D Company, 1st Battalion, the Yorkshire Rangers, had made it to Vimy, had found the brigade-major and been sent promptly to the nearby village of Givenchy, near the base of Vimy Ridge, where they were told to lie up. At dawn the following morning they were to form up back in Vimy, where they would join the right-hand column attacking south.
It meant the men had a long afternoon and evening to kill. Tanner had seen they were nervous, jittery, even - Christ, he felt nervous himself. The feverish atmosphere that consumed the village hadn't helped. There were apprehensive locals - the parish priest among them - and exhausted, frightened refugees with their sad collection of worldly belongings, and not all were pleased to see British soldiers around the church and mairie, or to find army trucks parked between the lime trees in the square. Above, enemy aircraft had buzzed and swirled, prompting panic among the civilians. When, that evening, several Junkers 88s had swept over low, dropping their bombs on the village, pandemonium had erupted. No one had been hurt, but the hysterical sobbing from one young woman in particular had been unsettling.
'Can't someone shut that silly bitch up?' muttered McAllister, casting resentful glances in her direction. They were spread out in a corner of the church, some cleaning their weapons, some playing cards, others trying to sleep on the hard wooden pews.
'Poor girl's probably lost everything,' said Sykes. 'Come on, Mac, how would you feel if your home was bombed?'
'I'd write the Hun what did it a thank-you note,' said McAllister. 'Bloody hovel, my place is.'
They laughed.
'Actually, now you mention it, I wouldn't mind them flattening my old place either,' Sykes grinned.
'I've just remembered, Mac,' said Tanner. 'You're saving up for that house in Harrogate, aren't you?'
'I am, Sarge. I'm not going back to Bradford. I've got two pounds six and six so far.'
'You'd better stop playing Stan at cards, then.'
Blackstone was standing beside them. 'All right, boys?'
'No, Sergeant-Major,' said McAllister. 'That woman crying - it's getting on our nerves.'
'Leave it to me, Mac,' he said, and walked up to the front of the church where several other civilians were crouched around her.
'What's he up to?' said McAllister.
Tanner now got up from the pew on which he was lying and watched Blackstone squat beside the woman. His back was towards them so it was hard to tell what he was doing, but almost immediately the sobbing stopped, and a few minutes later the woman, surrounded by several others, stood up and walked out of the church.
'Well, I'm damned,' muttered Sykes.
"Ere, sir!' McAllister called to Blackstone, who was following the procession. 'What did you say to her?'
Blackstone came over. 'Told her it was her lucky day and that I'd see her behind the church in ten minutes.' The men laughed. 'Actually, I gave her a slug of cognac and a few francs. Booze and money, lads - it's what makes the world go round.' He grinned. 'Ready for some heroics tomorrow, Jack?'
Tanner said nothing, so Blackstone turned back to the others, shrugged - what's his problem? - winked and sauntered outside.
'He's a funny bloke, isn't he?' said Hepworth.
Ha bloody ha, thought Tanner. He wondered where Blackstone had got the cognac and francs from - knowing him, they'd probably been stolen. He lay down again on the pew and closed his eyes.
He was awake the moment Hepworth shook his shoulder, although momentarily disoriented. It was dark now in the church, the only light cast by several rows of candles beneath the pulpit. He sat up and looked at his watch-2215. 'What is it?'
'The OC wants to see you, Sarge.'
'Where is he?'
'In the bar across the far side of the square.'
Tanner stood up, slung his rifle over his shoulder, then went out of the church, round the front of the building and into the square. It was quiet now. Tanner wondered where all the refugees had gone - he supposed they had either moved on or taken shelter somewhere in the village; in the mairie, perhaps, or in some of the abandoned houses. Christ knows. He walked across the road and to the bar. But there was no sign of Captain Barclay so he stepped back outside and began to walk back across the road towards the trucks.
He was conscious of movement at either side of him, but before he could react, three men had leaped at him, the first hitting him hard with a wooden cudgel across the stomach. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him and doubled up, only for a second man to knock him to the ground, where his head was saved from slamming against the gravel by the rim of his tin hat. He grabbed one man's legs, yanked hard and pulled him over. Then he swung his fist into the man's jaw, momentarily surprised to see, in the dim light, that the fellow wore civilian clothes. Hands clasped his neck and hauled him away. He thrust his arm backwards, heard the man gasp, but the third figure punched him in the stomach, then again across the face. Tanner tasted blood and pain coursed through him. His rifle had fallen from his shoulder and now he kicked out in front of him as, with his left hand, he felt for his sword bayonet. The man behind still had him tightly by the neck, then a blow connected with his kidney, making him cry out in pain.
'Oi, stop that!' said a voice, followed by a single revolver shot into the air. The effect was immediate: his neck was released, Tanner fell back on to the ground, and two assailants ran off down the street, their footsteps ringing out in the evening quiet. The third got to his feet groggily and ran off too.
'Good job I turned up, Jack.'
Tanner's spirits fell further. Bloody Blackstone. 'Thanks,' he muttered, getting slowly to his feet. He leaned back against one of the Opels and felt his face. His cheekbone was cut and his lip was bleeding. His stomach and side were bruised, too, but the damage might have been worse. He had survived harsher beatings than this one.
'What the bloody hell was all that about?' asked Blackstone, now beside him.
'God knows,' muttered Tanner. 'They just jumped on me.'
'Here,' said Blackstone. 'Have a swig of this.' He passed Tanner a bottle of cognac and Tanner drank, the liquid stinging his mouth and burning his throat.
'Thanks,' he said again.
'Don't know what would have happened if I hadn't shown up,' said Blackstone. 'Three against one. Could have been nasty.' He struck a match, whistled, then lit a cigarette. 'Whoah! You're a pretty sight, Jack.'
'I'll live,' said Tanner.
'Reckon you owe me one now, though.'
'Oh, here we go,' snapped Tanner. 'What do you want?'
'No need to be so touchy. Christ, I save your bloody life and you're having a go at me already.'
'Just spit it out.'
Blackstone chuckled. 'It's a simple thing, really, Jack.' He moved a step closer. Tanner smelt the mixture of tobacco and brandy on his breath. 'Start being a bit friendly, like. As I said to you the other night, I run this company, all right? We do things my way, not yours and Mr Peploe's.'