The Black Jackals (26 page)

Bennett nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I think we might.'

They walked back up the road and through the town, taking the route up towards the beach. Lamb posted sentries on the road to the east, the direction from which any Germans might appear, and went to find the trucks. They were sitting, as Buck had said, on the road along the waterfront. He opened the bonnet of the first truck and got to work. It took him half an hour, and with every moment he knew that the enemy would be getting nearer. At length he yelled to Corporal Mays, who was sitting in the driver's seat, ‘Turn her over, Mays.'

There was a click and then a roar as the engine came to life. Lamb sighed. ‘That's one. Now for the other.'

Wiping his oily hands on a rag provided by Smart, he walked over to the second lorry, its bonnet already up. Peering in, he found the problem and was just repairing a broken wire when there was a shout. ‘Jerries, sir, coming up the coast road. Lorry-loads of them.'

‘Christ.' Lamb tied the wires together and yelled at Mays, ‘Right, let her go.'

Again the engine roared into life and the corporal kept her running. Lamb, not bothering to wipe his hands, ran to the first truck and grabbed his battledress jacket, then yelled: ‘Right, everybody in. Just get in. Let's go.'

He jumped up into the driver's seat and revved up the engine as the last men scrambled into the rear of the second truck, driven by Mays. It was an almost unbearable crush, but somehow they managed to cram themselves in. They tore down the road into the town and gathered up the picquets on the way before continuing to the south, away from the Germans. As they crossed the square Lamb was vaguely aware of something out of the corner of his eye – a lorry entering from the other side. He floored the accelerator pedal and the truck careered down the street and through the southern part of the town before emerging in the countryside beyond.

Bennett, who was sitting with him in the cab alongside Smart, said, ‘Do you think they'll follow, sir?'

‘No idea, and I don't intend to find out. I shouldn't think so. They'll want to get into the town. We need to get out of here and back up towards St Valéry. Can you read a map, Sarnt?'

‘Pretty well, sir.'

‘I can, sir.'

‘Right, Smart, dig into my tunic and find my map, then tell me where to go.'

They took a left and Smart led them into a maze of back roads which Lamb thought would avoid the approaching enemy.

‘Sir.'

‘Smart?'

‘I think we have a problem, sir. The only way to get to St Valéry is through Cany-Barville, across the Durdent.'

‘Yes, I'd seen that. We're just going to have to crash through the town.'

It was approaching 10 a.m. as they came into Cany along a tree-lined road. Apart from the constant drone of the bombers high above them, there was no evidence of the enemy.

‘No sign of Jerry, sir.'

‘Well, if he's here he's being bloody quiet about it.'

Then, turning a corner, they saw the first houses of the village, and there in the road ahead of them, to their complete surprise, a platoon of German infantry in the process of building a roadblock. Luckily the surprise was mutual.

Lamb yelled, ‘This is it. Hold on,' and pushed down hard on the accelerator. The truck and the one behind it went hurtling towards the half-built pile of crates and furniture and knocked it flying into the air, and with it two of the Germans.

They careered on and pushed a motorcycle into the verge, twisting it on its chassis, before continuing into the village.

Behind them Lamb could hear the sound of small-arms fire, but now there was also firing from up ahead. Not just rifles, but machine guns, and something heavier. Lamb carried on. They were in the centre of the village now, on the main street, and German soldiers were staring at them as they sped past. A few of them managed to get off shots, but none made contact as the trucks rolled past tall houses and shuttered and boarded shops. A German officer raised his pistol and fired. The bullet shattered the windscreen and just missed Lamb's head before embedding itself in the steel framework of the cab. The firing from their front was becoming louder now and Lamb put his foot to the floor. If there were British up there capable of firing then he wanted to be with them. They rounded a bend in the road and almost crashed into the rear of a German armoured car. Lamb hit the brakes and the truck lurched to a painful halt. Beyond the armoured car, through a shattered roadblock, he could see two British light tanks. As he watched one of them fired and the shell flew from the barrel and smashed into the wall of a house, exploding on impact in a rain of bricks and masonry. The armoured car reversed past them and headed away from the British tanks, which began to advance. The second tank fired, and this time the shell connected with the retreating German vehicle, throwing it onto its side. There were screams, and a group of enemy infantry came round the corner of a nearby house but took cover when they saw the tanks and Lamb's two trucks. At that moment there was a deep boom and the lead tank was hit amidships by a shell.

Lamb looked for the source and saw that a German anti-tank gun had been set up on the left of the road, about fifteen yards away. He backed the truck and shouted to the men in the back, ‘Jerry field gun at two o'clock. Take it out.'

There was a noise as men jumped down from the rear of the truck and then Lamb saw the gunners of the German gun pointing. It was the last thing they did, as seconds later two of them died in a hail of bullets from the Bren gun in the rear of the truck. He saw a Mills bomb fly towards the other gunners and explode, making a bloody mess of them. The German infantry under cover of the houses now broke and ran towards the wrecked armoured car and then beyond it into a side street. Lamb started up the truck and moved towards the British tanks. As he neared them one of the hatches flew open and a young officer appeared. The air was thick with the smell of cordite and fuel.

Lamb pulled up alongside and yelled across, ‘Who are you?'

‘Hogarth, 1st Lothians. Who are you?'

‘Lamb, North Kents, with a bunch of odds and sods. We're trying to get back to the 51st.'

‘Well, you've found us. Well done. This is as far as we go. Just trying to clear Jerry out of the place. Carry on up this road and you can't miss the rest of us.'

The tank pushed on in pursuit of the infantry and Lamb drove past the second tank, which was wreathed in black smoke, and sped out of the village as behind them the tank burst into flames, cremating the crew.

They passed several Bren carriers of the Lothians, and leaving the village behind they moved into dense woods on either side of the road. Rounding a huge loop in the road, Lamb sensed they were heading due north, directly for St Valéry.

Ahead of them, in the middle of the road, Lamb saw a figure – a British soldier with a Balmoral bonnet on his head. He was carrying no rifle, but instead a metal pail. As the lorries approached he moved to the side of the road and hailed them. Lamb slowed to a stop.

‘Are you lost?'

The soldier smiled. ‘No, sir, I'm just away tae find a coo tae milk. You havnay seen one, sir, have you?'

Lamb shook his head. ‘No, soldier. No cows. Plenty of Jerries, though. I should get back to your unit if I were you. Who are you with?'

‘First Gordons, sir. We're holding the centre at Ingouville. Dead ahead. Good day, sir.' And with that the man walked on past the trucks in search of his cow. Lamb looked at Bennett, and both of them burst out laughing. ‘Now I've seen everything. Looking for a coo. Good God.'

He drove on, followed by Mays's truck, and the woods gave way to farmland, and very soon, at a place called St Riquier, they saw other Highlanders manning slit trenches in the fields on either side of the road. They stopped at a roadblock made of a burnt-out car, two farm carts and a collection of farming machinery.

A lanky officer of the Gordons approached the truck, his pistol drawn. ‘Who are you? Where are you going?'

‘Lieutenant Lamb, Black Jackals. I'm taking my company into St Valéry.'

The man smiled knowingly. ‘Fair enough, but I wouldn't bother doing that. We're trying to hold the Jerries off here. You'd best join us, or keep going to the right flank and help them out over there. We're surrounded, you know.'

‘Yes, I knew that. Where's the General?'

‘Last I heard he was over at Blosseville at the crossroads, directing the traffic. The Frogs are coming in from the north, fouling everything up. Some job for a General, that, eh?' He waved them on, and two of his men cleared a gap in the roadblock, replacing it after the two trucks had passed through.

‘Sounds a bit desperate, sir,' said Bennett, ‘if the General's directing the Froggie trucks.'

‘Yes. I wonder where the French generals are. Sarnt Bennett, you take the wheel for a while. I want to look at the map.'

They stopped briefly to hand over, and as Bennett drove away Lamb studied his map, so used now that it had begun to rip along two of the folds. They were entering another village, Ingouville, and he saw that if they took a right turn rather than a left they would eventually reach Blosseville, where Fortune was acting as traffic policeman. He did not really expect to get any fresh orders from the general, but it seemed likely that Madeleine would be with him, or if she wasn't at least Fortune would know her whereabouts, and he needed at least to make sure that she was safe before he took his place in the defensive line.

‘Turn right here.'

They turned into the village and skirted its southern fringes. Looking to the left Lamb saw that it was teeming with more Highlanders and vehicles of all shapes and sizes, from requisitioned civilian cars and carts to trucks and carriers. Crossing a railway line they found their route blocked by another roadblock, 4th Camerons this time. They had evidently just arrived, for Lamb saw the drivers attempting to hide the battalion transport in an orchard beside the church. Having negotiated this obstacle they entered another similar village. Lamb directed them to the north, and no sooner had they left the village than the road was inundated by a sea of refugees. It was not, however, the usual mob of civilians slowing the truck down almost to a stop, but French soldiers, wandering aimlessly towards the south, in the opposite direction to Lamb's men. They were aiming vaguely for Rouen, as they had been ordered by their commanders, and they were certain now that they were heading for defeat.

As the trucks slowed to three miles an hour, Bennett turned to Lamb. ‘It's as busy as the Epsom road on Derby Day, sir. Shall I use the horn?'

‘Do whatever you have to. Just be careful. I don't want a riot.'

With his hand pressed almost permanently on the horn, Bennett gently guided the truck through the crowd, making way for the second lorry.

It was slow going for three miles, before the road cleared a little and he was able to get her up to about thirty miles an hour. Within the hour they found themselves at Blosseville. And if Lamb had thought the road chaotic, it was nothing compared to the streets of the little town. It seemed as if the entire French army had converged upon Blosseville. Moreover, from the way they were heading, it looked to Lamb as if some of the French were actually making for the coast and not towards the Seine. He wondered what chance 10,000 British troops would have of being evacuated in the face of this swelling tide of French soldiery.

Bennett gawped. ‘Blimey, sir. Who's in charge of this lot?'

‘No one, I suspect. I think their officers have the same idea. Everyone just wants to get away from the Germans.'

They drove past the village church and were approaching a crossroads when Lamb saw General Fortune. He was standing at the side of the road, map in hand, surrounded by British officers. His expression spoke volumes. Beside him a French general was shouting and gesticulating. It was not hard to work out what he might be saying.

Lamb directed Bennett towards the group and, stopping the trucks, he jumped from the cab. ‘General Fortune, sir.'

The General looked up from the map. ‘Is it Lamb? I thought you were with Arkforce.'

Lamb took a deep breath and prayed. ‘Thought I'd be more use here, sir. I've a company of men, sir, if you can use us.'

‘You do a lot of this sort of thing, Lamb? Disobeying orders from a senior officer?'

‘Acting on my initiative, sir.'

Fortune looked at him and laughed. ‘Of course we can use you, laddie. Question is how.' He turned to the French general, who had not stopped speaking: ‘General, I have told you, I have no spare ammunition. It has all been issued. In any case my bullets would not fit your guns. And yes, I do intend to embark my men, just as soon as the Navy can provide me with the necessary vessels.'

He turned to Lamb. ‘Why don't you take yourself off west of Houdetot. 1st Black Watch are holding the line down there. Your old friends. But the French are meant to be filling the gap between them and the Camerons, and they haven't arrived yet. Recce the gap until they arrive, will you, Lamb? My men are all in. We can't get away too soon. We're going to use St Valéry. There's nowhere else. I intend to start tonight. I've got 10,000 men of the Division and another 5,000 French, but there are more of them coming in by the hour.'

‘Sir, can I ask, is Miss Dujolle quite safe?'

‘Quite safe, Lamb. In St Valéry helping the medics.'

‘Thank you, sir. We'll get off to Houdetot.'

Lamb saluted and climbed back into the truck. ‘Well, that's it, Sarnt. Looks like the game's up. They're going to try to get us all off from St Valéry.'

‘Is that where we're going then, sir?'

‘No. We've got something else to do first. We've got to hold the line in the south until the French get there. You'd better turn right if you can and head down to Houdetot.'

They passed a farm destroyed by shellfire and then the road opened up and they could see, it seemed, along its whole length as it stretched away to the south. The road was just as packed as those heading west and north: French soldiers, mostly, and a few civilians, infantry, artillery and armoured men all mixed into one great mass and with them black Tirailleurs d'Afrique and other exotic North African troops, some of them riding in horse-drawn vehicles. At the roadside Lamb gazed at the lines of the uniformed dead, mostly French, machine-gunned by planes strafing the columns from the air. Had they been piled up there, he wondered, or, as it appeared they had, fallen there in a straight line, to lie dead in formation?