Chevannes bit his bottom lip and glanced at Larsen and Nielssen.
'I think there's something in what Tanner says, sir,' said Nielssen. 'I've had a look down on the town today and I'm certain they're not expecting us. I think it's a risk worth taking.'
'I'm not so sure,' Larsen said. 'We know the coast is clear at the crossing. Going through the town seems to me too big a risk.'
'We need M/T straight away,' said Tanner. 'The crossing will hold us up. For all we know our boys might be about to evacuate. The more I think about it the more I'm convinced we should head straight down the hill and go through the town. In any case, they wouldn't think we'd have the nerve. That's precisely why we should do it. Fortune favours the brave, sir.'
'I could walk ahead,' said Anna. 'See whether the coast is clear.'
'That's not a good idea,' said Larsen. 'There's bound to be a curfew.'
'I think we should do it, Henrik,' Nielssen said to Larsen.
'Me too,' said Tanner. 'Come on, sir,' he said to
Chevannes. 'We can do this. Those trucks are just sitting there. It'll be dark, we're wearing German uniforms - it'll work, I know it will.' Come on, Chevannes.
'Let me think—' said the Frenchman.
'No,' said Larsen. 'We should stick to the original plan.'
Now, Tanner thought. 'Why, sir?' he said, stepping towards Larsen. 'Do you know something we don't?'
'What do you mean?' Larsen's eyes darted briefly, almost imperceptibly, to either side of him. But Tanner saw.
'Exactly that, sir. Are you hiding something from us?'
Larsen shifted his feet. 'No - of course not. Whatever do you mean, Tanner?'
'What the hell are you talking about, Sergeant?' Chevannes frowned.
'I'm just wondering, sir, if he can explain why the best part of two hundred German mountain troops are lying in wait for us in the trees beside the crossing-point.'
'What?' Chevannes was incredulous. So were the others, but Larsen simply stood where he was, the colour draining from his face.
'No!' said Nielssen, shock and anger in his voice. 'No, Henrik! Say it is not true!'
'I—I do not know what you are talking about.'
The professor stumbled forward and tugged at Larsen's arm. 'Henrik?'
'Lieutenant?' It was Chevannes' turn, utter incomprehension on his face.
'You - you are wrong,' stammered Larsen, 'I know nothing about it. You are lying, Sergeant. How dare you?' 'The only one lying is you,' said Tanner. 'Someone has betrayed us. Those Stukas didn't come from nowhere. Neither did those trucks on the pass. But this confirms it.'
'It was a set-up,' mumbled Larsen.
'Yes,' said Tanner. 'We'd suspected it for a while, but when those Jerries turned up this afternoon we knew for certain. The only thing I didn't know was who.'
'Men!' called out Chevannes. 'Hold him!' But Larsen already had his pistol in his hand. He grabbed Sandvold and pulled him towards him, the gun thrust towards the professor's stomach.
'You traitor!' said Anna, tears in her eyes. 'How could you?'
'Get back! Get back, all of you!' said Larsen, dragging Sandvold towards the seter.
The professor gasped. 'Stop this madness, Henrik!'
'Quiet! Now get back - or I will shoot!'
Tanner took a step towards him. 'Sir, put the gun down.'
'Get back, Sergeant!'
Tanner took another step towards him. 'Sir, put down the pistol.' He was now just three yards away.
'Sergeant! Not a step closer!'
'Tanner, don't be a damned fool!' There was panic in Chevannes' voice.
'Don't worry, sir. He won't shoot. Not the professor anyway. The Germans want Professor Sandvold alive, not dead. If all the lieutenant can offer them is a body they'll not thank him. Not after all this effort.' He took another step forward. 'It's over, sir.' Larsen's eyesflickered wildly. 'Sir,' Tanner said once more, 'put down the pistol.'
Larsen pressed its muzzle harder into Sandvold's side, then suddenly pushed him forward so that he staggered and fell. 'You were right, Sergeant,' he said, trickles of sweat running down his face, 'I wouldn't shoot the professor, but I will kill you.'
Tanner took another step forward so that he was now only a few feet away.
'Sergeant, this is your last chance,' said Larsen. His eyes were still darting from one man to another and his outstretched hand quivered.
Tanner continued to stare at him. His mind was clear; the nerves he had felt earlier were gone. Timing was everything, and although he was fairly sure no shot would be heard in the town, it was a risk he would rather avoid.
Then Nielssen stepped forward. 'Why, Henrik?' he said, and for a fraction of a second Larsen turned his head towards him.
Tanner grabbed Larsen's wrist and pushed the lieutenant's arm backwards, both quickly and hard. The pistol fell from his hand, and Tanner drove his left fist into the Norwegian's head with a punishingly hard jab. Larsen's eyes rolled back and he toppled over, unconscious.
For a moment no one spoke. Then Tanner picked up the pistol, stood over him and said, 'Treacherous bastard. And to think I liked him.'
'Have you killed him, Sergeant?' asked the professor.
'No,' he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. 'He'll come round in a minute.' The others gathered round the prostrate figure. Tanner felt Anna take his hand. Tears ran down her face.
'I cannot believe it,' she said. 'I just cannot believe it.'
Larsen groaned and Nielssen squatted beside him. 'Why?' he said. 'Why, Henrik?'
Larsen mumbled in Norwegian.
'What?' said Chevannes. 'What is he saying?' But Larsen continued to speak in his own language, not to Sandvold or to the others but to Nielssen.
Tanner walked back to where he had placed the Spandau, lifted it and hoisted it on to his shoulder. It was twenty past ten, and he was anxious to leave so that they could reach a position above the bridge before dark. And there was another reason: the guards changed every two hours at half past the hour and the next changeover was due at eleven thirty. Tanner reckoned eleven o'clock was the right time to deal with them - when their alertness was diminishing but well before the fresh shift arrived.
He was about to ask Chevannes what they should do with the traitor when he heard a strangled cry. He pushed through his men and saw Larsen dead on the ground. Nielssen was cleaning his short bayonet grimly on Larsen's tunic, then put it back in its sheath. 'I had no choice,' he said.
Tanner nodded. 'How did he do it?'
Nielssen rolled the dead man over and took off his pack. First he pulled out a small cloth bag, then a sheaf of papers and two metal boxes with a length of wire.
'Christ,' said Tanner. 'What the hell are they?'
Nielssen looked at them. 'I'm not certain, but from these dials, I'd suggest this one must be a transmitter of some kind. It's tiny.'
Tanner turned to Chevannes. 'Sir?'
Chevannes swallowed hard. 'I still cannot believe it, Sergeant.'
'Sir, we need to go.'
'Yes, yes, of course,' he said. 'Right, men, we will go through the town. We must now forget about this traitor. We need to clear our minds and concentrate on the task ahead; successfully getting into Vagamo, and taking one of those trucks.'
As they finally set off from the seter, Tanner did not glance back: his mind had already turned to what lay before them. Larsen's body was left where it lay: unburied on a patch of hard ground among the trees, high on an empty mountainside.
Chapter 21
From the upstairs window of the newly requisitioned farmhouse beside the lake, Hauptmann Wolf Zellner had a grandstand view of the headland that jutted out into the water, and the boats lying roped to the short wooden jetty. Beside him were Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz and Major von Poncets. Next to them, a field telephone had been rigged up, linking them to the men crouching in the trees round the farm and along the shore for a hundred metres and more. His nose still throbbed, his cheek still throbbed, an
d the pain of being cheated by the British sergeant a third time hurt him most of all, yet the prospect of Tanner's imminent death had improved his mood. The last light of the day was fading in the west. He looked at his watch. An hour - that's all, he thought.
Next to him, Kurz was telling them about their source. 'We pinned him down at Hamar, the day after the invasion,' he said. 'He was with the King and the rest of the government. He didn't need much persuading, I must say, although we did mention that we knew where his family was. He's got a charming wife and two small girls in Oslo. I'm not sure how much it had to do with it but we did mention that we might not be able to guarantee their safety should he decline our offer.' He chuckled. 'Not that I would have done anything to them. But a man like that, with a young family and everything, it's what they hold most dear, isn't it?'
'Yes,' said von Poncets. 'It is. I'm certainly not doing this for Hitler.'
'Actually,' said Kurz, scratching his cheek, 'I must give Scheidt some credit. He's a bit of an old woman, you know, but he's sharp. He's been over here since last year, grooming that buffoon Quisling on the say-so of the Fuhrer. But he's also been working all sorts of other people in preparation for the invasion. I think it was Quisling's men who put him on to Larsen. Apparently he was a secret National Party man.'
'So he was primed,' said von Poncets.
'Primed - yes, exactly. And then with a bit of gentle persuasion we had our spy. A massive stroke of luck, of course, that he was chosen to go back and fetch Odin. Initially, we thought we would use him to get to the King and the gold.'
'Why didn't he lead you to Odin in Oslo, then?' asked Zellner.
'He didn't know. It wasn't until later. We ransacked Odin's offices and interrogated his mother. We didn't find any blue papers but we found enough to know what he was trying to do. Trust me, if this fellow can truly get oil from under the seabed, we'll have the eternal gratitude of the Fuhrer.'
The thought cheered Zellner even more. Well, it wouldn't be long now. This time nothing had been left to chance. He was certain they could not fail again.
It was mindless work, patrolling a bridge. One man walked one way, one the other, up and down, back and forth. Schutze Pieter Greiger was tired. It had been a gruelling two weeks, and although they had successfully hammered their way northwards, victory helped keep you going only so far. The fighting at Dombas had been gruelling for his company and they had lost several men. Half his platoon had been killed or wounded. One of the dead had been a good friend, Dieter Manser; they had known each other since boyhood. He'd tried hard to put his loss out of his mind and found that so long as he was busy it was quite easy to do. But sentry duty gave him too much time to think about Dieter's bloodied body, the life draining from him ... He reached the north side of the bridge, then began to walk back, the rhythmic clump of his boots loud on the thick wooden planking.
He had passed Reitmann when a sound pulled him from his reverie. Clasping the strap of his rifle more tightly, he listened. Then, a short distance ahead, he saw a column of men emerge from the shadows of the mountain, silhouetted against the pale dirt of the road. The men were marching towards the bridge and, seeing the outline of their field caps, he relaxed. He called to Reitmann and they strode towards the southern end of the bridge.
'Halt!' said Greiger, as the men approached. The officer brought his men to a standstill and waited as
Greiger, with Reitmann beside him, walked towards them.
'Good evening,' said the officer. 'We've come from the crossing-point. We've been ordered to help man the bridge.'
Greiger stared at him but it was hard to see much in the darkness. Then he noticed the white Edelweiss on the side of the cap, standing out starkly in the gloom.
'Gebirgsjager?' he asked. The officer nodded. 'May I see your orders, sir?'
The officer said, 'Of course,' then made for a leather satchel at his waist. Instead of producing papers, though, the officer pulled out a short bayonet and thrust it hard into Greiger's side, under his ribs, through his liver and into his kidney. The pain was so extreme, Greiger had only a quarter-second of intense agony, then his body shut down. His heart seized and the signals to his brain were severed. It was as though a switch had been turned off. Pieter Greiger's short life was over.
At the same moment Nielssen was ending the life of the second man he had despatched within an hour, Sergeant Tanner, beside him, had used his right fist to knock the second sentry out cold before the German could so much as pull back the bolt on his Mauser.
'Quick,' whispered Tanner to his men, as he grabbed the first man's Mauser. 'Get the rest of their weapons, ammo and helmets and drag them off the bridge. 'Mac and Hep, put these helmets on and take over sentry duty.'
Chevannes was now standing beside him.
'Good work, Nielssen,' said Chevannes to the Norwegian. 'Now for the truck.'
'Sir?' said Tanner.
'What now, Sergeant?'
'Sykes and I are going to blow the bridge - prevent any of those mountain boys coming after us.'
'You don't think it might alert the enemy?' His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
'We'll set a delay with the safety fuse.'
He dithered, then said, 'Well, be quick about it.'
'Yes, sir. If you and the men wait off the road, sir, I'll put up two sentries.'
'Yes, yes, all right. Get a move on.'
Tanner called over McAllister and Hepworth. 'Put those Jerry helmets on you two,' he said, 'then start walking up and down the bridge.' He hurried over to Sykes, who was already delving in his pack, took out a packet of Nobel's from his gas-mask case and passed it to him.
'Sarge, open it, take out two cartridges and tie them together with a small length of fuse.'
'You think that'll be enough?' He could just see that Sykes was doing the same with another packet.
'Yes.'
Tanner nodded. His heart was thumping in his chest again, his brittle fingers tearing at the thin cardboard. Taking out two cartridges, he put the remainder of the packet back into his gas-mask case, then took out the tin of fuses. With his clasp knife, he cut a strip and tied the two cartridges together. 'Done,' he said.
'Good,' said Sykes, fumbling with the detonators. 'How long do we want to wait?'
'Six hundred yards to the church,' he muttered to himself, 'but we need to get in the truck and start it. On the other hand, the distraction of the blast might be useful. Ten minutes? No - let's say eight.'
'Sure?'
'Yes, eight minutes.'
'All right - cut me a sixteen-foot length.'
Using his forearm as a measure, Tanner did so, then passed one end to Sykes who managed to crimp the fuse to the detonators with his teeth.
'And another length the same, Sarge,' whispered Sykes.
Suddenly Chevannes was beside them. 'Have you finished?' he hissed.
'Almost, sir,' said Sykes.
'Hurry.' He disappeared back down the bridge as Tanner measured another length of fuse. This time he had only counted thirteen feet when he reached the end of the tin. 'I've run out, Stan. I'm three foot short.'
'Bollocks,' said Sykes, then scratched his head. 'All right, here's what we do: we tie the explosives each side of the bridge rather than at either end and run a length of fuse from one on to the main fuse. Here, give it me.' He took one end, crimped it to the detonator, then hurried across to the other side of the bridge. Lying down and straining over the side, he used another short length of fuse to tie it to one of the girders. That done, he ran back to the other side, feeding the fuse through his hands, and tied it to the longer length. Grabbing the second batch of cartridges, he lay down again, head and arms disappearing over the side of the bridge.
A few moments later he stood up, dusted off his hands and said, 'All set, Sarge.'
In a loud whisper, Tanner called to McAllister and Hepworth, then Sykes lit the fuse.
'About time,' whispered Chevannes, as they rejoined the others. 'Same marching order, all r
ight?'
'Sir,' said Tanner. He held the face of his watch to the sky. He could just make out the hands. Fourteen minutes past eleven. Christ! he thought. This'll be close.
A couple of minutes later they had still not reached the first houses of the town and had gone less than two hundred yards. Frantically trying to perform mental arithmetic, he realized they needed to increase their pace if they were going to reach the truck before the gelignite detonated.
'Sir,' he whispered to Nielssen, 'we need to speed up.'
Nielssen nodded and a couple of minutes later they reached the edge of the town. Ahead, the wooden spire of the church was silhouetted against the sky.
Two figures emerged in front of them. Tanner felt himself tense, but as the two men passed, they merely saluted. Replacement sentries, thought Tanner. Poor bastards. Part of him wanted to warn them of what they were walking towards.
23.20 hours. Six minutes gone. Either side of the road, sleeping houses, the night as still as ever. The church getting closer. Tanner struggled with the overwhelming desire to run. His heart continued to pound. Two minutes until the shooting started. Would they make it? Or was he now facing the final moments of his life? Stop thinking like that.
He held up his watch to the night sky again. 23.21. Seven minutes. And there they were, two trucks parked together, a third the far side of the church. Nielssen halted them.
'Sir, we might as well take both these trucks,' whispered Tanner to Chevannes, standing directly behind him. 'More fuel and in case anything happens.'
'D'accord,' said Chevannes.
Suddenly figures appeared before them, calling out. Christ, sentries, thought Tanner. Nielssen spoke to them. How many? Tanner couldn't see but he had his rifle off his shoulder and felt in his haversack for a grenade.
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