The Black Jackals (27 page)

After a couple of miles of slow and careful driving they came upon a large farmyard filled with troop transports and Highlanders carrying entrenching tools.

Lamb had Bennett stop the truck and, leaving the cab, found a sergeant. ‘Are you 1st Black Watch?'

‘That's us, sir. Why, it's Mister Lamb, isn't it?'

Lamb recognised the man, a sergeant. ‘Sarnt. Is Lieutenant Crawford here?'

‘Aye, sir. He's up with C Company and the CO at St-Pierre-le-Viger. That's about a mile up that road.' He pointed away towards the north east. ‘You the reinforcements, sir?'

‘I suppose we are in a way, yes.'

‘That's good news, sir. We need every man we can get.'

Lamb climbed back in the lorry, and they drove along the road. After a mile they came to St-Pierre.

Around the outskirts of the village men were busy digging in, while from the houses came the sound of windows being smashed as the Highlanders prepared their defensive positions. The centre of the village was marked by a church, and behind it in a large rectory Lamb could see what he took to be company HQ. Bennett stopped the truck outside and Lamb, Valentine and the sergeant jumped out and walked to the door as the men in both trucks began to climb down from the rear. There was a guard on the door; recognising Lamb, he saluted and allowed him inside. The house had not been damaged by war so far, but the troops were now making up for that. They had overturned tables as extra barricades and pulled down the hangings and curtains to give clearer fields of fire. In one of the rooms on the ground floor Lamb found Crawford. He was with Colonel Honeyman.

Both men turned as he entered. ‘Lamb, what on earth are you doing here?'

‘General Fortune's orders, sir. We're here to help you hold the line. Until the French get here.'

Honeyman smiled. ‘Yes, whenever that may be. How many men do you have?'

‘Forty odd. Not many, I'm afraid. There are a few Highlanders among them.'

‘Fine. Lieutenant Crawford's just come in from a recce and the Germans are coming on in force.'

‘It's true, Peter. Saw it myself. We've a fight on our hands.'

‘Well, all the better that we're here then.' Lamb turned to Honeyman. ‘Where d'you want us, sir?'

‘Crawford will find you a place. Good to have you along.'

Crawford took Lamb outside, saying as they went, ‘Funny, someone said you were in the clink. Knew they must be wrong.'

‘Yes, quite wrong.'

Lamb's men were standing around the two trucks, some of them smoking.

Crawford, used to Honeyman's spit-and-polish rules in all weathers, raised an eyebrow. ‘This your mob? Bit of a mixed bag, aren't they?'

‘Careful, Crawford, this is my company. They may be a bit rough and ready but they did just save us from going in the bag, or worse. Anyway we're all you've got. Thought we'd be more use here than with Arkforce.'

‘Well, you're certainly better off here than with those poor buggers.'

‘What?'

‘Didn't you hear? A battalion of them were shot up just outside Fécamp. Took a wrong turn and bumped into a bloody Panzer group. Thirty survivors. Managed to get up to Le Tot in a nicked Jerry truck. Came in two hours ago. Pretty shaken.'

‘Christ, which battalion?'

‘2nd Borderers. Thirty left out of the entire battalion. Thirty men.' He whistled.

Lamb's mind was reeling. Campbell's command. ‘The Borderers? Are you sure? Was their CO among the dead?'

‘I should say so. Riddled with bullets, one of the men said. How's your girl?'

‘I told you, she's not “my” girl.'

‘Well, whoever's she is then. How is she?'

‘Safe, I'm told. She's in St Valéry with the medics.'

‘We'll all be there soon, with a bit of luck. Then back home. What will she do?'

‘I'm gong to try to get her off with me.'

‘You're mad. It's military personnel only when we go.'

‘Perhaps you don't understand. She has to get away.'

Saying it, Lamb wondered if he understood himself. He realised that, quite apart from the fact of his attraction for her and hers for him, he hesitated to call it ‘love' – he had a duty to her, a duty to keep her safe. It had been Kurtz who had destroyed her world, murdered her parents, and it had been he from whom Kurtz had escaped. Why, he asked himself, had he found her in the barn? What act of providence had brought them together? The answer kept coming back to him that she had been sent as a chance for him to atone for the consequences of his mistake in not having killed Kurtz at the château.

Crawford grinned. ‘Yes, I do, old man. I understand perfectly. The question is, will the general, when she takes the place of one of the men on a transport?'

Lamb said nothing. Crawford was right. He knew that. He couldn't justify taking a French girl off rather than a fighting man. He only hoped that when the moment came there would be some way of saving her. And then he knew that if there was no way, if Madeleine had to remain in France, he must do the same.

He turned to Crawford, impatient now to be in position. ‘Sorry, where was it you wanted my men? And can you find me a rifle?'

‘Of course, we've a few to spare now. And I didn't say, actually, but I should occupy that stretch of wood over there, beyond the church. Dig in however you can. We've a bit of a dearth of entrenching tools, but see what you can do.'

Lamb led the company into the woods, and within half an hour they had scraped some shallow cover, increasing the height with fallen trees and other debris. It might deflect the odd bullet, but it was hardly going to stop a tank. But then, he thought, what would? They lay silently, checking ammunition supplies, fixing bayonets to rifles. Lamb pulled out the service revolver. Six bullets. He reached to his side and picked up a rifle he had collected from one of Crawford's men
en route
to the wood: one full magazine and another four in his battledress pockets. He felt the two grenades tucked into his webbing. That was it. No more. He prayed that it would be enough. Lying flat on his stomach, he propped it on top of the thatch of branches and scrub which topped his shallow trench and stared out into the distance. He thought back to that first action, on the Dyle; to the bridge with the civilians, and Bennett jogging from trench to trench with mugs of tea slopping on the ground. Then he thought of the others, of the dead, and he looked across to where the remnants of his platoon lay with their new comrades. He saw Valentine, who caught his eye and smiled back. Bennett was looking out across the fields, unshaven and looking more tired than Lamb had ever seen him. Smart, jittery as usual, lay silent, stroking the butt of his rifle. And then he heard it – that familiar, gut-churning noise of engines. And he knew their arrival was imminent.

Lamb had known all along that their position was tenuous, but this was desperate. Crawford's C Company was dug in on the forward slope of a hill, at the apex of a salient, and although he admired Crawford as an officer he thought that, had he been given such a disposition, he might have questioned it. He could see them clearly from their own lines within the woods to their right, and for the last hour what he had seen had filled him with despair. The German attack had been swift and merciless, and it was a miracle, he thought, that they had beaten it off. But since then they had come again, and Crawford had taken more casualties. He himself had lost two men, although not directly under attack, both from the Norfolks, killed outright by a mortar, with several others wounded. He wondered how much longer they would be able to hold out.

It was almost six in the evening now and the sun was painting the sky in a watercolour palette of reds, yellows and rose pinks. He lay pressed close to the ground and listened as a German machine gun rattled off to his left and another heavy mortar round landed with a crump slightly forward of Crawford's position. Rifles crackled out in reply but Lamb was concentrating so much on what was happening to C Company that he was hardly aware that directly to their own front rounds were now smacking hard into the trees.

He shouted, ‘Keep down. Wait until you can see a proper target. Save your ammo until you can see them.'

Bennett took up the cry, and then Mays, Valentine and Sergeant Buck sent it ringing down the line through the woods. There was a sound like a swarm of angry hornets and a young tree inches to the left of Lamb's head was cut in two by a rasp of heavy machine-gun fire.

‘Christ, that was close.'

‘Mind your head, sir.' Smart smiled at him.

‘I suppose it's stupid to ask, Smart, if there's any radio signal?'

‘None, sir. Not for days. Even the general's using runners now, sir. Least that's what a dispatch rider told me last night. They're sending junior officers out. Gone back a hundred years, we have, sir.'

Another burst of machine-gun fire tore up the ground to their left. Back a hundred years, thought Lamb. Tell that to the men on the receiving end of that.

There was a commotion from their rear and Lamb looked round to see what at first seemed like a mirage. Dozens of men on horseback were riding into the woods. He shouted to Bennett, ‘Sarnt, what the hell's all that? What's going on?'

In reply two of the cavalry rode up and dismounted. He saw now that they were French, in their distinctive brown coats, with rifles slung across their backs. One of them, an officer, ran towards him, keeping his head down as more German rounds began to sing in. He threw himself on the ground beside Lamb. ‘Captain Marchand, Fifth Hussars. We're here to help you hold off the Boche.'

Lamb smiled. ‘Wonderful. Lamb, North Kents. How many are you?'

‘Two squadrons, about fifty men. My major is over there with your friends.' He pointed across to Crawford's men, then spoke again. ‘You are not Scots? We thought . . .'

‘No, they are Scots. We are here helping them.'

The Frenchman grinned. ‘Now we all help each other.'

Another burst of machine-gun fire. Both men ducked.

The French officer turned and signalled to his men and, having secured their horses among the trees, a score of the Hussars came up and took cover against the under-growth alongside Lamb's men.

Captain Marchand made himself as comfortable as he could against a fallen tree, drew his pistol and checked the rounds, then unslung his rifle and propped it against the branches before turning to Lamb. ‘I don't think this is going so well for us.'

‘No, I don't think we'll be able to hold them for much longer.'

‘And what then?'

‘Then we retreat to St Valéry and wait for the boats.'

‘For the boats?'

‘To evacuate. Isn't that what we're all going to do?'

Another round cracked into the trees above them and both men ducked again. Away to the right a mortar round exploded and someone began to shout for stretcher-bearers.

‘You mean you are going to leave us for the Germans? Like you did at Dunkirk?'

‘No, you're coming with us. That's what I was told.'

‘But what about France?'

‘You'll fight another day and come back and set France free. But you must see, your army is finished here.'

‘Tell that to my major.'

Lamb looked across and saw that the French were now dug in with Crawford's men. He could see a man standing up among them, waving his revolver in the air and shouting encouragement to the cowering soldiers. As he watched a tank shell came howling into the wood, and the world rocked. It was followed by another. Lamb looked away, shielding his eyes. There was an explosion and the trees where the French major had been standing cracked and flew into the air. As the dirt and dust cleared Lamb looked up. To his amazement the officer was still there, still standing bravely above his men who, inspired by his example, were now getting to their feet and firing back at the enemy. The only problem was, Lamb noticed, that where before the major's arm had been waving them on, the man was now only holding up a bloody stump and shredded sleeve. As he watched the major slumped to his knees, but even as medics came up to bind the bloody stump he continued to yell to his men to fire at the enemy.

God, thought Lamb, that was real bravery. If only all the French fought that way we wouldn't be in this bloody mess. It gave him hope to watch as the Hussars poured round after round at the advancing Germans. Captain Marchand uttered an oath and shook his head. The major was sitting on the ground now, but as Lamb watched he summoned two of his men. Using their rifles as supports, they managed to hoist him up and carried him to the furthermost forward of his men's positions, and there they held him, with his mangled arm, as he barked commands to his men.

There was a shout from Bennett. ‘Sir, I think they're bringing the tanks up.'

Lamb listened, and sure enough heard the unmistakable grinding of slim wheels on caterpillar tracks. ‘Sarnt, send a runner to Mister Crawford. Ask him if his anti-tank platoon is about. We've got company.'

Bennett sent Perkins out, and Lamb saw the boy flatten himself on the ground as he reached C Company.

A few seconds later Crawford himself was with him. ‘Yes, I've seen them. There's about a dozen Panzers and they're heading straight for you and the Captain here. Our signals officer has gone off to find the anti-tank boys, but God knows where they are. We'll have to hold the Jerries off till they get here.' He turned to Marchand. ‘I say, did you see your CO? Extraordinary. Brave man.'

Lamb looked puzzled. ‘What about us?'

Crawford smiled at him and gripped his shoulder. ‘Take your men and get back to St Valéry. Try to get out. This is my fight now, my chance to do something good. You've had yours. Done your bit. Now save yourself and your men. Get out. And don't forget your girl.'

Lamb opened his mouth. ‘She's not my . . .'

Crawford waved him down. ‘Shut up and get out of here before the tanks reach you. That's an order.'

‘You can't give me an order. We hold the same rank.'

Crawford thought for a moment. ‘What was the date of your commission?'

Lamb looked at him. ‘24th October '38.'

‘As a regular officer or TA?'

‘16th June '39.'

Crawford smiled. ‘14th May '39. I outrank you. Now, will you obey an order?'

Lamb grinned. ‘What if I said no?'

‘I'd have you put on a charge.'

Lamb shrugged. ‘Do it. I've nothing to lose. I'm already on at least one.'

Crawford's face became more serious and he fixed Lamb with his brown eyes. ‘But you do have everything to lose if you stay here. And more to the point, so does Madeleine. So do it for her. And do it for me.'

Lamb looked down at the ground and listened to the bullets ripping into the trees and the rumble of engines and wheels that made the ground tremble. At length he nodded. ‘Very well. For you.' He called across to Bennett, ‘New orders, Sarnt. We're pulling back. Get the lads together.'

He turned to Crawford, intending to thank him, but he was already running back to his position, and as Lamb's eyes followed him he saw the French major, still sitting on his improvised chair, his bloody stump bound up with bandages, still managing through the pain to direct his men.

The way north was worse than any road they had yet been on. Lines of British and French walking wounded meandered slowly in the direction of the sea, jostling for position with units pulling back to the new defensive perimeter, and in the other direction refugees were trying to flee the now encircled town.

To their left the night sky was lit by flames from the still-blazing oil refineries at Le Havre, and in places the moon was obscured by the thick greasy smoke that accompanied it. It was almost like a fog drifting in the sky. They were travelling again in the two requisitioned trucks, and Lamb wondered how long they would last. His repairs, though sound and examined the previous day, had only ever been intended as short term. Bennett was again in the driver's seat, and as the sad columns drifted across the road in front of them he was forced to swerve and sound the horn. No one had spoken much since leaving St-Pierre. Their spirits were as low as Lamb had seen them and he could only pray that there might really be some hope of salvation at St Valéry and not just another unfulfilled promise. They were hungry too. Hard tack and water had been their fare for the last forty-eight hours and hunger gnawed at all their stomachs.

At a crossroads they passed a British provost, a redcap, trying to control the rabble on the road without much success. At least, thought Lamb, the Luftwaffe were not harrying them, although there was evidence that they had paid a visit.

They passed a number of burned-out vehicles and scores of bodies on the verge. At one point, where the road was wider, Lamb spotted an intact car, a Renault, sitting on the grass and immediately wondered whether it might contain anything useful to scrounge, in particular food. As they neared it he fancied that he could see four figures inside, two of whom wore the distinctive round képi of a French officer.

He said to Bennett, ‘Slow down. We'll stop here and have a dekko inside. God knows what this lot are doing here. Look like French staff officers. Car must have broken down. I'll see if we can help at all.'

They stopped and he climbed down alone from the cab, approaching the passenger side. He was about to lean in when he saw the driver. He was asleep. In fact they all were. Four French officers, their medals pinned on their tunics, sitting asleep in their car. Lamb wondered if he was seeing things and then looked again and saw the neat bullet holes in their bodies where the rounds had entered from the front, and the smashed windscreen. He turned and walked back to the lorry, its engine still idling. Opening the door he climbed back up into the cab.

Bennett said, ‘No use, sir?'

‘No, no use.'

It was ten o'clock when they entered the outskirts of St Valéry. The place was well lit, not by streetlamps but by a flickering light from the many houses that had been set alight by shellfire.

They moved slowly through streets clogged with human jetsam. Lamb was just beginning to wonder if they should abandon the trucks when the engine gave a sputter and died. He looked at Bennett. ‘I think we've been told something. Right. Everybody out.'

They left the two trucks on a road above the harbour and began to walk down, careful to retain some semblance of formation among the rabble.

They had been wandering for the best part of two hours and were near the quay when Lamb spotted a group of Jocks and among them a man he recognised: McCade, one of the sergeants from B Company of 1st Black Watch.

He accosted him. ‘McCade, isn't it? Have you any news of Lieutenant Crawford?'

The man shook his head, solemnly. ‘Naw, sir. We were on the forward slope at St-Pierre-le-Viger. They came at us. Tanks. We lost fifty men in two hours. It was bloody murder. The anti-tank platoon was blown to bits, and Mister Telfer-Smollett with it. That's when Major Bradford ordered us to pull out, sir. Had to leave half the wounded out there. It was a bloody tragedy, Mister Lamb, sir. There's only 100 men left all told from the two companies. Colonel Honeyman was cut off from the battalion back at Brigade. We hav'nae seen him yet, neither. Good that you're alive though, sir.'

So, he thought, Crawford was almost certainly dead, sacrificed so that he could get back to St Valéry and Madeleine. He felt like crying, or screaming with rage, or both.

Bennett brought him back from the abyss. ‘Sir, hadn't we better get down towards the harbour? If we want a chance, sir?'

‘Yes, Sarnt, of course. Good luck, McCade.'

He felt strangely hollow. Up to now he had felt that in some strange way they were winning. But, with Crawford's death, somehow things had changed. The stark reality of their desperate situation took possession of him. He steadied himself. But only just.

‘Bennett, we need to get down to the sea. Are we all here?'

‘Apart from those we left in the woods, sir.'

‘Right, let's get through this mess.'

He pushed forward and pressed against the crowd of listless men that had gathered in the main square. His men followed on. It was extraordinary and terrifying, thought Lamb, how quickly and easily a well-organised and disciplined body of men could degenerate into a rabble in which the only ethos was ‘every man for himself and hang the consequences'. As if to echo his thoughts, at that moment, as they passed a small
estaminet
, three British soldiers rolled out onto the street. Hopelessly drunk and carrying bottles of wine, they were singing: ‘Roll out the barrel, let's have a barrel of fun . . .' One of them leered into Lamb's face and Bennett gave him a shove which sent him hurtling back into the window of the café, smashing it as he fell inside. The other two went to help him and then turned on Lamb's men. Bennett and Mays levelled their rifles at them and the men moved back, muttering, and helped their friend up out of the smashed shop front.