Darkest Hour

Peploe insisted on seeing it for himself.

A short while later, as they stood by the verge, he whistled. 'Bloody hell. You're quite right, Sergeant,' he said. 'I can't think of another explanation. Rather clinches it, doesn't it?'

Tanner wondered whether he should say anything about his suspicions, then decided against it. The lieutenant knew what he thought of Blackstone and any finger-pointing would be unconvincing. Even so, it had occurred to him that once Barclay knew about Torwinski, Blackstone would inevitably be in the picture too. If he was right about the CSM's culpability, Torwinski's life would be in danger once more. It was a conundrum to which at present Tanner had no answer.

Peploe walked back to the checkpoint, shaking his head. 'Incredible, isn't it? I never thought the first deaths I witnessed would be deliberately caused by men on our own side. It's not why I joined up, Sergeant.'

'No, sir.'

Peploe sighed. 'Well, I'm not going to let this lie. Those men deserve justice. Christ, the condescending way everyone talks about the Poles, as though they're somehow to blame for the war in the first place. They're easy scapegoats, Tanner, but it's wrong - wholly wrong.'

Tanner agreed, but gut instinct told him that others would not be quite so keen to learn the truth as Mr Peploe. Bloody hell. It had been a long and depressing night.

The platoon had been relieved at eight a.m. and, to Tanner's surprise, they had driven back to Manston without any apparent orders for him to report to either the station commander or Captain Barclay. After breakfast, he had gone with the others back to the hut and had lain on his bed. He was tired, and despite a troubled mind, he had gone straight to sleep. It was a trick he had learned during his career in the Army: to sleep anywhere, any time, whenever the opportunity arose.

He had learned to wake up in an instant too. A hand on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see Blackstone standing over him. 'Wakey, wakey, Jack.'

Tanner gazed at the solid face, the slightly flattened nose and dark eyes. He saw the crooked teeth that grinned down at him and noticed now that one was almost entirely black. He looked at his watch - just after nine. Christ, he'd only been asleep ten minutes. 'What do you want?'

Blackstone continued to smirk, then tutted. 'What have you been playing at, Jack? Shooting at the OC's brother-in-law! I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now.'

'Have you woken me just to tell me that or is there anything else?'

'Don't shoot the messenger, Jack,' said Blackstone, feigning indignation. 'I've been asked by Captain Barclay to fetch you.'

Tanner stood up and, without a word, stepped out of the hut into the bright morning sunshine. He strode towards the parade-ground quickly, so that Blackstone had to hurry to keep up with him.

'So, Jack,' said Blackstone, catching up, 'that must have been quite a shot of yours to hit the tyre like that.

I'm not sure I'd be able to aim so carefully in the dark. I mean, just imagine if the shot had gone a bit wild. What if you'd hit one of those fighter boys? Could have killed him.'

'The only men dying last night were the Poles in that truck. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?'

There wasn't even a flicker on Blackstone's face. 'Yes, a sorry business, but didn't I tell you? I knew those Poles were behind the fuel trouble.'

They reached Barclay's office. 'Ready, Jack?' said Blackstone. 'I'm looking forward to this.'

Tanner stepped inside and saluted. Quite a crowd had assembled in Barclay's office and the room seemed smaller. The OC was behind his desk but on wooden chairs at either side sat three other officers, two RAF and one from the company. Blackstone had once again made himself at home on the armchair in the corner. Tanner eyed the men - he recognized the squadron leader and flight lieutenant from the previous night - and his heart sank. Christ, he thought, it's a bloody court-martial. And no Peploe. No wonder Blackstone had been gloating.

Barclay coughed in a manner that suggested the proceedings were to begin, then tersely introduced the other men in the room: Squadron Leader Lyell and Flight Lieutenant Granby from 632 Squadron; and Captain Wrightson, the T Company second-in-command.

'Now, Tanner,' said Barclay, his brow furrowed, 'what the devil do you think you were doing last night? You could have killed those pilots.'

'They crossed a checkpoint, sir. It was quite obvious we were there, even in the dark and with reduced headlights. I walked out into the middle of the road as they approached and held up my hand, signalling for them to stop. They ignored this, swerved and drove on so I shot out one of their tyres.'

'It was bloody dangerous,' said Lyell. 'There's no way you could have known you were going to hit the tyre. That bullet could have gone anywhere.'

'With respect, sir, I'm not a bad shot.' He lifted his arm to show his Skill in Shooting badge. 'I aimed at the left rear tyre and hit it.'

'Still a huge risk, Tanner,' said Barclay. 'They could easily have been badly injured or even killed when the car crashed.'

'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.