Tramp in Armour (34 page)

He issued orders instantly and the tank turned off the road
to the right, moving over the field towards the low ridge, the only defence feature in sight. When they reached it he man
oeuvred Bert until he faced the oncoming enemy in a hull-down position, the greater part of the tank concealed behind
the ridge so that only the turret projected in the open. A
quarter of a mile away a farmer on his orange tractor changed
direction, heading across the field to take a closer look at the
intruder. Flip off, Barnes told him mentally, or you'll cop a
Jerry shell.

'Two-pounder. Traverse right. Right! Steady!'

The turret swung him round and steadied. Perfect. Davis
could have done no better, and Davis had been good.

'Range six hundred. Six hundred.'

Barnes had the glasses pressed into his eyes as he watched
the dust cloud's progress. It appeared to be moving
across
their line of fire now. Was it possible that in the uncertain light of dusk that they hadn't been spotted after all? In less
than five minutes he knew that the Panzers had another objec
tive altogether, somewhere far to the north. He didn't know
whether to feel relieved or disappointed. It was almost dark as he gave them the news over the intercom, following it up with
the order to advance.

To save tune and to avoid the farmer on the tractor who was
close behind
him now, Barnes guided the tank towards the
road along a different course from the one which had brought
them to the ridge, moving at an oblique angle which would
take them back on to the road some distance north of the point
where they had left it. The tank completed its quarter-turn
and rumbled forward over the grass, leaving a faint trail of
chalk as the substance disengaged itself from the tracks. It
may have been the treacherous light of dusk, or it may have
been the throbbing of his wound which grew worse towards
night: it may have been a combination of these two factors
which momentarily robbed him of his normal lynx-eyed obser
vation, but whatever the cause Barnes failed to see the change in the texture of the land they were crossing, failed to see that
whereas a moment ago they were passing over green grass and
baked earth, now the grass was sparser, growing in isolated
tufts, and even where it grew its colour was a strange, almost sinister acid green colour.

His first warning of the danger was the moment when the
tank stopped moving forward, although its huge tracks con
tinued to churn round, moving uselessly as the whole tank
slowly began to tilt. The tilting motion was in a backward
direction, so slight that at first Barnes wondered whether he
was suffering from an attack of dizziness, but as the motion continued and he looked quickly over the side the awful truth
dawned. They were sinking, sinking more rapidly as the
quagmire sucked at the tracks, dragging over twenty-six tons of tank downward into its drowning grip.

NINE

Saturday, May 25th

His instinct was to give the order to reverse, to take the tank
backwards on to the firm ground they had left. Opening his
mouth, he closed it again without speaking. Work this out, Barnes, and quickly. The front seems stable, so it may be on
solid ground; only the back is going down. If you reverse you
may never reach firm ground. Switching on his pocket torch, '
he swept the beam behind the tank. They appeared to have
broken up a very thick crust of earth baked hard by weeks of
sunshine, exposing a horrible sticky ooze lower down which
gleamed in the torchlight. Go forward then? Climbing out of
the turret he walked forward over the left-hand track, sat
down and gingerly lowered one leg. Firm enough. But in the
beams of the headlights he had told Reynolds to switch on he
could see the same type of pallid baked earth, the surface
cracked with tiny fissures. Was that firm ground or were they
perched on an island of solidity with more quagmire ahead?
At least the tank had stopped tilting backwards now, as though it had found a precarious equilibrium. Colburn came out of the
turret and climbed down on to the hull.

'What are you playing at, Sergeant?'

'We've run into a bog. It's as soft as butter behind us now
and I'm not too sure of this lot. Get ready to grab me - I'm
going to test it for firmness.'

He lowered his full weight on his right leg and the ground
held, but it was rather like treading on a sponge. He slipped
the other leg down and stood up, felt a crumbling sensation
under his left leg and the ground caved in. He started to go
down, suddenly up to his knees in filthy ooze. Hands grabbed
him from behind, hauled him bodily backwards and lifted,
sitting him back on the track, legs astraddle it. Carefully, he turned round and scrambled back on to the hull.

'Thanks, Colburn. You just about saved my bacon there. No way ahead and no way back. Get me a rope from that box near the compass. I've got to find out how far away we are from the
shore.'

He waited until Colburn had emerged from the turret
again and then tied a loop under his shoulders, handing the free end to the Canadian. The tractor had arrived now and it
stood on the bank of the quagmire with its headlights beamed
direct on to the tank, blinding Barnes as he made his way
along the rear track while Colburn stayed on the hull. The
farmer was shouting non-stop across the quagmire in French
and with his limited knowledge of the language Barnes,
couldn't understand a word. If only they'd speak slower. He
shouted back slowly in English that he was crossing to the
bank and received an outburst in reply. Looking back to make
sure that Colburn was in position, he pulled a face.

'Pity you don't speak French as well as handling machine guns.'

'I know German. Do you think he might savvy that?'
'Don't try it, for God's sake. He's probably only friendly
because we're British.'
'How can he know that?'

'Because of the uniform - he must have seen enough of them
before we decided to trot off into Belgium. Here goes. Don't
haul me back unless I'm in real trouble. I've got to find out how far it is to the bank.'

'You can see that by the tractor.'

'He'll be yards farther back than he need be. It must be his quagmire.'

Reaching out sideways well beyond the track his right foot touched firmness. But for how long? He put his full weight on
it and the ground held. He put his other leg down and there
was no feeling of sponginess. He was away from the tank now.
Get on with it. A bold step forward with the right leg: it
landed on more firmness, a tuft of grass. Were they really as
close as this to safety? He lifted the other foot and when it
reached the earth it went on going down at an alarming rate,
straight through the crust into liquid mud which sent up a
dank nauseating smell. Jerking his other foot off the tuft he
thrust it forward as far as he could and it hit solid earth, his legs
splayed wide apart in front and behind him. He tried to heave
the rear foot loose but found he was in serious trouble: it had sunk in up to the knee and the quagmire was wrapped round his leg like some monstrous sea creature determined to suck him down into its lair. Fighting down a rising sense of panic,
he heaved again with all his strength, feeling the leg coming
up reluctantly, mud oozing and sucking as he pulled. Then it
came free with a jerk and he fell flat on his face, aware that
the ground under his body was hard and still. Strong hands
locked under his shoulders and helped him to his feet. By the
light of the tractor's beams he looked into the farmer's face,
the long lean face of a man in his forties, still babbling away in
French.

'Thanks,' said Barnes. 'Can you speak more slowly?' ,

Unlooping the rope from his shoulders, he looked behind the
Frenchman to where the tractor stood and then walked up to
it. Tied to the side were half a dozen iron stakes with ring heads: the stakes were at least sis feet long and the farmer
had obviously been erecting a fence.. With sign language he indicated that he needed the stakes and the farmer nodded his head vigorously in agreement. Cutting the rope with his knife
he carried three of the stakes to the bank and called out:

'Get Reynolds up on to the hull. He's to get the two steel
tow-lines and attach them to the rear of Bert. I need a hammer
over here, too. This chap's got some iron stakes - if we can fix
the tow-lines to them it may stop Berk sinking any deeper
while we think up something.'

'OK.'

While he was waiting the farmer began to make a great
effort to tell him something in a few words of English, spacing out the words one by one in his anxiety to convey the message.

'Stop ... stop ... there!' He pointed at the tank. 'I bring
big big wood.' He was gesturing madly, scooping his hand as
he pointed at the tank again. 'Big wood. Back soon. You wait.'

What the hell else can we do, Barnes wondered. Colburn
had reacted quickly and he threw the hammer into the pool of
light from the tractor just before the machine was driven off. To start with, Barnes had to hammer the stakes down in the
dark, but once he had them firmly embedded he held the torch
in his left hand and hammered with his right. Reynolds had
attached the two lines to the rear of the hull long before Barnes
had driven in the stakes so deep that he thought they should
hold up Bert for at least a while, at least until the farmer came
back, if he came back.

The quagmire was an eerie place at night and even though it
was now completely dark he could see the tank's silhouette
outlined against its own lights. The shadows of Reynolds and
Colburn waited on the hull and somewhere far above them a squadron of planes flew through the night at a great height. It
was still very warm and muggy and the mosquitoes were active
now, biting the back of his neck. He was only satisfied when
the stakes were several feet into the ground and then he flashed
his torch to show the edge of the quagmire.

'Before you throw me the tow-lines, is Bert still sinking?'

'I don't think so.' Colburn's voice. 'I think the tank's bal
anced on the island for the moment but it's still badly tilted at
the back.'

'As far as I could make out that farmer is coming back with
a load of heavy wood. That's all I could get but I imagine he's
got some idea of bridging this gap. Now, I'll stand well back,
Reynolds, so throw me the first line.'

The loop landed within inches of the stakes where Barnes had left his lighted torch on the ground. He wrapped the line
tightly round the stakes close to the ground and then passed
the end through an iron ring. When the second tow-line
arrived he repeated the process. Now all they could do was to
wait, hoping that the farmer would come back and that he
would bring something they, could use. Occasionally he called
out to the men on the tank, but carrying on a conversation
across the quagmire seemed pretty unsatisfactory so soon they said nothing and the minutes dragged by with agonizing slow
ness. Leaving the headlights on bothered Barnes because this
drew attention to them from the road, but he decided that they
must risk keeping them on to make sure that the farmer could find them. They waited a whole hour before lights appeared
across the field behind them, and then the tractor chugged
across the grass and pulled up close to the bank. Barnes ran for
ward to see what the farmer had brought, and for a moment he
couldn't see anything until the man pointed to behind the
vehicle. He had dragged across the field two immense beams
of wood which were attached to the back of the tractor by chains. While the farmer undid the chains Barnes measured
their length by pacing. About ten feet long. He would have put
the distance between the shore and the front of the tank at
twelve feet, but that was only a rough guess. They'd just have
to try it, anyway - as a fighting vehicle Bert might just as well
be at the bottom of the swamp as immobilized on that island
when daylight came. He stood on the bank and explained the
plan carefully to Colburn and Reynolds, but that was the easy
part. He now had to explain it to the farmer, and this was only
achieved by careful gesturing. It became clearer when Rey
nolds had thrown two coils of rope on to the bank, and then
they started.