So, with nothing to report from the summit of the Balberkamp, he had told his still-shaken patrol they would head down to rejoin the rest of the company. They had retraced their steps and had cleared the lip so that they were looking down on the Rangers' positions, when Tanner realized something was wrong. in the valley. Sykes had spotted it too.
'If the lads are still down there, Sarge,' Sykes said, behind his shoulder, 'why isn't there any sight or sound of gunfire? And why are the Jerry shells landing further to the north?'
'You're a mind-reader, Stan. Mind you, they were shelling behind our lines earlier, too.'
'And our positions at the same time. But it's quiet now. I reckon they've bloody scarpered.'
Tanner felt for his haversack on his hip, reached into it and pulled out the Aldis sight. With one hand he held the leather lens cap as a shield to avoid any light reflecting into the valley, while with the other he put it to his eye.
Sykes eyed the scope admiringly, then peered at the rifle now on Tanner's shoulder. 'You crafty sod, Sarge! You've had the fittings added. Blimey, I never noticed that.'
'Nor has anyone else,' said Tanner, still observing the valley. 'I can't see any sign of them. Jerry aircraft and Jerry shells have done for them, I think.'
'It was a bloody hopeless position in the first place, if you ask me,' said Sykes.
"Course it bloody was,' agreed Tanner. He replaced the cap and carefully put the scope back into his haversack. He felt in his pocket for his cigarettes, only to find he had already smoked the last one. 'Sod it,' he said, tossing away the empty packet. Lieutenant Dingwall had mentioned Tretten, some miles to the north, but in the snow, with almost no food and on the back of four days and nights of very little sleep, this would be tough on the men. They now looked at him expectantly.
'Sarge?' said Sykes.
A faint chatter of small arms could be heard further up the valley - it was the indication Tanner needed. 'We head north,' he said. 'We'll rejoin that track.' The men looked downhearted. 'Listen to me,' said Tanner. 'No one ever said this war would be easy, but unless you want to end up in some Jerry cooler, we've got to keep
going. If you've any rations left, eat something now.'
Lack of food was his prime concern, and as they set off once more it played on his mind. When in action, with adrenalin pumping through the blood, hunger melted away, but as he well knew, there were always long intervals between. Hunger could torment a man, sap his energy, weaken his spirit. He had hoped they might be able to shoot a rabbit or some birds, but on this mountain he'd seen few of either. The lads were not grumbling yet; rather, they were quiet, most still stunned by the loss of Garraby and Draper. Tanner had to remind himself that those deaths had probably been the first his men had witnessed. The platoon was close; some had joined at the same time, but all had trained and headed off to war together. To lose good friends so violently was hard to take.
He wondered whether he should have said more. He could have told them that the first dead body was always the worst. That the brain becomes used to such sights and the loss of friends. And that too soon it was possible to put the death of even a close mate quickly to one side and carry on as though nothing had happened. It was strange how hardened one became. The moment for such words had passed, though. They would work it out soon enough.
From the valley below came the continued sounds of battle. More aircraft, more shelling and, occasionally, distant bursts of small arms. He pulled out Dingwall's map. Assuming the lieutenant had drawn it to scale, then Tanner reckoned they were nearing a bend in the Lagen river just south of a village the lieutenant had marked as Oyer. He had been leading the patrol due north and certainly the fighting now sounded closer, which tallied with the eastward bend in the valley. But although the patrol appeared to be making progress, he knew they must still be behind the front line. A breather in the fighting, that was what he needed. The chance to catch up, get ahead of the German advance, and then they could rejoin the battalion.
His thoughts returned to his stomach. By God, he was hungry. Curse this bloody country, and curse the idiots who'd planned the campaign. Thoughts of food entered his head: a steaming game pie like his father used to make; curries he had eaten in Bombay; the baked apples Mrs Gulliver used to bring round sometimes on Sundays, covered with treacle and currants. He chided himself. Stop thinking about it, you bloody fool.
A raised hand from Sykes provided him with the distraction he needed. Tanner had sent the corporal and McAllister up ahead and the two were now squatting fifty yards in front. Warning the rest of the patrol to halt, Tanner moved in a crouch towards the two men. 'What is it?' he whispered, as he reached them.
'I'm not sure,' said Sykes. 'I thought I saw someone up ahead. Behind that rock.' He pointed to an outcrop, some fifteen foot high, emerging darkly from the snow next to a young pine some hundred yards ahead. Silently, Tanner signalled to the rest of the patrol to move forward, then holding his arm out flat and with his open hand facing the ground, waved downwards to make sure they, too, crouched as they came. The three men of the Bren group were the first to reach them. 'Dan, get ready with the
Bren,' he said, under his breath to Lance-Corporal Erwood. 'Mac,' he said softly to McAllister, 'you and I will move forward. Make a run for a tree, then cover me as I go to the next. Then I'll cover you. All right? Dan, you cover us with the Bren. The rest of you stay here, don't make a sound, and watch our backs.'
McAllister, clutching his rifle, took a deep breath, then set off, making for a tree no more than ten yards away. Tanner followed. Whoever was behind the rock - if anyone - made no attempt to move. They pushed forward again until, as Tanner was leading, he spotted a line of blood and several footprints in the snow. He beckoned McAllister to him and pointed to the trail. 'There's someone there, all right,' he whispered to McAllister.
'What do we do now, Sarge?'
'You wait here.'
Treading carefully, Tanner approached. Yards from the rock, he paused. From the other side he could hear voices, faint and indecipherable. Slinging his Enfield over his shoulder, he began to climb the rock. He had noticed that the top was reasonably level, and having deftly scaled the southern side, he crouched across the broad roof of the outcrop and unslung his rifle. Pulling back the bolt as quietly and carefully as he could, he peered over the edge.
There were three men, two of them soldiers in blue- grey Norwegian uniforms. On the right was a young officer, while on the left was a much older man who, although clad in a Norwegian army greatcoat, wore civilian clothes. In the middle, clutching his side, was another Norwegian army officer. A trail of blood followed him round the side of the rock to where he now sat propped against the dark stone.
'You look like you're in trouble,' said Tanner. The three men flinched and looked up, startled. 'Who are you?'
'I am Colonel Peder Gulbrand of His Majesty the King's Guard,' gasped the man in the middle.
Chapter 5
Jack Tanner noticed another set of footprints leading away from the rock. 'Whose are those?' he asked.
'Lieutenant Larsen, also a member of His Majesty the King's Guard,' said the younger man, in heavily accented English. 'He has gone to find somewhere for us to hole up. Our colonel needs help.'
Tanner signalled to his men, then clambered down from the rock. 'Me and my men are from the 5th Battalion, the King's Own Yorkshire Rangers,' he told them. 'That makes us allies. I'm Sergeant Tanner.'
'And I am Lieutenant Nielssen,' replied the blond officer.
Tanner looked at the colonel. 'Is it bad?'
'A splinter in his side,' Nielssen told him. 'He's lost a lot of blood. We were attacked an hour ago. The stupid German missed us, but a shard of wood from a tree struck the colonel.'
'We saw the attack,' said Tanner, kneeling beside Gulbrand and pulling out another twin pack of field dressings. 'He was more successful firing at us. Two dead.'
'I'm sorry,' said Nielssen. Tanner was conscious of a tapping sound and t
urned to see the civilian clicking together two small stones. The man looked exhausted, with dark hollows around his spectacled eyes and an unkempt moustache and grey stubble around his lined face. Seeing Tanner's glance, he stopped tapping the stones, dropping them by his side into the snow.
'And who are you?' asked Tanner, as he tore open the cotton and ripped off the waterproof covering around each of the dressings.
'Someone we are escorting,' said Gulbrand hoarsely before the other could answer.
Tanner nodded. You don't want to tell me. Fine. It wasn't his business. 'Is the shard still inside?' he asked.
Gulbrand nodded. 'Yes.' He grimaced, then opened his coat and tunic. His shirt was almost entirely red and glistened stickily. With clenched teeth, he lifted it free. Tanner inspected the wound. The blood was bright crimson. The tip of the shard protruded from the colonel's side. Tanner rubbed his face. Tiredness. It was catching up with him again.
'What do you think?' asked Gulbrand, his English near flawless.
'That it's embedded in your liver, Colonel,' said Tanner.
'I think you're right.' He took a sudden sharp breath and winced.
'I can't pull it out,' said Tanner, still peering at the wound. 'Do that and you'll bleed to death in about ten minutes.'
'He needs a hospital,' said Lieutenant Nielssen, 'an operation, and soon.'
'Easier said than done, mate,' said Corporal Sykes, now standing over Tanner.
'What about Lillehammer?' said Nielssen. 'Two of your men could take him.'
'Two of our men?' said Sykes. 'Are you having a laugh? Even if they made it back down the mountain, they'd walk straight into Jerry hands. Lillehammer's fallen, if you hadn't already noticed.'
'I know - we saw earlier ... But they would save the life of the colonel.'
'If you're so bloody keen, why don't you two take him?'
'Shut your trap, Stan,' growled Tanner. 'You're not helping.' He turned to Gulbrand. 'Colonel, it's a bad wound. I'm sorry. Your lieutenant's right. You need a hospital.' He delved into his haversack again and produced a small tube of gentian violet antiseptic ointment. 'I don't carry much first aid, but this should help prevent infection.' He gingerly pasted the cream over the wound, then placed the dressings over it. Gulbrand cried out, but Tanner took another packet from Sykes, tore it open and wrapped more bandages round the colonel's waist. 'Why can't your men take you to Lillehammer, Colonel?' he asked. 'The fighting's going to be over soon. Better to live and fight another day, eh?'
'They can't,' Gulbrand gasped. 'It's impossible.'
'Why?'
Gulbrand stared hard at him, but did not answer.
Instead he said, 'Tell me, Sergeant, what are you doing up here?'
Tanner told him, then added, 'But now we need to get a move on. The front's fallen back this afternoon. I'm damned if I'm going to let us get stranded.'
'We're holding you up. I'm sorry.'
'But you're natives, sir. We help you, you can help us. We desperately need a map, and someone who speaks Norwegian would be useful.' He noticed that the sounds of battle from the valley had quietened. An occasional aircraft, desultory shellfire, that was all. Had the Allies fallen back yet again? 'And what about you, sir?' he asked Gulbrand. 'Why are you up here?'
Gulbrand closed his eyes. 'It's a long story.'
Tanner was about to ask him more when Lieutenant Larsen appeared. He had found a seter, a mountain hut used by herdsmen and shepherds during the summer, not far away. It would offer them shelter.
'We'll help get you there,' said Tanner, 'but then my men and I must push on. Put your arm round my neck,' he told the colonel. He glanced once more at the strange civilian. The man was gazing out through the trees, seemingly in a world of his own. Tanner called over to Sykes. 'Here, Stan, give me a hand, will you?' They lifted Gulbrand. 'Can you walk?' Tanner asked.
'With your help, I'm sure.'
The civilian now awkwardly got to his feet and with enormous effort, slung his pack on to his back, and then staggered a pace or two, so that Tanner thought he might fall over backwards. 'Does he speak English?' Tanner asked Gulbrand, he was conscious he had not heard the man utter a word.
'Yes. Almost everyone does in Oslo and the coastal cities. It's only inland that you will struggle to be understood.'
Tanner turned to the man. 'Carry the colonel's pack, will you? Come on, we need all the help we can get.'
The man smiled sheepishly then pulled it on to his shoulder, faltering as he did so.
Reichsamtsleiter Hans-Wilhelm Scheidt sat at his desk in his rooms at the Continental Hotel, the black telephone receiver to his ear. Anger surged through him as he listened to Sturmbannfuhrer Paul Kurz's latest report - rage fuelled, he knew, by his mounting fear of failure. Damn it, Terboven was not a man to mess with, and only a couple of hours after his meeting with the new Reichskommissar, Kurz was on the line telling him that the most important man in his life had narrowly missed getting a 20mm cannon shell through his guts.
'For God's sake, Kurz, that's the second time one of those flyboys has nearly killed him. We were fortunate he survived the last one. It might be third time lucky for those idiots and then where will we be? We need him alive, Kurz, not spread over some bastard mountain.'
'Calm down, Scheidt,' said Kurz, from his newly requisitioned office in Lillehammer. 'We've just heard. They got the colonel, and seriously too. Even if he doesn't die of his wound - and the odds are that he will - he's out of the picture, as far as they're concerned. Odin is as good as in our hands already.'
'Only if the Allies haven't got him before you reach him,' snarled Scheidt. 'Now, do what you're supposed to do, Kurz, and tell that idiot Geisler to stop his pilots attacking those men.'
Scheidt had heard the panic in his voice and so had Kurz. 'Don't try to tell me my job, Herr Schcidt.' Kurz told him flatly.
'Listen,' fumed Scheidt, 'you do your job and you won't hear me complaining. But if anything happens to Odin before we've had the chance to get the information from him neither you nor I will have a career, let alone a life. Now, you're the SD man here - start using your influence and get Geisler's boys to keep away from them.'
'Stop worrying,' said Kurz. 'We'll find them soon enough. They're not going to get very far up there.'
'That's just not good enough!' Scheidt exploded. 'For Christ's sake, so far you've let them slip through your hands once, and twice nearly had them shot to smithereens by the Luftwaffe. Don't tell me to calm down - tell me what you're doing to find Odin. What troops have you got for the operation? Tell me they're already tracking them down. Damn it, Sturmbannfuhrer, why the hell am I having to ask you all this? Tell me something that gives me confidence - something that makes me believe you're actually trying to get to this man.'
'You politicians,' said Kurz, 'always the same. I'm sure it seems very straightforward to you from where you're sitting on your arse in Oslo, but up here Engelbrecht's division are facing the British and Norwegians - there's been heavy fighting all day. The SD don't have the authority to tell generals to hand over their troops for an operation they know nothing about.'
Scheidt pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. Give me patience. He'd always thought the Sicherheitsdienst were an unintelligent and idle lot. 'Then tell them Terboven orders it.'
There was a sigh at the other end of the line. 'Jesus, Scheidt, of course. That's exactly what I have done, but the entire Army is not at our beck and call. And you're forgetting that we only learnt of Odin's whereabouts this morning, and that's pretty vague - and it was only earlier today that Lillehammer fell. As it happens, I've got a company of reconnaissance troops from Dietl's Gebirgsjager Division, and I've had to pull a lot of strings to get them. They're attached to Engelbrecht's division. They're setting off to hunt for them now.' He paused. 'And they'll get Odin because Gulbrand's out of the picture and those Norwegians aren't going to get far, up on that mountain. Tomorrow morning, Herr Reichsamtsleiter, we'll have an altogether more pleasant conv
ersation.'
It was Scheidt's turn to sigh. 'Just get him, Kurz. Get men up into those mountains, find Odin and bring him to me in one piece.' He slammed down the telephone and slumped back in his chair. A cigarette and a drink, that was what he needed. He leant forward, opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of cognac. Having poured himself a generous measure, he lit a cigarette. The smoke danced in front of him, curling towards the ceiling. The brandy stung his lips and tongue, then pleasurably burnt the back of his throat. Argh, but that was good.
He stood up, walked to the window and gazed out over the city. It seemed so quiet, so peaceful. Perhaps Kurz was right. Perhaps he was just sitting on his arse. Was there really any need to remain in Oslo for the rest of the month? Quisling's pride might have been wounded, but he was busy with his new role as Commissioner for Demobilization and, in any case, still had Hagelin, Aall and the other leading National Party members around him. Quisling, Scheidt realized, could do without him for a few days.
He drained his tumbler. Yes, damn it, he would get out of Oslo, head to Lillehammer and oversee the operation to capture Odin. That would shake up that idler Kurz. Scheidt smiled. Already, his mood was lightening.
Another aircraft overhead, higher this time and slightly away towards the valley. It hummed gutturally, then, as the pilot throttled back, the engines seemed to catch and change tone. No firing of guns, no bombs dropped; a reconnaissance aircraft, then. Tanner followed its route until it disappeared from sight. Had any of the crew spotted them? He couldn't know, but he felt as though he was being watched. It unnerved him.
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