Dunkirk Spirit Part 40

'Yes, sir,' said Sandy. 'Bergues is still having the living daylights knocked out of it, as you can hear, but no sign of any attack yet.'

'Not even a probe?' asked Peter.

'Not here at any rate,' said Sandy. 'The odd sniper fire, that's all. But we dealt with them.' He paused. 'Oh, yes. Those chaps to our right were busy about an hour ago. But I didn't hear anything coming their way.' He took another sip and looked across the table. 'What do you suppose is keeping them?'

'Testing the line, probably. Looking for weak spots, perhaps. But I thought they would have made more of a concerted effort by now.'

'Perhaps tonight, sir.'

'Actually,' said Peter. 'We are rather hoping that they might hold off until dawn. The Jerries have never been much for night fighting, really. And if that is the case,' he hesitated and looked directly at Sandy. 'If that is the case, then keep your fingers crossed.'

'How's that?'

'I might just be giving the order to pull out tonight, around twenty-two-hundred hours, hopefully.'

'Is that pull out or pull back, sir?'

'Out. That's what we are hoping. I'll get a message to you as soon as I can. You will then be required to pull back to Dunkirk. The Navy have set up some jetty or something. I think they called it a mole. I shall have all the details for you. There will be s.h.i.+ps waiting to take us all off.'

'Well, in that case, sir, perhaps I could offer you something to eat. We've got all this food here and it will only have to be destroyed. We can hardly eat it all or carry it with us.'

'What have you got?' asked Peter. He shut his eyes briefly and felt the hollowness of his stomach.

'Of the fresh stuff, I can offer you an excellent chicken Provencal soup. If you like garlic, that is. Lucas is a little heavy handed with the stuff.'

'What else is in it?' asked Peter. 'Not that I mind one way or the other. I am so hungry I could eat a horse.'

'Fortunately, no horses.' Sandy curled his lip. 'It's mostly chicken, tomatoes, potatoes, various other veg and pulses, and white wine, of course.'

'Of course,' agreed Peter. 'Lucas!' he called over his shoulder.

'Just bringing it back up to the boil now, sir,' called Lucas from the kitchen.

'Jolly good,' said Peter. 'More sherry?'

'Sorry to interrupt,' announced Sergeant Harris. 'But there's been what you might call a development. You might want to come and have a look, sur.'

'I'll come with you,' said Peter.

A large herd of cream-coloured cows had wandered into the field on the opposite bank. They stood and stared across at Number Three Company with large brown accusing eyes.

'I thought the Jerries might use 'em as cover, sur. So's they can creep up on us,' said Sergeant Harris.

'Good thinking, sergeant,' said Sandy.

'Good opportunity for using up some of your surplus ammunition,' suggested Peter.

Sandy looked aghast. 'Not shoot them, you mean?' he asked. 'The stench is bad enough here already.'

Peter looked momentarily undecided. 'No,' he said, hesitating. 'I mean to scare them off. Fire over their heads.'

'Sergeant,' called Sandy. 'You heard the officer. Let's see what Sampson can do with that Bren of his.'

'Very strange creatures, cows,' confirmed Peter a few minutes later. 'If I were to go across there and wave my arms about and shout, they would be running back across that field before you could say Jack Robinson. But fire a Bren gun over their heads and they just stand there like lemons.'

'All the intelligence has been bred out of them,' explained Sandy. 'You can't imagine a herd of deer standing there like that.'

'D'you want me to shoot a couple, sir?' asked Samson. 'Spell it out for them, like?'

Sandy shook his head. 'Brens are not part of the natural predatory landscape for cows,' he explained, suddenly appearing to know something of these mysterious creatures. 'Give them half-an-hour. Perhaps they will wander off.'

'Right you are, sur,' confirmed Sergeant Harris.

'Just keep me posted,' said Sandy.

16:10 Friday 31 May 1940.

Zuydcoote Beach, France 'Oy! Archie Marley!'

He looked up from the sh.e.l.l crater.

'Oy! Over here!'

Archie rubbed his eyes and looked around him. Everything was a blur. The seawater inside the crater stung his eyes but at least it was moderately clean and not contaminated with marine fuel oil. He drew the backs of both hands across his eyes and struggled to focus. The tide was marching back up the beach and a long line of men stood in static procession, preparing to meet the rolling waves. Archie wiped yet more grit away and examined the line. Somebody, no more than one hundred yards away, was waving his arms. The voice was familiar.

'Archie! What the f.u.c.k happened to you?'

'Oh, no you don't! You ain't b.l.o.o.d.y queue jumping. Not while I'm 'ere you ain't. I been standing 'ere since yesterday afternoon!'

'Then you'll know this bloke was in front of you, won't you?'

The man looked confused, so Archie's friend continued. 'He's been off looking for water, haven't you, Archie?'

Archie nodded and stepped in line. 'Corporal Larkin!'

'Don't look so blooming surprised,' whispered the corporal.

'Fancy seeing you!' whispered Archie, wiping his eyes again.

'So let's have some of that water, then,' asked the man behind. He gave Archie a nudge in the back.

'I couldn't find any,' said Archie, barely bothering to turn around.

'Water, water, everywhere,' sung the man. 'But not a drop to drink.'

'So what the f.u.c.k happened to you?' asked the corporal again. 'What day is it?' he asked.

Archie shook his head and the corporal chewed his lip. 'So let's think, then,' he said. 'We had to abandon the position on Tuesday, I think it was. Tuesday morning.' He began counting on his fingers. 'I make that four days in all,' he said. 'So today must be Friday. So what the f.u.c.k happened to you since then?'

'What didn't!' sneered Archie.

'I had a f.u.c.king terrible time myself,' said the corporal. 'First we had to swim across a b.l.o.o.d.y great river. Then we had to march for G.o.d knows how long. I ain't had a proper night's sleep nor a decent meal since Monday. No, make that lunch on Sunday.' He looked Archie up and down. 'So what's with all the bandages?' he asked.

'Cut myself shaving,' stated Archie.

'Me, I'm growing a beard,' said the corporal, stroking his matted chin. A thick carpet of black stubble stretched up from inside the collar of his battledress and stopped just short of his eyes. 'Don't 'alf b.l.o.o.d.y itch, though!' he smiled. 'You ain't got a f.a.g, have you?'

Archie pulled out the tin and looked inside. He still had quite a few left. He gave one to the corporal and turned and offered one to the man behind. 'Found these, though,' he said.

'Ta very much,' said the man, reaching for his matches. He cupped his hand and held out a light for Archie. 'Not long, now,' he said, nodding out to sea.

Archie looked down. The water was beginning to roll towards his feet. At the end of the line a large steam trawler bobbed on the waves. A small rowing boat was making its way back to the line of men. He followed its progress through blurred eyes. A sailor in indigo overalls stood up in the bows of the boat, his hands on his hips. He shouted an order and the two-man crew held their oars still in the water. The first men to reach the boat did so by swimming out from the line. As they reached the gunwales the sailor tugged them over one at a time. Archie counted twelve men and then the boat was rowing back out to the trawler.

'Oh, s.h.i.+t!' said Archie, under his breath. b.u.t.terflies swirled in his empty stomach and a wave of brown foam lapped against the tip of his boot. 'Oh, s.h.i.+t!'

He bent down and scooped up Toto just as a larger wave of foam rushed up the sand.

'Is that your dog, then?' asked the corporal.

'Sort of,' explained Archie.

'I don't remember him,' said the corporal.

'You wouldn't,' said Archie. 'He attached himself to me this morning.'

'So what you gonna do with him, then?'

Archie grimaced. 'I thought I'd take him home for my girl.'

'I didn't know you had a girl,' said the corporal. 'You're a dark horse if ever there was one.'

'Got a picture of 'er, mate?' asked the man behind.

Archie pulled out the dog-eared photograph, holding it reluctantly against his chest.

'Come on! Give us a butchers,' said the man. 'I ain't gonna steal her from you, am I? Cor! Strike me! She's a bit of alright!'

The corporal s.n.a.t.c.hed the picture from the man's hands and, tilting his head to one side, he studied it carefully. 'She a redhead, then?' he asked.

'Auburn,' explained Archie.

'Very nice!' He gave a knowing look. 'Where was this taken, then?'

'At a friend's wedding, last year,' explained Archie.

'You been going out with her long?' asked the corporal.

'Yeah, sort of,' smiled Archie. 'I've known her since she was born.'

'Childhood sweethearts,' smiled the corporal. 'How nice!'

'Cradle s.n.a.t.c.her, more like,' said the man. 'How old is she?'

'Sixteen.' Archie felt he should have lied. 'She'll be seventeen next month.'

'Old enough to bleed,' nodded the man.

'Hey!' snapped Archie. 'That's horrible. You're talking about the girl I'm going to marry.'

'Don't bother mate! They're all the b.l.o.o.d.y same, ain't they?' The man spat into the foam as it washed against his s.h.i.+ns. 'They whisper sweet nothings in yer ear. Next thing you know they're up the duff and then you're living in a pokey bedsit with a flaming harpy and a screaming brat hollering day and night.'

'Talk about romantic,' said the corporal.

'Romance, my a.r.s.e! I joined up to get away from 'em,' explained the man. 'Another six months of that and I'd 'ave swung for 'em both!'

From far behind, a long way towards the end of the queue, voices rose in harmony.

Why are we wait-ing,

Why-y are we waiting,

Oh, why are we wa-ai-ting

Oh why, why, why?

Why are we wait-ing

Why-y are we wa-ai-ting?