Dawson’s prediction had been absolutely right – he had spent all day on the road in a truck. But this time he wasn’t driving, which was something of a relief. He’d slung his kitbag and Lee-Enfield into the back of one of the other lorries and then hopped in himself, to join a handful of other soldiers.
The distance from the army encampment just outside Lille to a village named Dalstein was about 250 miles, and it took them most of the day to cover the distance. It was a far from comfortable trip as the truck bounced and rattled over the uneven and rutted roads.
‘Hell of a way to go to war,’ one of the soldiers complained, as the truck lurched over a particularly savage bump in the road. ‘By the time we see any Jerries, we’ll be so battered and bruised from all this lot we’ll be too buggered to shoot straight.’
‘Maybe we won’t have to shoot at all,’ another man suggested, clinging on to the wooden seat with both hands. ‘I heard the French army’s pushed miles into Germany, about a dozen divisions, rolling right over the Jerries. They could be in Berlin inside the month, and this lot might be over by Christmas.’
‘No fucking chance,’ another voice replied. ‘If the bloody French have managed to stagger into Germany, they’ll surrender the moment they meet any serious opposition. No stomach for a fight, your average Frog.’
‘What about you, sapper?’ the first soldier asked Dawson. ‘You’ve been with that cavalry major for the last few days. Did he know what’s going on? And what are you doing with him, anyway?’
Dawson shook his head. ‘Right now, mate, I don’t think anyone knows what’s happening. Back at Catterick an officer I spoke to reckoned it was going to be a long haul, this war, said Adolf was a pretty good tactician. After all, they’ve already occupied Austria and Czechoslovakia with hardly a shot being fired,while that bloody idiot Chamberlain was waving his bit of paper around – “peace in our time” and all that crap. That didn’t stop Hitler invading Poland, did it?’
‘What about the galloping major? What did he think?’
‘He thinks Hitler wants to invade the whole of Europe, including Britain. He reckons what’s happening now is only the first step, and it’s going to be a bloody long, bloody hard fight.’
That remark silenced the other soldiers for a few moments.
‘Bit of a fucking depressing thought, that. I hoped we might be back home pretty soon.’
‘Don’t count on it.’
‘You never said what you’re doing over here, sapper.’
‘That’s right,’ Dawson said, ‘I didn’t. In fact, I can’t tell you what I was sent here to do. The major told me it was confidential.’
The other soldiers looked at Dawson with varying degrees of interest.
‘Not a bloody spy, are you?’
Dawson smiled and shook his head. ‘No. Just a soldier, same as the rest of you. But I used to be a mining engineer. That’s why I got volunteered. But that’s all I can tell you.’
The convoy finally pulled off the road into an open field outside Dalstein late in the afternoon. The lorries stopped in a curving line, spaced widely enough apart that any of the vehicles could drive away without another truck having to be moved.
Dawson climbed down and looked around him. They were obviously some distance from the village, because he could see no signs of habitation at all. Rolling hills extended in all directions, separated by wide, shallow valleys and open fields, most of the landscape heavily forested. If he hadn’t known that the German border was about ten miles away, it would have seemed a pretty pleasant place to have a picnic.
Within an hour the soldiers had erected their tents and were sorting out the rations for their evening meal. As Dawson was now more or less attached to them, he was given a bed-space in one of the tents, so he stowed his kit and helped out with the cooking.
Shortly after they’d eaten, a small group of French officers appeared in the field and spent half an hour talking to the officers in charge of the convoy. When they left, the British officers had a brief discussion, then one of them blew a whistle and ordered the soldiers to gather round.
‘Right, men,’ Lieutenant Charnforth began, when they were all assembled in a rough semi-circle around him. ‘We now know a bit more about what’s been happening in this area. Three days ago, on the fifth of September, just forty-eight hours after we and the French declared war on Germany, units of the French army started a limited offensive towards Saarbrücken.’
The lieutenant paused. A ragged cheer went up, and someone muttered, ‘Bloody good!’
‘Yesterday, about nine French divisions crossed the German border and began advancing into the Saarland region – that’s the area between the border itself and Saarbrücken. This advance has been on a broad front, nearly twenty miles wide, and the French have met with very little German resistance so far. The intention is for the French forces to occupy the area between the French border and the enemy lines, and then try to probe the strength of the German First Army defence sector there.’
‘Why don’t they just launch a full-scale attack, sir?’ someone asked.
Charnforth shook his head. ‘That’s not their objective. The purpose of this attack is to assist Poland. As you all know, Hitler invaded Poland at the beginning of September, and the French offensive is intended to divert German troops from that country and force the Germans to strengthen the Westwall – the Siegfried Line – in this area. So it’s not a serious and committed advance, or not yet, anyway. I gather that there are plans in hand for a full-scale assault, but that won’t happen for probably a couple of weeks, if then. And the reason the French have met very little resistance so far is because the German troops seem to be spread pretty thin around here.’
‘What are we here for, sir?’
‘Support only at the moment,’ the lieutenant said. ‘The French officers will request our help if they need any assistance, but there are so few of us that it’s unlikely we could do that much. For the moment, we’ll just stay here. But we’re only a few miles from the border, so keep your rifles loaded, and with immediate effect we will be posting sentries: two permanent two-man patrols, starting at twenty hundred hours today. The sergeant will draw up a roster.’
He paused and looked around. ‘Dawson, show yourself,’ he ordered.
Dawson moved forward and raised his hand.
‘You’re a sapper, and you might be needed sooner than the rest of us. One of the strategic objectives of the French advance is an area called the Warndt Forest. That’s quite a large area of woodland that actually straddles the border region, and we understand that one section of it, about three miles square, has been heavily mined by the Germans. It’s possible you might be ordered to assist with mine-clearance operations if the French decide to consolidate their advance in that area.’
Lieutenant Charnforth glanced around at the soldiers standing in front of him. ‘Right, men. That’s all for now. Dismiss.’