Tanner heard the click of the cock and at that moment jerked his head backwards, hard. The rim of his helmet hit flesh and Slater screamed, instinctively bringing his hands to his face. At that moment, Tanner jabbed his left elbow into Slater's head. He cried out again and fell to his knees. Still clutching his pistol he now tried to straighten his right arm, but before he could fire, Tanner punched him in the temple - a hard, sharp, crushing blow. In the flickering light, he watched him topple over, blood pouring from the long gash across his nose and cheeks. Lifeless eyes stared ahead as he hit the ground, dead.
'Jesus - what's going on here?' said one man.
'What are you doing killing your own bleeding side?' said another.
'He was a murderer many times over,' said Tanner, 'and he was about to kill me. If anyone deserved to die it was him. Now, where did the other two go?' He bent to pick up the revolver, then shone his torch at the men huddled on the floor. Most, he realized, were drunk too. He stepped forward down a passageway from which wine bays extended on either side. After about five yards, it turned ninety degrees and continued in a square. As he cautiously turned the first corner, he heard a slight commotion behind him and ran back, only to see a pair of legs disappear up the steps.
Blackstone? He darted after him, stumbling over Slater's prostrate body. He gasped, recovered, and sped up the steps. In the brighter first chamber he saw Blackstone hurtle up the staircase to the ground floor. Tanner followed, kicking another man as he tried too quickly to dodge between the mass of soldiers. 'Sorry,' he called back, 'but I've got to catch that man!' Up the staircase, into the corridor, and there was Blackstone by the door. Tanner saw Sykes step into the doorway, but
Blackstone was running hard at him and knocked him out of the way. Tanner ran on, then tripped again, sprawling on the pavement next to Sykes. 'Get up! Get up!' shouted Tanner and, scrambling to his feet, saw Blackstone race across the road and down onto the beach, running like a madman towards the sea.
Tanner followed, unslinging his rifle as he tore after him. At the edge of the beach, he stopped and raised his weapon. Blackstone was sixty yards away now, nearing the water. Tanner aimed, then a group of soldiers walked in front of his view. He cursed, but realized what Blackstone was thinking. A short way out to sea a small whaler was turning away from a line of men on the beach and being rowed to a waiting tramp steamer further out. But as it broke away from the line of men, it moved initially almost parallel to the shore. Blackstone was now in the water, wading out towards the wooden vessel. Tanner followed, Sykes beside him, a clean, clear shot now out of the question. Men were shouting at Blackstone from the beach, but he waded on undeterred.
'He'll get pushed back, Sarge,' said Sykes, now standing breathlessly beside Tanner, the sea lapping at their feet. 'There's a system here, of sorts. Queue-barging ain't allowed.'
'Don't you believe it, Stan.'
Blackstone was now at the whaler, a lone arm raised and gripping the gunwale. Tanner and Sykes saw the Royal Navy officer at the tiller shouting at him to let go, but then he seemed to change his mind because two Tommies began to heave Blackstone aboard - Oh, let him on, then.
'Bloody hell,' said Sykes.
'The bastard,' muttered Tanner.
They watched as Blackstone sat up in the boat and looked towards them.
'Cheers, boys!' he shouted. 'It's been good knowing you, Jack!'
Tanner watched a moment, then turned away. 'Come on, Stan,' he said. 'Let's get back to Captain Hillary.' Slowly, they trudged off the beach, neither man speaking as they wove through exhausted waiting soldiers and past the debris of a broken army. But then, as they climbed off the beach and walked back along the seafront, they heard two aircraft roar overhead. Looking up, Tanner glimpsed two Junkers 88s as they flashed through the smoke and low cloud. Then bombs were whistling through the air, evidently aimed at the tramp steamer, for the first exploded in a mountain of spray just to her stern. The second and third fell near her port side, but the fourth fell further away, some forty yards from the vessel.
'My God, Stan,' said Tanner, 'the whaler.'
More bombs fell beyond the steamer, detonating harmlessly in the water, but as the spray subsided there was no longer any sign of the small boat, or of the twenty- odd men crammed into it. For a minute, Tanner and Sykes stared at the disturbed sea. Of the men and the whaler there was almost no sign, just a few bits of wood. Tanner took out his German binoculars. A few bodies bobbed on the surface but he knew that most of the men, if not blown to bits, would have sunk; their lack of life- jackets, heavy uniforms and webbing would have seen to that. Seagulls were circling like vultures, then swooping towards the water.
'Damn,' muttered Tanner.
'But he's dead, Sarge. I'm sorry for those other poor buggers, but to Blackstone, good bloody riddance.'
Tanner grunted and continued to peer through his binoculars.
'Sarge?' said Sykes.
'I'd like to see a body.'
'There's no way he could have survived that. Look - the bloody thing was obliterated.'
It was true. Tanner could see no sign of life - except the seagulls. 'I suppose you're right, Stan,' he said, lowering the binoculars.
'He's not going to trouble us anymore,' said Sykes. 'On that you can rest easy.'
Tanner nodded.
'And Slater?' said Sykes.
Tanner told him. 'Useful thing, a Tommy helmet,' he said.
'So that's it, then, Sarge? Blackstone and Slater?'
'Yes, Stan.'
Captain Hillary was waiting for them by the car. 'Find anyone?' he asked.
'Not really, sir,' muttered Tanner.
'Nor me. Still, no use crying over spilt milk. We tried, eh? Now we need to go back and get on with it. Make the best of what we've got.'
Tanner pulled out a cigarette, exhaustion seeping over him. Just a few minutes' kip. Blackstone and Slater might be dead, but there was still an enemy to fight, and he knew that if he was ever to see England again he'd need all his wits about him for the battle to come.
Chapter 23
Wednesday passed into Thursday, 30 May, and still the enemy did not come, but all along the canal that marked the Dunkirk perimeter, the men made the most of the respite, strengthening defences and preparing for the battle. D Company had occupied an abandoned farm four hundred yards from the bridge. The main house, a solid old brick building with a typically Flemish high- gabled tile roof, overlooked the canal. It had not only a first floor with good views to the south but also an empty attic with a gabled window to the rear. Behind it was a large barn, also with a second storey, offering views both east and west along the canal, and some outbuildings. A track led out of the farm then dog-legged back to the road between the bridge and Krommenhouck.
The men had been digging hard. As Tanner had guessed, the soil was rich and soft, and between them they had soon created a trench system that ran back from the farm and extended along the canal front as far as A and B Companies to either side of them. As the hours passed, it was widened, deepened and strengthened. The sluices all along this drained section of Flanders had been opened in an effort to slow the German advance, and by the morning of the thirtieth, the fields on either side of the road to Krommenhouck lay beneath shallow water. Even so, by using the excavated soil as a makeshift dyke, the Rangers managed to hold at bay most of the rising water along their front; although the trenches were soggy underfoot, they were by no means flooded.