It was a slow journey. Near the edge of the village, the survivors from Warlus had had to stop to clear burning debris from the road but, thankfully, they had met no resistance. It was still dark by the time they reached Duisans, but the stench of battle was heavy on the air. The chateau and village were now deserted; whatever had remained of B and C Companies had clearly fallen back.
On they trundled, back up the ridge that ran between Duisans and Maroeuil where earlier they had seen British tanks advancing. By the time they rumbled into Neuville-St-Vaast, the first streaks of dawn were creeping over the horizon. Smoke still drifted over Arras, but the distant tower of the belfry still stood. Despite the discomfort of sitting on the back of a moving French tank in the crisp cold of early dawn, Tanner dozed, imagining a big plate of bacon, egg and bread fried in beef dripping, as he and his father had eaten when he was a boy. When he woke again, it was nearly six and they had driven back over Vimy Ridge and come to a halt in Vimy village.
Seventy-four men and officers were all that remained of nearly three infantry companies, an anti-tank battery and a carrier platoon. Exhausted, they slid off the tanks, scrambled out of the carriers and collapsed at the side of the road. Men milled about. Vehicles - trucks, carriers and several cars - lined the road beneath a row of young horse-chestnuts. Tanner smoked the last of Timpke's cigarettes as Captain Barclay and the lieutenant headed off towards Brigade Headquarters.
'What happens now?' Sykes asked Tanner. It would be another sunny day, and the air was filled with birdsong.
'God knows. Hopefully get some grub.' Several of the men were already asleep, stretched out on the dewy grass beneath the horse-chestnuts. Tanner wondered when the fighting would start again. Enemy bombers would be over soon, and those two German divisions would be gearing themselves up for the next surge forward. It was supposed to have been a counter-attack - an attempt to push the enemy back, but here they were, one day on, in exactly the same place as they had started, but with good men dead, wounded and taken prisoner. In their own company, they were now down to just two officers; 11 Platoon were short of eighteen men - half their number. He wondered whether Timpke had been among the dead in the barn; he'd not seen him, but then again he'd not looked that hard either. But, Christ, all those bodies. Prisoners were a pain in the backside when you were busy fighting, but killing them in cold blood - he could barely believe it, even now. He closed his eyes. No doubt Blackstone would turn up, winking and slapping the lads on the back, everyone's mate. The murdered Germans would be swept under the carpet while the accusations of rape would be brought to the fore. And, overhead, the
Sykes nudged him now. 'The lieutenant's coming.'
Tanner glanced up and saw Peploe approaching.
'Tanner,' he said, 'come with me a moment, will you?'
Tanner stood up and went to him. Dark circles surrounded Peploe's eyes and a growth of gingery beard covered his chin. It was amazing, Tanner thought, how much fighting a war aged people.
'Captain Barclay wants to talk to us,' said Peploe, 'with Blackstone.'
'Bloody hell.'
'He wants to clear the air.'
Tanner eyed him, expecting to see an ironic smile, but the lieutenant's face was set hard.
They found Captain Barclay and CSM Blackstone standing outside a bar that had evidently been requisitioned as part of 151st Brigade's headquarters.
'Ah, there you are,' said Barclay, taking his pipe from his mouth. His eyelid flickered and he rubbed it self- consciously.
'Morning, Jack,' said Blackstone. 'How's the head?' He circled a finger around his own face.
Tanner didn't answer. 'You wanted to see me, sir.'
'Yes, all three of you, actually,' said Barclay. 'We've had a difficult twenty-four hours and we've probably got some difficult days ahead. Jerry's snapping at our heels and we've lost some damn good men.'
Tanner wished he'd get to the point.
'Now, I know that you, Tanner, and the CSM are not exactly friends, but I want you to bury the hatchet. I don't want to hear any more about this girl or the dead prisoners.'
'But, sir,' interrupted Peploe, 'you can't just sweep it under the table. Forty men were murdered.'
Barclay smoothed his moustache. 'Blackstone has given me his solemn word that neither he nor Slater had anything to do with it, and his word is good enough for me.'
'But Tanner's word wasn't good enough for you yesterday morning.'
'I've told you, Lieutenant, that I consider both matters closed.'
'We handed over guarding the prisoners to some of the DLI lads,' said Blackstone.
'Who?' Peploe asked. 'Don't you think we should be speaking to their commanding officer?'
'Colonel Beart's been sent to hospital,' said Blackstone.
'For God's sake, someone must have taken over - Major McLaren. He was second in command yesterday. Sir, war or not, it was an appalling crime that cannot go unpunished. I mean, damn it, I thought we were fighting to stop the tyranny of the Nazis. Condone this and we prove ourselves no better than they are.'
'Peploe, my dear fellow,' said Barclay, attempting a more placatory approach, 'the Durhams have lost nearly half their men. Their OC is in hospital and two company commanders are in the bag. I hear Sixth Battalion has suffered similar losses. How well do you think it will go down if we march in there accusing their men of slaughtering forty Nazis - and, let's face it, they were all SS men, the very worst of the worst. I know this probably sounds a bit cold-hearted but, personally, I can't help feeling the world is better off without them.'
Tanner saw the flush in Peploe's cheeks. The lieutenant's jaw tightened and for a moment Tanner wondered
