Darkest Hour

breath and grabbed another box of grenades, then stumbled back to Tanner.

Tanner was shaking his head and blinking.

'Sarge!' said Sykes again. 'We've got to get out of here - quick!'

Tanner spluttered, then seemed to regain his senses. He looked around, then scrambled to the other end of the stores. 'Stan, bring your torch,' he called, his voice hoarse.

Sykes did so. The last row was filled with rifles and a couple of boxed Bren guns.

'Good - no ammo here.' Crouching, Tanner hurried away, grabbed one of the boxes of grenades and, with trembling fingers, undid the fastening. 'Thank God,' he said, when he saw that the weapons were not greased up. 'Quick, open these,' he told Sykes, passing him the tin of igniters in the centre of the box. Then he took out a grenade, unscrewed the base plug and grabbed an igniter from the now open tin.

They were lying on the floor away from the flames but already the smoke was choking.

'The torch, Stan - shine the bloody torch!' Keep calm, Tanner told himself as he struggled to feed the igniter. Don't rush. He was conscious of Sykes's frantic glances at the growing flames.

'They've reached the ammo boxes, Sarge. Are you nearly done?'

Tanner took the base plug, tried to screw it on, missed the thread, cursed, then got it right at the second attempt.

'Sarge, any second now those bullets are going to go!'

'Shut up, Stan,' said Tanner, snatching the base-plug tightener from the lid of the box. 'You're not helping.' He tightened the grenade, then scrambled to the end of the last row, pulled the pin and ran back, hurling himself to the ground.

There was a sudden surge of flames and the sound of bullets as strips of .303 rounds ignited and pinged furiously around the storeroom. A second later the grenade went off.

'Go!' shouted Tanner. 'Go!'

A draught from the far end of the storeroom told them the explosion had been successful. Sure enough, there was a jagged hole just big enough for them to squeeze through. 'Quick, Stan, out you go!' urged Tanner, and then it was his turn. The clear, fresh air hit him like a wall. 'Run!' he said. 'Iggery! Let's get the hell out of here!'

There were now cries and shouts from the other side of the storeroom. Tanner saw Sykes run ahead, past the first of the huts. First, though, he had something to retrieve. Pausing where he had stood not ten minutes before, he dropped to his knees and felt around the grass. Good, he thought, as he found the familiar wooden butt of his rifle. Then, just to make sure, he put his hand around the breech and his fingers touched the scope mounts he had had especially fixed to it. Clasping it, he ran on, until a loud whisper from Sykes called him into the shadows of the second hut along.

'I can't believe I'm alive,' gasped Sykes. At that moment there was a deafening explosion and the storeroom was engulfed in a mass of livid orange flame. Both men flung themselves flat on the ground, already damp with dew, as debris pattered around them.

'Come on, Stan,' said Tanner, hoarsely. 'We don't want to hang around here. Let's get to the hut, clean up and join the others.' He stood up and dusted himself down. 'You all right?'

'I think so, Sarge. What about you?'

'My head's felt better.' He put his hand to it and peered at his fingers. 'Damn.'

'Blood?'

'I'll have to think of some excuse. I tell you, Stan, we can't let those bastards frame us for this. We'll have to be bloody careful. Blackstone was always a right bastard in India but I wouldn't have said cold-blooded murder was his way.'

'You're sure it was him, then?'

'Aren't you?'

'I don't know. I couldn't see. Whoever it was always kept the torch shining on my face. Then he whacked me one and I pretended to be out cold so I didn't dare open my eyes. He never spoke. I heard another bloke, but it wasn't the CSM. What about you, Sarge?'

'I fell for the oldest trick in the book. I was distracted by a noise from one side of the hut and hit in the head from the other. And, no, I didn't see who it was, but I still know Blackstone's behind this. He's got to be.'

'Anyway, at the moment they think we're croakers, don't they? That gives us a bit of time.'

'So it does, Stan. Let's make the most of it.' He stumbled forward, then stopped. 'Thanks - back there.'

'Self-preservation, Sarge.' He grinned. 'I didn't think I'd get out without your help.'

'That's all right, then.'

The wash-house was empty - a stroke of luck. They cleaned the smoke from their hands and faces and Tanner swabbed the gash to his head. He needed stitches, he knew, but that would have to wait.

Cleaned up, they hurried back to their hut. Tanner dabbed his head again then covered it with petroleum jelly from a tin in his pack to stem the blood. Then quickly changing into their spare battle-dress, the two of them headed out into the night once more. It was now just twenty-two minutes past ten. They had been absent from the platoon for less than half an hour but, with the inferno raging at the company stores, both men were keenly aware that they had to get back to their men without delay.

They wove their way behind a row of buildings to the south of the parade-ground, reached the road in front of the office block, then headed back towards the burning stores to the west of the Northern Grass.

'OK, listen, Stan,' said Tanner. 'We've come from the direction of the watch office, all right? We've been keeping an eye on things at the far side of the airfield, and we hurried over as soon as we heard the explosion. Got