Darkest Hour by James Holland

from Slater or the stores.'
    'Or both.' Tanner scuffed the ground with the toe of
his boot. 'I don't suppose you've seen Mr Peploe?'
    'No, Sarge.' Sykes eyed him. 'What do you think? What
should we do?'
    'I'll see if I can find Slater and talk to him. What
does he look like?'
    'Quite a big bloke. A bit smaller than the CSM and his
face looks like he's been a few rounds. Oh, and he's got a limp.'
    Tanner grinned. 'Of course. Shouldn't be too hard to
spot, then. Where are these stores?'
    'Right down the back end of this place. There's a big
hangar to the far side of all the huts. It's away to the left of that, on its
own at the end of a long workshop.'
    'I don't think we should poke around in the stores
yet, though.'
    'No. Too many people about. Have a look tonight,
maybe. Didn't you say we're on airfield duty later?'
    'I did. All right - we'll do that. I'll put money on
there being something in that storeroom that shouldn't be.'
    'Like stolen fuel?'
    'Yes, Stan,' said Tanner. 'Like stolen fuel.'
    Tanner found the store easily enough. It was a
creosoted wooden structure with a corrugated-iron roof, tacked onto the end of
a longer brick-built workshop. There were no windows, only a door that was
double- padlocked. He wondered whether Sykes would have the means to break the
lock - but that was expecting a lot. A small distance away, towards the pilots'
accommodation blocks, a Bofors light anti-aircraft crew were manning their gun,
but otherwise no one was about, and certainly no one answering CQS Slater's
description. A truck rumbled onto the road that bisected the airfield, crunched
through its gears and continued on its way. In the distance he heard someone
yelling orders. A wasp buzzed near his face and, startled, he swished it away.
    He walked round the building, the sun warm on his
face. Damn it, he wanted to know what Slater and Blackstone had inside.
Ammunition boxes principally, uniform, equipment spares, and what else? Tonight , he told himself. He and Sykes would have to get
in somehow.
    When he returned to the hut there was no sign of
Sykes, but several of the others were now awake and playing cards.
    'Mr Peploe was looking for you, Sarge,' said
McAllister, his hand in front of his face.
    'When?'
    'Ten minutes back. Said he'll be in the office block.'
    Tanner headed out again, across the parade-ground and
into the now familiar building, and soon found Peploe's office, a small room
that the lieutenant shared with the two other platoon commanders. Peploe was
the only one there; the door was open and Tanner saw him leaning over his desk,
his head resting in a hand. His brow knotted, he was apparently in deep
thought. He didn't notice his sergeant. 'You wanted me, sir?'
    Peploe looked up. 'Ah, Tanner, there you are. Come
in.' He pushed back his chair, stood up and went to shut the door. 'Have a
seat.'
    'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner, sitting on a rickety
folding chair. 'Did you see Torwinski?'
    'Yes - he's all right. Well, physically at any rate.
He's been placed under arrest and there's a - what did you call them? A Snowdrop
standing by his bed.'
    Tanner shook his head. 'At least he should be safe.'
    'Well, yes, there is that. He was due to be discharged
about now, handed over to the civilian police and taken to the station in
Ramsgate.' Peploe sighed. Suddenly he looked very young. Tanner supposed he
must be in his early twenties. 'I'm afraid it's all a bit bleak,' Peploe continued.
'They found documents this morning in the men's hut. Details of deliveries,
that sort of thing. The OC told me that, as far as he's concerned, it's an open
and shut case. And that, I'm afraid, has come from the RAFP and the police
inspector working on the case. I protested, of course, but it seems no one's
interested in hearing an alternative version of events. I mean, I can see it
from Captain Barclay's point of view - he's got other things on his mind, like
our departure for France, and he's obviously relieved to have had the whole
matter