Darkest Hour

two sets of footsteps just the other side of the wall. Then voices from the road and a flickering torch beam.

Both men fell to the ground, barely daring to breathe. A match was struck; a man said something, then he and his companion walked away.

'We need to see what's in the yard,' whispered Tanner, his battle-blouse and jerkin damp with dew.

'Give it a few more minutes, Sarge.'

Tanner turned his watch face to the stars: 0040. They couldn't afford to wait long. A couple of minutes passed, then a couple more. The voices faded until the farm seemed quiet.

'All right,' whispered Tanner. 'I'm going for a look- see.' Taking off his helmet, he stood up and peeped cautiously over the wall. The yard was a place of shadows, not a single light to be seen. Above, cloud covered the moon, but there was a faint glow - enough for him to make out the dark shapes of vehicles parked in the yard. Tanner cursed and sat down again. 'It's too dark. Damn.' Then the half-moon began to slide from behind a cloud, and Tanner was on to his feet again. Now he could see more clearly: a staff car, half a dozen motorcycles with sidecars, two small infantry trucks, an armoured scout car and a half-track. He sat down beside Sykes. 'Not bad,' he whispered, 'but not enough for more than seventy men.'

'We should check the road,' suggested Sykes. 'Maybe there're vehicles parked there.'

'Good thinking.'

They crept along beside the farm wall until they reached the road. Then, Sykes on his stomach and Tanner squatting, they peered round. Ha! thought Tanner, and nudged Sykes triumphantly. Lined up along the road, to either side of the archway, there were four trucks, three of which looked like Opel troop carriers.

They were uncovered, wooden-sided, and with ample room for twenty men in each. A fourth, at the far side of the archway, was smaller, with a sloping bonnet and, curiously, six wheels. It would be a squeeze, but the four would be enough.

'Come on, Stan,' whispered Tanner. 'Let's get back.'

As they hurried across the field in silence, Tanner thought about how best to take the vehicles. It had to be a simple operation, the emphasis, as ever, on surprise, but also speed. They needed to get in quick, steal the trucks and be gone again. Yes. That could work. He smiled to himself as the plan took shape in his mind.

Then his thoughts turned to Blackstone, who was proving more of an enigma than Tanner wanted to admit. There had been times since joining the company when he had been convinced that Blackstone was as evil a bastard as ever - and worse: that he was a murderer and wanted Tanner dead. He knew what he had seen on the bridge: Blackstone apparently aiming his rifle directly at him before lowering it. At that moment he had been as sure as a man could be that Blackstone had shot him. But now - well, now he wasn't so certain. The CSM had seemed so genuine in his denial when they'd talked earlier, and Tanner had to accept that the evidence he had built against him was circumstantial. There were no hard facts.

Tanner now wondered whether his knowledge of him in India - his intense dislike of him back then - had warped his view of the man these past ten days. Perhaps he had been too quick to see the worst in him, too ready to assume that Blackstone was at the heart of every bad deed he had witnessed. He still disliked the fellow, but was he himself guilty of trying to fit what scant evidence there was of these crimes around what he knew of Blackstone? Had he lost the ability to view matters objectively? All his life he had trusted his gut instinct, his sixth sense; it had saved his life a number of times. But now that gut instinct kept changing. By law a man was innocent until proven guilty; and Tanner could prove nothing. Not conclusively, at any rate.

Tanner sighed. And there was Blackstone's proposal, too. A few hours before he had been inclined to agree with the CSM's plan, but that was when the company had been without transport. If the vehicles could be successfully stolen, it would be better, he was certain, for them to stay together. But he doubted Blackstone would see it that way. No, the CSM would regard it as another deliberate act of defiance. Bloody hell, thought Tanner. It was hard enough fighting a war against the Germans without engaging in another among his own company. Perhaps, it now occurred to him, Blackstone didn't need to know - not for the time being, at any rate.

Past the sentries and back into the wood. The men were all awake now, packed up and ready for another long, gruelling day's march. They were quiet, senses still dulled from sleep, their mood sombre.

'In the nick of time,' muttered Lieutenant Peploe, as they reported to him. 'The OC wants us to form up by the edge of the wood in five minutes.'

'Sir,' said Tanner, in a low voice, 'there's enough transport, but we need to wait another hour.'

'We don't have another hour, Sergeant. We're leaving now.'

'I've got an idea, sir.'

'Go on.'

'With your permission, I'd like to take Sykes's section.

You go with the rest of the platoon, and once we've got the vehicles, we'll catch you up.'

'How will you know where to find us?'

'We'll come with you to the forming-up point and find out where Captain Barclay intends to lead us. Then we'll slip away.'

Peploe thought for a moment. 'I'm uneasy about it, Tanner. I've a feeling the OC would be against it, or else he'd want the whole company involved.'

'That would complicate things, sir. It has to be a small group acting quickly.'

'I see that, which means doing it behind the OC's back. Other grounds for concern? Well, I have a horrible feeling that if we part company in opposite directions in the middle of night, with Jerry lurking here, there and everywhere, it's the last we'll see of each other, which, frankly, would be a damn shame.' He took off his cap and tugged at his hair. 'On the other hand, it'd be madness to pass up such a golden opportunity. Does it have to wait an hour?'

'I was thinking that Jerry might be asleep by then . . . Sod it, sir. What if we go now? If we pull it off you'll