Darkest Hour by James Holland Read Free Book Online Page B

wearing those for much longer.'
    Tanner knew there was no point in arguing with the
man. He was drunk, and so were the six other pilots who had been crammed into
the saloon. The squadron leader had a trickle of blood running down the side of
his head, and another man was clutching at his arm, but otherwise no one
appeared to be badly hurt. They had not been travelling particularly fast and
the car's momentum had largely dissipated by the time it had stopped. Tanner
thought about knocking them all to the ground, then simply piling them into the
back of the truck, but no matter how drunk they were, he decided it was not
worth the risk, should they remember it in the cold light of day. In Norway, he
had knocked down a French officer and had regretted it ever since.
    Instead, he merely stood his ground. 'The truck will
be here in a minute, sir. Then you can get back to the airfield.'
    One of the men tried to start the car, but the starter
motor whined helplessly. In frustration, he got out again, kicked the wheel and
yelled with pain. The squadron leader staggered, grabbed hold of Tanner for
support, then stood upright. 'What's your name, Sergeant?'
    'Tanner, sir.'
    'Tanner. Tanner.' He looked around at the others,
nearly losing his balance again. 'Chaps, this sharpshooter's called Tanner.
Sergeant Tanner. Remember that, will you? Want to be sure we don't forget so we
can make life really unpleasant for him as payback for ruining our little
night out.'
    Tanner clenched his fists, but at that moment the
truck drove up and, with a squeak of brakes, halted beside him. McAllister and
Sykes stepped out.
    'Stan,' said Tanner, 'you and Mac can get these men
back to the airfield. I'll stay here with the others.'
    'Don't take this the wrong way, Sarge,' said Sykes, in
a low voice, 'but was that a good idea?'
    'You heard Mr Peploe, Corporal,' Tanner snapped. 'Let
no one through. These jokers didn't stop.' He sighed. 'Just get them out of
here, Stan.'
    He glanced at his watch - nearly four a.m. - then
walked slowly back to the checkpoint. Another four hours before they were due
to be relieved. Behind him, the first streak of light spread across the
horizon, announcing the dawn of a new day.
    When the truck had departed Tanner took two of the new
men and went back to the coast, between Kingsgate and White Ness. The air was
crisp, the scent of cow- parsley and grass heavy on the morning air. Birdsong
filled his ears, busy and shrill from the trees and hedgerows. He and his men
walked along the track in silence; he knew they wanted to talk to him about the
night's events but he had given a curt growl in response to one question and
since then they had not dared ask another.
    Damn, damn. He wondered what would happen when he got back to
Manston, although the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him the
answer. As far as he was concerned, he had obeyed orders, but he had not yet
been with the company for twenty-four hours and knew little about the men and
officers he had joined. Whatever respect he might have earned in Norway counted
for little here - he would have to win it all over again. There was a strict
hierarchy in the armed forces and class played a large part in that; in his
experience, officers tended to stick together. Blackstone was an exception to
the rule. NCOs who were perceived to be getting above their station were
normally cut down swiftly to size. He just hoped Peploe would stick up for him.
    And then there was the matter of the Poles' death. He
was convinced Torwinski had spoken the truth, which meant that someone had
committed murder. Admittedly, there were a lot of RAF personnel at Manston and
even anti-aircraft gunners as well, yet Torwinski had been sure the men who had
dragged him out of bed were soldiers - he had been quite specific about it. If
he was right, that meant the chances were they were from within Training
Company, which was not good - not good at all. Men who stole and committed
murder had no