'Can you bloody well see one?'
McAllister shrugged.
'It must be a sliding breech. We need to turn it somehow. Those wheels at the side must do something.' He turned one to the right and discovered the barrel moved downwards. He reversed the action and the barrel rose. Another wheel turned the entire gun on its central column. 'See?' he said. 'Told you it couldn't be that hard.'
'That must be the firing mechanism, Sarge,' said McAllister, pointing to a lever to the right of the breech.
Tanner swivelled the gun so that it was pointing towards the enemy column, raised the barrel a few inches, said, 'There's only one way to find out,' and pressed down on the lever. In a deafening blast and a puff of choking smoke, the breech hurtled backwards in recoil, spitting out the smoking brass casing as it did so. Tanner stumbled backwards and fell over as the shell hurtled through the air and detonated a moment later in a field some distance short of the target.
'You need to elevate it a bit, Sarge,' said McAllister, lugging another shell to the breech. Tanner's ears rang shrilly as he got to his feet, raised the barrel and fired again. Another ear-splitting blast. The men spluttered and coughed, but this time the shell landed close to the target.
'Blimey, Sarge,' said Sykes, now emerging from the hollow with Hepworth, his hands over his ears.
'Grab some shells, lads, iggery,' said Tanner. 'Watch this, Stan.'
McAllister flung the next shell into the breech as Tanner raised the barrel an inch more. 'Keep out the way, Stan.' Tanner grinned. 'This thing's got a hell of a kick.' He pressed down on the lever, the great gun thundered, and this time they saw the shell explode almost on top of the enemy column some two miles to the north-west. A cheer went up, but Tanner barked at them to put another shell into the breech. He fired again, and once more found their target, then again. 'Right, Stan, time to silence her. We need to go.'
As Sykes prepared his demolition, Tanner peered through his binoculars again. He could see vehicles on fire, and others wheeling crazily around the mayhem he and his men had unleashed. Two of the panzers heading for Berneville had stopped, he now saw, uncertain, he guessed, as to what was happening and what they should be doing. He smiled grimly.
The sound of vehicles. Tanner turned towards the farmhouse and saw Peploe wave from one of the Krupps he had seen earlier outside the cemetery.
'Come on, lads,' he said. 'Time to get going.'
He ran along the track, leaving behind a mist of pungent, acrid smoke, more than twenty dead and, as the gelignite in the big gun exploded, the useless wrecks of five enemy guns. But as he clambered into the Krupp beside the lieutenant he brought his binoculars to his eyes and saw Stukas diving on Berneville and the ridge beyond. One after another, relentlessly, they screamed down, their bombs exploding amid clouds of dust, smoke and grit so that soon the entire view was shrouded in a thick pall.
Then he saw more enemy troops hurrying down the main Doullens-Arras road. Two armoured cars, motorcycles and, following behind, a half-track.
This is going to be a close-run thing. A very close thing indeed.
The last of the men was now aboard. 'Let's get out of here,' said Peploe.
'Hold on, sir,' said Tanner. He was looking again at the enemy vehicles speeding along the Doullens-Arras road. 'I've just had a bit of an idea.'
Chapter 17
Sturmbannfuhrer Timpke had managed to assemble most of his battalion to the east of Beaumetz as planned, if somewhat later than he had hoped. Once again, the narrowness and lack of roads had been the problem: his motorcycles and armoured cars - even his half-tracks - couldn't cross the soft, rich clay of the open fields. Metalled roads and firm tracks were the limit of their capabilities - and this was the case for most of the division. He had been thankful that neither the French nor the Tommy bombers had spotted their long columns on the march.
He had, however, identified three passable approaches to Berneville from the south. One track ran diagonally from Beaumetz, while a few kilometres along the Doullens-Arras road, a further track and a metalled road led off at ninety degrees directly into the south of the village. He sent Company 1 from Beaumetz and his P38 tanks off across the fields beside them, then led his remaining two companies along the main road to Arras.
And thank goodness he had, because no sooner had they got going than shells were hurtling over from the ridge to the south-east. From his position in the turret of his scout car, Timpke had been startled by the unexpected explosion a few hundred yards to the north. If that had been a ranging shot, the shells that followed had soon found their mark, hitting part of Regiment 3's column pushing north from Beaumetz.
Timpke had soon spotted the source of the shellfire: a big 88mm flak gun stuck in a copse a couple of miles away. Typical wooden-headed Wehrmacht gunners getting carried away. The shelling didn't last long: someone had obviously pointed out the error of their ways, but to the north of Beaumetz a number of vehicles were burning, thick black smoke pitching into the air.
Wearing a wireless headset, he heard Schultz's voice crackle in his headphones from below. 'Boss, Company One are nearing the western end of Berneville. They're not drawing enemy fire.'
'Good. Order them to keep going. Where are Totenkopf Regiment Two?'
There was a pause. 'They're advancing from Simencourt, boss, along the ridge to the north of Berneville. At least six vehicles were hit by that gun.'
'Those gunners should be shot.'
As they had reached the first track into the village from the main road, he had ordered Company 2 to break from their column and advance along it. No sooner had he done so than he had heard the sound of aero-engines and, scanning the sky, spotted two dozen Stukas approaching from the east. They were flying low, one swarm of twelve aircraft stacked above another, only a few thousand feet high. For a brief moment Timpke had felt a stab of panic that they might attack their columns, but then, one by one, sirens screaming, the planes peeled off, dropping their bombs on Berneville and the ridge behind it.
'Schultz,' said Timpke, 'we'll halt until the dive- bombers have done their work. Relay the order.'
'Yes, boss,' Schultz replied. 'Company One and the panzers want to wait where they are too.'
'Agreed. But as soon as the Stukas go, get them into the village.'
When the dive-bombers finally left, smoke hid the village and the ridge. To the west, however, Timpke could see infantry pressing towards the village - men from Totenkopf Regiment 2. Mortar shells were exploding, machine-gun and small arms cracked, their tinny reports echoing across the open fields. Timpke sniffed - burned wood and rubber - as though to confirm the acrid stench of battle. He ordered his men forward once more, and a few hundred metres further on his small lead column of Company 3 turned off the Doullens-Arras road and sped towards the village.
Ahead, his motorcycles had stopped. A man had raised his hand, beckoning them on. Two others were getting out of their sidecars. Then Timpke saw them: two Opel trucks with white paint daubed across the bonnets. He knew instantly what they were — there could be no doubt.
His scout car halted in front of them and he got down, his anger rising once more. The numberplates had been painted over, but the SS runes were only partially hidden. Jaw clenched, he strode around both vehicles, looking with disgust at the British names written crudely upon them. Yorks Rangers, BEF. Stolen at dead of night and abandoned at the first sign of a fight. He glanced up the road to the village. Where were those men now, he wondered. In Berneville still, or dead, pulverized by the weight of the Stuka attack? Or had they fallen back further already? Dead or alive, he vowed, he wanted those men, those Yorks Rangers who had dared to take these vehicles from him.