'They wouldn't have known a thing about it, sir.'
The lieutenant nodded. 'No. I suppose not.'
Tanner offered him a cigarette from a packet he had been given at Petit Vimy. He took it gratefully, but his hands were shaking so much he could hardly put it into his mouth.
'We'll help get the wounded back, sir.'
They took six men to the church, which had become a temporary field dressing station. Tanner had just helped set down a gunner with a bad groin wound when he saw Sykes and Hepworth carrying the body of a young woman. Her face, clothes and dark hair were covered with dust but even so he recognized her immediately. 'That's the girl,' he said, as they laid her down on the ground.
'Which girl?' asked Hepworth.
'Mademoiselle Lafoy,' said Tanner. Dark blood had matted her hair and run down her face. 'The girl who accused me.'
'It's a shame, Sarge,' said Hepworth, 'but at least she can't testify against you no more.'
'For God's sake, Hep,' snapped Tanner. 'I'd far rather have seen her alive and found out who persuaded her to set me up.'
'And for how much,' added Sykes.
'Yes. I wonder what it would take to persuade a hungry, homeless girl to do that.' The rain, which had stopped for a short while, now began again. Fat drops landed on her face and arms, cleaning away the powdery layer of dust. Tanner looked away, and heard Blackstone order everyone to fall in.
'Come on, boys,' he said. 'Let's get going, iggery, eh?'
Later that evening there was another air raid, but by that time D Company was dug into the north-west of Givenchy, and the bombs were directed further along the ridge. At ten, orders arrived that they were to hold Vimy Ridge to the end. Twenty minutes later, enemy tanks were reported to be no more than six hundred yards away. They heard the squeak and rattle of tracks but it was too dark to see. The men were restless and jittery but Tanner reckoned they were safe until the morning. Then just after midnight new orders arrived. They were not going to hold the ridge after alclass="underline" instead they were to head back to a new line of defence behind the La Bassee canal, some ten miles to the north-east.
Wearily they got to their feet, gathered their kit and tramped back through the woods, Bren carriers clattering through the trees on their flank covering their withdrawal. At Petit Vimy, trucks and transport were waiting for them. Desultory gunfire boomed across the night, but otherwise the violence of the previous day had been left behind. Tanner sat at the back of a large fifteen-hundredweight Bedford, Sykes beside him. The rain had stopped and a dense canopy of stars twinkled above them. Tanner's clothes were still damp and he shivered. Behind them, he could hear carriers wheeling about, but of the enemy panzers there was no sign. By one a.m. on Friday, 24 May, the column was trundling down through Vimy, vehicles nose to tail. A snail's pace, but better than walking through the night on exhausted legs.
Withdrawing again, thought Tanner. Even so, he was glad to be getting away from that place, a part of France that seemed haunted by death. He lit a cigarette and smoked it in silence, watching the pale smoke disperse into the cool night air. When it was finished, he flicked away the stub, closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
By mid-morning on the twenty-fourth, the men of D Company were digging in yet again, this time in a large, thick wood a mile or so behind the La Bassee canal near the main road between Carvin and Libercourt, some fifteen miles north-east of Arras. Still attached to 151st Brigade and the 8th Durham Light Infantry, they were told to rest there for as long as possible. However, no sooner had they begun to dig their new slit trenches than they were joined on the opposite side of the road by large numbers of French troops, who had moved in with the Luftwaffe seemingly on their tail like a swarm of angry bees. The planes began dive-bombing and strafing almost immediately.
'Some bloody rest this,' muttered Sykes, as 'Fanner squatted with him in their slit trench.
'Could be worse, Stan,' said Tanner. 'Could still be raining. And at least we're getting our rations.'
The delivery of food had done wonders for the men's mood. Earlier, near Carvin, they had been given breakfast in a disused factory. This had been followed by the establishment of B Echelon's kitchens and the smell of tinned stew floating to them through the wood. Much to Tanner's relief, supplies of cigarettes had also arrived.
By evening that day, enemy air activity had melted away and the sound of the guns to the south lessened until a strange quiet descended over the wood - so much so that as dusk was falling, Tanner heard faint birdsong a short distance away. 'Hear that, sir?' he said to Peploe, as they walked along the platoon lines. 'It's a nightingale. I haven't heard one since I was a boy.'
Peploe smiled. 'They didn't have them in India, then?'
'No, but they always used to sing back home. At least, there was one part of a wood where you could always hear them. Especially at this time of year - May and early June.'
'It's always been my favourite season on the farm - the leaves on the trees out at last, everything so damned green and lush, the whole summer stretching ahead. And cricket. Lots and lots of cricket. You play, Sergeant?'
'I do, sir. Love the game. That was one thing that linked India with home - and, of course, in India, you could play pretty much all year round.'
'And here we are getting bombed and strafed and shot up. I must have been mad to join up.' He grinned. Tanner was glad that his mood had improved. 'Still,' Peploe added, 'at least it's quiet tonight.'
'And we should make the most of it, sir. God knows what'll happen tomorrow.'
The following day began with orders that rations were to be cut by fifty per cent. Then, early in the afternoon, came the news that another counter-attack was to take place: 5th and 50th Divisions, with four French divisions, would thrust southwards towards Cambrai, which meant 151st Brigade would be very much involved. The first obstacle - a preliminary to the main attack that would go in the following day - was to get back across the La Bassee canal in the face of what was expected to be heavy enemy opposition. By four in the afternoon, a troop-carrying company had arrived, dispersing its trucks and vehicles through the wood ready to move the men forward to the start line of their night-time assault.
Tanner never enjoyed the hours before an attack. Apprehension gnawed at him, replacing hunger with an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach. He cleaned his weapons - his rifle and the MP35 - then cleaned them again, and took on more ammunition, although less was available than he would have liked. He checked his kit, smoked and brewed mugs of sweet tea. He knew the others were in the same boat - if anything, they were probably more nervous than he was; scared, even. Certainly their drawn, pale faces suggested so.
A little under twenty miles away, as the crow flew, General Lord Gort was reaching a decision that would reprieve the Yorkshire Rangers and all those troops involved in the proposed attack. Three days earlier he had moved his command post to the small village of Premesques, north-west of Lille. The British commander-in-chief and his advance staff had occupied a rambling old house in the heart of the village. Now, in a wood-panelled ground-floor room, with thick beams and a low ceiling, Gort was staring at the maps of northern France and Belgium that had been hung on the walls when he had moved in.