'All right, sir. We'll see if we can scrounge some ammo and supplies.'
Peploe nodded, then hurried off towards the bridge.
'All right, boys,' said Tanner, calling the company around him, 'have a quick dekko at these vehicles. Any weapons, ammo, grub - take 'em, all right?'
Most of the vehicles had been run off the road. Their engines had been wrecked, windscreens broken and tyres slashed, but while their former owners had been careful to make them unusable to the enemy, most seemed to have left on board whatever was there. By the time Peploe returned twenty minutes later, Tanner and Sykes had found two Brens and some crates of unopened ammunition. Several others had been equally successful.
'There's a stack of stuff here, sir.' Tanner grinned. 'Look at all this - and we've barely started.'
'We're going to need it, I think.' Peploe was grim- faced. 'We've just met up with Brigadier Beckwith-Smith - the chap commanding First Guards Brigade - and he announced to us that we were among the luckiest men in the British Army because we had been given the honour of being the rearguard here at Dunkirk.'
'And what did you say, sir? That it wasn't that great an honour?'
'No. I just swallowed hard and tried not to look as terrified as I felt.'
'What does it mean exactly?'
'That we've got to hold this line until we're told to do otherwise.'
'Christ. Sounds like a suicide job to me.'
'I don't know. I hope not. The Second Coldstream Guards will be on our right up to this bridge, the battalion's got fifteen hundred yards to the left of the bridge and then it's the First Duke of Wellington's - they're part of Third Brigade.'
'And what about the company?'
'I thought we might be amalgamated, but the colonel wants us to stay as we are. A Company's going to be next to the bridge, then us, then B Company. The bridge will be blown once the last stragglers are across but it's fairly obvious the enemy will concentrate on it, so we'll be supporting A Company's defence. We need to dig in and see what cover and observation points we can use. Battalion HQ will be with the Coldstreams at that windmill back there at Krommenhouck.' He pointed to it, standing out from the flat ground a mile or so to the north.
'And what about C Company and the rest of the missing men, sir?'
'The colonel was furious about that - and rather blaming the French for cutting across our withdrawal lines and mucking everything up in Poperinghe. Poor old French - everyone's got it in for them at the moment. Anyway, he wants to send someone into town to look for them. The obvious person is Captain Hillary, the OC of B Company, but the colonel wants a couple of men to go with him. Hillary said he'd rather not send his own chaps as he was undermanned. I said I'd send along a couple from D Company.'
'But how long will it take? Sir, we've got a job to do here. The Germans might arrive at any moment.'
Peploe shook his head. 'No one's expecting them until tomorrow, and even if things go disastrously wrong not until tonight. Don't forget the rest of Fifth Div are defending the Yser to the south of here and even then the Germans have got to pack up and follow us. I think we do have a bit of time to prepare, actually. And we're taking the OC's car, so it shouldn't take long to get there.'
Tanner thought for a moment, then said, 'Sir, let me go. I'll take Sykes.'
'I'd rather have you here, overseeing things.'
'Sir, please. I'd like to get a look at the lie of the land. If we do eventually fall back, it'll probably be during the night so a bit of orientation will come in handy.'
Peploe screwed up his face. 'Oh, all right,' he said eventually. 'But try not to be too long.' He pointed out Captain Hillary, who was talking with one of his lieutenants beside the bridge. 'You'd better go and speak to him now.'
Tanner nodded and looked about for Sykes.
'And, Sergeant,' said Peploe, 'what are your thoughts about our position?'
'Some kind of building would be useful. We can use it as an OP.' He glanced along the canal bank. 'There's a few cottages along there. Then it's a question of digging in. We've been lucky with the soil so far and I reckon it'll be good along here too - nice and easy to dig out. But, sir,' he added, 'we need to stockpile stores. We need some men digging in and others scrounging for supplies.'
Peploe clasped his shoulder. 'Thanks, Tanner. That sounds like good advice. Good luck - and if you see Blackstone or Slater, make sure you take them straight to redcaps.'
Tanner grinned. So the lieutenant guessed. He grabbed Sykes and they hurried over to Captain Hillary, a tall man, with a square, clean-shaven face - one of the few in the battalion to have shaved over the past couple of days. 'This is awfully good of you both,' he said amiably. 'I'm afraid it'll be rather a bore.'
Taking the car, they drove through the fields and network of dykes and canals towards Dunkirk, passing reams of soldiers heading for the coast. Some still looked fit and spry but many more trudged northwards, heads down, with various pieces of equipment and uniform missing. Aircraft droned overhead, and even from the confines of the car they could hear bombs falling and exploding beyond the town. The pall of smoke still hung heavily over the darkened buildings.
The town was a wreck. Broken and abandoned vehicles were everywhere. Tram wires lay twisted and curling on the roads. Craters pocked the streets. A number of houses were burning, and all of them had suffered some kind of damage. Walls had tumbled into the streets; half-destroyed roofs shorn of their tiles hung above exposed bedrooms or attics. Debris lay everywhere - masonry, rubbish, weapons, even dead bodies, of troops and civilians alike. The stench was appalling - of decaying flesh, dust and smouldering rubber. Troops scurried past. Many, Tanner noticed, were drunk, swaying awkwardly as they tried to dodge the detritus of war.
'Damn me!' exclaimed Captain Hillary. 'Where the hell do we begin?'
'We need to get to the port, sir,' said Tanner. 'We'll get a better picture there.'
They were stopped several times, and forced to reverse down blocked streets, but eventually they reached the seafront at Malo-les-Bains and saw, for the first time, the true scale of the evacuation. Thousands of men were crammed onto the beaches like ants. Others drifted in lines from the beaches out to sea where a number of small boats and whalers were coming as close to the shore as they dared. Yet more vehicles had been driven onto the sand. Trucks, guns, carriers stood abandoned, with endless piles of boxes and discarded kit. Out at sea, ships of all sizes filled the horizon. The sound of battle, now that they were free of the noise-deadening effect of the buildings, was deafening. Guns from warships were firing, the pom-pom-pom of Bofors mixing with the heavier, thunderous sound of bigger artillery. Further out to sea, a ship was burning; they could just see its hull tilting, angry flames and thick black smoke pumping skywards. Aircraft swooped and dived overhead, engines racing. A number of Stukas were attacking the port behind them to their left, while machine-gun fire could be heard above. On their left, a sea wall ran behind the beach to a long pier. More than half a dozen ships were moored alongside this delicate mole, while a dense column of men spread out along the wall onto the pier. For more than a minute, the three sat in the car, speechless, staring at the scene before them.