Darkest Hour (40 page)

'Agreed. But as soon as the
Stukas go, get them into the village.'

When the dive-bombers finally
left, smoke hid the village and the ridge. To the west, however, Timpke could
see infantry pressing towards the village - men from Totenkopf Regiment 2.
Mortar shells were exploding, machine-gun and small arms cracked, their tinny
reports echoing across the open fields. Timpke sniffed - burned wood and rubber
- as though to confirm the acrid stench of battle. He ordered his men forward
once more, and a few hundred metres further on his small lead column of Company
3 turned off the Doullens-Arras road and sped towards the village.

Ahead, his motorcycles had
stopped. A man had raised his hand, beckoning them on. Two others were getting
out of their sidecars. Then Timpke saw them: two Opel trucks with white paint
daubed across the bonnets. He knew instantly what they were — there could be no
doubt.

His scout car halted in front
of them and he got down, his anger rising once more. The numberplates had been
painted over, but the SS runes were only partially hidden. Jaw clenched, he
strode around both vehicles, looking with disgust at the British names written
crudely upon them.
Yorks Rangers, BEF.
Stolen at dead of night and
abandoned at the first sign of a fight. He glanced up the road to the village.
Where were those men now, he wondered. In Berneville still, or dead, pulverized
by the weight of the Stuka attack? Or had they fallen back further already?
Dead or alive, he vowed, he wanted those men, those Yorks Rangers who had dared
to take these vehicles from him.

'Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, look,'
said one of his men now.

Timpke turned back to the
direction from which they had come and saw two Krupp infantry carriers rumbling
down the road towards them.

'Our friends in the
Wehrmacht
,' said Timpke, walking back to
his vehicle. 'If they think they're going to drive on ahead of us, they're very
much mistaken.'

Timpke was getting into the
scout car as the first of the Krupps pulled up alongside. To his surprise, one
of the
Wehrmacht
men leaped from the vehicle onto his armoured car. He glimpsed the pale eyes of
his assailant, then the man swung his forearm round his neck, choking him,
kneed him in the side so hard that Timpke gasped with searing pain, and jabbed
a pistol into the small of his back.

It had been so quick and
unexpected that none of Timpke's men had had time to react.

'Hande
hoch!'
a man was shouting from the
Krupp.
'Hande
hoch!'

One of Timpke's men tried to
swing round the machine-gun on his sidecar, but at a quick tap from the MG in
the Krupp he jerked backwards with a cry. The rest now put their hands slowly
in the air, stunned. Timpke felt the arm against his throat slacken, so that
although the muzzle of his own Luger was still pressed hard against his kidney,
he was able to turn enough to look at his attacker. His eyes widened. The man
had a battered face, a cut on his cheek and lip and severe bruising. He wore a
German helmet but, he now saw, a khaki uniform, not field grey. And on his
shoulders the curved black patches bore two words in green stitching:
Yorkshire Rangers. Timpke curled his lips into a snarl, then shook his head.
No!
It wasn't possible! How could
they have been caught out like this? If only his men following had looked at
these Tommies more carefully. German helmets - helmets! Timpke groaned.
Surprise - it was one of the golden lessons of warfare, and he had let himself
and his men be caught out not once but twice.

'Evening, chum,' said Tanner.

'Who are you?' said Timpke,
slowly, in English, his face red with fury.

'Tell your men not to make any
attempt to shoot,' said Tanner. He saw Timpke glance up the road towards the
rest of his column. Tanner dared not take his eye off him, so he called to
Lieutenant Peploe, 'Sir, are we all secure?'

'Yes, Sergeant,' Peploe
replied. 'Can he speak English?'

Tanner nodded. 'I told you,
sir. The clever ones like this fellow always can.'

Tanner pushed Timpke down
against the side of the car and said, 'Now order the men inside this car to
leave their weapons and come out.' Timpke looked at him with hatred in his
eyes. 'Now!' snapped Tanner.

Timpke barked an order and the
two men appeared.

'Tell them to get down on the
road and put their hands in the air.'

Again, Timpke did so and the
men did as ordered.

'Right, Stan,' said Tanner.
'You can go down and do interesting things with their radio equipment.' He
grinned, then cursed as his lip split yet again.

'Has someone got this joker
covered?' he called.

'Yes, Sarge,' said Hepworth,
from behind him in the Krupp.

Tanner now allowed himself to
glance back to the second Krupp. As he had planned with Lieutenant Peploe, it
had waited behind the small SS column. The Bren, resting on the wooden side of
the Krupp, had the men in the three half-tracks and armoured car covered, while
others were now hurrying over to disarm them.
Not a bad haul.
Tanner scanned briefly for
another of their sub-machine-guns.

'Give me your name and unit,'
he said, to the German in front of him.

'Sturmbannfuhrer Otto Timpke,
commanding officer of the reconnaissance battalion,
Waffen-SS
Totenkopf Division,' replied
Timpke, through clenched teeth.

'Storm-ban-what?' said Tanner.
'What kind of rank is that?'

'Sturmbannfuhrer,' said Timpke.
'In the
Wehrmacht
it would be the same as a major.'

'I see.'

'I do not know what you think
you can achieve by this,' hissed Timpke. 'Your attack has failed. The Tommies
have fallen back. Most of our division is advancing from the south and west and
a panzer division is pressing forward to the east of here. You are surrounded.
You might have a pistol pointing at me now but, believe me, very soon it will
be you who have to put your hands in the air.'

'I don't think so,' said
Tanner, taking the cigarettes from Timpke's breast pocket. 'You see, you lot
are going to help us get back to our lines.' He took a cigarette, felt for his
matches and, with his spare hand, struck one.
Aaah
, he thought, the swirling
cloud of tobacco briefly overpowering the smell of burning that hung in the
air,
I
needed that.

'Help you?' said Timpke. 'You
must be mad.'

'A bit, perhaps,' said Tanner,
'but not as mad as you lot with your bloody goose-stepping and heil-Hitlers.'
He grasped Timpke's neck tightly. 'Now, listen to me, Otto. We're all going to
drive on through Berneville, dodging those potholes made by your mates in the
Luftwaffe
, and we'll keep going over the
ridge and back down to Warlus until we find our own side again. And if we get
so much as a single shot fired at us, I'll kill you all. Understand?'

Timpke glared at him, the veins
at the side of his head pulsing, the muscles on his jaw flexing. Tanner
tightened his grip, then said, louder, 'Understand?'

'Yes!' gasped Timpke.

Tanner relaxed his grip. 'Good.
Then let's go and tell your men.' He pushed Timpke roughly so that he fell onto
the road. Jumping down beside him, the Luger still in his hand, he pulled the
German roughly to his feet. 'Come on, then, Otto. Be quick!'

Sykes emerged from the armoured
radio car and hoisted himself into the first of the Opels, while Corporal
Cooper climbed into the second. Quickly, they manoeuvred them into position
between the three halftracks. Peploe then ordered half a dozen men into the
trailer of each, with a Bren and a captured Spandau pointed at the prisoners in
the half-tracks.

'The motorcycles and scout cars
should lead, don't you think?' Peploe said to Tanner, as he and Timpke returned
to the lead vehicle.

'Yes, sir. You'll follow, will
you?'

Peploe nodded.

'And shall I go in the scout
car with Otto here? If we spot any of our lot we'll simply put our own helmets
back on and push one of the Opels in front.'

Peploe breathed out and smiled
nervously. 'Christ, Tanner,' he said, 'if I'm still in one piece by midnight,
I'll be a happy man.'

Tanner grinned. 'We'll be fine,
sir.' He turned to Timpke. 'I'll get in first.'

The inside of the armoured car
was hot. Tanner had shoved the radio operator into one of the Opels but even
with just Timpke and the driver the smell of oil and petrol was almost
overpowering. Sweat ran down his neck and back; the thick serge of his trousers
rubbed scratchily against his legs. When they rolled forwards, though, a breeze
through the vents brought relief. To one side, the radio, with the connection
leads to the transmitter, receiver and power units, had been disconnected.
Good for Stan.
He hadn't destroyed but
deactivated it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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