The Black Jackals. Iain Gale

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      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.’

      ‘Looks hopeful, sir.’

      ‘Right then. Let’s get them up.’ He folded the map and replaced it in the case.

      Bennett yelled, ‘Come on, lads. On yer feet. Let’s keep going.’

      There were a few groans and one comment of ‘slave driver’ and ‘don’t he know there’s a war on’ from unknown grumblers that earned a shout from Corporal Mays. But without much trouble the platoon got back on the road.

      The town that lay ahead of them was nothing remarkable. The countryside quickly gave way to a street lined with small terraced houses typical of the region. There was a church to the right and on the left a large open area of parkland that at one point he thought might have belonged to a château.

      Lamb scanned the street and saw no one. No civilians, and certainly no sign of any military personnel. He turned to Smart, who was behind him with the RT. ‘Bit strange, Smart, don’t you think?’

      They entered in textbook formation with Corporal Mays and No. 1 section up front, then twenty-five yards behind Lamb’s HQ group, including Valentine and Briggs. Then came Sergeant Bennett with the mortar crew, and finally the two other sections each led by a lance corporal, one either side of the road, Valentine’s bringing up the rear.

      Lamb slowed the pace and they walked into the town. Still there was no sign of the inhabitants.

      Smart spoke. ‘Looks like they’ve upped sticks and gone, sir. Perhaps they knew we was coming.’

      It certainly looked as if the population had left in a hurry. A few bags had been forgotten and stood forlorn outside a house whose door swung on its hinges.

      Papers blew across the street and a cat crossed his path. He looked up and saw that most of the houses had been shuttered, although what use that might have been, had it been the Germans and not his platoon who had arrived, he could not think.

      Bennett came up. ‘They’ve gone, sir. Everyone. Cleared out. Not long ago, neither. Coffee’s still hot in the pots.’

      ‘Yes, Sarnt. So it would seem. Smart, any joy with the RT?’

      ‘Nothing, sir. Dead as a doornail.’

      ‘I suppose there’s nothing to be done but to carry on, Sarnt. Our chaps must have come through here in a hell of a hurry.’

      ‘Perhaps that’s why the civvies all cleared СКАЧАТЬ