Darkest Hour

'Jetez vos armes!' he gasped. The men did as they were ordered, a mixture of fear and anger in their eyes.

'And tell your men on the other side of the bridge to cease firing.'

Tanner loosened his grip a fraction more, but pressed the barrel of the pistol more firmly into the Frenchman's side.

'I'm sorry, sir, but I swear we are who we say we are,' said Tanner in his ear. 'British soldiers from the First Battalion, the King's Own Yorkshire Rangers, Thirteen Brigade, Fifth Division, British Expeditionary Force. We are trying to reach British Headquarters in Arras and want safe passage across the Escaut.'

'Don't shoot, please,' said the lieutenant.

'I won't,' said Tanner.

'Monsieur, s'ilvous plait,' said the older man, looking up at Tanner with an appalled expression, 'votre ami . . .' He swept his hand downwards and Tanner saw that Peploe had opened his eyes and was clutching the side of his head.

'Tanner, what the devil's going on? What's happened to Peploe?' said Captain Barclay, now hurrying up to them, anger and indignation etched across his face.

'Our allies opened fire on us, sir,' said Tanner, 'and Lieutenant Peploe was hit in the head.'

'Good God!' Barclay knelt down beside the still prostrate lieutenant.

'I reckon he'll be all right, sir,' added Tanner. 'This French officer thinks we're German fifth columnists. He was going to shoot, so I'm afraid I was forced to disarm him and order the others to lower their weapons.'

'Fifth columnists!' snorted Barclay. 'What absolute rot!' He stood up again and faced the French lieutenant. 'Now look here,' he said, 'we're who we say we are. British soldiers. Please take us to your superior officer.' He pointed down to Peploe. 'This man needs attention.'

'Sir,' said Fanner, loosening his grip and allowing the Frenchman to stumble free, 'perhaps show him some documents.'

His face reddening, Barclay said, 'Very well.' From the breast pocket of his battle-blouse, he produced his identity card, dog-tags and a letter from his wife. 'Here. Will this convince you?' He pointed to the address in Pateley Bridge. 'There. Do you think Fd have all this lot if I was a bloody Hun spy?'

The French sous-lieutenant peered at the letter, then at the pale pink military identity card with its different types of ink, its Leeds stamp and photograph. Tanner then showed him his own AB64 paybook, careful not to reveal the German packet of cigarettes as he delved in his pocket.

The Frenchman's face now flushed. 'Er, sir, pardon. It seems I was mistaken.' Triumph had been replaced by contrition. 'I am very sorry, but we have been warned repeatedly to keep a watch for fifth columnists and we have seen no other British troops.' He now stood up straight and saluted. 'Sous-Lieutenant Marais, Tenth Pioneer Company of the Fourth Infantry Regiment, Fifteenth Division, Four Army Corps.' He turned briskly and snapped some orders to the men behind, who, with an eye on Tanner, gingerly picked up their rifles, then bent over Peploe and lifted him carefully.

'What happened?' mumbled Peploe. Then his eyes opened and he saw the French soldiers. 'Who are you?'

'Don't worry, sir,' said Tanner. 'You took a blow to the head but you'll be fine.'

'Follow me,' said Marais. Then he turned to Tanner and held out his hand. 'My pistol, Sergeant, if I may.'

Tanner handed it to him, holding his gaze - I would have killed you - then turned to the old man, now standing beside the road watching the troops head over the river.'Merci, Monsieur,' he said, offering his hand. The old man took it, then heaved a big sigh.

'J'ai fait partie de la derniere guerre. A Verdun. C'etait terrible. La guerre est monstrueuse.' He shook his head and turned sadly away.

Marais's company commander, Capitaine Marmier, an apparently less impetuous man, brushed aside concerns about fifth columnists, apologized profusely and insisted Marais drive Peploe to the 4th Infantry Regiment field dressing station. In the meantime, he urged Captain Barclay to bring the vehicles and the rest of D Company across the bridge and to wait at his command post, a roadside house a short distance from the river on the western side.

Tanner left Barclay and Blackstone with him, then walked back to fetch the vehicles. Ten minutes later, having fended off numerous questions about what had happened, he brought the Krupp to a standstill outside the French company headquarters, jumped down from the cab, crossed the road and went into the house.

'Ah, Tanner,' said Barclay, as he was led into Marmier's makeshift office. He was sitting in an old high-backed wooden chair across the desk from Capitaine Marmier. Both men were smoking cigars, with small cups of coffee in front of them. 'Our hosts are kindly going to feed us. As soon as Peploe's back, we'll be on our way.'

Tanner nodded. 'Merci, Capitaine.''

'You're very welcome, Sergeant.' Tanner guessed he was, like Barclay, about thirty. He had a lean, cleanshaven face, with dark skin and intelligent eyes, although he had yet to put on his jacket; instead he sat in his breeches, shirt and braces - It is only five o'clock, though.

'We've been swapping intelligence,' said Barclay, his mood clearly much improved. 'Capitaine Marmier is most interested to learn there are SS units in the area. Apparently there is still fighting to the south, but Four Corps have been told that the Escaut is the front line now in this area. French Five Corps holds the line to Douai and then our chaps are along the river Scarpe to Arras.'

The Scarpe. The name rang a bell in Tanner's mind. Yes, he remembered now. It was there, near Arras, that his father had once fought, back in the last war, with the Wiltshires. Tanner cleared his throat. 'I was wondering, sir, whether they might have some paint - white preferably.'

'Paint, Tanner? What in God's name for?'

'For the trucks, sir. To cover up the German markings on the numberplates and write our own name on the