The firing stopped and now he heard voices - French? - from the far side of the river, then from behind him.
Still hidden behind the bend in the road, Captain Barclay called, 'Peploe, Tanner, are you all right?'
'Lieutenant Peploe's hit, sir,' Tanner yelled back. The lieutenant's face was ashen and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his right temple. At the side of the helmet there was a hole where a bullet had entered - a glancing blow, but enough to penetrate the steel. Tanner put his ear to Peploe's mouth, heard shallow breathing, then felt for a pulse. Thank God.
'Tanner?' It was Barclay's voice again.
To his right, a man was now emerging from a house - thick white moustache, black jacket and cap. He held up his arms. 'Arretez! Arretez votre fusillade/'
Carefully Tanner eased off Peploe's helmet and heard something drop. On the cobbles beside him he found a spent bullet. Quickly he parted Peploe's thick flaxen hair and saw, to his relief, that the bullet had only cut his head, not penetrated.
The Frenchman was now beside him, crouching. His face was deeply tanned and lined, a two-day grey beard flecking his cheeks. The soldiers were across the bridge now, hurrying towards them.
'Imbeciles!' said the man. 'lis sont nos allies.'
Tanner stood up. 'Nous sommes anglais,' he said again, to a young clean-shaven French lieutenant.
The lieutenant took out his pistol, stepped forward and pointed it at Tanner's stomach. 'There are no British here,' he said, in heavily accented English. 'They are to the north and west.'
'We are, sir,' said Tanner. 'We got detached from the rest of our battalion on the Brussels-Charleroi canal a couple of days ago.'
'And you made it here? Nonsense! You are lying.'
'It's true, sir. Yesterday evening we discovered some Germans between Mons and Valenciennes and managed to take some of their vehicles.'
The French officer laughed. 'You expect me to believe that? What do you take me for? No, you are Germans - fifth columnists.' There was triumph on his face. Tanner groaned to himself. Hell, he thought. That's all we need.
'Tanner? Tanner!' Barclay again. Tanner turned and saw Captain Barclay with Blackstone, McAllister, Ellis and several others advancing cautiously down the street.
'Tanner!' called Captain Barclay again, as half a dozen French soldiers raised their rifles.
The French lieutenant followed their gaze and, at that moment, Tanner thrust forward with his left forearm, knocking the officer's gun away from his stomach. Then, with his right, he grabbed the pistol. The startled lieutenant had no time to react before Tanner had brought his left arm tight round the Frenchman's throat and dug the pistol into his side.
'Tell your men to drop their weapons,' hissed Tanner, fractionally lessening his grip around the man's throat to enable him to speak. 'Now!'
'Jetez vos armes!' he gasped. The men did as they were ordered, a mixture of fear and anger in their eyes.
'And tell your men on the other side of the bridge to cease firing.'
Tanner loosened his grip a fraction more, but pressed the barrel of the pistol more firmly into the Frenchman's side.
'I'm sorry, sir, but I swear we are who we say we are,' said Tanner in his ear. 'British soldiers from the First Battalion, the King's Own Yorkshire Rangers, Thirteen Brigade, Fifth Division, British Expeditionary Force. We are trying to reach British Headquarters in Arras and want safe passage across the Escaut.'
'Don't shoot, please,' said the lieutenant.
'I won't,' said Tanner.
'Monsieur, s'ilvous plait,' said the older man, looking up at Tanner with an appalled expression, 'votre ami . . .' He swept his hand downwards and Tanner saw that Peploe had opened his eyes and was clutching the side of his head.
'Tanner, what the devil's going on? What's happened to Peploe?' said Captain Barclay, now hurrying up to them, anger and indignation etched across his face.
'Our allies opened fire on us, sir,' said Tanner, 'and Lieutenant Peploe was hit in the head.'
'Good God!' Barclay knelt down beside the still prostrate lieutenant.
'I reckon he'll be all right, sir,' added Tanner. 'This French officer thinks we're German fifth columnists. He was going to shoot, so I'm afraid I was forced to disarm him and order the others to lower their weapons.'
'Fifth columnists!' snorted Barclay. 'What absolute rot!' He stood up again and faced the French lieutenant. 'Now look here,' he said, 'we're who we say we are. British soldiers. Please take us to your superior officer.' He pointed down to Peploe. 'This man needs attention.'
'Sir,' said Fanner, loosening his grip and allowing the Frenchman to stumble free, 'perhaps show him some documents.'
His face reddening, Barclay said, 'Very well.' From the breast pocket of his battle-blouse, he produced his identity card, dog-tags and a letter from his wife. 'Here. Will this convince you?' He pointed to the address in Pateley Bridge. 'There. Do you think Fd have all this lot if I was a bloody Hun spy?'
The French sous-lieutenant peered at the letter, then at the pale pink military identity card with its different types of ink, its Leeds stamp and photograph. Tanner then showed him his own AB64 paybook, careful not to reveal the German packet of cigarettes as he delved in his pocket.
The Frenchman's face now flushed. 'Er, sir, pardon. It seems I was mistaken.' Triumph had been replaced by contrition. 'I am very sorry, but we have been warned repeatedly to keep a watch for fifth columnists and we have seen no other British troops.' He now stood up straight and saluted. 'Sous-Lieutenant Marais, Tenth Pioneer Company of the Fourth Infantry Regiment, Fifteenth Division, Four Army Corps.' He turned briskly and snapped some orders to the men behind, who, with an eye on Tanner, gingerly picked up their rifles, then bent over Peploe and lifted him carefully.
'What happened?' mumbled Peploe. Then his eyes opened and he saw the French soldiers. 'Who are you?'
'Don't worry, sir,' said Tanner. 'You took a blow to the head but you'll be fine.'
'Follow me,' said Marais. Then he turned to Tanner and held out his hand. 'My pistol, Sergeant, if I may.'
Tanner handed it to him, holding his gaze - I would have killed you - then turned to the old man, now standing beside the road watching the troops head over the river.'Merci, Monsieur,' he said, offering his hand. The old man took it, then heaved a big sigh.
'J'ai fait partie de la derniere guerre. A Verdun. C'etait terrible. La guerre est monstrueuse.' He shook his head and turned sadly away.
Marais's company commander, Capitaine Marmier, an apparently less impetuous man, brushed aside concerns about fifth columnists, apologized profusely and insisted Marais drive Peploe to the 4th Infantry Regiment field dressing station. In the meantime, he urged Captain Barclay to bring the vehicles and the rest of D Company across the bridge and to wait at his command post, a roadside house a short distance from the river on the western side.