The Black Jackals Page 4

  ‘No, sir. Actually those are from earlier.’

  ‘Well, you have been knocked about a bit, haven’t you? Have another sip of the old brown stuff.’

  Lamb sat up and drank a little more of the brandy. The pain in his head was slightly less but now the throbbing in his arm where he had been hit was beginning to nag again. ‘My platoon, sir. Where are they?’

  ‘I think my Sarnt-Major’s found most of them. Few of them knocked about a bit. That last salvo did for a couple, I’m afraid. Lucky we were there, to your rear.’

  ‘Sorry, sir?’

  ‘We came in from the woods. Managed to hold off Jerry long enough to get you chaps out. Though what the devil you were doing there in the first place Gawd only knows. We were told you’d pulled out. We’re the rearguard, you see.’

  ‘Rearguard?’

  ‘Absolutely. That’s us. Rearguard. Last in, last out. Incidentally, why were you there? We were told you’d all pulled back.’

  Lamb considered his answer carefully before giving it. ‘Think I must have misread the order, sir. I was quite certain that it said “hold until relieved”.’

  The captain smiled and paused. ‘You’re either very brave, Lieutenant, or very stupid. I’d prefer to believe that it might be the former. In normal circumstances I should probably write this down and inform your CO. But these are hardly normal circumstances, are they?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘We are a rearguard, Lieutenant. We are retreating per se, and as far as I’m aware the entire British Expeditionary Force might be coming with us.’

  Lamb looked at him askance. ‘Sir?’

  ‘We’ve been told to cover a retreat. As far as the river Lescaut. But if you want my opinion we might have to fall back a little further.’

  ‘How far, sir?’

  ‘That’s anyone’s guess, I’m afraid. Gawd knows. I most certainly don’t. All I know is that we’re the Johnnies with the unenviable task of seeing that the rest of you Territorials make it out alive and to the next defensive line. Or as many of you as we can find.’

  Lamb recoiled for a moment. This was not what he had expected. He had come out here to drive back Hitler. Had presumed that the BEF would at least put up a fight for a good deal longer than this. And there it was again, the dig heard so often in the mess. For all his bravery, he was still a Territorial, at least in the eyes of men like Captain Fortescue, regular soldiers. He was determined, though, that by the end of this business he would be treated with the same respect as them. But the man was not spiteful, merely a stickler for protocol. All that you would expect from the Guards, he thought. And, what was more, for all Lamb knew he had saved his life.

  He looked about himself and took in his surroundings. He was sitting in some sort of command post, with a wireless set, discarded packs and various miscellaneous pieces of equipment, on the edge of a copse looking out across an open field. He pondered the captain’s words again. Covering a retreat. Surely it would not happen that quickly.

  There was a pause in which the Coldstream officer stared disconsolately at the ground and twiddled a stick in the earth floor of his command post in an attempt at the regimental insignia.

  Lamb broke the silence. ‘Excuse me, sir. My men?’

  ‘Ah yes, of course, right ho. Let’s find your mob and then you can get on your way, eh?’ He turned to bark an order in a voice that Lamb thought would have been well suited to the King’s Birthday Parade at Horse Guards: ‘Sarnt-Major, find the North Kents, if you will. I’m pleased that we managed to get most of you out. You number three corporals, one sergeant and seventeen men, if my Sarnt-Major’s right, and he’s never been known to be wrong.’

  ‘I don’t remember much of what happened.’

  ‘Hardly surprising when a bloody great tank shell goes off ten yards behind you. You’re lucky to be alive, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Are many wounded?’

  ‘Yes. I do remember one man in a pretty bad state. Lost his foot. And a couple of other minor casualties. One of the NCOs too.’

  ‘My sergeant?’

  ‘No. Not him. He’s sound. One of your corporals, though. Wound to the face. Nothing much really. Deal of blood. But he seemed damned put out about it. Funny sort of cove. Quite unlike your usual ranker. Educated, if you get my drift, and far too lippy by half.’

  ‘Valentine.’

  ‘Was that his name? Funny sort of name too. Take my advice, Lieutenant, and pack him off on an officer training course the first chance you get. That sort are never anything but trouble. Far too willing to express an opinion. Men aren’t intended to have opinions. They can think what they damn well like, of course, but they should never express opinions. Yes, make him an officer. I should.’

  Lamb smiled. ‘He seems disinclined towards promotion, sir.’

  ‘Disinclined? Just sign the form man and the army will do the rest. Disinclined, my Aunt Fanny. He’ll be an officer and bloody well like it. Disinclined indeed.’

  Lamb had no desire to continue the conversation and so quickly changed the subject. ‘Did the Jerries get across the river, sir?’

  ‘They’ve stopped pushing forward for the present but, yes, you might say it is in their hands. They’ve taken a fair pummelling, though. Our big guns gave them a bloody nose. Saw one of their tanks go right up. Bit of a Horlicks down there all round, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, bit of a Horlicks, sir.’

  ‘Dozens of dead Jerries, of course, but women and children too. Seems that someone must have pressed the button and blew the bridge sky high when it was packed with civilians. Bloody shame. Poor devils. I wonder who gave the order.’

  Lamb said nothing but groaned inwardly and heard Valentine’s words again. Surely it’s what anyone in his place would have done, wasn’t it? They were his orders.

  The captain was speaking again. ‘I expect there’ll be a Board of Enquiry. Generally is. Don’t know if anyone can be bothered, though, at the moment, with all this going on. Your Divisional General won’t be pleased. Montgomery. Known him all my life. Family friend. Half hoped that I might bump into him down here. And he takes no prisoners, I’ll tell you that. But he can’t abide waste of life. A soldiers’ soldier, d’you see. No problem at all with killing armed men. All for it, in fact. Killing the enemy. But he won’t have civilians hurt at all. Quite right too, of course. Who would? Something to do with something or other he saw in the last bash. Feel sorry for the poor bugger who gave the order to blow the bridge. Wasn’t you, I suppose?’

  Lamb looked away. ‘Er, no, sir. I can safely say I didn’t push anything.’

  ‘That’s lucky then. I should get yourself back to your battalion if you can find it. Last I heard they were heading for Tournai. But you never can tell in this sort of scrap where they’ll pitch up. Things seem to change all the time at the moment, don’t they?’ He pointed to Lamb’s arm. ‘I’d get that properly seen to, if I were you. Our MO’s had a look at it, but you never know. Funny things, arms.’

  There was a commotion outside. ‘Anyway, that’ll be your men now. Good to have met you, Lieutenant. Remember me to your general, if you see him.’

  ‘I shall, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘Here’s your soldier servant. Cheero.’

  Captain Fortescue left the tent and Smart saluted him and entered. ‘Soldier servant? That me then, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Smart, that’s you, except we call you a batman. You’re only a servant to the Guards.’

  Lamb managed to get to his feet and, helped by a gentle arm from Smart, left the tent. Outside the men had been drawn up by Sergeant Bennett, and they made a welcome sight. Lamb counted three lines of seven including the mortar team. He saw Thomson standing to the right with his anti-tank rifle. Six casualties. It looked as if Mays’s section had suffered worst.

  ‘Well done, Sarnt. Who’ve we lost?’

  ‘Austin, Joyncey and McCarthy all bought it, sir. Hale and Smith are wounded. Corporal Valentine’s got a scratch on his face, si
r, and Peters is wounded bad, sir. Don’t think he’ll make it through the night.’

  ‘Thank you, Sarnt. I’ll see him in a moment.’ He turned to the men. ‘Gather round.’

  As the men drew closer he continued: ‘Seems that we’re in a bit of a fix. Company HQ seems to have fallen back to Tournai, so we’re going to follow them.’

  There was a voice from the second rank. Wilkinson. ‘Are we retreating, sir?’

  ‘No, Wilkinson. We’re not retreating, just pulling back to regroup so that we can counter-attack.’ He looked at his watch. It was nearing 2 p.m. ‘Right, we’ll march till 1800 hours, then make camp. If we get a step on we might even catch up with Company HQ.’

  ‘Or Brigade, sir.’

  ‘Or Brigade, Tapley. Thank you. All right, Sarnt Bennett. Take me to the wounded.’

  They had lain the men beneath the shade of some trees close to the company transport. A number of guardsmen were standing about the vehicles talking and clicked smartly to attention, saluting as Lamb appeared. The three men were lying on blankets. Hale was sitting up puffing on a Woodbine. Smith was staring at the sky. Peters, though, was lying with his head on one side and as Lamb approached he noticed that his eyes, though wide open, were staring vacantly into the middle distance. His skin was drained of colour. Death could not be far off. He went to the less badly wounded first. ‘Hale. You look well enough to be up and about. Where did they get you?’

  ‘Leg, sir. Went clean through the ankle, sir. Can’t walk, sir.’

  Lamb nodded. ‘Don’t worry. They’ll get you out all right. You’ll be back in Blighty before us. What about you, Smith?’

  Smith looked up at Lamb and smiled. ‘Shoulder, sir. Bloody great bit of shrapnel. Hurts a bit.’

  ‘I bet it does. You’ll be home soon.’

  He walked across to Peters. Bennett whispered to him. ‘Stomach wound, sir. MO’s had a look. It’s not good, sir. Got his liver too.’

  Lamb knelt down by the boy’s head. ‘Peters. I know you can hear me. They think you’ll be fine, old chap. Is there anyone you’d like me to write to to tell them you’re on your way back home?’

  Peters moved his lips and tried to turn his head, but Lamb noticed the grimace of pain that passed across his ashen face. ‘Don’t try to move, old chap. Just tell me or the sergeant here. Just a name.’

  The boy’s mouth moved again and Lamb bent close so that his ear was close to Peters’s mouth. He heard a word. ‘Mother.’

  ‘All right, old chap. I got that. You rest now.’

  Getting to his feet Lamb turned to Bennett. ‘He hasn’t got long, Sarnt. Make sure that the Guards give him a decent burial and mark the grave. I’m sure they will.’

  He walked back across the camp and noticed as he did how neatly it had been set up in the short time the Guards had been there. That was one thing you could always say of the British army: they knew how to lay out a camp. Latrines in the right place, tent lines and vehicle park, command post set back from the front, trenches well dug in and supported. It was exemplary. He reached the men, who were standing at ease and shuffled to attention as he arrived.

  ‘As you were. All right. Corporal Mays, Briggs, Valentine. Let’s get going.’

  Observed closely by the Coldstreamers, they left the camp, in as orderly and Guardsman-like a file as they could manage. The Guards saluted as they passed and were acknowledged. Behind them the noise of gunfire spoke of the speed of the German advance.

  They had not gone far when they crossed a railway line and found themselves on the edge of a wood. There was a noise of engines, and without further warning a carrier roared towards them through the undergrowth to their right and then following it around the flank of the wood came three light tanks with British markings.

  From the front seat of the carrier a man in a black beret addressed them, ‘Hallo. You chaps falling back? We must be covering you. 2nd RDG. Who are you?’

  Lamb spoke. ‘North Kents, sir.’

  ‘Really? North Kents? Your mob have been through here already. Quite a while ago. Badly shot up, some of them. You’ll need to hurry to catch them, though. Any wounded?’

  ‘Yes, three, as a matter of fact. One bad. We left them with the Guards.’

  ‘We’re under orders to carry them back if we can. See what we can do, old man. Pip pip.’

  With that he waved his hand and the carrier and its three tanks rumbled past them towards the front. Lamb couldn’t help thinking that to the officer it still seemed like some big game. And the man seemed to be enjoying it.

  He turned to Bennett. ‘Looks as if we’ll have to hurry if we want to catch up.’

  They moved around the edge of the wood and as they hit the road on the other side found a long column of British infantry moving in the same direction, towards the rear. The men’s expressions said it all. Many of them had bandaged heads and limbs and the few trucks which drove with them were packed with wounded. Lamb stopped. They all did. But it was Corporal Mays who spoke for them all. ‘Oh, my good God.’

  Lamb stared. It seemed as if for an instant the entire British army was on the road, ‘pulling back’.

  Bennett could see his face. ‘It’s not good, sir, is it?’

  ‘No, Sarnt. It’s not good at all. But I don’t think we’ll join their party. I think we’ll go south west. Just as quick to Tournai that way.’

  ‘And a much prettier road, I’d guess, sir. Without that lot’s long faces.’

  ‘You’ll never see a happy retreating army, Sarnt. Come on. If we’re lucky we’ll be there by tomorrow. Or in Brussels. You never know.’

  The sergeant laughed. But Lamb knew that there was no real mirth in it.

  Chapter 4

  The high sun beat down on the dusty road and, even where the tall poplars that lined its sides offered shade, sent shafts of light across the surface in bright white lines. The land lay flat about them, with a distant low horizon punctuated here and there with the steeples of village churches. On either side the crops crew tall in the fields and cattle stood in the meadows. On the grassy banks of the road the cornflowers bloomed. They had passed close to the north of the town of Wavre, and Lamb, consulting the motoring map of northern France he had had the foresight to purchase in London on embarkation leave, had thought it best, in view of the large numbers of refugees and soldiers on the other road, to stay on their own and hug the edge of the woods to the west of the town. But now they were back out in the open and, he thought, horribly vulnerable to air attack. They had trained for it, of course. This was the future of warfare, after all. But none of them had ever experienced the reality. For all he knew there might be German planes heading towards them at that very moment, ready to rain down bombs and strafe them with machine-gun fire as they walked along through the bucolic scene, just as they had done in Poland and Holland. And he had no idea as to where the RAF might be. But he was not prepared to trust that they would be directly above his head whenever the German dive-bombers struck.

  ‘Keep your ears open for enemy bombers, all of you. Listen out. You’ll hear them before you see them.’

  Even though it was coming on to 3.30 in the afternoon it was, supposed Lamb, a hot day even for this time of year in northern France. They had spent the night in an empty barn and he could not get the stench of stored manure out of his nostrils. The men too were aware of the smell, which, although they had not had any direct contact with the muck, seemed to have permeated their clothes. He knew too that, after five hours of marching, the men would be sweating uncomfortably in their thick battledress, just as he was. But at least it wasn’t raining. To be retreating was bad enough, but a soldier retreating through the pouring rain was never the happiest man in the world. He wondered where the other platoons in his company might be, and for that matter Company HQ. And what of Bourne and Long? He wondered whether they too were as lost as he, and attempting to rejoin the battalion. What a bloody mess. Suddenly weary, he spoke. ‘Sarnt Bennett, let’s give them a rest.’


  ‘All right, you lot. Fall out and take a rest.’

  The men moved to the side of the road, removed their packs and sat on them, most of them flipping open breast pockets to take out a packet of Woodbines or Gold Flake. Others lay back in the sunshine, feeling its warmth now as welcome rather than oppressive. They were hungry and thirsty and they all needed a shave, but at least they were safe. Lamb opened a pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case packed with Craven As – a wedding present from Julia, engraved on the lid with both of their initials. He took one out, tapped it twice on the tin and lit up, enjoying the bitter taste as the smoke circulated through mouth and nose.

  He turned to Bennett, who was lighting his own cigarette. ‘How are we off for rations, Sarnt?’

  ‘We’re all right, sir. Down to about two days’ worth a man, I should say. That’s bully and biscuit mainly.’

  ‘Well, that should do us. I dare say we’ll find the Company soon. Or even the Battalion. They can’t be more than a day’s march ahead of us.’

  ‘Hope so, sir. The men are feeling a bit adrift.’

  ‘Well, Captain Fortescue assured me that they withdrew along this road. So the best we can do is follow them. ’Fraid you’ve only got me for now.’

  Bennett smiled. ‘That’ll do us, sir.’

  He finished his cigarette and threw the butt to the ground, grinding it out with the sole of his boot before opening the map case that hung at his side and drawing out the precious road map. He opened it up and peered at a square. Bennett joined him. ‘We’re here, by my reckoning, just south of Brussels. Seems that the order is to regroup at Tournai, which is here. About thirty miles away.’ Giving one edge of the map to the sergeant, Lamb pointed at the square. ‘There’s a village up ahead. Looks like Rixensart. Reckon we might even find the Company there, Sarnt. They can’t have gone too far.’