'Thank you, sir. And we've got a few jelly bombs prepared in the vehicles too.'
'Jelly bombs?'
'Gelignite, sir,' said Sykes. 'The sergeant here takes a pot-shot with a tracer round and boom - up they go.'
Peploe smiled.
Tanner looked at his watch. 'Nineteen twenty,' he said. 'Well, every minute that passes . . .'
'It's going to be tight, though, isn't it?' said Peploe.
'Yes, sir. It is.'
The enemy renewed their attack shortly after eight o'clock. More mortars had been brought up and the enemy's approach was in part masked by a barrage of shells aimed towards the canal. Miraculously, they all missed the crumbling remains of the farmhouse, and because many landed in the canal or the waterlogged fields behind, their effect was significantly reduced. Nonetheless, more enemy troops than ever were now working their way forward, some attempting to bring anti-tank guns with them, but the Boys, on the first floor now, and some sniping from Tanner knocked them out. Suddenly, a platoon-scale attack burst out on the canal road to their left - the men had clearly managed to creep along the adjoining track - but Sykes had spotted them and got most of them with his Bren. It was the weapon's last gasp: the firing pin had completely worn away.
'We need another,' said Tanner. 'Billy,' he turned to Ellis, 'find the lieutenant and get another Bren up here.'
Ellis turned to go, but as he did so a bullet caught him in the shoulder. 'I'm hit!' he cried, and fell to the floor.
'Christ, Billy,' said Tanner, beside him. 'Stan - and you, Kay,' he said to Kershaw, 'get him out of here and fetch a Bren.' He ripped out two packets of field dressings. The bullet had gone clean through Ellis's shoulder, but although he was bleeding profusely and his face was ghostly white, he was breathing regularly. 'You'll be all right, Billy,' said Tanner, pulling open the young man's battle-blouse and pressing the dressings to his wound. 'It's missed your lung. Brave lad. Someone give me another field dressing.' Sykes handed him a pack and he wrapped it round Ellis's shoulder and under his armpit, then tied it in a tight knot.
'Sorry, Sarge,' mumbled Ellis, and passed out.
Tanner left him and returned to the window. More men were crawling through the corn, so all he could see were the tops of their helmets and the green stalks moving. Another Spandau was firing at the house now, lines of tracer arcing slowly, then seemingly accelerating as they smacked into the walls. The burst stopped, and Tanner poked his head around the edge of the window. More lines of tracer pumped towards the house, but this time he had the machine-gun marked. It was by a willow next to the track to the left. A hundred and eighty yards, he reckoned.
'Mac!' he called.
'Sarge?'
'I need you to fire a burst at eleven o'clock, a hundred and eighty yards away. There's a Spandau by a willow tree,' he said, as he adjusted his scope and pulled back the bolt.
'Got it, Sarge.'
'On three - one, two, now!'
Swinging around to the window, his rifle butt already into his shoulder, he found his target, aimed, fired, and saw the man behind the weapon slump forward. A second shot, and another machine-gun crew had been silenced.
Sykes and Kershaw returned - with another Bren - but by now ammunition was running critically low. Tanner glanced at his watch and was astonished to see that it was nearly nine. Where had the time gone? Mortars continued to crash towards their positions. He wondered what was going on elsewhere - whether the Coldstreams were holding their part of the line - or those either side of them, for that matter. The light was fading, although the sky above was still clear, and away to their right, the last tip of the sun, deep orange, cast its rays across the flooded fields and canal. Tanner cursed the lack of cloud: it would have been almost dark now, had there been the low grey skies of a few days before.
He fired another magazine from his rifle, then turned to see a lone box of twelve Bren magazines. He delved into his pouches and discovered he had just twenty rounds, plus ten tracer rounds. 'Is that all we've got left?' he called.
'Yes, Sarge,' said Kershaw.
'Well, get downstairs iggery and find some bloody more.'
He continued firing but when Kershaw got back, ten minutes later, he was empty-handed. 'That's it, Sarge,' he said. 'Mr Peploe says there's no more spare boxes left.'
'Bollocks,' muttered Tanner. Outside, the light was fading fast, but the enemy continued to press forward.
'Sarge!' called Sykes. 'Look. Two o'clock. They're reaching the vehicles.'
Tanner strained his eyes into the gloom. German troops were hurrying to the edge of the road now. Some were hit by fire from the canal, but many more were reaching the cover of the abandoned British vehicles.
Sykes left his Bren and rolled over towards 'Tanner. 'Go on, then, Sarge, now's the time.'
'Hold on a moment longer,' said Tanner. At the side of the window he brought his rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope until he spotted the first pack of gelignite resting on the near-side wheel arch of an abandoned Morris Commercial truck. He swept along the row of vehicles, making sure he could see each of the prepared jelly bombs. Emptying his magazine, he replaced it with two clips of tracer he'd prepared earlier and pressed them down into the breech.
'There's more reaching them, Sarge,' hissed Sykes.
