Even so, when he thought of the regiment, it was the 2nd Battalion - the one with which he had served since joining up eight years before. He had assumed that once his leave was over, he would be returning to Palestine, where the 2nd Battalion was still based, but instead he had been told that the 5th Battalion needed experienced men and had been packed off to Leeds to join them instead.
At the time he had been distraught to leave behind so many good friends, not to mention the way of life he had come to know so well, but it was also a matter of pride, and Jack Tanner was a proud man. The 5th Battalion were not regulars but Territorials and, as everyone knew, were barely more than poorly trained part-timers.
In the six weeks he had been with them, he had not seen much to alter that view. Most of the men in his platoon were decent enough lads, but the majority were undernourished and from impoverished families living in the industrial cities of Leeds and Bradford. They lacked the stamina and fitness he was used to with the regulars. Few of them could fire thirty rounds a minute with anything approaching a decent aim. Parade-ground drill, route marches and a few exercises on the moors was the limit of their experience. Lieutenant Dingwall, his platoon commander, had been a solicitor from Ripon before the war, and although he was harmless enough he could barely read a map, let alone fell a man from five hundred yards. Tanner knew the subaltern inspired little confidence in his men, yet now they were heading off to war, and it was Tanner's job to keep them alive and help to make them into an effective fighting unit.
Tanner sighed and looked out at the ships of their small force steaming with Pericles. No more than two hundred yards away the transport ship, Sirius, carried the battalion's artillery, motor transport and much of their ammunition and other equipment. He would have liked to know whose idea it had been to put so much of their equipment onto one ship. 'Bloody idiots,' he muttered, then pushed his tin helmet to the back of his head and leant forward to gaze down at the sea racing past.
In fact, he had begun to doubt whether anyone in the entire army, let alone 148th Brigade, had much idea about what they were doing. Since leaving Leeds and arriving at Rosyth, they had boarded three different ships, loading and unloading their equipment on each occasion. Confusion and chaos had ensued. Kit had been lost and mixed up with that of the Sherwood Foresters and Leicesters, who were also part of the brigade, while once, they had even set sail before turning and heading back to port. Nobody seemed to know why. All the men had been grumbling and it had been universally agreed that the top brass needed their heads examining. This was no way to fight a war.
After disembarking the second time, they had marched eleven miles to a makeshift camp outside Dumfermline where they had remained an entire week, carrying out a few route marches but little firing practice or battle training: most of their ammunition and equipment was still lying somewhere on Rosyth docks. Even when they had finally set sail early the previous morning, the battalion had been horribly mixed up: two companies and HQ Company on Pericles, and one each on the other two cruisers, along with the Foresters and Leicesters. Worst of all, no attempt seemed to have been made to split up their heavy equipment. Tanner gazed at Sirius and wondered again whose idea it had been to put all their transport and guns on one thin-skinned, poorly armed transport ship. 'Bloody hell,' he said again, shaking his head.
'You all right, Sarge?' Corporal Sykes was standing beside him, cupping his hands with his back turned as he tried to light a cigarette.
'Yes, thanks, Stan. Not so much of a croaker now?'
'Think I'll pull through. Better for being out here at any rate. Christ, the smell down there. Bloody terrible.'
'Why do you think I'm standing out here?' Tanner grinned. 'You've got to eat something before you set sail. Do that and you'll be fine.'
The ship pitched again, causing a larger plume of spray to splash over the prow. Both men instinctively turned their backs but then, out of the corner of his eye, Tanner spotted a trail of white rushing across the surface towards Sirius.
'Sweet Jesus!' he said, shaking Sykes's shoulder. 'That's a bloody torpedo. Look!'
At the same moment, the ship's klaxon rang out, there was shouting across the decks and the crew rushed to their battle stations. Across the two-hundred-yard stretch of water, the men on board Sirius had also seen the missile, their frantic shouts of alarm carrying over the grey sea. Both Tanner and Sykes watched in silence as the torpedo reached the vessel. A split-second pause, then a deafening explosion. A huge tower of water erupted into the sky, followed moments later by a second detonation. Suddenly the ship was engulfed in flames and thick, oily black smoke. The Pericles began to turn away rapidly, tilting hard to avoid the U-boat that must still be lurking below. The two destroyers escorting the convoy went back towards the stricken Sirius, depth charges popping from their sides only to explode moments later in great eruptions of water.
Tanner and Sykes ran to the stern as Pericles began to turn again. They lost their footing as the ship lilted, but grabbed the railings and watched as Sirius groaned in agony. She was now dead in the water. Men screamed, shouted and hurled themselves into the ice-cold sea. Then, with a haunting wail of tearing metal, Sirius split in two. The stern went under first, sliding beneath the waves, but the prow took longer, the bow pointing almost vertically into the sky before gently sinking out of view. It had taken a little under four minutes.
'Jesus, Sarge,' said Sykes, at length. One of the antiaircraft cruisers had come alongside where Sirius had been moments before and was picking up survivors. 'Would you bloody believe it? How are we expected to fight the bloody Jerries now?'
Tanner rubbed his brow. 'I don't know, Stan. I really don't know.'
Chapter 2
A Dornier roared overhead, the second within a few minutes, and so startlingly low that Tanner ducked involuntarily. It was huge and, Tanner thought, menacing with its wide wings, black crosses and swastikas. It was unnerving to think that German aircrew were just a hundred feet above him, and hurtling ever further behind Allied lines.
'Cocky bastards,' he said, turning to Private Hepworth.
'When are we going to get some aircraft, Sarge?' Hepworth asked. 'I don't think I've seen a single one of ours since we got here.'
'God knows,' replied Tanner. 'But these bloody jokers seem to be able to do what they bloody like. I mean, for Christ's sake, how low was that one? I'm surprised he hasn't taken a chimney with him.' He shook his head. 'They must be able to see our every damn move.' He opened the door of the truck and jumped into the cab, Hepworth following. 'Now,' he said, to himself as much as to Hepworth, 'let's try to get this thing started.' It was
French, a dark blue Renault, standing in a yard behind a butcher's shop in Lillehammer. He found the choke and the ignition switch, turned it clockwise, then located a starter button in the footwell. Pressing it down with his boot, he was relieved to hear the engine turn over and wheeze into life. As it did so, the dials on the dashboard flickered. A quarter of a tank of fuel. It was better than nothing.