Колин Форбс - Tramp in Armour

‘I think I can see the archway under the embankment.’ That archway was the end of the line, a phrase Colburn had spoken just before Barnes had set off on the reconnaissance which had deprived them of Reynolds, but without that reconnaissance they would never have reached this point. Through the archway lay an open field with the aerodrome beyond – the site of a huge ammunition dump and the laager of the waiting Panzers. Tight-lipped, Barnes peered through the slit window as the tank rolled forward in the early morning light.

He found that he had increased speed without realizing it and he wondered about that archway. Would it be wide enough? He had paced out its width, immediately thinking of Bert when he had crept under it with Jacques, and he had estimated that in an emergency they should just be able to manage it. They had to manage it – the archway was the only means of approaching the target from this side of the canal. The growing light was apparent even through his narrow window and he prayed that the defences had not been reinforced since they had left the place, but there was always the chance that the Germans would confidently rely on the heavy column they had sent along the road to investigate the intruders. He wondered how Colburn was feeling, knowing that these might be his last few minutes of life.

In the turret Colburn kept looking to the east where the pale glow of dawn was spreading across the horizon. If they had been half an hour later they would never have passed through the village successfully – and even if they had got through the 14th Panzer Division would already have been on the move. Would they really manage it? He glanced down at the plunger again with a feeling of wonderment, suddenly conscious of the fact that he might be dead within the hour, or sooner. It was an odd sensation and involuntarily he shivered. There was a sharp chill in the air now and white mist was rising off the fields. He had seen the same mist rising off the early morning fields near Manston. Then he saw the archway clearly and Manston faded.

The archway looked far too narrow to allow the passage of the tank, its stone walls so close together that Colburn thought they could let through nothing larger than a farm wagon. A feeling of bitter disappointment swept through him – they were going to be stopped at the last moment because of a single archway. There was no question of driving the tank up the embankment a second time – the slope here was even more steeply-angled, to say nothing of the fact that if they reached the top their advance would be stopped by the canal itself. A sense of overwhelming frustration was in his voice when he spoke.

‘Barnes, this archway’s too narrow to get through – I’m sure of it.’

The tank ground forward, moving away from the embankment in a wide semi-circle until Barnes had brought it into a position where it directly faced the arch, and now he could see that the field beyond was shrouded in mist, masking their approach from the Germans. Colburn gave up protesting and leaned far out as he guided Barnes forward every inch of the way, his gaze switching backwards and forwards between the incredibly narrow arch and the forward tracks. The ground was very uneven at this point and Barnes found it difficult to follow the Canadian’s instructions precisely. He was close to the archway when Colburn called out urgently for him to halt: he was too far over to the right. He reversed some distance and changed his angle of direction a fraction, moving forward at a crawl, his eyes straining to see more clearly, forcing himself not to look at the wristwatch which was ticking away vital minutes. They must get through this time. The dark archway crept towards him and now the light beyond was stronger, illuminating the semi-circle clearly. It was almost daylight now. The front hull moved inside. Suddenly there was a jarring sound, the screech of steel grating along stonework. The tank shuddered violently through the length of its hull and then stopped abruptly as Barnes braked. Perhaps it was useless. This could be one obstacle they might never overcome, not even in broad daylight. He rolled back the hood and from above him a torch beam flashed along the wall.

The vicious clash of steel against stone had frightened Colburn and now he tried to estimate the position by the light of his beam. They had driven into the left-hand wall, of course. In their anxiety not to repeat their earlier mistake they had erred too far in the opposite direction, but was the manoeuvre even possible? He flashed the torch on the other side and the light penetrated a gap between tank and wall, a gap no more than six inches wide, if that. So theoretically it was possible, but with such a narrow clearance they would be extraordinarily lucky to pass clear through the archway in this light. He called down direct to Barnes.

‘Six inches’ clearance on the other side. Six inches maximum, maybe less.’

‘Then we can do it, providing nothing gives when I reverse.’

‘It’ll take a miracle.’

‘Maybe we’re entitled to one.’

For the second time Barnes went into reverse, handling the controls with a concentration he had probably never equalled before, hearing the metal scraping harshly against the wall every inch of the way. But they were moving. The tearing sound petered out following the painful withdrawal, his heart in his mouth until he saw that they were clear of the imprisoning arch once more. They had to manage it this time. Colburn guided Barnes back a short distance and then gave no further instructions. The change of direction required was so fine that unless Barnes could feel what was needed they would end up smashing into the other wall.

Gripping the rim he saw the arch corning towards him again, his torch shining on the right-hand side now to make sure that Barnes hadn’t overdone it again. He ignored the other wall completely, knowing that if they could move through with the right-hand track barely scraping the wall they should be able to make it. So great was his concentration on the wall that Colburn nearly died at that moment. Just in time he remembered the solid stone arch coming towards his head: he dived down inside the turret and something brushed the crown of his head, and as he went down a fresh fear darted into his mind – would the turret go under the arch? He reached up a hand and felt his fingers graze stonework as the tank rumbled forward. They were almost through when their nerve ends were seared again as the familiar grinding noise started. The tank increased speed and they were out in the open, driving across the field in a weird early morning half-glow mingled with white mist.

Barnes halted the tank briefly, switched off the engines, and stood up to listen. The vaporous fog bank was dispersing and beyond it he detected a staccato mutter which sounded like the power-drills of a tank repair shop, and beyond that he was damned sure he could hear the mechanical grumble of Panzers on the move. With a bit of luck these two background noises might help to conceal Bert’s approach until the very last moment. And now he looked at his watch. 3.48 am. Twelve minutes to the Panzer attack.

‘The mist’s clearing,’ said Colburn quietly. ‘I can just see the ammunition hangar. I’ll stick it out up here until we get close and then I’ll pop downstairs and observe through the periscope.’

‘If you don’t, you’ll be dead mutton.’

‘And I’ll use the Besa when the time comes – machine guns are my forte. The mist’s clearing rapidly. That hangar is dead ahead. Good luck, Barnes. Advance!’

‘Thanks for coming, Colburn. Thanks a lot.’ It sounded trite, horribly trite, but he felt he must say something at this moment. Sitting down again, he closed the hood.

The tank moved forward rapidly over the level ground, brushing mist trails aside, picking up more speed every second. Colburn felt chilled to the bone, scared stiff of what was coming, but he looked curiously at the high bank which rose immediately behind the rear of the hangar. The houses behind the ridge were a faint silhouette of rooftops in the early morning light. It was from this ridge that Barnes and Jacques had looked down on the airfield, from here they had seen the sinister huddles of tanks which comprised the armoured striking force of the Panzer division which General Storch was about to hurl against Dunkirk. Ahead he could see the outer defences of the tank laager, a screen of barbed wire hastily thrown up to cordon off the airfield, and as the pale glow of the coming day increased he saw beyond the hangar a score or more of low dark shapes. His heart thumped when he saw them. Heavy tanks of the 14th Panzer Division. The laager was in view.