Колин Форбс - Tramp in Armour

The first stage involved careful cooperation between Barnes and the farmer because the wooden beams were enormously heavy and extremely unwieldy. They tied one rope tightly round the end of the longest beam and then began to invert it so that the roped end was lifted over their heads. As the huge beam rose higher and higher Barnes kept a firm grip on the loose end of the rope. The beam was slowly moving up to the vertical but the really tricky part was coming when they tried to Control its falling movement as it passed beyond the vertical, lowering it under control so that the far end could be dropped just below the right-hand track and form a bridge to dry land – if the beam would reach that far. The beam reached its apex and began to topple. They just managed to prevent it crashing down as they both held-on to the rope, and the farmer was sensible enough to let Barnes guide its controlled fall. It dropped lower and lower, scraped the front end of the right-hand track and settled. Would it begin sinking or had they managed to prop it on the tip of the island? The lights of the tractor were again beamed directly on the tank and as far as he could tell the beam was stable.

‘Nice work,’ shouted Colburn. ‘Looks OK to me.’

‘Right. Now for the next one.’

The second beam was successfully manoeuvred in direct line with the left-hand track, but it fell short. Not more than a foot, Colburn informed him, but it had fallen short of the island and was sinking slowly. Slowly? Barnes wondered – did that mean it had settled on a patch of fairly firm ground? The quagmire must be unusually solid at this particular point if a beam of such enormous weight was sinking slowly – whereas Barnes had felt his leg knifing through the -mud. They’d just have to risk it, and at least they had the two beams placed so that they formed a bridge from the present position of the tank to the shore. He reached up and felt his shoulder gingerly. He’d ripped that wound open again. When he was lowering the second beam he had been aware of a slow tearing sensation and now he could feel stickiness round the edge of the dressing. He set about enlisting the farmer’s aid for the final, possibly fatal, stage, and this time he was able to explain quickly what he wanted by sign language. They undid the tow-lines from the iron stakes after the farmer had reversed his tractor, then re-attached them to the rear of the tractor, Barnes tried to explain that he must synchronize his movements with those of the tank – that they must both move at the same moment, and he hoped to God that the farmer understood that the signal would be when Barnes shouted ‘Maintenant’. Now. Since the farmer went on repeating the word about two dozen times Barnes felt that he had probably grasped it. Now to get back to the tank.

He was careful to choose the right-hand timber and when he walked along it he lit his way with his torch beam which splayed over the edge, showing a gleam of insidious ooze waiting for him where the crust had broken. Reaching the tank, he checked the position of the timbers. The right-hand one was fine, perfect, in fact, but the left-hand one wasn’t at all good. The breadth of the gap between timber and island looked more like eighteen inches. He explained it carefully to Reynolds.

‘You’ll have to reverse back along exactly the course we came over – then the tracks will move along the beams. This isn’t going to be a picnic and you might as well know what could go wrong. The beams could crack under Bert’s weight, and they probably will at some stage. One of them could slip off this island after we’ve started. Or your tracks could slip off the beams – take your choice.’

‘Not much of a choice, is it, Sergeant? But we can’t stay here.’

‘That’s the whole point – we’ve got to risk it. You’ll have to follow my orders very precisely. I’ve fixed up with that farmer chap to shout "Maintenant" when we’re coming, and I’ll do that as soon as you start moving. He’ll drive his tractor like hell to help pull us out – every extra bit of power might just turn the trick. That’s why he’s revving up now.’

‘You’ll give me the usual order when you want me to go?’

‘No, in this case I’ll say "Now". I want you to rev up first so that when we do go we’ll go back at a hell of a lick. If we can shoot back fast enough before those beams give way there’s a chance the rear tracks will reach the bank. If they do we might just make it – with the added pull the tractor will give us. "And I can’t guarantee it will work.’

‘You’re telling me you can’t,’ said Colburn. ‘Once this weight moves on to the beams my bet is they’ll sink like a stone.’

‘You’re probably right – but by then our impetus may take us on to the bank. There’s no other way, Colburn. We’re damned lucky that farmer turned up.’

‘You’re right there – I wonder if he has any idea what he’s risking if a German patrol turns up? Don’t tell me he can push off in the dark because he can’t – not with all those tons of tank tied to his tail.’

‘He must know that,’ replied Barnes quietly. ‘If the generals had fought this war the way some of these people fight when they get the chance we’d be over the Rhine by now.’ He paused. ‘I want you to stay on the rear of the hull, Colburn. Then if anything goes wrong you jump. We’re bound to move back at least a bit and with your legs you should be able to hit the bank.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll be jumping off myself as soon as Reynolds is clear of the hatch.’

‘Let’s just see what happens, shall we?’ Colburn suggested. ‘And for your information you can stop treating me as a privileged person. There won’t be any passengers on this trip.’

Reynolds moved on to the front of the turret to lower himself inside the driving compartment but Barnes stopped him.

‘There’s one point, Reynolds, and I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a good one – and no reflection on your driving abilities.’ He grinned drily. ‘When we do start to move be sure that you are in reverse gear!’

‘I’ll do, my best, Sergeant,’ Reynolds replied stolidly. He climbed down through the hatch and began revving up.

At the last moment Barnes scrambled down inside the hull, collected a second torch, and handed this to Colburn when he emerged from the turret, telling him to shine it along the right-hand beam. He used his own torch to illuminate the other beam: at least they could now see where they were going and it was vital that he had as much warning as possible if they were on the edge of disaster. Any moment now. He waited a little longer to give Reynolds more time to warm up – the ultimate disaster would be an engine failure when they were halfway back along those beams. And as he contemplated the weird scene behind the tank he felt that their attempt was doomed to failure. The torchlight showed up clearly the improvised bridge they hoped to move over and above it the tow-lines were taut and strained, vanishing in the darkness where they continued across to the rear of the tractor. In the brief intervals between the deep-throated revving up of the tank’s engines he could hear the snarl and spit of the tractor’s motor. Would there be enough horsepower to get them clear in time before the beams sank so deep that mud engulfed and choked the tracks – because of one thing Barnes was perfectly sure: those beams were going to sink rapidly under the tank’s weight and they would probably split in half long before Bert reached the bank. Standing on the engine covers at the rear of the tank, Colburn should make it so long as he jumped quickly, but if their first rush didn’t carry them to the bank Barnes didn’t think that he would make it – he would have to stay behind to help Reynolds, and the driver had to climb upwards out of his hatch before he was even standing on the front hull. There was every chance that the twenty-six ton weight of the tank would sink like a stone long before Reynolds had come out, in which case they would both die without the aid of enemy action just as poor Penn had died. In fact, just as Davis had died. Barnes had an awful vision of what would happen as the tank went down, the mud and ooze rising hungrily up over the tracks, enveloping the hull, welling up over his chest and neck, his head going down as the quagmire swept over him and shut out the world for ever. His hand gripped the mike and he spoke.