Darkest Hour (6 page)

'Listen, Stan,' said Tanner, as he rejoined Sykes, 'we
don't both need to wait with him, and that second roadblock needs setting up.
Sort it out, will you?'

'Right away,' Sykes replied. 'But, Sarge, we need to
get him somewhere safe.' He hurried off to fetch some men.

A few moments later, Tanner heard running footsteps
and Peploe appeared. Rather breathlessly he said, 'The MO and fire-wagons are
on their way, and so are the RAFP. Jesus, I’m exhausted. What about that second
roadblock?'

'Corporal Sykes is organizing the men now, sir.'

Peploe looked down at Torwinski. 'How is he?'

'He should be in hospital, sir.'

'Really? I thought he'd just cut his head.' He
squatted beside Torwinski. 'Are you hurt anywhere else?'

'No,' mumbled Torwinski. 'I don't think so. I just
want to get the bastards who did this.' He pushed himself up.

'Steady, mate,' said Tanner.

'What are you talking about?' Peploe asked Torwinski.
'Get who?'

'Sir,' Tanner interrupted, 'can I have a word?'

Peploe stood up. 'What the bloody hell's going on,
Tanner?'

'Sir, this man says he and the other two in the truck
were forcibly taken from their hut, marched to the bowser and knocked
unconscious. He says he doesn't know how they got here.'

'Sounds a bit far-fetched, doesn't it?'

'Maybe, sir. But if these men did steal the bowser,
what are they doing here by the coast? According to my map, this road leads to
Kingsgate only. It's hardly the place to shift stolen fuel, is it? And how
would they know where to sell it anyway? They've only been here a couple of
weeks.' He took a pace away, then added, 'What bothers me, sir, is that if he's
telling the truth, the Poles've been framed to look like the thieves.'

Peploe rubbed his hands over his face. 'And if so,
Sergeant, this man's life is presumably still in danger. Christ, what a mess.'

'Yes, sir.'

'But in hospital he might be safer?'

Tanner nodded.

Peploe sighed. 'And what do you think?'

'Something makes me believe him, sir.'

'Who else could have done this?'

'Any of the troops here.'

'How, for God's sake?'

'Must have jumped out of the cab. I had a look at the
wreckage, sir. Neither of the two dead men was driving.'

Peploe scratched the back of his head, then pulled a
slim hip-flask from his battle-blouse, unscrewed the top and offered it to
Tanner. 'Slug of Scotch, Sergeant?'

'Not for me, thank you, sir.'

'Well, don't mind me, Sergeant. I find it helps me to
think straight.' He took a couple of sips, then put the flask back. 'All right,
Tanner. I'm going to stay with this man. You get one of the others to bring the
truck down and I'll make sure he gets to hospital in Ramsgate. But for the time
being don't breathe another word about this to anyone. The last thing we want
is rumour and wild speculation flying around - and we should be careful not to
endanger this man's life further. Understood? I'll speak to Captain Barclay
about it later.'

'Yes, sir. What about the Snowdrops, sir?'

'Snowdrops?' Lieutenant Peploe looked confused.

'The RAF Police, sir. What should we say to them?
There might be other police as well.'

'Damn - I hadn't thought of that. You must, of course,
tell the police, but no one else. And in the meantime let's make sure both
these roadblocks are properly manned. We don't want any more tearaway lorries
ploughing through them.'

As Tanner had predicted, by the time the fire-wagon
had arrived, the flames around the bowser had all but died out. The RAFP
arrived, took a few statements, including one from Fanner, placed a cordon
around the scene and left one of their men on guard. Torwinski had already been
taken to hospital by Lieutenant Peploe so no one else was any the wiser - for
now, at any rate.

With a second roadblock set up under the command of
Sykes, Tanner walked back to the first where McAllister, Bell and a number of
the new men were positioned across the road.

There were, of course, rumours and wild speculation
aplenty among the men about what had happened. Peploe could do nothing about
that, although no one doubted that the Polish men in the bowser had been the
fuel thieves. Instead, debate raged over what they had been doing there and how
they had come to crash. Tanner said nothing, listening to their theories
without comment and shrugging in response to their questions. He would have
found it amusing had it not been for his growing unease.

It was tempting to think that Blackstone was behind it
somehow. Tanner had known him to have been involved in various scams in India -
not that he had ever been able to prove it or that Blackstone had ever been
caught. Yet the more rational part of his brain reminded him now that this
could have been the work of any number of people and, in any case, no matter
how much he disliked the man, that did not make Blackstone a murderer.

Not for the first time since it happened, Private
Ellis was recounting the moment the truck had sped towards him and thundered
through the roadblock. 'I still can't believe it,' he said. 'I shouted out for
them to halt but the sodding thing was still coming at me, wasn't it? So I
jumped out of the way and I swear he missed me by inches. I didn't join up to
be run over by one of our own.'

'But they're not our own, are they, Billy?' said
Private Coles. 'They're Poles. It's cos of them we're in this bloody war in the
first place.'

Tanner wandered a short way from the roadblock, in the
direction of Manston village. 'When did you first notice the bowser?' he called
to Ellis.

'What do you mean, Sarge?' Ellis was taller than most
of the others, a lanky youngster with a thin, heavily freckled face.

'Did you see or hear it first?'

'I dunno, Sarge. It came round that sharp bend up
ahead, then drove straight at me.'

'And did you see anything odd? Someone jumping out,
for instance?'

'No, Sarge - but it was dark. You could only see the
slits in the headlights.' He tugged at his bottom lip, thinking. 'Come to think
of it, I did hear something. Like a door slamming. Or, at least, I think I
did.' He ran a finger round his collar. 'But it happened so fast, like.'

Tanner walked on down the road, taking out his torch.
It gave off only a little light when the blue lens was in place but it was
enough for him to see the verge. After a couple of hundred yards, he began to
think his theory had been wrong and perhaps the Poles had been to blame, after
all. The vegetation was apparently undisturbed, silvery cobwebs stretching
across the abundant cow-parsley. But just before the corner he saw what he had
been looking for: an area where the plants had been flattened and broken stems
hung limply, clearly showing where something heavy had rolled across -
something like a man's body. And on the road there were faint footprints where
dew-sodden boots had trodden.
So there was a
fourth man,
thought Tanner. How easy it must have been: the corner
was almost at right angles; the bowser would have had to slow down almost to a
stop to turn. Then, before it had built up speed again, the driver had simply
jumped out. Ahead, to the roadblock and beyond, the road was dead straight so
the lorry had thundered towards Ellis. Whoever had jumped from the cab would
have had all the time in the world to make good his escape and, with the bowser
full of fuel, the inevitable crash, when it came, would cause an explosion that
should have killed the three men still in the cab.
Jesus
,
thought Tanner, as he went back to the checkpoint. The Pole had been telling
the truth.

When he reached the others, he was still deep in
thought. He pulled out a cigarette, then heard the sound of screeching tyres
from the direction of the hotel, followed by shouts and the gunning of a car
engine. 'For God's sake, what now?' he said. He heard more shouts, then saw a
car's dim headlights approaching.

'Bloody hell, this one's not going to stop either!'
yelled McAllister.

'Yes, it bloody well is,' said Tanner, striding into
the centre of the road and shining his torch directly at the vehicle.

It made no attempt to slow down or stop. Tanner took
his rifle from his shoulder, pulled back the bolt and fired a warning shot into
the air, but still the saloon came towards him.

'Watch out, Sarge!' said Hepworth. The driver swerved,
but Tanner was forced to leap out of harm's way. He heard laughter as the car
drove on and cursed to himself. Then, having regained his composure, he drew
the rifle to his shoulder, aimed at the rear wheel, pulled back the bolt again
and squeezed the trigger.

The shot cracked loudly in the still early-morning
air. There was another report as the left rear tyre burst. The car lurched from
side to side, ran off the road and eventually came to a halt in the hedge a
hundred yards ahead.

'Blimey, Sarge, what have you done?' said Hepworth.

Tanner slung his rifle back on his shoulder.
'Hopefully taught them to respect checkpoints, Hep.' With McAllister and
Hepworth, Tanner jogged down the road to the car. The men who had been inside
were already staggering about beside it. One was being sick into the hedge.

An officer, clutching his forehead with his handkerchief,
strode awkwardly towards them. 'What the bloody hell d'you think you're playing
at?' He swayed; he could barely stand.

'We'll get the truck and take you home, sir,' said
Tanner, noticing squadron leader's rings on his jacket cuffs.

'No, you'll bloody well tell me what the hell you were
doing.' He had taken a step forward so Tanner could smell the alcohol on his
breath and felt spittle spray his cheek. Wiping his face, he said, 'Mac, go and
get the truck.'

'Sarge,' said McAllister, and hurried off.

'Is this the bastard who shot at us?' said another
man, staggering towards Tanner.

'We'll be getting you home in a minute, sir,' said
Tanner.

The man, a flight lieutenant, stood beside the
squadron leader, and pushed Tanner in the chest. He took a step backwards, his
anger rising.

'Who the bloody hell do you soldiers think you are?'
said the flight lieutenant. He shoved Tanner again, then made to punch him, but
Tanner saw it coming and stepped deftly to one side. The pilot lost balance and
fell over onto the road. He heard Hepworth laugh.

'So you think it's funny, do you?' slurred the
squadron leader. 'Let me tell you this, sonny, you won't be laughing tomorrow
when your CO hears about it. You won't be laughing at all.' He stabbed a finger
at Hepworth. 'And as for you, Sergeant,' he said, turning to Tanner, 'you're
going to regret your men firing on us like that.' He tugged at the stripes on
Tanner's sleeve. 'Think you might not be wearing those for much longer.'

Tanner knew there was no point in arguing with the
man. He was drunk, and so were the six other pilots who had been crammed into
the saloon. The squadron leader had a trickle of blood running down the side of
his head, and another man was clutching at his arm, but otherwise no one
appeared to be badly hurt. They had not been travelling particularly fast and
the car's momentum had largely dissipated by the time it had stopped. Tanner
thought about knocking them all to the ground, then simply piling them into the
back of the truck, but no matter how drunk they were, he decided it was not
worth the risk, should they remember it in the cold light of day. In Norway, he
had knocked down a French officer and had regretted it ever since.

Instead, he merely stood his ground. 'The truck will
be here in a minute, sir. Then you can get back to the airfield.'

One of the men tried to start the car, but the starter
motor whined helplessly. In frustration, he got out again, kicked the wheel and
yelled with pain. The squadron leader staggered, grabbed hold of Tanner for
support, then stood upright. 'What's your name, Sergeant?'

'Tanner, sir.'

'Tanner. Tanner.' He looked around at the others,
nearly losing his balance again. 'Chaps, this sharpshooter's called Tanner.
Sergeant Tanner. Remember that, will you? Want to be sure we don't forget so we
can make life really unpleasant for him as payback for ruining our little
night out.'

Tanner clenched his fists, but at that moment the
truck drove up and, with a squeak of brakes, halted beside him. McAllister and
Sykes stepped out.

'Stan,' said Tanner, 'you and Mac can get these men
back to the airfield. I'll stay here with the others.'

'Don't take this the wrong way, Sarge,' said Sykes, in
a low voice, 'but was that a good idea?'

'You heard Mr Peploe, Corporal,' Tanner snapped. 'Let
no one through. These jokers didn't stop.' He sighed. 'Just get them out of
here, Stan.'

He glanced at his watch - nearly four a.m. - then
walked slowly back to the checkpoint. Another four hours before they were due
to be relieved. Behind him, the first streak of light spread across the
horizon, announcing the dawn of a new day.