'This is blackmail, sir,' said Blackstone.
'Be quiet, CSM!' shouted Barclay. He went over to a dresser that stood along one side of the kitchen, picked up Tanner's stripes and handed them to Peploe. 'I was doing what I thought was right,' he said, utterly dejected. 'Let's hope Tanner proves worthy of the faith you have in him, Lieutenant.'
'I have absolutely no doubt that he will,' said Peploe.
'It's a quarter to ten, Peploe. Get Tanner and make sure your platoon are ready in a quarter of an hour.' He sighed heavily. 'But don't think this matter is closed. We've a battle to fight, but afterwards . . .' He trailed off.
Peploe and Sykes saluted, then fetched Tanner.
'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner, as he took his stripes back.
'Here,' said Peploe, delving into his pack for his housewife. 'You'd better get them sewn back on quick. Reckon you can have it done in five minutes?'
'I'll do it, Sarge,' said Sykes.
'Good. I'll go and sort out the men. Meet us by the trucks as soon as you can.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner again. He then stood still while Sykes's nimble fingers quickly stitched one set of stripes, then the other into the thick serge.
'There,' said Sykes, eventually. 'Those should hold for the moment, at any rate.'
D Company set off a few minutes after ten, driving out of the square and up the hill, past the giant Canadian war memorial, erected only a few years before in honour of those killed during the last war against Germany. It gleamed proudly in the morning sunshine. Behind, pockets of mist still hung in the valley. Ahead, young pines sprouted up through the still pockmarked landscape of Vimy Ridge.
'Thank God for mobile warfare,' said Peploe as he gazed out from the cab of the Opel.
Tanner said nothing. The humiliation of the past twelve hours still occupied his mind. None of the lads had said anything to him but there had been glances and knowing looks. Blackstone had made sure they'd heard about the rape charge. Peploe had come to his rescue, but Tanner was conscious that Blackstone had still partly achieved his goal. The men in the platoon would view him differently - warily, even. The trust he had won had been undermined, just as Blackstone had wanted.
They were halted in Neuville by 151st Brigade men and directed to an open area opposite the same massive French cemetery they had passed the day before. A battery of gunners was already there, vehicles and guns lined up ready to move. A brigade staff officer ordered them out of the trucks, while Captain Barclay and his two lieutenants were instructed to take the Krupp, wheel round and head back up the ridge to Petit Vimy where they were to liaise with Lieutenant-Colonel Beart, officer commanding, 8th Battalion, Durham Light Infantry.
Tanner watched them head off. Then, as the rest of the men were getting out of the back of the Opels, he heard the tell-tale thrum of aircraft and looked behind to see a dozen Stukas peeling off and diving down on the ridge. No bombs fell, but machine-guns chattered, the sound clear and sharp. Tanner saw Ellis and Denning flinch. He hoped Mr Peploe was all right.
'Christ, will you look at that?' muttered Sykes.
'They're bloody slow, though, aren't they?' said Tanner.
'Not the Stukas, Sarge - all those bloody graves.' He pointed to the French cemetery. Row after row of white crosses stretched from the road to the ridge beyond. 'There must be thousands and thousands of 'em.'
Tanner wandered over to the small British cemetery that lay beside the French one and lit a cigarette. From the village, now that the Stukas had gone, he could hear tanks, their tracks squeaking. Soon six French light tanks were turning off the main village road towards them.
As the last one passed, Tanner stepped across the road behind it and walked to the other side of the trucks. From the far side of the Opel he could hear a group of men from the platoon talking.
'Well, I still reckon old Blackie's a good sort,' said McAllister. 'He said that bird swore the sarge had had his way with her.'
'What I don't see is why she'd lie about it,' said Bell.
'You reckon he did it, then?' said Ellis.
'I dunno,' said Hepworth. 'Maybe it was someone else. Maybe she got it wrong. It was dark, weren't it?'
Tanner clenched his fists, banged his right hand hard against the side of the truck, then walked round to confront them. A hush fell over the men as he stood before them. For a moment he glared at them, his pale blue eyes staring at each man in turn.
'Sarge, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—' began Hepworth.
'Shut up, Hepworth,' Tanner snarled. 'Listen to me, all of you. I know what you've heard, so I'm going to say this to you once. It's true that I was attacked last night and it's true that some French woman has accused me of raping her.' He eyed them all in turn. 'I did no such thing. You've had your gossip but I don't want to hear another word about it. Today we're going into battle and, believe me, when the shells start falling and the machine-guns are firing, this bollocks will seem very unimportant. What will matter is making sure we beat those bastards and that you come through it in one piece.' He stared hard at McAllister. 'Don't believe everything the CSM says, Mac. Remember this: I've known him a lot longer than you have.'
McAllister's eyes darted about nervously. His cheeks flushed. 'Sarge—' he said.
'Forget it, Mac,' said Tanner. 'Just don't let me down today, all right?'
Lieutenant Peploe could hardly bring himself to speak to Captain Barclay as they drove towards Petit Vimy. He knew the captain was not a bad man, but he also recognized some fundamental failings in the fellow. He was impressionable, not a natural leader of men, probably not terribly bright either. Or, at least, not someone who could think quickly on their feet. No wonder Blackstone had such a hold over him. That confidence, that breezy charm and quick mind - those were useful tools for someone like the CSM.
He looked out of the cab at the hordes of refugees taking cover by the side of the road and in the young woods covering the slopes of the ridge, then realized that the arrival of the Stukas had, in fact, been something of a godsend, enabling Lieutenant Bourne-Arton, who was driving, to reach the little hamlet quickly and just as the enemy attack finished.
The place heaved with troops, most of whom, Peploe thought, were exhausted. Directed to Battalion Headquarters - the village bar - they found Lieutenant- Colonel Beart and his battalion officers already in conference.
'Ah, come on in,' said Beart, ushering them to join the half-circle gathered around him. 'You're the company from the Yorkshire Rangers, aren't you?'
'Yes, sir,' said Barclay. 'We've been attached to you because we've got four Jerry trucks.'
Peploe cringed at the obvious pride with which Barclay announced this.
Beart smiled. 'Good. Then you can come under command of Captain Dixon in A Company.' He pointed to an officer several years younger than Barclay.
'How d'you do?' Dixon shook hands with each man in turn. 'Good of you to join us.'
'Right,' continued Beart. 'So, Dix, you've got a scout troop of motorcycles from the Northumberland Fusiliers, a platoon from 260th Ack-Ack Battery, a carrier platoon less one section and our new friends from across the border in Yorkshire. Captain Dixon will lead the advance guard. Dix - over to you.'