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Authors: Colin Forbes
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road they were walking along. The main road was packed with an incredible congestion of traffic, a slow-moving column which travelled at such a snail's pace that it hardly seemed to move at all. Barnes turned off the road and began to cut across the fields diagonally along a course which would take them to the eastern outskirts of the village.
'Are we riot entering Fontaine?' inquired Pierre.
'I want to have a look at that column. Later, I want to go in to buy some food.'
'You will not get any - the village store is empty and the storekeeper has left two days before. He was very frightened and said it was time to go.'
'Frightened of the Germans?'
'No, of the villagers. He said that soon they would take what they wanted without paying him a franc. One man did call him a robber - I saw it myself. Other people in the store were threatening him.'
The incident had an ugly ring and Barnes began to feel alarmed. The sooner they got out of this area the better, but he must check the state of the roads first. We're in a jam, all right, he told himself. If all the main roads are like this we'll have to move across country, and that will slow us down and double our fuel consumption. They were approaching the refugee line broadside on, a line which stretched as far as the eye could see. A dozen yards from the roadside they stopped in the field and watched the spectacle. The road was crammed" from verge to verge with a swollen river of fleeing humanity -several cars, a large number of horse-drawn carts piled high with bed linen, mattresses, and a jumble of household goods. On one cart he saw a brass-posted bed which threatened to lurch over the edge at any moment. But above all the road was congested with people on foot and Barnes had never seen more pathetic faces, the faces of men and women at the end of their tether, their expressions weary and despairing, their eyes fixed dully on the vehicle ahead as they trudged along under the merciless heat of the sun.
'We'll never get through that lot,' he said eventually.
'There is a road which turns off over there.' Pierre pointed across the fields to a low hedge. 'You could take your tank along that road. No refugees have come from that direction since the Germans attacked.'
'Do you know where it goes?'
'Of course. It leads to Arras. I have never been there but my uncle has told me. I have been along it for many miles and it is wide enough for a tank.'
What Pierre was saying agreed with the map Barnes had studied and he found his thoughts turning more and more towards the town of Arras. Penn had told him that a news bulletin that morning had reported an Allied counter-attack developing in the area of Arras, a counter-attack of British tanks, and the town was the one fixed point where the Allies seemed to be engaging the Germans. He looked to the right as he heard a car coming closer, its horn blaring persistently. It was an open touring Renault, a green four-seater, and superficially it had the appearance of a military staff car. For one split second Barnes thought he might have re-established contact with the Allied forces, and then he saw that the only occupant was a woman. The horn blared again and again as she stopped and then edged forward a few more yards. Barnes felt that she must be crazy, but as he watched her he was filled with a sense of unease, an odd foreboding. To add to her idiotic behaviour she had not even offered a lift to any of the exhausted wretches who trudged in front of her on foot.
'How provocative can you get?' growled Barnes.
'Pardon?'
The German attack came without warning, without mercy, came out of clear blue sky from in front of the sun so that it was almost impossible to detect their approach, but Barnes heard them coming.
'Down!'
He shouted the word again and again to the bewildered crowd and then dropped flat on the grass beside Pierre as the first Messerschmitt swooped along the column, its engine screaming, its machine gun blazing non-stop.
'Are we riot entering Fontaine?' inquired Pierre.
'I want to have a look at that column. Later, I want to go in to buy some food.'
'You will not get any - the village store is empty and the storekeeper has left two days before. He was very frightened and said it was time to go.'
'Frightened of the Germans?'
'No, of the villagers. He said that soon they would take what they wanted without paying him a franc. One man did call him a robber - I saw it myself. Other people in the store were threatening him.'
The incident had an ugly ring and Barnes began to feel alarmed. The sooner they got out of this area the better, but he must check the state of the roads first. We're in a jam, all right, he told himself. If all the main roads are like this we'll have to move across country, and that will slow us down and double our fuel consumption. They were approaching the refugee line broadside on, a line which stretched as far as the eye could see. A dozen yards from the roadside they stopped in the field and watched the spectacle. The road was crammed" from verge to verge with a swollen river of fleeing humanity -several cars, a large number of horse-drawn carts piled high with bed linen, mattresses, and a jumble of household goods. On one cart he saw a brass-posted bed which threatened to lurch over the edge at any moment. But above all the road was congested with people on foot and Barnes had never seen more pathetic faces, the faces of men and women at the end of their tether, their expressions weary and despairing, their eyes fixed dully on the vehicle ahead as they trudged along under the merciless heat of the sun.
'We'll never get through that lot,' he said eventually.
'There is a road which turns off over there.' Pierre pointed across the fields to a low hedge. 'You could take your tank along that road. No refugees have come from that direction since the Germans attacked.'
'Do you know where it goes?'
'Of course. It leads to Arras. I have never been there but my uncle has told me. I have been along it for many miles and it is wide enough for a tank.'
What Pierre was saying agreed with the map Barnes had studied and he found his thoughts turning more and more towards the town of Arras. Penn had told him that a news bulletin that morning had reported an Allied counter-attack developing in the area of Arras, a counter-attack of British tanks, and the town was the one fixed point where the Allies seemed to be engaging the Germans. He looked to the right as he heard a car coming closer, its horn blaring persistently. It was an open touring Renault, a green four-seater, and superficially it had the appearance of a military staff car. For one split second Barnes thought he might have re-established contact with the Allied forces, and then he saw that the only occupant was a woman. The horn blared again and again as she stopped and then edged forward a few more yards. Barnes felt that she must be crazy, but as he watched her he was filled with a sense of unease, an odd foreboding. To add to her idiotic behaviour she had not even offered a lift to any of the exhausted wretches who trudged in front of her on foot.
'How provocative can you get?' growled Barnes.
'Pardon?'
The German attack came without warning, without mercy, came out of clear blue sky from in front of the sun so that it was almost impossible to detect their approach, but Barnes heard them coming.
'Down!'
He shouted the word again and again to the bewildered crowd and then dropped flat on the grass beside Pierre as the first Messerschmitt swooped along the column, its engine screaming, its machine gun blazing non-stop.
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