Darkest Hour

it.

'You are finished,' said Timpke. 'Even if we reach your Tommy lines tonight, it is only a question of time. And I promise you this: I will find you, Herr Tanner, and kill you.'

'Put a sock in it, will you?' said Tanner. He noticed the sub-machine-gun hanging on cream hooks on the metal wall. He wiped his brow. His hand was clammy, the wooden grip of the Luger slippery with sweat. He stared at Timpke. Good-looking, he thought, but arrogant too - a sneering superiority was etched across the man's face. They were an efficient military machine, all right, but too many of them seemed to have been seduced by a madman with a strange haircut and an even odder moustache. He couldn't imagine feeling superior about that.

'France is falling, then so too will Great Britain,' said Timpke. 'We wondered whether you Tommies would put up more of a fight than your French allies, but after today's little exchange, it would seem not.'

Tanner ignored him. Peering through the vent, he saw they were now turning into the main street of the village. He could hear distant gunfire, but the village itself seemed quiet. He stood upright, took the sub-machine- gun from its hooks, then slung it round his neck. 'This looks like a good bit of kit, Otto,' he said. 'I took one from some of your lads the other night. At least, I think they were the same ones. They had that fancy-dress skull and crossbones on their collars.' He eyed Timpke and was pleased to see the German stiffen with anger again. 'Actually, it's funny what you were saying about the French and us because your boys rolled over easy as pie. We silenced a few sentries, nicked four vehicles and blew up half a building without so much as a cross word. Couldn't have been easier, frankly. So I'm not sure you lot are that good.' He examined the sub-machine-gun. 'What do you call this?'

For a moment Timpke said nothing. Then: 'It is a Bergmann MP35. Made exclusively for the Waffen-SS:

'Well, your kit's definitely better, I'll give you that. We've got nothing like this. And that big anti-tank gun.' He nodded in the direction of the ridge behind them, then whistled. 'Quite something.'

Timpke couldn't hide his surprise. 'That was you?'

Tanner nodded. 'Actually, come to think of it,' he added, 'that lot were a bit of a roll-over too.'

He saw Timpke flush with rage but he was curious about that gun and decided it was time for some flattery. 'I really am impressed with your kit. That gun looked like our large anti-aircraft gun. What would it have been?'

Timpke shrugged. 'Probably a Flak 36. It is an antiaircraft gun - 8.8-cm calibre but used in an anti-tank role.'

The driver now spoke and Tanner heard 'panzer'. Timpke spoke back to him - his words short and sharp. Tanner glanced briefly out of the forward vent again and this time saw two German tanks squeaking and trundling slowly towards the crossroads ahead of them.

'Get up into the turret, Otto,' said Tanner, 'and tell them you're advancing to Warlus.' Timpke got to his feet. 'And, Otto, don't try anything.' He pointed the Luger at the German's crotch. 'I bet a good-looking bloke like you has a lot to live for, eh?'

They drove on, Tanner's heart thudding. Beyond the tanks there were more vehicles - several half-tracks and motorcycles. Come on, he thought, keep going. As if to stress the point, he jabbed the barrel of the Luger into 'Timpke's crotch.

Standing in the turret, Timpke saw they were approaching the heart of the village, the hub into which all other roads and tracks fed. A slate-roofed house, built in the centre of the road, stood at this confluence. To the side of it, three of his panzers had ground to a halt while beyond, and from a track to his left, the vehicles of Companies 1 and 2 had now converged. The smoke was clearing although it hung heavy in the air, like a thin filter that made everything seem hazy. Several houses had been destroyed, rubble spreading onto the street. Up the hill another burned fiercely.

Seeing his forces take control of the village made him realize his envelopment had happened as he had planned - except, of course, for the unexpected ambush by these cursed Tommies. Scheisse! he thought. How could it be? He cursed again - but he couldn't undo what had happened. The important thing now was to resolve his predicament. A quandary: he could tell Beeck and Saalbach as he passed them what had happened and order them to rescue him, or he could do as this man Tanner had told him and continue straight to Warlus. A rescue attempt, he was sure, would be successful, but at what cost? These Yorkshire Rangers were, he guessed, some kind of British elite unit - and they were good, he had to admit. In Tanner, he knew he was up against a hard man, who would not flinch from carrying out his threat. But he was also certain that the British were beaten. The Reich's forces would soon overwhelm them so he and his men would not be held captive for long. In any case, there might be some better opportunity to escape: they couldn't keep him in this vehicle for ever.

When they reached the house in the centre of the road, he saw Beeck wave at him from his half-track, then jump down and run towards the scout car as it slowed to pass the panzers.

'We have the village, boss!' Beeck called.

'Yes - and I'm going to push on,' Timpke shouted back. 'Stay here and make sure it's secure.' An idea struck him. 'Then push on with Company Three in all strength towards Warlus.'

'Is your radio working, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer?' Beeck asked. 'We've been trying to call you.'

'No - something's up. Follow soon, understand?'

Beeck saluted, then ran back to his vehicle.

'Otto,' Tanner shouted, tugging at Timpke's breeches, 'what was that about? You didn't tell him to mount a rescue?'

'No,' said Timpke, 'but the whole weight of two divisions will be on your heels soon. You don't have a chance.'

Tanner bent down to the vent again, and saw they were passing tanks and vehicles. Troops were searching the houses as they pressed on up the hill. Would they notice that British soldiers were driving past? The disguises hardly bore close examination. Hold your nerve, he told himself. They're not expecting it. Fortune favours the bold. They were climbing now, the road snaking out of the village towards the ridge between the two villages. Still no exclamations of surprise, no sudden gunfire. He glanced at his watch. Nearly ten to seven. Perhaps Otto was playing ball; perhaps they would get away with it after all.