Darkest Hour

'Where they cannot have been watching very closely, can they?' He leaned over the table a moment, clutching the edge with both hands. 'One group,' he said, louder now, 'of which I am beginning to think half must have been sleeping.'

'It was dark, sir. The men were watching, but it was night.'

'Not good enough, Reichmann. Good God, your men have ears, do they not?'

'Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, but—'

'Be quiet, Reichmann! This is the battalion headquarters and, quite apart from the personnel, we have important equipment and vehicles here. Do you have any idea how hard Brigadefuhrer Eicke had to work to get our vehicles? Most of the Wehrmacht troops still use horses and their own two feet. Do you understand how fortunate we are to have these vehicles? And you go and lose not one but four? And that does not include those damaged here.'

He had tried to contain his rage, to speak with a controlled calm, but standing in front of him was this disgrace of an officer - an ugly brute with a bad accent and the stench of wine on his breath. Had all that training, and all those lectures, been for nothing?

Timpke clenched his fist and drove it into Reichmann's stomach. The man gasped and staggered backwards.

'Has it not entered your thick skull, Reichmann, that we are in only recently captured enemy territory? How could it not? And yet you have the stupidity and nerve to deploy a mere group of ten men. And you have been drinking. It is unbelievable - you, an officer, a man supposed to set an example.' He punched Reichmann again, then took out his pistol, a wooden-gripped Luger P08, and pointed it at Reichmann's forehead.

'It was j-just some wine, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,' gasped Reichmann. 'I'm not drunk, I swear.' His eyes were wide with fear.

Timpke eyed him with disgust. 'Give me one good reason why I should not shoot you here and now.'

Beads of sweat had formed on Reichmann's forehead. 'I - I - I thought a group would be enough.'

Timpke lowered the pistol, saw the relief cross Reichmann's face, then whipped the barrel hard down on the side of his head. Reichmann cried out with pain and shock and collapsed on to the floor, blood pouring from a long gash.

'Idiot Swabian,' said Timpke. 'Where did you come from, Reichmann? How do people like you manage to be officers? A thick-skulled imbecilic camp guard and a poor one at that.' He kicked him in the ribs, and then again as Reichmann writhed in pain. Timpke looked up at Kemmetmuler. 'Ask Division to transfer this man. I have no use for him. Send him back to the camps.' He turned back to Reichmann. 'Get up,' he said, 'or I swear I'll shoot you.'

With blood pouring down his face, Reichmann staggered to his feet and clutched the table for support.

'Now,' said Timpke, 'you will take me to Unterschar-fuhrer Liebmann. He is still alive, I take it?'

Reichmann clutched his wound. 'Yes, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.' Wincing, he led Timpke and Kemmetmuler from the house to the yard, where men were trying to clear rubble under the light of a few torches and lamps. Passing his staff car, Timpke noticed, with renewed anger, that the Audi had a dent in the front wing and the windscreen was smashed.

Reichmann tried to call Liebmann, but his throat caught and he began to cough.

'Unterscharfuhrer Liebmann!' shouted Kemmetmuler. 'Liebmann!'

They waited a moment, straining their eyes at the throng of men moving around the yard. A tall man stumbled forward, his uniform grey with dust. Seeing Timpke and Kemmetmuler, he stopped and saluted. His eyes turned to the half-crouching figure of Untersturm-fuhrer Reichmann. Timpke saw him blink anxiously.

'Come closer, Liebmann,' said Timpke.

Liebmann took a step forward. Timpke leaned towards him and sniffed. There was wine on this man's breath too.

'So you have been drinking?' said Timpke, his voice quiet once more.

Liebmann glanced again at Reichmann. 'Just a little earlier on, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer.'

'I think it must have clouded your judgement.'

'No, sir, I swear, I—'

'Then why were four vehicles stolen from under your nose, Liebmann? Why was the enemy able to take four vehicles and blow up the tower? Four vehicles and how many dead?'

'At least eight, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,' said Kemmetmuler.

'Well, make that nine. Reichmann, you will now shoot this man.'

Liebmann's eyes darted between Timpke and Reichmann, panic etched across his face. 'No,' he said, 'please, no.'

Reichmann turned his bloodied face to Timpke. 'Shoot him?'

'Yes, Reichmann, shoot him. He has been drinking and he has failed not only me but the entire battalion. I am court-martialling him and passing instant judgement. And, as punishment, you will carry out his execution. Now.'

'But - but he's one of my men, Herr Sturmbann- fuhrer!'

'Precisely. Let this be a lesson to you. Now do it.'

'No,' said Liebmann again. 'Please, Herr Sturmbann- fuhrer, I implore you.'

'Reichmann - now! Or I'll shoot you too.'