Darkest Hour (50 page)

Somehow they had managed to get lost. Thick cloud had
rolled in, the sun had disappeared and, with it, the opportunity to navigate
their way easily due east. Before long, it had begun to drizzle, and the flat,
featureless Flanders landscape had been consumed by a dull mist. The inaccuracy
of their road map had compounded their difficulties. The Rangers had certainly
avoided refugees but instead had found themselves tramping a web of tracks and
narrow roads, none of which seemed to correspond with what was shown on the
map.

After a couple of hours, and still no sign of
Poperinghe, Tanner was frustrated. He prided himself on his sense of direction
yet, to his extreme annoyance, he had lost his bearings - not that he wanted to
admit this to the lieutenant who, he knew, was feeling much the same. The men's
spirits had been low when they had left Steenvoorde, but now they were
plummeting rapidly. Heads were dropping, feet were dragging; there was
grumbling among the ranks.
Just one more crossroads, another couple of
hundred yards
, Tanner kept
telling himself.

'Sarge,' said Sykes, after they had been tramping for
nearly three hours, 'we've got to stop. Old Blackie'll be feeding off this one.
Admit defeat, and let's stop for the night.'

Tanner nodded. 'All right, Stan.'

The lieutenant agreed, but added, 'Let's keep going
for another half-hour. Poperinghe can't be far now.'

But no cluster of buildings or high-spired church
appeared through the mist. Poperinghe remained as elusive as ever, so when, at
just after eight o'clock, a large white farmstead loomed ahead, Peploe called a
halt.

'Chaps, I'm sorry this has been a difficult
afternoon,' he said to them, from the road leading to the farm. 'The lack of a
good map and particularly the weather haven't helped. I'd hoped to get us to
Poperinghe, but it's not to be, so we'll stay here for the night.'

It was a large, rambling place of whitewashed brick
and grey slate, built around three sides of a square, with a narrow moat-like
pond running along one edge. The farmhouse itself had a high-pitched roof, with
a collection of different-sized barns and outbuildings, presumably added on at
differing times but which, over the years, had moulded together, and now spread
round the inner yard.

As the Rangers walked across the flat wooden bridge
over the pond and into the yard by the front of the house, a few chickens
scurried about - an encouraging sign. As Peploe approached the main door, a man
appeared. Wearing a dark jacket and well-cut trousers, with thick greying hair
and a moustache, he gazed defiantly at the exhausted, footsore and hungry men
before him.

Immediately Peploe stepped up, offered his hand, and
began to speak to him in French. Tanner watched carefully, trying to gauge the
farmer's response. A shrug, a finger pointing towards one of the barns.

'Do you think he's playing ball, Sarge?' said Sykes,
beside him.

'I don't think he's got much choice. But Mr Peploe's a
well-brought-up fellow. I'm sure he's asking very nicely.'

Now they saw Peploe smile, shake the farmer's hand,
then trot back down the steps. 'Monsieur Michaud is kindly allowing us to stay
here tonight,' he told the men. 'He suggests we stay in the long barn, which is
mostly empty except for straw and hay. He's going to see what food he can find,
and we'll cook in sections. The well water in the yard comes from a natural
spring so it's perfectly safe to drink and, indeed, wash and shave with. We'll
sort out food now, but try to clean up a bit and then we can get some rest.' He
glanced around at them. 'All right, dismissed.'

The farmer offered them cheese, milk, half a dozen old
chickens and a bag of the previous season's apples and potatoes. Men from each
section were issued the rations, then left to cook a meal, either on Primus
stoves or on small fires made with logs from the woodshed. The drizzle had
stopped, but it was cool, the air damp, as the men huddled round their fires
and stoves. Savoury aromas soon wafted across the yard, mixing with the smell
of straw and animal dung, reminding Tanner of how hungry he was. Seeing the
lieutenant standing by the entrance to the farm, he wandered over to him.

'We should post some sentries, sir,' he said.

'Oh, yes - I suppose we should. I hadn't thought of
that.'

'Shall I sort it out?'

'Thank you, Tanner - yes, please.'

As Tanner turned, Peploe added, 'I think morale's
picked up a bit now, don't you?'

Tanner smiled. 'I'd say so, sir, although it'll be
even better when they've eaten.'

He had just organized the sentries when he heard a
vehicle approaching. Stepping out into the road he saw a British ambulance
driving towards him. As the truck drew level, the driver, a sergeant with a Red
Cross armband, leaned out of the window.

'Boy, am I glad to see you,' he said. 'We're horribly
lost. Any idea where we are?'

Tanner looked at him, then at the passenger sitting
next to him, a woman wearing the grey uniform of a Queen Alexandra's nurse and
a tin hat. She stared at him as though she recognized him, then caught his eye,
smiled and looked away.

'Er, not entirely sure, I'm afraid,' he said. 'We're
lost too. We were trying to get to Poperinghe.'

'You stopping here for the night, then?'

'Yes. Where are you headed?'

'Ypres. We've been on the go non-stop since yesterday
evening, taking wounded blokes up to Dunkirk and back. This is our third run
but we were trying to be clever and avoid the civvies on the roads. The plan
backfired rather.'

'Same happened to us,' said Tanner. 'Have you any idea
what's going on at the moment?'

'Has anyone?' He grinned ruefully. 'The evacuation's
begun.'

'Evacuation?' said Tanner. 'Really?'

'Yes. From Dunkirk. Bloody mayhem there - you've never
seen anything like it. Men are falling back and making straight for the coast
while other divisions hold the Jerries back. Yorkshire Rangers, eh?' he said,
looking at the black and green shoulder flash on Tanner's battle- blouse. 'We
had one of your lot in the ambulance this morning.'

'Where from?' said Tanner eagerly.

'Just south of Ypres somewhere. Wijtschate, I think it
was.'

Tanner pushed his helmet to the back of his head. 'How
many are they hoping to lift?'

'Search me. Not too many, looking at the place.
Dunkirk's been badly knocked about. The port's absolutely had it.' He turned to
the nurse beside him. 'What do you think, Lucie? Shall we stop here tonight? No
point getting even more lost and we need a rest.'

She yawned. 'Yes, let's. I'm done in. I won't be any
use to anyone until I've slept.'

The medic turned back to Tanner. 'Something smells
good.'

'We're just cooking some food up now. Ma'am, I'm sure
there's room in the farmhouse for you - and your name was?' he asked the
sergeant.

'Greenstreet, Jim Greenstreet. And this is Lucie
Richoux of the QAs.' He held out a hand.

Tanner shook it. 'You all right dossing down with us
in the barn, Jim?'

'Perfect, mate.'

Despite the now fading light, Nurse Richoux received a
fair number of stares and glances as she stepped out of the ambulance. Tanner
introduced her and Sergeant Greenstreet to the lieutenant. 'The evacuation's
begun, sir,' Tanner told him. 'It sounds like First Battalion is one of the
units helping to keep a corridor open until the rest have passed through. I bet
that's where 151st Brigade were heading - to help keep the Jerries at bay in
the Ypres area.'

'Christ,' said Peploe. 'I can hardly believe it. It's
not even been three weeks.' He sighed heavily. 'So we were right, then, to head
in the direction of Ypres.'

'Sounds like it, sir.'

'Then we'd better try and join them tomorrow. Or at
least look for them.' He knocked on the farmhouse door and ushered the nurse
forward. 'We'd better make the most of this rest.'

By half past ten the men, Tanner included, were asleep
in the barn, their appetites sated. One man, though, was still very much awake.
Sergeant-Major Blackstone couldn't sleep. Instead, he lay on the straw drinking
a bottle of wine he'd taken earlier in Steenvoorde. The news of the evacuation
was the final straw - and still that bloody upstart of a lieutenant wanted them
to head to Ypres in the morning. Peploe, Tanner and Sykes - the trio seemed
bent on ruining everything. He'd had the whole company eating out of his hand -
especially that idiot Barclay. The captain had been just the sort of man
Blackstone had wanted as OC. A weak character, suggestible and easily
persuaded.

It had been almost ridiculously easy, Blackstone
reflected. He'd laid it on pretty thick that he was a highly experienced
soldier while subtly yet repeatedly reminding Barclay of his own shortcomings.
He'd won over the men in no time, through a combination of charm, easy-going
affability and sudden savage threats. A tried and tested formula. In no time at
all he'd been running the show, enjoying an easy life and a satisfying amount
of power. And when they were thrust into action, as he had known at some point
would surely happen, it had been his intention to steer them - and, of course,
himself - away from the fray. He saw no reason to get himself killed for King
and country when plenty of others were willing to do so.

And there had been rich pickings, too. He'd been
building quite a nice little nest egg. When the war was over, he planned to
retire in style. It was by chance that he had discovered Slater's criminal past
but the two men had quickly come to a working agreement. Blackstone's influence
created opportunities that Slater's criminal mind could exploit. Together they
were quite a team. The fuel racket at Manston had proved particularly
lucrative.

Then Tanner had turned up.
Damn him to hell.
He'd been just the same in India -
full of misplaced honour and tediously incorruptible. Of all the sergeants in
the world, why had Tanner had to join his nice little set-up? He'd groaned the
moment he'd seen him again and his forebodings had been justified. Everything
had started to go wrong the moment the bastard had arrived and started sniffing
around their fuel scam. He'd tried charm, he'd tried threats - Christ, Slater
had tried to kill him and that interfering sidekick of his in the stores at
Manston - but the idiot wouldn't take the hint. He'd taken a shot at Tanner on
the canal but he'd never been much good with a gun and had missed. Then he'd
suggested they split up the company. For once, he'd thought he'd got through to
him, but Tanner had gone and spoiled everything with his damned heroics. Next,
Blackstone had bribed that silly French bitch to accuse Tanner of rape and that
hadn't worked either. Then Slater had killed all those SS monkeys in an attempt
to implicate him. Blackstone had balked at the idea, but it had been a good
plan - and, anyway, they had been SS Nazis. Who was going to mourn them? The
first part had been to make sure Barclay and the rest of the company remained
in the village. With a bit of talk to the captain about duty and honour and
obeying his orders to the letter, that had been easy enough. The second part of
the plan was to wake the unconscious SS officer and talk about Tanner loudly;
and the third was to make sure he and Slater got the hell out of there - which
they had by telling the OC they were going to get reinforcements. It had all
been working perfectly until they'd discovered another vehicle had got away -
and that the stupid bastards in it
had
got reinforcements. Rather than Tanner being left to a slow, painful death at
the hands of the SS, his nemesis had turned up again with the rest of them the
following morning. Blackstone had felt like shooting him down there and then.

Now he got up and walked out of the barn into the
yard, still clutching the bottle. It was a still, cool night, with just the
hint of a breeze. For a moment, he wondered whether he and Slater should take
the ambulance and scarper with the loot they'd acquired since they'd been in
France, but he knew that wasn't the answer. After Warlus, he wouldn't make the
same mistake of assuming the lads would all end up dead or captured. In any
case, the survivors would be bound to report them. No, he needed to get the
boys on his side, which he'd been working hard at the past few days. He
reckoned he'd done quite well, too, but with the lieutenant now in charge, his
authority had been weakened. And he was all too aware that most of them,
especially those in Peploe's platoon, still respected Tanner. Somehow he needed
to get Peploe out of the way.
Yes.
Peploe first, and then he'd sort out Tanner once and for all.

A light at the top of the house caught his attention
and he looked up to see the nurse standing at the window in her underclothes,
drawing the thick curtains. He felt his loins stir and took another glug of
wine. An idea occurred to him - a plan that would not only get rid of Peploe,
but would allow himself a bit of fun with the girl. There were, as far as he
knew, only four people in the farmhouse: the farmer and his wife, the
lieutenant and the nurse. He took another glug of wine.
Courage, lad. This little plan might just work.
A bit
reckless, perhaps, but the wine was making him feel so, and the sight of the
girl had awakened in him the urge to find female company.
Let's see what Ted makes of it.
Returning to the barn,
he trod softly among the snoring men and woke Slater, who followed him silently
outside.