Tramp in Armour

FIVE Friday, May 24th

Penn was in a bad way. Barnes only had to look at his face to tell that; a face which was normally pink and fresh was now the colour of grey mud and his eyes lacked life. He sat up on his seat inside the tank, a folded blanket behind his back, and Reynolds had just finished cleaning the wound which was in the right shoulder, a similar wound to Barnes’, but in Perm’s case the bullet had entered from the back instead of from above. Reynolds was just about to apply a field dressing but he waited while Barnes examined it. The driver constantly had to swab up fresh blood and Barnes wasted no time.

‘What’s the verdict?’ Penn asked weakly.

‘I’ve seen worse, much worse, and they survived.’-

‘I’m afraid I’m not much use at the moment…’

‘You will be, soon enough. Put the dressing on.’

As Reynolds applied the dressing Penn stiffened his back against the blanket and took the bottle of cognac which Barnes had opened for him.

‘Just a few sips now – don’t get greedy.’

‘Rationing me?’ Penn managed the pale imitation of a smile.

‘You can have a stiffer tot, in a minute. Do you think you can stay in that seat when Bert’s on the move?’

‘Course I can – anything to get away from this bloody hole: This place gives me the creeps. Did you get Lebrun? I heard…’ He stopped and winced as Reynolds tightened the dressing.

‘Yes, he’s dead. He took half a magazine in the guts.’

‘I should have seen him… my fault…’

‘No, it isn’t. There was no reason for you to think that he might be armed, or even come back at all for that matter.’

‘Anything in the tool box?’

‘A big monkey wrench – it will replace the one we lost at Etreux. We’ll get you out of this beauty spot…’

‘Join the Army and see the world. Thanks, Reynolds, that’s better. What was I saying? Oh, yes. The people you meet in this man’s Army. When this is all over I’ll publish my memoirs. You didn’t know I was keeping a diary, did you, Sergeant?’

‘No,’ lied Barnes.

‘Strictly against regulations. You’ll have to put me on a charge. Three days’ CB – confined to Bert. Looks as though I’ll be confined to him anyway.’

He laughed feebly and then stopped abruptly, his face cramping in a spasm of pain. Barnes handed him the cognac bottle again and told him to take several mouthfuls, watching him closely. The vital thing was for Penn to stay conscious until they got clear of Beaucaire. At least a little colour was flowing back into his face as the alcohol penetrated his bloodstream. Reynolds gathered up a number of blood-soaked swabs and climbed out of the turret. Barnes didn’t like the look of those swabs – Penn must have lost a lot of blood and among the swabs there had been two sodden field dressings, which meant that Reynolds had twice failed to stem the flow.

‘We’ll be moving off now, Penn. I’ll try and avoid the rough patches, but it won’t be like driving along Brighton prom.’

‘Let’s get on with it. We’re heading for Cambrai?’

‘In that general direction, yes.’

‘Don’t forget the Jerry tank Lebrun warned us about – the swine could have been telling the truth about that. Sorry I can’t handle the gun,’ he repeated.

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll act as my own gunner till we get you fixed up.’

‘Bet you could do with a bit of a sit-down yourself.’

‘More fresh air up there, my lad. We’ll get under way now.’

Yes, I could do with a bit of a sit-down, Barnes thought as he gave the order to advance from the turret. It was five o’clock in the afternoon and the sun scorched down as the tank headed westward, the tracks grinding up fresh clouds of dust from the powdered rubble, dust which obscured his vision so that he was constantly waving his hand in an attempt to see clear ahead.’ To ease the strain on Penn he had told Reynolds to move at low speed, but it was not entirely a feeling for his corporal’s comfort which prompted his instruction. He wanted Penn to be as strong as possible when the time came -. the time to take out the bullet.

Heaven knew when they would find a doctor and Barnes was not prepared to leave the leaden obstruction festering in Penn’s shoulder. He wished that he knew whether a missile fired from an old hunting rifle was more or less dangerous than a .303 bullet lodged in the same place. He simply had no idea, but there was one small mercy – the bullet appeared to be close to the surface, wedged in down the side of the bone. Extracting the bullet successfully was not likely to be an easy matter, but at least he had had to perform a similar operation once before in India when they had come under fire from hostile tribesmen in a remote spot. He hoped that he could remember how he had managed it then. One basic thing it did involve and that was laying Penn face down on his stomach, and there were less cruel surfaces than dust and rubble for such an operation. He shaded his eyes and gazed ahead, eager for his first sight of open country and fresh green.

They reached the end of the town without warning. One minute they were driving through a street of badly bombed houses and then they turned a corner and France spread away in front of them, a vast landscape of green fields as far as the eye could see, a haze of shimmering heat close to the horizon. Barnes heaved an audible sigh of relief.

Half an hour later there was still no sign of the German tank which Lebrun had mentioned but they were approaching a spot which seemed ideal for Barnes’ purpose. They had just come over a small rise and close to the road stood a large empty ,farm building: he could see that it was empty because the large double doors had been left wide open. There was no sign of a farmhouse nearby and he could scan the road in both directions for over a mile. Nothing in sight anywhere. The building provided perfect cover for Bert in case enemy aircraft flew over while he was at work, and bombing was the last activity he wished to attract while he was treating Penn. He gave Reynolds the order to turn off the road and ‘they moved along a short track which led inside the building. As the engines were switched off he went down inside the tank and saw that Penn was looking better in spite of the ride.

‘Penn,’ he said, ‘you’d better treat yourself to another tot of cognac. I’m taking out that bullet.’

The floor of the farm building showed traces of animals, which would increase the danger of infection enormously, so reluctantly Barnes decided that they would have to do it outside. At least the light was better there. They spread blankets over clean grass and laid a groundsheet over the blankets. Then Penn lay stomach down on the groundsheet while Reynolds boiled water. He was stripped to the waist now. Barnes had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves. When the water was ready he took one last look along the road in both directions, scanned the sky, and started.

‘Reynolds is going to sit on your shoulders,’ he explained. ‘We’ve got to be sure you’re kept perfectly still.’

‘I can dig my fingers into the ground.’

‘You’ll be doing that, anyway, my lad. And Reynolds will be holding down your elbows.’

‘Good old Reynolds. With his weight he’ll probably flatten me to a pancake.’

‘And don’t be in such a hurry to kiss mother earth, Penn. Here, drink this.’

He poured a generous quantity of cognac into a mug and made Penn drink it quickly. If only he could get him drunk that would help, but he knew from previous experience that Penn’s ability to absorb alcohol was phenomenal.

‘There’ll be the same for you afterwards,’ he told him.

‘Almost worth it – to get rations like this.’

‘Ready?’

‘Get it over with.’

Reynolds sat his whole weight on Penn’s shoulders, twisting himself sideways so that he could press his huge hands over Penn’s elbows. The field dressing came off with a quick rip and Barnes used antiseptic cotton wool to sponge off a mess of ooze. Then he reached for the knife in the boiling water: he was using Reynolds’ sheath knife, a knife the driver kept honed sharp as a razor, the point like a needle. Barnes took a deep breath, he wanted to get this over with quickly.

It took him five long minutes, and whether this time was longer for Barnes or Penn no one would ever know. Only Penn experienced the searing, agonizing, hellish pain which went on and on, stabbing and gouging into the ultra-sensitive wound like a red-hot poker, then turning and grinding and driving deeper and deeper until he thought that he must have reached the ultimate of all pain, only to feel through the burning hot scalpel another wave of torture twisting and disembowelling flesh which had become a million times more sensitive to even the lightest of touches, let alone to this fiendish probe which was thrusting and tearing right through his body until his brain pleaded and screamed for relief, for death, for anything but a continuation of this incredible agony…

Barnes drew the knife firmly between bullet and bone, and the scrape of knife on bone brought on the ultimate agony for Penn. He really felt that his entire shoulder was being amputated with a blunt butcher’s knife. Moaning horribly, as he had been doing for several minutes, he buried his fingers deep in the ground, biting his teeth together like a steel vice. In some superhuman way he was still managing to keep his tongue at the back of bis mouth, knowing in a strangely disembodied corner of his brain that he was in grave danger of biting clean through his tongue. And at that moment Barnes remembered and his hand almost slipped. He’d forgotten. He should have rammed a handkerchief into Penn’s mouth. He’d bite his tongue in half. He couldn’t stop now. He pressed the knife in deeper between bone and bullet, not realizing that it may have been this omission which kept Penn sane and conscious – the knowledge that he must protect his tongue, keeping it well back, well back. And in his stupefied state Penn had no idea that Barnes was in trouble: ‘the bullet wouldn’t shift. He had cut all round, he had loosened it from the bone, he had prised underneath, but the bullet simply wouldn’t shift. Then he heard the planes coming.

Glancing up he saw the flight of Messerschmitts. They were flying in formation about a thousand feet above the ground, their course roughly parallel with the road. Without hesitation Barnes put his head down and went on with his task, refusing to allow the oncoming roar of the engines to divert him. Penn had his fingers dug deep in the groundsheet now, turning his head from side to side as he moaned quietly like an animal in its death throes. Reynolds was leaning his whole weight on the elbows, and he hadn’t looked up once when he heard the planes coming. If it was all right with Barnes it was all right with him. They were almost overhead now, and then they sped past, unaware of the drama below. Barnes took a deep breath, said Sorry, laddie under his breath, and scooped much deeper, turning the knife with great deliberation, then he hoisted. The bullet flicked up-from his knife and landed on the groundsheet. Done it!

As he disinfected, sponged, and dressed the wound he tried to tell Penn that it was all over, that it was all right now, but Penn was too far gone to understand. Barnes applied the dressing quickly but carefully, feeling an enormous wave of relief, and then a wave of fatigue swept over him and he nodded to Reynolds to get up as he gripped Penn’s left arm.

‘It’s done, Penn. The bullet’s out and I’ve put a fresh dressing on. It’s all right, Penn.’

Penn turned his head, his eyes dazed, his face wet and drawn, looking at Barnes without seeing him.

‘It’s all right now, Penn. You can have your cognac.’

Penn opened his mouth to say something and fainted.

‘Damn him,’ said Barnes. ‘Why couldn’t he have done that five minutes ago?’

It was close to dusk and the tank was rumbling steadily forward when they first saw the farm, an isolated spot in the middle of nowhere. Would the inhabitants be friendly, Barnes wondered, and he prayed that they would be because the tank crew was near the end of its tether.

It had been eight o’clock in the evening before he had felt that Penn was fit enough to travel, as far as any man could be said to be fit to travel inside a tank two hours after a bullet had been removed from his shoulder. While Penn rested, Barnes and Reynolds had worked non-stop under the heat of the sun attending to the tank’s" maintenance. Their work completed, they had turned to the nightmare task of lowering and settling Penn inside the tank and as they wedged him in with several blankets he had protested.

‘You don’t have to make all this fuss. For your information I’m already feeling a lot better with that bullet outside me.’

‘Shut up^and try to get some rest,’ Barnes had told him. ‘You ought to be blind drunk now with the cognac you’ve consumed.’

‘When I was in London, Sergeant, the deb girls used to have some trouble getting me drunk.’

‘I thought it was supposed to be the other way round."

‘Then clearly you weren’t in demand like I was.’

Even this short exchange of banter seemed to exhaust Penn and he relapsed into silence as Barnes checked the firing mechanism and then climbed back into the turret. Giving the order to advance, he forced himself to stand erect as the tank left the building, proceeded down the track and turned on to the road to the west – the road to Cambrai, with Arras beyond.

An hour later Barnes was still in the turret and the tank was still rolling forward. To make sure Reynolds kept alert he spoke to him frequently over the intercom because by now even the driver was showing signs of strain and Barnes was hoping to God that they wouldn’t meet the enemy before nightfall. The unit was in no shape to fight a cat at the moment. They were approaching the top of a hill and he couldn’t yet see over the other side. Standing up on his toes, he waited for the moment when he could see what lay ahead. When they moved over the top he saw the farm.

It was standing by the roadside half a mile ahead. Focusing his glasses he saw a farmhouse, several outbuildings, a haystack close to the verge, and a man working in the fields. As they came closer he saw a woman leave the man to walk back to the farmhouse while nearby another man was driving across the fields on an orange tractor. From the farmhouse chimney a coil of smoke rose, climbing vertically into the evening sky as the sun neared the horizon, a blood-red disc which promised yet another glorious tomorrow. Would they be friendly? Was it possible that they could tell him of a place where the tank and its crew could spent the night out of sight? And, above all else, would they sell them some food? He doubted it. They were under partial German occupation and probably already they were learning to watch their step. ‘German occupation.’ The phrase ran through his mind and he thought of what Lebrun had said. ‘The Germans are in Abbeville…’ Lebrun must have lied about that: if it were true it could mean that the war was lost. Perhaps at least this farmer would be able to tell him about Abbeville. As they drew close to the farm the man left the field and stood waiting by the roadside, and as he watched him Barnes heard a familiar sound a long way off, no more than a distant mutter but he immediately identified the sound of heavy artillery firing. The guns of Arras? They were approaching the battle area. It was the evening of Friday May 24th.

Four days earlier, at 7 pm on Monday May 20th, the Panzers entered Abbeville. Before dusk General Storch had set up his new headquarters inside a school building on the northern outskirts of the town.

He always made a point of establishing new field headquarters as close as possible to the point where his next advance would begin, and the new direction for the Panzer onrush would be north, north towards the Channel ports. But as he completed inspecting his temporary new home Storch was in a state of almost uncontrollable fury, a fury which as usual he vented on Meyer.

‘They must be mad,’ he thundered, ‘completely insane. Out of their minds, Meyer!’

The High Command, General?’

Meyer straightened some papers on the desk, making a neat pile by squaring them up with the palms of his hands. He was standing up because Storch had just risen from his chair, sending it over backwards with the abruptness of his movement, but in spite of the fact that he was the victim of Storch’s tirade Meyer was in an excellent humour.

‘The people who drafted this order, Meyer.’ Storch waved the wireless message savagely. ‘All Panzer divisions are to halt temporarily on their present positions pending further instructions. Why stop when you are winning? Always go on to the end, Meyer, always go on as long as your tanks have a litre of petrol left. That is the way to win wars.’

‘I suppose General Guderian has his reasons.’

Their normal roles were almost reversed, because now it was Meyer who spoke silkily, careful to keep his voice sympathetic, but underneath he was experiencing a sense of triumph. At last the High Command was seeing the folly of this reckless onrush into the unknown. But here Meyer had overplayed his hand because Storch had a sensitive ear for voice tones and now regarded his GSO thoughtfully, his manner suddenly calm.

‘You mean General Guderian is worried about the Panzers?’

It was a subtle manoeuvre and Meyer instantly felt that he was losing ground. Everyone was aware that Guderian, the Corps Commander, was almost as great a firebrand as Storch himself, and Meyer had little doubt that Guderian was at this moment raging and fuming about the order he had been compelled to pass on to the divisional commanders. So if Storch took it into his head to dismiss Meyer from his post Guderian would completely agree with the decision – once it came out that Meyer had said Guderian wished to halt the Panzers.

‘I was referring to Army Headquarters,[3] of course,’ he said hastily.

But now Storch was re-reading the message and the cynical expression under the peaked cap bothered Meyer. Surely he couldn’t twist this order to his advantage? Storch threw the message down on his desk and asked Meyer to read it again, then went on speaking.

‘They probably don’t realize that we are still as fresh as when we came over the bridges at Sedan. It’s understandable, is it not, Meyer, when you think of the remoteness of Army Headquarters? I think a little reassurance would help. Send this message. Road to Boulogne open. Division ready to advance.’

‘Ready to advance?’ Meyer stared in amazement at Storch. ‘Fifty per cent of our vehicles are in desperate need of maintenance and the men have had very little sleep for over ten days.’

‘You mean half our tanks have broken down?’

Meyer swallowed. Storch knew perfectly well that he hadn’t meant that. ‘No, sir, but there may soon be breakdowns…’

‘The tanks require urgent maintenance?’ Storch’s own voice was silky now, almost a purr. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Meyer?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I agree. You are right, of course. It therefore becomes a matter of top priority to work on the tanks through the night.’

‘We have arranged for a night shift…’

’All the fitters, Meyer. They must all work non-stop through the night if they are capable of standing on their feet. Any fitter on the sick list who is capable of walking must immediately be put to work.’

‘But the men themselves…"

‘I expect you to supervise the operation personally. Through the night,’ he added maliciously.

Meyer screwed in his monocle, his face blank. Storch was well aware that he had been up most of last night and Meyer was a man who needed eight hours’ sleep. He’s punishing me, Meyer thought, punishing me because I dared to look pleased at the order to halt the Panzers. He waited, seeing that Storch hadn’t finished with him yet. The general picked up the order again.

‘I think we have misunderstood what lies behind this message, Meyer. It ends with the words "pending further instructions". I think I can predict that those will be for us to resume our advance, so it becomes vitally important to be ready, Meyer. Do you not agree?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We are now close to the jugular vein of the British Expeditionary Force – the Channel ports. Once we start moving north we shall capture Boulogne, Calais, and Dunkirk within two days, maybe even only one day. Then the British are finished.’

‘Two days?’ Meyer was stunned.

‘At the most. Now, you must hurry.’ Storch walked to the door and then turned before leaving the room. ‘And don’t forget that message, Meyer. Road to Boulogne open. Division ready to advance.’

The farmer’s name was Mandel, and without hesitation he invited them into the farmhouse, but first he asked them to hide the tank in a distant outhouse which lay about half a kilometre from the Cambrai road. Before parking Bert, Barnes and Reynolds helped Perm to walk from the tank into^the farmhouse where they lowered him into an armchair in the kitchen. Barnes was almost too exhausted to worry about other people but he did warn Mandel that it could be very dangerous for him if the Germans arrived and found them helping the British.

‘You do not worry about that,’ Mandel assured him. ‘Once the tank is hidden in that distant outhouse the Germans will never find it. As for yourselves, Etienne, my nephew, will keep watch. We can see the road for a long way in both directions, so if anything happens there will be time for you to bide in a ditch well away from here.’

This was another stroke of good luck – the fact that Mandel spoke good English. Barnes asked him where he had learned the language.

‘In your country, of course! For several years I worked as an onion-seller. I come from Brest, you see, where I was employed by the Syndicate. I used to take my bicycle on the boat over to Southampton, collect my onions from the depot and then cycle all round Hampshire and Surrey. You soon learn English that way!’

‘We’d better park the tank.’

‘Etienne will show you. You go up the track and… I will leave it to Etienne.’

As far as Barnes could see there was no sign of a telephone, so it wouldn’t be possible for Mandel to phone the Germans to tell them that they were here. Not that he thought there was any likelihood of that happening for when he looked at Mandel he felt pretty sure that he could trust him. The farmer was in his fifties, a short, heavily-built man with a strong red face and a large grey moustache which matched his great bush of hair. Even his wife, Marianne, showed no signs of alarm at the arrival of these dangerous visitors. A woman of about the same age as her husband, she wore her hair tied back in a bun and her features were shrewd and decisive. She said she would prepare a meal for them and went away before Barnes could protest. They made a formidable pair.

Leaving Penn with the Mandels, he followed Etienne to where Reynolds had returned to the tank. The track was stony, barely visible under the grass, and Etienne had to guide them along it to the distant outhouse. He could hardly speak a word of English but frequently he banged his fist on the side of-the turret and said ‘Good, good!’ He was probably just under military age, Barnes decided, very close to his seventeenth birthday, the age which Seft had claimed. But Etienne was very different from the German fifth columnist. This lad was thin and wiry, his freckled face fresh and alert, and there was a took of wicked humour in his eye. He’ll be a devil with the girls, thought Barnes as they reached the isolated building. Etienne jumped down off the hull to open the huge doors.

While Reynolds was driving the tank inside Barnes walked all round the building which stood in the middle of nowhere. Green fields stretched away to the skyline and the only approach was by the track they had driven along. He was on the horns of a dilemma because his small unit was now reduced to two effectives – himself and Reynolds. Leaving Bert here meant either leaving the driver to guard it or not guarding the vehicle at all. Reluctantly, he took a decision which would have horrified his troop commander – he decided to leave Bert on his own for the night. They had to keep some sort of watch through the hours of darkness – for the sake of the Mandels as well as their own – and he knew that in their present state of exhaustion keeping awake and alert all night was impossible. He would have to split the guard duty between himself and Reynolds, so both of them would take turns in watching the road, because it was along the road where any danger would come from. As they walked back with Etienne through the gathering dusk he still wasn’t happy about putting the Mandels at risk by staying with them, but the fact was they couldn’t move another kilometre without rest. On one point he was quite determined: they wouldn’t sleep in the house.

Well after dark they sat down to the hot cooked meal which Marianne had prepared. Roast chicken, potatoes and some green vegetables they didn’t recognize. They ate together at a scrubbed wood table in the huge kitchen at the back of the house, the stone walls hung with burnished copper pans, and the family ate with them. Barnes was famished and joined Reynolds in attacking the meal with vigour, but Penn held his knife and fork and then put them down. Marianne said something and Mandel, sitting at the head of the table, smiled sadly.

‘Your friend can’t eat – it will be his wound.’

‘I’m terribly sorry…’ began Penn.

Marianne spoke rapidly in French, taking up his glass of wine and making insistent gestures that he should at least drink. Then she took away his plate and when she came back Penn was drinking. Nodding to herself with satisfaction, she said something to Mandel, who nodded in his turn.

‘I can manage a gallon of this,’ said Penn.

Mandel spoke to his wife in French and laughed at her reply.

‘She says that as long as he drinks a gallon he will be all right. And, Sergeant Barnes, do stop listening so carefully while you are eating – Etienne is outside watching the road and will warn us if there is anything coming.’

‘It’s just that it’s well after dark. Would he see them?’

‘Of course! These Germans drive through the night with their lamps blazing away as though they owned France. Les salles Boches!’ He made a gesture of cutting a throat with his knife and Marianne frowned, which cause Mandel to laugh again as he reassured Barnes. ‘Do not worry. She is a good woman. Because I want to help you that is enough for her -she wants to help you also. Certainly we are more happy to see your tank than we were to see the others.’

‘The others?’

‘Yes, a tremendous column of Germans which went on and on past our front door – huge tanks, big guns, armoured cars. I think it was a whole division.’

‘When was this?’

‘Six days ago – last Saturday. There have been others since, but they are mainly supply columns. The first one was the big one. Of course, you know that the Germans are in Abbeville?’

‘We had heard a rumour,’ said Barnes slowly.

‘It is true, I fear. We may have a visitor from Abbeville later tonight – my other nephew, Jacques. He comes from Lemont near Dunkirk, where he lives with his father, but at the moment he is living with his married sister in Abbeville. He may have interesting news for you.’

‘How will he get here – you’re behind the German lines.’

‘I know, but this is not like the last war. The Germans are in Abbeville but only with tanks and guns – so if you can get the petrol, and if you are crazy like Jacques, you can drive about as you wish as long as you avoid their road-blocks. He has already made the journey once and he said he might come to see us again tonight. It has become a game with him but do not ask me how he gets the petrol – he will not even tell me. I am sure that he has stolen it from a German store.’

‘He’ll get shot.’

‘Do not look so surprised – it may not be as difficult as you think. The Germans seem very short of troops to guard even important places like petrol and ammunition stores. The footsloggers – is not that the right word – the foot-sloggers have not caught up with the tanks yet. I was a foot-slogger myself once.’

Mandell nodded towards the fireplace where a frame hung above the mantelpiece. Inside the frame hung Mandel’s Croix de Guerre, the medal polished, the ribbon faded. Barnes was frowning as he spoke.

‘I find that hard to believe, Mandel – that they don’t guard their ammunition dumps.’

‘I did not say exactly that -I said that they have not enough troops to guard them properly, as with the petrol. You can ask Jacques yourself when he arrives, he learnt to speak English when he lived with a British family. You see, his father has ideas that one day the boy will be a great international advocate.’

‘What happens when the Germans pass here, Mandel?’

‘They make us stand by the roadside so that we can see how powerful they are.’

‘Very good of them. Where are the nearest Allied troops now? Do you have any idea?’

‘In Arras, I believe. You are going to Arras?’

‘Possibly.’

‘It would be suicide.’ Mandel waved his knife. ‘The German Army is between here and Arras and the closer you get to the front line the more of them there are, naturally. You would do far better to go west beyond Cambrai and then turn north towards the Channel ports. That way you might just meet the Allies before you met the Boche.’

They went on talking and eating but still half Barnes’ mind strained to hear any unusual sound outside the farmhouse. After spending days in the open with the tank he felt nervous indoors and he coudn’t get out of his mind the thought of Bert lying unprotected in that outhouse. He was picking up his last piece of chicken when he saw Penn staring at his fork. Without a word, Marianne went to the oven at the far end of the kitchen and came back with a plate which she put in front of Penn. Mandel grinned.

‘She kept his meal warm because she thought that would happen. When he sees other people eating his appetite returns.’ He raised his glass to Penn. ‘Bon Appetit!’

While Penn wolfed down his chicken the others tackled their second course, an almost unlimited supply of cheese. Again Mandel returned to the question of which way Barnes should take in the morning and while he spoke Barnes listened without committing himself. Half an hour later they were all drinking strong bitter coffee when Etienne came into the room and spoke quickly, a hint of urgency in his voice. Mandel stood up.

‘A car is coming along the road from the west at high speed. It may be Jacques, but I think you should hide.’

Mandel led the way out of the farmhouse and across a field with his torch, stopping as they reached a large haystack close to the road.

‘Wait behind here until I call you. It is rather too early for Jacques but one never can tell – he drives like the devil. If it is him, I will come out and shout.’

‘Should he know we are here?’ queried Barnes.

‘The last time he was here he spent the night with my brother who lives at Fontenoy, a village close to Beaucaire. But he did not sleep much – he was up half the night with some friends. They tied a piece of telephone wire across the road just high enough to catch a motor-cycle rider. The Germans always send such patrols ahead and they caught a fish. At seventeen and a half he has killed his first German, the young devil.’

‘Pretty risky, isn’t it? You might get reprisals.’

‘Like the last one, this war will last four years and we shall get many reprisals, and Jacques will join the Army soon and will kill many more Germans. But it is spirit like his which will save France. Now, I must go. And don’t mention any of this in front of Marianne – she doesn’t know and sometimes she understands a little English!’

They could hear the car’s engine as Mandel hurried away, the engine of a car being driven at recklessly high speed, and now the headlights were coming closer. Penn’s voice whispered in the dark.

‘These people seem all right.’

‘Yes, you want to forget about Lebrun and his gang. It’s people like the Mandels we’re fighting for. Keep well in – I hope to God this is Jacques.’

Jacques was more mature than Etienne, more heavily-built., and he had the face of a monkey, a monkey with jet-black hair. His eyes were intelligent and quick-moving and Barnes took to him at once as he shook hands all round with a firm grasp.

‘Uncle has told me about you, Sergeant Barnes. The Germans are in Abbeville with their Panzers. I have just come from that town.’

‘How did you manage to get here past the Germans?’ Barnes asked quietly.

‘By knowing the side roads very well, by keeping my eyes well open, by asking friends on the way what the situation was.’

By keeping his eyes well open. They were large eyes and they had the same look of the devil in them which Barnes had detected in Etienne, but they were bolder, more challenging, and now they seemed humorously to challenge Barnes to call him a liar.

‘So you came most of the way by side roads?’

‘No, Sergeant.’ Was there a hint of mockery in this young man’s expression? Barnes thought so as the lad went on. ‘I came most of the distance along the same main roads the Panzers have used, but I turned on to side roads to avoid roadblocks.’

‘There are a lot of road-blocks?’

‘There are three – all outside Abbeville. But you should not go through Cambrai, They have set up some kind of headquarters in the town hall and there is a curfew at sunset. But no one takes any notice of it because they have so few troops to see that their orders are carried out.’ He grinned. ‘Even so, your tank will not be welcome in Cambrai.’

Damn! thought Barnes. I wish Mandel hadn’t mentioned Bert to him. I’m sure he trusts too many people. He hesitated. It didn’t seem quite the thing to cross-examine Mandel’s nephew in front of them all. Marianne was washing up and Reynolds was helping her while Penn sagged in the armchair. Mandel finished lighting his pipe and laughed.

‘Go on, Sergeant Barnes, ask him questions. He expects it!’

‘So apart from Cambrai and the three road-blocks the road to Abbeville is open?’

‘It was for me this evening. I took side roads to miss the road-blocks and Cambrai but otherwise I came straight here. It was easy.’

‘Are there many Germans in Abbeville?’

‘The town is full of their tanks and guns.’ He frowned, his black eyebrows close together, moving swiftly like a comedian’s. ‘That is not quite correct. Most of the tanks and guns were on the north side two days ago and I haven’t been to that district since. There is a curfew, too.’

‘When does the curfew start?’

‘Half an hour before sunset and it goes on until half an hour after dawn. They have said they will shoot anyone they find outside during the curfew but that has not happened yet. I could take you towards Abbeville,’ he added hopefully, ‘and then you could turn north to Boulogne. The Allies are in Boulogne.’

‘I should damned well hope so. What about German aircraft – are there a lot about during the daytime?’

‘Yes, there are, but they fly very high. If there were many of you I think they might see you, but not just one tank if you are careful. There are many miles where you do not see any Germans except for the occasional supply column. And they will not be expecting you in this area,’ he pointed out shrewdly.

‘Thanks, Jacques. There may be some more, questions I’ll think of to ask you – you’ll be staying here for the night, I suppose?’

‘No,’ interjected Mandel quickly, ‘he will be staying with my brother at Fontenoy, but there is plenty of time to ask him as many questions as you wish.’

It wasn’t a matter of more questions to be asked, but now he knew that Jacques wasn’t going to spend the night at the farm, Barnes’ mind was filled with foreboding, driving away in a flash the soothing effect of the food and the wine, forcing his tired brain to weigh and calculate just when he had hoped that for a few brief hours at least he would be able to relax, to recuperate from the terrible strain of the events of the past two days. The lad was probably loyal: Mandel seemed confident enough and the Frenchman was no fool. But was it only a question of loyalty? Supposing he went out again tonight with his friends on one of those wild escapades, that he was captured and interrogated, possibly even by the SS? Since there was nothing he could do about it he smiled amiably.

‘That’s all right. I’ve asked all the questions I can think of for the moment.’

Mandel offered them two bedrooms but Barnes firmly refused, saying they would sleep outside by the haystack in case the Germans arrived unexpectedly, and he suspected that Mandel was secretly relieved at his refusal. Before they left the house the farmer said that they must listen to the news bulletin and Barnes was interested to see that he automatically tuned in to London as though he regarded that source as being the most reliable at the moment. They listened in silence as the calm detached voice of Stuart Hibberd began speaking.-

‘…fighting in Boulogne.’

It was after eleven o’clock when they opened their bed-rolls which they had carried back from the tank after parking it, and they laid them out behind the haystack. As they arranged the blankets the moon was coming up and Barnes welcomed this pale illumination since it would make their watch on the road easier; he was by no means convinced that the Germans would announce their arrival with warning headlights. Firmly, he gave Penn his instructions.

‘You-get to bed and stay there – you’ll have little enough sleep as it is.’

‘When do I go on duty?’

‘You don’t – I’m sharing it with Reynolds.’

‘And may I ask at what hour reveille will be blowing?’

‘At dawn – four o’clock on the dot.’

‘That’s five hours away, which means you’d get two and a half hours’ sleep each. It’s not good enough. I’m afraid you’re in for a touch of insubordination – I’m doing my whack.’

‘And you’re due for a whack on the head if you don’t shut up. Get down and stay down – that’s an order, Penn. If I need you, I’ll wake you.’

He only had to wait a few minutes before Penn was fast asleep, dead to the world, lying on his left side to take the weight off his wound. He gave Reynolds his orders.

‘You go down as well. I’ll do two and a half hours and then wake you at one-thirty. After I’ve gone down you’re to wake me at four – we must be away very early tomorrow. While you’re on guard it’s just a matter of keeping a sharp eye along the road in both directions. Down you go.’

A few minutes later and with some trepidation he watched Jacques drive away towards Beaucaire in his four-seater green Renault, still unable to rid himself of the feeling that this was the fly in the ointment. Physically, he was having an awful time keeping on his feet and he walked up and down the moonlit road to take his mind off his gently throbbing wound, realizing now that it would have probably been wiser to change the dressing, but his brain went on racing round. They’d have to head north for the Boulogne-Calais area, not so far from where Jacques came from. It would mean the devil of a right-hand sweep, west and then north, and he doubted whether they’d ever make it, but at least on the way they might meet some really worthwhile objective. The search for some massive objective against which they could deal the Germans a hammer-blow was now looming larger in Barnes’ mind than finding a way back to the Allied lines. The position was becoming terribly serious, the news bulletin proved that. It was a warm muggy night and this-didn’t help to keep him on the alert. He’d be glad when morning came, and then they could get on with it. As he paced up and down Barnes had a strong feeling that this was the last haven of peace they would find, that from tomorrow they would be in the thick of it all the way.

Shortly after midnight the lights in the farmhouse went out and he heard a window open and then close. It was probably Mandel listening to him pacing up and down. In the distance he could still hear the mutter of those guns, but just before it was time to wake Reynolds the guns stopped, and this disturbed Barnes greatly as though it were an omen of disaster. He woke up Reynolds and settled down to sleep under the stars, which seemed far bigger than usual. An hour later he was still awake, his mind twitching with anxiety, then without knowing it he fell asleep. The emergency he had feared came just after dawn.