Tramp in Armour by Colin Forbes

down undergrowth, dropping with a bump as the tank's centre of gravity pivoted on the brink and then plunged downwards, slithering and grinding over the brambles, hitting the water with a splash, the tank turning as Reynolds briefly halted the right track so that the revolutions of the left one swung the hull round through an angle of ninety degrees to face downstream. When Barnes shone his torch beam he saw that the river level was no more than a foot up the side of the tracks. As usual, Reynolds was handling the driving brilliantly even in this unusual environment. The tank advanced .towards the bridge, a clearance from the banks on either side of several feet, moving forward over the firm river bed until they halted under the archway. Inside the hull Penn sat listening to the peaceful lapping of water round the tracks.
    'Now,' said Barnes briskly, 'time for supper. Penn, you take up temporary guard duty on the bridge while Reynolds brews up - I'll come up and relieve you as soon as it's ready. I wonder what the devil has happened to Pierre?'
    He climbed down to the footpath and started to climb the bank when he heard Pierre coming along the footpath from upstream; the lad was carrying something in bis hands. When he switched on his torch he saw that Pierre was holding a large fish.
    'I caught it in a pool higher up - we can have it for our supper. There are many more - easily enough for one each.'
    Penn paused, halfway up the bank on his way to the bridge. 'What a marvellous idea - my mouth's watering already. Pity we haven't some chips to go with them.'
    'Give it to me!' Reynolds thrust an eager hand forward and Barnes remembered that the driver had been a fishmonger before he had signed on. 'I'll start cleaning it as soon as I get the brew-up going.'
    'You really want raw fish for supper?' Barnes asked quietly.
    'Raw?' Penn protested. 'We can cook the damned thing in no time.'
    'There'll be no cooking here tonight. It's a warm evening, the air's absolutely still, and a cooking smell could linger round this bridge for hours. I'm not risking it. We'll have to make do with tea and bully beef. We've got the French bread Pierre brought, too,' he added.
    'For Christ's sake!' exploded Penn.
    'You're supposed to be up on that bridge keeping a lookout,' replied Barnes with deceptive calm.
    'Sorry,' Penn spoke stiffly, turned away, and clambered up to the top of the slope.
    Reynolds said nothing and went back to preparing a brew-up on his little stove. Barnes waited for the Belgian lad's reaction with interest. Putting his hands back behind his head, Pierre hurled the fish as far as he could downstream and sat down on the footpath, not looking at Barnes. Under the archway, Reynolds worked in silence, unpacking his spirit stove, inserting white metaldehyde tablets, applying a lighted match, and then replacing the metal cap over the flame. When he went off upstream to fill his kettle he was gone for several minutes and Barnes guessed that he had taken water from Pierre's pool so he could look at the fish.

    The stove was not standard issue, but many of the items they carried, such as their sheath_knives, had never appeared on any official list of equipment: Barnes had long ago decided that his tank must be able to operate as a self-contained unit without the normal supply facilities when necessary, although never in his wildest theorizing could he have visualized a situation like this where they would find themselves behind the enemy lines, cut off from all contact with their own army, let alone their own troop. I took the right decision, he told himself as he thought of Penn's irritability and watched Reynolds' abnormally slow movements in preparing the supper. Those two haven't enjoyed more than four hours' sleep a night since we landed at Fontaine and today was no picnic. Until we get some rest none of us is capable of taking part in action against the enemy, so the only thing to do is to keep our heads down until we've recovered.