Darkest Hour

'Bollocks,' said Tanner, dropped to the ground and, with one bound, leaped back into his stolen truck, thrust it into gear and sped forward. Bell was now moving in his truck too and, swivelling his head backwards, Tanner saw Sykes so close to his rear that the two trucks were almost touching. From the corner of his eye he saw enemy troops emerge from the archway and open fire, arcs of tracer from their machine-gun cutting across the night sky and following them along the road. A split-second later a blast of orange light erupted from the gateway, enveloping the Germans and spewing broken brick, wood and iron. Tanner felt its draught on his neck and looked back to see Hepworth drop into the seat behind. At the same time, above the throaty roar of the truck's engine, he heard falling masonry.

'Hep?' he shouted. 'Are you all right?'

'Just about,' came the reply.

'Can you see anything?'

'I can't now but I could a moment ago. The tower collapsed all right, Sarge.'

Tanner laughed. Perfect.

His plan had worked. The company had its transport.

Chapter 12

Sturmbannfuhrer Otto Timpke had been fast asleep in the farmhouse when he was woken by the commotion. He had flung on his shirt, breeches and boots and had been about to hurry downstairs when the explosion had occurred. The bright glare had lit up the house and yard and he had stopped, frozen momentarily to the spot. Shards of stone, brick and grit peppered the farmhouse, tinkling on the roof and against the walls; a window-pane smashed, then another, while outside in the yard, the deafening thunder of collapsing masonry seemed to engulf the farm, shaking the house to its foundations.

By the time Timpke had grabbed his belt and holster, then run downstairs with a hurricane lamp and out into the yard, a choking cloud of dust filled the air, trapped, so it seemed, by the surrounding buildings and walls. Men were racing from the house and barns; some were coughing and spluttering, others crying out in agony.

It was hard to see what damage had been done or how, but he strode forward, clutching his lamp, and nearly tripped over a damaged motorcycle. Cursing, he stepped aside. Torches - electric and flame - now glowed through the swirling dust. Timpke put a handkerchief to his mouth and, reaching the entrance, paused, aghast. The archway, tower and parts of the adjoining stable blocks had been completely destroyed. All that was left was a jagged pile of rubble, wood and brick. A motorcycle and sidecar lay nearby, bent and skewed, almost completely covered with fallen brickwork.

'Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,' said a voice next to him.

Timpke neither spoke nor moved, his face rigid with fury.

'Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,' said the voice again, and this time Timpke turned towards his adjutant, Hauptsturm- fuhrer Kemmetmuler.

'What happened?' He spoke quietly, slowly.

'Sabotage, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. And the men who did this stole the trucks left outside the farm. I've radioed to One Company and they'll give chase.'

'Stop them, Kemmetmuler. It's dark and they won't be able to catch them. We don't want to lose any more men or vehicles.'

He punched a fist into the other hand. 'Whose platoon was on guard duty this evening?'

'Untersturmfuhrer Reichmann's, Herr Sturmbann-fuhrer.'

'Bring him to me. We'll do what we can now for the injured, but we'll clear up this mess at first light. I shall be in the farmhouse. And post more guards.'

By the time he was back in his temporary battalion headquarters inside the farmhouse, Timpke was still numb. He sat down at a dark oak dining-table, took out his silver cigarette case and, tapping the end of a Turkish cigarette, realized his hands were shaking - so much so that he struggled to light it. How could this have happened? How? It was not possible: the area was clear of enemy - this part of southern Belgium was in German hands now. And, in any case, there had been guards posted around the farm. How could any saboteurs have got through such a cordon? He smashed his fist on the table.

There was a knock and Kemmetmuler came into the room. He had brought Untersturmfuhrer Reichmann with him. The young platoon commander clicked his boots together and saluted. He looked clean, Timpke thought - too clean. Apart from a smear of dust on one sleeve of his tunic and a smudge of dirt across his cheek, he was unblemished.

Timpke sat back in his chair, leaving Reichmann standing stiffly to attention.

'I've been wondering,' said Timpke slowly, his voice betraying his anger, 'how any saboteurs could get to this farm, steal four trucks, then blow up an entire tower and half of two buildings undetected. How can this be, when I gave express orders for there to be a guard on this entire compound?' He stood up and walked towards Reichmann. 'Perhaps, Reichmann, you could tell me how you had your men deployed.'

Reichmann was shorter than Timpke, a thick-set young man with dark eyebrows and a heavy forehead. His hair was shaved at the sides but slicked back with pomade underneath his field cap. Timpke smelled sour alcohol on his breath.

'I used Unterscharfuhrer Liebmann's group, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.'

'Just one group?'

'Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. With my approval, he placed two men in the tower, two men by the archway, two men at the front and three others watching elsewhere.'

'Where exactly?' said Timpke.

Reichmann swallowed hard. 'Around the farm, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.'