They reached Steenvoorde at around eight a.m., halting in the cobbled town square. Peploe and Tanner got out of the cab, and while the lieutenant went to speak with Barclay, Tanner ambled to the back of the truck, lighting a cigarette on the way. McAllister was playing cards with Hepworth and Chambers, but most of the others were just sitting on the wooden benches that ran down each side of the carriage. Their faces were dirty and smudged with rain. Those old enough to shave had two days' growth of beard. Clearly they were tired and fed-up.
'What's going on here, Sarge?' said Sykes, getting down beside him.
'This is Steenvoorde. It's where we're supposed to be.'
'Apart from us an' the Durham lads it seems deserted.'
'Probably some cock-up,' said Tanner. 'Maybe the front's moved.'
Ten minutes later, Peploe reappeared. 'We're off again,' he said.
'Where to now, sir?' asked Sykes.
'Not far. A couple of miles the other side of town.'
Once they were back in the cab Peploe confided, 'Colonel McLaren's furious. He'd been expecting someone at least to meet us. Apparently some of our boys are at Cassel, a few miles further on, so he's ordered us to dig in and hide up halfway between the two while he tries to find out what on earth's going on.'
The road between Steenvoorde and Cassel was heavy with refugees, the same sad mass of people trudging to nowhere in particular so long as it was away from the fighting. Slowly the trucks jerked forward.
'Get out of the bloody way!' yelled the driver, as a cart blocked the road, his cheery bonhomie of the early hours long since gone.
'Shouting at them's hardly going to help,' said Peploe. 'They're homeless, the poor sods. Here,' he added, taking out his silver cigarette box, 'have a smoke and calm down.'
'Sorry, sir,' said the corporal, accepting. 'It's so bloody frustrating. I've had it up to here with refugees. If these people had all stayed at home, maybe we'd have been able to get around a bit better, like, and we wouldn't be losing this sodding war.'
He took them to the edge of a dense wood west of Cassel and there they got out. They were at the end of the line, several hundred yards to the left of A Company. The trucks reversed into an equally clogged track a short distance further on, then turned back in the direction of Steenvoorde. As the Rangers tramped across an open field towards a hedge a hundred yards or so from the road, Tanner watched the vehicles chug slowly through the mass of people.
They began to dig in yet again, this time in an L shape, facing south and west, behind a hedge on one side and a brook on the other. Soon they heard gunfire to the south-west and west. Once, a cloud of smoke drifted over the wood, but their view of Cassel, and whatever fighting was occurring there, was blocked. In a short time, Tanner and Smailes had dug a two-man slit trench big enough to lie down in. In Norway Tanner had cursed the useless- ness of the latest standard-issue entrenching tool for its lack of pick on the reverse end of the spade, but here, in the rich, soft Flanders clay, it did the job well enough, especially since Tanner had sharpened the edge so that it would cut better through turf. He was also pleased to see Lieutenant Peploe digging his own slit trench again. He was never too proud to get his hands dirty and Tanner liked that in him. 'Do you need a hand, sir?' Tanner asked, his own dug deep enough.
'It's all right, thanks, Sergeant,' Peploe replied. It was no longer raining and between breaks in the cloud the sun shone warmly. He paused to wipe his brow. 'Go along the line and check the chaps are all right, will you?'
'Yes, sir.' Tanner wandered down the line of freshly dug trenches, pausing first by McAllister and Chambers.
'Any idea how long we're here, Sarge?' said McAllister, his Bren already set up.
'No, Mac. Not the faintest.'
'It must be time to move on again now, isn't it, Sarge?' said Chambers, manning the Bren with McAllister. 'I mean, now that we've dug in an' all.'
'Just you keep watching ahead of you, Punter.'
He walked on, pleased to see how quickly the men had completed the task. They had staggered themselves well, making good use of natural cover; the Brens of each section were positioned in such a way that each gave the other covering fire. And he'd not said a thing. They had done it almost without thinking. Tanner smiled to himself. Three weeks ago, half of these boys had been little more than raw recruits. They were fast becoming soldiers.
He paused by Verity, who had dug a deeper hole than any of the others and was squatting inside it, his hands clasped around his rifle.
'Are you all right, Hedley?' Tanner asked him.
'Fine, Sarge.'
Tanner offered him a cigarette.
'Thanks, Sarge,' said Verity, taking it.
Tanner lit both. 'Do you bowl anything like him, then?'
'Hedley Verity?' He grinned sheepishly. 'I wish, Sarge. I try, though. I can certainly turn it a bit. Mind you, I've seen him play.'
'I'd pay good money to do that.'
'Last summer at Headingley when Yorkshire won the championship for the third time on t' trot,' said Verity, brightening. 'Sarge, it was brilliant. He got a five-for that day. I live in Leeds, see, and it's only a short way to the ground.' His expression dropped. 'Seems like an age ago now.'
'Well, I've always been a Hampshire supporter, it being the nearest county to Wiltshire.'
'Wiltshire?' said Verity. 'Is that where you're from?'
'Born and bred.'
'So why are you in the Rangers, Sarge?'
'It's a long story.'
Verity thought for a moment. Then, smiling once more, he said, 'Well, Sarge, since you're a Ranger, you really should switch allegiance. Yorkshire are the best side in the country by a mile.'
Tanner patted his shoulder. 'All right, Hedley, maybe I will.'
As the morning wore on, the enemy shelling grew louder, but by early afternoon it had quietened again as the fighting appeared to move south. The Rangers ate what was left of their half-rations and remained in their positions, waiting.
'Sir,' Tanner asked Peploe, 'don't you think we should try to find out what's going on? It's too quiet for my liking.'
Peploe thought about it. 'It's after three,' he said eventually. 'Maybe - yes. Let me go and see the OC.' He returned a short while later with orders for them to sit tight. 'He said someone would have told us if they wanted us to move.'
But when another hour had passed and there was still no communication from the rest of the 8th DLI, Barclay agreed to send a runner over to A Company to find out what was going on. A quarter of an hour later the OC came to Peploe. He was fuming. 'I don't bloody well believe it,' he said. 'A Company's damn well gone and buggered off without us.'
'Really, sir?' said Peploe. 'Are you sure they haven't just moved back or forward a little?'