‘The only thing this part of France swarms with is Panzers.’ Barnes stared hard at Colburn before he went on. Was Colburn really as tough as he looked? ‘You’ve come down in the middle of a gigantic no-man’s-land which could be at least twenty miles wide, but the only troops we’ve seen are parts of armoured divisions. We’re completely on our own – just one Matilda tank.’
Barnes had relaxed a little now and he was prepared to wait for a few more precious minutes while he made up his mind. He was studying Colburn quite dispassionately, without the least trace of sentiment, weighing him up ruthlessly. And Barnes had some experience of weighing up men. In this instance he was applying only one criterion – would Colburn be an asset or a liability? If he was going to be the latter then he wasn’t coming with them. Colburn stared at him steadily.
‘You mean the rest of your outfit got wiped out?’
‘I mean we got separated from them at the very beginning and it’s been that way ever since. If you come with us you’d better understand we have one two-pounder gun, one light machine gun, several machine-pistols and three revolvers. That’s the extent of our armament and so far we’ve escaped detection by three separate Panzer columns by the skin of our teeth.’
‘Sounds a little one-sided. I’d have thought you could do with a little reinforcement.’
‘We could, but tanks don’t fly and you’re a pilot.’
‘You may have a point there. What’s the alternative?’
‘The alternative, Colburn, is to make your own way home.’ He paused. ‘Unless you’d sooner take the easier way out and walk down that road into Cambrai where the Germans are. Then you could spend the rest of your war in a nice quiet POW camp.’
He waited for the Canadian’s reaction, but still nothing had changed in the steady expression. Even the voice was mild when he retaliated.
‘I suppose if I were to hit you in the mouth for that, Sergeant, your pal in the tank would gun me down?’
‘I’m sure he would. Don’t let me get under your skin, Colburn. It’s just that I have to be sure.’
‘Sure of what? I thought you’d have realized by now that I was taking off from Manston half an hour ago.’
‘I have to be sure you won’t get in the way. You’re a Canadian, you say, yet you’re in the RAF.’
‘I volunteered. It was very hot weather at the time and the heat can make you do silly things…’
‘What were you in civvy street, Colburn?’
‘I took my medical degree and then…’
‘You’re a doctor?’ Barnes didn’t attempt to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
‘No, I’m not. I never practised. I found I didn’t like it so I became a chemist.’
‘A chemist?’ Barnes found it difficult to visualize Colburn behind a counter handing out aspirin.
‘An industrial chemist. I developed an interest in high-explosives and had my own outfit after a few years. We supplied stuff for quarry-blasting operations all over Canada. So now you’ll know how crazy I was to volunteer.’
‘You had your own business and you gave it up?’ Barnes stared even more closely at Colburn’s sun-tanned features, wondering what made a man throw up everything to travel three thousand miles to fight someone else’s war. His decision was crystallizing rapidly now.
‘No, it wasn’t as bad as that. I handed over to my brother and he’s running things till I get back.’ Colburn smiled faintly. ‘Ed doesn’t see any reason why the British shouldn’t be left to fight their own wars. He could be right at that. Sergeant, what made you jump half a mile when I said I’d taken my medical degree?’
‘My corporal’s seriously wounded and I’ve been praying to run into a doctor for hours. Would you take a look at him for me?’
‘Be glad to – but remember, I’m the most qualified non-practising doctor in the western hemisphere. Where is he?’
Barnes stayed behind to gather up the collapsed parachute while Colburn walked back to where Reynolds waited on the hull of the tank. It took him several minutes to bundle up the cloth and cords into a package which resembled an overblown eiderdown and then he bid it inside a drainage ditch. There was no point in alerting any German patrol which might arrive later to the fact that there was a British airman in the district. When he returned to the tank Reynolds was out of sight inside the hull but Colburn’s head emerged from the turret. He looked down at Barnes, his voice quiet.
‘The guy down there is a close friend of yours?’
‘He’s my corporal,’ replied Barnes flatly.
‘Sorry, that was badly put. The news isn’t good, I’m afraid.’
‘He may not make it?’
‘He didn’t make it – he’s dead.’
It took them well over an hour to dig the grave out of the sunbaked French soil. They worked with the same shovels which had been used to dig them out of the tunnel at Etreux, and they took it in turns when Colburn insisted on helping. During his rest period Barnes watched Colburn closely: on the basis of sheer physical strength there was very little to choose between the Canadian and Reynolds, but the main thing he liked about Colburn was his quick acceptance of an entirely new situation. By now the poor devil might well have expected to be landing at Mansion prior to a trip to the nearest locaclass="underline" instead of which he was marooned in the middle of the battle zone helping to bury the body of a man he had never known alive. As he watched them dig out the final shovelfuls his mind was stunned. Penn had spent three years with him and in that time they had established a working relationship which functioned so smoothly they might have known each other all their lives. Penn, who had never really believed in anything, who found his sergeant’s intense preoccupation with his profession rather amusing, Penn was a man who could always be relied upon. And, by God, they’d relied on him during that endless night when he’d stood sentry-go on the bridge while the Panzers rolled past. Penn had found his sanctuary now, although not the sanctuary Barnes had planned for him.
What had seemed to be the simplest part of their mournful task proved to be the hardest – the lowering of the body. The grave was ready and Colburn stood aside, leaving it to Barnes and Reynolds to lift the body which they had swathed in a blanket and then further protected by folding a groundsheet round it. To enable them to lower their burden slowly they had looped two ropes round the groundsheet – one over the chest and the other over the legs. All went well until the body was halfway down inside the grave, then it stuck, wedged in at the shoulders at a point where the hole narrowed. They raised it and then lowered it a second time, but again it stuck. Barnes looked at Colburn.
‘Would you take over this rope for me?’
He waited until the Canadian was in position and then he knelt down, placing the flat of his hand on the groundsheet. As he pressed he could feel the thickness of the bandage over Penn’s left arm. Colburn had said that it was probably the shock of severe burning on top of his shoulder wound which had finally dictated that he couldn’t survive. The heavily-wrapped body still wouldn’t go down. He pressed harder, feeling that Penn didn’t want to be buried here and was resisting him. What was it he had said? ‘You’ll see me hugging the old two-pounder again before we reach Calais.’ Well, they were a long way from Calais and now Penn would never know whether they made it or not. He pressed harder still, knowing that they hadn’t time to embark on fresh digging because out here they were horribly exposed to view. The body gave up the struggle suddenly, sinking down so unexpectedly that Barnes almost over-balanced. When he stood up his face and hands were running with sweat and all he wanted to do was to get away from this place.