Darkest Hour (49 page)

'Hold on a minute,' said Peploe. 'I'm the only officer
now and I'll decide what we do.'

'Yes, sir,' said Blackstone. 'But in case you hadn't
noticed, we're getting a beating. What can forty-four men do to help? Do you
really think we can stop the rot? I say we head to the coast. For all we know,
the rest of the battalion's already there.'

Peploe stared at him. 'Don't speak to me like that.
Show some bloody respect.'

'We've got to go north, sir. It's obvious.'

'I'll decide that, Sergeant-Major, not you. Now go and
organize a burial party, will you? We can't do anything until we've got these
poor men buried. Right away.'

Blackstone gave him a half-hearted salute, then issued
orders to the men. 'More digging, I'm afraid, lads,' he said. 'Not too deep,
because they won't be here for ever. Get to it now, and I'll make it up to you
later.'

'Jesus,' Tanner muttered to Peploe. 'What a bloody
mess.'

'I'm going to have my hands full with Blackstone, I
can see,' said Peploe. He took off his tin hat and ran his hands through his
hair. 'It seems so incredible that the captain should be dead. A bloody silly
thing to do, I know, and he had his faults, but he was a decent sort, really.'

Tanner didn't want to think about Barclay or any of
the other three dead men. Now was not the time to be worrying about them; it
had happened and couldn't be undone. Rather, quick, firm decisions had to be
made. 'We need a map, sir. We don't have one of this part of Flanders.'

'I know. It's ridiculous.' He sighed. 'Bloody hell.
We're in a bit of a fix, aren't we?'

'We'll be fine, sir. We just need to think calmly and
clearly.'

Peploe glanced at the priest, who was hovering around
the men as they dug the graves. 'Hold on a moment, Sergeant,' he said, then
strode over to the man. Tanner watched them talk, then cross the cobbled road
to a small house. A few minutes later Peploe came out again and hurried back to
where Tanner was waiting with Sykes and the rest of Sykes's section.

'I've got a map,' said Peploe, as he reached them. 'It's
only a road map and about ten years old at that, but it's better than nothing.
Sykes, will you and your chaps give me and the sergeant a moment?'

'Course, sir,' said Sykes, moving his men a short
distance away.

Peploe opened out the map and held it up.

'Ypres is almost due east from here, sir,' said
Tanner, 'about fifteen miles away, and Poperinghe's about half that.'

'No huge distance, then.'

'No. The DLI must have gone in that direction.'

'And while Blackstone's quite right in as much as
we're hardly going forward, no one's mentioned anything to us about falling
back to the coast yet.' He rubbed an eye. 'We've been attached to 151st Brigade
and my instinct is that we should at least try to find them. We're bound to run
across some British troops eventually, if not Eighth DLI. And if we don't, or
if we find ourselves approaching the enemy, we can take another view then,
surely?'

'All the guns we've heard today have been from the
south and west, not the east, sir. I agree with you. I think we should make for
Poperinghe and Ypres.'

'But we'll take the back roads. We don't want to get
ensnared in more refugee traffic.'

'Good idea, sir.'

Blackstone now came over to them. 'Sir,' he said to
Peploe, 'if you're going to consult Sergeant Tanner, you should discuss things
with me first.'

'Yes, all right. We're going to head for Poperinghe
and Ypres and try to find the rest of the brigade,' said Peploe, stiffly.

'What a surprise,' said Blackstone. 'I might have
known that whatever I said Jack would say the opposite.'

'It wasn't Tanner's decision. It was mine. Sergeant-
Major, I really don't want to have to remind you again about insolence. I'm the
officer in charge, and I've made up my mind. We're not running back to the
coast - those are not our orders. Our orders are to stand and fight with Eighth
DLI and the 151st Infantry Brigade.'

Blackstone reddened. It was the first time Tanner had
seen him look really angry since he'd arrived at Manston. 'Very well, sir,' he
said slowly, as though he was trying to control his fury. 'But everyone's
hungry. I would strongly suggest we don't march for too long.'

'It's half past four now. We'll march for a couple of
hours and see how far we get.'

Guns boomed out again to the west. Faintly, in the
distance, small arms could be heard. More aircraft buzzed overhead, but this
time they were high, mere specks in the sky. Tanner flicked away his cigarette,
took out his water-bottle and had a swig. The enemy were closing in and the net
was tightening. The lieutenant had made the right decision, he was certain, but
not all the men would agree. He had a feeling Blackstone might find willing
listeners should he make clear his own views on the matter.
Bollocks.

'Cheer up, Sarge,' said Sykes, walking over to him.
'It might not happen, you know.'

Tanner smiled. 'Maybe not, Stan.'

'We've got ourselves out of tight spots before.'

'Always look on the bright side, don't you?'

'I try to, Sarge. I reckon we've still got some fight
in us yet.'

'I'm sure we have.' He patted Sykes's shoulder. 'But
it's not Jerry I'm so worried about.' He nodded towards Blackstone. 'It's him.'

From the edge of Creton Farm, Sturmbannfuhrer Timpke
peered through his binoculars down the track to the neighbouring house, some
two hundred metres away. Beside him, at the back of the brick farmhouse, stood
his half-track, a single motorcycle and sidecar, and a large French Somua tank,
now daubed with the German cross and, on its front, the Totenkopf death's head.
Kemmetmuler and others from his battalion headquarters were waiting behind the
cover of the farmhouse while his old friend Hauptsturmfuhrer Knochlein stood
beside him. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon and the day had turned
grey, with a light drizzle.

'I'm certain I saw a white flag, Fritz,' Timpke told
Knochlein.

'It's about time those Tommies gave up.'

'Order another burst and see what happens,' suggested
Timpke.

Knochlein stepped back and signalled to the men spread
out on either side of Creton Farm, and Timpke watched them signal in turn to
the men beyond, then heard several bursts of machine-gun fire. They had the
place surrounded, so it was just a matter of time before the British troops
still in the Duries farmhouse were forced to give up - after all, their
ammunition couldn't last for ever. Nonetheless, they had caused far too many
casualties. That was the problem of fighting in this flat, open countryside -
there was never enough cover. Every time Knochlein's men scrambled to their
feet, more rifle and machine-gun fire rang out and another good soldier
collapsed to the ground.

Timpke had been asked to help here at Paradis only
half an hour earlier by Regiment 2's commander, Sturmbann-fuhrer Fortenbacher.
On hearing that Knochlein's company were bearing the brunt of the Tommies'
resistance, he had decided to come forward in person with his battalion
headquarters from nearby Le Cornet Malo, which had just fallen. He had reached
Creton Farm only a few minutes before but now it seemed his men were hardly
needed.

As the firing died down, he stared again through his
binoculars, and this time there was no doubt: what looked like a white towel
was tied to a pole.

'They're definitely surrendering, Fritz.' He shook his
friend's hand. 'Well done.'

Knochlein grinned, then signalled to his men with a
wave, urging them forward. A spontaneous cheer rang out as his troops now
picked themselves up from where they had been lying in the fields and ditches
round about and ran towards the battered remains of Duries farmhouse. Timpke
put away his binoculars then strode quickly back to his half-track. There he
took off his helmet, replacing it with his cap. Keeping on his camouflage smock
with his replacement Luger - taken from a dead comrade - at his waist, he began
to walk down the track towards the scene of the Tommies' resistance. He
wondered how many prisoners there might be - forty-two at least, he hoped.

It had, he reflected, been a hard few days - even
frustrating at times - but he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed it. From the
moment his comrades had found him in Warlus early on 22 May, his fortunes had
improved. Pressing north-west, they had swept all before them until they had
reached the La Bassee canal. And during that thrust towards Bethune, he had
been able to recoup some of his earlier losses, including the Somua, captured
intact and undamaged.

Then had come the order - from the Fuhrer himself, so
rumour had it - for the advance to halt. At the time, it had seemed
inexplicable - and certainly no reason had been given. Eicke had been furious:
he had personally led Regiment 3 across the canal and had won a hard- fought
and costly bridgehead, only to be ordered back. Timpke had never seen Papa
Eicke so mad, and had his own reconnaissance troops been involved in the
assault he would have shared their commander's dismay and fury.

Since the halt order had been rescinded the previous
day, however, the entire division had been in action. Timpke's task had been to
assist whichever of the attacking units needed his help. A company had been
assigned to each of the three infantry regiments. Timpke and his battalion
headquarters had roved between them, hacking cross-country in his half-tracks
from Hinges to Locon to Le Cornet Malo and now Paradis.

As he approached the Duries farmhouse, he saw the
Tommies being directed onto the track. They were bloodied, unshaven and
exhausted, hands clasped on their heads. With rifles and sub-machine-guns
pointed at them, they were pushed and prodded into a line. In contrast,
Knochlein's men were bright and fresh, laughing, sharing cigarettes, enjoying
their moment of victory. Timpke smiled. He shared their exhilaration. Victory
was sweet, as he had known it would be, but so was revenge, and as he walked
along the column of prisoners he counted them.
Forty-one,
forty-two
- he had barely reached halfway.
So much the better.

He counted ninety-nine men of the Royal Norfolk
Regiment - it was a shame they were not Yorks Rangers but that would have been
too much to hope for. He stopped a young
Untersturmfiihrer
who was directing his men.

'Are you in charge of these prisoners?' Timpke asked.

'Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. I'm taking them to the
field beside Creton Farm to search them.'

'Good,' said Timpke. He watched the column trudge
past, then followed until they had been led down a right- hand fork in the
track into the field next to the farm. Seeing Knochlein, he now called to him.

Knochlein waited, watching as his men began to search
the prisoners. 'Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer - you wanted me?'

'I do, Fritz,' said Timpke, putting an arm round his
shoulder. 'You may have heard what happened to some of my men the other day.'

'The Tommies put them in a barn and shot them.'

'They were prisoners of war, Fritz - they were my men.
Shot in cold blood.'

'I'm sorry. The bastards who did that should pay for
it.'

'You know, Fritz, I survived that massacre of my
comrades. I was lucky. But I swore then that I would avenge it. They were my
men, sure, but they were also Totenkopf men. Your comrades too.'

Knochlein faced him. 'You want me to shoot these
Tommies now?'

'Yes, Fritz. The British must pay for what they did.
This will show them that in future they must not mess with the Totenkopf. That
if they play dirty we will play dirty too, but twice as harshly.'

Knochlein nodded. 'You're right, Herr
Sturmbann-fuhrer. The Tommies dishonoured us and they must pay the price.'

Timpke smiled. Knochlein had always been
impressionable. He had known the simple fellow would agree. 'Good,' he said. 'I
knew you'd understand, Fritz. I'll have the vehicles moved, then we can line
them up against the farmhouse. Get a couple of machine-guns prepared.'

'Right away, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.' His eyes glinted.
'Yes. It's the justice our comrades deserve.'

Five minutes later, they were ready. The big Somua had
rattled out of the way, and the half-tracks, while two machine-gun crews had
set up their MG34s, with full belts of ammunition feeding into the breeches.
Timpke stood with Knochlein behind the machine-guns, watching the British
prisoners being marched towards the farmhouse. The Untersturmfuhrer leading
them now came towards them. He looked nervous, his eyes shifting between the
prisoners and the officers before him. Timpke stared at him.
It is an order. Do it.
The Tommies at first seemed not
to know what was going on, but then some spotted the machine-guns facing them
and panic spread among them.

When the first of the British soldiers had reached the
end of the brick building, Knochlein glanced at Timpke, who nodded. A moment
later, an order was barked and the machine-guns opened fire.