Darkest Hour sjt-2

by James Holland

  'Tell the other two, but otherwise don't say a word, understand?' The unmistakable muzzle of a pistol was thrust into his side.

  Torwinski nodded again, then spoke in Polish. 'What do you want with us?' he said, conscious of the tremor in his voice. A fist pounded into his face and he gasped.

  'I told you not to speak,' said the same voice again. 'Now get dressed.'

  Torwinski did as he was ordered. Quivering fingers fumbled at buttons. His head felt light, his brain disoriented. There were several men, but how many exactly, he could not be certain.

  'Hurry!' hissed the voice, then the torch was flashed on again.

  Torwinski squinted in the sudden light then glanced briefly at the other two - Kasprowicz grimacing angrily, Ormicki with terror on his face. As Torwinski bent to tie his laces, he was shoved forward. Stumbling, he was grabbed by the collar and pushed roughly towards the door and out into the night. 'Where are you taking us?' he said. 'What do you want with us?'

  Hearing his comrade speak, Ormicki began to ask Torwinski questions and also received a blow to the head.

  'I told you,' said the man, in a low, steady voice, 'to bloody well keep quiet. Now shut up - I don't want to hear another sound.'

  'Why don't we gag them?' said another.

  'You can keep your bloody trap shut an' all,' said the first man. 'Now come on, let's get going.'

  Slowly, Torwinski's eyes adjusted to the night light. There was no moon, but the sky was clear and millions of stars cast an ethereal glow so that he could see the dark shapes of the huts, the trees near by and the track that led towards the Northern Grass. His heart was hammering as they stumbled on in silence. There were four men, one ahead, the other three behind. All wore their helmets low over their eyes so that it was impossible to tell who they were or what they looked like other than that they appeared to be and sounded like British soldiers.

  Torwinski prayed they might see someone else - a late-working mechanic or a guard, perhaps. He was certain that whatever these men wanted with them it was not authorized. How could it be? What had they possibly done wrong? He could think of nothing. But not a soul stirred. As they neared the Northern Grass, a row of Hurricanes loomed in front of them, but then they were pushed to the left, along the airfield road until they reached a series of stores and a parked lorry, which, from the cylindrical shape of its load, Torwinski recognized as a fuel bowser.

  'Get in,' growled the first man, opening the cab door. Torwinski climbed up, the other two following. The same question kept repeating in his mind. What can they want with us? His stomach churned and sweat ran down his back, chilling him. Inside the cab it was darker again, and one of the soldiers opened the other door. Torwinski turned to look, and as he did so the butt of a rifle was driven into the side of his head. His vision and other senses left him. By the time he had slumped forward against the dashboard, Ormicki and Kasprowicz had been knocked cold too.

  Standing on the cliffs at White Ness just a few hundred yards north of Kingsgate Castle, Sergeant Tanner had been staring out to sea when he heard a lorry, followed by muffled yells from the men guarding the roadblock.

  'What the hell?' he murmured and, calling Hepworth and Bennett, one of the new men, he ran towards the main road that led to Kingsgate. He could hear the lorry thundering onwards, then saw the slit of beam from the blackout headlights as it approached the bend in the road before the castle.

  'What the bloody 'ell's going on, Sarge?' said Hepworth, breathlessly.

  'Some damn fool's driven right through our sodding checkpoint,' Tanner replied. Standing in the long grass at the side of the road, he unslung his rifle and levelled it towards the bend.

  'What are you going to do, Sarge?' asked Bennett.

  'Shoot the bastard's tyre.'

  'Do you think it's a Jerry?' Bennett was young, only eighteen.

  Before Tanner could reply, the lorry ploughed straight on at the bend, smashing through a fence and a hedge and crashing to a standstill as it hit a tree.

  Immediately Tanner was sprinting down the road, Hepworth and Bennett following. As he leaped through the hole in the fence and hedge, he heard groaning from the cab, then saw a figure stumble out, stagger across the young green shoots of corn and collapse.

  Hurrying to the prostrate figure, Tanner knelt beside him and put his ear to the man's mouth.

  'Ormicki and Kasprowicz,' the man mumbled.

  'What?'

  'In the lorry,' slurred the man. 'They are in the lorry.'

  Christ, thought Tanner. Hepworth and Bennett were beside him now and shouts were coming from the road. He stood up and was about to hurry over to the ticking lorry when there was an explosion and the vehicle was engulfed in flames.

  'No!' groaned the man. 'No!' Tanner dived back to the ground. The flames now lit the sky, and as the sergeant raised his head he saw the shape of two men engulfed in the inferno.

  'Let's get out of here,' he said and, with Hepworth's help, hoisted the man to his feet. 'Here, Hep, grab my rifle, will you?' he said. He lifted the man onto his shoulder and carried him across the field to the road. There, they met Lieutenant Peploe and Corporal Sykes.

  'A petrol bowser, sir,' said Tanner, as he laid the man carefully on the verge. 'Two dead by the look of it.'

  'Bloody hell!' said Peploe. 'What a stupid waste. Our fuel thieves?'

  Tanner shrugged. 'Maybe. Here, Hep, shine your torch on him, will you?' He looked down at the man, and saw a livid gash across his forehead. Blood was running freely down the side of his face. Quickly, Tanner delved into his pocket for a field dressing, tore it open and took out the first bandage. He pressed it against the wound, then wrapped the second around the man's head. 'Where are you hurt?' he asked.

  'I'm all right,' murmured the man, making an effort to sit up.

  'Steady there,' said Tanner. 'Just stay where you are for the moment.' He peered up at Peploe, standing

  beside him. 'At the very least this cut needs attention, sir. We should get him to the MO.'

  'I'll run down to the hotel,' said Peploe, 'and use their phone to get an ambulance and a fire-wagon. Hepworth, go back to the checkpoint and get the truck. I'll meet you back here.'

  'That fire will burn itself out before a fire-wagon can get here, sir.'

  'You're probably right, but I still need to report this straight away.'

  Tanner nodded. 'Shall I organize another roadblock here, sir? We don't want anyone going near the site, do we?'

  'Good idea, Sergeant.'

  When the lieutenant had gone, Tanner turned to Sykes and said, 'So why the hell wasn't he stopped at the checkpoint?'

  'He just went straight through, Sarge. Nearly knocked Mr Peploe over.'

  Tanner sighed, then turned back to the man lying on the ground. 'Can you hear me?'

  The man groaned.

  'What's your name?'

  'Torwinski,' murmured the man. 'I am from Poland.'

  'And the other two?'

  'Yes - also Poles.'

  'That fuel lark you was tellin' me about,' Sykes said, turning to Tanner. 'Perhaps the CSM was right.'

  'No,' gasped the man. 'We were taken.' He groaned again and grimaced in pain.

  'Easy, mate,' said Sykes. 'Easy.'

  'What do you mean?' asked Tanner.

  'We were all asleep. Some men came in, woke us up and ordered us to get dressed. They led us out to the truck. Then they hit us. The next thing I know the truck has been driven into the tree and I wake up. I knew I had to get out. Then the explosion.' He put his hand to his eyes. 'I don't know why this happened. I don't know what they wanted with us.'

  'Did you see these men?'

  'It was dark. Whenever they shone their torches they did so in our faces so we could not see them. But they were soldiers. British soldiers.'

  Tanner stood up, walked a few steps away from the prostrate Torwinski, then pushed back his helmet and wiped his brow. 'Bloody hell, Stan. This is not good. Not good at all.'

  'What I'd
like to know, Sarge, is what the hell a fuel bowser was doing on this road anyway. If you want to hide nicked fuel, why drive towards the coast where there's bound to be roadblocks?'

  'God knows. Looks like someone's trying to stitch these lads up, though.'

  Sykes stepped away onto the road. 'You believe his yarn, then?'

  'Don't you?'

  'I dunno, Sarge.'

  'He's a bloody good liar if he isn't telling the truth.'

  'Christ, Sarge, you know what that means?'

  'Yes, Stan. Those Poles were murdered.'

  Chapter 3

  Tanner stood over Torwinski as he waited for Lieutenant Peploe to return. Even from seventy yards away the flames of the bowser cast a low orange glow. He pulled out a cigarette and offered one to the Pole but he had his hands over his eyes. Tanner passed the packet to Sykes and struck a match. Blood was already seeping through the bandages on Torwinski's head, Tanner noticed, but the fellow seemed more tormented by grief than by his physical injuries. There appeared to be no broken bones, though; he'd been lucky.

  For a short while, Tanner and Sykes stood in silence. It occurred to Tanner that it had been a mistake to suggest that Torwinski should see the medical officer. The man needed to be taken somewhere out of harm's way - a place where his would-be murderers couldn't make a further attempt on his life. Lieutenant Peploe would be back soon, but he had only known the officer half a day and was uncertain how much he should say about his suspicions.

  A thought struck him. He told Sykes to wait with Torwinski, then clambered back through the fence and hurried towards the still burning bowser. He could see the charred corpses in the cab and stepped past the tree so that he could see more clearly their precise position. The flames were dying down but as Tanner walked around the bowser he felt the heat on his cheeks and ears. He studied the blackened bodies; it was as he had suspected. He headed back to the road.

  'Listen, Stan,' said Tanner, as he rejoined Sykes, 'we don't both need to wait with him, and that second roadblock needs setting up. Sort it out, will you?'

  'Right away,' Sykes replied. 'But, Sarge, we need to get him somewhere safe.' He hurried off to fetch some men.

  A few moments later, Tanner heard running footsteps and Peploe appeared. Rather breathlessly he said, 'The MO and fire-wagons are on their way, and so are the RAFP. Jesus, I’m exhausted. What about that second roadblock?'

  'Corporal Sykes is organizing the men now, sir.'

  Peploe looked down at Torwinski. 'How is he?'

  'He should be in hospital, sir.'

  'Really? I thought he'd just cut his head.' He squatted beside Torwinski. 'Are you hurt anywhere else?'

  'No,' mumbled Torwinski. 'I don't think so. I just want to get the bastards who did this.' He pushed himself up.

  'Steady, mate,' said Tanner.

  'What are you talking about?' Peploe asked Torwinski. 'Get who?'

  'Sir,' Tanner interrupted, 'can I have a word?'

  Peploe stood up. 'What the bloody hell's going on, Tanner?'

  'Sir, this man says he and the other two in the truck were forcibly taken from their hut, marched to the bowser and knocked unconscious. He says he doesn't know how they got here.'

  'Sounds a bit far-fetched, doesn't it?'

  'Maybe, sir. But if these men did steal the bowser, what are they doing here by the coast? According to my map, this road leads to Kingsgate only. It's hardly the place to shift stolen fuel, is it? And how would they know where to sell it anyway? They've only been here a couple of weeks.' He took a pace away, then added, 'What bothers me, sir, is that if he's telling the truth, the Poles've been framed to look like the thieves.'

  Peploe rubbed his hands over his face. 'And if so, Sergeant, this man's life is presumably still in danger. Christ, what a mess.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'But in hospital he might be safer?'

  Tanner nodded.

  Peploe sighed. 'And what do you think?'

  'Something makes me believe him, sir.'

  'Who else could have done this?'

  'Any of the troops here.'

  'How, for God's sake?'

  'Must have jumped out of the cab. I had a look at the wreckage, sir. Neither of the two dead men was driving.'

  Peploe scratched the back of his head, then pulled a slim hip-flask from his battle-blouse, unscrewed the top and offered it to Tanner. 'Slug of Scotch, Sergeant?'

  'Not for me, thank you, sir.'

  'Well, don't mind me, Sergeant. I find it helps me to think straight.' He took a couple of sips, then put the flask back. 'All right, Tanner. I'm going to stay with this man. You get one of the others to bring the truck down and I'll make sure he gets to hospital in Ramsgate. But for the time being don't breathe another word about this to anyone. The last thing we want is rumour and wild speculation flying around - and we should be careful not to endanger this man's life further. Understood? I'll speak to Captain Barclay about it later.'

  'Yes, sir. What about the Snowdrops, sir?'

  'Snowdrops?' Lieutenant Peploe looked confused.

  'The RAF Police, sir. What should we say to them? There might be other police as well.'

  'Damn - I hadn't thought of that. You must, of course, tell the police, but no one else. And in the meantime let's make sure both these roadblocks are properly manned. We don't want any more tearaway lorries ploughing through them.'

  As Tanner had predicted, by the time the fire-wagon had arrived, the flames around the bowser had all but died out. The RAFP arrived, took a few statements, including one from Fanner, placed a cordon around the scene and left one of their men on guard. Torwinski had already been taken to hospital by Lieutenant Peploe so no one else was any the wiser - for now, at any rate.

  With a second roadblock set up under the command of Sykes, Tanner walked back to the first where McAllister, Bell and a number of the new men were positioned across the road.

  There were, of course, rumours and wild speculation aplenty among the men about what had happened. Peploe could do nothing about that, although no one doubted that the Polish men in the bowser had been the fuel thieves. Instead, debate raged over what they had been doing there and how they had come to crash. Tanner said nothing, listening to their theories without comment and shrugging in response to their questions. He would have found it amusing had it not been for his growing unease.

  It was tempting to think that Blackstone was behind it somehow. Tanner had known him to have been involved in various scams in India - not that he had ever been able to prove it or that Blackstone had ever been caught. Yet the more rational part of his brain reminded him now that this could have been the work of any number of people and, in any case, no matter how much he disliked the man, that did not make Blackstone a murderer.

  Not for the first time since it happened, Private Ellis was recounting the moment the truck had sped towards him and thundered through the roadblock. 'I still can't believe it,' he said. 'I shouted out for them to halt but the sodding thing was still coming at me, wasn't it? So I jumped out of the way and I swear he missed me by inches. I didn't join up to be run over by one of our own.'

  'But they're not our own, are they, Billy?' said Private Coles. 'They're Poles. It's cos of them we're in this bloody war in the first place.'

  Tanner wandered a short way from the roadblock, in the direction of Manston village. 'When did you first notice the bowser?' he called to Ellis.

  'What do you mean, Sarge?' Ellis was taller than most of the others, a lanky youngster with a thin, heavily freckled face.

  'Did you see or hear it first?'

  'I dunno, Sarge. It came round that sharp bend up ahead, then drove straight at me.'

  'And did you see anything odd? Someone jumping out, for instance?'

  'No, Sarge - but it was dark. You could only see the slits in the headlights.' He tugged at his bottom lip, thinking. 'Come to think of it, I did hear something. Like a door slamming. Or, at least, I think I did.' He ran a finger round his colla
r. 'But it happened so fast, like.'

  Tanner walked on down the road, taking out his torch. It gave off only a little light when the blue lens was in place but it was enough for him to see the verge. After a couple of hundred yards, he began to think his theory had been wrong and perhaps the Poles had been to blame, after all. The vegetation was apparently undisturbed, silvery cobwebs stretching across the abundant cow-parsley. But just before the corner he saw what he had been looking for: an area where the plants had been flattened and broken stems hung limply, clearly showing where something heavy had rolled across - something like a man's body. And on the road there were faint footprints where dew-sodden boots had trodden. So there was a fourth man, thought Tanner. How easy it must have been: the corner was almost at right angles; the bowser would have had to slow down almost to a stop to turn. Then, before it had built up speed again, the driver had simply jumped out. Ahead, to the roadblock and beyond, the road was dead straight so the lorry had thundered towards Ellis. Whoever had jumped from the cab would have had all the time in the world to make good his escape and, with the bowser full of fuel, the inevitable crash, when it came, would cause an explosion that should have killed the three men still in the cab. Jesus, thought Tanner, as he went back to the checkpoint. The Pole had been telling the truth.