Timpke yelled at the occupant. The old man, wearing a battered felt hat, shrugged - I'm going as fast as I can. Again Timpke ordered him to hurry, but the old man just shook his head.
'Not good enough,' Timpke told him. 'I haven't time for this. Sturmmann Reigel,' he called, to the lance- corporal manning the machine-gun in the sidecar of the motorcycle in front of the scout car, 'shoot the man and his horse.'
Reigel drew back the bolt on his MG34, then opened fire with a three-second burst. Around fifty bullets, at a velocity of 755 metres per second, sliced across the horse and cart, then raked the man. Neither beast nor man knew a thing about what was happening to them; in the first second of fire both were dead, the man almost cut in half by the power of the bullets. There was a dull thud as the horse collapsed onto the road, followed by a loud crash as the movement caused the cart to yaw, a wheel to buckle and break and the entire wagon to tumble over.
While the onlookers were stunned into horrified silence, Timpke ordered Reigel and his rider to grab the thick tow-rope wound around the front of the scout car and loop it onto the cart. That done, the vehicle reversed, the rope grew taut and then, with a jarring, scraping sound, the horse and cart were dragged clear of the road to the side of the square, the corpse of the man rolled and pummelled among the bloody remains.
'Good,' said Timpke. 'Let's move.' He lowered himself back into the scout car and studied his map, away from the breeze.
'Why did we open fire, boss?' asked Schultz. 'I didn't see. Trouble with the locals?'
'A foolish old man was in our way and wouldn't move,' replied Timpke. He wiped his brow and neck with a handkerchief, and took off his field cap. 'He was nothing - a nobody. What are the lives of one old man and an ageing horse, Schultz? We are at war, and the sooner it's over, the sooner our own men will stop being killed. If shooting an ancient Frenchman saves the life of a young German, I'll do it.'
They reached the long, straight road to Cambrai, found it largely clear of traffic, and arrived in Vitry with time to spare. At a fork in the road a number of vehicles were parked. There was a large cafe-bar, outside which stood a half-track and an eight-wheel armoured car. More half-tracks - most towing artillery pieces - armoured cars, trucks and motorcycles lined both sides of the road through the village. Timpke paused in his scout car, then spotted Brigadefuhrer Eicke's Adler, with its distinctive SS numberplate.
He clambered out and strode towards the bar. The end of the building was painted with a giant advertisement for Stella Artois beer and Timpke realized how thirsty he was. Opposite, he noticed, at the fork in the road, stood a memorial to the dead of the last war, crested by a statue of a dying soldier clutching a French flag. He was gazing at it when he heard his name called and turned. Standartenfuhrer von Montigny, the division chief-of-staff and Ia, was standing at the entrance to the bar.
'Good evening, Herr Standartenfuhrer,' said Timpke, raising his arm in salute. Von Montigny stepped towards him and they shook hands. 'We've seen a few more dying poilus today,' he went on, nodding towards the memorial. 'It seems the French are on the run.'
Von Montigny smiled. 'You've done well today, Otto. Papa Eicke's pleased.'
Good, thought Timpke. They don't know about the loss of the trucks at Hainin.
'But tomorrow we fight the British,' said von Montigny, 'and they might be a tougher nut to crack.'
As they passed the half-track, Timpke peered into the open back where several men were tapping away at encoding machines, wearing headphones. Leaning over the signals men, however, stood a man wearing the red- striped breeches, plaited triple cord shoulder straps, and red and gold collar tabs of a major-general. As he looked up, Timpke saw that an award hung close to his collar: the blue and gold Maltese cross of the Pour le Merite - the 'Blue Max', Germany's highest award for valour in the last war. He had a handsome face - a square, resolute jaw, full lips and grey eyes that seemed both determined and intelligent. Timpke knew immediately who he was.
'Von Montigny,' said the general, his lips breaking into a smile. 'I'll be inside in a few moments.' His eyes turned to Timpke, who saluted. Major-General Rommel nodded in acknowledgement.
Inside the bar there were only a few staff officers, their faces grimy with dust and oil. Friedling and Goetze, commanders of the Totenkopf Regiments 2 and 3, were drinking beer with Brigadefuhrer Eicke. They greeted Timpke warmly and put a bottle into his hand. Cigarette smoke swirled about the room, mixing with the smell of beer and sweat. Regiment 1, it seemed, had had a busy day, and although the division had suffered its first combat losses, many more Frenchmen had been killed and captured. Eicke was pleased.
Soon after, Rommel swept in and asked the officers to gather round an old table on which he spread a map of Arras and the surrounding countryside. Taking off his cap, he followed a few imaginary lines with his finger.
'My plan, gentlemen, is now to thrust northwards, towards Lille. The bulk of both our divisions have caught up at long last, we have received new supplies of fuel and ammunition and we can afford to launch this next thrust with far more men than we have done so far.' There were a few amused glances. 'Tomorrow Seventh Panzer, led by Oberst Rothenburg's Twenty-fifth Panzer Regiment, will push west of Arras and try to capture the bridges over the river Scarpe at Acq - here.' He pointed to the village, some ten kilometres north-west of Arras. 'Two rifle regiments, the Sixth and Seventh, will follow, while the Totenkopf will thrust on our left flank and take the bridges at Aubigny.' He turned to Timpke. 'I understand you reached Aubigny this afternoon, Major?'
Ignoring Rommel's use of Wehrmacht rank rather than Waffen-SS, Timpke cleared his throat and said, 'Yes, Herr General. We came under some inaccurate machine-gun fire, followed by a few howitzer shells, but nothing much. The river looked narrow there, too. Fordable in places, I'd say.'
'In any case,' said Rommel, 'the Scarpe to the northwest of Arras is far smaller than it is east of the city - and considerably less well defended. We will encircle the city from the west and sever the British lines of communication.'
'What about aerial support?' asked Eicke.
'The Luftwaffe has been bombing the area and will continue to do so this afternoon and tomorrow morning.' He stood up. 'Any more questions?' He looked at Eicke. 'Thank you, Brigadefuhrer, for joining us. How you deploy your men is, of course, entirely up to you.' Briefly, he was silent. 'We have yet to come up against the British so do not underestimate them. But we have achieved great things so far. Fortune, momentum and, of course, experience are now with us. They are formidable attributes, especially when combined.' He smiled and his face, stern and patrician a moment before, now softened. 'Good luck, gentlemen. Tomorrow will be an exciting day.'
As Rommel left the bar, Timpke drank from his bottle of beer. The general's men might not have come up against the British, but Timpke had - those swine had taken four of his vehicles from under his nose, and had killed and wounded a number of his men. A renewed flash of anger swept over him as he recalled the events of the previous night. Well, he would have his revenge. No Englander would enjoy such success against him or his men again, he promised himself.