To the Channel

Outside West-Cappel, France
(Source)

"Lance corporal!"

Billy Wallace turned from the remnants of his squad as he heard the voice call out. Billy was looking for an officer, the voice sounded cultured, upper class. But all he saw was a bantam rooster of a man wearing the insignia of a sergeant major. He heard the voice call out again, it was the sergeant major. Billy stood up.

"Sar'nt Major?"

The man had a pipe clenched between his teeth and wore a neat beard, quite out of regulations Billy realized. But when he felt his own stubble, he realized that none of them were exactly ready for the parade ground.

"This your squad, laddie?" the sergeant major gestured at the six men sitting in the ditch nearby.

"Aye Sar'nt Major, those are my lads, what's left of 'em anyway."

"Where's your sergeant?"

"About five miles up that road, dead in a French farmer's front yard. Bleeding Jerries were on us before we knew what to do, Sar'nt Greaves' last words to me were, 'Get 'em back to the Channel Billy, we're f**ked.' So here we are, map says we're about eight miles from Dunkirk, that sound right Sar'nt Major?"

"Quite. I need your lads for a special mission."

"Sar'nt Major?"

"There's a small packet of Huns down this road," he gestured behind him, "which is holding us up from getting the Hell out of here. Bloody Jerry kites¹ have been all over us. I haven't seen any of their tanks lately, doesn't mean they're not around, but we need to clear this farmhouse of Huns. You lads up for it?"

Billy looked skeptical, he thought he recognized the Sergeant Major, he seemed to recall the man's name was Cornwell and he was with the brigade staff. Same regiment, same battalion as Billy though, and that always counted for something.

Turning to the men, Billy asked, "Lads? Feel like getting back into the war?"

Oddly enough it was Private McLaren, not the best soldier on the planet, who stood up and said, "If I have to clean this bloody rifle everyday," he said as he held out his Lee-Enfield, "I ought to at least shoot it a few times."

The others all stood as well, Private Malcolm Bain looked at Billy and stated, "Robby's right, we need to get stuck in, I'm tired of running from the bastards."

French farm - road to Dunkirk
(Source)

"Jesus!" Billy exclaimed in a hushed tone.

On the short drive leading to the farmhouse from the main road was a wrecked Tilly command car. Billy could see one body lying next to the passenger side of the car. Two more bodies were sprawled in the drive. In the warm spring climate, they were starting to bloat.

"They pulled in to that drive, thinking to perhaps find some food and water on the farm. What they found was a German machine gun and a support squad of no more than five men. But they are well-placed. The chap who set them up in there knew his business.' Sergeant Major Cornwell explained as he surveyed the approaches to the farm.

Billy was also looking over the situation. So perhaps seven or eight Jerries, hunkered down in those buildings, perhaps waiting for nightfall. He wondered how they had gotten separated from their unit.

"Reconnaissance group ya think, Sar'nt Major?" Billy ventured a guess.

"On foot?" Cornwell replied with some doubt.

"I'll wager a penny to a pound that they have a vehicle stashed in those outbuildings on the left." Billy gestured at the long, low building near the left side of the drive.

"Could be. Think we might be able to winkle them out, Lance Corporal?"

Billy looked at the Sergeant Major in surprise, where had this man spent his career? A headquarters billet? Without dwelling on it he decided to take charge.

"So, Sar'nt Major, you do know how to use that thing, right?" Billy said gesturing at the American Thompson the Sergeant Major was carrying.

Cornwell huffed and said, "Of course ..."

"Right then, you take two of the lads and head back down this main road. Get into the fields and start working your way up to the farm. Those trees should screen your advance. I'll give you thirty minutes, then myself and the other lads will start plinking the farmhouse."

"Plinking?"

"Shooting out the windows and the like, keep the Huns' attention on us. When you see your chance, rush the building. Don't hesitate, kill everyone inside."

"What if the opportunity doesn't present itself?" Cornwell asked.

"Then we head into the fields behind us and take the long way to Dunkirk. I have the feeling that there's nothing behind us but Jerries. I think we might be the last of the BEF out here."

Schütze Leonhard Ludecke was looking out of the window on the upper level of the farmhouse. He swore he saw something moving out there. Before he could report it a volley of .303 rounds hit the side of the farmhouse. One hit Ludecke's forehead, dead center.

On the ground floor, Unterfeldwebel Kurt Scherzer saw the muzzle flashes from near the main road. Looked like the Tommies were on to his little band of reconnaissance troopers. He nodded at Armin Hanfstaengl, the MG 34 gunner, who began to lay down fire on the enemy position.

The Tommies were staying under cover, shifting positions while keeping up a steady fire on the farmhouse. Real professionals from the look of things. Something was bothering Scherzer, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. For the moment he had his men concentrate on the enemy.

"Johannes, take Martin and get to the farm shed, get the truck started. We'll head out the back way. I don't want to stay here any longer, these fellows are probably stragglers, if we clear out, they will probably continue their retreat."

Johannes Kröger yelled back, "Jawohl!" As he rose, gesturing at Martin Schumacher to follow, he had exposed himself to enemy fire. With a grunt he collapsed to the floor, blood rapidly spreading out underneath him.

Cornwell saw his chance, he and two of Wallace's men, he didn't know their names, had worked their way around to the rear of the farmhouse. The man who had been watching the fields they came through had been distracted by the fire coming in from the road and consequently wasn't paying attention. He had moved into the front room to assist his sergeant.

One of the British privates kicked in the back door, surprising another young German who turned to see what the commotion was. He went down quickly as the second British private with Cornwell ran his bayonet into the German's chest.

After Cornwell's Thompson shot down the man whose job it had been to watch the flank, the men manning the machine gun in the front room had no choice but to surrender. It was that or die.

Billy could hear the rumble of artillery in the distance, he was wondering where all the Germans were. Other than the four disconsolate prisoners they had taken at the farmhouse. He had to wonder what that felt like, your army is winning the war and you manage to get captured by the very enemy you were beating.

Hard to take, he guessed, hard indeed.

"Sar'nt Major, it's awfully quiet out here, where are all the bloody Jerries d'ya think?" McLaren asked.

"Have you noticed all the canals and little rivers around here, soldier?"

When McLaren nodded, Cornwell ventured a guess, "I think their army has been pulled up short, they have us in a sack and they know it." Cornwell heard the sound of aircraft engines high above, pointing that way he said, "I think the Jerries mean to finish us with their air forces. Might well do so if we can't figure out a way to get away off to Blighty."

Billy thought about it then said, "Where's the bloody RAF², Sar'nt Major?"

Gesturing vaguely towards the sky he said, "They're up there, you just can't see 'em. My problem right now is wondering how the Navy is going to get us away. Jerry is pounding the port facilities I'd guess. I think we're in for a rough time lads. A rough time."

Four miles to the west, the men could see a thick pall of smoke over the city of Dunkirk, prompting Private Bain to ask, "We're going into that mess, Corp?"

"No way around it laddie, that's the way home."

The men grew quiet as they wondered what the future held.

¹ Slang term for an aircraft.

² Royal Air Force