Timpke clenched his fist and drove it into Reichmann's stomach. The man gasped and staggered backwards.
'Has it not entered your thick skull, Reichmann, that we are in only recently captured enemy territory? How could it not? And yet you have the stupidity and nerve to deploy a mere group of ten men. And you have been drinking. It is unbelievable - you, an officer, a man supposed to set an example.' He punched Reichmann again, then took out his pistol, a wooden-gripped Luger P08, and pointed it at Reichmann's forehead.
'It was j-just some wine, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,' gasped Reichmann. 'I'm not drunk, I swear.' His eyes were wide with fear.
Timpke eyed him with disgust. 'Give me one good reason why I should not shoot you here and now.'
Beads of sweat had formed on Reichmann's forehead. 'I - I - I thought a group would be enough.'
Timpke lowered the pistol, saw the relief cross Reichmann's face, then whipped the barrel hard down on the side of his head. Reichmann cried out with pain and shock and collapsed on to the floor, blood pouring from a long gash.
'Idiot Swabian,' said Timpke. 'Where did you come from, Reichmann? How do people like you manage to be officers? A thick-skulled imbecilic camp guard and a poor one at that.' He kicked him in the ribs, and then again as Reichmann writhed in pain. Timpke looked up at Kemmetmuler. 'Ask Division to transfer this man. I have no use for him. Send him back to the camps.' He turned back to Reichmann. 'Get up,' he said, 'or I swear I'll shoot you.'
With blood pouring down his face, Reichmann staggered to his feet and clutched the table for support.
'Now,' said Timpke, 'you will take me to Unterschar-fuhrer Liebmann. He is still alive, I take it?'
Reichmann clutched his wound. 'Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.' Wincing, he led Timpke and Kemmetmuler from the house to the yard, where men were trying to clear rubble under the light of a few torches and lamps. Passing his staff car, Timpke noticed, with renewed anger, that the Audi had a dent in the front wing and the windscreen was smashed.
Reichmann tried to call Liebmann, but his throat caught and he began to cough.
'Unterscharfuhrer Liebmann!' shouted Kemmetmuler. 'Liebmann!'
They waited a moment, straining their eyes at the throng of men moving around the yard. A tall man stumbled forward, his uniform grey with dust. Seeing Timpke and Kemmetmuler, he stopped and saluted. His eyes turned to the half-crouching figure of Untersturm-fuhrer Reichmann. Timpke saw him blink anxiously.
'Come closer, Liebmann,' said Timpke.
Liebmann took a step forward. Timpke leaned towards him and sniffed. There was wine on this man's breath too.
'So you have been drinking?' said Timpke, his voice quiet once more.
Liebmann glanced again at Reichmann. 'Just a little earlier on, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.'
'I think it must have clouded your judgement.'
'No, sir, I swear, I—'
'Then why were four vehicles stolen from under your nose, Liebmann? Why was the enemy able to take four vehicles and blow up the tower? Four vehicles and how many dead?'
'At least eight, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,' said Kemmetmuler.
'Well, make that nine. Reichmann, you will now shoot this man.'
Liebmann's eyes darted between Timpke and Reichmann, panic etched across his face. 'No,' he said, 'please, no.'
Reichmann turned his bloodied face to Timpke. 'Shoot him?'
'Yes, Reichmann, shoot him. He has been drinking and he has failed not only me but the entire battalion. I am court-martialling him and passing instant judgement. And, as punishment, you will carry out his execution. Now.'
'But - but he's one of my men, Herr Sturmbann- fuhrer!'
'Precisely. Let this be a lesson to you. Now do it.'
'No,' said Liebmann again. 'Please, Herr Sturmbann- fuhrer, I implore you.'
'Reichmann - now! Or I'll shoot you too.'
With fumbling fingers, Reichmann tugged at his leather holster and pulled out his P38. His hand shook as he held the pistol, then he convulsed and began to sob.
'Oh, for God's sake,' snapped Timpke. 'You had no such qualms in Poland. You were happy enough to shoot people there.'
'Please,' said Liebmann, falling to his knees.
'Last chance, Reichmann,' said Timpke. 'One, two—'
'I'm sorry, Hans,' sobbed Reichmann, blood and tears running down his face. Shakily, he raised the gun to the side of Liebmann's head.
'Three,' said Timpke. Liebmann was staring at him numbly. A single pistol shot rang out, the report echoing around the yard. The side of Liebmann's head flew into the air. Eyes still staring at Timpke, Liebmann toppled over on to the ground.
There was silence, except for Reichmann's now uncontrollable sobbing.
Timpke looked around at the men, their taut faces outlined in the glow of the lamps. They had all stopped working and were staring mutely at the scene before them.
'Let that be a lesson to all of you,' said Timpke. 'Orders are to be obeyed. No more drinking and no more shirking. Is that understood?' He glared at them, then strode back into the house.
Across the bridge Kershaw, who had been leading, had pulled over and let Tanner pass. Turning left down the track that led along the riverbank, Tanner had initially seen no sign of the rest of the platoon and had just begun to worry that Peploe's prediction had been right when, up ahead, he had spotted dim figures scuttling into the side of the road.
Moments later he drew up alongside the head of the line of prostrate men taking cover either side of the road.
'Good morning, sir,' he said, shining his torch at Captain Barclay, who was trying to shield his eyes.
'Tanner?' said Barclay, dumbfounded. 'Good God, man, what the devil are you doing?'
'We've got some transport, sir,' said Tanner.
Barclay got to his feet and stared open-mouthed at the line of four trucks, their engines ticking over in the quiet night air.
'We should load everyone up quickly, sir. I suggest that for the moment, sir, everyone piles onto the truck nearest them. It'll be a bit of a squeeze, I'm afraid.'
Barclay nodded dumbly.
Now Blackstone pushed past the OC and stood beside the cab of Tanner's lead truck. 'Quite a haul, Jack,' he said. 'Good of you to keep me informed.' He glowered at him, then hurried on down the line, helping men up from the bank and ordering them onto the trucks.
Tanner knew what Blackstone was saying: You still don't trust me. Well, no, he didn't. He sighed, then stood up and peered into the back. 'All right, Hep?' he said.
'Yes, Sarge,' said Hepworth, 'although these Jerry MGs don't half get hot quick. I can still feel the heat from the barrel.'
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 jump
ed 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.
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