The archway looked far too narrow to allow the passage of the tank, its stone walls so close together that Colburn thought they could let through nothing larger than a farm wagon. A feeling of bitter disappointment swept through him – they were going to be stopped at the last moment because of a single archway. There was no question of driving the tank up the embankment a second time – the slope here was even more steeply-angled, to say nothing of the fact that if they reached the top their advance would be stopped by the canal itself. A sense of overwhelming frustration was in his voice when he spoke.
‘Barnes, this archway’s too narrow to get through – I’m sure of it.’
The tank ground forward, moving away from the embankment in a wide semi-circle until Barnes had brought it into a position where it directly faced the arch, and now he could see that the field beyond was shrouded in mist, masking their approach from the Germans. Colburn gave up protesting and leaned far out as he guided Barnes forward every inch of the way, his gaze switching backwards and forwards between the incredibly narrow arch and the forward tracks. The ground was very uneven at this point and Barnes found it difficult to follow the Canadian’s instructions precisely. He was close to the archway when Colburn called out urgently for him to halt: he was too far over to the right. He reversed some distance and changed his angle of direction a fraction, moving forward at a crawl, his eyes straining to see more clearly, forcing himself not to look at the wristwatch which was ticking away vital minutes. They must get through this time. The dark archway crept towards him and now the light beyond was stronger, illuminating the semi-circle clearly. It was almost daylight now. The front hull moved inside. Suddenly there was a jarring sound, the screech of steel grating along stonework. The tank shuddered violently through the length of its hull and then stopped abruptly as Barnes braked. Perhaps it was useless. This could be one obstacle they might never overcome, not even in broad daylight. He rolled back the hood and from above him a torch beam flashed along the wall.
The vicious clash of steel against stone had frightened Colburn and now he tried to estimate the position by the light of his beam. They had driven into the left-hand wall, of course. In their anxiety not to repeat their earlier mistake they had erred too far in the opposite direction, but was the manoeuvre even possible? He flashed the torch on the other side and the light penetrated a gap between tank and wall, a gap no more than six inches wide, if that. So theoretically it was possible, but with such a narrow clearance they would be extraordinarily lucky to pass clear through the archway in this light. He called down direct to Barnes.
‘Six inches’ clearance on the other side. Six inches maximum, maybe less.’
‘Then we can do it, providing nothing gives when I reverse.’
‘It’ll take a miracle.’
‘Maybe we’re entitled to one.’
For the second time Barnes went into reverse, handling the controls with a concentration he had probably never equalled before, hearing the metal scraping harshly against the wall every inch of the way. But they were moving. The tearing sound petered out following the painful withdrawal, his heart in his mouth until he saw that they were clear of the imprisoning arch once more. They had to manage it this time. Colburn guided Barnes back a short distance and then gave no further instructions. The change of direction required was so fine that unless Barnes could feel what was needed they would end up smashing into the other wall.
Gripping the rim he saw the arch corning towards him again, his torch shining on the right-hand side now to make sure that Barnes hadn’t overdone it again. He ignored the other wall completely, knowing that if they could move through with the right-hand track barely scraping the wall they should be able to make it. So great was his concentration on the wall that Colburn nearly died at that moment. Just in time he remembered the solid stone arch coming towards his head: he dived down inside the turret and something brushed the crown of his head, and as he went down a fresh fear darted into his mind – would the turret go under the arch? He reached up a hand and felt his fingers graze stonework as the tank rumbled forward. They were almost through when their nerve ends were seared again as the familiar grinding noise started. The tank increased speed and they were out in the open, driving across the field in a weird early morning half-glow mingled with white mist.
Barnes halted the tank briefly, switched off the engines, and stood up to listen. The vaporous fog bank was dispersing and beyond it he detected a staccato mutter which sounded like the power-drills of a tank repair shop, and beyond that he was damned sure he could hear the mechanical grumble of Panzers on the move. With a bit of luck these two background noises might help to conceal Bert’s approach until the very last moment. And now he looked at his watch. 3.48 am. Twelve minutes to the Panzer attack.
‘The mist’s clearing,’ said Colburn quietly. ‘I can just see the ammunition hangar. I’ll stick it out up here until we get close and then I’ll pop downstairs and observe through the periscope.’
‘If you don’t, you’ll be dead mutton.’
‘And I’ll use the Besa when the time comes – machine guns are my forte. The mist’s clearing rapidly. That hangar is dead ahead. Good luck, Barnes. Advance!’
‘Thanks for coming, Colburn. Thanks a lot.’ It sounded trite, horribly trite, but he felt he must say something at this moment. Sitting down again, he closed the hood.
The tank moved forward rapidly over the level ground, brushing mist trails aside, picking up more speed every second. Colburn felt chilled to the bone, scared stiff of what was coming, but he looked curiously at the high bank which rose immediately behind the rear of the hangar. The houses behind the ridge were a faint silhouette of rooftops in the early morning light. It was from this ridge that Barnes and Jacques had looked down on the airfield, from here they had seen the sinister huddles of tanks which comprised the armoured striking force of the Panzer division which General Storch was about to hurl against Dunkirk. Ahead he could see the outer defences of the tank laager, a screen of barbed wire hastily thrown up to cordon off the airfield, and as the pale glow of the coming day increased he saw beyond the hangar a score or more of low dark shapes. His heart thumped when he saw them. Heavy tanks of the 14th Panzer Division. The laager was in view.
Quickly he gave Barnes an instruction to veer on to a fresh course which would head him straight for the entrance to the hangar which they were approaching,broadside on. As to going below and watching through the periscope, that would be useless: he’d have to stay in the turret to keep the perfect observation they needed. He lifted his machine-pistol. As they approached the line of barbed wire Colburn almost forgot the holocaust which must await them; there was so much to see, to note. An armoured car parked close to the hangar, the outline of another vehicle which seemed familiar, signs of movement over to the left behind the mist. He recognized the vehicle now – a giant transporter with a tank on its deck. It was then that he saw the first Germans – small figures on the deck working by the light of shaded lamps. His hands tightened on the machine-pistol as the tank rumbled closer and closer. Surely those men must have seen them, must have heard them coming? But as he watched he saw a violet glow and sparks flashed strangely in the mist. They were using welding equipment and the sound of their tools had smothered the sound of Bert’s engines. Still there was no indication that they had been spotted and the line of wire was very close now, coils of mist like gun-smoke floating behind the tangled network.