Lyell muttered in exasperation, then said, 'So what do you suggest we do?'
'They're only three-quarters of an hour ahead. It's getting dark, but there's light enough to march by. We'll keep going as quickly as we can. Hopefully, they've stopped for the night already and we'll catch them up. The men will just have to wait for their supper.'
But at Steenkerque there was no sign of the battalion; neither had the villagers seen any British troops passing through in the past few hours. There had been some French colonial troops, but that was all.
On the far side of the village, they halted at a farm. Several dogs stood a short distance away from them, barking protectively at the strange figures of the soldiers. It was now coming up to ten o'clock and completely dark, the only light coming from a half-moon and the stars that twinkled amid patchy cloud. And it was cool, now, too, the air damp and fragrant with the smell of uncut hay and dusty soil. Standing by the farm's entrance, Tanner breathed in deeply, remembering the sweet early-summer smell from his boyhood.
A voice yelled at the dogs, then a door opened releasing a thin shaft of light. A man called. Once again, it was left to Lieutenant Peploe to do the talking. He and Captain Barclay approached the farmer; a brief conversation ensued, then both men were ushered into the house.
Of course, the farmer had no choice in the matter - what could he do to stop two platoons of British soldiers who demanded to be fed? - but, as Peploe confided to Tanner a little later, Monsieur Selage was a fierce patriot, hated Germans and seemed only too happy to help his allies, the British, providing cheese, eggs and a number of chickens.
'You've done well, sir,' said Tanner, as they stood in the yard as men from each section collected their makeshift rations. 'That lot should fill a hole.'
'It's only one chicken per ten men, but better than nothing. Mind you, I hope they cook them properly in the dark. Last thing we need now is everyone getting sick from eating raw chicken.'
Someone coughed behind them, and they turned to see Corporal Wallis from Company Headquarters.
'Excuse me, sir,' he said, 'but the OC wants you and Sergeant Tanner in the house.'
'All right,' said Peploe.
They followed him into the kitchen where Captain Barclay, Blackstone, Lieutenant Bourne-Arton and Sergeant Seaton of 11 Platoon were already standing around an old pine table. Squadron Leader Lyell was resting on a cushioned window-seat, while the farmer and, Tanner assumed, his wife stood at the range, attending to some food.
'Ah, there you are,' said Barclay, as they entered. 'I've been thinking about what we should do.'
Tanner caught Peploe's attention, then nodded towards the farmer and his wife.
'Sir?' said Peploe. 'Don't you think we should have this conversation in private?'
'Eh?' said Barclay. 'It's all right - they don't understand English.'
'I speak a little,' said the woman.
'Oh,' said Barclay, straightening.
'For God's.sake,' muttered Lyell.
Flustered, Barclay said to the woman, 'Er, would you mind awfully leaving us for a few minutes?'
She tugged at her husband's sleeve and the two left the room. Then, clearing his throat, Barclay spread the map upon the table. 'Right. God knows where the rest of Battalion have gone. Must have turned off somewhere along here, I suppose.' He pointed to the road between Rebecq and Steenkerque.
'Whatever, Hector,' said Lyell. 'We've lost them. That's the point.'
'Yes,' said Barclay. 'And, frankly, I don't think we can bank on finding them again now. Maybe we will - you never know - but from now on, we've got to think and act for ourselves.'
'Then we head due west, sir,' said Blackstone. 'If we don't bump into the rest of the battalion, we'll probably meet some other British troops. It's a general retreat, after all.'
'Yes, but we don't know where we're retreating to, CSM,' said Barclay. 'Could be south, could be north.' He cleared his throat again. 'But we do know where BEF Headquarters is.' He looked up at the others. 'Arras. I hardly think the Germans will overrun that before we can get there.'
'Arras? But how far's that?' said Blackstone.
'Hundred miles at the most.'
'Why don't we work it out on the map, sir?' suggested Peploe.
Barclay looked at them sheepishly. 'I haven't one - not of that area, at any rate. I'm afraid Captain Wrightson has the maps we used to get here.'
'Now I've heard it all,' said Lyell. He'd done nothing but whine ever since they'd picked him up, Tanner thought, and had they not bothered in the first place, they wouldn't have lost contact with the rest of the battalion. He couldn't understand why the captain wasn't firmer with the man.
'I thought we could ask the farmer if he had a map,' said Barclay, his unlit pipe sticking from the side of his mouth.
'Jesus wept,' said Lyell. 'I've got one.' He delved into the inside pocket of his tunic, took out a crumpled map of Belgium and northern France and handed it to Lieutenant Bourne-Arton.
Everyone gathered round as Barclay spread it out across the table. 'Less than a hundred miles,' said Barclay. 'More like seventy or so. We'll head towards Mons, then Douai and Arras. Agreed?'
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Blackstone said, 'If you say so, sir.'
'Good,' said Barclay, trying to brighten. 'We can't afford to stop for the night - we can rest up at some point tomorrow. I suggest we aim to be on the road again at, say, midnight. All right?'
Tanner left Peploe and the other officers in the farmhouse and went out into the yard to find the platoon. He only had to follow his nose, and headed through a gate at the end of the yard into a pasture that led to the river. Dim lights flickered ahead of him - from torches, from the low paraffin flames of stoves and the glowing red ends of cigarettes. The smell of chicken and eggs, frying in mess tins, wafted into the still night air, blending with the dewy damp of the meadow and the whiff of tobacco smoke.
He found Sykes's section standing or squatting around a Primus stove by an ageing willow on the riverbank.
'So what are we doing?' Sykes asked.
'Keep going tonight.'
'Thought as much. Where are we headed?'
'BEF Headquarters at Arras.'
'Jesus,' said McAllister. 'If you ask me, Sarge, that captain doesn't know his arse from his elbow.'
'That's enough, Mac.'
'It's true, though, sir.'
'I said, that's enough.'
'I'm only saying what everyone thinks. We had the whole battalion not half a mile away and we've managed to lose them.' Bell and Kershaw nodded in agreement. 'One of the lads in Company HQ said that the CSM told the captain we should have all gone to Oisquercq with Ten Platoon and those Jerry prisoners. If you ask me, Captain Barclay should have listened to him.'