Sykes whistled. 'Well, what do you know? You're right, sir. Can see them clear as day.'
'And that Hurricane up there is Lyell's,' Peploe added. 'LO-Z was his plane.'
'Look!' shouted McAllister, from the neighbouring slit trench. 'He's got out!'
They watched Lyell's deadweight figure plummet, then a white parachute balloon open.
'Thank God for that,' said Sykes.
'He's drifting,' said Tanner. 'Stupid bastard's going to end up the wrong side of the sodding canal.'
Wordlessly, they watched Lyell descend until he hit the ground about five hundred yards up the hill on the far side, directly opposite the French on the Rangers' right and a short distance from the line of thick wood.
They watched breathlessly as the parachute silk flopped to the ground.
'Is he moving, Sarge?' said Sykes.
'I'm trying to see,' Tanner answered, as he peered through his binoculars. Lyell seemed to be lying lifelessly in the meadow. 'I can't tell whether he's alive or dead.'
They could all see him now.
'It looked like he'd come down all right,' said McAllister.
Tanner shrugged. 'Maybe he's concussed. Or broken his leg or something.'
'Should we shout to him or what?' said Sykes.
'We should go and see Captain Barclay,' said Peploe. 'Tanner, you come with me.'
Company Headquarters had been established in the white station house set back from the canal and beneath a high bank that overlooked the single-track railway. A field telephone had been set up but, Tanner noticed, as they went into the house, there was no sign of a radio transmitter.
'Where's Captain Barclay?' Peploe asked one of the men squatting by the field telephone.
'Out the back, sir. Him and Captain Wrightson.'
They found the two officers sitting at the foot of the bank. Both had mugs of tea, and Barclay had his Webley on his lap, an oily rag beside it.
'Peploe,' said Barclay, flicking away a fly from his face. 'All dug in?'
'Yes, sir. Sir, it's about the Hurricane that's just come down.'
'What Hurricane?'
'The dogfight, sir.' Peploe looked at Barclay as though he was mad. 'The one that's just been going on above us.'
Barclay faced Wrightson. 'Oh, yes, we heard that. Machine-guns going off and so on. I hadn't realized a plane had come down.'
'At least two, sir,' said Tanner.
Barclay glanced at him briefly -
'A pilot's landed on the far bank, sir,' continued Peploe, 'opposite the French. We're not sure if he's alive, but the thing is, sir, I think he may be your brother-in- law.'
'What?' Barclay took his pipe from his mouth. 'What are you talking about? It can't be Charlie.'
'His plane had the same squadron markings, sir. LO-Z. That was Squadron Leader Lyell's personal aircraft.'
'But how on earth could you tell?'
'Sergeant Tanner was watching through binoculars, sir. He saw the markings on the fuselage.'
CSM Blackstone appeared in the doorway at the back of the house. 'What's going on, sir?' he asked.
'It seems my brother-in-law's been shot down and is lying on the far bank. Tanner saw the code on the Hurricane as it came down.'
Blackstone snorted. 'With respect, sir, I find it hard to believe that Sergeant Tanner could possibly see that from down here. Sure you're not just trying to get back into the OC's good books, Tanner?'
'I know what I saw,' said Tanner.
'Sir, who the pilot is - surely that's irrelevant,' said Peploe. 'I just wanted to let you know that it might be Squadron Leader Lyell and to ask your permission to send a team of men to fetch him. Since he's opposite the
French I thought I should clear it with you and also ask their permission. There's a bridge just round the bend in the river,' he added. 'We could cross there - or even go over the one at Oisquercq.'
Barclay nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'All right. You speak Frog, don't you, Peploe?'
'A little, sir.'
'Good. Then let's get the men ready and speak to the French commander at the farm.' He turned to Tanner. 'But I think it only fair that once we've cleared it with the Frogs you go and get Squadron Leader Lyell, Tanner. A chance to make amends for your indiscretion back at Manston, eh?'
Tanner swallowed hard, his face rigid with the effort of controlling his irritation. 'Yes, sir,' he said. 'I'd be glad to.' He meant that, at least: it would give him an opportunity to gather his bearings. It was hard when you were
