Darkest Hour

'Quite a big bloke. A bit smaller than the CSM and his face looks like he's been a few rounds. Oh, and he's got a limp.'

Tanner grinned. 'Of course. Shouldn't be too hard to spot, then. Where are these stores?'

'Right down the back end of this place. There's a big hangar to the far side of all the huts. It's away to the left of that, on its own at the end of a long workshop.'

'I don't think we should poke around in the stores yet, though.'

'No. Too many people about. Have a look tonight, maybe. Didn't you say we're on airfield duty later?'

'I did. All right - we'll do that. I'll put money on there being something in that storeroom that shouldn't be.'

'Like stolen fuel?'

'Yes, Stan,' said Tanner. 'Like stolen fuel.'

Tanner found the store easily enough. It was a creosoted wooden structure with a corrugated-iron roof, tacked onto the end of a longer brick-built workshop. There were no windows, only a door that was double- padlocked. He wondered whether Sykes would have the means to break the lock - but that was expecting a lot. A small distance away, towards the pilots' accommodation blocks, a Bofors light anti-aircraft crew were manning their gun, but otherwise no one was about, and certainly no one answering CQS Slater's description. A truck rumbled onto the road that bisected the airfield, crunched through its gears and continued on its way. In the distance he heard someone yelling orders. A wasp buzzed near his face and, startled, he swished it away.

He walked round the building, the sun warm on his face. Damn it, he wanted to know what Slater and Blackstone had inside. Ammunition boxes principally, uniform, equipment spares, and what else? Tonight, he told himself. He and Sykes would have to get in somehow.

When he returned to the hut there was no sign of Sykes, but several of the others were now awake and playing cards.

'Mr Peploe was looking for you, Sarge,' said McAllister, his hand in front of his face.

'When?'

'Ten minutes back. Said he'll be in the office block.'

Tanner headed out again, across the parade-ground and into the now familiar building, and soon found Peploe's office, a small room that the lieutenant shared with the two other platoon commanders. Peploe was the only one there; the door was open and Tanner saw him leaning over his desk, his head resting in a hand. His brow knotted, he was apparently in deep thought. He didn't notice his sergeant. 'You wanted me, sir?'

Peploe looked up. 'Ah, Tanner, there you are. Come in.' He pushed back his chair, stood up and went to shut the door. 'Have a seat.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner, sitting on a rickety folding chair. 'Did you see Torwinski?'

'Yes - he's all right. Well, physically at any rate. He's been placed under arrest and there's a - what did you call them? A Snowdrop standing by his bed.'

Tanner shook his head. 'At least he should be safe.'

'Well, yes, there is that. He was due to be discharged about now, handed over to the civilian police and taken to the station in Ramsgate.' Peploe sighed. Suddenly he looked very young. Tanner supposed he must be in his early twenties. 'I'm afraid it's all a bit bleak,' Peploe continued. 'They found documents this morning in the men's hut. Details of deliveries, that sort of thing. The OC told me that, as far as he's concerned, it's an open and shut case. And that, I'm afraid, has come from the RAFP and the police inspector working on the case. I protested, of course, but it seems no one's interested in hearing an alternative version of events. I mean, I can see it from Captain Barclay's point of view - he's got other things on his mind, like our departure for France, and he's obviously relieved to have had the whole matter taken out of his hands. But I would have thought the police might be a bit more open-minded. It's wrong, Tanner, very wrong.'

'Has anyone spoken with the other Poles? Who's in charge of them?'

'There's a Polish colonel and, yes, they have. According to the OC, they're being very co-operative. I went down there to see the colonel myself a short while ago and they're obviously a bit upset, but they seem to have accepted the official line without question.'

Tanner sat in silence, wondering whether to tell the lieutenant about Slater and the stores. No. Best not. Instead he said, 'Is there any news on when we'll be off, sir?'

'Could be any moment. And then we'll have to leave this sorry business unresolved. I don't mind telling you, Tanner, I still feel pretty bloody shocked about what's happened and, frankly, helpless to do anything about it. Whether the CSM had anything to do with it, I'm not sure, but the thought of a murderer getting away with it and for him possibly to be part of our company when it goes to France . .. Well, I can't say it thrills me.'

Fanner looked away. Uncomfortable memories were returning, memories from his childhood - or, rather, the end of his childhood. But that was very different, he thought. He frowned. 'Don't worry, sir. I'm sure the truth will out.'

'Do you believe that, Sergeant?'

'Yes, sir,' said Tanner. 'I do.'

It was around ten p.m. on Friday, 10 May, and Tanner and Sykes had kept their plans to themselves. The rest of the platoon were on airfield duty, which meant having sentries posted at the watch office, the fuel stores and the main office building, and manning the gates at the entrance to the airfield. Tanner had done several rounds, checking his men, but as dusk gave way to night, he called Sykes away from the watch office and together they crossed the southern end of the Northern Grass towards the company stores.

Rather than walking there directly, though, they doubled back, weaving a route through the rows of wooden huts until they emerged behind the building beside two accommodation huts that were visibly empty. Waiting in the shadows at the end of the last hut, Sykes felt in his pocket and pulled out a set of Bren-gun reamers. 'These should do the trick,' he whispered. 'Listen, Sarge, don't take this the wrong way, but I think it's better if I go there alone.'