Silence Over Dunkerque Read Free Page A

gun, in a scout car, they crossed a small bridge, the mines having been pointed out to them. The road led straight ahead, and before long they were in a wood, winding through lanes for perhaps half an hour with no opposition and no enemy visible. At last they came to a small stream over which was a tiny stone bridge. A Belgian farmer working in the fields rose from his vegetables as they passed. There was a half frown on his face and something of a warning, the Sergeant thought, in his bearing.
    “Most likely this bridge is mined,” said the Sergeant. “I’ll ask him.”
    During the long winter months when most of the battalion non-coms were spending their evenings over glasses of beer in the cafés and estaminets along the frontier, Sergeant Williams had been studying and taking French lessons from the cure of the nearby village. By this time he was able to speak the language with fluency and a horrible British accent.
    He leaped from the scout car and walked over to the farmer. As he did so, a frightful sound came from the rear.
    “Hinauf.” Stick ’em up.
    He whirled around. From the thicket across the road stepped five German soldiers in coal-scuttle helmets with Schmeisser pistols at their hips. They were the first Germans he had ever seen. They were not to be the last.
    In the car, Fingers and the corporal sat foolishly, mouths open, hands high in the air. Slowly the Sergeant swung round and stuck his up too. His face flushed. I just can’t believe it, he thought. In the regular army since I was sixteen, worked up from private to sergeant, and taken prisoner on the third day of battle without ever having fired a shot.
    His next thought was of his family in the house on the Folkestone Road in Dover. This means they’ll be more alone than ever, for we’ve copped it. A German prison camp and the end of the war for the lot of us. The Sergeant was cheesed off.
    The officers stepped from the woods and searched them. These were the first British guns they had seen, and each one was passed back and forth with interest. Then one officer beckoned, and a small German weapons’ carrier issued from an unnoticed road. He ordered the Englishmen back into their own car, and indicated they were to follow. As the cars lined up, a German soldier sat in the rear of the weapons’ carrier, with a machine gun on a tripod between his knees. It was pointed directly at them.
    The corporal started to climb into their car, but Sergeant Williams shoved him aside and got in beside Fingers, the driver. A German officer observed this, said something to the man in the rear of their vehicle, and the machine gun swung to the right and gave forth an eloquent burst of sudden, sharp sound. Then the barrel swung back and lined up on their scout car.
    The German patrol piled into their machine, the officer signaled, and they moved across the bridge. For perhaps a couple of miles they bumped across a country road. Then, far ahead, the Sergeant observed a crossroads with several signposts. His mind became active. As the senior non-com he had got them into trouble; now his job was to extricate them.
    Coming close, they saw it was a main crossroads. The enemy car winked its lights to show it was turning left, the machine gun swung ostentatiously from side to side. Fingers winked his lights to indicate he understood the signal.
    “Go right, Fingers,” said the Sergeant. His mouth never moved as he talked. “Go right and drive like hell.”
    The little cockney said nothing. But he heard, understood, responded. Gaining speed, he came closer to the enemy weapons’ carrier, so near they could see those cruel blue eyes behind the machine gun. As they neared the crossroads, Fingers seemed to be obeying orders and following the German car. Then at the last second, he swerved violently right, tossing the two others against the windshield, and raced down the empty road.
    Almost immediately machine-gun bullets spattered past, but they were soon out of range.