Darkest Hour

'Maybe they're doing both - a two-pronged attack.'

'Which means we're stuck in the middle.'

Tanner rubbed his chin. 'Christ, what a bloody mess. If only we had a radio. I can't believe they sent us out here without one. How can anyone possibly know what the bloody hell's going on?' He sighed, took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his dark hair. 'We should have a quick think about what to do.'

'Can't rely on Captain Barclay.'

'Or Blackstone.'

'The men won't be happy about moving again.'

'I'm not so sure we should move. If someone stays up here in the tower, we can hopefully get some scoff, then decamp to that wood. With the village between us and that ridge, they won't be able to see us and they don't seem very interested in heading this way. We get some kip in the wood and move on again at midnight, as the captain suggested. You stay here for the moment, Stan, and I'll go down and talk to Mr Peploe. Perhaps he can persuade the OC it's our best course of action.'

'All right, Sarge.' Sykes peered through the binoculars again. 'But I'll tell you what I'm thinking.'

'What?' said Tanner, as he began to descend the ladder.

'That we're going to have a hell of a job getting out of this mess. I told myself we wouldn't let Norway happen again but now I'm not so sure. Those bastards are whipping us good and proper.'

'We're not beaten yet, Stan,' said Tanner. 'Never say die.'

Where the SS Totenkopf were now concentrated to the west of Philippeville, south of Charleroi, there was no shortage of radio sets, telephones or even decoding machines. If anything, Brigadefuhrer Eicke and his staff had too much information; from what they were hearing, it sounded as though all of France and the Low Countries were folding up before the Wehrmacht's panzers - and before the Totenkopf would have a chance to show the rest of the Reich and, indeed, the world what they were capable of.

For Sturmbannfuhrer Otto Timpke, it had felt as though the frustrations would never cease. A tantalizing promise of action would be dangled before them, only for them to discover it was still as far from their grasp as ever. Since leaving Aachen they had struggled across eastern Belgium, battling against endless refugees, pathetic citizens fleeing their homes. Timpke had tried to overcome the problem by sending his motorcycles on wide searches for better routes, but other than going cross-country - which the bulk of the division could not do - there was no alternative. He wondered where the mass of people thought they were heading. Why were they so terrified? Timpke wondered what Belgian and French propaganda had been like to prompt such a mass exodus. Of course, it was unfortunate for those caught up in the crossfire of fighting, but for the vast majority, if they had stayed in their homes, they would have been quite safe, and would soon find themselves peaceably absorbed into the Greater Reich, the lucky devils!

And it was not only refugees who had hindered their progress but Wehrmacht soldiers - troops on their way to the front. Timpke had personally seen Brigadefuhrer Eicke stand up in his command car and berate footsore German soldiers, yelling at them to clear off the road and let his superior, mechanized Waffen-SS division forge ahead. Timpke had smiled: Papa Eicke was an example to them all.

They had reached their concentration area at a village west of Philippeville earlier that afternoon and Eicke had immediately called together his staff officers and unit commanders in an orchard beside a river. There he had read out the sitrep that had just arrived. It had already proved a morning of dramatic advance for General von Rundstedt's Army Group A. General Guderian's 2nd Panzer Division had captured St Quentin earlier that morning, while just after midday, the 1st Panzer Division had reported having crossed the river Somme; 6th Panzer was engaging French armour at Le Catelet, while Major- General Rommel's 7th Panzer Division had recently taken Le Cateau and was now pushing towards Cambrai.

Timpke's heart sank, and he couldn't help turning away to rest his head despondently against the trunk of a gnarled apple tree. A breeze ruffled its leaves and the lengthening grass beneath them. Nearby, wood pigeons cooed rhythmically, as though they hadn't a care in the world.

'Don't look so despondent, Otto,' said Eicke. 'It's not all bad news.'

Suddenly, Timpke was aware that the division's senior officers were all staring at him. He gazed at Eicke, at his cap with the death's head above the braid, the peak so low it almost covered those pale eyes of his. His thin- lipped mouth was turned up at one side - a half-smile that signalled to Timpke that he was a favoured son, a man after my own heart.

'Forgive me, Herr Brigadefuhrer,' said Timpke. 'I just want there to be something left for us to do.'

Eicke smiled. 'As do we all. Otto. And, as it happens, we have been asked to help Panzer Group Hoth who are concerned that Major-General Rommel is overreaching himself. In Seventh Panzer's rapid advance to Cambrai they have simply swept past a number of towns, and we are now to follow up behind and secure them. I want your reconnaissance battalion and Infantry Regiment 1 to carry out this role. Yes, it's a limited operation, but trust me, even the feeble-hearted poilus will counter-attack at some point. They've been knocked off balance, caught with their trousers down, but they'll get back on their feet. An army of that size has to. In a moment, I want you and Standartenfuhrer Simon to sit down with the 04 and he will brief you about what I want your reconnaissance boys to do. The rest of us must be patient a short while longer. That's all, gentlemen.'

As Eicke strode towards the manor house that stood beyond the orchard, Timpke made his way to the division's 04 staff officer, Obersturmbannfuhrer Geisler.

'Follow me,' said Geisler, leading Timpke and Standartenfuhrer Simon towards the house. 'Hopefully, we've got an operations room set up by now.' They crossed the orchard and passed through an old door, half falling off its hinges, which led to a courtyard and the manor house. Trucks and other vehicles had been parked in the orchard and all along the road, but more trucks and staff cars were now crammed in front of the newly requisitioned house. Inside, Geisler showed Timpke and Simon into what, until an hour before, had been the dining room. Generations of the owners' family looked down on them, several soldiers from centuries past. One, in an eighteenth-century wig and blue velvet jacket, clutching the hilt of his sword, appeared to sneer, his lip curled with contempt. Ha, thought Timpke. Well, we're here now.

Geisler rolled out a large map across the table. 'We're here,' he said, pointing to the tiny village. 'Here's Avesnes, Le Cateau and St Quentin,' he added, placing a finger on each in turn. 'And here's the Somme. This is where General von Kleist's panzers are leading the charge. Up here are General Hoth's two panzer divisions. Rommel's is now here at Cambrai.' He turned to Simon. 'Herr Standartenfuhrer, we need your Regiment 1 to clear