'I try to, Sarge. I reckon we've still got some fight in us yet.'
'I'm sure we have.' He patted Sykes's shoulder. 'But it's not Jerry I'm so worried about.' He nodded towards Blackstone. 'It's him.'
From the edge of Creton Farm, Sturmbannfuhrer Timpke peered through his binoculars down the track to the neighbouring house, some two hundred metres away. Beside him, at the back of the brick farmhouse, stood his half-track, a single motorcycle and sidecar, and a large French Somua tank, now daubed with the German cross and, on its front, the Totenkopf death's head. Kemmetmuler and others from his battalion headquarters were waiting behind the cover of the farmhouse while his old friend Hauptsturmfuhrer Knochlein stood beside him. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon and the day had turned grey, with a light drizzle.
'I'm certain I saw a white flag, Fritz,' Timpke told Knochlein.
'It's about time those Tommies gave up.'
'Order another burst and see what happens,' suggested Timpke.
Knochlein stepped back and signalled to the men spread out on either side of Creton Farm, and Timpke watched them signal in turn to the men beyond, then heard several bursts of machine-gun fire. They had the place surrounded, so it was just a matter of time before the British troops still in the Duries farmhouse were forced to give up - after all, their ammunition couldn't last for ever. Nonetheless, they had caused far too many casualties. That was the problem of fighting in this flat, open countryside - there was never enough cover. Every time Knochlein's men scrambled to their feet, more rifle and machine-gun fire rang out and another good soldier collapsed to the ground.
Timpke had been asked to help here at Paradis only half an hour earlier by Regiment 2's commander, Sturmbann-fuhrer Fortenbacher. On hearing that Knochlein's company were bearing the brunt of the Tommies' resistance, he had decided to come forward in person with his battalion headquarters from nearby Le Cornet Malo, which had just fallen. He had reached Creton Farm only a few minutes before but now it seemed his men were hardly needed.
As the firing died down, he stared again through his binoculars, and this time there was no doubt: what looked like a white towel was tied to a pole.
'They're definitely surrendering, Fritz.' He shook his friend's hand. 'Well done.'
Knochlein grinned, then signalled to his men with a wave, urging them forward. A spontaneous cheer rang out as his troops now picked themselves up from where they had been lying in the fields and ditches round about and ran towards the battered remains of Duries farmhouse. Timpke put away his binoculars then strode quickly back to his half-track. There he took off his helmet, replacing it with his cap. Keeping on his camouflage smock with his replacement Luger - taken from a dead comrade - at his waist, he began to walk down the track towards the scene of the Tommies' resistance. He wondered how many prisoners there might be - forty-two at least, he hoped.
It had, he reflected, been a hard few days - even frustrating at times - but he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed it. From the moment his comrades had found him in Warlus early on 22 May, his fortunes had improved. Pressing north-west, they had swept all before them until they had reached the La Bassee canal. And during that thrust towards Bethune, he had been able to recoup some of his earlier losses, including the Somua, captured intact and undamaged.
Then had come the order - from the Fuhrer himself, so rumour had it - for the advance to halt. At the time, it had seemed inexplicable - and certainly no reason had been given. Eicke had been furious: he had personally led Regiment 3 across the canal and had won a hard- fought and costly bridgehead, only to be ordered back. Timpke had never seen Papa Eicke so mad, and had his own reconnaissance troops been involved in the assault he would have shared their commander's dismay and fury.
Since the halt order had been rescinded the previous day, however, the entire division had been in action. Timpke's task had been to assist whichever of the attacking units needed his help. A company had been assigned to each of the three infantry regiments. Timpke and his battalion headquarters had roved between them, hacking cross-country in his half-tracks from Hinges to Locon to Le Cornet Malo and now Paradis.
As he approached the Duries farmhouse, he saw the Tommies being directed onto the track. They were bloodied, unshaven and exhausted, hands clasped on their heads. With rifles and sub-machine-guns pointed at them, they were pushed and prodded into a line. In contrast, Knochlein's men were bright and fresh, laughing, sharing cigarettes, enjoying their moment of victory. Timpke smiled. He shared their exhilaration. Victory was sweet, as he had known it would be, but so was revenge, and as he walked along the column of prisoners he counted them.
He counted ninety-nine men of the Royal Norfolk Regiment - it was a shame they were not Yorks Rangers but that would have been too much to hope for. He stopped a young
'Are you in charge of these prisoners?' Timpke asked.
'Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. I'm taking them to the field beside Creton Farm to search them.'
'Good,' said Timpke. He watched the column trudge past, then followed until they had been led down a right- hand fork in the track into the field next to the farm. Seeing Knochlein, he now called to him.
Knochlein waited, watching as his men began to search the prisoners. 'Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer - you wanted me?'
'I do, Fritz,' said Timpke, putting an arm round his shoulder. 'You may have heard what happened to some of my men the other day.'
'The Tommies put them in a barn and shot them.'
'They were prisoners of war, Fritz - they were my men. Shot in cold blood.'
'I'm sorry. The bastards who did that should pay for it.'
'You know, Fritz, I survived that massacre of my comrades. I was lucky. But I swore then that I would avenge it. They were my men, sure, but they were also Totenkopf men. Your comrades too.'
Knochlein faced him. 'You want me to shoot these Tommies now?'
'Yes, Fritz. The British must pay for what they did. This will show them that in future they must not mess
