engine bombers, a squadron of a dozen Junkers 88s, probably flying around ten thousand feet, heading unmistakably towards the column of smoke rising high above Dunkirk.
'This is Mongoose Leader,' he said. 'A dozen bandits, ten o'clock, angels ten.'
He gunned his throttle and turned so that he could follow them dead ahead.
'Spread out, boys,' he added. 'Don't want to make too big a target. Keep your eyes peeled behind you, but I'm going to take us down to make the most of the sun.'
He watched the altimeter fall as the enemy bombers grew larger. On the Junkers flew, apparently oblivious of the six fighters stalking them. They were now half a mile away and just two thousand feet below. Lyell pressed on, glancing at the rest of the flight, their two vics now nicely spread.
Seven hundred yards, six hundred, five hundred, and then just five hundred feet below them. Behind, the sun glinted off the Perspex of his Hurricane's canopy. Lyell flicked off the safety catch on the stick, then said, 'Tally ho, tally ho,' and pushing the control column forward, dived below the lead formation and, at less than two hundred yards, opened fire. The Hurricane's frame juddered as the eight Brownings spat bullets, and long lines of tracer hurtled towards the leading Junkers, streaking across the fuselage, over one wing and hitting the port- side engine, which burst into flame. Immediately, the rest of the formation broke up but not before the other five Hurricanes had torn into them. Lyell flew underneath his Junkers and banked to the left, aping the stricken bomber, which had tried to climb but was now diving towards the haze.
Glancing around to check that the skies were clear, he flipped over the aircraft and followed his Junkers. It was not good practice, he knew, but he wanted to make sure: if it disappeared from view still flying, however badly, the best he could hope for was a probable - and that wouldn't make him an ace. Only a confirmed kill would do. A wave of exhilaration swept over him. And then he was through the haze, flying over the beaches of Dunkirk. Directly in front of him was the crippled Junkers. 'Got you!' he muttered, with satisfaction.
At twenty-five minutes to six in the morning, the Isle of Man ferry
Battalion, the King's Own Yorkshire Rangers. Footsore and exhausted, they had reached the port just before midnight and had discovered the pier heaving with men. Four destroyers and a steamer had arrived and lifted a large number of the remaining men but at three a.m., as the Rangers had neared the front of the queue, they had been told by a naval officer there would be no more ships until the following evening.
As dawn broke, 'Tanner had seen the scale of the devastation once more. Abandoned vehicles littered the port area beside the mole and all along the beaches as far as the eye could see. Half-sunk ships stood out of the sea. An oily stench filled the air as the dark-green water lapped lazily at the pier's struts. But compared with two days before, the small number of men still wandering the beaches was nothing short of a miracle. The crowds had almost all gone, most presumably taken back to England. Tanner saw two short lines of men waiting at Malo-les- Bains but otherwise the port and the beaches seemed eerily empty. Had all those men really gone home? It seemed too incredible to be true.
'They had returned to the end of the pier, and the men had collapsed onto the ground, smoking or sleeping almost instantly, while those still left to lead them decided what they should do until nightfall. Then salvation had arrived. A small ferry had come into view, and as it eventually drew alongside the pier, the Rangers realized they had been rewarded for waiting at the foot of the mole. Trudging forward along the wooden walkway, they had numbly boarded the little ship.
Tanner and the rest of D Company had made their way to the back. Two more men had been killed in the last attack by the enemy and a further three wounded.
No one knew what had happened to Hepworth and the others who had gone with the carriers, but Peploe insisted that the remaining wounded would be taken to England; with makeshift stretchers, the men had enabled him to keep his word. Nineteen men, Verity included, were all that remained of D Company. Only sixteen still stood.
'Well,' said Sykes, as the ship slipped its moorings, 'we made it.'
'We've still got to get across the Channel, Stan,' said Tanner, exhaling a cloud of tobacco smoke. At that moment they heard the clatter of machine-guns above the haze. 'Bloody hell,' said Tanner. 'That's what comes of counting your sodding chickens.'
Suddenly a Junkers broke through the cloud. It was only a few hundred feet above them and astonishingly large, the black crosses and streaks of oil on the underside of the wings vivid. The port engine was on fire and the second was spluttering as though on its last gasp. A moment later a Hurricane burst into view and opened fire at less than a hundred yards' range. Immediately there was a loud crack, a burst of smoke and the second engine caught fire. The bomber whined and, amid gasps from the watching men, plunged into the sea. From beneath the waves they heard the mournful creak of tearing metal. The men cheered.
'Look!' shouted Sykes. 'Look - LO-Z!'
'Damn me!' muttered Tanner. 'Lyell.'
The Hurricane roared past them, banked, then turned back, just a hundred feet above the surface of the sea. As it flew over the ship, it rolled, not once but twice, then climbed and disappeared back into the haze.
It was six days later, on the evening of Saturday, 8 June, that Lieutenant Peploe, Sergeant Tanner and Corporal Sykes climbed into Squadron Leader Lyell's newly repaired car.
'All set?' said Lyell.
'Yes, thank you, sir,' said Tanner.
They drove out through the main gates and, on the cliffs above Ramsgate, were waved through a roadblock.
'Not quite so keen as you were, Sergeant,' said Lyell, as they motored on towards Kingsgate Castle. 'And, what's more, no one gives us a hard time about coming here either.' He grinned into the mirror.
Lyell parked outside the hotel entrance and led them into the bar. The rest of the squadron were already waiting, clapping and whistling as they entered. Tanner noticed four shots and four pints already lined up on the bar.
'Drambuie and beer,' said Lyell. 'Drambuie first, then the beer. Come on, let's be having you.'
