Darkest Hour

about it. But, of course, we need experienced men like the CSM here and yourself.'

'And the men Sergeant Tanner has brought with him, sir,' added Peploe.

'Absolutely.' Barclay lit his pipe, a cloud of blue-grey smoke swirling into the still air of the office. 'I hear you had quite a time of it out in Norway, Sergeant.'

'Yes, sir.' Tanner knew the captain wanted to hear more, but he was not going to indulge him. Not in front of Blackstone.

'Sounds like you were lucky to get out.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I don't know how you do it, Jack,' interrupted the CSM. 'Most of the Fifth Battalion get themselves put in the bag, but you manage to get yourself safely back to Blighty.' He sniggered. 'I tell you, sir, Tanner's one of those lucky soldiers. Always gets himself out of a tight fix.'

Tanner glared at Blackstone. Then, too late, he saw that Peploe had seen.

'We need men like that,' said the lieutenant. 'If what the CSM says is true, Sergeant, I'm very glad to have you in my platoon.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner.

Barclay put another match to his pipe. 'Yes, I'm sure we can all learn something from you, Sergeant. Anyway,' he leaned back in his chair, 'what else do you need to know? We're a small company. Three platoons, most not quite at full strength although Mr Peploe's will be, now that you're here. We rotate duties between training, guarding the airfield and a stretch of the coast at Kingsgate - do you know it? Between Broadstairs and Margate. Big castle there. It's a hotel and, incidentally, out of bounds to servicemen. Not very taxing stuff, I'm afraid, but important work all the same.'

'So, do you think we'll be going to France, sir?'

'Yes - I meant to say. That's the point of us being down here. In effect we're the reserve for the First Battalion. A hop across the Channel and we'll be right alongside them. Now,' he said, placing his hands flat on the desk. 'Is there anything else?' He turned to Blackstone, who was absent-mindedly picking at his fingernails. 'CSM?'

Blackstone looked up. 'Shall I brief the sergeant on duty rotas, or will you do that, Mr Peploe?'

'I can do that, thank you, Sergeant-Major,' said Peploe. 'I want to meet Tanner's men in any case.'

'Very good, sir.'

Barclay clapped his hands to signal the end of the interview, then suddenly said, 'Oh, yes - I almost forgot, but there is something else you should know. I'm afraid we've had some thieves here at the airfield.'

'Sir?'

'Two nights ago a dozen barrels of fuel were stolen.

Understandably, the station commander's livid about it. He rather wants us to get to the bottom of it.'

'It's those Poles, sir,' said Blackstone.

'I really don't know how you can be so certain,' said Peploe.

'You'll see, sir,' said Blackstone. 'I'd put good money on it.'

'Poles, sir?' Tanner asked Peploe.

'Yes. Former soldiers and pilots, mostly. They've come over since the fall of their country, poor devils. They're being housed here for the moment.'

Barclay raised an eyebrow at Peploe, then said, 'We've got several dumps here, you see, Sergeant. Lorries deliver the fuel in barrels - presumably from a refinery somewhere - a couple of times a week. They're taken to the fuel stores and then the bowsers siphon the petrol from there. One of these dumps was broken into and the barrels swiped. Of course, the fuel's got dye in it but that hardly stops people using it. After all, once you've put it in your car or what-have-you, who's to know? It's all high- octane stuff but apparently that's of little concern on the black market.'

'Why do you think the Poles are responsible, sir?' Tanner asked Blackstone.

'I saw several of them skulking around the store in question the other day. And a number of them are employed around the airfield and camp, some as drivers. You couldn't nick all those barrels without a number of men being involved, and I can't see any of the military personnel doing it. We've a war to fight and win, not help lose by pinching fuel needed for the aircraft here. No, it's those Poles, all right. Certain of it.'

'Anyway, the point is, Tanner,' added Barclay, 'we need to be vigilant. You see anything suspicious, you tell one of us right away.'

'Yes, sir.'

Barclay dismissed Tanner and Peploe, but not Blackstone. To Tanner's surprise, the CSM took out another cigarette and settled back in the armchair next to the OC's desk. Blackstone. Tanner sighed. Christ, but that man had made his life difficult during the Nowshera Brigade days, yet when the CSM had been wounded he'd thought it would be the last he'd ever see of him. Of all the luck! And he was just the same - five minutes in front of Captain Barclay had proved that. Tanner clenched his fists. He had an urge to hit something very hard.

Neither Tanner nor Peploe spoke until they were outside the building and standing in the parade-ground. The sun still shone brightly and Tanner squinted. A sudden roar of aero-engines from behind the office block made both men turn. Through a gap between the buildings, Tanner saw a Blenheim take to the air, followed by two more, then another three a few moments later. The two men moved to where they could see the bombers better and watched as they climbed into the sky and away towards the coast.

'Beasts of aircraft, aren't they?' said Peploe. 'Six-oh-oh Squadron. I've learned there're three squadrons here - the Blenheims, the Defiants of 264 Squadron and the Hurricanes of 632. I've often wondered what the world must