Tramp in Armour (44 page)

'And just supposing, Barnes, that we do get a chance to get
clear of the tank before this lot goes up...'

'Don't bet on that, Colburn.'

'Hell, I'm not betting on a damned thing. But just sup
posing you're on your own then, don't forget to take the coil of
wire as well as the plunger with you. The wire's paid out
through the gun slit so you can ram the lid shut - ramming the
lid shut is important because it locks everything inside and
increases the power of the explosion quite a bit...'

'We've got to get moving, Colburn.'

'For Christ's sake, I know I'm telling you twice but it may
save your life. Before you press the plunger you must turn this
switch. This device is as harmless as a kitten until you do turn
the switch. Come to think of it, Barnes, I reckon we've got
rather too many "supposings" in this equation.'

'We've also got seventy two-pounder shells and boxes of
Besa ammunition to pep up the explosion.'

'I know. I just hope I'm around when that lot goes up - it
will be the crowning blow-up of my career to date. When I say
"around" I do mean at the very end of that paid-out wire,' he
added.

'We'd better get moving, Colburn. I've a nasty idea we're too late already with riddling around with your little toy.
You'll have to handle all the observation and talk to me over
the intercom. Think you can manage?'

'A damn sight better than I'd manage driving Bert. OK. As ' the bomber crew guys say, this is the final run-in.'

'Which is pretty appropriate since it's a mobile bomb we've
got for delivery to General Storch.'

Three minutes later the tank was moving through the vil
lage at full speed, its headlights ablaze, rumbling down the deserted street like an avenging phantom. It was their only chance, Barnes felt sure of that - to press forward as though
they owned the place in the same way that Mandel had described the advance of the Panzers across France. And it
was their one advantage - the element of total surprise,
an
element which must be rammed home ruthlessly right up to
the moment when they reached the airfield, if they ever did
reach it. The appearance of a tank in the early hours with its
lights full on must cause a reaction of doubt, of indecision, for
at least a few vital seconds, and in that time Bert should pass
any patrol they might encounter. It was all a question of how
soon they ran up against the big stuff.

They were moving past the house where Reynolds had
saved him, he felt sure of it, although his vision was limited
and he was relying heavily on Colburn's guidance over the
intercom. The driver's seat was closed to its lowest level and
the hood over his head was shut, sealing him off from the out
side world so that his only view was through the slit window in front. Four inches of bullet-proof glass protected that slit
while 70-mm of armour-plate shielded him from shell-fire -
the thickest plate covered the front hull - so theoretically he
was fairly safe. Unless the tank caught fire and when he rolled
back the hood he found the two-pounder barrel pointed
straight ahead and depressed to its lowest elevation, in which case the barrel would form a steel bar preventing him from
climbing out at all while the tank burned. Cynical drivers said
that was why the driver was issued with a revolver - to give
him an easier way out than frying alive. Why the hell am
I thinking like this, Barnes wondered? Perhaps only now
he was really appreciating what poor Reynolds had gone
through.

He hoped that if it really came to it, Colburn did know how
to use a Mills hand grenade. The Canadian had told him that
a British staff sergeant had demonstrated their use on a bomb
ing range and Barnes could imagine Colburn taking a great
interest in how the mechanism worked. Still...

'Barnes,' Colburn's voice came clearly over the one-way
intercom. 'We're approaching a square and from that sketch-
map you. drew me we go straight over, but there may be a
problem - I can see lights. Keep moving, I'll keep you in
touch.'

Up in the turret Colburn stared anxiously ahead. The lights
shone through some trees in an open square surrounded with two-storey houses and the beams were stationary.
He couldn't
see any sign of troops, any hint of danger, just those lights
coming through the trees. Barnes had told him that as far as he
had been able to make out when he reconnoitred the village
with Jacques the place had been evacuated of civilians, which
would be logical since the Germans were using it as a forward
base. They had penetrated as far as the house of Jacques'
father and he had not been at home. So any sign of life was
likely to be hostile life. The square, apparently deserted, came closer and Colburn moved from side to side as he tried to see
behind the trees. There was something there, then he saw
them.

'Barnes. A couple of motor-cycles and side-cars at the edge of this square. They've got lights on but there doesn't seem to
be anyone about...'

Barnes coaxed a little more speed from the engines, staring
along his headlight beams which now stretched across the
small square to the street beyond. He sat wedged in between
the boxes of detonators which were stacked on either side and the proximity of so much explosive wasn't a comfortable feel
ing, but he had insisted on loading these spare boxes to in
crease the power of the bomb. Now he wondered whether he had overdone it. Highly unstable, British detonators, Colburn
had said. The Germans used Trotyl, which was far less tem
peramental. And Colburn was, a man who should know. They
were halfway across the square now and subconsciously he was
listening for the first sound of Colburn's voice, because if he
spoke now that would mean trouble. The avenue of darkness
ahead moved towards him and then they left the square and
the beams stabbed along a straight street. Colburn's voice was
tense.

'They came out just as we left the square - a couple of
Germans. They stopped and stared for a few seconds and then
ran for one of the bikes.'

Barnes gazed ahead. It was starting already. There was a
turning down to the left he had to negotiate soon and that
would mean reducing speed a lot, and this was the last
moment they should be slowing down if one of those motor
cycles was after them. He wished to God that the intercom
was two-way, that he could warn Colburn to watch the man in
the side-car, the one who would be carrying a machine-pistol. Colburn's voice again.

'The cycle is following us down this street. I know there's a
left turn soon but keep up your speed. Don't worry, I'll handle
it.'

Colburn was really worried. He looked back to where the
lights of the oncoming cycle were closing the gap rapidly. He
realized the danger to himself perched up in the turret - if the cycle was allowed to come close enough the man in the side-
;
car would blast his head off with the machine-pistol he had
seen him running with. He took one grenade out of the satchel
and then he took another, laying the second one behind the
plunger box where it couldn't roll: it wasn't an action that
many would have taken but to Colburn the box was dead until the switch was turned. He also glanced down inside the turret
towards the bed of gun-cotton. Don't drop this little feller
down there, he told himself. He had his finger inside the ring-
head of the pin now. Get it right, Colburn: allow for the
tank's speed and the onrush of the cycle. And get it good.
You're pitching the ball at Toronto. Removing bomb from
pin, he counted. One, two, three, four. He threw. Without
waiting his hand whipped over the second grenade, inserting
his finger. Withdraw. Count. He had his head down as the first
grenade blew only feet in front of the Germans. A hard lethal crack split the street. The flash lit the walls and the cycle
climbed, taking the side-car with it, wheels spinning futilely, the side-car ripping away from the cycle. He threw the second
one from inside the turret, just to get rid of it now that it was
no longer needed, and by the flash of the second bomb he saw
a shadowed wreck in the street behind it. Even the lights had
gone. He let out his breath and the sound travelled down the
intercom to Barnes.

'Got them.'

Colburn leant back against the turret and wiped sweat off
his hands on his flying suit. He had shot men out of the air but this Was different. He had caught a brief glimpse of the man in the side-car pitching out head first towards the ground and he
was amazed it was all over so quickly. He had been very
frightened for those few minutes, so frightened that he had
made a bad mistake in not wiping his hand earlier - that
second grenade had nearly slipped, had nearly gone down in
side the turret. The very thought of it made him sweat again but now that it was all over he felt enormously relieved, re
lieved that he was still alive. And this was a mere bagatelle, a single motor-cycle and side-car. What faced them somewhere
just ahead would be on a far bigger scale. The headlights
played on a distant wall with wording painted on the plaster.
Restaurant de la Gare. He spoke quickly into the mike.

'That building's coming up — the restaurant place. Prepare
to turn left. I'll guide you.'

Barnes was already reducing speed and he began turning
very slowly, bis hands an extension of Colburn's instructions
as they eased Bert round. The turning was sharp and almost at
once they moved on to a downward slope of cobbles. He had to
crawl round, edging his way as Colburn leaned out of the
turret to check wall clearance, talking down the intercom all the time. They nearly scraped the right-hand wall, then they
were round the corner, the tank straightening up and proceed
ing down the cobbled street, its metal tracks grinding and
clattering over the stones. That was close, Colburn was think
ing, but we managed it nicely between us. He peered along the
beams, still savouring the sensation of relief, wondering how Barnes was feeling.

Inside the nose of the tank Barnes was experiencing a rather
different sensation - Barnes was in serious trouble and he wondered whether they had a dog's chance of making it as a chill of fear seeped through him.
One of the detonator boxes
had broken loose.
It had happened on that last bend while he
was struggling grimly to negotiate the corner and allow for the
drop in street level. They were almost round the turning when he felt a heavy blow strike his right shoulder. Still in the pro
cess of taking Bert round the corner he only had time for a
quick glance sideways and this showed him the heavy box pro
jecting well beyond the one it rested on, kept stable now only
by the obstacle of his own body. As he moved down the hill,
the tank wobbling slightly as it rumbled over the cobbles, he tried to ease the box back into position with his shoulder. The action nearly made him jump out of his seat as pain from the
maltreated wound screamed through his body, stabbing at his
brain. For one terrible second he thought he was going to faint.
He bit down on his lips to drive away the dizziness and re
opened the cut in his mouth, tasting his own blood for the
second time that night. The heavy box was pressing against his
shoulder all the time and there wasn't a thing he could do
about it, except to pray that at the next right-hand turn the
box would regain its balance. Was he still driving straight? He
forced himself to concentrate on the view through the slit win
dow.