It was tempting to think that Blackstone was behind it somehow. Tanner had known him to have been involved in various scams in India - not that he had ever been able to prove it or that Blackstone had ever been caught. Yet the more rational part of his brain reminded him now that this could have been the work of any number of people and, in any case, no matter how much he disliked the man, that did not make Blackstone a murderer.
Not for the first time since it happened, Private Ellis was recounting the moment the truck had sped towards him and thundered through the roadblock. 'I still can't believe it,' he said. 'I shouted out for them to halt but the sodding thing was still coming at me, wasn't it? So I jumped out of the way and I swear he missed me by inches. I didn't join up to be run over by one of our own.'
'But they're not our own, are they, Billy?' said Private Coles. 'They're Poles. It's cos of them we're in this bloody war in the first place.'
Tanner wandered a short way from the roadblock, in the direction of Manston village. 'When did you first notice the bowser?' he called to Ellis.
'What do you mean, Sarge?' Ellis was taller than most of the others, a lanky youngster with a thin, heavily freckled face.
'Did you see or hear it first?'
'I dunno, Sarge. It came round that sharp bend up ahead, then drove straight at me.'
'And did you see anything odd? Someone jumping out, for instance?'
'No, Sarge - but it was dark. You could only see the slits in the headlights.' He tugged at his bottom lip, thinking. 'Come to think of it, I did hear something. Like a door slamming. Or, at least, I think I did.' He ran a finger round his collar. 'But it happened so fast, like.'
Tanner walked on down the road, taking out his torch. It gave off only a little light when the blue lens was in place but it was enough for him to see the verge. After a couple of hundred yards, he began to think his theory had been wrong and perhaps the Poles had been to blame, after all. The vegetation was apparently undisturbed, silvery cobwebs stretching across the abundant cow-parsley. But just before the corner he saw what he had been looking for: an area where the plants had been flattened and broken stems hung limply, clearly showing where something heavy had rolled across - something like a man's body. And on the road there were faint footprints where dew-sodden boots had trodden. So there was a fourth man, thought Tanner. How easy it must have been: the corner was almost at right angles; the bowser would have had to slow down almost to a stop to turn. Then, before it had built up speed again, the driver had simply jumped out. Ahead, to the roadblock and beyond, the road was dead straight so the lorry had thundered towards Ellis. Whoever had jumped from the cab would have had all the time in the world to make good his escape and, with the bowser full of fuel, the inevitable crash, when it came, would cause an explosion that should have killed the three men still in the cab. Jesus, thought Tanner, as he went back to the checkpoint. The Pole had been telling the truth.
When he reached the others, he was still deep in thought. He pulled out a cigarette, then heard the sound of screeching tyres from the direction of the hotel, followed by shouts and the gunning of a car engine. 'For God's sake, what now?' he said. He heard more shouts, then saw a car's dim headlights approaching.
'Bloody hell, this one's not going to stop either!' yelled McAllister.
'Yes, it bloody well is,' said Tanner, striding into the centre of the road and shining his torch directly at the vehicle.
It made no attempt to slow down or stop. Tanner took his rifle from his shoulder, pulled back the bolt and fired a warning shot into the air, but still the saloon came towards him.
'Watch out, Sarge!' said Hepworth. The driver swerved, but Tanner was forced to leap out of harm's way. He heard laughter as the car drove on and cursed to himself. Then, having regained his composure, he drew the rifle to his shoulder, aimed at the rear wheel, pulled back the bolt again and squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked loudly in the still early-morning air. There was another report as the left rear tyre burst. The car lurched from side to side, ran off the road and eventually came to a halt in the hedge a hundred yards ahead.
'Blimey, Sarge, what have you done?' said Hepworth.
Tanner slung his rifle back on his shoulder. 'Hopefully taught them to respect checkpoints, Hep.' With McAllister and Hepworth, Tanner jogged down the road to the car. The men who had been inside were already staggering about beside it. One was being sick into the hedge.
An officer, clutching his forehead with his handkerchief, strode awkwardly towards them. 'What the bloody hell d'you think you're playing at?' He swayed; he could barely stand.
'We'll get the truck and take you home, sir,' said Tanner, noticing squadron leader's rings on his jacket cuffs.
'No, you'll bloody well tell me what the hell you were doing.' He had taken a step forward so Tanner could smell the alcohol on his breath and felt spittle spray his cheek. Wiping his face, he said, 'Mac, go and get the truck.'
'Sarge,' said McAllister, and hurried off.
'Is this the bastard who shot at us?' said another man, staggering towards Tanner.
'We'll be getting you home in a minute, sir,' said Tanner.
The man, a flight lieutenant, stood beside the squadron leader, and pushed Tanner in the chest. He took a step backwards, his anger rising.
'Who the bloody hell do you soldiers think you are?' said the flight lieutenant. He shoved Tanner again, then made to punch him, but Tanner saw it coming and stepped deftly to one side. The pilot lost balance and fell over onto the road. He heard Hepworth laugh.
'So you think it's funny, do you?' slurred the squadron leader. 'Let me tell you this, sonny, you won't be laughing tomorrow when your CO hears about it. You won't be laughing at all.' He stabbed a finger at Hepworth. 'And as for you, Sergeant,' he said, turning to Tanner, 'you're going to regret your men firing on us like that.' He tugged at the stripes on Tanner's sleeve. 'Think you might not be 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?'