Darkest Hour

'I reckon he's a croaker, Sarge,' said Sykes.

'Well, he's certainly not going to get out now,' said Tanner. They lost sight of the Hurricane but a few moments later they heard the crash - a sharp crack followed by a dull boom. 'I tell you, I'm bloody glad I'm not flying around in those,' he added.

He had then shifted his gaze back to the swirl of aircraft, and spotted another Hurricane diving out of the fray with a Messerschmitt swooping down on it from behind. 'Watch out, you dozy sod,' Tanner said. Then he heard the Hurricane's engine splutter and die and saw the aircraft begin to fall. 'Not another one - Jesus.' He trained his binoculars and fixed a bead as the Hurricane curved out of the sky. When the stricken aircraft was at no more than three or four thousand feet, he started. 'I remember those squadron markings.'

'What are they?' Sykes asked.

'LO. LO-Z.' He handed his binoculars to Sykes. 'Here, have a dekko.'

Lieutenant Peploe joined them, shielding his eyes as he gazed up at the Hurricane. 'That's 632 Squadron.'

Sykes whistled. 'Well, what do you know? You're right, sir. Can see them clear as day.'

'And that Hurricane up there is Lyell's,' Peploe added. 'LO-Z was his plane.'

'Look!' shouted McAllister, from the neighbouring slit trench. 'He's got out!'

They watched Lyell's deadweight figure plummet, then a white parachute balloon open.

'Thank God for that,' said Sykes.

'He's drifting,' said Tanner. 'Stupid bastard's going to end up the wrong side of the sodding canal.'

Wordlessly, they watched Lyell descend until he hit the ground about five hundred yards up the hill on the far side, directly opposite the French on the Rangers' right and a short distance from the line of thick wood.

They watched breathlessly as the parachute silk flopped to the ground.

'Is he moving, Sarge?' said Sykes.

'I'm trying to see,' Tanner answered, as he peered through his binoculars. Lyell seemed to be lying lifelessly in the meadow. 'I can't tell whether he's alive or dead.'

They could all see him now.

'It looked like he'd come down all right,' said McAllister.

Tanner shrugged. 'Maybe he's concussed. Or broken his leg or something.'

'Should we shout to him or what?' said Sykes.

'We should go and see Captain Barclay,' said Peploe. 'Tanner, you come with me.'

Company Headquarters had been established in the white station house set back from the canal and beneath a high bank that overlooked the single-track railway. A field telephone had been set up but, Tanner noticed, as they went into the house, there was no sign of a radio transmitter.

'Where's Captain Barclay?' Peploe asked one of the men squatting by the field telephone.

'Out the back, sir. Him and Captain Wrightson.'

They found the two officers sitting at the foot of the bank. Both had mugs of tea, and Barclay had his Webley on his lap, an oily rag beside it.

'Peploe,' said Barclay, flicking away a fly from his face. 'All dug in?'

'Yes, sir. Sir, it's about the Hurricane that's just come down.'

'What Hurricane?'

'The dogfight, sir.' Peploe looked at Barclay as though he was mad. 'The one that's just been going on above us.'

Barclay faced Wrightson. 'Oh, yes, we heard that. Machine-guns going off and so on. I hadn't realized a plane had come down.'

'At least two, sir,' said Tanner.

Barclay glanced at him briefly - you again - then returned to Peploe. 'What about them?'

'A pilot's landed on the far bank, sir,' continued Peploe, 'opposite the French. We're not sure if he's alive, but the thing is, sir, I think he may be your brother-in- law.'

'What?' Barclay took his pipe from his mouth. 'What are you talking about? It can't be Charlie.'

'His plane had the same squadron markings, sir. LO-Z. That was Squadron Leader Lyell's personal aircraft.'

'But how on earth could you tell?'

'Sergeant Tanner was watching through binoculars, sir. He saw the markings on the fuselage.'

CSM Blackstone appeared in the doorway at the back of the house. 'What's going on, sir?' he asked.

'It seems my brother-in-law's been shot down and is lying on the far bank. Tanner saw the code on the Hurricane as it came down.'

Blackstone snorted. 'With respect, sir, I find it hard to believe that Sergeant Tanner could possibly see that from down here. Sure you're not just trying to get back into the OC's good books, Tanner?'

'I know what I saw,' said Tanner.

'Sir, who the pilot is - surely that's irrelevant,' said Peploe. 'I just wanted to let you know that it might be Squadron Leader Lyell and to ask your permission to send a team of men to fetch him. Since he's opposite the

French I thought I should clear it with you and also ask their permission. There's a bridge just round the bend in the river,' he added. 'We could cross there - or even go over the one at Oisquercq.'

Barclay nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'All right. You speak Frog, don't you, Peploe?'

'A little, sir.'

'Good. Then let's get the men ready and speak to the French commander at the farm.' He turned to Tanner. 'But I think it only fair that once we've cleared it with the Frogs you go and get Squadron Leader Lyell, Tanner. A chance to make amends for your indiscretion back at Manston, eh?'

Tanner swallowed hard, his face rigid with the effort of controlling his irritation. 'Yes, sir,' he said. 'I'd be glad to.' He meant that, at least: it would give him an opportunity to gather his bearings. It was hard when you were travelling along roads with high hedgerows, through villages and woods, to get much of a picture of the land around. With the tree-lined fields and the woods behind them, Tanner had only a vague sense of how this part of the Belgian countryside fitted together. The slope on which Lyell had landed would, he guessed, give him a clear and far-reaching view back towards their own lines.

'How many men do you think you need?' Peploe asked.

'Three should do it, sir. Two to carry him, if necessary, and two to watch our backs.'

'All right. Who do you want to take?'

'Sykes, sir, with Hepworth and Ellis.'

'Why don't you take Lance-Corporal Smailes as well?'

'He's done the medic's course?'

'Yes.'

'Good thinking, sir. I don't think there's time to go to Battalion for stretcher-bearers.'

'Just get on with it, Sergeant,' snapped Barclay. 'The poor man could be dying in agony for all we know. I want to mount this rescue operation right away.'

When they reached the farm, they were stopped by North African troops who stared at them sullenly, with pointed rifles, until a young sous-lieutenant came over and ordered his men to lower their weapons. Apologizing, he led them to Battalion Headquarters at the main farmhouse.