‘No shooting unless we can’t avoid it,’ Barnes warned. ‘We stopped and they’ll think there’s something funny about that but they’ll recognize their own vehicle. We’re not stopping whatever happens and they may lift the pole. Reynolds, get up some speed and keep going – I’d like at least forty miles an hour when we reach that barrier, more if you can manage it.’
The transporter began picking up speed fast as Reynolds put his foot down. He had reached a speed well in excess of forty as they flew past the abandoned Renault and ahead the lights of the road-block rushed towards them. Barnes was leaning well forward now, straining his eyes to see as much as possible before they reached the obstacle, which was clearly visible in their headlights – a narrow pole mounted several feet above the road. And something else, too. On the left a soldier lay behind the anti-tank rifle, while beyond rose the silhouette of the motor-cycle and side-car, a soldier already astride the cycle. The pole remained obstinately down. Barnes shouted.
‘Reynolds, if you can, drive over that rifle and the cycle – as long as you can get us back off the verge to the road. Leave it to you…’
Reynolds made no reply, his broad shoulders hunched forward over the wheel, his head quite still as he stared through the windscreen. They hadn’t opened fire yet. The fact that it was a German vehicle was confusing them. Barnes braced himself for the impact, grabbing the edge of the window and spreading his left arm across Colburn’s chest to hold him back. Cleverly, Reynolds left his manoeuvre until the last possible moment, driving straight down the centre of the road, heading for the middle of the barrier, increasing speed. Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten. He turned the wheel. The anti-tank rifle, the soldier, the man on the cycle, rushed towards them and then the huge transporter loaded with twenty-six tons of tank smashed past the impediments. The wheels ground over something, the cycle and side-car were hurled sideways, the soldiers catapulted through the air, and then they were through the barrier as Reynolds swung the transporter back on to the centre of the road. Not a shot had been fired. In his concentration on the anti-tank rifle Barnes had never even seen the pole go: when he leaned out to look back all the lights had disappeared and the beams from the Renault were fading into the distance. He gave one simple order. ‘Accelerate.’
ELEVEN
Sunday, May 26th
General Storch stormed into the Lemont farmhouse which was his temporary headquarters, his voice preceding him down the narrow passage.
‘Meyer! Where are you?’ He reached the entrance to the room serving as his office, closed the door quickly and took off his cap. ‘Ah, there you are! What has gone wrong?’ He was talking rapidly as he strode to a table clothed with a large-scale map of the area. ‘I have just heard that you have sent an instruction countermanding my order.’
‘Only provisionally, sir.’ Colonel Meyer stood up behind the table and screwed the monocle into his eye, his expression worried. This was going to be another bad night.
‘But it was only an hour ago that we went over the order together – the order to attack at dawn, at 04.00 hours. That road to Dunkirk is only three inches under the waterline in spite of the fact that the French opened the sluice gates at Gravelines – so what has happened since?’
Meyer picked up the message form from the table and held it out for the general to read, but Storch ignored it, stripping off his gloves, his voice urgent.
‘You’ve read it, so tell me.’
‘It’s a message from GHQ, which came in after you’d left, sir. It was because of this that ,I issued my order – to be confirmed later subject to your approval.’
‘What are the armchair lot up to now?’
‘The message is not complete – it was garbled in transmission. We’re still having trouble with the wireless but I’m sure the meaning is clear.’
‘We haven’t much time,’ the general reminded him, examining the map as he spoke.
‘It orders us to halt on the waterline, to stay where we are now. General von Bock will attack the BEF from Belgium. I gather that General von Rundstedt is worried about the condition of the tanks, and that’s why he’s halting us.’
‘May I see it?’ Storch took the message and read it through several times, then looked up cynically. ‘It doesn’t really say all that – and it’s certainly garbled.’
Meyer took a death breath. ‘When I was talking to Rundstedt on the field telephone several days ago in your absence he explained his views – he wishes to preserve the armoured forces for the coming battle against the French south of the Somme.’
‘Yes, I remember.’ Storch hardly seemed to be listening. ‘I have just heard from Keller that this submerged road is not covered by the enemy – our patrol advanced halfway along it before dark without meeting any opposition. I’ve had the patrol pulled back to Lemont for the night.’
‘On the surface it does look promising,’ Meyer reluctantly agreed.
‘Actually, the road is under the surface.’ Storch flashed a confident smile and it made Mayer feel even more exhausted to see the general looking as though he had just risen from an excellent night’s sleep. ‘So the road to Dunkirk really is open, Meyer. Even allowing for a cautious passage by our tanks the advance forces will be inside Dunkirk two hours after dawn. And once we have Dunkirk the whole BEF is in our hands -over a quarter of a million men.’
‘But the message from GHQ…’ Meyer began.
‘I think we can deal with this. It’s badly garbled and the most recent order we received was quite clear – advance up the coast and seize the ports. That is what we shall do – we shall seize the last port. Dunkirk.’
‘I have asked the wireless operator to try and get through to obtain clarification.’
‘Then we shall have another confused reply which will make matters worse. Cancel the request for clarification.’
He waited while Meyer picked up the phone and gave the order, replacing the receiver reluctantly.
‘What is really worrying you, Meyer?’
‘I’m bothered about the huge concentration of ammunition at the dump. In this confined area inside the waterline…’
‘You have sufficient for the operation?’
‘Too much really…’
‘We can never have too much.’ He pulled his cap on firmly. ‘So we record the receipt of this latest message as being so garbled that it is meaningless. And now you can send off the confirmatory copy of my order to attack to Advanced Headquarters. We should be able to spare one staff car from our entry into Dunkirk. Send off the car within the hour.’
The colonel swallowed. Storch had now covered himself completely. By the time the staff car reached Advanced Headquarters the Panzers would be on the move along the partially submerged road.
‘Our rear, sir,’ Meyer persisted. ‘It is hardly protected at all, everything is facing north and east.’
‘Precisely! The British are in front of us, Meyer, not behind us. We advance at dawn as planned.’
The clock on Meyer’s desk registered 12.10 am.
Racing through the night, the transporter weaved steadily from one side of the road to the other and then back again as ^ Reynolds struggled desperately to prevent the German, truck from passing them. Again, the crisis had arisen with hardly any warning. Barnes checked his watch. 12.15 am.
Reynolds had warned them that headlights were coming up behind them very fast and that he thought it was another truckload of German soldiers. A sixth sense had told Barnes that it was highly unlikely that they would be able to repeat their previous deception and then he heard the horn blowing. The horn had gone on blowing ever since, and for a while the truck had been content to stay on their tail.