Tramp in Armour

SIX Saturday, May 25th

The tank emerged from the outhouse into the eerie light of the false dawn. It seemed to kick up the devil of a row as it moved slowly down the stony track, following the beams of the headlights which made the pale grey gloom even weirder. Across the fields coils of mist floated above the ground and a curtain of vapour fogged the beams.,

They had risen at four like ghosts in a half-world, bleary-eyed, thick-tongued, thirsty, hardly able to carry their bedrolls along the stony track, but they had the world to themselves, a world which was dark and chilly. They had brewed-up, drunk their tea and, at Barnes’ insistence, had a shave. After the tea and the shave they had begun to revive sufficiently to eat some of the remaining bully beef and a packet of biscuits which Reynolds had quietly kept for an emergency. There was general agreement that the morning qualified. The horizon was a faint line against a bleak glow when they drove out of the building and along the track. Barnes already realized that Penn had not benefited from his night’s rest to anything like the extent he had hoped and the corporal’s peevishness had confirmed this.

‘What about the Mandels?’ he had asked. ‘Are you running off and leaving them without a word of thanks?’

‘Of course not. We’ll park Bert by the road and then I’ll pop back to see them.’

As they moved down the track he saw that lights had appeared in the upper windows of the farmhouse. Mandel must have heard them coming. It seemed ungrateful not to warn him the night before of their plans for a very early start but Jacques had been there until they had left the farmhouse. Rubbing his arm to get the chill out of his bones Barnes looked both ways along the road and saw nothing. It would be an enormous relief when they had left the Mandels in peace. Within ten minutes they would be on their way towards Abbeville. He had chosen that route because it was the only one they had heard to be clear of traffic. They were very close to the farmhouse when he stiffened, swore, and gave the order.

‘Halt! Lights off!’

From the direction of Beaucaire tiny headlights glowed in the distance, just one pair. They’d have to let the vehicle go past without seeing them. He issued more orders and the tank moved across the field until it was completely hidden by the dim bulk of the haystack, when he ordered a halt. Standing in the turret behind the stack he saw that the top was at least six feet above his head and when he leant far out from the rim his fingers touched the edges of projecting hay. Jumping down, he checked the front and rear: there was at least four feet of stack which concealed the tank from the road at either end. It was just a question of letting this early bird drive past before he went to see Mandel. He might even be able to buy some food off the farmer.

Going down on one knee behind the rear track he waited, feeling the early morning dew soak through his trousers, gripping the revolver in his right hand. His brain was becoming very alert now as he watched the headlights growing larger, a sense of alarm beginning to sting his nerves: this could be trouble, but at least there was only one car. Pull yourself together, Barnes – one car could contain four Germans armed with machine-pistols. Climbing up on the hull he told Penn to hand him up a machine-pistol, then he assumed his position behind the track. The car was very close now, moving at a tremendous speed, probably well over sixty. Tension built up inside him like the crackle of electricity. Thank God he had got them up early. With a scream of brakes the car turned off the road, headlights sweeping over the rear of the tank, then it stopped.

Had they seen the tank? The headlights had continued in their ninety-degree turn without a quiver, but a strong-willed driver might manage that. The slam of the car door. Footsteps. A solitary figure reached the front door and hammered on it like a German.drill-sergeant demanding entry. Barnes lifted the gun as the front door opened, shedding a pool of light into the yard and then closing again. Could it be Jacques? The parked car looked like a Renault although in this weird light it was difficult to tell. He wasn’t at all sure that there weren’t other people inside the darkened car. He’d better check this.

He ran, racing forward until he reached the side of the house out of sight of the car, creeping along the wall to a window which showed light behind curtains. He couldn’t see through the material but faintly he heard voices, one of them excited. This voice was doing most of the talking. Cautiously he crept towards the front of the house and as he reached the corner he heard the front, door open. Footsteps came into the yard. He froze.

‘Sergeant Barnes, it’s only Jacques. He’s brought some news, some alarming news. Barnes!’

‘Here, Mandel.’

He stepped out into the courtyard, lowering his machine-pistol, and when Mandel saw it he must have recognized the gun since he looked at it in surprise but without comment. Beside him stood Jacques, his chin unshaven and his collar open, while Etienne waited in the floodlit doorway. Mandel hurried forward, his shirt only half-tucked inside his trousers, speaking quickly.

‘There is great trouble. From his bedroom in Fontenoy Jacques can see across the fields to Beaucaire – or rather to the road here from Beaucaire – and he heard something early this morning. Then he saw a lot of lights so he walked, across the fields and hid behind a hedge close to these lights. A large German column has reached Beaucaire, has come round it to the south, you understand, and camped on this side of the town…’

‘Camped?’

‘No, that is the wrong word. Apparently it has halted for a short time. When they move again they must come this way – past here.’

‘What makes him say it has only halted for a short time?’

Jacques stepped forward, his manner so different from the night before that he seemed a different person. He spoke urgently.

‘May I explain? It is part of a Panzer division – the usual big tanks and guns. It has to come this way and may move at any time. They are using this route as their highway to the west – but can you keep ahead of them?’

‘We’ll have to. We’d better start at once. Mandel, can I buy some food off you or are you short yourselves?’

‘Etienne.’ Mandel turned and took a parcel from his nephew and handed it to Barnes. ‘Take this – my wife packed it before we went to bed last night. No, any suggestion of payment will be taken as an insult. Now you must go!’

Thanking him, Barnes tucked the parcel under his arm and ran back to the tank. The three Mandels followed him and waited while he climbed into the turret, put on his headset and gave Reynolds the order to start the engines. While he waited he looked down and saw grey stubble on Mandel’s chin. Looking back in the growing light he could see no sign of traffic on the road from Beaucaire. The engines coughed, sputtered, and died. Barnes said nothing and waited. Reynolds tried again. The engines repeated their surly reaction. Mandel put his hands on his hips and waited. They all waited while Reynolds fought,desperately to start the motors. Five minutes later the dawn light was spreading gradually over the fields and now there was a glint of gold in the east. Soon it would be broad daylight. Reynolds tried again and again but not once did the engines give any sign of activating. Patiently, Mandel stood waiting without showing any traces of alarm but the two lads were now staring fixedly along the road to the east.

‘No good?’ Barnes called down from the turret to Reynolds.

The driver’s head inside the hatch turned to look up. ‘I think it’s the starter system.’

‘Do your best – that Panzer column may be here soon.’

‘I’ll still have to look at the starter wiring.’

‘How long do you think it will take?’

Immediately he regretted the question. How on earth could Reynolds be expected to predict that? It was the only sign of anxiety Barnes had allowed himself to show.

‘Could be two minutes, could be two hours. I noticed it was coughing nastily when we came down that track.’

‘Have another go before you start checking.’ Barnes leaned over the turret to" speak to Jacques. ‘What exactly made you think the column would be on the move soon?’

‘The men in the tanks hadn’t left them – they were eating a meal and they had stayed in the towers to eat.’

Barnes looked down at Mandel. ‘That sounds as though it’s just a short stop and then they’ll be coming this way.’

‘I think so, too.’

‘We’ll have a few more shots at starting.’

Reynolds was persisting non-stop now and while he struggled to coax life out of Bert it became daylight. Again no one spoke. Barnes stared backwards at the distant hill crest which was now clearly to be seen, the crest over which the Panzers would appear. Jacques and Etienne stood stock still, hands in their pockets to keep warm. Only Mandel was moving during the agonizing wait when nerves were stretched and a fresh chill, the chill of fear, seeped into the waiting men. Walking round the haystack, Mandel disappeared from view and then reappeared at the other side in front of the tank. His face was thoughtful, his thick brow scowling, and he looked at the tank closely and then spoke quickly to Etienne. The lad ran away across the field to an outhouse just behind the farm.

‘Sergeant, it’s no good,’ said Reynolds firmly. ‘I’ve got to have a look at the engines. It may take quite a while.’

‘Just do the best you can as quickly as possible.’

He had just finished speaking when he heard the purr of a motor. Turning round, he saw Etienne emerging from the building as he drove a large orange-coloured machine towards them. In front of the machine a huge power-grab shovel was hoisted at an angle, wobbling as it moved closer. Mandel came forward and stood directly under the turret.

‘The tank will not move. Is that not so?’

‘Not yet, anyway.’

‘And the German tank column will soon be on the move and will pass here?’

‘That seems pretty evident,’ Barnes replied irritably. ‘So the only solution is to hide the tank. Is that not so?’ ‘You can’t shift it with that power-grab machine. This tank weights twenty-six and a half tons and you won’t budge it an inch with that thing. You’re pretty well-equipped out here, aren’t you?’ he added.

‘I borrow it from a wealthy neighbour to clear my ditches. Now, I agree that this machine won’t move your tank, Sergeant Barnes. So we must proceed logically – we must leave the tank where it is" and yet still hide it. That is the only possible solution.’ ‘I don’t follow you.’

‘We shall have to turn it into something else – a haystack.’ ‘How the devil are you going to manage that?’ ‘This haystack is constructed of square bales of hay which have been placed on top of each other – this method makes it easier for us to take away only a small portion of the stack when we require it. The bales were lifted up by the power-grab, as you call it. All we have to do is to take the haystack to pieces and then rebuild it round the tank which will, of course, sit in the hollow inside it. But we must start at once – all of us helping.’

‘Even if it would work there may not be time.’

‘It will be much quicker than you think. Etienne!’ He poured forth a stream of French as Barnes told Reynolds to help Penn out of the tank. Between them they got him sat down on the grass and by now Etienne was working the grab to Mandel’s instructions. To start with he tackled the corner of the stack nearest the road, driving the machine forward, inserting the huge metal hand and emerging with a bale of hay which he dumped on the ground. Immediately he began repeating the process as Mandel developed his idea.

‘We leave the wall of hay next to the tank because we can use that where it is. To surround the tank will take a lot of hay but there will be plenty left over by the hollow inside. We shall use that hay to build the roof over the tank.’

While he was talking Etienne was moving more bales, dropping them at random as he attacked the haystack ferociously along the side nearest the road. Barnes looked again towards the east. In the light of day the deserted highway bore a sinister aspect and he could just picture the scene. One moment it would be still like this, a peaceful scene devoid of traffic: then the first tank would crawl over the crest and head towards them, followed by a whole armada of Panzers. And if they found the tank here all the Mandels might well be shot. He made up bis mind.

‘We’ll try it. Penn, your job is to watch that hill crest. At the first sign of movement bellow like the bull of Bashan. Reynolds, stop tinkering with that engine, there’s work to do.’

Between them, Barnes and Mandel organized a work system: while Etienne dismantled the stack on one side, Reynolds and Jacques began lifting bales of hay and moving them to form a wall parallel to the rear of the tank. At the same time Barnes and Mandel formed a second team, carrying their own bales to build a wall across the front of the tank. Even here, Mandel was showing foresight.

‘If the Panzers arrive too soon,’ he explained, ‘we may at least have two walls up. If we were very lucky they might not see the open back.’

‘Let’s hope we don’t have to be that lucky.’

Half an hour later it all seemed to be taking too long to Barnes. The Germans would arrive and catch them in the middle of it. He urged everyone to move faster. It was still chilly but they were all working feverishly, their jackets lying on the ground as they heaved the huge bales up, balancing the load between them, staggering across to the walls to lay their new ‘bricks’, and then going straight back for another load. The two side walls were still only half-built when Marianne appeared with a tray of coffee. Laying it on the ground she watched them working for a minute and then went indoors without a word. Mandel grinned across a bale at Barnes.

‘You have misunderstood her – she knows that when men are working women must keep out of the way. She is the same when she brings us wine in the fields.’

‘She must be worried, though.’

‘We are all worried. So let us finish building our new haystack and then we can stop worrying.’

He’s wrong there, Barnes thought. If we do get the job done in time the big worry will then start – will the Germans find the tank? He glanced towards where Penn stood leaning against a fence as he stared towards the ominous hill crest. They’re going to catch us in the middle of this, Barnes felt sure of it.

‘Mandel, whether we get the tank hidden or not in time I think you should clear out until the Germans have gone – take your family into the fields.’

‘We could hide, certainly – and if they come too early we shall. But if we have finished, then we must stay. It would look strange if the place was deserted at this hour of the day.’

‘No, it won’t. People are fleeing all over France.’

‘Yes, my friend, but they take things with them. Anyone who goes inside our house will see that we have taken nothing and will know we are hiding. They might well burn down the house. And do not forget Jacques’ car – that will show someone is about.’

‘Hide that in the outhouse where we hid Bert.’

They had laid the fresh bale on top of the wall in front of the tank, a wall which was now about the same height as the rear wall, Reynolds and Jacques were building, and so far both walls only concealed half the hull. It was all taking far too long.

‘Your idea about the car is good,’ said Mandel. ‘If they ask to see Jacques’ papers they will see that he comes from Lemont and may wonder why he is here – so take him with you when you hide and I will get him to move the car at once.’

An hour later they were making tremendous progress, encouraged by the sight of the tank sinking lower and lower behind the walls of hay. The work had been considerably speeded up by Ederme who had now completed dismantling three quarters of the haystack and was using his power-grab to transport the loose bales right up to the walls, so that all the others had to do was to manoeuvre the ‘bricks’ into position. Soon the end walls were finished and within another half-hour the rear wall was over five feet high: even at the back only the turret still protruded, looking rather like the conning tower of an invisible submarine submerged in a sea of hay. They were all working in a frenzy now, standing on the rear wall, on the hull of the tank as they wrestled the, bales into position, never stopping for a moment. The unspoken thought that they might just fail for the sake of a few bales gave added impetus to their efforts and now Mandel and Reynolds worked stripped to the waist, their bodies running with sweat in the warm sunshine. It was going to be another lovely day – for the Germans.

There had been no traffic along the main road since they had started, not even a farm cart, and this puzzled Barnes until he mentioned it to Mandel who laughed grimly.

‘No one comes this way at the moment because they know that the Panzers use the highway, so what happens? My neighbours go miles out of their way along side roads when they could use this road easily, but they will not risk the Panzers.’

‘What happens when the Panzers meet something?’

‘If they meet a vehicle or catch it up they tip it into the ditch. Nothing must stop the progress of the Panzers. That is why people are keeping away from here. You see, Sergeant Barnes, soon we shall be finished.’

With the four walls completed they turned to the final task – the roofing-in of the new structure. Putting the icing on the cake, as Mandel called it. From this stage Barnes and Reynolds stood on top of the walls while Etienne handed up bales with the power-grab. It proved to be a more difficult stage than they had anticipated, because first they had to fill in the area round the turret, dropping bales down on to the hull and tracks and fitting these in round the gun. The gun was a nuisance because they had to wedge in bales round the long barrel and it slowed them down, but they persisted and then suddenly they had done the job. The drawback was that they ended up with an irregular roof which looked strange; once again Mandel came up with the solution, telling Etienne to use the power-grab in a certain way. Standing back on the road Barnes watched as the machine moved forward, the grab hoisted to its highest elevation. When it stopped Etienne brought the shovel down full force again and again, hammering the roof of hay flat. When he had completed the job even Barnes had to agree that from the road the haystack looked perfectly normal and he could hardly believe that Bert nestled inside the new structure. Then his eyes dropped to the ground in front of the stack and his mouth tightened. The earth was littered with hay relics and flattened dead grass which described a neat rectangle clearly locating the original site of the stack.

‘Mandel – the Germans will see that. ‘It’s a dead give-away.’ ‘All has been prepared. Do not worry. You will see!’ Reynolds and Etienne were now walking slowly back from the farm and between them they carried an enormous tarpaulin which they proceeded to spread over the marked area under Mandel’s guidance. When it was in place the farmer began pulling hay from underneath the sheet and throwing it at random over the top.

‘Now it means nothing. Perfect camouflage! This cover could have slipped off the haystack or been pulled off to let the sun dry the stack out. So now we can go inside and wait for them.’

‘I still think you ought to hide in the fields with us.’ ‘No, we shall stay here to welcome them. More camouflage! So long as we line up on the roadside acknowledging their achievements they are quite happy. You will come in for some wine?’

‘No, I’ll wait here and relieve Penn. Why is Etienne dumping those spare bales in your yard?’

‘To create a diversion. If something exciting is happening when they arrive it will take their minds off other things -including that haystack. Leave this to me and do not worry if you see signs of fire when the Boche comes. Marianne will bring a glass of wine to you and inside we shall drink a toast. To the tank!’

Barnes went into the middle of the road and waited alone as he watched the deserted hill crest. Supposing that after all their troubles the Panzers didn’t come? But they were halted on this side of Beaucaire and he remembered that apart from one or two country lanes there had been no major road leading off this one. Could they possibly get away with it? He looked at the stack again, amazed by its appearance of normality. Just so long as they didn’t start pushing bayonets into it, although it would need a pretty long bayonet to reach Bert through those walls. And this, he thought, is a method of camouflage you won’t find in the textbooks.

Frequently he looked behind him along the road towards Cambrai and then he looked up into the brilliantly blue morning sky. Not a cloud anywhere, but more important still, not a plane either. Again it was hard to believe there was a war on. A few minutes later, at 7.15 am, he was running at top speed towards the house when he met Marianne on her way out with a glass of wine, a glass he knew that he would never drink. He had just seen the first German tank coming over the hill crest.

They lay full length in a ditch some distance from the house but at a point where Barnes could still see it. The ditch was dry and disused and thick with tall weeds. A German would have to be on top of them before there was the remotest chance of’ their being spotted, and the ditch was a long way from anywhere. A long way from the road and a long way from the outhouse where the Renault was now hidden. Penn, Jacques, and Reynolds were sprawled out along the ditch behind him and the machine-pistol rested in front of his chest. Barnes had deliberately placed Jacques between the two men because he was fairly sure that they would have to lie there for two or three hours and he had no knowledge of the lad’s endurance. When he had taken Reynolds aside his instructions had been quite precise.

‘If he gets panicky and there’s no other way out – knock him on the head with your revolver butt.’

Through a clump of weeds Barnes could see the farmhouse and a section of the road. The view looked incredibly peaceful, a pastoral scene with not a soul in sight. His eye fell on the haystack, an innocent piece of furniture one might expect to find anywhere out in the country. For the second time in twelve hours Bert was all on his own. He stiffened. From the road beyond the house he heard the high-pitched engine sound of a motor-cycle: a patrol must have overtaken the leading tank and roared on ahead. A cycle with a side-car came into view, turned, and drove out of sight into the farmyard. Penn kept his own voice down as he spoke, although it wasn’t necessary.

‘Have they arrived?’

‘Just a motor-bike and side-car. They’ve gone into the yard.’

‘Let’s hope Mandel can handle them.’

‘He’ll handle them all right just so long as they don’t start investigating that haystack.’

‘Something’s smoking – look, just beyond the roof.’ Penn rested his chin on the edge of the ditch. ‘They can’t have set the place on fire already.’

‘Got it! The artful old devil set fire to those spare bales Etienne dumped in the yard. That’s his diversion to keep them occupied.’

For the first time Barnes wondered what rank Mandel had attained during the First World War.

‘Any sign of the two Jerries?’ inquired Penn.

‘No, they must still be at the house… keep your head down! Tell the others.’

Along the road from behind the house the first German heavy tank appeared, its commander erect in the turret. The machine seemed to glide along the highway and across the field they could hear the low grumble of its revolving tracks. He estimated the vehicle’s speed at fifteen miles an hour and the gun barrel was elevated at an angle of about ten degrees. Another tank moved into view, then another and another. They were certainly in a hurry to get somewhere and he was surprised that they were not spaced farther apart. The column’s commander was either foolhardy or else he had very good reason to know that they risked no danger of air attack.

Grimly he watched the enemy tanks and then thought of the Mandels again.

What on earth was happening at the farm? There had been no sign of the Mandels and the motor-cycle patrol was still on the premises. Gradually, the smoke from the fire died down until only a thin wisp rose above the rooftop. By the side of the : machine-pistol lay Barnes’ field-glasses but he was reluctant to use them except in an emergency – the sun could so easily reflect off the lenses and if one of those commanders in the turrets spotted it the fat would be in the fire. He settled himself down to a long wait. Providing all went well at the farm there wasn’t a great deal of risk to fear: it was largely a matter of patience, of waiting for the enemy to go away. This comfortable thought had just passed through his mind when he heard the plane.

Instantly he was reminded of the machine which had spied out the ground for the Panzers crossing the country south of Fontaine. He would always remember that place as Fontaine. His body tensed, his nerves twanged as he realized the implications, and he could have kicked himself for his complacency. The element of comparative safety had now been turned into one of maximum danger. He could tell that the plane was flying very low, and from the way its engine sound faded, and then grew louder he guessed that it was travelling in a circle. It was the one hazard which he should have foreseen, the one which had completely escaped him. Turning on his side he spoke rapidly over his shoulder.

‘It’s a spotter plane, probably flying very low. From now on no one moves a whisker. Pass it on.’

‘I’m the only one with a whisker to move,’ said Penn.

From observation on land they were completely concealed but aerial observation was quite a different matter. There were four of them stretched but close together and the machine sounded to be only a few hundred feet up. They should still escape detection so long as they remained motionless, but in that still empty countryside only a small movement at the wrong moment could easily locate them. Pressing his body into the ditch, Barnes slowly turned his head to one side until he could see a narrow oblong of pure blue sky. The plane was very close now, almost on top of them from the sound, then it flashed into view. It was barely two hundred feet up, so low that he could see the outline of the pilot’s helmet, a helmet which was tilted downwards. Then it vanished. Barnes wet his lips and then stiffened again. The plane was turning to come back again. Surely they couldn’t have been spotted so quickly? Unless someone had moved. Jacques flashed into his mind and he stifled a groan. If he had moved Reynolds could hardly have warned the lad in time, the damage would have been done. Yes, it was definitely turning back, coming closer. What on earth could have attracted the pilot’s attention? Suddenly he went ice-cold as the reason for the pilot’s return flashed through his brain. He was coming back to examine the haystack.

With an awful clarity Barnes saw their fatal mistake. He had personally checked the appearance of the stack from the road which had seemed the obvious danger point. But he had forgotten the air! In his mind he relived the final stages of the camouflage operation. The roof of the stack had looked bumpy so Etienne had used the power-grab shovel to flatten the top. Supposing some of the bales had sunk into the hollow, perhaps falling down into a space between the tank and the hay walls? It could easily have happened and this meant that from the air Bert was now exposed to view. Penn’s finger tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Anything wrong? I saw your hand grip the pistol.’

‘No,’ said Barnes firmly, ‘but keep absolutely still. That plane’s coming back.’

Even though he couldn’t see it yet he could hear it quite clearly now. The machine was describing another circle, but this time it was a smaller circle, a circle whose centre could well be the farmhouse – or the haystack. Very slowly, inch by inch, he raised his head above ditch level, taking care not to disturb the weeds. The Mandels, all three of them, were out standing by the roadside as a self-propelled gun rolled past. There was no sign of the motor-cycle patrol which must have driven off while his head was buried in the ditch. He studied the Mandels, trying to tell something from the way they stood. Then between the weeds the plane darted into view, flying straight towards him across the road. He kept perfectly still, resisting the temptation to duck. As it went over, the Mandels looked up and then dutifully turned their gaze back to the road as another heavy tank rolled past. The commander’s head was turned towards them. Had he made some remark? The spotter plane swooped even lower and roared over their heads. What had caught his attention?

He tried to put himself in the position of the pilot. What would he do? At his first sight of the tank inside its huge box of hay he would hardly believe his eyes, so he would circle in again for a closer look, which could well be the operation he had just completed. Then he would circle again and come in for a third and final look before he wirelessed the commander of the column. At least that’s the way I’d handle it, Barnes told himself grimly. Had the plane gone away? He strained his ears for the sound of its engine. His wound was throbbing badly this morning and lying in that fixed position he could feel his right knee stiffening, the knee which had struck the underwater rock. No, the bloody plane hadn’t gone away – it was coming back now for the third time round. It flew directly over the haystack and headed straight for him, waggling its wings from side to side. Why the waggle? Was it a signal? He felt stiff, clammy and sweat-soaked. They were trapped and all they could do was to wait inside the trap, hoping that these alarming manoeuvres of the plane had some other explanation. It passed directly over them and turned back to follow its familiar course. Still counting, he watched the endless column of vehicles move past to the west.

It was only ten minutes later when he was still waiting for a plane that never reappeared that he grasped the fact that Bert had not been spotted. For over an hour he refused to accept the idea completely, expecting that at any moment the haystack would be surrounded, but still the column rolled past and still the Mandels patiently witnessed its progress. Just how many Panzers did the Germans possess? He made a rough-and-ready estimate of what they had seen since leaving Etreux and then doubled it, arriving at the conclusion that the German High Command must be deploying three or four full-equipped Panzer division in northern France.[4] The BEF complement was one tank brigade and one tank regiment. A tap on his back told him that Penn wanted to speak.

‘I thought you might like to know, Sergeant, that I’ve got ants crawling all over me and cramp in my leg. It’s nothing to worry about, mind you, but I knew you’d want to know.’

‘Good of you to keep me informed, Penn.’

‘I’ll be issuing regular bulletins from now on.’

The ants were crawling over Barnes, too, crawling inside his uniform. He had first felt the tickle of their tiny bodies when the plane was flying over, at the very moment when they had to lie as still as death. Since then he had been constantly aware of this minute enemy. Lying full length in the ditch there was no way of ejecting them and by now the tickling sensation had invaded the lower part of his body, crawling over his stomach and his groin until he thought that he would go mad if this went on much longer. Penn tapped him on the shoulder again.

‘I haven’t heard anything recently… what’s that?’

‘The end of the column’s gone, I think. A staff car’s just stopped…’

‘It’s probably the general – they always ride at the rear of the column!’

‘The officer’s just gone into the house with the Mandels. It shouldn’t be long now – the driver’s stayed with the car.’

Fortunately, Barnes was too far away to hear the conversation which had preceded the Mandels’ return to their home, otherwise his mind might have been racked with anxiety.

Outwardly Mandel showed no traces of alarm as the staff car slowed down and then stopped. His expression was sleepy, the hands by his sides limp, but he sensed that just at the moment when he had thought all would be well fate had dealt him a bad hand. The major who sat by his driver’s side was immaculately dressed, his uniform newly pressed, the peaked cap resting squarely on his head. He stared down the road after the tail of the Panzer column when he first spoke, presenting them a profile which might have been carved out of stone. His French was highly guttural.

‘I trust that you are now convinced of the invincibility of the German Army after what you have seen?’

‘We could hardly fail to be,’ Mandel replied quietly.

‘Good, good.’ The major stood up, got out of his car, closed the door, and stared down at Mandel from his great height. ‘You still have plenty to eat?’

‘We have sufficient for the moment, but as to later…’ He spread his hands and dropped them.

‘And to drink?’

‘For the moment, just enough.’

‘Good, good. Aren’t you going to ask me inside? I may even furnish you with a certificate saying you are reliable citizens. That would come in useful when the next column arrives. There have been cases of French civilians firing on German troops and some commanders are a trifle hasty in their judgement.’

Without a word Mandel turned and led the way into the farmyard, his face still expressionless. When he reached the front door he stopped to let his wife and Etienne enter first and then waited for lie German officer. The major had stopped in the middle of the yard to take a cigarette from a gold case. While he lit it he looked towards the remnants of burnt hay.

‘I see that you have had a fire here very recently.’

‘It started just before your column arrived – two of your men very kindly helped us to put it out.’

‘That does not surprise me – in spite of what the lying British propagandists say the German soldier is always chivalrous. Now you will be able to tell your friends the truth in future.’

Mandel made no reply and the officer stood for a minute looking round him while he smoked. Gazing at the haystack he pointed with the cigarette.

‘It is a good thing something like that didn’t catch fire -that would be a tragedy for you, I’m sure.’

‘We take care not to smoke near it,’ said Mandel, feeling it wiser to make some reply.

‘Ah well, we must not keep your good lady waiting. And I’m sure she dislikes smoking inside her house.’

He threw down his smoking cigarette among some pieces of straw which began to burn almost at once. Seeing that there was no danger of the fire spreading Mandel walked after the German and found him standing in the kitchen looking at the framed decoration above the mantelpiece.

‘The Croix de Guerre! I am in the presence of an old soldier then. I imagine you earned this fighting in the last war?’

‘Probably at the same time as you obtained the Iron Cross on your tunic,’ Mandel replied politely.

The officer glanced at him quickly, fingering the cross. Marianne stood by the table, her arms folded over her chest as she stared out of the window across the fields. Mandel wished that she had gone upstairs but he was aware that she was staying in the hope of keeping down the temperature. By her side Etienne gazed into the fireplace. The major spoke abruptly, his voice harsh.

‘You said you had plenty to drink. Since my men so kindly helped you to put out the fire I think they should be suitably rewarded. Would you not agree? Two or three bottles of cognac would be acceptable, I’m sure.’

So that’s it, Mandel thought, he’s after loot. And they make a man like this an officer. Since he’s a heavy cognac drinker his temper is probably uncertain. I’ll have to watch this carefully.

‘I have no cognac, Major, but possibly a bottle of wine or two? Would your men prefer red or white, do you think?’

‘They would prefer cognac.’ His voice was a whiplash now. He stood very erect, his nostrils flared, his eyes glowing. ‘Since you say you are running short we will give them three bottles only, which is a meagre enough reward. Had the fire spread this house might have been burnt down. And understand this, my men are here to fight a war – not to help profiteering French farmers save their capital!’

‘I’m sorry – you can search the place. We have wine but no cognac. Not a single bottle.’

The German eyed him grimly. ‘You hid it when the first column came through here. I have little doubt of that.’

Casually, he unbuttoned the flap of his leather hip holster and withdrew the pistol, holding it sideways in one hand, the muzzle pointing towards Marianne. Mandel moved quickly in front of her, while behind him his wife slipped a hand towards her throat. He saw Etienne’s eyes on the heavy poker in the fireplace and almost imperceptibly he frowned, giving a little shake of his head. Knowing that at any moment there might be a tragedy he took the initiative quickly.

‘Major, the cupboard in that corner is full of wine – may I show you and then you can make your choice?’

Slowly he moved towards the cupboard and the pistol turned away from Marianne to point at the wall. Without further hesitation Mandel threw open both doors and started lifting out bottles on to the table. The German waited until a dozen stood in a row and then he put away his gun.

‘That will have to do if you persist in being obstinate. You and the boy – bring all the bottles on the table out to my car.’

They hurried out across the yard, three bottles under each arm, while the officer followed slowly. The driver snapped something at them, indicating that they should store the bottles on the back seat. When they had emptied their arms he leaned over and pulled a greatcoat across the bottles to conceal them. The major had left the yard now and strolled along the road to stand close to the haystack. He looked at it with interest while he extracted a fresh cigarette and lit it in a leisurely fashion. Mandel sent Etienne away to the farmhouse and waited tensely, feeling quite sure that their ordeal was not ended yet. From the direction of Beaucaire a motor-cycle patrol drove up, slowing down arid then speeding away as the officer waved them on. The driver had started the engine of the staff car but the major seemed in no hurry to depart: in fact, the haystack appeared to fascinate him and he began to walk round it as he took short puffs at his cigarette.

Nothing shows, Mandel told himself, nothing shows at all. He cannot possibly suspect anything so why is he taking such a great interest in it? With a tremendous effort he compelled himself to assume an attitude of complete indifference, even going so far as to clasp his hands over his stomach while he looked up at the sky as though checking the weather situation. The major had walked right round the haystack now and he made a small gesture with his free hand. Driving forward, the car pulled up close to the officer who now stood with his back to the road facing the haystack. Again he spoke without looking at Mandel.

‘I do fear that the cognac you so stubbornly concealed is going to prove a most expensive proposition.’

Raising his right hand he aimed with great care, tossing the burning cigarette high in the air so that when it fell it landed out of sight on top of the stack. Then he stood and waited, one hand close to his holster flap, studying Mandel’s face closely. Appalled, the Frenchman showed only the reaction expected. Hanging his shoulders, he gazed at the stack in glum despair, then very slowly he turned away and walked back to the farmhouse, forcing himself not to hurry, hoping that by removing himself from the scene of the conflagration the German would lose interest and go away.

The officer stood watching the top of the stack which was now crackling and sputtering, suddenly flaring up until the entire roof was a crown of flames. Satisfied, he got back into his seat and the car drove off at a high speed.

Only by exerting his will-power far beyond its normal limits was Barnes able to keep himself pressed down inside the ditch. He had seen the German officer studying the stack, he had even seen that he was smoking because now he risked using his field-glasses. But as if some telepathic intuition had been transmitted between them he had understood Mandel’s action when he slowly trailed back to the house. Seen from this great distance the burning stack presented an even more alarming spectacle as grey-black smoke billowed in a huge cloud above the road, and from where he lay Barnes could see red tongues of flame licking their way along the full length of the roof of hay. He felt Penn stirring as Mandel walked away.

‘We’d better get moving – we’ve got to try and put that lot out. We can shoot those two while we’re about it.’

‘Keep yourself down,’ Barnes rasped. ‘We’re not moving till that staff car is well on its way.’

‘You’ve got the machine-pistol,’ Penn protested. ‘And we’ve got our revolvers.’

‘And they’ve got their car, you idiot. As soon as they see us coming they’ll drive off and then be back with half that column.’

It wasn’t only the unit he was thinking of. More important still he had no intention of putting the Mandels into further danger, no matter what the cost. And the cost could be very high.

‘You’re just going to let Bert burn?’ Penn protested again.

‘The car’s off now. No one gets up till I give the word.’

Lifting himself cautiously only a few feet, his body still well-concealed behind the weeds, he watched the car racing away. When it reached the next hill crest and vanished he started running, running as he had never run before, keeping easily ahead of the others in spite of his smallness. The stack was roofed with flames, flames which drove the smoke several feet above the top of the stack. He was drawing close to the conflagration when he heard the power-grab coming across the field, moving forward so fast that the elevated arm was swaying wildly. They were all arriving at once – Etienne with the power-grab, Barnes, Mandel hauling and heaving desperately at a huge coil of hosepipe.

‘Give Reynolds the grab,’ Barnes shouted. ‘I’ll take that hose. Leave this to us – the tank is full of diesel and it may blow at any minute. Get back inside the house.’

‘No!’ Mandel shouted back. ‘Etienne knows how to use the grab. Help me with this hose. It will take all of us to save it. The tank, I mean – the stack is gone.’

Marianne came running forward with several pitch-forks and Mandel told her to drop them and go straight back to the house. It was developing into a horrible muddle until Barnes took charge. Pitch-forks for Reynolds and Jacques. Etienne was left to work the grab. Barnes began to unloop the hose while Mandel fixed the other end to an outlet pipe from a small pump-house. While he worked Barnes was shouting instructions for Mandel to pass on to Etienne.

‘Get Etienne to scoop the burning bales off the top – he’s to drop them well clear of the stack so the men with forks can carry them to the road. But the grab must be used to clear off the burning hay. I’ll hose down the lower walls – we’ll never save the top.’

They worked like demons. As Barnes directed the powerful jet of water on the lower walls he tried to keep an eye on the spread of the fire, scared stiff that at any moment the fuel tanks would go up, wondering whether there had been a blow-back of fire from the top down into the hollow interior, a disaster which might not be seen until the whole stack suddenly burst into flames. And there was high-explosive inside that inferno – seventy rounds of two-pounder shells and ten boxes of Besa ammunition. He was close to the front wall now, spraying his jet in a steady arc, while nearby the grab was scooping up burning masses of hay above his head and throwing them clear. As the scorching bales hit the ground they crackled and spat angrily like live things. The heat was almost unbearable and Barnes was shielding his face with one hand while he held the bucking hose in the other, hardly able to see what was happening as acrid smoke filled his lungs and blinded his eyes. Behind him the men with pitch-forks were skewering the burning bales and carrying them over to the road where they dumped them and then ran back for more. Each bale was so heavy and unmanageable that it took two men to spear one bale and then lift it between them, and unknown to Barnes his corporal had seized a fork and formed a team with Mandel, holding the fork low down because he found it impossible to lift his right arm.

The turret of the tank was visible now, again protruding strangely like the conning tower of a submarine, but this time like a submarine trapped in a sea of burning oil. It gave Barnes a pang to see it standing there and for a moment he moved back out of the smoke to assess the position. It looked quite hopeless. They had removed the greater part of the upper walls and the roof but the haystack still seethed with smoke and from inside it he could hear that horrid flame crackle working farther down. He saw Penn helping Mandel to carry away another bale and he opened his mouth to stop him, then closed it again without saying anything as he directed the water jet on to the hull of the tank. The temperature inside there must be ferocious, and never for a second could he forget that Bert was bloated – bloated with fuel, with shells, with ammunition – a state of affairs which only a few hours ago he had congratulated himself on but which might now bring about the death of the tank and several of its would-be rescuers. They were working at such a frenzied pitch that they hardly realized the injuries they were suffering from the scorching heat, but Barnes had already noticed that Reynolds’ ‘right forearm was an ugly mass of blisters. As he began hosing down the outer walls again Barnes himself narrowly escaped the most appalling injuries. He was directing the jet low down when he heard a shout from Etienne above him. Instinctively he jumped sideways. A mass of burning hay which had been balancing precariously in the power-grab shovel smothered the spot where he had stood a moment before. He swivelled the jet and drenched the hay, but it took several minutes to put the fire out and afterwards he couldn’t understand why it hadn’t set light to the main wall low down.

Some time later he again stepped well back from the stack to see how much progress they were making, almost bumping into Reynolds who was carrying a blazing mass of hay towards the road when suddenly it disintegrated, almost collapsing in the driver’s face. He just had time to jump clear but a shower of red-hot sparks sprayed over his already badly-blistered arm. Wiping his hand over his sweating forehead, Reynolds headed back to the stack while Jacques who had been leaning on his own fork, joined him.

‘We’ve nearly done it,’ said Mandel.

‘Have we?’

Barnes was astonished. Once he had emerged from the clouds of smoke the stack looked far quieter than he could ever have dared to hope. Bert was now exposed to halfway down his hull at the front, and although the turret was only occasionally visible behind the pall of smoke the vicious redness of the flames had died away. He paused to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief and then ran forward, switching on the hose: a line of flame had appeared along the top of the front wall and was growing with alarming speed. They’d never get the thing out. And close to the tank the temperature was still incredible, so fiercely concentrated that it seemed to come towards him in an invisible glow from the metal plates. It would happen so suddenly that they would probably have no warning – fuel first, one blasting outward thump, then the series of sharp explosions,as the ammunition started to burn, but they would probably never hear that second sound being as close to the tank as they were. It’s like being on top of a ruddy great bomb, he thought. Through the smoke he could see figures moving without knowing who they were. Then, some time later, he thought, they at last had the inferno finally under control. It should only be a matter of dousing with water until even the smoke faded away. At that moment he heard a frenzied shout from Reynolds.

‘A burning bale’s just dropped down Bert’s side – it’s flaring up close to the fuel tank.’

Barnes tried to run forward through the smoke and was jerked backwards. The hose was trapped round the wheel of the power-grab. He lost precious seconds releasing it and then jumped up on to the front wall. The flaring bale had fallen down over the far side but. someone had got there first. Reynolds. He lifted his pitch-fork behind him to the fullest extent and then rammed it down like a bayonet, plunging the fork deep into the huge bale which was trapped between the hull and the rear wall of hay. Twisting it to tighten the fork’s grip, he began to lift. From behind him Barnes could see the veins standing out on his left arm under the frightful strain. Two men had been handling these intact bales and now Reynolds was trying to hoist one by himself, to hoist it upwards from a position below him. Incredibly the bale began to come loose, edging upwards as flames danced round the buried fork. Reynolds went on lifting, his legs splayed wide on the hull, his broad back arching. The bale came up suddenly with a rush, but Reynolds was ready for that and he regained his balance by leaning back against the turret. He must have seen Barnes waiting with the hose because as he turned he shouted, ‘Get out of my way!’

Without the least idea of what the driver was going to do Barnes leapt back to the ground. Reynolds began to swing the bale in a slow arc through a hundred and eighty degrees, holding the massive weight at arm’s length as the fire spread towards him along the fork. Stepping down off the wall he nearly lost his balance, but again he recovered as flames burst out all over the bale. Then he calmly walked across the grass to the road, still holding the flaming mass at arm’s length. He had almost reached the road when it ignited into a small inferno, burning back and enveloping Reynolds. Barnes saw him hurl the bale forward, pitch-fork and all. It landed in the road and burst as Reynolds turned round to face the stack, both arms badly burned now, his hair singed, his face a brick-red colour. Ten minutes later Barnes was moving the hose over hay which barely smoked and the fire was out, but he still played the hose over the remaining walls and across the huh. He had sent the others back to the house and now only Mandel wandered round the relic of the stack, holding a pitch-fork and finding nothing to do with it. Leaning over the wall Barnes touched the hull and quickly snatched his hand away.

‘You. think it’s safe now?’ asked Mandel. ‘The petrol, I mean.’

‘If it was going up it should have gone up by now. Can you get Etienne to use his grab to shift the hay in front of the tank? When it cools down I’ll have another go at the engine, but that won’t be for a while yet. You’ll be damned glad to see the back of us, Mandel.’

‘This is our war effort. Who knows – your tank may strike a decisive blow at the enemy.’

A decisive blow? It seemed a little unlikely to Barnes at that moment and even less likely when later he followed them into the house to assess the damage to his crew. The kitchen had all the appearances of a casualty clearing station. Jacques who was now outside watching the road, and Etienne, had escaped with only minor burns, but Perm and Reynolds had borne the brunt of the injuries. Reynolds seemed to be in the worst state: he was sitting in a chair with his arms stretched out across the table and both arms had been bandaged by Marianne from wrist to just below the shoulder. As Barnes came in the driver stood up swaying slightly, and Mandel began to help him on with his shirt while Marianne attended to Perm who was flopped in the armchair. She had just finished applying a bandage which covered the whole of his left forearm and he winced as she tied the knot. But when he saw Barnes he managed a grin.

‘Now it really looks as though your crew has been in the wars.’

‘How are you feeling, Penn?’

‘Like a fortnight by the sea Would Abbeville be a good idea do you think?’

‘What about you, Reynolds?’

Barnes turned to his driver with a special anxiety because without Reynolds the status of the unit was definitely noncombatant. Barnes could drive the tank but he couldn’t from the driving compartment at the same time keep close all-round observation and operate the guns when necessary. Clinically he watched the process of Reynolds finding his way back inside the shirt Mandel was holding, noticing that Reynolds was able to bend his elbows and seemed to have full use of his hands. It was his face which worried Barnes most at the moment. Normally, Reynolds looked the picture of physical well-being, his complexion ruddy like that of a man who spent most of his life outdoors, but now the driver’s face was chalk-white, drained of all colour.

It’s hitting him, thought Barnes. He’s in a state of shock. It just depends on how he comes out of it. Reynolds still hadn’t replied to the question and he remained silent while he fumbled with the shirt buttons. Then he reached for his battledress jacket but Mandel lifted it off the table, holding it open for his arms. Carefully, Reynolds slipped inside it, doing up the cuffs and then the buttons down the front. When he had finished he sat down heavily on the chair and picked up a glass of wine, draining the contents in one long swallow. Putting the glass down he looked up at Barnes, his voice a growl.

‘Give me half an hour and I’ll drive you to the coast.’

He’s indestructible, Barnes told himself. He’s been driving almost non-stop most of yesterday; he had two and a half hours’ sleep last night, less the night before; both bis arms have been badly burned, and even now his voice sounds vigorous. He decided he still had a driver and went over to Penn, another face as white as death but here there was an awful weariness, and whereas Reynolds sat stiffly upright at the table Penn sank back limply as though he might never move again. He grinned up at Barnes.

‘I’m not as bad as I look. Fortunately.’

‘Of course you’re not. I didn’t see your arm – what’s it like?’

‘A bit of a mess – but you should see Reynolds! I suppose you know the back of your own hand could do with a little attention?’

He had just made the remark when Marianne took charge of Barnes, guiding him over to the sink where she held his hand under the cold water tap. The sudden icy douche made him jump and he saw that raw skin was peeled back and hanging loose. While she applied ointment and then a bandage he looked round the kitchen. At least the Mandels had avoided severe burning: Mandel himself had a few blisters on his right arm and he had lost half his eyebrows, but apart from a singed hair-line Etienne was untouched, probably because he had fought the fire from the seat of the power-grab. When he tried to thank them Mandel wouldn’t listen, repeating that it was part of their war effort and that in any case the British were fighting for France as well as for themselves. Because there seemed to be no more to say Barnes went back outside to straggle with the engine.

The hull was still very hot but he found that he could cope and he spent half an hour checking for the fault, feeling an enormous sense of relief that the tank had survived and enjoying himself once more with mechanical work, work which gradually drained away the tensions from his body. When he climbed down inside the driver’s compartment the engine started first time. They were on their way.