ammunition train blew up. Through a window high up in the wall he could see that it was broad daylight, another glorious day with the sky blue and hot. It must be Sunday morning or afternoon, Sunday May 19th. Then he heard someone coming. Re-inserting the magazine, he pulled a blanket up over him and sat still, the gun concealed under the blanket, his left hand under the barrel, his right hand round the trigger guard.
Two men walked in through the huge door at the far end of the building. Penn and a stranger, a lad no older than eighteen, who wore a blue denim jacket and trousers, bis shirt open at the front. He looked the picture of health, tall, well-built, his manner radiating an air of vitality. His fair hair was combed neatly back over his head and his blue eyes looked down at Barnes with curiosity. Penn looked surprised as they stopped near his bedside.
'You're awake, Sergeant.'
'What did you expect to find - a corpse? Who's this?'
'This is Pierre. He speaks English. Pierre, meet Sergeant Barnes.'
'I am happy to meet you, Sergeant.'
The lad bent down and to Barnes' embarrassment he solemnly shook hands. Then he stood up and waited without saying a word.
'Where's Reynolds?' demanded Barnes.
'He's on guard outside.'
'Guarding Bert, you mean?'
'Yes, Bert's in the next shed. Don't worry - he's well out of sight.'
'And what does that mean - why should I worry?'
'How are you feeling?' Penn inquired. 'You've had...'
'Well enough to wonder what the devil is going on. How long have we been in this place, Penn?'
'You've had concussion. When the Jerry fighter dived at us you caught a bullet in the shoulder and banged your head a fourpenny one on the turret.'
'I can remember that,' Barnes snapped irritably. 'Do get to the point and answer my question. How long have we been here?'
Tour days.'
The answer hit Barnes like a thunderclap. For once in his life he was speechless as the implications of Penn's statement raced through his brain. Where was the troop? Come to that, where was the BEF? Sitting up was making the throbbing of his shoulder wound worse: he would have loved to lie down again but that was out of the question. He blinked away the muzziness of his vision as Penn spoke again.
'You'd better listen to what Pierre has to say - he knows more about it than I do.'
Barnes looked up at the lad, his voice polite but firm.
'Pierre, would you mind going outside and staying with Trooper Reynolds for a few minutes?'
He saw Pierre's face drop and Penn frowned. When the lad had gone out and shut the door Penn protested.
'I wish you hadn't done that - we may need him. You don't know the position here.'
'And I won't until you tell me.' Barnes dropped the blanket and laid the machine-pistol on its side.
'What did you want that for?' asked Penn.
'I'd no idea what was happening when I woke up - a couple of Jerries might have walked through that door. Now, what's the position?'
Penn paused and then burst out with it. 'We're a helluva long way behind the German lines. Maybe twenty miles or more.'
'We can't be...'
'The Germans have broken through along the whole front. They've torn a tremendous gap in the lines and it's a bloody great mess - just how great it's hard to tell because there are so many rumours...'
'It could be a rumour that they've broken through, then.'
'No chance of that - I heard this morning that the Panzers have reached Arras. The Luftwaffe has the whole show to itself - our lot and the French Air Force were shot out of the sky in the first few days. The Germans have hundreds of tanks and thousands of planes. You've got to face it - we're miles and miles behind the German lines.'
'Today is Thursday, then?'
'Yes, Thursday, May the twenty-third.'
'And where exactly are we?'
'Just outside a place called Fontaine. We're fairly close to the French frontier.'
'What?'
For the second time in five minutes Barnes was staggered, but this time he simply stared at bis corporal grimly as he climbed to his
Two men walked in through the huge door at the far end of the building. Penn and a stranger, a lad no older than eighteen, who wore a blue denim jacket and trousers, bis shirt open at the front. He looked the picture of health, tall, well-built, his manner radiating an air of vitality. His fair hair was combed neatly back over his head and his blue eyes looked down at Barnes with curiosity. Penn looked surprised as they stopped near his bedside.
'You're awake, Sergeant.'
'What did you expect to find - a corpse? Who's this?'
'This is Pierre. He speaks English. Pierre, meet Sergeant Barnes.'
'I am happy to meet you, Sergeant.'
The lad bent down and to Barnes' embarrassment he solemnly shook hands. Then he stood up and waited without saying a word.
'Where's Reynolds?' demanded Barnes.
'He's on guard outside.'
'Guarding Bert, you mean?'
'Yes, Bert's in the next shed. Don't worry - he's well out of sight.'
'And what does that mean - why should I worry?'
'How are you feeling?' Penn inquired. 'You've had...'
'Well enough to wonder what the devil is going on. How long have we been in this place, Penn?'
'You've had concussion. When the Jerry fighter dived at us you caught a bullet in the shoulder and banged your head a fourpenny one on the turret.'
'I can remember that,' Barnes snapped irritably. 'Do get to the point and answer my question. How long have we been here?'
Tour days.'
The answer hit Barnes like a thunderclap. For once in his life he was speechless as the implications of Penn's statement raced through his brain. Where was the troop? Come to that, where was the BEF? Sitting up was making the throbbing of his shoulder wound worse: he would have loved to lie down again but that was out of the question. He blinked away the muzziness of his vision as Penn spoke again.
'You'd better listen to what Pierre has to say - he knows more about it than I do.'
Barnes looked up at the lad, his voice polite but firm.
'Pierre, would you mind going outside and staying with Trooper Reynolds for a few minutes?'
He saw Pierre's face drop and Penn frowned. When the lad had gone out and shut the door Penn protested.
'I wish you hadn't done that - we may need him. You don't know the position here.'
'And I won't until you tell me.' Barnes dropped the blanket and laid the machine-pistol on its side.
'What did you want that for?' asked Penn.
'I'd no idea what was happening when I woke up - a couple of Jerries might have walked through that door. Now, what's the position?'
Penn paused and then burst out with it. 'We're a helluva long way behind the German lines. Maybe twenty miles or more.'
'We can't be...'
'The Germans have broken through along the whole front. They've torn a tremendous gap in the lines and it's a bloody great mess - just how great it's hard to tell because there are so many rumours...'
'It could be a rumour that they've broken through, then.'
'No chance of that - I heard this morning that the Panzers have reached Arras. The Luftwaffe has the whole show to itself - our lot and the French Air Force were shot out of the sky in the first few days. The Germans have hundreds of tanks and thousands of planes. You've got to face it - we're miles and miles behind the German lines.'
'Today is Thursday, then?'
'Yes, Thursday, May the twenty-third.'
'And where exactly are we?'
'Just outside a place called Fontaine. We're fairly close to the French frontier.'
'What?'
For the second time in five minutes Barnes was staggered, but this time he simply stared at bis corporal grimly as he climbed to his
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