Darkest Hour

'I'd had one a few minutes before. So had Corporal Sykes.'

'So had I,' said Hepworth.

'Well, you shouldn't have taken it, then. Doesn't do you any good, you know, smoking too much.'

'Well, I think he's all right, the CSM,' continued Hepworth. 'Seems like a good bloke.'

'Aye,' agreed Rhodes. 'He's certainly a lot better than the bastard we had at training. I hated him good and proper.'

'But am I right, Sarge?' persisted Hepworth. 'About you and Blackie not getting on?'

'It's CSM Blackstone to you,' said Tanner, 'and whatever I think of him is none of your bloody business.'

It was nearly eight o'clock by the time they reached the wood, and the light was fading. Eyes had adjusted to it out on the open road, but under the canopy of the trees, now almost in full leaf, it was suddenly dark - and quiet.

The track led straight through the wood, but a few hundred yards in, with no sign of the battalion, Tanner felt uneasy. He was not alone.

'Where the hell are they?' said Peploe, in a low voice. 'Surely we'd have seen something by now. This wood seems completely deserted.'

'You're right, sir. Even if it's a pretty big one, you'd expect sentries watching the road and looking out for any movement from the east.'

As they reached a fork in the road, Captain Barclay called a halt.

'Come on,' said Peploe. 'Let's find out what the bloody hell is going on.'

They found Captain Barclay with Blackstone and Lieutenant Bourne-Arton of 11 Platoon, studying tracks on the road. The compacted earth, under the canopy of the trees, was still damp rather than dry dust, and there were clear signs of carrier tracks, tyre marks and even footprints.

There was also a three-way signpost, pointing to Virginal-Samme in the direction they had come and, at the fork, to Oisquercq. Ahead, it pointed to Rebecq, just a kilometre away.

'Troops have passed through here, all right,' said Barclay.

The man was a genius, thought Tanner. He walked forward, down the track ahead of them.

'Where are you going, Sergeant?' Barclay called after him.

'I'm looking to see if these tracks move off the road, sir.' He trotted fifty yards, saw nothing, then hurried back. 'If we keep going through the wood towards Rebecq, we'll soon find out whether they've stopped or moved on.'

'State the bleeding obvious, Jack,' said Blackstone. Tanner could see he was seething.

'When did the message come through that this was the rendezvous, sir?' asked Peploe.

'CSM? When was it?' said Barclay.

'About seventeen thirty.'

'And when was the field telephone packed up?' asked Tanner.

Captain Barclay turned to Blackstone.

'Don't look at me, sir. I was at the bridge. But a runner would have been sent if the orders were changed - it's probably some cock-up at Battalion. It's eight o'clock, though, sir. Half an hour after we were supposed to meet them here. I did try and hurry up earlier.'

Captain Barclay seemed about to reply but instead he sighed. Smoothing his moustache, he said, 'Right, let's get moving. We head for Rebecq and hope we catch up with them soon.'

Tanner watched Blackstone go back to the men. He saw the CSM mutter something to several troops from Company Headquarters, then furtive glances at the OC. One of the men was the quartermaster sergeant, Ted

Slater, a man Tanner had barely spoken to since Manston, but someone he had been keeping an eye on. Slater's limp had gone - in fact, there had been no sign of it ever since they had reached France - but Tanner had not forgotten Torwinski, or the other Poles, or that he and Sykes had nearly been burned alive. He was still not certain who had been responsible - the evidence was so maddeningly inconclusive. Damn it, if he was honest, now that he could think a little more calmly, he couldn't swear it had been Blackstone who had shot him on the bridge after all. Suspected it, yes, but the lieutenant had been right - there had been a lot of bullets flying. Nonetheless, Blackstone and Slater were friends, and as a consequence he neither liked nor trusted the quartermaster sergeant. Both men would have to be watched like hawks. As if there isn't enough to think about, he thought.

'What do you reckon has happened?' Peploe asked Tanner, as they rejoined the platoon.

'Orders probably changed.'

'And we didn't get them?'

'No, sir.'

'I suppose we just have to hope they're in Rebecq.'

'We need to stop whether the battalion's there or not, sir,' Tanner replied. 'The men need food.'

'Yes, of course,' said Peploe. 'I'd rather got used to B Echelon following us around.'

'If B Echelon isn't there, sir, we'll have to find something for ourselves.'

B Echelon was not in Rebecq, and neither were any other men of 1st Battalion, the Yorkshire Rangers. A large village, it was eerily quiet as D Company tramped down the main street. At the church they halted, and on