the squadron leader's car. 'Nothing more than they
deserved, Sergeant. Bunch of arrogant bastards,' he told him, then added,
'Let's hope it wasn't the OC's brother-in-law.'
Tanner had forgotten the connection and winced.
Peploe, however, was far more concerned about the earlier incident. Torwinski
had been taken to hospital in Ramsgate, but the lieutenant was uncertain about
what he should say to the OC. 'I've got to tell him, Tanner, but we could do
with some hard evidence.'
'I've got proof that there was a fourth person in that
truck, sir,' said Tanner, and explained his discovery of the flattened grass by
the road.
Peploe insisted on seeing it for himself.
A short while later, as they stood by the verge, he
whistled. 'Bloody hell. You're quite right, Sergeant,' he said. 'I can't think
of another explanation. Rather clinches it, doesn't it?'
Tanner wondered whether he should say anything about
his suspicions, then decided against it. The lieutenant knew what he thought of
Blackstone and any finger-pointing would be unconvincing. Even so, it had
occurred to him that once Barclay knew about Torwinski, Blackstone would
inevitably be in the picture too. If he was right about the CSM's culpability,
Torwinski's life would be in danger once more. It was a conundrum to which at
present Tanner had no answer.
Peploe walked back to the checkpoint, shaking his
head. 'Incredible, isn't it? I never thought the first deaths I witnessed would
be deliberately caused by men on our own side. It's not why I joined up,
Sergeant.'
'No, sir.'
Peploe sighed. 'Well, I'm not going to let this lie.
Those men deserve justice. Christ, the condescending way everyone talks about
the Poles, as though they're somehow to blame for the war in the first place.
They're easy scapegoats, Tanner, but it's wrong - wholly wrong.'
Tanner agreed, but gut instinct told him that others
would not be quite so keen to learn the truth as Mr Peploe. Bloody hell. It had been a long and depressing night.
The platoon had been relieved at eight a.m. and, to
Tanner's surprise, they had driven back to Manston without any apparent orders
for him to report to either the station commander or Captain Barclay. After
breakfast, he had gone with the others back to the hut and had lain on his bed.
He was tired, and despite a troubled mind, he had gone straight to sleep. It
was a trick he had learned during his career in the Army: to sleep anywhere,
any time, whenever the opportunity arose.
He had learned to wake up in an instant too. A hand on
his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see Blackstone standing over him.
'Wakey, wakey, Jack.'
Tanner gazed at the solid face, the slightly flattened
nose and dark eyes. He saw the crooked teeth that grinned down at him and
noticed now that one was almost entirely black. He looked at his watch - just
after nine. Christ, he'd only been asleep ten minutes. 'What do you want?'
Blackstone continued to smirk, then tutted. 'What have
you been playing at, Jack? Shooting at the OC's brother-in-law! I wouldn't want
to be in your shoes right now.'
'Have you woken me just to tell me that or is there
anything else?'
'Don't shoot the messenger, Jack,' said Blackstone,
feigning indignation. 'I've been asked by Captain Barclay to fetch you.'
Tanner stood up and, without a word, stepped out of
the hut into the bright morning sunshine. He strode towards the parade-ground
quickly, so that Blackstone had to hurry to keep up with him.
'So, Jack,' said Blackstone, catching up, 'that must
have been quite a shot of yours to hit the tyre like that.
I'm not sure I'd be able to aim so carefully in the
dark. I mean, just imagine if the shot had gone a bit wild. What if you'd hit
one of those fighter boys? Could have killed him.'
'The only men dying last night were the Poles in that
truck. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?'
There wasn't even a flicker on Blackstone's face.
'Yes, a sorry business, but didn't I tell you? I knew those Poles
deserved, Sergeant. Bunch of arrogant bastards,' he told him, then added,
'Let's hope it wasn't the OC's brother-in-law.'
Tanner had forgotten the connection and winced.
Peploe, however, was far more concerned about the earlier incident. Torwinski
had been taken to hospital in Ramsgate, but the lieutenant was uncertain about
what he should say to the OC. 'I've got to tell him, Tanner, but we could do
with some hard evidence.'
'I've got proof that there was a fourth person in that
truck, sir,' said Tanner, and explained his discovery of the flattened grass by
the road.
Peploe insisted on seeing it for himself.
A short while later, as they stood by the verge, he
whistled. 'Bloody hell. You're quite right, Sergeant,' he said. 'I can't think
of another explanation. Rather clinches it, doesn't it?'
Tanner wondered whether he should say anything about
his suspicions, then decided against it. The lieutenant knew what he thought of
Blackstone and any finger-pointing would be unconvincing. Even so, it had
occurred to him that once Barclay knew about Torwinski, Blackstone would
inevitably be in the picture too. If he was right about the CSM's culpability,
Torwinski's life would be in danger once more. It was a conundrum to which at
present Tanner had no answer.
Peploe walked back to the checkpoint, shaking his
head. 'Incredible, isn't it? I never thought the first deaths I witnessed would
be deliberately caused by men on our own side. It's not why I joined up,
Sergeant.'
'No, sir.'
Peploe sighed. 'Well, I'm not going to let this lie.
Those men deserve justice. Christ, the condescending way everyone talks about
the Poles, as though they're somehow to blame for the war in the first place.
They're easy scapegoats, Tanner, but it's wrong - wholly wrong.'
Tanner agreed, but gut instinct told him that others
would not be quite so keen to learn the truth as Mr Peploe. Bloody hell. It had been a long and depressing night.
The platoon had been relieved at eight a.m. and, to
Tanner's surprise, they had driven back to Manston without any apparent orders
for him to report to either the station commander or Captain Barclay. After
breakfast, he had gone with the others back to the hut and had lain on his bed.
He was tired, and despite a troubled mind, he had gone straight to sleep. It
was a trick he had learned during his career in the Army: to sleep anywhere,
any time, whenever the opportunity arose.
He had learned to wake up in an instant too. A hand on
his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see Blackstone standing over him.
'Wakey, wakey, Jack.'
Tanner gazed at the solid face, the slightly flattened
nose and dark eyes. He saw the crooked teeth that grinned down at him and
noticed now that one was almost entirely black. He looked at his watch - just
after nine. Christ, he'd only been asleep ten minutes. 'What do you want?'
Blackstone continued to smirk, then tutted. 'What have
you been playing at, Jack? Shooting at the OC's brother-in-law! I wouldn't want
to be in your shoes right now.'
'Have you woken me just to tell me that or is there
anything else?'
'Don't shoot the messenger, Jack,' said Blackstone,
feigning indignation. 'I've been asked by Captain Barclay to fetch you.'
Tanner stood up and, without a word, stepped out of
the hut into the bright morning sunshine. He strode towards the parade-ground
quickly, so that Blackstone had to hurry to keep up with him.
'So, Jack,' said Blackstone, catching up, 'that must
have been quite a shot of yours to hit the tyre like that.
I'm not sure I'd be able to aim so carefully in the
dark. I mean, just imagine if the shot had gone a bit wild. What if you'd hit
one of those fighter boys? Could have killed him.'
'The only men dying last night were the Poles in that
truck. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?'
There wasn't even a flicker on Blackstone's face.
'Yes, a sorry business, but didn't I tell you? I knew those Poles
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