Captain Barclay's instructions, Blackstone ordered the men to fall out. Immediately, the disciplined lines of three small columns crumpled as soldiers collapsed on the side of the road, some pulling out cigarettes, others taking thirsty swigs from their water-bottles.
'We'll hammer on the houses round about the church,' said Barclay, as the officers and senior NCOs gathered beside him. 'Peploe, we need your French again.'
While Peploe went across the street and started knocking on doors, Tanner ambled back to the platoon. Most of the men were now sitting beneath a wall by the side of the road. His side was hurting, an irritating, stinging pain, and his head had begun to throb. Too much smoke and cordite combined with fatigue.
He winced as he stood beside Sykes.
'How's the side, Sarge?' Sykes asked him.
'All right.'
'So where the hell is the rest of the battalion?'
'We're just trying to find out. Mr Peploe's putting that French of his to good use again.'
'When are we going to get some grub, Sarge?' said Bell. 'I'm starving.'
'Me an' all,' said Hepworth. 'I don't think I felt this hungry even in Norway.'
'Course you bloody did,' said Sykes. 'That was loads worse. Stop thinking about it, Hep. Think about lovely French and Belgian birds instead.'
'There's none here,' said Kershaw, another survivor of the 5th Battalion. 'They've all buggered off and I don't fancy that old dear over there.' He nodded in the direction of the elderly couple Lieutenant Peploe was now talking with on the other side of the square by the church.
'Use your imagination,' said Sykes. 'You have got one, ain't you, Hep?'
'That's what you do, is it, Corp?' said McAllister. 'Think about girls?'
'Always - that and how I can screw a few more quid out of you, Mac.'
They all laughed, Tanner too.
'We'll get some grub soon, I hope,' he told them. He saw Peploe striding back towards the church. 'Hang on. I'll try and find out now.' He turned towards Peploe as the lieutenant approached them. 'Sir?'
'They said they saw hundreds of men go through a short while ago,' said Peploe as he reached them, 'some in carriers and lorries, others on foot. The last went through a little over half an hour ago. Apparently they were heading towards Steenkerque.' He unfolded Captain Barclay's map and pointed to a small village a few miles to the south-west of Rebecq.
'South-west? Were they sure?' said Barclay.
'Positive,' said Peploe. 'I questioned that as well.'
'Well, that's just marvellous,' said Squadron Leader Lyell, sitting on the lychgate bench. 'Bravo, Hector. First class.'
'Put a bloody sock in it, Charlie,' said Barclay.
'For God's sake,' continued Lyell. 'All that time you were fannying about, listening to Tanner's tales of derring-do, when if you'd just got everyone going we would have reached the rendezvous on time and we wouldn't be in this mess.'
'Will you damn well be quiet?' said Barclay, turning on his brother-in-law. 'I will not have you undermine my authority. You're not with your squadron now, you're with us, and you'll bloody well keep quiet or else I'll leave you here by the side of the road and the Germans can have you instead.' His cheeks had flushed, Tanner noticed, and he was blinking rapidly, as he tried to regain his composure. 'In any case,' he said, now peering intently at the map, 'it's perfectly clear that the orders must have changed. I don't know why, but we didn't receive them.'
Lyell muttered in exasperation, then said, 'So what do you suggest we do?'
'They're only three-quarters of an hour ahead. It's getting dark, but there's light enough to march by. We'll keep going as quickly as we can. Hopefully, they've stopped for the night already and we'll catch them up. The men will just have to wait for their supper.'
But at Steenkerque there was no sign of the battalion; neither had the villagers seen any British troops passing through in the past few hours. There had been some French colonial troops, but that was all.
On the far side of the village, they halted at a farm. Several dogs stood a short distance away from them, barking protectively at the strange figures of the soldiers. It was now coming up to ten o'clock and completely dark, the only light coming from a half-moon and the stars that twinkled amid patchy cloud. And it was cool, now, too, the air damp and fragrant with the smell of uncut hay and dusty soil. Standing by the farm's entrance, Tanner breathed in deeply, remembering the sweet early-summer smell from his boyhood.
A voice yelled at the dogs, then a door opened releasing a thin shaft of light. A man called. Once again, it was left to Lieutenant Peploe to do the talking. He and Captain Barclay approached the farmer; a brief conversation ensued, then both men were ushered into the house.
Of course, the farmer had no choice in the matter - what could he do to stop two platoons of British soldiers who demanded to be fed? - but, as Peploe confided to Tanner a little later, Monsieur Selage was a fierce patriot, hated Germans and seemed only too happy to help his allies, the British, providing cheese, eggs and a number of chickens.
'You've done well, sir,' said Tanner, as they stood in the yard as men from each section collected their makeshift rations. 'That lot should fill a hole.'
'It's only one chicken per ten men, but better than nothing. Mind you, I hope they cook them properly in the dark. Last thing we need now is everyone getting sick from eating raw chicken.'
Someone coughed behind them, and they turned to see Corporal Wallis from Company Headquarters.
