Darkest Hour

'The Luftwaffe has been bombing the area and will continue to do so this afternoon and tomorrow morning.' He stood up. 'Any more questions?' He looked at Eicke. 'Thank you, Brigadefuhrer, for joining us. How you deploy your men is, of course, entirely up to you.' Briefly, he was silent. 'We have yet to come up against the British so do not underestimate them. But we have achieved great things so far. Fortune, momentum and, of course, experience are now with us. They are formidable attributes, especially when combined.' He smiled and his face, stern and patrician a moment before, now softened. 'Good luck, gentlemen. Tomorrow will be an exciting day.'

As Rommel left the bar, Timpke drank from his bottle of beer. The general's men might not have come up against the British, but Timpke had - those swine had taken four of his vehicles from under his nose, and had killed and wounded a number of his men. A renewed flash of anger swept over him as he recalled the events of the previous night. Well, he would have his revenge. No Englander would enjoy such success against him or his men again, he promised himself.

D Company, 1st Battalion, the Yorkshire Rangers, had made it to Vimy, had found the brigade-major and been sent promptly to the nearby village of Givenchy, near the base of Vimy Ridge, where they were told to lie up. At dawn the following morning they were to form up back in Vimy, where they would join the right-hand column attacking south.

It meant the men had a long afternoon and evening to kill. Tanner had seen they were nervous, jittery, even - Christ, he felt nervous himself. The feverish atmosphere that consumed the village hadn't helped. There were apprehensive locals - the parish priest among them - and exhausted, frightened refugees with their sad collection of worldly belongings, and not all were pleased to see British soldiers around the church and mairie, or to find army trucks parked between the lime trees in the square. Above, enemy aircraft had buzzed and swirled, prompting panic among the civilians. When, that evening, several Junkers 88s had swept over low, dropping their bombs on the village, pandemonium had erupted. No one had been hurt, but the hysterical sobbing from one young woman in particular had been unsettling.

'Can't someone shut that silly bitch up?' muttered McAllister, casting resentful glances in her direction. They were spread out in a corner of the church, some cleaning their weapons, some playing cards, others trying to sleep on the hard wooden pews.

'Poor girl's probably lost everything,' said Sykes. 'Come on, Mac, how would you feel if your home was bombed?'

'I'd write the Hun what did it a thank-you note,' said McAllister. 'Bloody hovel, my place is.'

They laughed.

'Actually, now you mention it, I wouldn't mind them flattening my old place either,' Sykes grinned.

'I've just remembered, Mac,' said Tanner. 'You're saving up for that house in Harrogate, aren't you?'

'I am, Sarge. I'm not going back to Bradford. I've got two pounds six and six so far.'

'You'd better stop playing Stan at cards, then.'

Blackstone was standing beside them. 'All right, boys?'

'No, Sergeant-Major,' said McAllister. 'That woman crying - it's getting on our nerves.'

'Leave it to me, Mac,' he said, and walked up to the front of the church where several other civilians were crouched around her.

'What's he up to?' said McAllister.

Tanner now got up from the pew on which he was lying and watched Blackstone squat beside the woman. His back was towards them so it was hard to tell what he was doing, but almost immediately the sobbing stopped, and a few minutes later the woman, surrounded by several others, stood up and walked out of the church.

'Well, I'm damned,' muttered Sykes.

'Ere, sir!' McAllister called to Blackstone, who was following the procession. 'What did you say to her?'

Blackstone came over. 'Told her it was her lucky day and that I'd see her behind the church in ten minutes.' The men laughed. 'Actually, I gave her a slug of cognac and a few francs. Booze and money, lads - it's what makes the world go round.' He grinned. 'Ready for some heroics tomorrow, Jack?'

Tanner said nothing, so Blackstone turned back to the others, shrugged - what's his problem? - winked and sauntered outside.

'He's a funny bloke, isn't he?' said Hepworth.

Ha bloody ha, thought Tanner. He wondered where Blackstone had got the cognac and francs from - knowing him, they'd probably been stolen. He lay down again on the pew and closed his eyes.

He was awake the moment Hepworth shook his shoulder, although momentarily disoriented. It was dark now in the church, the only light cast by several rows of candles beneath the pulpit. He sat up and looked at his watch- 2215. 'What is it?'

'The OC wants to see you, Sarge.'

'Where is he?'

'In the bar across the far side of the square.'

Tanner stood up, slung his rifle over his shoulder, then went out of the church, round the front of the building and into the square. It was quiet now. Tanner wondered where all the refugees had gone - he supposed they had either moved on or taken shelter somewhere in the village; in the mairie, perhaps, or in some of the abandoned houses. Christ knows. He walked across the road and to the bar. But there was no sign of Captain Barclay so he stepped back outside and began to walk back across the road towards the trucks.

He was conscious of movement at either side of him, but before he could react, three men had leaped at him, the first hitting him hard with a wooden cudgel across the stomach. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him and doubled up, only for a second man to knock him to the ground, where his head was saved from slamming against the gravel by the rim of his tin hat. He grabbed one man's legs, yanked hard and pulled him over. Then he swung his fist into the man's jaw, momentarily surprised to see, in the dim light, that the fellow wore civilian