Darkest Hour

With fumbling fingers, Reichmann tugged at his leather holster and pulled out his P38. His hand shook as he held the pistol, then he convulsed and began to sob.

'Oh, for God's sake,' snapped Timpke. 'You had no such qualms in Poland. You were happy enough to shoot people there.'

'Please,' said Liebmann, falling to his knees.

'Last chance, Reichmann,' said Timpke. 'One, two—'

'I'm sorry, Hans,' sobbed Reichmann, blood and tears running down his face. Shakily, he raised the gun to the side of Liebmann's head.

'Three,' said Timpke. Liebmann was staring at him numbly. A single pistol shot rang out, the report echoing around the yard. The side of Liebmann's head flew into the air. Eyes still staring at Timpke, Liebmann toppled over on to the ground.

There was silence, except for Reichmann's now uncontrollable sobbing.

Timpke looked around at the men, their taut faces outlined in the glow of the lamps. They had all stopped working and were staring mutely at the scene before them.

'Let that be a lesson to all of you,' said Timpke. 'Orders are to be obeyed. No more drinking and no more shirking. Is that understood?' He glared at them, then strode back into the house.

Across the bridge Kershaw, who had been leading, had pulled over and let Tanner pass. Turning left down the track that led along the riverbank, Tanner had initially seen no sign of the rest of the platoon and had just begun to worry that Peploe's prediction had been right when, up ahead, he had spotted dim figures scuttling into the side of the road.

Moments later he drew up alongside the head of the line of prostrate men taking cover either side of the road.

'Good morning, sir,' he said, shining his torch at Captain Barclay, who was trying to shield his eyes.

'Tanner?' said Barclay, dumbfounded. 'Good God, man, what the devil are you doing?'

'We've got some transport, sir,' said Tanner.

Barclay got to his feet and stared open-mouthed at the line of four trucks, their engines ticking over in the quiet night air.

'We should load everyone up quickly, sir. I suggest that for the moment, sir, everyone piles onto the truck nearest them. It'll be a bit of a squeeze, I'm afraid.'

Barclay nodded dumbly.

Now Blackstone pushed past the OC and stood beside the cab of Tanner's lead truck. 'Quite a haul, Jack,' he said. 'Good of you to keep me informed.' He glowered at him, then hurried on down the line, helping men up from the bank and ordering them onto the trucks.

Tanner knew what Blackstone was saying: You still don't trust me. Well, no, he didn't. He sighed, then stood up and peered into the back. 'All right, Hep?' he said.

'Yes, Sarge,' said Hepworth, 'although these Jerry MGs don't half get hot quick. I can still feel the heat from the barrel.'

Tanner switched on his torch and flashed it around the vehicle. There were two bench seats on either side, which, he guessed, could take eight or ten men in all. Then he sat down again and shone the torch at the dashboard. It was simple, with an explanation of the gears and different drive options on a plate. Further along was another plate. So it's a Krupp. Next to him he saw a flat leather case, picked it up and opened it. Inside, he discovered some maps. He smiled to himself as he opened the first. Jesus, those Jerries were careless bastards. There was Mons and, to the south, Mauberge. Further to the west Le Cateau, Cambrai and St Quentin were all circled. Between Cambrai and Le Cateau a line had been drawn in thick pencil and beside it the number seven, written with a line across the stem of the figure, and then 'Pz'. 'Seventh Panzer,' he mouthed to himself. 7th Panzer what? Division, brigade? Corps? His eyes rested briefly on Mons again and then he scanned the map immediately to the west of the town. Where the hell were they? There was the river, and the road they had been on the previous afternoon. Then he found two possible roads that led south across the river, but only one showed woodland in the right place. Just below a village was marked as Hainin.

'Sergeant Tanner,' said a breathless voice beside him, 'how very splendid it is to see you again.'

Tanner turned to see Lieutenant Peploe climbing up beside him. 'Morning, sir.' He grinned. 'Are we ready to go?'

'Almost. Just setting up the other Bren and making sure the squadron leader's safely aboard. Captain Barclay's going to join us.'

'And Blackstone?'

'He's at the rear with McAllister, Ellis and the rest of Company Headquarters.'

Other men were now clambering into the back, the truck rolling slightly as they did so.

'Where did you find that?' said Peploe, spotting the map.

'Kindly left by Jerry. Look, sir,' he said, pointing to the tiny circle made by the closed beam of his torch, 'we're here. There's the village, and there's the road on which Sykes and I saw the German convoy yesterday.'

Peploe peered at it. 'Ye-es,' he said. 'So this is the river Haine.'

'We need to keep a wide berth around Hainin, sir,' said Tanner. 'I suggest we follow the road along the river, then cross here at Montroeul-sur-Haine. That's - what? - five miles or so, and then we can head south and rejoin the main road to Valenciennes at Quievrain.'

'Isn't that a bit risky? The enemy's already been seen on that road.'

'But it's quick, sir, and it's dark. Jerry might have changed his habits, but in Norway he liked to knock off during the night. If we do see any enemy, I reckon we'll get through - especially if we tell everyone to wear field