bodywork. We're back behind Allied lines now, sir. We don't want people thinking we're Jerries.'
'Yes, of course,' said Marmier, before Barclay could reply. He called, and a moment later an NCO appeared. Marmier spoke with him, then turned back to Tanner. 'Follow him. He's the company quartermaster. He has some paint.'
When Tanner returned to the trucks armed with a brush and a tin of white paint, a number of French troops were examining them. He noticed several pointing at him as he approached. Ignoring them, he walked over to the Krupp, where he found Hepworth and Verity both fast asleep despite the hubbub around them.
He painted over the two SS runes on the numberplate beneath the radiator, then daubed 'Yorks Rangers' on the bonnet and, in even larger letters, 'BEF' beneath it. Then he did the same on the wooden side boards before turning his attention to the truck behind.
Squadron Leader Lyell still sat in the Opel's cab. 'Sergeant,' he called, as Tanner painted new markings on the bonnet.
Tanner stopped, then went to the window.
'So we're back behind Allied lines,' said Lyell. 'We've almost made it.'
'A little way to go yet but, yes, hopefully, sir.'
Lyell eyed him thoughtfully. 'Do you know why I chose to become a pilot, Tanner?'
'No, sir.'
'I'll tell you. It was because I wanted to fly, of course, but not just so I could see the world from the sky or even because of the thrill of it - though it is a thrill. It was also because I was damned if I wanted to bother with the spit and polish and crap that comes from being in the other services. I know I have men under my command, but it's not like old Hector and his company of infantrymen. We're a team, all right, but we're individuals too. We pilots live by different laws, different codes of conduct. Not quite so much yes-sir, no-sir, or cap-doffing, if you know what I mean.'
Tanner wondered why he was telling him all this. 'I see, sir,' he said.
Lyell hadn't finished. 'When you shot my tyre out back at Manston, I decided you must be just like all those other bloody hare-brained infantry types - following orders to the letter, with no imagination, no ability to think for yourself.'
'I'm sorry you thought so, sir,' said Tanner.
'Well, I don't any more. You're a rare bird - a bloody competent soldier. My brother-in-law . . .' He shook his head. 'You know, I've always thought he was a bit of a prig, albeit a good-natured one, but he's harmless enough in day-to-day life. Worked quite well for his father - they've a family business in Harrogate, you know - but hopeless as a soldier. Doesn't have a clue.'
'It's new to a lot of the men, sir,' said Tanner. 'There's a big difference between training and doing it for real. It takes time to learn.'
Lyell chuckled. 'Certainly a bit different from the weekend soldiering he was doing before the war. A few drills, a few marches and a few shots on the firing range, plus a two-week camp every summer. And now this.'
'He's got us here in one piece, hasn't he?' said Tanner.
'Now you're being disingenuous, Sergeant. No, I've learned something these past couple of days, which is what I wanted to say to you in this rather long-winded way - that is, I now realize I shouldn't tar you all with the same brush. Some of you do actually think for yourselves - you especially. That I'm not in some Jerry bag is down to you, Sergeant. And if I get safely to Arras, that will also be largely down to you. I've been an ass and, I suspect, a pain in the arse to you all. Frustration, I'm afraid, and exasperation. Shouldn't ever have allowed myself to be knocked out of the sky. Fed up with all the dithering, and angry that I'm not leading my squadron. No excuse, but an explanation - of sorts, at any rate.'
'Don't mention it, sir.'
'And one other thing, Tanner.'
'Sir?'
'We can forget about the car.'
'I already had, sir.'
They were on their way again before eight. They had been delayed for several hours but, if he was honest, Tanner had been glad of the pause. He'd been fed - French Army rations, but a lot better than some of the food he'd eaten in his time - and had even managed to get some sleep, stretching out in the back of the Krupp while they waited for Lieutenant Peploe's return. Moreover, it had given them a chance to reorganize themselves. Captain Barclay, Blackstone and the rest of Company Headquarters had taken command of the Krupp, while the two platoons had been split between the three Opels, with Sykes, Tanner and Lieutenant Peploe up front in the cab of the truck following the Krupp.
Peploe had come back to them in good shape, all things considered: he'd been shot in the head but all he had to show for it were a bad headache, mild grogginess, four stitches and a bandage. 'The French MO reckoned the bullet had lost a lot of velocity by hitting the helmet at the side,' Peploe told Tanner and Sykes, as they drove off towards Douai. 'He thinks it spun round the lining where it eventually ran out of puff and fell out.'
'It didn't fall out, sir. At least, not straight away.' Tanner reached into his pocket and took out the squashed bullet. 'Here you are, sir. A little memento.'
'Well, what do you know? Thank you, Sergeant.'
'You're a lucky man, sir. Maybe you're one of the charmed ones. What do you reckon, Stan?'
'Oh, definitely, sir,' agreed Sykes, winking. 'Some people have it - the Luck - and others don't. Just one of those things.'
'Oh, I'm not so sure about that.' He chuckled. 'But it's certainly a comforting thought.'
