Tramp in Armour (8 page)

'Sergeant, you still haven't grasped it. The French to the
south of Etreux took an awful bashing. The whole weight of
the German armour was thrown against them from what I can
make out, and there isn't a front line down here any more.
Everything's all over the place. Jerry has torn a bloody great gap in the line and it's getting bigger every day. And the BEF
is a long way west of Brussels now.'

'There are no Germans in Fontaine?'

'Not up to this morning. A column of tanks went through two days ago but that's the way they seem to be operating -they didn't leave a single soldier behind.'

Barnes found that interesting. He thought about it while he
picked up his clothes and started dressing with difficulty. At
least he was still wearing his battledress trousers so he
wouldn't have to struggle with them. Then he resumed his
cross-examination.

'The tank's next door, you said. In what condition?'

'Engines are in full working order. The Besa's OK. So is
the two-pounder. The Wireless is still US but the intercom's
OK. We can talk to each other but we're cut off from the
outside world. Reynolds and I have spent most of our time on
maintenance while you were playing Rip Van Winkle.'

'One thing bothers me, Penn. This lad, Pierre. How does he
come into the picture?'

'He's helped us enormously. He saw us coming into this place when we first arrived and he's been around ever since.

He knew we were here so I thought the best thing was to make friends with him - and the fact that he speaks English as well as his native French is a godsend...'

'He's Belgian?'

'Yes, his parents come from the north and he's lost touch
with them. He was visiting an uncle in Fontaine when the war
started.'

Barnes asked a lot more questions while he finished dressing
and among other things he learnt that it was now two o'clock
in the afternoon. At the end of the conversation he returned to
the subject of Pierre.

, 'You said he was visiting an uncle here when the war started
- you mean way back in September last year?'

'No, I meant when the Germans attacked Belgium a fortnight ago. I still say Pierre could be useful. We both know a little French but if we're going to get out of this we'll need someone who can talk to the locals, and he's as keen as mustard to come with us. How the hell will we know where we are if...'

'Bring
him in to me.'

Barnes picked up the machine-pistol, extracted the magazine again and began testing the mechanism.

'Pierre brought that...' began Penn. '

'I said send him in.'

Barnes went on riddling with the gun after Penn had
brought in Pierre and he kept him waiting while he went on
examining the weapon. He was looking down at the gun when
he fired his question at Pierre.

'Where did you get hold of this?'

'I found it on the road outside Fontaine. I saw a car stop and the driver threw it into the ditch. Then he drove away very fast. It is in good order, Sergeant Barnes.' He pronounced it 'Burns'. 'I tested it myself. After first taking out the magazine,' he added proudly.

'I see. Where did a lad of your age learn about things like
this?'

'My father works at the Belgian small-arms factory at Herstal. He can fire all the pistols and machine guns.' Again
the hint of pride. 'Including your own Bren gun. They call it by that name because it was first made in the city of Brno in Czechoslovakia.'

'You have an uncle living in Fontaine?'

Barnes looked directly into the lad's blue eyes and his gaze was returned steadily. Pierre's eyebrows were so fair that he
almost appeared to have none., which gave him a curiously
older appearance.

'Not any more,' he replied. 'My uncle fled from the Germans three days since.'

'I see. Why didn't you go with him?'

'Because I am not scared. I am going to fight the Germans.'
He went on talking quickly. 'I shall be eighteen,years of age by
July so I am quite old enough and my knowledge of weapons means that training is not necessary. Corporal Penn said that I could come with you.'

'Steady on, laddie,' Penn interjected. 'I said you'd have to
ask Sergeant Barnes and that isn't the same thing at all.'

Barnes opened his mouth to say that he couldn't come under
any circumstances and then he changed his mind. There was no point in antagonizing the lad before they left Fontaine. Instead, he asked a question.

'Where did you learn to speak such good English?'

'Thank you, Sergeant.' Pierre glowed with pride
%
'My
father sent me to spend six months with the British firm of Vickers in Birmingham so that I could learn about British
weapons. They tell me that I have a Midland accent.'

'You'd better go and talk to Trooper Reynolds, Pierre,
while I have a look at -the tank with Corporal Penn.'

Barnes started to explain to Penn how the machine-pistol
worked, handing the weapon to him to demonstrate a point
while Pierre was leaving the building.

'The temptation with this gun is to hold on to the magazine,
but you've got to grasp it higher up just under the barrel ... that doctor, Lepin, did you talk to him much while he was
here looking after me?'

'Hardly at all - he's a very quiet type and I left Pierre to interpret for me.'

'You've been into Fontaine yourself?'

'No, I kept well clear of it except when I visited Lepin's
garden shed to hear the news. I thought the Germans might
occupy the place at any moment and I wanted to lie low till you were better.'

'Who owns these buildings - they belong to some farmer, I
imagine?'

'Yes, they do, but he's cleared out with the refugees so we
should be all right here for a while until the roads are quieter. The main one through Fontaine is still crammed with refugee
traffic and the place itself is lousy with them. We may have to
sit it out here for several days.'

'Get the map for me, Penn. Staying in one spot behind the
German lines for four days isn't a healthy idea at all and I'd
say our luck is due to run out at any moment. We must get
moving.'

'You've only just got up...'

'And I intend to stay up. Warn Reynolds to make any last
minute checks he thinks necessary so that we're ready to move
at a moment's notice. And I could do with something to eat if
there's anything left.'

The atmosphere was changing already with every word
Barnes said, and Penn could sense it. A feeling of urgency had
begun to animate Barnes and that feeling communicated itself
to Penn, but he made one last effort.

'I still think you ought to rest up at least...'

'I'm going into Fontaine with Pierre to see for myself. When I get back we must be ready to move. Make no mistake about it, Penn, we'll be out of this place well before nightfall.'

The feeling that they ought to be on the move, away from this place, tugged insistently at Barnes as he marched steadily along the road to Fontaine with Pierre. The afternoon sun shone down brilliantly over the fields of France, beating down on their faces and warming their hands, a physical sensation of pure heat. Barnes had two reasons for his reconnaissance: he wanted to smell the atmosphere for himself and he wanted to test his own staying power. The blazing sunshine added to the discomfort of his wound, so that now as well as the throb-throb he could also feel a pricking sensation round the edges of his dressing, a sensation which made him wont to tear off the bandage. His head was aching and he walked rigidly, forcing himself to take long strides, each footfall thudding up into the sensitive shoulder like the impact of a small road-bumper. But he was still on his feet, so he was all right. In his holster he carried the Webley .455 revolver and the flap was unbuttoned.

'There's the village, Sergeant Barnes.'

'What on earth is that lot on the road?'

'They are the refugees. They go through Fontaine all day and all night. It is difficult to cross the main square.'

A grey slate church spire rose up from a huddle of stone walled buildings and from that distance they could see on both sides of the village a road which ran at right-angles to the road they were walking along. The main road was packed with an incredible congestion of traffic, a slow-moving column which travelled at such a snail's pace that it hardly seemed to move at all. Barnes turned off the road and began to cut across the fields diagonally along a course which would take them to the eastern outskirts of the village.

'Are we riot entering Fontaine?' inquired Pierre.

'I want to have a look at that column. Later, I want to go
in to buy some food.'

'You will not get any - the village store is empty and the storekeeper has left two days before. He was very frightened
and said it was time to go.'

'Frightened of the Germans?'

'No, of the villagers. He said that soon they would take
what they wanted without paying him a franc. One man did
call him a robber - I saw it myself. Other people in the store were threatening him.'

The incident had an ugly ring and Barnes began to feel alarmed. The sooner they got out of this area the better, but he must check the state of the roads first. We're in a jam, all right, he told himself. If all the main roads are like this we'll have to move across country, and that will slow us down and double our fuel consumption. They were approaching the refugee line broadside on, a line which stretched as far as the eye could see. A dozen yards from the roadside they stopped in the field and watched the spectacle. The road was crammed" from verge to verge with a swollen river of fleeing humanity -several cars, a large number of horse-drawn carts piled high with bed linen, mattresses, and a jumble of household goods. On one cart he saw a brass-posted bed which threatened to lurch over the edge at any moment. But above all the road was congested with people on foot and Barnes had never seen more pathetic faces, the faces of men and women at the end of their tether, their expressions weary and despairing, their eyes fixed dully on the vehicle ahead as they trudged along under the merciless heat of the sun.

'We'll never get through that lot,' he said eventually.

'There is a road which turns off over there.' Pierre pointed
across the fields to a low hedge. 'You could take your tank along that road. No refugees have come from that direction
since the Germans attacked.'

'Do you know where it goes?'

'Of course. It leads to Arras. I have never been there but my uncle has told me. I have been along it for many miles and it is
wide enough for a tank.'

What Pierre was saying agreed with the map Barnes had studied and he found his thoughts turning more and more towards the town of Arras. Penn had told him that a news bulletin that morning had reported an
Allied counter-attack developing in the area of Arras, a counter-attack of British tanks, and the town was the one fixed point where the Allies seemed to be engaging the Germans. He looked to the right as he heard a car coming closer, its horn blaring persistently. It was an open touring Renault, a green four-seater, and superficially it had the appearance of a military staff car. For one split second Barnes thought he might have re-established contact with the Allied forces, and then he saw that the only occupant was a woman. The horn blared again and again as she stopped and then edged forward a few more yards. Barnes felt that she must be crazy, but as he watched her he was filled with a sense of unease, an odd foreboding. To add to her idiotic behaviour she had not even offered a lift to any of the exhausted wretches who trudged in front of her on foot.