Tramp in Armour Read online

  'That, for one thing - you've an obsession with your personal appearance. After we'd shot up that truck yesterday you arrived on the scene with your hair neatly combed - and you'd just been sprawling in a ditch. No normal lad of seventeen would react like that. But a trained soldier who was fantastically conceited about his good looks might do that automatically - providing he was very tough and a bit of a bastard into the bargain. It was your lot we shot up, remember.'

  Pierre's eyes blazed and he stood very erect. 'It was not possible to take any action at the time.'

  'No, you were biding your time till you could hand over a Matilda tank intact for inspection by your own people. And another thing - your reaction to that cemetery round the wrecked truck wasn't right either, not for your supposed age.'

  'The German soldier is not trained to hide under bridges from the enemy.'

  Penn took a step forward but Barnes restrained him with a look, his voice still mild when he spoke again.

  'Let him spit away - he's going to be shot in a minute unless he gives us some information.'

  For the first time Barnes thought he detected a flicker of fear in the staring blue eyes, eyes which looked quickly over Penn's shoulder and then back at Barnes. He tried to speak indignantly but bis voice couldn't quite manage it.

  'That would be murder, Barnes.'

  'You'll address me as Sergeant, and I would remind you that since you are not wearing uniform this puts you into the category of a spy who can be shot out of hand. What is your unit, Pierre?'

  'I don't have to answer your questions.'

  'No, that's right, you don't. You can be shot instead.'

  'I might be prepared to answer certain questions.'

  'That's better. How old are you?'

  'Twenty.'

  'And still with fluff on his cheeks.' Barnes looked at Penn. 'Maybe they wean them late in Germany.'

  Pierre clenched his hands and stood rigidly, his feet close together, a pink spot on either cheek.

  'What's your real name, Pierre?'

  'Gerhard Seft. Sergeant Gerhard Seft.'

  'And your unit?'

  Silence. Seft's mouth was a tight line and he looked quickly over Penn's shoulder again.

  'You haven't seen any real war, then?' Barnes goaded him.

  Seft's voice changed. He stiffened his shoulders and almost barked his reply as he glared at Barnes.

  'I served with the Wehrmacht in the Polish campaign. I was at Warsaw. We cut the Poles to pieces, smashed them - and I was there!'

  'Well, you really know the position of a soldier caught in civilian clothes, then.'

  The German's eyes flickered and he changed the subject quickly. 'How did Corporal Penn get away from the bridge without me seeing him?'

  'He slipped off up the river bed while Reynolds was handing over the guard to you.' Barnes waited for a reaction but the German said nothing, gazing back blankly as though waiting for something. 'Seft, why did they push you out on a limb -send you in civilian clothes behind enemy lines? I want to know. Why?'

  'Because I speak perfect English and French. My mother was French.'

  Had he put that last bit in to arouse sympathy, to remind his captors that he, too, was human? Barnes suspected as much; his hostility towards Seft grew. His voice was harsher now.

  'Where does this road lead to?'

  'Towards Arras - I told you.'

  'You told me a lot of bloody lies, my lad. And while we're on the subject where have we come from?' 'From Fontaine, of course.'

  Seft's manner was growing more confident again, a trace of the arrogance returning as he realized that he wasn't going to be shot out of hand. 'From Fontaine?' queried Barnes. 'Try that one again, too.'

  'But he's right there,' protested Penn in surprise.

  'Is he? Did anyone in the village except Seft tell you that it was Fontaine? I thought not. The road we were supposed to have taken from Fontaine runs south-west on the map, but this road ran due south for miles before it turned south-west. And we should have passed through at least a dozen villages - instead we came across four towns and not a single village anywhere. Seft's game was to lead us deeper into German-held territory until he got the chance to hand over Bert intact - and that would have been a feather in his cap. The German High Command would love to have one undamaged tank so they know exactly what they're up against. He must have been doing his nut when Reynolds held a revolver on him while a whole Panzer division rolled by overhead. And that, Seft, was a further mistake. You were just a little too anxious to come out from cover when your lot arrived. Now, what is the name of the village you called Fontaine?'

  He stood looking up at the German, his eyes half-closed. This was his first encounter with a fanatical young Nazi and he found the attitude of sneering arrogance an interesting reaction under the circumstances. It neither startled nor impressed Barnes, he simply thought that it amounted to sheer bloody stupidity. Seft spoke loudly, his voice clipped.

  'I am not permitted to reveal information which may be of assistance to the enemy. You are my enemy. Heil Hitler!'

  Penn hit him across the side of the face, hit him hard with the back of his hand and the blow left a red weal across the German's pink flesh. He took a step back as Penn snapped at him.

  'You've been told once, Seft, and you won't be told again. When you address Sergeant Barnes you address him as Sergeant. Next time you forget, you'll be minus a few teeth.'

  Seft looked carefully at Penn as though memorizing his face. Then he deliberately rotated his cheeks and with an expression of supreme contempt spat on the ground. Again, Barnes' look restrained Penn.

  'Don't waste your strength on the lad. He's hardly out of his diapers.'

  Whether he understood the word or not the insult galvanized Seft. He stood very erect, his chin thrust forward, his voice rasping like a drill sergeant's as he stepped forward.

  'The German Army will be here very shortly. You are standing in German-occupied territory and you are now my prisoners-of-war. Sergeant Barnes, surrender your pistol.'

  Taking two more steps forward, his face flushed with uncontrollable fury, he reached out to grab at Barnes' hand. The effrontery, the blind insanity of the manoeuvre, momentarily stunned Penn but Barnes reacted as though he had been expecting just such an attempt. Stepping backwards,.he brought up the revolver from his side and swung it in a vicious arc. The barrel smashed against Seft's left temple and the blow was so powerful that the revolver almost leapt out of his hand. He took another step sideways as the German fell forward and slumped to the ground, his arms stretched out beyond his head, his fair hair all over the place. Barnes bent forward, felt the neck artery, and then looked up at Penn.

  'The fool's dead. Just as well - we can't afford to be lumbered with prisoners at this stage.'

  'He must have been stark raving bonkers.'

  'He's a fanatic who thought he could get away with anything, but not completely bonkers. Take a look over your shoulder. I think Seft must have spotted them earlier than I did.'

  A long way off to the south, where the road was now clearly visible in the early morning sunlight, Penn saw a thin trail of toy-like vehicles moving up the road towards them. The rear of the column was hidden behind a rise in the ground but more and more vehicles were appearing as the column advanced steadily forward. Barnes spoke grimly.

  'I'll check with my glasses but that's another Panzer column on .the way, bet your life on it. So that route's barred. And if we head back to so-called Fontaine we'll run into the other lot.'

  'What the hell are we going to do? We'll never get away with it a second time.'

  'Get out of here with Bert as fast as we can by the only route still open to us.'

  FOUR

  Friday, May 24th

  At 4.30 AM they were fleeing for their lives. Moving at five miles an hour lie tank emerged from under the bridge and drove along the river bed between the high bramble-covered banks like a monster metal barge sailing downstream. Standing up in
the turret, Barnes was enormously relieved to find that he couldn't see over the tops of the banks which were two or three feet above his head, so that meant the enemy couldn't see them either. As they left the bridge behind he looked back to make sure that the tracks weren't leaving traces of their passage, but apart from a muddying of the water there were no traces to give them away. Ahead, the river ran almost straight for about a hundred yards and then it disappeared round a bend. They had to reach that bend and get round it before the advance elements of the Panzer column reached the bridge. He rated the chances of success a good deal less than fifty-fifty, but it was their only hope of survival.

  About halfway from the bridge to the bend a line of trees covered the banks on both sides, their branches spanning the river to form a tunnel of foliage which roofed in the water below, and it was so dark inside the tunnel that he couldn't see the river clearly. If it suddenly went deeper, they'd be finished anyway. Behind him the fording flap was closed down over the rear air outlets so now Bert was amphibious - amphibious, that was, in up to three foot six of water. He looked down at the grisly load roped on the back of the tank and hoped that they hadn't left their departure too late.

  Their departure from the bridge had been held up by the necessity of disposing of the two bodies - the sentry's and Seft's - and since he was determined to leave nothing near the bridge which might arouse suspicion and provoke a search, he decided that the only safe thing to do was to bring the bodies with them. The bodies were now lying, on the engine covers at the rear of the hull, attached to the turret by separate ropes.

  The greatest danger was the motor-cycle patrols which he had seen through his glasses moving ahead of the column. They would follow the same procedure as the previous column, he felt sure of that. A patrol would arrive, halt to drop a sentry, and then drive on. The sentry would move on to the centre of the bridge and look straight down the river. Barnes looked down the river: yes, it was a good hundred yards to that bend. And there were other things to worry about. Driving a tank along the bed of a river, even a comparatively straight river, is not the easiest of manoeuvres, and he was constantly talking into the mike to guide Reynolds' progress between the banks. They might just make it, so long as the river bed remained firm. From his elevated position he strained his eyes desperately to see the ground ahead under the water, searching for any sign of a large area of mud or softness or, worse still, a threat of rapids. And then there was "always the chance that the engine might stall, leaving them in full view of the approaching Germans. He put that thought out of his head quickly as Penn climbed up to join him.

  'Think we'll make it?' Penn asked him quietly.

  'If we can get round that bend in time.'

  'Can't we get up a bit more speed - we're crawling.'

  'Deliberately. This isn't the Great North Road, you know, and I'm bothered about the river bed - it's getting deeper.'

  The water level was rising up the tracks quickly and he guessed the depth at over two feet. Three foot six was the maximum Bert could take. At the same time the river banks were closing in so that Reynolds barely had half a foot clearance on either side. The tracks ground forward, sloshing through the water, rattling over unseen rocks, grinding up mud discolouration, sinking deeper and deeper below the surface. Penn pulled a face as Barnes glanced back at the bridge.

  'Must be three feet at least now.'

  'All of that,' Barnes said tightly.

  They were halfway between the bridge and the tunnel of trees when a new anxiety assailed them - the sound of a plane. From the light-toned beat of the engine Barnes guessed that it was a small plane and it was flying very low. The Panzer column was using a spotter plane to check the ground ahead, which meant that the pilot would be searching every inch of countryside below him. If that plane flew over the river they were bound to be seen. Barnes could visualize it all clearly -the plane circling overhead while it wirelessed back to command HQ, the arrival of heavy tanks on both banks - in front, behind, above them. Then the remorseless shelling at point-blank range until Bert was reduced to a shattered hulk. It looked as though he'd taken them straight into a death-trap. He spoke into the mike.

  'Driver, increase speed by five miles an hour. Follow my instructions exactly. You're too close to the left bank...'

  The tunnel of trees still seemed a terribly long way off, and that tunnel could hide them from the plane if only they reached it in time. The sound of the plane's engine was very close and it was flying lower. It had probably spotted the bridge and was coming in to reconnoitre the whole river area intensively. At that moment the tank almost collided with the right bank and Barnes corrected Reynolds sharply, which wasn't fair because although the driver's head was poked up through the hatch and he had a clear view ahead, his vision was limited at the sides and he couldn't see the edges of the banks. The plane was losing even more height, Barnes could tell from the engine sound.

  'This is going to be dicey,' Penn remarked.

  'Keep an eye on the bridge, will you? I want to concentrate on the sky from now on.'

  He wanted to concentrate on several things - checking the sky, observing the bridge, watching the clearance on either side of the tank, and keeping a sharp eye on the river course ahead, but it was impossible. As usual, Reynolds was doing a marvellous job - any other driver would have stalled the engines, driven hard into the bank, committed any number of understandable errors, but Reynolds ploughed stolidly on ... Barnes lurched sharply as the whole tank dropped, a really noticeable drop. Perm's face went white and he quickly glanced down and then resumed observation of the still-deserted bridge. They must have dropped at least another foot and now they were semi-submerged under the river. The hull would soon be awash. Barnes grunted, checked the clearance on both sides, and scanned the sky. They'd have to gamble now, gamble on the desperate hope that the river stayed the same depth. That plane was almost on top of them - his hand tightened on the rim as he waited for it to flash into view. The tank rocked over an obstacle and his moist hand slipped. He , was recovering his balance, still looking up, when a roof of foliage blotted out the sky, a tangle of branches thickly covered with many layers of leaves. Above the green network the spotter plane sped across the river and continued on its course to the north.

  'So far, so good, as the man said to the girl,' joked Penn.

  'There's still the bridge.'

  'Not a sausage yet, not even a German one.'

  Barnes looked back. The stone arch was much smaller now and it looked amazingly peaceful from inside the tunnel of trees, the sunlight showing up its white stone with great clarity. It seemed incredible that at any second the engines of war would be streaming across it on their way to a battle zone. Barnes turned round to face the front, feeling the coolness of the foliage-wrapped tunnel on his face, and his heart leapt into his mouth. Their road was blocked.

  The light was dimmer inside the tunnel, which was why he hadn't spotted the obstacle - in the very centre of the river, barely ten yards ahead, a giant boulder projected-from the water. The rock was black and pointed at the summit, its nearside sheer and massive, forming an island round which the river divided into two separate channels. Bert was capable of mounting a vertical obstacle two feet high, but the height of the boulder was at least four feet. In the time it took the tank to move forward a couple of yards Barnes considered the alternatives: climbing it was out of the question; ramming it could be suicide - they'd stall the engine or damage the hull; by-passing the obstacle by driving Bert out of the river and along the bank slope would be near-suicide. But the third alternative was the only possible one so he immediately began issuing warnings and instructions to poor Reynolds who was now being asked to overcome the insuperable. The operation called for no less than taking the tank from the river bed up on to the steep slope and then endeavouring to pass above the boulder with the vehicle tilted at a precipitous angle high above the river. Penn listened with a drawn face until Barnes had completed his preliminary instructions and whe
n he spoke his voice was strained.

  'Can we manage that? You could topple us over sideways.' 'It's the only way - we'll have to manage it. Keep a sharp lookout on that bridge.'

  'Well,' said Penn lightly, 'it's a good job we've got plenty of time.'

  'Do watch that damned bridge, Penn.' Penn hadn't taken his eyes off the bridge except for the brief downward glance when the tank had dropped precipitately, but at the moment Barnes was in no mood for his corporal's pleasantries. They were very close to the boulder and the closer they came the-more immovable it appeared. Yes, the only way was up the bank and along its side. Reynolds commenced the manoeuvre under Barnes' watchful eye, braking the left track so that the right one turned the tank towards the bank. As they left the water and mounted the left-hand slope a spasm of alarm ran through Barnes: the bank was much steeper than it had appeared. Instead of the undergrowth sinking several feet under the tank's weight it flattened down no more than a foot, enormously increasing the hazard because when Bert tried to move along the slope parallel to the river it would be like a cyclist riding up the wall of death. We could topple sideways, Penn had suggested. Well, Barnes knew what the likely result of that would be for the men in the turret: they would end up on the river bed and twenty-six tons of dead-weight tank on top of them. The tracks moved forward, the tank inched up the slope, and then began to turn which could prove quite fatal. Reynolds had braked the right-hand track and now the revolutions of the other track slowly swung the massive weight round on its axis, then he stopped briefly. The tank was parallel to the river below, the turret tilted out over the water, tilted so steeply that Barnes and Penn had difficulty in keeping their balance and their bodies were perched at an acute angle. Now for it.