The Odin Mission

by James Holland

  Shapes retreating from the first boat. Where was Sandvold? The lights of the second lorry curving round the river's edge were only a few hundred metres away now. Tanner heard the grinding of gears just as their own boat scraped against the stony shore. 'Get out, quick!' Tanner shouted. 'Cross the railway and head for the trees!' The third boat was closing on the shore too. One of the Frenchmen jumped but the water was deeper than he'd thought, and he flailed trying desperately to free his pack.

  'Keep going!' Tanner shouted, kneeling to take aim as the vehicle turned towards them. He fired once, missed, then fired again and hit the windscreen of the lorry, which veered. He fired once more, and heard the ping of a bullet hitting metal. A screech of brakes, and the lorry came to a halt at the side of the road, a hundred yards ahead. A German voice yelled orders, and enemy troops hurried from the back of the truck. The Frenchman in the water was drowning, but Tanner ignored him and grabbed the prow of the dinghy. 'Jump!' he yelled, as Chevannes leapt out. Bullets ricocheted off the stones. Tanner was conscious of someone beside him. 'Go!' he shouted.

  'Non!' came the reply. 'Mon ami. Vites, Henri, vites!'

  'He's gone, mate,' said Tanner, but the Chasseur stepped into the water to rescue his friend.

  'For God's sake,' said Tanner, grabbing him. 'Go! Now!' A machine-gun opened fire, raking the water, tracer arcing towards them. At this, the Chasseur gave up and both men were running for their lives, off the pebble shore, across a grassy verge and over the railway line. The machine-gun had stopped firing but Tanner could hear the footsteps of enemy troops running towards them. He spun round and fired twice, then ran on, up another grassy bank, stumbled, cursed, picked himself up, as more bullets whistled over his head and into the ground at either side of him, then headed for the trees.

  Where was everyone? Shouts from below and more shots. He could barely see anything, and hit a thin branch, which whipped back and slashed him across the face. Stinging pain coursed through him, then seared the side of his leg, and he cried out.

  'Sarge, is that you?' called a voice.

  'Stan!' said Tanner. 'Where the hell is everyone?'

  'Up ahead. Are you all right, Sarge?'

  'I think so. Thank God for dense forests.'

  'A-bloody-men to that.'

  Bullets tore into the trees, ripped through branches and smacked into the ground, but the slope was steep and the forest close. Tanner could hear others panting and gasping for breath. Suddenly a machine-gun opened fire again, a long burst spurting bullets up the wooded slopes. Tanner crouched behind a tree as the bullets flew. He saw a flickering torch beam, but it was weak so he stepped out from behind the tree, aimed his rifle towards the light and fired. The reply was another long burst of machine-gun fire, but this time the aim was way off, the bullets cutting through the trees high above their heads.

  'Reckon they're angry, Sarge,' said Sykes, from a few yards to Tanner's right.

  'Very, I'd say,' Tanner replied. 'Come on, Stan, let's keep going. You sure the others are all ahead?'

  'I'm sure.'

  The firing lessened as they climbed higher and eventually, a couple of hundred feet above the lake, they reached a clearing in the trees.

  'Hey,' said Tanner, in a loud whisper.

  'Sergeant, is that you?'

  Larsen. Tanner breathed a sigh of relief. 'Sir,' said Tanner, 'where are you?'

  'Up ahead. Keep going, Sergeant.'

  Tanner scrambled up the slope and, straining his eyes, peered into the darkness. Above, near the edge of the thickening forest, he could just make out the dark shape of several people crouched together. 'Stan,' he whispered, 'they're up here.' All six from the leading boat - Sandvold included - were still together. Thank God.

  'We made it, sir,' said Sykes, breathlessly, to Chevannes.

  'Yes,' replied the Frenchman. 'A miracle.'

  By listening for panting, they were able, one by one, to gather the men together. Most collapsed on the ground, some laughing and whispering animatedly with the release of tension until Chevannes sharply told them to be quiet. 'We're not in the clear yet,' he told them. 'Not by any means.'

  A head count showed that two men were missing: Chasseur Bardet and Private Mitch Moran. Both had been in the last boat. 'I'm sorry, sir,' said Tanner to Chevannes, 'but Bardet drowned. He jumped from the boat too early and his pack weighed him down. Chasseur Junot tried to rescue him but it was too late.'

  Chevannes nodded. Junot himself was not in a good way. Soaked above the waist, he was shivering. He was also inconsolable at the loss of his friend.

  'He needs to change his clothes,' said Tanner, 'or he'll be following his friend pretty soon.' But no one had any spare trousers, only jackets. Neither had they seen Moran. 'Tinker?' he said to Bell. 'You were in the boat with him.'

  'We jumped out, Sarge. There were lots of bullets. He might have been hit.'

  The valley below was now eerily quiet. Tanner hated to leave Moran behind, but they needed to get going - and quickly. He peered into the trees. Nothing. Damn you, Mitch, where are you? he thought. Then, turning to Chevannes, he said, 'Sir? We have to move off.'

  'I know, Sergeant,' snapped Chevannes. 'Mademoiselle Rostad,' he said to Anna, 'where should we be heading?'

  'Straight up the hill through the trees,' she said. 'At the top there is a track that leads to Svingvoll, a small farming hamlet at the head of a shallow valley. We should head for there, where—' She was cut off by a sharp hiss as a flare shot into the sky, followed swiftly by several more, which burst like crackling fireworks, showering the mountainside with light. A moment later they heard troops below them.

  'Vite!' whispered Chevannes, the glow from the flares briefly lighting his face. He waved his arm and the men clambered onwards as rifle and machine-gun fire cracked and sputtered behind them. Tanner urged his men, then ducked as a bullet hurtled over him, missing his head by inches. Melting into the trees once more, he paused to fire, then took out a grenade and having pulled the pin, hurled it as hard as he could down the mountain, more in the hope of blinding their pursuers than from any realistic expectation of hitting anyone. A few seconds later, as it exploded, Tanner heard a German cry out. He smiled grimly to himself and clambered on up the slope, through patchy snow, until it seemed that at last the pursuers had given up the chase.

  Cresting the hill, Tanner paused. He could only just make out the others, although he could hear them. They had all stopped, and most now stood with hands on hips or knees as they fought for breath. Across the valley, he could see the looming mountains, the formidable mass of rock and snow over which they had struggled the past few days. Now they had made it successfully to the other side. A miracle, Chevannes had called it, and for once Tanner was content to agree with the French lieutenant.

  Beneath them, an engine started up. The Germans were back in their truck. Tanner heard the driver revving the engine until it screamed.

  'You know what that is, don't you, Sarge?' said Sykes beside him.

  'Yes, Stan,' Tanner grinned. 'Jerry's got his wheels stuck.'

  Chapter 13

  As Anna had promised there was a track, which wove its way past a number of farmsteads, hidden from the valley floor, but which overlooked the bend in the river as it curved eastwards at the end of the Tretten gorge back towards Oyer. There was snow on the ground, but the track had been well trodden by foot and cart and was compacted in a way that made walking easy. Occasionally a dog barked, but otherwise the same eerie stillness that had accompanied them on the other side of the valley seemed to have descended on the mountains once more. It made Tanner feel that he was not atop some vast expanse of rock, but rather that they were walking through a narrow chasm. Each footstep sounded so clear, his breathing heavy and close.

  They reached Svingvoll and skirted the lip of the shallow valley, then joined another track that led across an empty forested plateau of thin snow. Shortly after two in the morning, the first hint of dawn spread pinkly across the horizon behind them. Tan
ner was glad for the thin light. He had enjoyed the thrill of night as a boy - being out with his father, shooting rabbits and setting traps. Yet that had been on familiar ground; he had known every inch of those woods. Now, though, he was relieved to be able to see in front of him, his surroundings gradually more defined, the men - and Anna - walking in front and behind him.

  Anna. She had already more than proved her worth, he thought. And he had been impressed by her cool- headedness: her first time under fire and she had not panicked. He thought of striding ahead and talking to her, but decided against it. Better to wait for the right moment.

  Instead he drew alongside Professor Sandvold, the man he had vowed to deliver safely to the Allies. 'How are you, Professor?' he asked.

  'Too old for making daring dashes across rivers,' he replied. 'I don't mind telling you, Sergeant, I found the whole experience terrifying. It is one thing being strafed by enemy aircraft because it is all over before you have realized it is happening. But crossing the lake was truly frightening. Tell me there will not be any more episodes like that.'

  Tanner smiled. 'I hope not, Professor. I can't say I enjoyed it much either.'

  'And all those bullets. Really, how do you keep calm in such situations?'

  'I always find that in the heat of the moment there's no time to be frightened.'

  Sandvold eyed him sceptically. 'That is why you are a soldier and I am not, Sergeant.'

  ********

  Soon after, Junot collapsed. The small column of men stopped and gathered round him as he lay propped against a tree, his teeth chattering, gibbering incoherently. Crouching beside him, Anna felt his brow. 'His temperature's dropped,' she said.

  'He's got hypothermia,' said Tanner. 'We need to wrap him in something warm, quickly, or else he'll croak. Here,' he said, taking off his German wind jacket, 'fold this round his legs.' Anna did so, while Tanner retrieved his leather jerkin from his pack. Another makeshift stretcher was assembled using Mausers and greatcoats and the prostrate Junot hoisted on to it. Chevannes' two remaining men took one end, while Sykes ordered Hepworth and Kershaw to take the other.

  'He's going to need help,' Anna said, turning to Chevannes.

  'And we can't walk all the way to the front with a stretcher,' added the French lieutenant. 'Merde.' He glanced ahead at the seemingly endless trees, stretching across the plateau. 'How far is it to the valley?'

  Anna shrugged. 'Five kilometres, maybe. There's the village of Alstad. We can get help there.'

  'Good,' he said, 'Let's keep going.'

  It was nearly half past eight on the morning of Thursday, 25 April, when they reached the crest of the mountain plateau and were able to look down over the narrow j0ra valley. On the east-facing slopes, the valley was once again thickly wooded with a blanket of snow still on the ground, but below them, on the west- facing valley sides, the snow had all but gone. On the valley floor, a narrow river wound away to the north-west, silvery in the morning light. Beside it there was a road, little more than a rough track but smooth and free of snow.

  Chevannes called a brief halt to change stretcher- bearers. Beneath them lay a settlement of scattered farms and, standing on its own, at the edge of the river, a small church. This was Alstad, Anna told them. Junot was now ghostly white, his lips and ears blue. 'We need to hurry,' she told Chevannes.

  They pressed on, clambering down the slopes through open pasture until they reached the first of half a dozen farmsteads. Several dogs ran out into the yard as Anna walked ahead with Larsen, past ageing outhouses with grass-covered roofs. Tanner watched apprehensively, his rifle at the ready.

  A few minutes later, Larsen reappeared and signalled to them. The men left their position along a track above the farm, and hurried into the yard, past chickens and geese cackling at the invasion. Old carts and farm machinery, green with lichen, spokes shattered, were piled haphazardly against the sheds. They reached the steps where the farmer stood, watching them approach. His face was weatherbeaten and wrinkled, with a two-day growth of white beard, and he stared at the men suspiciously as they trooped past him into the low-ceilinged kitchen. It was musty, primitive and dark, and with their packs, rifles and equipment, the men crowded it.

  The farmer's wife ushered the stretcher-bearers to an armchair by the fire, then barked at her husband, who grudgingly edged his way through the men and began to stoke the fire with more wood. His wife disappeared, but could be heard moving overhead. Soon she returned with a pile of blankets. Junot was then stripped from the waist down, swathed in wool and the woman began vigorously to rub his hands and feet, talking to Anna as she did so.

  'She knows how to deal with hypothermia,' Anna said, turning to Tanner and Chevannes. 'Her cousin had it once, but she is worried it is too late for Junot.' The woman now shouted at her husband, who quickly filled a large black pot and hung it above the fire. 'They're making coffee,' Anna explained. 'Sweet coffee. The sugar and hot fluid will help him.'

  Suddenly the woman stopped what she was doing and felt Junot's neck. She sat back and looked up at Anna and Chevannes.

  'He is dead?' said Chevannes to Anna, disbelief on his face.

  Anna nodded. 'I am sorry, Lieutenant. The poor man. It is too terrible.'

  Chevannes put his hands to his face. 'Mon Dieu,' he muttered. 'Mon Dieu.'

  Tanner's first thoughts were about what they should do with the body. They needed to cover not only their own tracks but those of the farmer and his wife. Then they had to consider what they would do next. Chevannes was wavering, he could see, while Nielssen and Larsen were keeping quiet, allowing the French lieutenant to make the decisions. For God's sake.

  The farmer and his wife were arguing now.

  'What are they saying?' asked Chevannes.

  'He wants us to take Junot with us,' Anna explained.

  'His wife is saying we should carry him to the church - then he can have a proper Christian burial.'

  'That's ridiculous,' said Tanner. 'We need to take him up into the trees and bury him there.' He turned to Chevannes. 'Don't you agree, sir?'

  'Yes, Sergeant. Yes, we must.' Chevannes seemed distant and distracted.

  'Shall I organize it, sir?' Tanner asked.

  Chevannes nodded. Tanner gathered his men, told them to ditch their German caps and jackets, put on their old greatcoats, jerkins and tin helmets, then lift Junot. The farmer's wife tried to stop them, but with Anna placating her, the men picked up the dead Chasseur and went back out into the morning light, trudged back through the yard, up the track and into the trees overlooking the farm.

  As a shallow grave was dug, Tanner gazed down at the valley below. It looked so peaceful, as though the war could never touch it. There were no charred remains or piles of rubble here. Rather, the only smoke was that which rose in narrow columns from the farms on the lower slopes, their inhabitants up and about, getting ready for another day.

  Sykes was standing beside him.

  'Do you reckon Jerry knows about our professor, then?' the corporal asked.

  'I can't work it out, Stan. The other evening that German patrol seemed to be coming after us for a reason. Why else go to all that trouble just to catch a few soldiers on the run? And last night I could have sworn those men at Tretten were waiting for us, as

  though they knew we were going to cross the valley.'

  'But how could they have done?'

  Tanner shook his head. 'I don't know. And there's another thing. Did you notice most of their shooting was high?'

  'Was it?'

  'Well, not a single one of us was hit, were we? Except maybe Mitch.'

  'No, I suppose not.'

  'But then again, no one came looking for us yesterday, did they? A few recce planes overhead, but that was all. It doesn't make sense.' He lit a cigarette. 'Maybe I'm imagining things.' He was silent for a moment, then said, 'With any luck they won't come looking for us along here. If we keep our eyes and ears strained for aircraft, we should be all right.'

  'We could do
with some M/T, Sarge,' added Sykes. 'Perhaps one of these farmers here has got some.'

  'Perhaps.'

  They gazed at the valley again. 'Just fourteen of us now,' said Tanner.

  'A few less to worry about.'

  'Yes, that's true.' Tanner sighed. Behind him, the men had finished covering Junot and were putting away their entrenching tools. 'Come on, boys,' said Tanner. 'Let's get back to the farmhouse.'

  As they reached the yard, they saw the farmer hurry outside. He glared at them as they passed him.

  'Bloody hell, what's the matter with him?' said Hepworth.

  'Trouble with the missus?' suggested McAllister.

  'She's a tough-looking woman,' said Sykes. 'Had him running around earlier.'

  'Maybe he doesn't like having a bunch of soldiers turn up early for breakfast,' said Tanner. They went back inside to find the others putting their packs on their shoulders.

  'Have you buried Junot, Sergeant?' Chevannes asked Tanner. 'We need to leave.'

  'Er, yes,' Tanner replied, handing him Junot's identity tags. 'He's well hidden up in the trees.'

  'Good. We go.'

  'The farmer is nervous,' explained Anna. 'He is worried about what the Germans will do if they find out we have been here. Henrik Larsen has tried to reason with him, but I am afraid it is no use.' She looked towards the farmer's wife. 'She is furious with him. She called him a coward and a traitor.'

  'Have we asked her whether anyone in the village has any transport?'

  'Not yet.' She turned and spoke to the farmer's wife, who replied after a moment's thought, then pointed and gesticulated.

  'Uksum Farm,' said Anna. 'A man called Merit Sulheim. She says he has a truck he uses to take livestock to Lillehammer.'

  Tanner's spirits rose. 'Perfect,' he said. 'Where is this farm?'