Darkest Hour

There were shouts now from the far side and Tanner turned to see Peploe emerge from the trees, urging them to hurry. A moment later a cannon shell whammed into the ground not ten yards from where Tanner was crouching.

'Jesus!' Looking round, he saw an armoured car and several motorcycles on the brow of the hill directly behind them. Another cannon shell hit the side of the armoured car, then a machine-gun sputtered and Tanner ran onto the bridge as bullets kicked into the ground.

'Come on, Sarge!' yelled Sykes, as a Bren opened up from the other bank. Tanner saw him sheltering behind a small brick hut on the far side of the bridge. The prisoners now ran across the open ground between the hut and the safety of the trees. Tanner saw one fall. Another burst of enemy machine-gun fire ripped through the centre of the bridge. Bloody hell, he thought, then took a deep breath and raced over the crater. Immediately another burst chattered, bullets pinging around him. A second Bren opened fire, and rifle shots cracked from the far bank too. Bullets whistled overhead and along the bridge, clattering into the metalwork and concrete and into the murky water in the lock. The bridge groaned again as he sprinted towards the hut, sliding behind it beside Sykes and Hepworth. But it was still another thirty yards to the trees.

'Come on, boys,' muttered Tanner, looking towards the Rangers hidden in the trees, 'keep bloody firing.' He glanced back and saw that the enemy armoured car and motorcycles were now pulling back. Thank God. Several more rifles cracked out and a Bren clattered.

'Looks like Jerry's had enough,' said Sykes. 'Reckon it's safe to make a dash for it?'

Tanner nodded. Sykes went first, then Hepworth, and when he had watched them scurry across the open ground, he made a run for it himself. As he did so, he felt something sear his side. Grimacing as he ran, he gazed up and saw Blackstone, kneeling by a tree towards the canal bank, lowering his rifle.

Anger welled as he ran the last few yards. Then he turned back towards Blackstone, his face set and fists clenched.

A hand on his shoulder. 'Tanner, what in God's name have you been doing?'

It was Peploe. 'We discovered a German reconnaissance unit, sir.' He glanced again to where Blackstone had been but there was no sign of him. 'We destroyed it, sir,' he added. 'Did Billy and Smiler get the squadron leader back all right?'

'Yes - just after the Stuka attack.'

'Good. Did we lose anyone?'

'Three wounded in Eleven Platoon, but otherwise no. Here,' he said, pulling out his hip-flask, 'have a nip of this. Then we need to get back quickly. The battalion's moving out.' As Tanner swigged, he said, 'Your side's bleeding. Christ, what have you done?'

Tanner hitched up his battle-blouse and shirt. The bullet had grazed him, carving a cut two inches long across his side. He had been lucky. 'It's nothing serious, sir,' he said.

'I'm amazed any of you are alive.'

'It was Blackstone who did this, not the Jerries,' said Tanner. 'It happened just now - as I was crossing the open ground between the bridge and the trees.'

'Blackstone? Are you sure?'

'I saw him lowering his rifle.'

'Are you absolutely sure it was him? There were bullets flying everywhere. Any one of them could have hit you.'

Tanner was in no mood to mind what he said to the lieutenant. He had been involved in a hard-fought engagement, had killed a number of men and very nearly been killed himself. Adrenalin still coursed through him. Had Peploe not confronted him, he was certain he would have knocked Blackstone down. Even now, his fists remained clenched and his jaw tight.

'I know it was him, sir,' he told Peploe. 'Oh, it won't stick and I'm sure Captain Barclay would back him to the hilt, but I'll have to watch that man like a bloody hawk.'

'And I'm watching him, too,' said Peploe. 'But my advice is to keep away from him. For both your sakes.'

They hurried through the trees that lined the canal and rejoined the track leading to the farm, past empty slit trenches and abandoned ammunition boxes. Tanner saw a dead North African, his leg twisted back on itself. Bomb craters pockmarked the ground and ripped branches littered it. The air was still thick with lingering smoke and the stench of cordite and burning rubber. It was only half past five - just twenty-five minutes since they had made their attack on the enemy.

Sykes and Hepworth were thirty yards in front and turned now to wait for him. Tanner raised a hand and felt another stab of anger as he spotted Blackstone ahead, with two other men and the prisoners. Claiming them as his own. That bastard. Just as he had feared, he was now fighting two enemies in Belgium - and right now, he knew which one was the more dangerous.

Chapter 9

They made straight for the station house that for a day had been D Company Headquarters. The slit trenches dug that morning were still manned, but Tanner saw that the men were, once again, ready to march. Primus stoves had been packed away, entrenching tools and bayonets attached to belts and haversacks clipped back onto webbing. As soon as the order was given, the men would sling their rifles and Brens on their shoulders and move out.

Tanner wished he could sit down for a few moments, have a brew and a cigarette to calm himself, but as he paused by 12 Platoon's slit trenches, Peploe said, 'I'm sorry, Tanner, but the OC wants to see you right away. Sykes and Hepworth too.'

Tanner cursed to himself and scowled, unsure that he could trust himself when he next saw Blackstone. Peploe felt in his pocket and pulled out a pale green packet of Woodbines. 'All right,' he said. 'Perhaps there's time for a quick smoke.' He threw the packet to Tanner. 'Here, you chaps, have one of mine.'