Darkest Hour

Peploe nodded. 'Good. I'll get off, then. I can drive down in my own car.'

'And, sir? Thank you for what you said in there.'

'I'm sorry I wasn't there at the beginning. I'm furious about it, to be honest,' he said. 'Stupid sods. Sorry, Tanner, shouldn't really be talking like this, but I'm afraid it's all because of Squadron Leader Lyell and his being the OC's brother-in-law and everything. Lyell knows perfectly well that he's in the wrong and that the station commander would give him short shrift. So he tries to get his revenge by nobbling Captain Barclay and reeling you in for a grilling - a grilling, I should add, to which he knew you couldn't answer freely because of your rank. It's nothing less than bullying - the sort of carry-on one used to have to put up with at school. I've always hated that kind of closing ranks, and I'm damned if I'm going to toe some line just to keep in favour with my fellow officers. I was brought up to do what I believe is right, Tanner.' He smiled sheepishly. 'Listen to me, ranting like some parson. Anyway, go and get some rest.'

Tanner set off for the hut. He felt exhausted and his body suddenly craved sleep. But despite that, the death of the Poles, and its significance, continued to circle in his mind. He was convinced more than ever that Blackstone had to have been involved. The man was like a cancer spreading through the company, corrupting and poisoning, turning good men to bad. Jesus. It didn't pay to go to war with men like him. Tanner passed another platoon going through their drill, the sergeant screaming his orders, boots heavy on the tarmac as the men tramped up and down, wheeled to the left, then halted almost as one. The sergeant admonished them for slovenliness. A miserable, useless lot, they were.

Tanner smiled to himself, momentarily distracted, only for darker thoughts to return. He wondered whether the lieutenant would reach Torwinski in time. Perhaps Barclay had already contacted the police. Perhaps. Tanner couldn't help believing that Torwinski was still in grave danger, yet catching any would-be murderer was, he knew, probably the only chance they would have of finding evidence that would nail anyone for this crime. The flattened verge would probably have recovered already. Neither Captain Barclay nor any of the other officers had shown much appetite for Peploe's claims. And would the police be any more interested? After all, who cared about a few Poles? If whoever had done this had any sense, they'd keep clear of Torwinski and leave him be.

Lying on his bed, Tanner smelled wafts of tobacco smoke, felt a cool breeze drift across his face and realized, to his annoyance, that he was awake. Opening his eyes, he saw Corporal Sykes standing in the doorway, his slicked-back hair shining in the sun, his field cap tucked into the epaulette of his battle-blouse. Between finger and thumb, he brought the cigarette to his mouth, then noticed Tanner was watching him.

'Oh, Sarge, you're awake.'

'No thanks to you, Corporal.' Tanner sat up.

'Sorry, Sarge. I was wondering whether or not I should wake you. Only I've something to tell you.'

'What? It'd better be good, that's all I can say.' He glanced round at the others, all still fast asleep. McAllister was snoring gently.

Sykes motioned him outside. Tanner buttoned his battle-blouse, grabbed his field cap, then stood up and stepped out of the hut. A glance at his watch - a quarter to one - and a fumble in his breast pocket for his cigarettes.

'What is it, then, Stan?' he asked, putting a cigarette between his lips.

'I woke up about midday and knew I wouldn't get back to sleep again so I got up and wandered around a bit. There's quite a lot of activity going on 'ere all of a sudden. Some ack-ack guns 'ave turned up and there's lorries going back and forth. I spoke to one bloke, and apparently a couple of batteries are moving in.'

'You haven't heard, then?'

'Heard what?'

'We're going to be out of here soon. Jerry's launched his attack. We're on twelve hours' notice to shift it over to Belgium and join the rest of the battalion.'

'Bloody 'ell! Well, that explains it.' He wiped a hand across his mouth. 'Frankly, Sarge, I’m glad. Don't like this place. Sooner we're out of here the better, far as I'm concerned.'

'I agree. Just wish we could leave a few people behind, that's all. Anyway, you didn't wake me up to tell me a few guns've arrived. At least you'd better not have done.'

'No, no - course not. No, what I was going to say was that I've seen the company quartermaster sergeant over by the stores. And guess what?'

'What?'

'E's got a big limp.'

'Has he now?' Tanner allowed himself a faint smile. 'Could have had it a while, though.'

'That's just it, Sarge. He hasn't. At least, he didn't have it yesterday cos I saw him and he was walking fine.'

'Interesting, Stan. Very interesting.'

'So, anyway, I was about to talk to him when the CSM comes over and starts talking to me instead. Friendly as anything, he was, asking me all about myself and handing out smokes. And all the while he was steering me away from CQS Slater and those stores. Eventually he said, 'Well, you go and get some more rest while you've got the chance,' and gave me a wink and a pat on the back. Said it very nice but I knew it was an order, so I came back and had another smoke, wondering whether I should say anything to you.'

'That's just like Blackstone. He's the biggest two- faced bastard I've ever known. Says one thing, means another.'

'Yes, but what I wasn't sure about was whether he was steering me away from Slater or the stores.'

'Or both.' Tanner scuffed the ground with the toe of his boot. 'I don't suppose you've seen Mr Peploe?'

'No, Sarge.' Sykes eyed him. 'What do you think? What should we do?'

'I'll see if I can find Slater and talk to him. What does he look like?'