Darkest Hour

'Hold on a minute,' said Peploe. 'I'm the only officer now and I'll decide what we do.'

'Yes, sir,' said Blackstone. 'But in case you hadn't noticed, we're getting a beating. What can forty-four men do to help? Do you really think we can stop the rot? I say we head to the coast. For all we know, the rest of the battalion's already there.'

Peploe stared at him. 'Don't speak to me like that. Show some bloody respect.'

'We've got to go north, sir. It's obvious.'

'I'll decide that, Sergeant-Major, not you. Now go and organize a burial party, will you? We can't do anything until we've got these poor men buried. Right away.'

Blackstone gave him a half-hearted salute, then issued orders to the men. 'More digging, I'm afraid, lads,' he said. 'Not too deep, because they won't be here for ever. Get to it now, and I'll make it up to you later.'

'Jesus,' Tanner muttered to Peploe. 'What a bloody mess.'

'I'm going to have my hands full with Blackstone, I can see,' said Peploe. He took off his tin hat and ran his hands through his hair. 'It seems so incredible that the captain should be dead. A bloody silly thing to do, I know, and he had his faults, but he was a decent sort, really.'

Tanner didn't want to think about Barclay or any of the other three dead men. Now was not the time to be worrying about them; it had happened and couldn't be undone. Rather, quick, firm decisions had to be made. 'We need a map, sir. We don't have one of this part of Flanders.'

'I know. It's ridiculous.' He sighed. 'Bloody hell. We're in a bit of a fix, aren't we?'

'We'll be fine, sir. We just need to think calmly and clearly.'

Peploe glanced at the priest, who was hovering around the men as they dug the graves. 'Hold on a moment, Sergeant,' he said, then strode over to the man. Tanner watched them talk, then cross the cobbled road to a small house. A few minutes later Peploe came out again and hurried back to where Tanner was waiting with Sykes and the rest of Sykes's section.

'I've got a map,' said Peploe, as he reached them. 'It's only a road map and about ten years old at that, but it's better than nothing. Sykes, will you and your chaps give me and the sergeant a moment?'

'Course, sir,' said Sykes, moving his men a short distance away.

Peploe opened out the map and held it up.

'Ypres is almost due east from here, sir,' said Tanner, 'about fifteen miles away, and Poperinghe's about half that.'

'No huge distance, then.'

'No. The DLI must have gone in that direction.'

'And while Blackstone's quite right in as much as we're hardly going forward, no one's mentioned anything to us about falling back to the coast yet.' He rubbed an eye. 'We've been attached to 151st Brigade and my instinct is that we should at least try to find them. We're bound to run across some British troops eventually, if not Eighth DLI. And if we don't, or if we find ourselves approaching the enemy, we can take another view then, surely?'

'All the guns we've heard today have been from the south and west, not the east, sir. I agree with you. I think we should make for Poperinghe and Ypres.'

'But we'll take the back roads. We don't want to get ensnared in more refugee traffic.'

'Good idea, sir.'

Blackstone now came over to them. 'Sir,' he said to Peploe, 'if you're going to consult Sergeant Tanner, you should discuss things with me first.'

'Yes, all right. We're going to head for Poperinghe and Ypres and try to find the rest of the brigade,' said Peploe, stiffly.

'What a surprise,' said Blackstone. 'I might have known that whatever I said Jack would say the opposite.'

'It wasn't Tanner's decision. It was mine. Sergeant- Major, I really don't want to have to remind you again about insolence. I'm the officer in charge, and I've made up my mind. We're not running back to the coast - those are not our orders. Our orders are to stand and fight with Eighth DLI and the 151st Infantry Brigade.'

Blackstone reddened. It was the first time Tanner had seen him look really angry since he'd arrived at Manston. 'Very well, sir,' he said slowly, as though he was trying to control his fury. 'But everyone's hungry. I would strongly suggest we don't march for too long.'

'It's half past four now. We'll march for a couple of hours and see how far we get.'

Guns boomed out again to the west. Faintly, in the distance, small arms could be heard. More aircraft buzzed overhead, but this time they were high, mere specks in the sky. Tanner flicked away his cigarette, took out his water-bottle and had a swig. The enemy were closing in and the net was tightening. The lieutenant had made the right decision, he was certain, but not all the men would agree. He had a feeling Blackstone might find willing listeners should he make clear his own views on the matter. Bollocks.

'Cheer up, Sarge,' said Sykes, walking over to him. 'It might not happen, you know.'

Tanner smiled. 'Maybe not, Stan.'

'We've got ourselves out of tight spots before.'

'Always look on the bright side, don't you?'

'I try to, Sarge. I reckon we've still got some fight in us yet.'

'I'm sure we have.' He patted Sykes's shoulder. 'But it's not Jerry I'm so worried about.' He nodded towards Blackstone. 'It's him.'

From the edge of Creton Farm, Sturmbannfuhrer Timpke peered through his binoculars down the track to the neighbouring house, some two hundred metres away. Beside him, at the back of the brick farmhouse, stood his half-track, a single motorcycle and sidecar, and a large French Somua tank, now daubed with the German cross and, on its front, the Totenkopf death's head. Kemmetmuler and others from his battalion headquarters were waiting behind the cover of the farmhouse while his old friend Hauptsturmfuhrer Knochlein stood beside him. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon and the day had turned grey, with a light drizzle.

'I'm certain I saw a white flag, Fritz,' Timpke told Knochlein.

'It's about time those Tommies gave up.'

'Order another burst and see what happens,' suggested Timpke.

Knochlein stepped back and signalled to the men spread out on either side of Creton Farm, and Timpke watched them signal in turn to the men beyond, then heard several bursts of machine-gun fire. They had the place surrounded, so it was just a matter of time before the British troops still in the Duries farmhouse were forced to give up - after all, their ammunition couldn't last for ever. Nonetheless, they had caused far too many casualties. That was the problem of fighting in this flat, open countryside - there was never enough cover. Every time Knochlein's men scrambled to their feet, more rifle and machine-gun fire rang out and another good soldier collapsed to the ground.

Timpke had been asked to help here at Paradis only half an hour earlier by Regiment 2's commander, Sturmbann-fuhrer Fortenbacher. On hearing that Knochlein's company were bearing the brunt of the Tommies' resistance, he had decided to come forward in person with his battalion headquarters from nearby Le Cornet Malo, which had just fallen. He had reached Creton Farm only a few minutes before but now it seemed his men were hardly needed.