‘It’s more likely to than your idea of firing shells into the dump. That way there’s no guarantee at all that you’ll get a major explosion, but you can bet your sweet life that when this lot goes it’ll -lift the whole dump sky-high – just supposing we ever get close enough and just supposing we don’t go up before we get there. If we do, they won’t have any burial problems with us. Just look down there – this tank is one ruddy great bomb.’
The floor of the turntable at the base of the turret had been tightly packed with gun-cotton slabs and to this lethal foundation Colburn had added a quantity of instantaneous detonating fuses, several cans of petrol, a quantity of phosphorus and some grenades he had found in a satchel. The remaining grenades were still in the satchel hanging from the top of the turret where he could reach them easily. Even closer to hand was the plunger mechanism and a large spool of wire. Colburn pointed to the plunger.
‘And just supposing, Barnes, that we do get a chance to get clear of the tank before this lot goes up…’
‘Don’t bet on that, Colburn.’
‘Hell, I’m not betting on a damned thing. But just supposing you’re on your own then, don’t forget to take the coil of wire as well as the plunger with you. The wire’s paid out through the gun slit so you can ram the lid shut – ramming the lid shut is important because it locks everything inside and increases the power of the explosion quite a bit…’
‘We’ve got to get moving, Colburn.’
‘For Christ’s sake, I know I’m telling you twice but it may save your life. Before you press the plunger you must turn this switch. This device is as harmless as a kitten until you do turn the switch. Come to think of it, Barnes, I reckon we’ve got rather too many "supposings" in this equation.’
‘We’ve also got seventy two-pounder shells and boxes of Besa ammunition to pep up the explosion.’
‘I know. I just hope I’m around when that lot goes up – it will be the crowning blow-up of my career to date. When I say "around" I do mean at the very end of that paid-out wire,’ he added.
‘We’d better get moving, Colburn. I’ve a nasty idea we’re too late already with riddling around with your little toy. You’ll have to handle all the observation and talk to me over the intercom. Think you can manage?’
‘A damn sight better than I’d manage driving Bert. OK. As ‘ the bomber crew guys say, this is the final run-in.’
‘Which is pretty appropriate since it’s a mobile bomb we’ve got for delivery to General Storch.’
Three minutes later the tank was moving through the village at full speed, its headlights ablaze, rumbling down the deserted street like an avenging phantom. It was their only chance, Barnes felt sure of that – to press forward as though they owned the place in the same way that Mandel had described the advance of the Panzers across France. And it was their one advantage – the element of total surprise, an element which must be rammed home ruthlessly right up to the moment when they reached the airfield, if they ever did reach it. The appearance of a tank in the early hours with its lights full on must cause a reaction of doubt, of indecision, for at least a few vital seconds, and in that time Bert should pass any patrol they might encounter. It was all a question of how soon they ran up against the big stuff.
They were moving past the house where Reynolds had saved him, he felt sure of it, although his vision was limited and he was relying heavily on Colburn’s guidance over the intercom. The driver’s seat was closed to its lowest level and the hood over his head was shut, sealing him off from the outside world so that his only view was through the slit window in front. Four inches of bullet-proof glass protected that slit while 70-mm of armour-plate shielded him from shell-fire -the thickest plate covered the front hull – so theoretically he was fairly safe. Unless the tank caught fire and when he rolled back the hood he found the two-pounder barrel pointed straight ahead and depressed to its lowest elevation, in which case the barrel would form a steel bar preventing him from climbing out at all while the tank burned. Cynical drivers said that was why the driver was issued with a revolver – to give him an easier way out than frying alive. Why the hell am I thinking like this, Barnes wondered? Perhaps only now he was really appreciating what poor Reynolds had gone through.
He hoped that if it really came to it, Colburn did know how to use a Mills hand grenade. The Canadian had told him that a British staff sergeant had demonstrated their use on a bombing range and Barnes could imagine Colburn taking a great interest in how the mechanism worked. Still…
‘Barnes,’ Colburn’s voice came clearly over the one-way intercom. ‘We’re approaching a square and from that sketch-map you. drew me we go straight over, but there may be a problem – I can see lights. Keep moving, I’ll keep you in touch.’
Up in the turret Colburn stared anxiously ahead. The lights shone through some trees in an open square surrounded with two-storey houses and the beams were stationary. He couldn’t see any sign of troops, any hint of danger, just those lights coming through the trees. Barnes had told him that as far as he had been able to make out when he reconnoitred the village with Jacques the place had been evacuated of civilians, which would be logical since the Germans were using it as a forward base. They had penetrated as far as the house of Jacques’ father and he had not been at home. So any sign of life was likely to be hostile life. The square, apparently deserted, came closer and Colburn moved from side to side as he tried to see behind the trees. There was something there, then he saw them.
‘Barnes. A couple of motor-cycles and side-cars at the edge of this square. They’ve got lights on but there doesn’t seem to be anyone about…’
Barnes coaxed a little more speed from the engines, staring along his headlight beams which now stretched across the small square to the street beyond. He sat wedged in between the boxes of detonators which were stacked on either side and the proximity of so much explosive wasn’t a comfortable feeling, but he had insisted on loading these spare boxes to increase the power of the bomb. Now he wondered whether he had overdone it. Highly unstable, British detonators, Colburn had said. The Germans used Trotyl, which was far less temperamental. And Colburn was, a man who should know. They were halfway across the square now and subconsciously he was listening for the first sound of Colburn’s voice, because if he spoke now that would mean trouble. The avenue of darkness ahead moved towards him and then they left the square and the beams stabbed along a straight street. Colburn’s voice was tense.
‘They came out just as we left the square – a couple of Germans. They stopped and stared for a few seconds and then ran for one of the bikes.’
Barnes gazed ahead. It was starting already. There was a turning down to the left he had to negotiate soon and that would mean reducing speed a lot, and this was the last moment they should be slowing down if one of those motorcycles was after them. He wished to God that the intercom was two-way, that he could warn Colburn to watch the man in the side-car, the one who would be carrying a machine-pistol. Colburn’s voice again.
‘The cycle is following us down this street. I know there’s a left turn soon but keep up your speed. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.’
Colburn was really worried. He looked back to where the lights of the oncoming cycle were closing the gap rapidly. He realized the danger to himself perched up in the turret – if the cycle was allowed to come close enough the man in the side-; car would blast his head off with the machine-pistol he had seen him running with. He took one grenade out of the satchel and then he took another, laying the second one behind the plunger box where it couldn’t rolclass="underline" it wasn’t an action that many would have taken but to Colburn the box was dead until the switch was turned. He also glanced down inside the turret towards the bed of gun-cotton. Don’t drop this little feller down there, he told himself. He had his finger inside the ring-head of the pin now. Get it right, Colburn: allow for the tank’s speed and the onrush of the cycle. And get it good. You’re pitching the ball at Toronto. Removing bomb from pin, he counted. One, two, three, four. He threw. Without waiting his hand whipped over the second grenade, inserting his finger. Withdraw. Count. He had his head down as the first grenade blew only feet in front of the Germans. A hard lethal crack split the street. The flash lit the walls and the cycle climbed, taking the side-car with it, wheels spinning futilely, the side-car ripping away from the cycle. He threw the second one from inside the turret, just to get rid of it now that it was no longer needed, and by the flash of the second bomb he saw a shadowed wreck in the street behind it. Even the lights had gone. He let out his breath and the sound travelled down the intercom to Barnes.