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.
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.
Chapter 21
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.
'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
