Darkest Hour

Timpke was peering through his binoculars at the target, and smiled to himself. Not bad.

'It's incredible news, isn't it?' said Knochlein.

'What news?' said Timpke, immediately lowering them.

'Haven't you heard? We've attacked France and the Low Countries.'

'Without us! Damn them. What happened?'

'It's not entirely clear. The Luftwaffe have been busy, though.'

Timpke's heart quickened. So it had started! He glanced at his watch. 'Those supplies should be here soon.' He slung his rifle over his shoulder. 'How can you be so relaxed, Fritz? Let's get going. We might be ordered off at any moment.'

The trucks began arriving back at the Kaserne just before eleven that morning, filled with fresh supplies. Timpke sensed anticipation in the men, who were chattering and laughing loudly, a new spring in their step. Vehicles were soon lining up, engines rumbling, ready for the he move. The courtyard of the barracks was crammed with trucks, troop-carriers, half-tracks, armoured cars and staff cars. Behind the Kaserne yet more vehicles waited, as well as the division's anti-aircraft guns, anti-tank guns and field guns, including a dozen 150mm heavy howitzers. Timpke and Knochlein walked among them, marvelling with pride that the division would be heading to France with more than two thousand vehicles under its banner. A motorized infantry division about to move.

Timpke laughed and gripped Knochlein's shoulder. 'We'll show those Army bastards, and we'll show those French and Tommy soldiers too.' Briefly he took off his cap, and admired the silver skull-and-crossbones insignia - the death's head - emblazoned upon it, then fitted it back on his well-groomed head. He smiled. 'We'll let them see what the Totenkopf is capable of.'

The news of the German offensive had made an immediate impact at Manston, too. In Captain Barclay's office, Tanner had been dismissed, albeit with a warning.

'All right, Tanner,' said Barclay, 'you can get back to your platoon. This matter will have to wait for the moment. There are more pressing things to attend to now.'

'And what about my car?' asked Lyell.

'For God's sake, Charlie,' Barclay snapped, 'how should I know? Get it to a garage and see what they say. Damn it, we've got a war to fight now.'

Lyell shoved back his chair angrily and made to leave with Granby. Tanner opened the door for them, but as Lyell passed him, he stopped and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. 'I'll be sending you the bill, Sergeant. You might have been saved for now, but I shan't forget about this.'

Not for the first time Tanner had to bite his tongue. Nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to wipe the arrogant snarl from the man's face and knock him out cold. He wouldn't forget the incident either, but he had long ago learned that patience was indeed a virtue. One day, he assured himself, his chance would come, and then he would teach the man a lesson.

He started to leave but Peploe stopped him. 'A moment, Sergeant,' he said, then turned back to Barclay. 'What about the murders, sir?'

Barclay sighed wearily. 'If they were murders, Peploe. What about them?'

'As the duty officer when the incident occurred, I wondered whether I should now contact the police.'

'No, Peploe. Leave it with me. I'll make sure it's looked into. No doubt they'll want to speak to you, but this should go through the proper channels.'

Peploe nodded, then he and Tanner walked out of the building. Outside, the deep blue of the sky was broken by rolls of plump white cumulus. Tanner squinted in the glare. 'I'm not sure this can wait until Captain Barclay contacts the police, sir,' he told Peploe. 'I'm not saying he won't speak to them, but he's got other things on his mind.'

'You could be right.'

'I just don't think time's on our side, sir. I suppose we could always move him instead.'

Peploe eyed Tanner carefully. 'Is there something you're not telling me, Sergeant?'

Tanner sighed. 'I'm sure the CSM knows something about this, sir. And I'm not just saying that because I don't like the man. It's precisely the kind of stunt he used to pull in India.'

'Murder?'

'No - no, not murder. At least, I couldn't really say. Maybe he wasn't involved in that. Really, sir, I meant the fuel theft. Nothing happens in this company without him knowing about it, and who would dare to pull off something like this under his nose? I watched him, sir, in there. And I'm certain he knows something.'

Peploe took off his cap and ran a hand wearily through his hair.

'There's one way we'll know for sure,' continued Tanner, 'and that's if anyone turns up at the hospital asking for Torwinski. If they do, they've got to have been told by someone in that room a moment ago. Those RAF boys couldn't have been involved as they were getting drunk at the time, so that leaves you, me, Captain Wrightson, the OC and Blackstone. I think we can exclude ourselves, sir.'

Some Blenheims took off, their engines a roar. The two men watched three emerge into the sky on the far side of the office block, then head out towards the Channel.

'I don't know. Christ, I don't know what to think - but I'm not sure I'm convinced the CSM has anything to do with it,' said Peploe, 'but if he has, you're right. We need to protect Torwinski.' The lieutenant consulted his watch. 'We're not on duty again until three o'clock, and it's not ten yet. All right, Tanner. I'll go to the hospital now and see Torwinski. Maybe I can say something to the doctors there - perhaps they can ring the police.'

'I think that's best, sir.'