Tramp in Armour (21 page)

Barnes pulled a face. His tank crew was now down to two men.

FIVE

Friday, May 24th

Penn was in a bad way. Barnes only had to look at his face to
tell that; a face which was normally pink and fresh was now the colour of grey mud and his eyes lacked life. He sat up on
his seat inside the tank, a folded blanket behind his back, and
Reynolds had just finished cleaning the wound which was in the right shoulder, a similar wound to Barnes', but in Perm's
case the bullet had entered from the back instead of from
above. Reynolds was just about to apply a field dressing but he waited while Barnes examined it. The driver constantly had to
swab up fresh blood and Barnes wasted no time.

'What's the verdict?' Penn asked weakly.

'I've seen worse, much worse, and they survived.'-

'I'm afraid I'm not much use at the moment...'

'You will be, soon enough. Put the dressing on.'

As Reynolds applied the dressing Penn stiffened his back
against the blanket and took the bottle of cognac which Barnes
had opened for him.

'Just a few sips now - don't get greedy.'

'Rationing me?' Penn managed the pale imitation of a
smile.

'You can have a stiffer tot, in a minute. Do you think you can stay in that seat when Bert's on the move?'

'Course I can - anything to get away from this bloody hole:
This place gives me the creeps. Did you get Lebrun? I
heard...' He stopped and winced as Reynolds tightened the
dressing.

'Yes, he's dead. He took half a magazine in the guts.'

'I should have seen him ... my fault...'

'No, it isn't. There was no reason for you to think that he might be armed, or even come back at all for that matter.'

'Anything in the tool box?'

'A big monkey wrench - it will replace the one we lost at Etreux. We'll get you out of this beauty spot...'

'Join the Army and see the world. Thanks, Reynolds, that's
better. What was I saying? Oh, yes. The people you meet in
this man's Army. When this is all over I'll publish my
memoirs. You didn't know I was keeping a diary, did you,
Sergeant?'

'No,' lied Barnes.

'Strictly against regulations. You'll have to put me on a charge. Three days' CB - confined to Bert. Looks as though
I'll be confined to him anyway.'

He laughed feebly and then stopped abruptly, his face cramping in a spasm of pain. Barnes handed him the cognac bottle again and told him to take several mouthfuls, watching him closely. The vital thing was for Penn to stay conscious until they got clear of Beaucaire. At least a little colour was flowing back into his face as the alcohol penetrated his bloodstream. Reynolds gathered up a number of blood-soaked swabs and climbed out of the turret. Barnes didn't like the look of those swabs - Penn must have lost a lot of blood and among the swabs there had been two sodden field dressings, which meant that Reynolds had twice failed to stem the flow.

'We'll be moving off now, Penn. I'll try and avoid the rough
patches, but it won't be like driving along Brighton prom.'

'Let's get on with it. We're heading for Cambrai?'

'In that general direction, yes.'

'Don't forget the Jerry tank Lebrun warned us about - the
swine could have been telling the truth about that. Sorry I can't handle the gun,' he repeated.

'Don't worry about it. I'll act as my own gunner till we get you fixed up.'

'Bet you could do with a bit of a sit-down yourself.'

'More fresh air up there, my lad. We'll get under way
now.'

Yes, I could do with a bit of a sit-down, Barnes thought as he gave the order to advance from the turret. It was five o'clock in the afternoon and the sun scorched down as the tank headed westward, the tracks grinding up fresh clouds of dust from the powdered rubble, dust which obscured his vision so that he was constantly waving his hand in an attempt to see clear ahead.' To ease the strain on Penn he had told Reynolds to move at low speed, but it was not entirely a feeling for his corporal's comfort which prompted his instruction. He wanted Penn to be as strong as possible when the time came -. the time to take out the bullet.

Heaven knew when they would find a doctor and Barnes was
not prepared to leave the leaden obstruction festering in
Penn's shoulder. He wished that he knew whether a missile
fired from an old hunting rifle was more or less dangerous than a .303 bullet lodged in the same place. He simply had no idea,
but there was one small mercy - the bullet appeared to be
close to the surface, wedged in down the side of the bone.
Extracting
the bullet successfully was not likely to be an easy
matter, but at least he had had to perform a similar operation
once before in India when they had come under fire from
hostile tribesmen in a remote spot. He hoped that he could
remember how he had managed it then. One basic thing it did
involve and that was laying Penn face down on his stomach,
and there were less cruel surfaces than dust and rubble for
such an operation. He shaded his eyes and gazed ahead, eager
for his first sight of open country and fresh green.

They reached the end of the town without warning. One minute they were driving through a street of badly bombed houses and then they turned a corner and France spread away in front of them, a vast landscape of green fields as far as the eye could see, a haze of shimmering heat close to the horizon. Barnes heaved an audible sigh of relief.

Half an hour later there was still no sign of the German tank which Lebrun had mentioned but they were approaching a spot which seemed ideal for Barnes' purpose. They had just come over a small rise and close to the road stood a large empty ,farm building: he could see that it was empty because the large double doors had been left wide open. There was no sign of a farmhouse nearby and he could scan the road in both directions for over a mile. Nothing in sight anywhere. The building provided perfect cover for Bert in case enemy aircraft flew over while he was at work, and bombing was the last activity he wished to attract while he was treating Penn. He gave Reynolds the order to turn off the road and 'they moved along a short track which led inside the building. As the engines were switched off he went down inside the tank and saw that Penn was looking better in spite of the ride.

'Penn,' he said, 'you'd better treat yourself to another tot of
cognac. I'm taking out that bullet.'

The floor of the farm building showed traces of animals, which would increase the danger of infection enormously, so reluctantly Barnes decided that they would have to do it outside. At least the light was better there. They spread blankets over clean grass and laid a groundsheet over the blankets. Then Penn lay stomach down on the groundsheet while Reynolds boiled water. He was stripped to the waist now. Barnes had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves. When the water was ready he took one last look along the road in both directions, scanned the sky, and started.

'Reynolds is going to sit on your shoulders,' he explained. 'We've got to be sure you're kept perfectly still.'

'I can dig my fingers into the ground.'

'You'll be doing that, anyway, my lad. And Reynolds will
be holding down your elbows.'

'Good old Reynolds. With his weight he'll probably flatten
me to a pancake.'

'And don't be in such a hurry to kiss mother earth, Penn.
Here, drink this.'

He poured a generous quantity of cognac into a mug and
made Penn drink it quickly. If only he could get him drunk
that would help, but he knew from previous experience that
Penn's ability to absorb alcohol was phenomenal.

'There'll be the same for you afterwards,' he told him.

'Almost worth it - to get rations like this.'

'Ready?'

'Get it over with.'

Reynolds sat his whole weight on Penn's shoulders, twisting himself sideways so that he could press his huge hands over Penn's elbows. The field dressing came off with a quick rip and Barnes used antiseptic cotton wool to sponge off a mess of ooze. Then he reached for the knife in the boiling water: he was using Reynolds' sheath knife, a knife the driver kept honed sharp as a razor, the point like a needle. Barnes took a deep breath, he wanted to get this over with quickly.

It took him five long minutes, and whether this time was longer for Barnes or Penn no one would ever know. Only Penn experienced the searing, agonizing, hellish pain which went on and on, stabbing and gouging into the ultra-sensitive wound like a red-hot poker, then turning and grinding and driving deeper and deeper until he thought that he must have reached the ultimate of all pain, only to feel through the burning hot scalpel another wave of torture twisting and disembowelling flesh which had become a million times more sensitive to even the lightest of touches, let alone to this fiendish probe which was thrusting and tearing
right through his body until his brain pleaded and screamed for relief, for death, for anything but a continuation of this incredible agony ...

Barnes drew the knife firmly between bullet and bone, and the scrape of knife on bone brought on the ultimate agony for Penn. He really felt that his entire shoulder was being amputated with a blunt butcher's knife. Moaning horribly, as he had been doing for several minutes, he buried his fingers deep in the ground, biting his teeth together like a steel vice. In some superhuman way he was still managing to keep his tongue at the back of bis mouth, knowing in a strangely disembodied corner of his brain that he was in grave danger of biting clean through his tongue. And at that moment Barnes remembered and his hand almost slipped. He'd forgotten. He should have rammed a handkerchief into Penn's mouth.
He'd bite his tongue in half.
He couldn't stop now. He pressed the knife in deeper between bone and bullet, not realizing that it may have been this omission which kept Penn sane and conscious - the knowledge that he must protect his tongue, keeping it well back, well back. And in his stupefied state Penn had no idea that Barnes was in trouble: 'the bullet wouldn't shift. He had cut all round, he had loosened it from the bone, he had prised
underneath, but the bullet simply wouldn't shift. Then he heard the planes coming.

Glancing up he saw the flight of Messerschmitts. They were
flying in formation about a thousand feet above the ground,
their course roughly parallel with the road. Without hesitation Barnes put his head down and went on with his task, refusing to allow the oncoming roar of the engines to divert him. Penn
had his fingers dug deep in the groundsheet now, turning his head from side to side as he moaned quietly like an animal in
its death throes. Reynolds was leaning his whole weight on the
elbows, and he hadn't looked up once when he heard the planes
coming. If it was all right with Barnes it was all right with him. They were almost overhead now, and then they sped
past, unaware of the drama below. Barnes took a deep breath, said Sorry,
laddie
under his breath, and scooped much deeper,
turning the knife with great deliberation, then he hoisted. The
bullet flicked up-from his knife and landed on the groundsheet.
Done it!

As he disinfected, sponged, and dressed the wound he tried to tell Penn that it was all over, that it was all right now, but Penn was too far gone to understand. Barnes applied the dressing quickly but carefully, feeling an enormous wave of relief, and then a wave of fatigue swept over him and he nodded to Reynolds to get up as he gripped Penn's left arm.

'It's done, Penn. The bullet's out and I've put a fresh dressing on. It's all right, Penn.'

Penn turned his head, his eyes dazed, his face wet and
drawn, looking at Barnes without seeing him.

'It's all right now, Penn. You can have your cognac.'