hours.'
'Maybe a bit longer than that,' said Tanner.
Ellis looked at him quizzically. 'I thought it was only twenty miles or so across. That can't take very long.'
'Nor does it. But we haven't set off yet, have we? Trust me, Billy, there's always a lot of hanging around at port. We won't be going anywhere for hours.'
His prediction proved correct. Tanner made the most of the delay by catching up on his sleep, as did Sykes and some of the other more experienced men. He was glad of the chance. Not only was he tired, his head still throbbed. He had seen the MO that morning. The doctor had seemed to accept his story about having been hit as someone opened the door of a truck and merely warned him to wear his tin helmet more often. The wound had needed four stitches, all of which were neatly hidden by his thick dark hair.
When he awoke a couple of hours later, his headache had all but gone, but the ship was still tied firmly to the quayside. When they had not left by three thirty, frustration mounted, even in Tanner. The delay, it seemed, was caused by a missing convoy of Guy Ant fifteen-hundredweight general-service trucks. It was four o'clock when at last they arrived, and half an hour later the ship let go its moorings and inched out of Ramsgate harbour.
Tanner had few superstitions, but he liked to be out on deck when a ship left port and now he stood, the gulls circling, to watch the cliffs and the neat little streets shrink before him. A light, soothing breeze brushed his face.
England always looked so unmistakably English, he thought - the sheer, white cliffs, the rows of terraced houses, the patchwork of high-hedged fields. The quiet order.
'Looks pretty, don't it, Sarge?' said Sykes, appearing at his side. Then without waiting for a reply, he said, 'How's the head?'
'Not too bad. The stitches itch a bit.' He touched the hard scab and the loose end of the thread. 'You seen the CQS yet today?'
'He came down with the trucks. So no.'
Tanner thought for a moment. 'Tell me again, Stan, you did hear voices in the store last night, didn't you?'
'Yes, but it wasn't much and it was quite low. I'm not sure I could identify anyone from what I heard. But it did sound like a Yorkshire accent.'
'Could have been anyone from up north - there's probably Yorkshiremen in the ack-ack units and in the RAF as well as our lot.' Tanner felt for his cigarettes. 'Damn it, Stan. Damn those bloody bastards. We're never going to nail them, are we?'
Sykes shrugged. 'Don't know, Sarge. If we keep our wits about us .. .'
Tanner tapped one end of his packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Sykes, then placed another between his lips. Turning out of the breeze to cup a match, he had just successfully lit his cigarette when Lieutenant Peploe joined them.
'I suppose you two are old hands at this sort of thing.' He pulled out his own cigarettes.
'I wouldn't say that, sir,' said Sykes. 'Only the second time for me. That last trip was a bit hairy, wasn't it, Sarge? I hope we don't get another torpedo.'
'You were torpedoed?' said Peploe, bleakly.
'Not us, sir, no. A supply ship. We lost most of our kit, guns and transport. But we'll be all right. Be in Calais before you know it.'
Peploe gazed at the shrinking English coastline. 'I know people have been doing this for centuries, but it's quite a thing to find oneself a part of it - you know, leaving home and heading off to war. I don't mind admitting I feel apprehensive.'
'It would be strange if you didn't, sir,' said Tanner.
'Still,' Sykes put in, 'I'm glad to be getting away from Manston.'
'Yes,' said Peploe. He coughed. 'I'm sorry, Sykes, but would you mind giving me and Sergeant Tanner a moment?'
'Course, sir. Let me go and check how the lads are doing.' He raised his cigarette in acknowledgement and left them.
'Sorry about that, Tanner, but I feel we've barely spoken today, apart from to issue orders and so on.' He took off his cap and the breeze ruffled his unruly hair. 'I just wish we were leaving in better circumstances. This matter with the Poles, I promised we'd get to the bottom of it and I haven't been able to.'
'We couldn't have known we'd be sent to France so soon, sir.'
'Even so ...'
'I know, it doesn't seem right, but we've got other things to worry about now and the platoon to look after.'
'It's the thought that those responsible are with us here, on this ship. It makes my blood boil.'
'Maybe they're still in Manston, though, sir. Perhaps they weren't from our company, after all. Could have been RAF or the ack-ack lads.'
'I thought you were convinced CSM Blackstone was behind it.'
'I'm not so sure. I might have been wrong about that.'
'Why the change of heart?'
'I can't explain. Just a hunch. But the point is, sir, we know it's definitely not anyone from this platoon. If we
