Tramp in Armour (41 page)

'We'll forget about Calais,' he said. 'Jacques is going to take
us home.'

'It gives the name of the general who's leading the attack.'

'Really?' Barnes wasn't too interested as they hurried back
to the transporter.

'Yes. A General Heinrich Storch.'

TWELVE

Sunday, May 26th

Storch jumped out of the staff car, checked his watch, briefly
acknowledged the salute of the waiting officer, walked down
the hedge-lined lane on the outskirts of Lemont. 12.45 AM.
Less than four hours to dawn. The lights of an armoured car at
the end of the lane showed him the way while beyond the hedge on his left, to the north, the light of the moon shone
down over the flooded areas, a vast lake which might have been the sea. When he reached the car he stopped and turned
to the officer who had followed him.

'So here it is, Keller - the start line of the final advance. It doesn't look much from here, does it?'

The lights of the armoured car beamed north across a
flooded field below the level of the lane. Water stretched as far
as the eye could see towards Dunkirk, but standing up above
the surface of the lake ran a double line of six-foot poles like
slim telegraph poles immersed by the inundation.

'Keller, how far do the marker posts stretch?'

'Ten kilometres, sir. We felt it inadvisable to mark the passage any further at the moment.'

'Quite right, Keller, quite right.'

Storch paused, slapping his gloves slowly against the side of
his leg. He was in an excellent humour and when this mood took him he liked to show his subordinates that their general was capable of a certain light-hearted touch.

'So, Keller, you are telling me that between those posts lies
the road to Dunkirk - that we do not have to possess super
natural powers like Christ to walk upon the waters?'

. Keller, a religious man, as Storch knew well, blinked and
stirred uneasily. What could be in Storch's mind now? He
kept his face expressionless and answered with admirable
brevity.

'Yes, sir.'

Keller waited anxiously. He was never quite sure how to deal with the situation when Storch talked like this for it was closely akin to another mood which could be the precursor to an almighty row.
He said nothing further and waited while the
general walked to the front of the armoured car, standing to gaze for a moment through the gap in the hedge. Then, without warning, Storch marched forward between the posts, his
boots splashing up water but never sinking more than six
inches below the waterline. He walked on and on, almost out of sight, and then came back again, deliberately kicking up great spurts of water like a small child on its first day by the
sea. Reaching the armoured car, he paused and lifted his night glasses to look the other way, focusing his gaze to the south
where a line of heavy tanks was drawn up along the extension
of the road on higher ground. Beyond the tanks he could see the small airfield which was serving as the main tank laager
and beyond the groups of small dark shapes loomed the
hangar, the main ammunition dump. Meyer had once again
complained that everything was crammed into too confined an
area but the floods had dictated that. At that moment Keller had the misfortune to say the wrong thing.

'I hear, sir, that the main dump is very close to the laager.'

'You'd like to move it, Keller?' Storch inquired.

'No, sir. I just thought
...
that is
...
Colonel Meyer ...'

'Meyer has been here recently?'

'Only for a few minutes - to check the water level...'

'Really, Keller, it is most fortunate for you that I have only
wet my boots. Had the water risen to my thighs we might well
have had to look for your replacement. Till 04.00 hours,
Keller!'

Barnes rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. 12.45 AM. The
tank rumbled along the side road, its lights full on, the tracks churning round at top speed. In the turret beside him Jacques
warned that they were approaching the southern outskirts of
Lemont. The French lad knew exactly where he was and now
he felt strangely excited as the road he had known since boy
hood rolled past under them. He had chosen a roundabout
route to enter the village and Barnes had asked him to find a
place where they could park Bert safely for a short time. He
thought he knew just the place.

Inside the tank Colburn sat behind the two-pounder in
Davis' old seat. A loaded machine-pistol lay across his lap and
already he was becoming accustomed to the small metal room,
the gentle sway of the hull, the endless grumble of the tracks.
He missed the fresh air of five thousand feet up but at least
here he had solid ground under his body. Oddly enough, now
that they were so close to the battle zone the thunder of the
guns had died, as though preserving their energies - and their ammunition - for one final effort when day came. And day
light was close now. But he was on edge because he had noth
ing definite to do, and in this respect he envied Reynolds. The
driver in the nose of the tank had his head projecting above the
hatch and gazed stolidly forward. His hands held the steering
levers stiffly because his arms felt as though they were on fire
and even the slightest movement increased the pain. They
were almost there, Barnes had said, and Reynolds was anxious
to get it over with. Now that they were so close to the Allied
lines and that Dover was just across the water he found him
self thinking of England and home. With a bit of luck they'd soon be there. He'd be able to get some leave and go back to
Peckham. A pint of bitter at The Grey Horse. It made him
feel thirsty and then he forgot about it as Barnes' voice came
down the intercom with a fresh instruction.

'You turn left,' Jacques had just told Barnes, 'just beyond that white building.'

Barnes gave the order. 'And that farm you mentioned, Jacques, those isolated outhouses...'

He broke off as the tank turned down a narrow track. At the ,
edge of the headlights he could see a strangely familiar shape, and when the track curved the beams played full on the bulky
silhouette. Barnes stiffened and as Jacques pointed to the farm
buildings beyond an open gateway he gave the order to halt.

The stationary vehicle which had startled him was tilted over
at an acute angle, lying just inside the field with one track caught in a deep ditch. It was Bert's twin brother - a Matilda
tank. Jumping to the ground he walked towards it, hearing
Colburn's footsteps behind him. When he played his torch
over the tank he saw that it was derelict, half the turret blown away, its right-hand track torn loose, the rear of the hull burnt
black.

'Looks like one of yours,' Colburn suggested quietly.

'It's one of ours all right. There's been a helluva scrap here. Look.'

In the field behind the tank uniformed bodies lay scattered
across the grass, on their stomachs, on their backs, on their sides, and sometimes the uniforms were German but many
were British and all dead. Barnes picked up several rifles and
found them empty. There was only one tank, the single
Matilda, and in its solitude it seemed to emphasize the terrible
shortage of armoured forces with the BEF.

'The Panzers came through,' he remarked to Colburn, who made no reply.

They walked farther down the track and by the gateway
they found more empty rifles, British .303s, their dead owners lying close by. Barnes followed his torch beam cautiously into
a yard surrounded by outbuildings and when they searched
them they found that the place was deserted - deserted of
human life but there were several British fifteen-hundred-
weight trucks parked round the edges of the yard which had obviously been some minor transport depot. Inside the build
ings were more trucks and further evidence that a unit had
been in residence recently - a pile of unwashed billy cans, a
dixie full of scummy water, several respirators and a Lewis
gun without a magazine.

'I'd like to have another look at that truck in there,' said
Colburn, flashing his torch on a truck with an RE flash at the
rear.

'I'll be back in a minute. I want to get Bert parked.'

Barnes left the Canadian and explored the area immediately
round the buildings, finding only empty fields which were
strangely still and silent in the pale warm moonlight, the air
heavy and muggy as the earth released the heat of yesterday,
the buzz of unseen insects in his ears. Across the fields he
could see a roof-line which looked as though it had been cut
from cardboard - the roofs of Lemont - and behind them a
solitary searchlight wearily probed the sky. When he returned
to where he had left the Canadian he found him inside the truck which carried the RE flash. He was shining his torch
over layers of wooden boxes.

'I want to do a recce into Lemont on foot from here,' Barnes told him. 'Jacques has agreed to take me in so I'm leaving you
and Reynolds with the tank. This is a better place than I
thought we'd get to park Bert - the Germans are hardly likely
to come poking around a place where there's already been a
dust-up and this stuff's no use to them. It's only a handful of
bits and pieces, anyway.'

'There's more than a handful of these, Barnes. You know
what they are, of course - detonators. There's enough stuff
here to blow up half Ottawa - including gun-cotton, a plunger, and God knows what else. This truck belonged to a demolition
unit.'

'For God's sake mind what you're doing, then... Sorry, I'd forgotten. Detonators are your business.'

Barnes sat down on an old wooden crate pushed against the
wall and tried to think straight. His shoulder wound had been playing
him up foully ever since he had crashed back into the
tank transporter when he was trying to reach the deck from
the cab. It was pounding like an iron hammer now and he
wondered whether he had the energy to walk one step farther. Well, he'd have to walk quite a few steps farther if they were
going to try and find out what the position was inside Lemont,
and Jacques had blithely told him the best thing would be to
try and reach his father. The fact that his father lived in a
house in the main part of the village on top of a small hill overlooking some private airfield, and that this meant a long
walk from where they were now, hadn't seemed to worry J
acques. but it worried Barnes when he thought of them making their way through enemy-held streets. He made the
effort and was walking out to give instructions to Reynolds
when he stopped in the doorway in surprise. Colburn was
whistling under his breath, a tuneless melody. Colburn was in his element as he explored more boxes.

'Barnes, there's wire here - there's even some phosphorus.
This goddamned truck is one huge potential bomb ...'

'Well, we shan't be needing any bombs,' Barnes replied, his
voice edged with irritation.

'Can't understand the bastards leaving this lot unguarded.'

'They haven't got enough men to guard their own stuff according to Jacques.'