The Black Jackals (23 page)

Together, Lamb, Bennett and two of the Highlanders rushed the nest. The gunner saw them coming form the corner of his eye and tried to traverse the gun, but it was too late. Lamb hurled his grenade, as did one of the Scotsmen, and Bennett opened up with the Bren. The position exploded. They rushed past it, followed now by the whole company. Ahead of them they could see the Gordons, fighting with rifle butts and bayonets as the German defenders surged around them. Men were everywhere in the trees and it was hard to know who was friend or foe. Lamb looked across to his left. Four men of his company had captured a slit trench, and the Germans had their hands up. He yelled to them, ‘Well done.' But as he did so he saw a German throw something at the Jocks. A second later it exploded, hurling all four of them to the ground. Lamb ran over and fired the Luger straight at the man who had thrown the bomb, and then without thinking did the same to the man beside him. The two others yelled for mercy, but one of the three Jocks had not been killed and, managing to get to his feet, let rip with a burst of fire from a captured sub-machine gun, cutting them down where they stood before collapsing himself. Lamb yelled for a stretcher-bearer, and turning to find his men saw Bennett, Valentine, Mays and the others were close on his heels, and the rest of the Jocks, apparently unscathed, following too. ‘Come on,' he shouted and began to run further along though the edge of the wood.

He reloaded the Luger with precious ammunition and checked that he had also brought the standard British service revolver that Crawford had supplied him with as a back-up, his own having been lost with his uniform. Suddenly their part of the wood seemed to be clear of the enemy, and they moved on steadily. Over to the left he could hear the sound of firing, and to the right, beyond the wood, heavy shelling as the other attacks went in further down the valley. Then the rattle of machine-gun fire seemed to recede for a moment and Lamb found himself and his men standing at the edge of a very wide ride through the centre of the wood. It was perfectly quiet, no birds singing and no rabbits moving, as there had been through the rest of the wood. In happier times he thought this would have been a place of shooting and hunting parties; today, though, it was a potential death trap – ten yards of open ground over which any attempt to advance might spell certain death. He knelt down and spoke to Bennett in a whisper, raising his hand and fanning it down to indicate that the rest of the company should follow suit. ‘Ten to one there's a Jerry machine gun covering this ride, Sarnt. What d'you think?'

Bennett was flattered at being asked his opinion. ‘Reckon you're right there, sir. Anyone can see it would make the perfect place.'

‘Well, we're not going to give them the satisfaction. Where would you place your men if you were the Jerries?'

Bennett pointed to a slight clearing across the opposite side of the ride. Lamb looked at it. The man was absolutely right. There was a clear arc of fire, almost as if it had been cleared deliberately of any undergrowth. ‘Yes, I think you're spot on. All right. On my command.'

He pulled a Mills bomb from his tunic and primed it. Bennett did the same. ‘One, two, three.'

Both men lobbed their bombs at the same time, full toss, straight into the clearing. The grenades exploded, but there were no cries, no men running for cover.

Lamb looked at Bennett. ‘Come on. Sarnt-Major Dodd, with me.'

Together the three of them ran crouching across the ride. Then Lamb stood up and laughed out loud: ‘Christ. They've gone. Look.'

Sure enough, there was a slit trench exactly where the sergeant had predicted, but instead of being filled with surrendering Germans it contained only their equipment: four MG34s and a deal of ammunition along with the other detritus of trench life, spent ammo and old food and drink containers.

He shouted the all clear across the ride to the others, and the company crossed over and into the far side of the wood. They checked the trenches as best they could for traps, and when Lamb was satisfied Mays and two of the Highlanders reached in and picked up five heavy machine guns and five cases of ammunition.

Bennett said, ‘Beats me why you'd leave these. Lovely weapons, they are.'

Valentine had found them and was looking at the mechanism of one of the guns: ‘They must have been in a hurry to get away. Perhaps it was the Highlanders they didn't like.'

Sergeant-Major Dodd grinned. ‘Aye. You could be right, lad. We've a terrible reputation.'

Lamb laughed. ‘How many men have we lost, Sarnt-Major?'

‘At my count, sir, we're ten men down, eight dead.'

‘Our mob all right, Sarnt Bennett?'

‘All present, sir. What there is.'

It was nearing 10 o'clock in the morning. They had been attacking for a good six hours but the time had flashed past.

Lamb had decided that it would be best if they dug in while the Gordons pushed on. They were setting up an arc of fire for the Bren gun when they saw a figure dashing through the wood from the flank, heading for their lines. At first Lamb thought the man must be a deserter, but then he saw that he was an officer and that he was waving at them not to shoot. He came tumbling into the position and stood before Lamb, shaking with exhaustion. Lamb grabbed him. ‘Are you all right, man? What is it? Who are you?'

The man managed a couple of words through his panting breaths. ‘Lieutenant Jackson . . . message . . . Brigadier' were all that Lamb could make out. He gave him a swig from his water bottle and was rewarded with ‘Thanks'.

‘What news? Have we broken through?'

The man stared at him. ‘No. Hardly.' His face looked a picture of despair. ‘The 2nd Seaforths and the French armour with them have been hit hard.' He took another swig of water and sank down on a tree stump. ‘The Seaforths managed to clear the forward posts in the woods on their own, but when the French tanks arrived they came late and our barrage was long past. They drove into a minefield between the road and the woods. It was bloody carnage. They got shot up by Jerry anti-tank guns. The Jerries machine-gunned the men trying to get out of the hatches. They've taken heavy casualties and lost dozens of tanks. I've got to tell the Brigadier. Radios are all kaput.' The man staggered to his feet and handed the water bottle back to Lamb: ‘Thanks awfully, old man.' Then without another word he went on his way in a daze and after a while began to run back through the lines.

Lamb could hear the words of the Aldershot instructor again. He turned to Bennett. ‘Did you hear that? This is madness. How can we coordinate an attack when more than half of our officers don't speak French and even fewer of theirs speak English?'

‘Perhaps we should try Gaelic,' Valentine quipped, but Lamb ignored him.

Bennett shook his head. ‘Well, we've done what we were asked to do here, sir. We've secured the flank of the Gordons. We've got the wood.'

‘Yes, that's right, Sarnt. We have. Perhaps they'll even push on from here.'

But when word arrived from Brigade an hour later it was not what Lamb wanted to hear. Its bearer was a short, sinewy lieutenant with a fixed grin and a bandage over one eye. He approached their position from the rear at a crouch and tucked himself in beside Lamb. ‘Lieutenant Lamb?'

‘That's me.'

‘You're to retire, sir.'

Lamb gazed at him. ‘What?'

‘Orders to pull out, I'm afraid.'

‘What in God's name is going on?'

‘The French have lost half their light tanks and fourteen of their twenty heavies. The 4th Camerons have failed to take their objective. The whole position's just too well covered by dug-in machine guns. Two platoons are cut off, and the Brigade's lost twenty officers and over 500 other ranks.'

‘But fall back? That's just madness.'

‘Point is, 1st Gordons might have kicked Jerry out of the Grand Bois, but they can't hold it. Not without French tank support. The high ground overlooking the Somme north west of Caubert is still in enemy hands. He's got his guns zeroed in on the Gordons. They're being blown to bits. They've been ordered back to the starting point.'

Lamb shook his head. ‘I just can't believe it. What the hell is the bloody point? All that effort, all those men lost, killed and wounded, and for what? It just doesn't make sense.'

Yesterday was a nightmare best forgotten. Yet it was one day of his life that Lamb would not, could never forget. He stood in their new position, at the edge of a broad sweep of marshland, and tried to think positively, but it was well nigh impossible.

He was astonished at how quickly it had happened. Three days ago they had been holding their positions on the Somme, although admittedly under pressure, and had seemed capable of holding off the advance for some days if not weeks. Today they were behind the Bresle, ten miles further to the south west and pinned down from the south by the German advance to the sea.

In this entire campaign it had been the swiftest retreat yet, and that he thought could not be good. It was as if they were being suffocated by an unstoppable tide of German troops. As if a sea was pouring through the gaps in the line, gradually making them wider – a sea that would very soon drench them all. He was determined that neither he nor his men should be drowned by it. The received wisdom filtering down from high command was still that they were falling back on Rouen – retreating inland, in other words. The sooner he got to Fortune and reversed that decision – made sure that they were moving towards the coast – the better.

They had halted at the edge of what had been a causeway across the marshes at a place called Lieu Dieu near the major crossing at Gamaches. It had been destroyed by the sappers earlier that day after the last of their retreating units had managed to get across. At least Lamb hoped that it had been the last unit.

He knew that General Fortune's HQ had been near here, in some requisitioned château, Crawford had said. La Grande Vallée, he remembered it was called. Funny how in all wars the generals automatically took over the big country houses while officers ended up in
estaminets
and the men in stables, if they were lucky. He supposed it was all part of the army hierarchy, and that he knew was vital. It was what made the British army work – the respect of the lower ranks for the senior. The men, his company, were sitting in their hastily dug gun pits eating what rations they had managed to share out. The Highlanders had been generous to their newly acquired comrades, though Lamb was not sure that the few men of his platoon shared a liking for thick porridge. Nevertheless, it was food, and he gratefully took another spoonful of his own portion as he stared across the marsh towards the German lines.

Finishing the remains in his mess tin, he walked back to where Bennett was sitting on a tree trunk. ‘Sarnt, have the men stand to. We don't want to be caught with our pants down. I'm going to find Lieutenant Crawford.'

Swilling out the tin with a few drops of water, he wiped it with a cloth and gave both to Smart to stow away before walking back through the lines to where he knew C Company were encamped. He saw Crawford, hunched over a map on the bonnet of an abandoned civilian car, and hailed him. ‘Morning. Quiet night?'

‘Yes. I hadn't expected that. Thought that Jerry might push on. Lucky he didn't. My lads are all in.'

‘Mine too. Listen. You know how badly I have to get this message back to the General. Now I think this is my best chance. We must be close to HQ here. I have to go from here. It's my only hope. Our only hope. Will you help me?'

Crawford thought for a moment. ‘The colonel won't like it much, particularly after giving you the company, but I'll stand up for you. It must be bloody important if you're willing to risk your neck for it, and your career.'

If only you knew, thought Lamb.

Crawford went on, ‘Of course, I can't take you there myself. That would be desertion. But I think I can help. One of my men, McEwan, has been to the château before, twice, with sit reps, and the guards there will recognise him. You can take him along with you. Can't supply any transport, I'm afraid. Need all we've got if Jerry comes on again as fast as he did yesterday.'

‘I didn't expect you could, but your man will do perfectly. Thank you, Crawford.'

Crawford smiled and thought for a moment, then added, ‘I don't suppose you could tell me the message?'

Lamb looked at him. ‘Well, you've helped me, so I will. The plan is for the Division to fall back on Le Havre. The Royal Navy's primed to evacuate from there. But the General will have no idea of that yet. That's the whole point. We've got to start moving towards the coast before it's too late and the Jerries cut us off.'

Crawford was dumbfounded. ‘What, the whole Division? Off the coast?'

‘If possible. At least, that's the plan. It worked at Dunkirk.'

‘Christ. How long have you known this?'

‘More than a week. That's why I've got to get it to Fortune soonest. It was a contingency plan but it looks like it's becoming a reality. So now you know why I've got to get that message through. If I don't the General will order everyone back on Rouen. That seems to be what the French intend to order, and then there'll be no hope for the Division.'

‘You'd better go. Of course you can't take the company. I'll get Sarnt-Major Dodd to take over. I know he wanted it from the start, though he'd never have said anything.'

Lamb nodded. ‘He'll do a good job. I'll be sorry to lose them. I'd like to say I've enjoyed my time with your Jocks but I don't really think that “enjoy” is the right word for what we've seen in the last few days, do you? They're great lads, though. Some of the finest.'

‘I know. They don't deserve to be taken prisoner.'

‘Who does? Let's just hope I'm not too late. I'll take my own men with me, though. And McKracken. And Madeleine.'

Crawford smiled. ‘Of course. You're a lucky man, Lamb.'

‘I am?'

Crawford laughed. ‘It's as plain as day. Anyway, it's been a pleasure having you all aboard, Lamb.'

‘If we both get out of this, why don't we meet back in England?'

‘Or Scotland.'

Lamb laughed. ‘I'll stand you a pint in the Fox and Hounds at Toys Hill. The loveliest pub in England.'

‘And I'll buy you dinner at my club in Edinburgh.'

‘Done.'

‘Good luck, Lamb.'

‘Good luck, Crawford. See you in Blighty.'

They shook hands, and as Lamb walked back to find Bennett and the others he wondered whether they would manage to keep their promise, and whether Crawford and any of his men would make it back.

The men were settling into their slit trenches and rifle pits.

‘Sarnt Bennett, we're packing up.'

‘Right away, sir. Right, you lot, get your kit together. We're moving off.'

There was a collective groan from the Black Jackals. ‘But we've only just got 'ere, Sarge.'

‘And now we're just leaving here, Perkins. You heard me.'

‘Where are we going, Sarge?'

‘That's for me and the officer to know, Hughes, and you to find out. And don't call me Sarge.'

‘Sorry, Sarge.'

Bennett slung his own pack and walked over to where Lamb and Smart were busy packing up. ‘Beggin' your pardon, sir, but where are we off to?'

‘We're going to HQ, Sarnt. Mister Crawford is lending us a guide. Just us. Not the Jocks.'

‘Sorry about that, sir. Thought you'd rather taken to having a company.'

Lamb shrugged. ‘Easy come easy go, Sarnt.'

Lamb walked over to the men. The Highlanders had begun to move too, and he waved a hand to signal them all to sit down. ‘All right. It looks as if we're parting company with our Scottish friends. Sarnt-Major Dodd, I believe that Mister Crawford might want to see you. I'd like to thank you all for what you did yesterday. It was more than anyone could have asked of you. You were faced with impossible odds and you managed to pull back in proper style. I shall miss you, Black Watch. I hope we meet again in happier circumstances.'

The Highlanders muttered thanks and returned to their rifle pits.

Lamb went on, ‘You others, men of my old platoon, it looks as if I'm finally going to get to the General. You've been with me through all of this, and thank you for it. It won't take long. It's only five miles, lads. Not far. And then we should know where we stand.'

He turned and walked to the house where he had billeted Madeleine the previous night. He found her at the kitchen table looking at a framed photograph that she had taken down from the wall. It was of a family, dressed in their best clothes: a father, mother and two children, a son and a daughter. Seeing him come in, she turned and smiled. He could see that she had been crying. She said, ‘I wonder where they are.'

‘They must have fled. Probably with family.'

‘Not like me. I have no family.'

‘You have me.'

He leant over her and cradled her head in his arms. ‘We're moving out. Crawford's sending a guide to get us to the General.'

‘What then?'

‘I don't know. We'll wait and see.'

‘Peter, I don't want to leave you.'

‘Let's just wait and see what happens, shall we? Come on. We should be on the road.'

Outside the men were waiting. Sergeant-Major McKracken came up to Lamb. ‘Sir, I've been thinking, and if you don't mind I'd really like tae stay on with the other lads. I feel more at home here. I'd rather take my chances with them, if you know what I mean, sir.'

Lamb smiled. ‘Yes, I thought you might, and I know what you mean. Thank you for your help, McKracken. We've come through a lot together. I hope you make it back.'

‘Thank you, sir.'

McKracken saluted and walked away towards the Black Watch. Lamb turned back to the men and was surprised to find, standing right behind him, a small, ferret-faced man in Highland headgear, wearing a broad smile. ‘Private McEwan, I presume.'

‘Aye, sir, the very same.'

They set off away from the centre of the little hamlet, heading south west and then turning right and skirting the marsh which defined the area. On the outskirts of Gamaches they took a right turn and hit a main road. McEwan, walking beside Lamb, said nothing. They could hear shellfire to their rear now and McEwan looked back towards his friends. ‘Jerry's attacking again, sir. Poor lads.'

There seemed no end to the Germans' resources, and Lamb wondered how long the General's HQ would remain at the château and indeed if when they got there they might not find that it had already decamped.

It was an easy march in comparison with what they had been through over the past two weeks. Here, within the British lines, there was less evidence as yet of destruction – a few houses destroyed by bombing and some shell holes, but nothing compared to the wholesale destruction they had witnessed. Not for much longer though, thought Lamb. When the Highlanders finally retreated through here, as he knew they must, the German bombs and shells would fall with as much unrelenting fury as they had through the rest of northern France. The houses gave way to open fields, flanked on their right and left by small woods where they could hear songbirds in the trees. It was not until they had been on the road for two hours, as they entered the village of Guerville, that McEwan spoke again, pointing off to the left. ‘It's doon there, sir. Doon that wee track, o'er there, see. The château.'

He led them off the road and onto a farm track, which ran between two gateposts topped with heraldic beasts. The track snaked round and entered a wood, and as they walked through the trees Lamb began to see evidence of occupation. Two armoured cars of the Lothian and Borders Horse stood out in the fields beyond the woods, and then directly in front of them their path was blocked by two armed sentries. They levelled their bayonet-topped rifles at Lamb and his party. ‘Halt. Who are you?'

McEwan stepped forward. ‘Private Hamish McEwan, Black Watch. From Colonel Honeyman with a message for General Fortune.'

One of the sentries looked at him and seemed to recognise him, but kept his rifle levelled. ‘What's the password then, Private?'

McEwan smiled and hissed, ‘Bannockburn, you daft numbtie, Macgregor. And have you no seen there's an officer present.'

The guards lowered their rifles and then brought them up smartly to present as Lamb and his men passed between them. They walked on and Lamb noticed that the path was steadily rising and veering round to the left. He was aware too that the trees grew up a slope and that they were making their way up a hill. Then the trees fell away and the path opened out to a courtyard, on one side of which stood a large château.

Lamb thought it might date from the mid-eighteenth century. It had three tall chimneys and a façade of eighteen tall windows, and on the flagpole which jutted out from the front someone had hung the blue and white saltire of Scotland. The main block was surrounded by a complex of outbuildings and stables, and in the cobbled courtyard stood an assortment of military vehicles: staff cars, dispatch riders' motorbikes, a Bren carrier and a three-ton truck. They walked across to the main entrance, accessed by a sweeping staircase. Officers of all ranks were standing in groups and pairs, or entering and leaving.

Lamb sensed that his men, not to mention Madeleine, stood out somewhat. He turned to them. ‘You'd better wait out here. McEwan, help me get in there.'

The two sentries on the door recognised McEwan and on his word brushed the two of them through. Inside a large airy, tiled hall was alive with activity. Radio sets, stores of all sorts and furniture were being carried in various directions while officers bearing sheaves of papers walked hurriedly across their path.

Lamb stopped and accosted a captain. ‘Excuse me, sir, can you direct me to the General?' The man looked at him. ‘He's in his office. Through the big room on the right, and turn left. Can't miss it.'

Major General Victor Fortune paced the floor of the grand salon in the Château de la Grande Vallée, and once more tried to make sense of the situation. Close beside him stood his immediate superior, Lieutenant General Sir Henry Karslake, who had arrived half an hour ago bearing a communiqué from London.