Darkest Hour (9 page)

Knochlein looked sheepish. 'It wasn't quite,' he smiled,
'but not far off. Still, we had a good night, didn't we?' He grinned. 'I'm
improving by the minute.'

He was older than Timpke by five or six years, with a
square, unrefined face that Timpke had always felt betrayed his upbringing in
the rougher suburbs of Munich. Timpke liked him well enough and considered him
a friend, even though he knew Knochlein looked up to him in a way that was,
frankly, a bit embarrassing. As with so many of Knochlein's age who had lived
through the hard years of the 1920s, Timpke had detected resentment at his
core. Poverty had forced him to abandon his schooling, and although he was no
fool - and certainly had a streak of ruthless cunning - Timpke knew he was
insecure about his lack of education. It was why the SS was so perfect for
Knochlein and others like him: an organization that gave its members a sense of
purpose and unity, rewarding performance rather than social standing.

Timpke was peering through his binoculars at the
target, and smiled to himself.
Not bad.

'It's incredible news, isn't it?' said Knochlein.

'What news?' said Timpke, immediately lowering them.

'Haven't you heard? We've attacked France and the Low
Countries.'

'Without us! Damn them. What happened?'

'It's not entirely clear. The
Luftwaffe
have been busy, though.'

Timpke's heart quickened. So it had started! He
glanced at his watch. 'Those supplies should be here soon.' He slung his rifle
over his shoulder. 'How can you be so relaxed, Fritz? Let's get going. We might
be ordered off at any moment.'

The trucks began arriving back at the
Kaserne
just before eleven that morning, filled with
fresh supplies. Timpke sensed anticipation in the men, who were chattering and
laughing loudly, a new spring in their step. Vehicles were soon lining up,
engines rumbling, ready for the he move. The courtyard of the barracks was
crammed with trucks, troop-carriers, half-tracks, armoured cars and staff cars.
Behind the
Kaserne
yet more vehicles waited, as
well as the division's anti-aircraft guns, anti-tank guns and field guns, including
a dozen 150mm heavy howitzers. Timpke and Knochlein walked among them,
marvelling with pride that the division would be heading to France with more
than two thousand vehicles under its banner. A motorized infantry division
about to move.

Timpke laughed and gripped Knochlein's shoulder.
'We'll show those Army bastards, and we'll show those French and Tommy soldiers
too.' Briefly he took off his cap, and admired the silver skull-and-crossbones
insignia - the death's head - emblazoned upon it, then fitted it back on his
well-groomed head. He smiled. 'We'll let them see what the Totenkopf is capable
of.'

The news of the German offensive had made an immediate
impact at Manston, too. In Captain Barclay's office, Tanner had been dismissed,
albeit with a warning.

'All right, Tanner,' said Barclay, 'you can get back
to your platoon. This matter will have to wait for the moment. There are more
pressing things to attend to now.'

'And what about my car?' asked Lyell.

'For God's sake, Charlie,' Barclay snapped, 'how
should I know? Get it to a garage and see what they say. Damn it, we've got a
war to fight now.'

Lyell shoved back his chair angrily and made to leave
with Granby. Tanner opened the door for them, but as Lyell passed him, he
stopped and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. 'I'll be sending you the
bill, Sergeant. You might have been saved for now, but I shan't forget about
this.'

Not for the first time Tanner had to bite his tongue.
Nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to wipe the arrogant snarl
from the man's face and knock him out cold. He wouldn't forget the incident
either, but he had long ago learned that patience was indeed a virtue. One day,
he assured himself, his chance would come, and then he would teach the man a
lesson.

He started to leave but Peploe stopped him. 'A moment,
Sergeant,' he said, then turned back to Barclay. 'What about the murders, sir?'

Barclay sighed wearily. 'If they were murders, Peploe.
What about them?'

'As the duty officer when the incident occurred, I wondered
whether I should now contact the police.'

'No, Peploe. Leave it with me. I'll make sure it's
looked into. No doubt they'll want to speak to you, but this should go through
the proper channels.'

Peploe nodded, then he and Tanner walked out of the
building. Outside, the deep blue of the sky was broken by rolls of plump white
cumulus. Tanner squinted in the glare. 'I'm not sure this can wait until
Captain Barclay contacts the police, sir,' he told Peploe. 'I'm not saying he
won't speak to them, but he's got other things on his mind.'

'You could be right.'

'I just don't think time's on our side, sir. I suppose
we could always move him instead.'

Peploe eyed Tanner carefully. 'Is there something
you're not telling me, Sergeant?'

Tanner sighed. 'I'm sure the CSM knows something about
this, sir. And I'm not just saying that because I don't like the man. It's
precisely the kind of stunt he used to pull in India.'

'Murder?'

'No - no, not murder. At least, I couldn't really say.
Maybe he wasn't involved in that. Really, sir, I meant the fuel theft. Nothing
happens in this company without him knowing about it, and who would dare to
pull off something like this under his nose? I watched him, sir, in there. And
I'm certain he knows something.'

Peploe took off his cap and ran a hand wearily through
his hair.

'There's one way we'll know for sure,' continued
Tanner, 'and that's if anyone turns up at the hospital asking for Torwinski. If
they do, they've got to have been told by someone in that room a moment ago.
Those RAF boys couldn't have been involved as they were getting drunk at the
time, so that leaves you, me, Captain Wrightson, the OC and Blackstone. I think
we can exclude ourselves, sir.'

Some Blenheims took off, their engines a roar. The two
men watched three emerge into the sky on the far side of the office block, then
head out towards the Channel.

'I don't know. Christ, I don't know what to think -
but I'm not sure I'm convinced the CSM has anything to do with it,' said
Peploe, 'but if he has, you're right. We need to protect Torwinski.' The
lieutenant consulted his watch. 'We're not on duty again until three o'clock,
and it's not ten yet. All right, Tanner. I'll go to the hospital now and see
Torwinski. Maybe I can say something to the doctors there - perhaps they can
ring the police.'

'I think that's best, sir.'

Peploe nodded. 'Good. I'll get off, then. I can drive
down in my own car.'

'And, sir? Thank you for what you said in there.'

'I'm sorry I wasn't there at the beginning. I'm furious
about it, to be honest,' he said. 'Stupid sods. Sorry, Tanner, shouldn't really
be talking like this, but I'm afraid it's all because of Squadron Leader Lyell
and his being the OC's brother-in-law and everything. Lyell knows perfectly
well that he's in the wrong and that the station commander would give him short
shrift. So he tries to get his revenge by nobbling Captain Barclay and reeling
you in for a grilling - a grilling, I should add, to which he knew you couldn't
answer freely because of your rank. It's nothing less than bullying - the sort
of carry-on one used to have to put up with at school. I've always hated that
kind of closing ranks, and I'm damned if I'm going to toe some line just to
keep in favour with my fellow officers. I was brought up to do what I believe
is right, Tanner.' He smiled sheepishly. 'Listen to me, ranting like some
parson. Anyway, go and get some rest.'

Tanner set off for the hut. He felt exhausted and his
body suddenly craved sleep. But despite that, the death of the Poles, and its
significance, continued to circle in his mind. He was convinced more than ever
that Blackstone had to have been involved. The man was like a cancer spreading
through the company, corrupting and poisoning, turning good men to bad.
Jesus.
It didn't pay to go to war with men like him.
Tanner passed another platoon going through their drill, the sergeant screaming
his orders, boots heavy on the tarmac as the men tramped up and down, wheeled
to the left, then halted almost as one. The sergeant admonished them for
slovenliness. A miserable, useless lot, they were.

Tanner smiled to himself, momentarily distracted, only
for darker thoughts to return. He wondered whether the lieutenant would reach
Torwinski in time. Perhaps Barclay had already contacted the police.
Perhaps.
Tanner couldn't help believing that Torwinski
was still in grave danger, yet catching any would-be murderer was, he knew,
probably the only chance they would have of finding evidence that would nail
anyone for this crime. The flattened verge would probably have recovered
already. Neither Captain Barclay nor any of the other officers had shown much
appetite for Peploe's claims. And would the police be any more interested?
After all, who cared about a few Poles? If whoever had done this had any sense,
they'd keep clear of Torwinski and leave him be.

Lying on his bed, Tanner smelled wafts of tobacco
smoke, felt a cool breeze drift across his face and realized, to his annoyance,
that he was awake. Opening his eyes, he saw Corporal Sykes standing in the
doorway, his slicked-back hair shining in the sun, his field cap tucked into
the epaulette of his battle-blouse. Between finger and thumb, he brought the
cigarette to his mouth, then noticed Tanner was watching him.

'Oh, Sarge, you're awake.'

'No thanks to you, Corporal.' Tanner sat up.

'Sorry, Sarge. I was wondering whether or not I should
wake you. Only I've something to tell you.'

'What? It'd better be good, that's all I can say.' He
glanced round at the others, all still fast asleep. McAllister was snoring
gently.

Sykes motioned him outside. Tanner buttoned his
battle-blouse, grabbed his field cap, then stood up and stepped out of the hut.
A glance at his watch - a quarter to one - and a fumble in his breast pocket
for his cigarettes.

'What is it, then, Stan?' he asked, putting a
cigarette between his lips.

'I woke up about midday and knew I wouldn't get back
to sleep again so I got up and wandered around a bit. There's quite a lot of
activity going on 'ere all of a sudden. Some ack-ack guns 'ave turned up and
there's lorries going back and forth. I spoke to one bloke, and apparently a
couple of batteries are moving in.'

'You haven't heard, then?'

'Heard what?'

'We're going to be out of here soon. Jerry's launched
his attack. We're on twelve hours' notice to shift it over to Belgium and join
the rest of the battalion.'

'Bloody 'ell! Well, that explains it.' He wiped a hand
across his mouth. 'Frankly, Sarge, I’m glad. Don't like this place. Sooner
we're out of here the better, far as I'm concerned.'

'I agree. Just wish we could leave a few people
behind, that's all. Anyway, you didn't wake me up to tell me a few guns've
arrived. At least you'd better not have done.'

'No, no - course not. No, what I was going to say was
that I've seen the company quartermaster sergeant over by the stores. And guess
what?'

'What?'

"E's got a big limp.'

'Has he now?' Tanner allowed himself a faint smile.
'Could have had it a while, though.'

'That's just it, Sarge. He hasn't. At least, he didn't
have it yesterday cos I saw him and he was walking fine.'

'Interesting, Stan. Very interesting.'

'So, anyway, I was about to talk to him when the CSM
comes over and starts talking to me instead. Friendly as anything, he was,
asking me all about myself and handing out smokes. And all the while he was
steering me away from CQS Slater and those stores. Eventually he said,
"Well, you go and get some more rest while you've got the chance,"
and gave me a wink and a pat on the back. Said it very nice but I knew it was
an order, so I came back and had another smoke, wondering whether I should say
anything to you.'

'That's just like Blackstone. He's the biggest two-
faced bastard I've ever known. Says one thing, means another.'

'Yes, but what I wasn't sure about was whether he was
steering me away from Slater or the stores.'

'Or both.' Tanner scuffed the ground with the toe of
his boot. 'I don't suppose you've seen Mr Peploe?'

'No, Sarge.' Sykes eyed him. 'What do you think? What
should we do?'

'I'll see if I can find Slater and talk to him. What
does he look like?'

'Quite a big bloke. A bit smaller than the CSM and his
face looks like he's been a few rounds. Oh, and he's got a limp.'

Tanner grinned. 'Of course. Shouldn't be too hard to
spot, then. Where are these stores?'

'Right down the back end of this place. There's a big
hangar to the far side of all the huts. It's away to the left of that, on its
own at the end of a long workshop.'