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many exactly, he could not be certain.
    'Hurry!' hissed the voice, then the torch was flashed
on again.
    Torwinski squinted in the sudden light then glanced
briefly at the other two - Kasprowicz grimacing angrily, Ormicki with terror on
his face. As Torwinski bent to tie his laces, he was shoved forward. Stumbling,
he was grabbed by the collar and pushed roughly towards the door and out into
the night. 'Where are you taking us?' he said. 'What do you want with us?'
    Hearing his comrade speak, Ormicki began to ask
Torwinski questions and also received a blow to the head.
    'I told you,' said the man, in a low, steady voice,
'to bloody well keep quiet. Now shut up - I don't want to hear another sound.'
    'Why don't we gag them?' said another.
    'You can keep your bloody trap shut an' all,' said the
first man. 'Now come on, let's get going.'
    Slowly, Torwinski's eyes adjusted to the night light.
There was no moon, but the sky was clear and millions of stars cast an ethereal
glow so that he could see the dark shapes of the huts, the trees near by and
the track that led towards the Northern Grass. His heart was hammering as they
stumbled on in silence. There were four men, one ahead, the other three behind.
All wore their helmets low over their eyes so that it was impossible to tell
who they were or what they looked like other than that they appeared to be and
sounded like British soldiers.
    Torwinski prayed they might see someone else - a
late-working mechanic or a guard, perhaps. He was certain that whatever these
men wanted with them it was not authorized. How could it be? What had they possibly
done wrong? He could think of nothing. But not a soul stirred. As they neared
the Northern Grass, a row of Hurricanes loomed in front of them, but then they
were pushed to the left, along the airfield road until they reached a series of
stores and a parked lorry, which, from the cylindrical shape of its load,
Torwinski recognized as a fuel bowser.
    'Get in,' growled the first man, opening the cab door.
Torwinski climbed up, the other two following. The same question kept repeating
in his mind. What can they want with us? His
stomach churned and sweat ran down his back, chilling him. Inside the cab it
was darker again, and one of the soldiers opened the other door. Torwinski
turned to look, and as he did so the butt of a rifle was driven into the side
of his head. His vision and other senses left him. By the time he had slumped
forward against the dashboard, Ormicki and Kasprowicz had been knocked cold
too.
    Standing on the cliffs at White Ness just a few
hundred yards north of Kingsgate Castle, Sergeant Tanner had been staring out
to sea when he heard a lorry, followed by muffled yells from the men guarding
the roadblock.
    'What the hell?' he murmured and, calling Hepworth and
Bennett, one of the new men, he ran towards the main road that led to Kingsgate.
He could hear the lorry thundering onwards, then saw the slit of beam from the
blackout headlights as it approached the bend in the road before the castle.
    'What the bloody 'ell's going on, Sarge?' said
Hepworth, breathlessly.
    'Some damn fool's driven right through our sodding
checkpoint,' Tanner replied. Standing in the long grass at the side of the
road, he unslung his rifle and levelled it towards the bend.
    'What are you going to do, Sarge?' asked Bennett.
    'Shoot the bastard's tyre.'
    'Do you think it's a Jerry?' Bennett was young, only
eighteen.
    Before Tanner could reply, the lorry ploughed straight
on at the bend, smashing through a fence and a hedge and crashing to a
standstill as it hit a tree.
    Immediately Tanner was sprinting down the road, Hepworth
and Bennett following. As he leaped through the hole in the fence and hedge, he
heard groaning from the cab, then saw a figure stumble out, stagger across the
young green shoots of corn and collapse.
    Hurrying to the prostrate figure, Tanner knelt beside
him and put his ear to the man's mouth.
    'Ormicki and Kasprowicz,' the man