Darkest Hour

reached the first point of pressure on the trigger. Holding his breath, he gripped the rifle tightly and pressed hard against the second pressure point. A crack, a jolt, and the first man rolled over. Pulling back the bolt, he aimed at the second. The enemy soldier was now twisting his head round in panic - a sniper or a lucky shot? - so Tanner aimed at his body, rather than his head. Aim, breathe out, steady, squeeze the trigger. As the Enfield cracked out shrilly in the narrow room, the second man slumped forward, as dead as his comrade.

He drew back the bolt again, aimed and fired, and again and again, using his scope to spot officers and NCOs. Although he was not entirely certain what the German uniforms and insignia denoted, officers were easy enough to spot, with their leather holsters and baggy twill breeches - he wondered why armies insisted on making their officers so damned obvious. German NCOs wore chevrons on the upper sleeves similar to their own, although on a triangular black patch. He reckoned he'd felled at least seven men with his first magazine, including an officer, one NCO and the machine-gun team.

As he had been firing, the others had joined him, McAllister and Sykes setting down Brens at the windows along the front of the house. Kershaw and Bell were bringing in boxes of ammunition and unloading Bren magazines. Already, the open rooms were heavy with cordite, which irritated the back of their throats.

'Thank God the roof's blown off, Sarge,' said Kershaw. 'Gives us a bit of fresh air.'

'Call that fresh?' said Tanner, pressing two more five- round clips into his magazine. The two Brens were chattering now.

'Watch it, Stan,' warned Tanner. 'Short, sharp bursts, all right? We need to keep those weapons working - can't afford to overheat them.'

'We could do with another bucket of water, Sarge,' said Sykes.

'Do you want me to find one?' asked Bell.

'Yes - but keep your bloody head down back there.'

Now the enemy had located them, so machine-gun and rifle bullets were whacking into the walls. Tanner peered around the edge of his window, then jerked back as a bullet hissed past his shoulder and struck the wall behind him. Then, inching around the window-frame again, he saw more men crouch-running down the track on their left that led to the canal.

'Stan, get a burst over here,' he shouted. 'Those bastards nearing the road, ten o'clock.' He fired, then noticed another stream of Germans scurrying towards the cottage on the far side of the canal, no more than a hundred and thirty yards away. He adjusted his scope. All along the canal to the ruined bridge the Rangers were firing, Brens and rifles cracking out, bullets from both sides whining across the narrow stretch of water. Most, he guessed, were passing high - he could even see a line of German tracer arcing well over the trenches. He had been right to try to gain height; the only danger now, he reckoned, came from a stray bullet or mortars, which had yet to be directed towards them.

He fired again towards the men approaching the cottage, then saw several make a gap in the hedge into the garden, then more hurrying through. 'Go on,' he muttered, then called, 'Stan, they're in the cottage garden.'

Sykes stopped firing and pulled the magazine from the top of the weapon. He crawled across the floor to Tanner. 'I've got to see this.'

A moment later a huge explosion ripped apart the sky and the cottage disappeared behind a livid ball of flame. For a brief moment, the firing along their section of the line stopped as soldiers on both sides, caught off- guard by the detonation, paused to take cover from the debris. Quickly, Tanner brought his rifle to his shoulder and picked off another handful of startled enemy soldiers.

'I reckon that was one of my better ones.' Sykes grinned. 'Nice little bang, that.'

The Germans' assault faltered, as men took cover in the fields and behind buildings further back from the road, towards L'Avenir. It gave the defenders a brief chance of a breather. The Brens cooled, more magazines were loaded, and Tanner sent Ellis and Kershaw downstairs to find some food and drink. They returned a short while later with several tins of bully beef, condensed milk, a tin of jam and some biscuits. Tanner opened one of the cans of milk, drank some, then crushed a handful of biscuits into the remainder and added a large dollop of jam. Stirring it all together, he began to spoon it hungrily into his mouth. 'I needed this,' he said.

Peploe appeared, clutching several bottles of wine. 'You should all have a swig,' he said, then went over to Tanner. 'You all right?'

'Yes, thank you, sir,' said fanner. He sat down against the wall, his helmet on his knee.

'I've some good news. Captain Moresby's been up to see us from Battalion. We're withdrawing tonight.'

Tanner sat up. 'Tonight? When?'

'At ten o'clock.'

'Twenty-two hundred,' repeated Tanner. 'A little under three hours.'

'Yes, and then straight to Dunkirk. Apparently in the east we've already pulled back to the border.'

'Bloody hell - I'd not thought about the rest of the line.'

'It's hard to when there's so much going on in front of us,' said Peploe. Three mortar shells in quick succession burst on the far side of the farm. No one flinched.

'Jerry'll have at least another attack in him, don't you think?' said Tanner, after a gulp of wine. 'How is it down on the canal?'

'We're holding up. Ross has lost three men, though. Direct hit from a mortar. Dempster's been hit in the shoulder.'

'And Verity?'

Peploe shook his head. 'Poor fellow. We've moved him to the back of the house - he's properly bomb- happy.'

'It can happen to anyone, I suppose,' said Fanner. 'So, we're down to the last twenty men.'

'And ammunition's a bit low.' He turned to Sykes. 'That was good work in the cottage, Corporal.'