Darkest Hour sjt-2

by James Holland

  His scout car halted in front of them and he got down, his anger rising once more. The numberplates had been painted over, but the SS runes were only partially hidden. Jaw clenched, he strode around both vehicles, looking with disgust at the British names written crudely upon them. Yorks Rangers, BEF. Stolen at dead of night and abandoned at the first sign of a fight. He glanced up the road to the village. Where were those men now, he wondered. In Berneville still, or dead, pulverized by the weight of the Stuka attack? Or had they fallen back further already? Dead or alive, he vowed, he wanted those men, those Yorks Rangers who had dared to take these vehicles from him.

  'Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, look,' said one of his men now.

  Timpke turned back to the direction from which they had come and saw two Krupp infantry carriers rumbling down the road towards them.

  'Our friends in the Wehrmacht,' said Timpke, walking back to his vehicle. 'If they think they're going to drive on ahead of us, they're very much mistaken.'

  Timpke was getting into the scout car as the first of the Krupps pulled up alongside. To his surprise, one of the Wehrmacht men leaped from the vehicle onto his armoured car. He glimpsed the pale eyes of his assailant, then the man swung his forearm round his neck, choking him, kneed him in the side so hard that Timpke gasped with searing pain, and jabbed a pistol into the small of his back.

  It had been so quick and unexpected that none of Timpke's men had had time to react.

  'Hande hoch!' a man was shouting from the Krupp. 'Hande hoch!'

  One of Timpke's men tried to swing round the machine-gun on his sidecar, but at a quick tap from the MG in the Krupp he jerked backwards with a cry. The rest now put their hands slowly in the air, stunned. Timpke felt the arm against his throat slacken, so that although the muzzle of his own Luger was still pressed hard against his kidney, he was able to turn enough to look at his attacker. His eyes widened. The man had a battered face, a cut on his cheek and lip and severe bruising. He wore a German helmet but, he now saw, a khaki uniform, not field grey. And on his shoulders the curved black patches bore two words in green stitching: Yorkshire Rangers. Timpke curled his lips into a snarl, then shook his head. No! It wasn't possible! How could they have been caught out like this? If only his men following had looked at these Tommies more carefully. German helmets - helmets! Timpke groaned. Surprise - it was one of the golden lessons of warfare, and he had let himself and his men be caught out not once but twice.

  'Evening, chum,' said Tanner.

  'Who are you?' said Timpke, slowly, in English, his face red with fury.

  'Tell your men not to make any attempt to shoot,' said Tanner. He saw Timpke glance up the road towards the rest of his column. Tanner dared not take his eye off him, so he called to Lieutenant Peploe, 'Sir, are we all secure?'

  'Yes, Sergeant,' Peploe replied. 'Can he speak English?'

  Tanner nodded. 'I told you, sir. The clever ones like this fellow always can.'

  Tanner pushed Timpke down against the side of the car and said, 'Now order the men inside this car to leave their weapons and come out.' Timpke looked at him with hatred in his eyes. 'Now!' snapped Tanner.

  Timpke barked an order and the two men appeared.

  'Tell them to get down on the road and put their hands in the air.'

  Again, Timpke did so and the men did as ordered.

  'Right, Stan,' said Tanner. 'You can go down and do interesting things with their radio equipment.' He grinned, then cursed as his lip split yet again.

  'Has someone got this joker covered?' he called.

  'Yes, Sarge,' said Hepworth, from behind him in the Krupp.

  Tanner now allowed himself to glance back to the second Krupp. As he had planned with Lieutenant Peploe, it had waited behind the small SS column. The Bren, resting on the wooden side of the Krupp, had the men in the three half-tracks and armoured car covered, while others were now hurrying over to disarm them. Not a bad haul. Tanner scanned briefly for another of their sub-machine-guns.

  'Give me your name and unit,' he said, to the German in front of him.

  'Sturmbannfuhrer Otto Timpke, commanding officer of the reconnaissance battalion, Waffen-SS Totenkopf Division,' replied Timpke, through clenched teeth.

  'Storm-ban-what?' said Tanner. 'What kind of rank is that?'

  'Sturmbannfuhrer,' said Timpke. 'In the Wehrmacht it would be the same as a major.'

  'I see.'

  'I do not know what you think you can achieve by this,' hissed Timpke. 'Your attack has failed. The Tommies have fallen back. Most of our division is advancing from the south and west and a panzer division is pressing forward to the east of here. You are surrounded. You might have a pistol pointing at me now but, believe me, very soon it will be you who have to put your hands in the air.'

  'I don't think so,' said Tanner, taking the cigarettes from Timpke's breast pocket. 'You see, you lot are going to help us get back to our lines.' He took a cigarette, felt for his matches and, with his spare hand, struck one. Aaah, he thought, the swirling cloud of tobacco briefly overpowering the smell of burning that hung in the air, I needed that.

  'Help you?' said Timpke. 'You must be mad.'

  'A bit, perhaps,' said Tanner, 'but not as mad as you lot with your bloody goose-stepping and heil-Hitlers.' He grasped Timpke's neck tightly. 'Now, listen to me, Otto. We're all going to drive on through Berneville, dodging those potholes made by your mates in the Luftwaffe, and we'll keep going over the ridge and back down to Warlus until we find our own side again. And if we get so much as a single shot fired at us, I'll kill you all. Understand?'

  Timpke glared at him, the veins at the side of his head pulsing, the muscles on his jaw flexing. Tanner tightened his grip, then said, louder, 'Understand?'

  'Yes!' gasped Timpke.

  Tanner relaxed his grip. 'Good. Then let's go and tell your men.' He pushed Timpke roughly so that he fell onto the road. Jumping down beside him, the Luger still in his hand, he pulled the German roughly to his feet. 'Come on, then, Otto. Be quick!'

  Sykes emerged from the armoured radio car and hoisted himself into the first of the Opels, while Corporal Cooper climbed into the second. Quickly, they manoeuvred them into position between the three halftracks. Peploe then ordered half a dozen men into the trailer of each, with a Bren and a captured Spandau pointed at the prisoners in the half-tracks.

  'The motorcycles and scout cars should lead, don't you think?' Peploe said to Tanner, as he and Timpke returned to the lead vehicle.

  'Yes, sir. You'll follow, will you?'

  Peploe nodded.

  'And shall I go in the scout car with Otto here? If we spot any of our lot we'll simply put our own helmets back on and push one of the Opels in front.'

  Peploe breathed out and smiled nervously. 'Christ, Tanner,' he said, 'if I'm still in one piece by midnight, I'll be a happy man.'

  Tanner grinned. 'We'll be fine, sir.' He turned to Timpke. 'I'll get in first.'

  The inside of the armoured car was hot. Tanner had shoved the radio operator into one of the Opels but even with just Timpke and the driver the smell of oil and petrol was almost overpowering. Sweat ran down his neck and back; the thick serge of his trousers rubbed scratchily against his legs. When they rolled forwards, though, a breeze through the vents brought relief. To one side, the radio, with the connection leads to the transmitter, receiver and power units, had been disconnected. Good for Stan. He hadn't destroyed but deactivated it.

  'You are finished,' said Timpke. 'Even if we reach your Tommy lines tonight, it is only a question of time. And I promise you this: I will find you, Herr Tanner, and kill you.'

  'Put a sock in it, will you?' said Tanner. He noticed the sub-machine-gun hanging on cream hooks on the metal wall. He wiped his brow. His hand was clammy, the wooden grip of the Luger slippery with sweat. He stared at Timpke. Good-looking, he thought, but arrogant too - a sneering superiority was etched across the man's face. They were an efficient military machine, all right, but too many of them seemed to have
been seduced by a madman with a strange haircut and an even odder moustache. He couldn't imagine feeling superior about that.

  'France is falling, then so too will Great Britain,' said Timpke. 'We wondered whether you Tommies would put up more of a fight than your French allies, but after today's little exchange, it would seem not.'

  Tanner ignored him. Peering through the vent, he saw they were now turning into the main street of the village. He could hear distant gunfire, but the village itself seemed quiet. He stood upright, took the sub-machine- gun from its hooks, then slung it round his neck. 'This looks like a good bit of kit, Otto,' he said. 'I took one from some of your lads the other night. At least, I think they were the same ones. They had that fancy-dress skull and crossbones on their collars.' He eyed Timpke and was pleased to see the German stiffen with anger again. 'Actually, it's funny what you were saying about the French and us because your boys rolled over easy as pie. We silenced a few sentries, nicked four vehicles and blew up half a building without so much as a cross word. Couldn't have been easier, frankly. So I'm not sure you lot are that good.' He examined the sub-machine-gun. 'What do you call this?'

  For a moment Timpke said nothing. Then: 'It is a Bergmann MP35. Made exclusively for the Waffen-SS:

  'Well, your kit's definitely better, I'll give you that. We've got nothing like this. And that big anti-tank gun.' He nodded in the direction of the ridge behind them, then whistled. 'Quite something.'

  Timpke couldn't hide his surprise. 'That was you?'

  Tanner nodded. 'Actually, come to think of it,' he added, 'that lot were a bit of a roll-over too.'

  He saw Timpke flush with rage but he was curious about that gun and decided it was time for some flattery. 'I really am impressed with your kit. That gun looked like our large anti-aircraft gun. What would it have been?'

  Timpke shrugged. 'Probably a Flak 36. It is an antiaircraft gun - 8.8-cm calibre but used in an anti-tank role.'

  The driver now spoke and Tanner heard 'panzer'. Timpke spoke back to him - his words short and sharp. Tanner glanced briefly out of the forward vent again and this time saw two German tanks squeaking and trundling slowly towards the crossroads ahead of them.

  'Get up into the turret, Otto,' said Tanner, 'and tell them you're advancing to Warlus.' Timpke got to his feet. 'And, Otto, don't try anything.' He pointed the Luger at the German's crotch. 'I bet a good-looking bloke like you has a lot to live for, eh?'

  They drove on, Tanner's heart thudding. Beyond the tanks there were more vehicles - several half-tracks and motorcycles. Come on, he thought, keep going. As if to stress the point, he jabbed the barrel of the Luger into 'Timpke's crotch.

  Standing in the turret, Timpke saw they were approaching the heart of the village, the hub into which all other roads and tracks fed. A slate-roofed house, built in the centre of the road, stood at this confluence. To the side of it, three of his panzers had ground to a halt while beyond, and from a track to his left, the vehicles of Companies 1 and 2 had now converged. The smoke was clearing although it hung heavy in the air, like a thin filter that made everything seem hazy. Several houses had been destroyed, rubble spreading onto the street. Up the hill another burned fiercely.

  Seeing his forces take control of the village made him realize his envelopment had happened as he had planned - except, of course, for the unexpected ambush by these cursed Tommies. Scheisse! he thought. How could it be? He cursed again - but he couldn't undo what had happened. The important thing now was to resolve his predicament. A quandary: he could tell Beeck and Saalbach as he passed them what had happened and order them to rescue him, or he could do as this man Tanner had told him and continue straight to Warlus. A rescue attempt, he was sure, would be successful, but at what cost? These Yorkshire Rangers were, he guessed, some kind of British elite unit - and they were good, he had to admit. In Tanner, he knew he was up against a hard man, who would not flinch from carrying out his threat. But he was also certain that the British were beaten. The Reich's forces would soon overwhelm them so he and his men would not be held captive for long. In any case, there might be some better opportunity to escape: they couldn't keep him in this vehicle for ever.

  When they reached the house in the centre of the road, he saw Beeck wave at him from his half-track, then jump down and run towards the scout car as it slowed to pass the panzers.

  'We have the village, boss!' Beeck called.

  'Yes - and I'm going to push on,' Timpke shouted back. 'Stay here and make sure it's secure.' An idea struck him. 'Then push on with Company Three in all strength towards Warlus.'

  'Is your radio working, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer?' Beeck asked. 'We've been trying to call you.'

  'No - something's up. Follow soon, understand?'

  Beeck saluted, then ran back to his vehicle.

  'Otto,' Tanner shouted, tugging at Timpke's breeches, 'what was that about? You didn't tell him to mount a rescue?'

  'No,' said Timpke, 'but the whole weight of two divisions will be on your heels soon. You don't have a chance.'

  Tanner bent down to the vent again, and saw they were passing tanks and vehicles. Troops were searching the houses as they pressed on up the hill. Would they notice that British soldiers were driving past? The disguises hardly bore close examination. Hold your nerve, he told himself. They're not expecting it. Fortune favours the bold. They were climbing now, the road snaking out of the village towards the ridge between the two villages. Still no exclamations of surprise, no sudden gunfire. He glanced at his watch. Nearly ten to seven. Perhaps Otto was playing ball; perhaps they would get away with it after all.

  The armoured car slowed almost to a standstill.

  Tanner tugged at Timpke again. 'What's going on?'

  'A bomb crater. We will drive round it.'

  Once they had successfully negotiated it, they continued their climb until they reached the summit of the ridge beside the water-tower Tanner had noticed on their way to attack the copse. Through the vents Tanner saw bodies and detached limbs strewn at either side of the road - British victims of the Stuka attack they had witnessed half an hour before.

  Timpke lowered himself into the car. 'Our Stukas had their fill here,' he said, and smirked. 'There are many dead Tommies.'

  Suddenly a surge of anger rose in Tanner's belly. Too many times in the past fortnight he had been forced to keep it in check, to take humiliation on the chin and brush it aside. No more. He had had enough of this madman. Calmly he clenched his left hand into a fist then, quick as a dart, swung it into the side of Timpke's head. The German looked at him curiously, then fell onto his side. Tanner's anger left him. His ability to hit almost equally well with both hands had always been one of his strengths as a boxer. The driver swung round, aghast, but Tanner waved the pistol at him - just keep going.

  Now Tanner climbed into the turret himself. Behind, he saw Lieutenant Peploe. He heard small-arms fire to the left and mortars were exploding around Warlus, now just a few hundred yards on the far side of the ridge. Away to his right, but hidden from view by a dense wood, he thought he heard the clatter of tank tracks. Directly ahead there were two more bomb craters. The motorcyclists were slowing to get through them, and as one looked round, Tanner signalled to them to halt.

  'Our boys must still be in the village, sir,' he called to Peploe.

  'I agree,' Peploe replied. 'I'll tell Sykes to drive on in and warn them. Where's your German?'

  'Out cold.' Tanner grinned. 'I'm sorry, sir, but he was getting on my nerves.'

  Sykes was waved through. He raised his thumb at Tanner as he passed, mounted the verge, inched past the craters and headed on down the hill towards Warlus.

  Tanner waited a moment, listening, but to his relief heard no gunfire directed at Sykes's truck. He climbed back into the car and said to the driver, 'Siegehen.' A jolt, a jerk, and they followed Sykes's lead, clambering onto the verge and past the bomb craters.

  They halted in the village. Tanner grabbed Timpke, still unconscious, hoisted him up
into the turret and pushed him out, then ordered the driver to follow. As he pulled himself out, he saw that they had stopped in the wide turning towards the church, the small stretch of road they had left barely two hours earlier. It seemed a lifetime ago. A couple of trucks, several carriers and a few cars were already there. He spotted Captain Barclay and Blackstone, standing with several other men on the corner, gazing incredulously at the booty of German vehicles and the prisoners being ordered to the ground. Tanner watched for a moment, the evening breeze cool and welcome after the heat of the scout car. The air was heavy with cordite and smoke but birds were still singing in the trees around the church - last-minute wooing before they roosted for the night.

  Blackstone, with Slater in tow, now walked over to Corporal Cooper, who was gathering the prisoners together.