Darkest Hour sjt-2

by James Holland

  'I doubt it, sir. The car wasn't travelling fast and, in any case, as I discovered afterwards, they were so drunk they could barely stand, let alone drive.'

  'That's absolute rubbish,' said Granby. 'We'd had a few beers, that's all.'

  'One of you threw up,' said Tanner, 'and you, sir, took a swing at me and fell over.'

  'I did no such thing.'

  'Ludicrous exaggeration,' added Lyell.

  'I remember it distinctly, sir. So, I'm sure, will the men who were with me at the time.'

  'Are you saying I'm lying, Sergeant?'

  Before Tanner could reply, Captain Wrightson intervened. 'Perhaps, sir, the drink affected your memory?' He chuckled.

  'He's talking rot,' said Lyell. 'We'd had a few beers, and it was dark. I saw the checkpoint too late to stop, swerved to avoid the sergeant here and then he shot at us. Luckily no one was hurt but it could have been far more serious. As it is, my car's in a bad way and will cost a fortune to put right.'

  Barclay sighed. 'Wasn't it damnably obvious,

  Tanner, that the car was full of pilots who'd had a few?'

  'No, sir. I was told that Kingsgate was out of bounds to servicemen. I wasn't expecting any pilots to come from that direction and, as I said, they didn't stop. I was following standard procedure.'

  'Damned heavy-handed, though, Tanner.'

  'They could have been Germans, sir.'

  Barclay snorted. 'Swerving around in their car?'

  'We were ordered to stop any vehicles that passed, sir. A lorry had already driven through the checkpoint and men had got themselves killed. I didn't want that to happen again.'

  'I think what Sergeant Tanner is trying to say, sir,' interrupted Blackstone, 'is that he was thinking of the pilots' safety. I know it's not really an NCO's place to make such decisions, but I'm sure he felt that by shooting at them he would save them from further mishap.'

  Tanner glanced at Blackstone and saw the sly smile on his face. Damn him! Tanner had believed the questioning had been going well until that point, but once again Blackstone had made him look a puffed-up fool.

  Wrightson smiled again. 'So you were doing 'em a favour, eh, Tanner?'

  'They still had a couple of miles to go to get back to Manston, sir. That's quite a long way to drive when you're drunk. But I stopped them because they were approaching from a direction that was out of bounds and because they failed to halt at the checkpoint.'

  There was a knock at the door.

  'Come!' called Barclay, and Lieutenant Peploe entered.

  'Ah, Peploe,' said Barclay.

  'Sir. I thought you said I would be present when you spoke with Sergeant Tanner.'

  Barclay waved a hand. 'An oversight, Peploe. Anyway, you're here now.'

  'Your sergeant has been telling us that it was primarily concern for our welfare that made him shoot at us,' said Lyell.

  Tanner felt himself redden, his anger mounting. 'With respect, sir, that's not what I said.'

  'Sergeant, you've said your piece,' snapped Barclay. 'You may have been within your rights but you clearly acted impulsively and without due consideration, putting the lives of several pilots at risk and severely damaging Squadron Leader Lyell's car in the process.'

  'Sir,' interrupted Peploe, 'I gave Sergeant Tanner specific orders not to let anyone else through the checkpoint under any circumstances. If anyone is to blame for this it's me.'

  Barclay sighed. 'I appreciate your loyalty to your platoon sergeant, Peploe, but I really think it's for Tanner here to defend himself.'

  'An NCO in front of four officers, sir?'

  Barclay shifted in his seat. 'We're just trying to get to the facts, Peploe. Any one of the pilots could have been seriously hurt, if not killed. And then there's Squadron Leader Lyell's car.'

  'Then why don't we take this matter to the station commander, sir?'

  Lyell glared at him.

  'No need to do that just yet, Peploe,' said Barclay, glancing anxiously at his brother-in-law.

  Tanner smiled to himself. Good on you, Mr Peploe.

  'The fact is, sir,' continued Peploe, 'that, with due respect to Squadron Leader Lyell, a far more serious incident took place last night. Two men were killed and it was nothing less than murder.'

  At this, Blackstone looked up and Tanner caught his eye. So I was right, thought Tanner. He does know. It was now his turn to smile.

  'What do you mean, murder?' demanded Barclay.

  'The third man survived,' said Peploe.

  'Why didn't you tell me this earlier?'

  'I was about to, sir, but you might recall that the telephone rang and you ordered me to leave.'

  'Have you spoken to the Snowdrops?'

  'No, sir. I took Torwinski straight to hospital and they hadn't arrived by that time. I haven't seen any civilian police and nor have they asked to see me. I assumed I should speak to you or the station commander first.'

  Tanner watched Blackstone intently for any reaction to this news. Was there alarm in his expression? He couldn't be sure.

  'And this survivor claimed what, precisely?' asked Barclay.

  Peploe told him.

  'Good God, man!' The captain laughed. 'You believe that?'

  'Yes, sir, I do,' said Peploe. 'It was also clear that a fourth had jumped from the cab a short distance before the checkpoint. From the driver's side, I should add. You could see where he'd landed on the verge.'

  'It sounds most unlikely to me, Lieutenant,' said Squadron Leader Lyell.

  'Why, sir? It doesn't seem so to me at all. It's a lot more probable than some recently arrived Poles trying to peddle black-market fuel in a country that's new to them and where they hardly speak the language.'

  'Where is this fellow now?' asked Barclay.

  'In Ramsgate Hospital,' Peploe told him.

  Tanner had been keeping his eye on Blackstone, and at this revelation the CSM caught his gaze and, this time, held it. The threat was unmistakable.

  'It seems to me, sir,' said Wrightson to Barclay, 'that we should at least talk to this man. How badly injured is he, Lieutenant?'

  'He should make a full recovery, sir.'

  At that moment, the telephone rang. With a look of pained exasperation, Barclay picked up the receiver. 'Yes?' he snapped.

  Tanner watched the OC's expression change. The bluster and impatience drained from his face, replaced by stunned shock.

  'Right,' he said. 'Right, sir. I understand, sir . . . Yes, sir.' Slowly he put the receiver down. 'It's happened,' he said. 'The Germans have invaded Belgium. And we're on standby to join the rest of the battalion. Twelve hours' notice. It seems we'll soon be going off to war.'

  Chapter 4

  If he was completely honest with himself, Sturmbannfuhrer Otto Timpke had probably had too much to drink the previous night. He prided himself on never losing control, but the news that the division was at long last on standby to move to the front had been worth celebrating. When the boss had suggested they might like to dine out of the mess, he and the other officers in the Aufklarung Abteilung, the division's reconnaissance battalion, had piled into their cars and driven into Stuttgart.

  There they had met up with some other officers from the 2nd Regiment Brandenburg and it had turned out to be a particularly enjoyable night: a good dinner, a few toasts, Rudolf Saalbach singing 'Casanova-lied' - the adopted battalion song - which never ceased to make him laugh, and then a few hours with an attractive girl called Maria. He knew that several of his comrades had later headed off to the city's fleshpots, but that was not his way. Timpke had always believed that paying for it was an abomination. After all, the seduction was half the fun. He was, he knew, a handsome young man. He was tall and broad, with fair hair, a narrow nose and a smile he had learned to use to good effect, and he had long ago realized that getting women to do what he wanted came rather easily to him.

  His whole life had been rather like that. He was blessed with a good brain and a strong physique, and had made the most of both: s
chool, sports, university - he had shone at them all. And when he had joined Brigadefuhrer Eicke's Totenkopfverbande, he had, naturally, been singled out quickly as officer material and packed off to SS-Junkerschule. It had pleased him to discover that most of his fellow cadets were less clever and educated than he: it ensured that he continued to stand out above the rest. Now, three years later and aged twenty-five, he was commander of the division's reconnaissance unit, the men who would lead the vanguard of any advance and, as such, about to be given the honour of leading the elite of the elite - as Eicke always liked to remind them they were - into battle.

  That morning he had woken early. The early-summer sun had streamed through the closed window of his room, making him hot and restless. His mouth had felt dry and his head ached. He had drunk a litre of water, put on his black running shorts and white vest, with the SS runic symbol emblazoned on the front, then headed out of the garrison barracks, down Stuttgarterstrasse and into the baroque palace gardens of Ludwigsburg and the woods beyond. By the time he was running back through the palace gardens, his head had cleared and he felt alert and invigorated. He had drunk wine and schnapps at dinner, but he reflected that it was probably the sekt - I that essential tool of seduction - that had made the difference. Maria had taken longer than some to succumb and had insisted he match her glass for glass. Still, it had been worth it. He had taken her in his open-top Adler Triumph to a hotel he had used several times before and, in bed, had found her most compliant. Eventually, leaving her asleep, he had crept out and driven back to the garrison. By half past two he had been in his room.

  As he showered and changed into his uniform, he wondered again when they would be moving. If he had one fault, it was impatience. Throughout his life, he had striven for the next goal only to find that once he had achieved it, the rewards were something of an anticlimax. He had been first drawn to the Totenkopf by Eicke's insistence on its elite status, but he had quickly tired of guarding the Reich's enemies. With the boss, he shared a desire for Totenkopf Division to become the finest military unit in all of Germany. With the outbreak of war, the reconnaissance battalion had been sent to Poland, a prospect that had excited Timpke. Once there, however, they had been left to carry out mopping-up operations, rounding up suspicious elements and Jews. Capturing and shooting these people had quickly ceased to give him any kind of thrill and Timpke had realized that this role, in support of the Wehrmacht, was unworthy of them.

  Eicke had preached patience. Their time would come, he had assured them, but as far as Timpke was concerned, it couldn't come soon enough. Everyone knew that the war was far from over, that at some point the stalemate in the west would crack, and when it did, Timpke was determined to be a part of it. Over the winter, more and more equipment had been acquired.

  Eicke had sent Timpke and a number of other officers on several missions all over Germany to obtain guns, vehicles and ammunition. In Poland, Timpke had seen with his own eyes that the Wehrmacht infantry were poorly provided with vehicles and transport, and by spring had known that their Waffen-SS division was better equipped than any regular infantry unit. But still no move to the front had been ordered. It was, Timpke knew, a matter of perception. He had witnessed this first hand during a row with some Wehrmacht officers in Stuttgart, who had jeered at them for being concentration-camp guards rather than regular soldiers. Saalbach, and the others they were with, had wanted a fight, but Timpke had urged restraint. Instead he had secretly invited the Wehrmacht officers to a marksmanship contest at Ludwigsburg.

  It had worked out exactly as Timpke had hoped. The Wehrmacht officers had been amazed by the massed vehicles and machinery the Totenkopf could boast, and in the shooting contest, Timpke and his fellows had won comfortably. Somehow, word had got back to Eicke. More importantly, word had also got back to Generaloberst von Weichs, commander of Second Army. In April von Weichs had paid a visit and had watched the division on exercise. Rumour had it that he had been duly impressed. Certainly, more guns had arrived soon after, and all leave had been cancelled. Something was brewing; Timpke had been feverish with anticipation. But the days had passed and no further word came. Every day Timpke trained his men, waiting, waiting, waiting for news that they would be deployed to the front.

  Yesterday those orders had finally arrived. The relief had been overwhelming. Immediately trucks had been despatched to pick up sixty tonnes of rations and further ammunition from Kassel. Timpke had sent Oberscharfuhrer Schramm from his own company. It had been an overnight round trip, but Schramm, his men and the rest of the convoy would be back that morning and then they would be ready. At a moment's notice, the division could be on the move, heading west to the front at long last.

  After conferring with his company commanders, Timpke took himself off to the range, hoping that by firing a few rounds he would keep himself distracted. He took great pride in his marksmanship. Practice, he knew, was essential, that and an intimate knowledge and understanding of each and every weapon, whether it be a machine-gun, rifle or semi-automatic pistol.

  On the rifle range he was joined by Hauptsturmfuhrer Knochlein, a company commander from the 2nd Regiment and one of those who had been with them in Stuttgart the previous evening.

  'Beeck told me I'd find you here. How's your head, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer?' Knochlein asked.

  'Fine, thank you, Fritz.' He aimed carefully at the paper target a hundred metres away, breathed out gently, made certain his head and hands were rock steady, then squeezed the trigger. He felt the rifle kick into his shoulder, his ears rang with the crack, and he turned to Knochlein with deliberate jauntiness. 'And what about you? Don't tell me, it was light by the time you crawled back.'

  Knochlein looked sheepish. 'It wasn't quite,' he smiled, 'but not far off. Still, we had a good night, didn't we?' He grinned. 'I'm improving by the minute.'

  He was older than Timpke by five or six years, with a square, unrefined face that Timpke had always felt betrayed his upbringing in the rougher suburbs of Munich. Timpke liked him well enough and considered him a friend, even though he knew Knochlein looked up to him in a way that was, frankly, a bit embarrassing. As with so many of Knochlein's age who had lived through the hard years of the 1920s, Timpke had detected resentment at his core. Poverty had forced him to abandon his schooling, and although he was no fool - and certainly had a streak of ruthless cunning - Timpke knew he was insecure about his lack of education. It was why the SS was so perfect for Knochlein and others like him: an organization that gave its members a sense of purpose and unity, rewarding performance rather than social standing.

  Timpke was peering through his binoculars at the target, and smiled to himself. Not bad.

  'It's incredible news, isn't it?' said Knochlein.

  'What news?' said Timpke, immediately lowering them.

  'Haven't you heard? We've attacked France and the Low Countries.'

  'Without us! Damn them. What happened?'

  'It's not entirely clear. The Luftwaffe have been busy, though.'

  Timpke's heart quickened. So it had started! He glanced at his watch. 'Those supplies should be here soon.' He slung his rifle over his shoulder. 'How can you be so relaxed, Fritz? Let's get going. We might be ordered off at any moment.'

  The trucks began arriving back at the Kaserne just before eleven that morning, filled with fresh supplies. Timpke sensed anticipation in the men, who were chattering and laughing loudly, a new spring in their step. Vehicles were soon lining up, engines rumbling, ready for the he move. The courtyard of the barracks was crammed with trucks, troop-carriers, half-tracks, armoured cars and staff cars. Behind the Kaserne yet more vehicles waited, as well as the division's anti-aircraft guns, anti-tank guns and field guns, including a dozen 150mm heavy howitzers. Timpke and Knochlein walked among them, marvelling with pride that the division would be heading to France with more than two thousand vehicles under its banner. A motorized infantry division about to move.

  Timpke laughed and gripped Knochlein's shoulder. 'We'll show
those Army bastards, and we'll show those French and Tommy soldiers too.' Briefly he took off his cap, and admired the silver skull-and-crossbones insignia - the death's head - emblazoned upon it, then fitted it back on his well-groomed head. He smiled. 'We'll let them see what the Totenkopf is capable of.'

  The news of the German offensive had made an immediate impact at Manston, too. In Captain Barclay's office, Tanner had been dismissed, albeit with a warning.

  'All right, Tanner,' said Barclay, 'you can get back to your platoon. This matter will have to wait for the moment. There are more pressing things to attend to now.'

  'And what about my car?' asked Lyell.

  'For God's sake, Charlie,' Barclay snapped, 'how should I know? Get it to a garage and see what they say. Damn it, we've got a war to fight now.'