They only took a minute to run back down to the truck, both of them falling over in their haste to get away. Tim climbed up and jumped into the passenger seat, his Sten cradled across his lap. Johnny put his on the floor near his feet as he climbed into the driving seat. He slammed his door shut and his fingers scrabbled for the ignition key.
He turned it.
Nothing!
He tried again in two, then three quick successions.
Still nothing.
Tim was frantically looking out of the window expecting to see the whole German army descending on them at any moment.
“It won’t fucking start!, Johnny was desperate.
Tim looked at his friend. Their eyes met. No words were necessary. They were possibly living the last few minutes of their lives. Tim looked in the door mirror at their tracks left in the sand. He knew that when that car rounded the bend at the bottom of the dune the tracks would be seen and the game up. The Germans would surely investigate!
Johnny looked at his friend again, frantically turning the key. Suddenly the engine roared into life. Johnny closed his eyes and blew out his breath. He crunched the gears in to reverse and backed the Bedford a short distance, then he crunched it into first and drove off. Finding firmer ground he got the Bedford into third and hit the tarmac road at thirty miles an hour just in front of the Mercedes which had to swerve to avoid being hit and came to an abrupt stop.
Wurtz leaped out of the car and stared angrily at the tailboard as it sped away. He turned and shouted at the Mercedes driver.
“What the hell was that?”
“It was British sir.”
Wurtz wasted no time. He put his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistled waving the lead truck and motorcycles forward. The truck screeched to a halt and Wehrmacht soldiers jumped down onto the road.
“After them!” he roared.
Soldiers jumped into the motorcycle sidecars and they roared away, the passengers loading the MG42’s.
It didn’t take them long to catch the truck. Johnny gave out a yelp of surprise when he checked the door mirror and saw the first of the motorcycles catching them.
“Oh God! Motorbikes!” he yelled.
Tim looked into his mirror. He could see two his side. Realising it would take too long to wind down his window he smashed it with his gun instead. He leaned out and sent a burst at the lead motorcycle hitting it many times, catching its riders unawares. The lead rider backed off. He looked down. Miraculously he wasn’t hurt and his bike not badly damaged. He closed in on the truck again. Tim leaned out and sent another burst which missed the bikes. The trigger clicked, the magazine empty. The lead rider saw Tim dart back inside the window. He made his move, opened up his throttle and drew alongside just as Tim leaned out with Johnny’s gun. The MG42 jammed as Tim emptied Johnny’s Sten into the lead riders chest. He was thrown backwards off the bike in a spray of blood and guts. The passenger let go of the MG42 and tried to grab the handlebars. The bike was wobbling uncontrollably and he fell between it and the sidecar as it cart wheeled over and over. He went under the back wheels of the Bedford and it minced him instantly into a pulp.
“Got one of them!” Tim shouted with glee.
Johnny punched the air with joy
“Felt him go under the wheels,” he said looking into the mirror at the red mash left behind.
The two remaining motorcycle sidecars were now flanking the Bedford’s tail. Johnny could see in his mirrors both machine gunners ready. So far the Germans hadn’t fired a shot.
Now they did.
A wicked burst from an MG42 ricocheted off the trucks sides, the bullets tearing through canvas looking for victims. Johnny couldn’t understand why they weren’t shooting out his tyres. Suddenly Johnny jammed on the brakes. The two motorcycles rocketed past and Johnny swerved into the one on his side crushing it. Tim wasn’t so lucky. The one on his side fired off a volley and he ducked but not before he was hit in the arm. Blood splashed the inside of the door and ran down the outside. He let out a howl of pain. Johnny looked across at his companion. He