Darkest Hour (27 page)

Tanner switched on his torch and flashed it around the
vehicle. There were two bench seats on either side, which, he guessed, could
take eight or ten men in all. Then he sat down again and shone the torch at the
dashboard. It was simple, with an explanation of the gears and different drive
options on a plate. Further along was another plate.
So it's a Krupp.
Next to him he saw a flat leather case,
picked it up and opened it. Inside, he discovered some maps. He smiled to
himself as he opened the first.
Jesus, those
Jerries were careless bastards.
There was Mons and, to the south,
Mauberge. Further to the west Le Cateau, Cambrai and St Quentin were all
circled. Between Cambrai and Le Cateau a line had been drawn in thick pencil
and beside it the number seven, written with a line across the stem of the
figure, and then 'Pz'. 'Seventh Panzer,' he mouthed to himself. 7th Panzer
what? Division, brigade? Corps? His eyes rested briefly on Mons again and then
he scanned the map immediately to the west of the town. Where the hell were
they? There was the river, and the road they had been on the previous
afternoon. Then he found two possible roads that led south across the river,
but only one showed woodland in the right place. Just below a village was
marked as Hainin.

'Sergeant Tanner,' said a breathless voice beside him,
'how very splendid it is to see you again.'

Tanner turned to see Lieutenant Peploe climbing up
beside him. 'Morning, sir.' He grinned. 'Are we ready to go?'

'Almost. Just setting up the other Bren and making
sure the squadron leader's safely aboard. Captain Barclay's going to join us.'

'And Blackstone?'

'He's at the rear with McAllister, Ellis and the rest
of Company Headquarters.'

Other men were now clambering into the back, the truck
rolling slightly as they did so.

'Where did you find that?' said Peploe, spotting the
map.

'Kindly left by Jerry. Look, sir,' he said, pointing
to the tiny circle made by the closed beam of his torch, 'we're here. There's
the village, and there's the road on which Sykes and I saw the German convoy
yesterday.'

Peploe peered at it. 'Ye-es,' he said. 'So this is the
river Haine.'

'We need to keep a wide berth around Hainin, sir,'
said Tanner. 'I suggest we follow the road along the river, then cross here at
Montroeul-sur-Haine. That's - what? - five miles or so, and then we can head
south and rejoin the main road to Valenciennes at Quievrain.'

'Isn't that a bit risky? The enemy's already been seen
on that road.'

'But it's quick, sir, and it's dark. Jerry might have
changed his habits, but in Norway he liked to knock off during the night. If we
do see any enemy, I reckon we'll get through - especially if we tell everyone
to wear field caps and not helmets. German field caps look much the same as
ours. Why would they suspect anything?'

'You don't think the word would be out?'

'Maybe. But it's a bit embarrassing for whoever's in
charge. If I'd had four trucks nicked from under my nose, I know what I'd do.
I'd keep quiet about it.' He pointed at the pencil markings on the map. 'If
these are correct, sir, then Jerry's not at Valenciennes yet. He was just using
this road as a means of getting near the front, which from this map seems to be
further south. I reckon we can get through Valenciennes, then push on through
this place - Denain - on to Douai and then to Arras.' He measured the distance
with his finger and thumb. 'About sixty or so kilometres - what's that?
Forty-odd miles. With clear roads we'll do it in a couple of hours.' He glanced
at his watch. It was now just after two in the morning. 'We could be in Arras
before the war starts again, sir.'

'All right, Tanner,' said Peploe, as Tanner took off
his pack and set it beside him on the seat. 'You've convinced me. I'll suggest
it to the OC.'

A moment later, Captain Barclay joined them. 'Damn me,
Tanner, I take my hat off to you,' he muttered, shaking his head in wonderment.

'Sir, the previous owners very decently left us their
map,' said Peploe. He held it open on his lap. 'I'd like to suggest this route
- here.'

Barclay peered over as Peploe explained the plan,
fingers tracing lines on the map. The captain followed, wearing a glazed
expression.

'Good,' he said. 'Carry on, then.'

Peploe leaned behind him and said to the men in the
back, 'Make sure you keep watching the truck behind, all right?'

'Well said, Peploe,' muttered Captain Barclay.

Tanner put his foot on the clutch, shoved the stick
into first gear, took his other foot off the brake and the truck rumbled on
into the Belgian night.

It soon began to rain, only lightly at first, then
rather more heavily. Those in the Opels were under cover, but Tanner's Krupp
had no covered cab or canvas tarpaulin to strap over the back. There was a
single wiper on the driver's side of the windscreen, which Tanner soon discovered
how to switch on, but although it worked well enough, it hardly helped make
driving along dark, narrow roads any easier; as it was, the narrow slits of
light from the blinkered headlamps cast only a small amount of light on the
road ahead.

Tanner lifted his collar and temporarily swapped his
field cap for his rimmed helmet, and then asked Peploe to take out his leather
jerkin.

'Damn this rain,' muttered Captain Barclay.

'I reckon it's doing us a favour, sir,' said Tanner,
as Peploe handed him the serge-lined jerkin. 'Even more likely to keep the
Germans indoors.'

'Let's hope you're right, Sergeant.' The captain had
been so quiet that Peploe had asked if he was feeling all right. Barclay had
snapped that he was fine, then fallen back into deep thought. Now, however, he
seemed to be rediscovering his voice. 'Where are we now, Peploe?' he asked. 'I
can see something ahead.'

'Here, sir,' said Peploe. He switched on his torch
directly over the map and pointed. 'That's the village of

Montroeul-sur-Haine. In a few miles we join the main
road.'

'Should be easier driving then, sir,' said Tanner.

'All right. I'll take the map from now on,' said the
captain, snatching it.

'Of course, sir,' said Peploe.

'And, Tanner, grateful though I am, I don't want you
going off on your own again. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir,' said Tanner.

'Actually, I gave them permission, sir,' said Peploe.

'Yes, well, even so,' said Barclay. 'Remember that I'm
in charge, not either of you. I don't like being kept in the dark. Makes me
look foolish in front of the men.'

'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,' said Tanner, mechanically,
then cleared his throat. 'They were SS, sir.'

'SS? Are you sure?'

'Yes, sir. There are SS symbols on the numberplate and
the men had a skull and crossbones on their collar.'

'Typical bloody Nazis,' muttered Barclay. 'Christ,
that's all we need.'

'They didn't seem much to worry about, sir. We got in
and out of there with barely a fight. They had good kit, mind you. The two I
saw wore a kind of speckled camouflage smock and helmet liner. And I took this
off one of them too.' He unslung the stubby firearm and passed it across Peploe
to Captain Barclay.

'What is it?' said Barclay, handling it.

'It's a sub-machine-gun, sir,' said Tanner. 'It's got
a perforated air-cooled barrel, like the other MGs, and a magazine that must
take thirty rounds or so.'

'Did you get any ammunition?' asked Peploe.

'I took what was on him.'

'Good,' said Barclay. 'I'll hang on to it. Might come
in useful.'

'You don't think Tanner should keep it, sir?' said
Peploe. 'Spoils of war and all that?'

'No, I don't,' said Barclay. 'Really, I hope you're
not questioning my authority, Peploe.'

'Of course not, sir.'

Damn
, thought Tanner. He'd been looking forward to trying
it out.

They passed through the village, Tanner once more
replacing his helmet with his field cap. The place seemed deserted; not a light
showed. An owl looped in front of them, making Tanner start while Captain
Barclay cursed and put a hand to his heart.

They were travelling slowly, only fifteen miles an
hour at times, but it was better to drive carefully than crash off the road and
damage one or more of the vehicles, yet the slow-going was frustrating. Tanner
stared ahead into the night, his eyes strained, and suddenly felt tired. It was
always the same: once the excitement of combat had worn off, exhaustion swept
over him. And the wiper was doing him no favours with that rhythmic swipe of
rubber, back and forth, and a mesmerizing squeak. He shook his head, pinched
his leg, and breathed in deeply. 'The air smelled so fresh: rain on dry soil,
an evocative aroma that reminded him of his childhood, a summer storm, running
for the shelter of the woods and the comforting sound of rain pattering against
the leaf canopy.

A few miles on, they crossed a railway line, then
reached the small town of Quievrain. It, too, was quiet, but in the town square
there were several vehicles: an armoured car and several half-tracks, the black
crosses on their sides just visible.

'Christ,' mumbled Barclay. 'What do we do now?'

'Nothing, sir,' said Tanner. As they drove past they
saw two men, shoulders hunched under their greatcoats, smoking cigarettes.
Tanner waved and they waved back.

'Fortune favours the bold, eh, Tanner?' grinned
Peploe.

'More often than not, sir.'

Once through the town, they joined the main road to
Valenciennes and, as Tanner had hoped, the going immediately became easier.
Soon after, they reached the French border. There was a border post, but it was
deserted. Tanner jumped out, lifted the barrier, and they drove on, through quiet
and villages. As they passed through another village, Tanner was forced to
swerve violently to avoid a refugee family and their loaded cart, but for the
most part it seemed that, with the onset of darkness and the arrival of rain,
the war had shrunk away. Soldiers had crept into their billets, and refugees
had sought shelter, halting their aimless wandering.

Nearing Onnaing, the rain relented and the moon
emerged once more, bathing the surrounding countryside in a faint milky
monochrome. Tanner saw a garage, white petrol pumps glowing luminously in the
dark. Pulling off the road, he drew up alongside them.

'What on earth are you doing, Tanner?' said Barclay.
'Christ, man, we don't want to be stopping.'

'Fuel, sir. We should fill up while we can.' He jumped
out of the cab as the others drew up behind him.

'Fuel? We can't just take it,' said Barclay. 'Those
pumps will be locked or switched off, surely?'

Tanner walked round the front of the truck to examine
them. They were electric rather than manual, but the nozzles were padlocked.

'There,' said Barclay, now out of the truck with
Peploe beside him, 'what did I tell you? Come on, we're wasting time and
unnecessarily exposing ourselves.'

'Sir, just give me a minute.' Before Barclay could
reply, he ran off towards the last truck in the line.

'What's up, Sarge?' said Sykes, as Tanner reached the
cab.

'I need you for a moment.'

Sykes followed him back to the pumps where Captain
Barclay was still pacing impatiently.

'Come on, Tanner,' said the OC, 'let's get going.'

'Please, sir, just a moment more.' He turned to Sykes.
'Get these padlocks off, will you, Stan?'

'Certainly, Sarge,' said Sykes, casting an
apprehensive glance at the captain. Delving into his breast pocket, he pulled
out his skeleton key and, in moments, had the first padlock undone. Grinning at
Lieutenant Peploe, Tanner took the nozzle and pulled it over to the barrel tank
under the seat while Sykes undid the second padlock. The pump rumbled and fuel
ran into the tank.

'How the devil did you do that, Corporal?' asked
Barclay, clearly baffled.

'An old trick, sir,' said Sykes, then returned to his
truck.

'Look, Tanner,' said Peploe, beside him, 'that window
up there.' He pointed to the quarters above the garage.

Tanner saw a face peering out nervously through a
narrow gap between the curtains. 'He thinks we're Jerries,' he said, as Kershaw
drove his truck along the other side of the pumps. 'No wonder the Germans are
finding it so easy to roll everyone over. You've only got to mention Stukas or
see a black cross and everyone makes a run for it.'

'You have to admit they do seem rather good, though,'
said Peploe. 'I mean, look at Poland and Norway.'

'I've seen the newsreels from Poland, sir,' said
Tanner, as he replaced the nozzle and stepped back into the cab, Peploe
clambering in beside him. He started the Krupp and rolled it forward to allow
the next truck to fill up. 'Lots of Stukas and tanks and so on. And I saw
pictures of the Polish cavalry too. They were on horseback, waving swords. I
reckon any modern army could have beaten them.'