Darkest Hour

and hungry; his stomach groaned. All day they had had nothing but scraps they had scrounged on the way - a bit of bread and some cheese but nothing that could be considered a proper meal.

'Sarge.' Sykes quickly ran his comb through his hair and replaced his helmet. 'They're almost done in, Sarge. If you're worrying about morale, we need to lie up for a bit. It's one thing trekking on and on when you haven't got any choice in the matter, but the Jerries don't seem that close behind us, do they? I think that's what's getting to everyone a bit.'

'I know, Stan, and we need some bloody scoff, too. Mr Peploe's talking to the OC about it now. Hopefully this'll be almost it for a while.' He picked out a farm not far away. 'Don't see much wrong with trying there.'

When Peploe rejoined them, however, he told them the OC wanted to push on a bit further first.

Tanner sighed. 'Bloody hell, sir. How much further, exactly?'

'Not far. Can you see that village over there?' He pointed to a church tower that poked up through the trees a few miles away, on the far side of the river. 'He wants us to find food there, then lie up.' He turned to the men. 'Another hour, boys, that's all. Then we'll get food and you can all have a sleep.'

The men groaned. 'Another hour, sir?' said Hepworth. 'I'm going to need a stretcher soon.'

'It's all right for you, Hep,' muttered McAllister. 'You haven't had to carry a sodding great Bren.'

'Listen, Mac,' said Tanner, putting an arm round McAllister's shoulders, 'I know you're fed up. We all are - it's dispiriting, trudging backwards - but remember Norway? We had it tougher there, didn't we? And we had our fair share of arseholes to carry too.'

McAllister smiled ruefully. 'That Frog lieutenant, Chevannes. You're right, Sarge - he was worse than the squadron leader.'

'Come on. Another hour and we can put our feet up. That's not so long.'

'Suppose so, Sarge.' He got up. 'All right, then. Get it over and done with, eh?'

It was approaching five o'clock by the time they had dropped down into the valley and crossed the poplar- lined river that snaked its way sleepily through the Flanders countryside. They marched on beside a thick wood, then emerged into open country. Less than a mile ahead the village with the church spire was clearly visible. Before that, however, there was a farm, and Captain Barclay called a halt. As the men marched through an aged brick archway into the yard, chickens clucked and scurried about, a dog barked lazily, and a number of fat geese waddled towards them honking loudly.

While Lieutenant Peploe and Captain Barclay went to find the owner, Tanner had a look round. The farm and outbuildings were protected by a wall, while a rickety tower stood above the archway.

'Bloody nice old place this, Sarge,' said Sykes, beside him.

'It is, Stan. I might go and have a dekko from up that tower - looks like a damn good OP to me. I don't like being down in this valley - can't see much. It was better when we were on that ridge.'

'Good idea, Sarge. I'll come with you.'

There was a door beside the archway. 'They opened it and found a staircase. It led straight up to another door that then opened into the tower. It was dusty inside, old straw strewn across wooden floorboards.

'Christ,' Sykes whistled. Some pigeons fluttered from their perch, making the two men jump. Fifteen feet above them there was a wooden gallery, then the roof. Sunlight poured through holes where tiles had fallen away, highlighting a million dust motes swirling in the still, musty air. A ladder in the corner went up to the gallery.

'Careful, Sarge,' said Sykes, as Tanner began to climb. 'That ladder don't look too safe to me.'

'It'll be all right,' said Tanner. Despite the woodworm, he reached the gallery and peered through a hole in the roof. Away to the west, in the distance some dozen miles away, he could see Mons. Ahead of him lay the village and beyond, as the ground gently rose, a railway, then a road on which traffic appeared to be moving. Good. He tried to remember the map. The Mons-Cambrai road, it had to be, and from Cambrai it was no great distance to Arras. If they could get a ride to Cambrai that would be something. Delving into his respirator bag, he took out his binoculars and peered through them.

What he saw made his heart sink and his stomach lurch. 'Jesus,' he muttered. 'How the hell?' A long column of grey tanks was rolling through the Flanders countryside, with armoured cars and artillery pieces.

'Stan!' Tanner called down. 'Get yourself up here.'

'What is it?' asked Sykes.

'Come on up and you'll see.'

Sykes clambered gingerly up the ladder and stood beside Tanner, who passed him the binoculars.

'Look up on that ridge beyond the village. A mile or so away.'

'Blimey!' said Sykes. 'Sweet bloody Nora! It's the flamin' Jerries. How on earth did they get there?' He turned to Tanner. 'And how come there's that many of 'em just there?'

'Don't ask me, Stan.' More dull explosions rumbled from the south-west. 'Jesus,' he said. 'We've been thinking it's bombs we've been hearing, but what if it was fighting?'

'Perhaps that's where those Frogs was heading earlier.'

'Well, if Jerry's already taken the land to the south of here, they aren't going to get very far, are they?'

'Christ, Sarge, do you think we're surrounded?'

'I don't know. Let me think a moment.' He looked again, and then scanned to the north as well, from where they had just come. Nothing. 'No, I'm sure we're not,' he said at length. 'Think about it. We've not heard much fighting behind us, have we? I reckon those Jerries must have just punched a hole to the south. No wonder those French scarpered so bloody quickly yesterday. The whole of their line must have been collapsing. But we've not seen anyone today, have we? No, Stan, I'm sure we're not surrounded yet.'

'But I thought the Germans were attacking to the north and that was why we moved into Belgium.'