Darkest Hour (38 page)

Taking off his helmet, fearing
the silhouette of its distinctive rim would be a give-away, he peered
cautiously through a gap in the rubble. No more than seventy yards away, half
hidden under a large ash tree, a small anti-tank gun, the like of which he had
seen several times in Norway, was pounding out its shells. His heart began to
thump, though, when he realized what stood just beyond it, partially hidden
from view by the trees and foliage. It was an enormous artillery piece,
resembling the 3.7-inch anti-aircraft guns they had had at Manston. The difference
was that, instead of pointing into the sky, the barrel was tilted straight down
the ridge to the valley below, where a number of British tanks were still
groping their way towards them.

A big barrel thundered and
recoiled - a double crash - then another gun boomed, and Tanner saw the tip of
a second identical barrel recoil from the bushes and trees some forty yards on.
Just five seconds later they fired again in staccato, their reports
reverberating around the farm, shaking the ground and pulsing through Tanner's
body, while the smaller gun continued hurling out cannon shells as well.
Several fallen bricks near him tumbled further onto the ground.
What a gun,
he thought.

They were indeed anti-aircraft
guns, but were being used in an anti-tank role. A simple idea, but brilliant.
He'd seen those 3.7-inch ack-ack guns fire before - they could send a shell
more than twenty-five thousand feet into the sky. The velocity was incredible.
And now these beasts were firing over open sights at the advancing British
armour.
Christ. No wonder the tanks' advance is stalling.

Two further guns, he now
realized, were also firing - howitzers of some kind, by the sound of them -
from somewhere within the trees. Several men were coming out into the open
between the small and large anti-tank guns -
so there's a hollow
- and, to his astonishment, he
saw that the one nearest to him wore the collar tabs and red striped breeches
of a general.
Bloody hell,
he thought.
What's he doing there?

Leaning on the fallen bricks
and masonry, he brought his rifle into his shoulder. His ribs still hurt like
hell; more so now that he was lying on knobbly rubble. He grimaced, which split
his lip again. The general was peering through a pair of field-glasses. The
two big guns crashed again and Tanner counted.
One, two, three, four,
five, six. Boom-boom.
He counted again, his scope aimed at the general's
head.
Two, three, four.
Breath out.
Five.
Hold breath.
Six.
Tanner pressed his finger
against the trigger. The guns thundered again and his rifle cracked, the butt
recoiling into his shoulder. In that instant the general turned, as though in
answer to someone speaking behind him, and the officer standing next to him,
slightly taller, was hit in the neck. Immediately he sank to his knees beside
the smaller gun. The general swung back, crouching over the prostrate figure.
Tanner pulled back the bolt, but two more men had emerged from the clearing so
the general was almost hidden from view. Men were looking around, as though
they were shocked and perplexed. They seemed unable to understand how, or from
where, the officer had been hit.

'Damn it all,' Tanner muttered.
He scrambled back from where he was crouching behind the rubble, hurried behind
the barn and along to the other end. There was no sign of Sykes. Gingerly, he
peered round the corner. He was looking out on to a small yard and a track that
ran between the barn and an old brick farmhouse, which also gave them cover
from the battery on the other side of the house but not from the vehicles some
two hundred yards away down by the cemetery. Sykes was at the far side of the
house, peering towards the back of the battery, when suddenly he turned and
scuttled back to the cover of the barn.

'Blimey, that was close!' he
gasped. 'They've got two prisoners. And there's some big cheese with 'em, too.'
Sykes turned towards the rear of the battery, Tanner following his gaze. Four
men were striding towards a gate below the farmhouse that joined the track
leading to the cemetery: the general, then an NCO with silver chevrons on his
sleeve holding a sub-machine-gun, and two British prisoners - tankmen wearing
black berets.

Tanner glanced back towards
Peploe and the others, motioned to them to keep low and out of sight, then
brought his rifle to his shoulder once more.

'He was out front a minute
ago,' he whispered to Sykes. 'The silly sod moved just as I was taking a shot
at him. Got the man next to him instead.' He pulled back the bolt, and peered
through the scope. A British prisoner was blocking his view. 'Get out the
bloody way,' he muttered.

'Bit risky, wasn't it, Sarge?'

'Not really. I fired in time
with the guns. No one had a clue where it had come from.'

'Sarge,' said Sykes, urgency in
his voice. The general was now slightly behind, and Tanner could see half his
head.

'Sarge,' said Sykes again, 'if
you fire now you'll blow our chance of surprise. And those prisoners will
probably end up getting killed an' all.'

'He's a sodding general,
though, Stan. Might be a really big cheese.' The German commander's head now
filled his sight. He curled his finger around the trigger.

'Sarge, our orders was to
destroy the guns.'

'I've got a clear shot.'

'Don't do it, Sarge. Please.
You'll scupper the mission.'

A split second. That was all it
would take. His finger was on the trigger, the general's head still in his
sights. The four men had now reached the gate.

'Let him go, Sarge,' whispered
Sykes. 'If he comes back, shoot him then.'

Tanner closed his eyes a
moment, then lowered his rifle. 'All right, Stan.' The four men were through
the gate now and striding down the track towards the vehicles. The general
signalled and the engine of the eight-wheeled armoured car roared into life.
Tanner watched the four men slipping below the ridge and the armoured car drove
slowly up towards them, its high profile dominating the track. It stopped and
they clambered on. Tanner watched the general step onto the turret, the guns
still booming on the far side of the farmhouse, although at a less frenetic
rate of fire.
I could get you now.
He raised his rifle once more, but a moment later, the
big beast was reversing down the track. At the cemetery it turned, then headed
off in clouds of dust towards the smoking village.

Tanner cursed, then signalled
to Peploe to bring the men over.

'You did the right thing,
Sarge,' said Sykes.

'Maybe. Anyway, what do you think?
What did you see from over by the house?' He looked at his watch.
Ten to six.
They needed to get a move on.

'The house is in an L-shape,'
Sykes told him. 'There's some outbuildings the far side, a few bushes and small
trees beyond it.'

'Before the copse?'

'Yes. They'll give cover, I
think. But 'ere's another thing. That copse is just a circle of trees that
overlook a kind of dip, but the land falls away to the right where there's a
track leading into it. There's a bank again the far side, though. I reckon it
was a quarry once. Grassed over now, but there're two 'owitzers in it. It's a
brilliant position unless your attackers are right on top of you.' He grinned.
'Then it's a bloody death trap.'

'What kind of field guns?'

'Quite big. Like the ones they
had in Norway when we were outside Lillehammer.'

'105s,' said Tanner. 'There are
two big anti-tank guns at the edge of the copse and a smaller one.' The rest of
the platoon were now hurrying, a line of ants, towards the cover of the barn.

'No one saw me, Sarge,' said
Sykes. 'They're just gunners, I reckon, and bloody busy they seem too. They're
firing at an 'ell of a rate.'

'There's an MG team somewhere.
The far side of the copse, maybe.'

Peploe joined them. 'What was
going on?'

'Just waiting for the coast to
clear, sir,' said Tanner.

'Have you got a plan,
Sergeant?'

'Yes, sir.' Tanner felt hot,
suddenly, and wiped his brow, then tried unsuccessfully to suppress a cough -
the cordite was irritating his throat. Peploe beckoned the section commanders
to gather round.

'Sergeant Tanner's got a plan
of attack,' he said to them. 'Sergeant?'

Briefly, Tanner explained the
layout of the farm and copse. 'Rosso,' he said to Corporal Ross, 'you head out
first and put your section in the bushes in front of the farm. Make sure your
Bren has a really clear line of fire. Stan, I'll come with your lads round the
back. Hopefully we can cross the gap without being spotted, but if we are,
Rosso's section can keep them busy. At the same time, sir, you lead Cooper's
section around the other side.'

'Like Hannibal at Cannae,' said
Peploe. Seeing Tanner's puzzled expression, he said, 'A pincer movement. Hit
hard at the front and envelop either side.'

'Exactly, sir. But, Rosso, it's
important your boys don't open fire until Stan and I have got past. Sir, your
lot must move under the cover of Rosso's fire - but you can use the bushes and
there are some outbuildings that'll give cover. Speed and weight of fire is the
key to this.'

'Good,' said Peploe. He was
pale, his eyes darting from one to another. 'Brief your men and then let's go.
Corporal Ross, as soon as you're ready.'

'One minute, sir,' said Tanner.
His heart was hammering again. Shaky hands undid the clips on his ammunition
pouches. From his respirator bag he produced half a dozen hand grenades, which
he stuffed into his deep trouser pockets for ease of access. 'Then he walked
down the line of men. Knuckles showed white around rifles, eyes stared at him.
Men bit their lips. 'You'll be fine, lads,' said Tanner. 'Now iggery, all
right? Once the shooting starts, keep moving. They're only bloody gunners so
they'll all be deaf as posts and won't hear you coming.'

It was nearly six o'clock. He
looked at the lieutenant, who nodded to him, then patted Ross's shoulder. He
watched the corporal breathe in deeply, then turn the corner of the barn and
sprint across the yard to the edge of the house, the rest of his section
following. Tanner winked at Corporal Cooper, then said to Sykes, 'Right, Stan,
let's go.'

Clutching his rifle in his right
hand, he ran across the open yard, the dust kicked up from Ross's section catching
in his mouth. As he rounded the end of the house he was relieved to see Ross's
men already diving for cover among the bushes that perched on the lip of the
hollow. He could now see the route into the quarry. Sykes had been right - it
was quite a drop, some ten or twelve feet deep, and they'd have to scramble
down and up the other bank. He breathed out, then waved at the rest of the
section to hurry.

A glance at Ross, who raised
his thumb.
Good
,
thought Tanner.
Bren in position.
He motioned to McAllister to
move beside him - he needed that Bren at the van of their movement. 'Mac, I'm
going to count to three,' he said. 'Then we're going to make a dash for it.'

McAllister nodded, and gripped
his Bren with both hands.

'One, two - three!' They were
up and running down the shallow grass bank. Tanner scanned the hollow -
glimpses of men gathered round the guns in a web of shadows. The big howitzers
fired in turn, the recoil sending them lurching back on their wheels. Tanner
gasped as he scrambled up the other slope. A shout - German -
Damn, we've been spotted
- and Ross's Bren opened fire.
Tanner was conscious, from the corner of his eye, of men falling.

Rifles cracked - a yell - then
Tanner urged his men on. Past several trees and then another gap, giving a view
down into the pit of the hollow.
Keep going, keep going.
He was now on the other side
of the hollow. The chatter of Bren fire behind, snapping rifle fire, bullets
zipping, leaves and branches sliced by their passage. McAllister was still with
him -
good
- and
then, up ahead, across a narrow pasture, he saw men crouch-running among a
further clump of bushes. A second later he heard the burp of a machine-gun and
bullets penetrating the branches behind.