'Ammunition isn't critical yet, but food's getting short. We've only another two and a half days at current rates.'
'It's impossible,' he muttered, then added, 'Let's hope General Weygand's got a good plan up his sleeve. How are we getting to Ypres this morning?'
'By car, my lord. I just pray the roads are clear enough.'
'God willing. I want to meet Weygand. I want to see whether he's got what it takes and I want to damn well impress upon him the importance of quick decision-making. I've heard he's good, but he's dashed old - seventy-odd, isn't he? Like all these French generals.'
'And too rooted in the last war, perhaps.' Pownall gulped his tepid coffee. 'And what about Frankforce, my lord? Do we cancel the attack today?'
'No, Henry. No. We've got to be seen to be acting on our promises. In any case, it might achieve something. I can't say this is a great surprise. It's why I didn't tell Franklyn we were hoping the French would join us. He still thinks it's an operation to clear our southern flank.'
'And surely that's what it is, my lord.'
'Yes, that's exactly what it is,' Gort concurred. 'The threats of evacuation have had no effect at all. Tell me, Henry, am I going to have to call in the Navy and move the BEF to Dunkirk before the French wake up?'
Tanner was in a filthy mood. He had stumbled back into the church and, in the near-darkness, had found a corner and got his head down, but the cover of night would only delay the inevitable. The men had been up at first light and, of course, had seen the cut on his cheek, the bloodied, swollen lip, and he'd been unable to hide the pain in his side. His head throbbed and his body hurt like hell. What was more, the wound he had received at the lock a few days ago had opened again and stung sharply every time he moved.
In many ways, however, the pain was the least of it. Worse were the comments, the looks, the seemingly endless questions. First Sykes, then the others. 'What happened to you, Sarge?' 'You look terrible, Sarge.' And what could he say? That, for no apparent reason, three Frenchmen had jumped on him and given him a going-over? It was so bloody humiliating. And Blackstone had let slip that he'd rescued him, saved his life, even. The bastard. Tanner had known he was making a bad show of hiding his feelings. When Hepworth said, 'I told you old Blackie was a good bloke,' Tanner had nearly knocked him cold there and then. It had taken much willpower to ignore the comment and walk away.
If only they could get on with the battle, everyone would forget about it, but six o'clock came and went, then seven and still they had received no orders. Lieutenant Bourne-Arton was sent to liaise with Brigade; soon after he had gone, a swarm of Junkers 88s had flown over and pasted Vimy, but the lieutenant had returned unscathed a short while later, with news that they would be forming up at ten a.m., and that the company was to rendezvous with the rest of the right-hand attack column at eleven a.m. in Neuville-St-Vaast, a village a mile or so on the far side of Vimy Ridge. That meant a further two hours of sitting around, re-cleaning weapons, and suffering the nudges and comments of the men.
'Come on, Sarge,' said Sykes, as they waited out on the village square. 'Have a tab and cheer up a bit.' He lit Tanner a cigarette and passed it to him.
Tanner took it and grunted his thanks. He hadn't really spoken to Sykes about it, but now he felt more inclined to do so. 'It was Blackstone, Stan.'
'I might have known,' said Sykes. 'What did happen between you two? In India, I mean.'
'It was a bit like now. Him trying to run the show. He had everyone in his pocket - not just the platoon but others too.'
'Not you, though?'
Tanner smiled. 'No. I don't know why but I instinctively mistrusted him. I think he sensed it. Anyway, he went out of his way to make life difficult.' Tanner paused to draw on his cigarette.
'I see,' said Sykes.
'I began to realize he was a coward,' Tanner continued. 'Throughout the Loe Agra campaign he'd do anything to avoid a scrap. Anyway, one day I told him what I thought.'
'And it wasn't appreciated.'
'No. Anyway, he also had this racket going - opium. He was trading with the Wazirs. I'm not quite sure how he did it, but I think he was nicking arms and handing them over in return for the stuff, then selling it on.'
'Jesus - and them guns was being used against our own chaps?'
'To be fair, I couldn't swear to it. But, yes, I think so. At any rate, those Wazirs always seemed to have a fair amount of British kit. Anyway, next thing I know, I'm being accused of trading opium and I'm in choky awaiting the firing squad.'
'So what happened?'
'I had an alibi. And I'd just been put up for this.' He touched the ribbon on his battle-blouse. 'My record was pretty good and the intelligence officer was a decent bloke. He didn't like Blackstone either and stuck his neck out for me. I got off, but I couldn't nail anything on Blackstone. The bastard.'
'So that's why you 'ate 'is guts.'
'That's why. And nothing I've seen of him since joining this mob has made me think he's changed.'
'Blokes like that never do.'
'No.'
He looked up as footsteps approached and saw CQS Slater. 'Here's trouble,' he muttered.
'Tanner,' said Slater, 'the OC wants you.' He glared at Sykes. 'Now.'
Tanner followed him in silence to the low brick house a short distance beyond the church that Barclay had made his company headquarters. It had been abandoned by its owner, but most of the belongings were still there,
