Darkest Hour

'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, and as Tanner entered he saw pictures on the wall, florid wallpaper running up the staircase, a crucifix and shelves full of books. To one side of the entrance there was a living room, to the other a kitchen. It was startlingly unmilitary in appearance.

'In there,' said Slater.

Tanner entered to find Captain Barclay sitting at the head of an old pine table. Behind him, leaning against an unlit range, stood Blackstone. A girl sat beside Barclay at the table. At first, Tanner didn't recognize her, and then it dawned on him that it was she who had been wailing in the church the previous evening - the one Blackstone had managed to silence.

Tanner saluted. 'You wanted to see me, sir.'

'Christ, man, look at you!' snapped Barclay. 'You're an absolute disgrace.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' Tanner replied. 'I was set upon last night.'

'By three Frenchmen - yes, I've heard, and I'm not surprised after what you did.'

What's this? Alarm bells rang. 'I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand.'

'No? Are you sure?' He indicated the girl. 'Are you telling me she's lying?'

'I don't know what you're talking about, sir.' He looked at the girl, who avoided his gaze.

'Mademoiselle Lafoy here claims you raped her last night.'

'What? But that's absurd!' Tanner's heart quickened and a dull veil of intense dread swept over him. His legs felt unsteady.

'It was him,' said the girl, her accent heavy. 'He - he raped me!'

'I did nothing of the sort,' said Tanner. 'I swear it, sir. She was crying in the church last night. The CSM calmed her down and then she left. That is the only time I've ever seen her in my life.'

'And you think a French girl you claim you've never seen before would make such an allegation if it wasn't true?' said Blackstone. 'Give over, Sergeant.'

Tanner glared at him. 'I don't know what her motives are, sir,' he said to Barclay, 'but I tell you she's lying.' He turned to Blackstone again. 'Someone with a grudge against me must have put her up to it.' And then he saw the girl glance at Blackstone - a brief flicker, but unmistakable. It was all the proof he needed. I'll bloody kill him.

'Well, I'm sorry, Tanner, but I don't believe you,' said Barclay. 'You're a good soldier, I'll admit that, but you're trouble. You have been from the moment you joined this company and I can't help having a dim view of your character.'

'Based on what, sir?'

'Don't answer back, Tanner.'

'This is ridiculous,' snarled Tanner. 'I know who's behind it, sir.' He nodded at Blackstone. 'And I'll prove it too - one way or another.' He turned to Mademoiselle Lafoy. 'How much did he pay you, eh?' The girl flinched, frightened by his anger.

'That will do, Tanner!' shouted Barclay. His face had reddened, and then, as though recognizing the need to compose himself, he placed his hands carefully on the table in front of him and said, in a slow, measured voice, 'You'll have a chance to defend yourself, but for now you're relieved of your duties. You'll wait here until the MPs arrive.'

Tanner stared at Barclay, barely able to take in what the OC had said.

'And you're demoted to the ranks,' said Blackstone, unable to hide the triumph in his voice. He walked to Tanner, took out a clasp knife and grasped Tanner's arm.

Tanner grabbed the CSM's wrist. 'You'll pay for this,' he whispered to Blackstone, 'and that's not a warning. It's a statement of fact.'

'Let go of my hand, Private,' said Blackstone, and then, out of view of Barclay, he winked. Stitch by stitch, Tanner's sergeant stripes were unpicked, first on one arm, then the other, until all that was left were the loose khaki threads still hanging from his serge battle-blouse.

Corporal Sykes was worried about Tanner, but he was also worried for himself and the rest of the lads. They were about to go into battle, and Sykes, for one, knew there was no one else he would rather have at his side than their sergeant. The other lads needed him too - they all did. Yet Tanner was in a bad way - clouted the previous evening and in a black mood like he'd never seen before. And that was before Slater had turned up. Something was wrong, he was sure of it. Tanner had been gone an hour, and they were due to form up shortly.

Sykes paced up and down the square, the scent of the lime trees heavy on the morning air, smoked a cigarette, then decided to find Mr Peploe. They'd barely seen the lieutenant since the previous afternoon - he'd been found digs in the village where he'd been resting and giving himself a chance to recover from his wound. Well, to hell with it, thought Sykes. He'd have to disturb him now.

The house was a short way up the road to Vimy Ridge - a brick affair with curious limestone blocks along the foundations and at the corners. Sykes knocked on the door, which was answered by Private Smailes.

'Smiler,' said Sykes, 'is Mr Peploe about?'

'Good morning, Corporal,' he heard the lieutenant say from inside. He appeared, already wearing his webbing, kitbag and holster.

'How are you feeling, sir?' Sykes asked.

'Better, thank you. Head's still a bit sore, but I have deep reserves of courage and I think I can now resume full duties as platoon commander.' He grinned.

'Glad to hear it, sir.'

'Shall we get going, then?' said Peploe.

'Er, sir,' said Sykes, 'it's Sergeant Tanner, sir.'

'What about him?' said Peploe, anxiety clouding his face. 'What's happened?'

Sykes explained. 'I thought maybe you could check with the OC what's going on,' he added.

'Absolutely, Corporal,' said Peploe, clapping his damaged tin hat back on his head. 'Come with me. We'll see him right away.'