Колин Форбс - Tramp in Armour

‘Might as well.’ Barnes was peering at the engine.

‘I feel perhaps I should have driven there instead of here,’ went on Jacques as he marked in the route.

‘You’d have run into the Panzers.’

‘Possibly. I wonder? I think they went up the coast road here and my route is much farther inland. From what I have heard I believe there is a gap between the Panzers along the coast and the Allied lines near the frontier.’

‘Really?’ Barnes kept his face blank, wondering whether he was fooling the sharp-witted youth. It hadn’t escaped him that Jacques had carefully refrained from asking him which route they would be taking.

‘I’m going back to Abbeville later this morning. I want to tell my sister that Uncle is all right. Then I may drive on to Lemont. Plenty of petrol!’

The trouble with this lad, Barnes was thinking, is that he’s so excited by the war that he can’t keep still, so he pinches Jerry petrol and then goes flying about all over the countryside to see what’s going on. If he’s not careful he’s going to run into something.

But it was from this conversation that Barnes had gleaned the final scraps of information which led to his ultimate decision, and as the tank rumbled down the hill away from the Mandels he was pretty confident that the French lad had no idea which route he was taking – something he had been particularly careful about in case the lad were picked up by the Germans and made to talk. He scanned the sky and it was empty, further proof that they were still moving through a vast gap in the Allied lines, since had there been any Allied forces in the area the Luftwaffe would have been bombing them. An hour later they had turned off the main road to Cambrai and had almost by-passed the southern approaches to the town. He called a temporary halt to go down and see Penn.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked him.

‘Not too bad, although I do feel a bit woozy. I’m getting double vision every now and again.’

Penn was propped up with a wedge of blankets and he was trying to hold himself upright, but earlier when he had looked down into the fighting compartment Barnes had seen him sagging limply, his head flopped forward as though he couldn’t hold it up any more. What the devil are we going to do with him, Barnes thought, but he spoke cheerfully.

‘Can you stand a bit more of this? I know the movement of the tank must be giving you hell.’

‘It’s not so much that as the lack of fresh air down here. It’s like sitting inside a furnace.’

The description was apt enough. Even standing on the turntable for only a few minutes was enough to bring Barnes out in a prickly sweat and he was surprised that Perm was still conscious.

‘I’ll be all right,’ said Penn.

‘Do you want to try and stick your head out of the turret for a while?’

‘I doubt if I could get up there.’

Barnes kept his face blank but a chill of fear gripped him. He had to keep moving, had to keep the tank heading west and then north, but he had to find a doctor for Penn, too. It seemed as though fate had deliberately kept Penn in a state where he was wounded but not desperately ill until they had left the Mandel farm, and now Penn was becoming desperately ill, Barnes had little doubt of that. His skin was a strangely pallid colour and his eyes appeared to have sunk.

‘The next place we come to we’ll see if we can find a doctor,’ he said.

‘Not necessary. I’m not doing anything except sitting and I’ll probably feel better by evening. It’s just this heat.’ He tried to speak lightly. ‘Calais next stop?’

‘We’ve a long way to go before we get there, Penn.’ ‘How far is it?’ ‘About a hundred miles.’ ‘Seven hours’ drive if Bert goes flat out.’ ‘You’re assuming there’ll be nothing in the way, Penn. We can count on there being plenty in the way.’

It seemed an odd way for Barnes to be talking to a seriously wounded man but already he was foreseeing the moment when they would have to leave Penn behind if they could find a sanctuary for him. The realization of what they were driving into might make that moment when they left him a little less hard to bear. He hoped so. He also hoped that they found that sanctuary soon. Considering his physical state, Penn’s mind was remarkably alert.

‘A hundred miles, you said. Have we got the diesel for that?’

‘Yes, with what we took off Lebrun, that is, providing we keep to the road all the way, which we probably won’t. You know what happens when we move across country – fuel consumption is doubled.’ ‘You know what,’ Penn began brightly, ‘I think we’re going to make it. I’ve had a bit of time to think down here and it strikes me there may not be all that much in our way if we keep a sharp lookout.’ He paused and Barnes realized that Penn was wondering whether anyone was observing.

‘It’s all right, Penn. I told Reynolds to get out and stand on the hull while I was down here. Now, what were you thinking?’

‘Well, Jerry is pushing on fast with his tanks and his popguns but the old foot-sloggers haven’t put in much of an appearance down here yet. I reckon that with a lot of luck we could sneak up behind those Panzers before we run into much. Then it’s up to us.’

‘We might do just that, Penn.’

‘And by that time I’ll have pulled myself together. You’ll see me hugging the old two-pounder again before we reach Calais. You can bet on it.’

‘I never bet on certainties, Penn.’

With a heavy heart Barnes climbed back into the turret, told Reynolds in a loud voice that Penn was coming along nicely, and then gave the order to advance. Half an hour later he looked back along the road, frowned, and grabbed his binoculars. The twin circles of glass brought forward a four-seater Renault with a single occupant, the driver. Jacques was racing towards them on his way to Abbeville.

The twin circles of glass focused and brought forward a toy line of white cliffs glistening in the sunlight. The white cliffs of Dover. General Storch lowered his binoculars and frowned.

‘There we are, Meyer, the citadel of the enemy – the main enemy. Let us hope the 14th Panzer Division will be the first to be put ashore on the British beaches.’

‘We have to beat them over here first,’ Meyer pointed out.

‘That will be dealt with in the next forty-eight hours. Here we stand on the coast west of Calais with our forward troops on the Gravelines waterline and Calais is under siege. Now we only have to take Dunkirk and the whole British Army is surrounded.’

Meyer screwed his monocle into his eye and found that he was looking through a film of perspiration. In the hour of victory he felt exhausted, overwhelmed by the dazzling series of triumphs Storch had produced since that day so long ago when they crossed the Meuse at Sedan. So long ago? It was the afternoon of Saturday, May 25th, and they had made their way over the pontoons at Sedan on May 14th. Meyer felt stunned. Perhaps, after all, this was a war for the younger men, for the Storches. The general stood gazing out to sea, talking rapidly.

‘I want an immediate investigation made of this French Fascist’s story – that informant from Lemont. He says there is a second road direct to Dunkirk – a road the enemy may’ not know about now that the sluice gates have been opened.’

‘The French were very quick about that – the floods will make it very difficult for the Panzers to move on Dunkirk…’

Storch broke in impatiently. ‘This is why this second road may be decisive. I want you to interrogate this man personally.’

‘I can’t find such a road on any map…’

‘But that is the whole point, Meyer. Our Fascist friend has explained that for some reason it is not included on most French maps. So if the British are holding the sector at the other end they may not know it exists now it is under water. Even if there are French units in that sector they will probably come from another part of France. That road could be the key to final victory – the road along which the Panzers will advance to Dunkirk.’