after round
being fired. Past the copse, away to their left, machine- gun fire and the dull
thump of the Matilda IIs' guns could still be heard amid the din of German
artillery. Suddenly a shell hit the edge of a barn, knocking out a chunk of
stone. Probably, Tanner guessed, a two-pound shell from one of the Matildas.
Good. They're still coming.

'What do you think, Tanner?'
said Peploe, sidling up to him.

'We need to find out what's on
the other side of the ridge. Then we'll know if we can use the barns to cover
our approach or even sweep round the back of the position undetected. But the
less movement the better, so let me have a dekko on my own.'

'All right.'

Still crouching, Tanner hurried
to the summit, past the track that veered left to the farm. Reaching the crest
at last, he lay flat and squirmed forward on his stomach. He realized the track
he was now on was the long side of a triangle. The fork to the farm was one of
the short sides, while another led at right angles to join the main track by a
walled cemetery. A number of vehicles - two Krupps, an eight-wheeled armoured
car and three half-tracks - were clustered there. But no massed infantry. He
looked down towards the village. Several houses were on fire, the flames dulled
by the smoke. Through the haze he saw vehicles moving. The battery, still
booming a short way to his left, was hidden by the farm and he breathed out
heavily, the tension momentarily eased, then wriggled back a few yards and
signalled urgently to Peploe to bring the rest of the men up.

'Don't let anyone go beyond
this point, sir,' he said, as Peploe joined him. He glanced at the men
approaching, then back to the farm. 'We've done the tricky bit - got here
without being spotted - so we can cut across this pasture and take cover behind
that brick barn. I reckon there's at least four guns there. Ideally, we want to
attack from two different angles, but the most important thing is surprise.
That means working out a good plan first, then hitting them hard and quick.
I'll scout ahead now, if it's all right with you, sir, and take Corporal Sykes
with me.'

'Of course. I'll wait for your
signal to bring the men over.'

Tanner ran back, beckoned Sykes
to follow him, then the pair climbed over the fence and ran fifty yards through
a flock of anxious sheep to the edge of the barn. Pausing briefly to catch his
breath, Tanner delved in his pack and pulled out his Aldis scope, unwrapping
the cloth round it, then screwed it onto the pads on his rifle. Pushing his
helmet to the back of his head, he said to Sykes, 'Stan, go down the other end
of the barn and have a quick dekko,' then went to the nearside edge of the old
brick and stone building. When he reached the rubble that had been blasted from
the wall a few minutes before, he crouched as several guns boomed in succession.
Another incoming cannon shell hit a building out of his line of vision. There
was machine-gun fire too - a rapid chatter.
A Jerry MG.
The slower, more laboured
rattle of a British machine-gun responded, but much further away, and no sooner
had he caught its sound than it was smothered by battery guns unleashing yet
another salvo. The noise was deafening; Tanner's ears began to ring and deaden.