'Just like sodding Norway,' McAllister had complained. 'Why does Jerry always seem to have more of everything than us?'
'Search me,' said Sykes.
'I'll tell you what's really getting on my nerves,' McAllister had said. 'It's this place. Graves everywhere and sodding shell-holes. The sooner we're out of here the better. Gives me the creeps.'
Tanner agreed. His father had fought nearby and wouldn't have thought much about his son being bombed on the same stretch of troubled land that had been battled over some twenty years earlier. Through the trees near Petit Vimy, they had seen the tall, white Canadian war memorial. It was a stark reminder that Tanner could have done without.
And they were losing - the German gains could no longer be seen as mere temporary setbacks; rather, Tanner recognized, the British had most probably been plunged into an irreversible defeat. He had sensed it in Norway, and he sensed it again now. Of course, he had little idea of what was really going on, but he'd put money on it that few of the top brass did either. There never seemed to be enough forces in the right place to stem the flow. Lieutenant Peploe had told him they would be attacking south of Arras with a composite force of more than two divisions, but there had been nothing of the sort. As far as he had been able to tell, there had been two infantry battalions, a handful of tanks and some field and anti-tank guns. Where had the rest been? And what could they possibly achieve now? They were sitting on this ridge, supported by a few anti-tank guns, being bombed and blasted and waiting for Jerry to bring himself up to strength. It was hopeless.
It was still raining as they set off, in companies, platoons and sections, heads bowed and gas capes glistening, through the woods towards Givenchy. They passed across the Canadian national park, with its warnings of unexploded shells, then wove past the memorial and towards Givenchy. As they trudged down the ridge, Tanner noticed an anti-tank gun battery to the south-east of the village, below the memorial, and was struck by how poorly camouflaged it was. An easy spot for any reconnaissance plane, even on a rainy day.
It was as though the Luftwaffe had read his thoughts. They were nearing the edge of the village when he heard the familiar rumble of aero-engines, faint at first, then growing rapidly in volume, until two dozen Junkers 88s swooped low out of the cloud. 'Take cover!' he shouted. Men flung themselves into the sodden grassy bank at the side of the road. A moment later, bombs were falling, a brief whistle then an ear-splitting crash as they exploded. Tanner lay on the trembling ground, his hands over his ears. A bigger detonation now ripped the air. More bombs whistled. One man was screaming. Some in the village were firing, shooting rifles and Brens. The ground shuddered again and Tanner pressed his head to it, breathing in the scent of wet grass and earth.
The bombers were soon gone, disappearing into the cloud. Tanner, with the rest of the men, got to his feet, brushing off damp blades of grass, and gazed at the village, now shrouded in a veil of dust and smoke. Several houses were burning, flames flickering through the haze. In the centre of the village a column of angry black smoke swirled. Cries and shouts could be heard.
Up ahead, from A and D Companies, orders were barked. Blackstone gave the command for the Rangers to fall in, and they stood there for a few minutes, watching the flames, hearing timber burn and masonry collapse while Captain Barclay went forward for further instructions. He reappeared a short while later, his face set, and spoke with Blackstone and Peploe.
'What's happening, sir?' Tanner asked, as Peploe rejoined the platoon.
'A and D Companies are moving into position cross-country avoiding the village. We're to go in and help clear up.'
'Better than sitting still in the rain, I suppose.'
In places it was hard to get through. A number of houses had disintegrated, rubble spewing across the road. The men worked their way around it and eventually reached the centre of the village. The church was still intact, but half a dozen homes around it had been destroyed. Choking dust and smoke filled the air. Tanner wetted his handkerchief, then tied it round his mouth, encouraging the others to do the same. Near the square, where he had been attacked three days before, the blackened skeletal frame of a truck smouldered while at either end of it two more vehicles were ablaze. A sudden gust swept down the street and the flames leaped, black smoke billowing into the sky. Soldiers and civilians were coughing and stumbling about, disoriented. An officer - a signals captain from 5th Division - was scrabbling at bits of fallen brickwork. 'Come on, give me a bloody hand!' he yelled. 'My men are under this lot.'
Tanner hurried over to him. 'Sir,' he said, looking at the wreckage, 'there's nothing we can do.'
'Can't just leave 'em here,' he said, and Tanner noticed the tears that streaked the grime on his face.
'Sir,' he said again.
The officer stood up and stared at the sky. 'The murdering bastards,' he said, his voice cracking. 'I had six good men in that house.' He picked up a broken brick and hurled it.
In the main square there were several large bomb craters. A few women were screaming while an old lady knelt outside the church, praying. Tanner saw Peploe and went to him. 'Sir, what are we supposed to be doing? We can't clear all this rubble.'
'God knows.' He looked up as Captain Barclay and a major approached.
'Peploe, this is Major McLaren,' said Barclay. 'He's taken over as battalion commander of Eighth DLL'
Peploe and Tanner saluted.
'You can help the wounded,' said McLaren, 'but I don't want you wasting too much time here.' He nodded towards the burning vehicles. 'Bastards hit an ammunition truck. Fifth Div artillery were passing through - damned unlucky timing.' His eyes rested on the debris. 'In any case, there are still enough of them to sort this place out.
I'd rather you were in position on D Company's flank.' He looked at his watch. 'Half an hour, no more. Jerry's only a few miles away so we might see some action later.'
It was a grim task collecting the dead and wounded. Tanner found an old man weeping over his wife, who had lost a leg, shorn clean off. He and Smailes had lifted her but she had died as they tried to hoist her into their arms. Then Smailes had been called to the anti-tank battery on the south-east of the village and Tanner followed with Corporal Cooper's section. Several large craters now pockmarked the field where they were positioned. Two of the guns had been put out of action, and one of the gun crews had been blown to smithereens, body parts flung in a wide arc to hang in trees and hedgerows. One young gunner was wandering about, his face and body covered with another man's blood. Two of Cooper's men vomited and Tanner couldn't blame them: it was one thing seeing an animal torn to pieces, quite another a human and a comrade. They'll get used to it. He certainly had, and while Smailes administered what help he could, Tanner removed bits of flesh from the hedges and branches near the guns, placed them in a pile a short distance away, then covered them with soil and stones from the craters.
'Thanks,' said an ashen-faced lieutenant. 'Very good of you.'
'It's easier for me, sir,' said Tanner. 'I didn't know them.'
The lieutenant swallowed. His uniform and face were filthy. 'It was all s-so sudden. One minute they were there, the next they'd g-gone.'