Darkest Hour

The armoured car slowed almost to a standstill.

Tanner tugged at Timpke again. 'What's going on?'

'A bomb crater. We will drive round it.'

Once they had successfully negotiated it, they continued their climb until they reached the summit of the ridge beside the water-tower Tanner had noticed on their way to attack the copse. Through the vents Tanner saw bodies and detached limbs strewn at either side of the road - British victims of the Stuka attack they had witnessed half an hour before.

Timpke lowered himself into the car. 'Our Stukas had their fill here,' he said, and smirked. 'There are many dead Tommies.'

Suddenly a surge of anger rose in Tanner's belly. Too many times in the past fortnight he had been forced to keep it in check, to take humiliation on the chin and brush it aside. No more. He had had enough of this madman. Calmly he clenched his left hand into a fist then, quick as a dart, swung it into the side of Timpke's head. The German looked at him curiously, then fell onto his side. Tanner's anger left him. His ability to hit almost equally well with both hands had always been one of his strengths as a boxer. The driver swung round, aghast, but Tanner waved the pistol at him - just keep going.

Now Tanner climbed into the turret himself. Behind, he saw Lieutenant Peploe. He heard small-arms fire to the left and mortars were exploding around Warlus, now just a few hundred yards on the far side of the ridge. Away to his right, but hidden from view by a dense wood, he thought he heard the clatter of tank tracks. Directly ahead there were two more bomb craters. The motorcyclists were slowing to get through them, and as one looked round, Tanner signalled to them to halt.

'Our boys must still be in the village, sir,' he called to Peploe.

'I agree,' Peploe replied. 'I'll tell Sykes to drive on in and warn them. Where's your German?'

'Out cold.' Tanner grinned. 'I'm sorry, sir, but he was getting on my nerves.'

Sykes was waved through. He raised his thumb at Tanner as he passed, mounted the verge, inched past the craters and headed on down the hill towards Warlus.

Tanner waited a moment, listening, but to his relief heard no gunfire directed at Sykes's truck. He climbed back into the car and said to the driver, 'Siegehen.' A jolt, a jerk, and they followed Sykes's lead, clambering onto the verge and past the bomb craters.

They halted in the village. Tanner grabbed Timpke, still unconscious, hoisted him up into the turret and pushed him out, then ordered the driver to follow. As he pulled himself out, he saw that they had stopped in the wide turning towards the church, the small stretch of road they had left barely two hours earlier. It seemed a lifetime ago. A couple of trucks, several carriers and a few cars were already there. He spotted Captain Barclay and Blackstone, standing with several other men on the corner, gazing incredulously at the booty of German vehicles and the prisoners being ordered to the ground. Tanner watched for a moment, the evening breeze cool and welcome after the heat of the scout car. The air was heavy with cordite and smoke but birds were still singing in the trees around the church - last-minute wooing before they roosted for the night.

Blackstone, with Slater in tow, now walked over to Corporal Cooper, who was gathering the prisoners together.

Sykes was wandering towards Tanner, drawing on a cigarette. 'Where's 'e taking them, Sarge?' he asked, nodding towards Blackstone.

'God knows,' said Tanner, as several mortars exploded to the west, making him start. Thumps and machine- gun fire followed. A platoon of Durham Light Infantry hurried across the road by the church and disappeared behind it. More dull cracks and thuds resounded.

'Come on, Stan,' said Tanner. 'Best help me with Otto here. Then I reckon we ought to find out what the hell's going on.'

'We're under attack from the west, I'd say.'

'And soon we'll be under attack from the south as well,' added Tanner. 'Those SS-wallahs aren't going to hang around in Berneville for ever.' He sighed. 'What a bloody mess.' He tucked the Luger into his belt, rifled through Timpke's holster and pockets for any spare rounds - he found three clips - then called to Captain Barclay, who was talking feverishly with Peploe under a large copper beech that was just bursting into full leaf. 'Sir, do you want to question him?'

Barclay looked at him with a flush of irritation. 'Not at the minute, Tanner. Take him with the others. We can interrogate him later.'

'Suit your bloody self,' muttered Tanner.

Blackstone and Slater had taken the prisoners across the road to a large old-brick barn. By the time Tanner and Sykes caught up, the SS men had been corralled inside it. It was dry and dusty in there. A rick of straw was stacked at one end, but otherwise it was empty, save for a dilapidated cart, an ageing plough, a harrow and a few broken-spoked wheels.

There were, Tanner reckoned, more than forty prisoners - all SS but some had been captured earlier. One of the lance-corporals from Company Headquarters was there, keeping guard with a Bren. Tanner and Sykes laid Timpke beside the straw then turned to go.

'How's my favourite rapist, then?' said Blackstone, winking.

Tanner ignored him.

'The women of France should be quaking now his blood's up,' he continued, grinning. 'A bit of fighting today and he'll be terrorizing the ladies tonight.'

Tanner grabbed him by the throat and rammed him hard against the wooden side of the barn. Behind him, he heard the prisoners shuffling apprehensively, as though weighing up whether the time to make a bid for freedom had come. At the same moment, he heard the cock of the Bren pulled back and clicked into place. The lance- corporal was pointing the Bren straight at him.

'Shut your sodding mouth, Blackstone,' Tanner hissed.

'Let go of the CSM,' said a low, gruff voice. Tanner turned and saw Slater beside him, a Webley in his