'Listen, sir, there's no road this side - other than that in the valley - for more than twenty miles and that leads away from the coast. Then there is nothing for a further fifty miles or more. Think about our progress these past days. We have neither the time nor the strength to catch up with the Allies. Our only chance is by finding transport and using roads as much as we possibly can. That means we have to cross the valley.'
'Yes,' said Larsen. 'You are probably right. But it feels as though we are heading into the lion's den, and I have my duty too: to the King and the mission he entrusted to us. Sandvold cannot be taken by the enemy.'
'He won't be,' said Tanner grimly. 'I won't let that happen.' He flicked away his cigarette. 'Perhaps, sir, you should talk to Chevannes. He's more likely to listen to you than me. And it would be useful to have Anna Rostad with us too. It's about survival, not about honour and decorum.'
Larsen smiled. 'All right, Sergeant. Yes, I will do that.'
Tanner nodded, then turned towards the barn.
'And, Sergeant?'
Tanner stopped.
'I am glad we have had this talk.'
'Me too, sir,' said Tanner. But now, he thought, it was time to stop worrying about people's feelings and get on with the bloody mission.
That morning, Tanner and Lieutenant Chevannes avoided each other as far as possible. Certainly there was no need for Tanner further to argue his case because, with the men roused, Chevannes stood at the entrance to the barn and outlined the plan exactly as he and Anna Rostad had suggested the previous evening. 'After careful thought,' he told them, 'I have devised a plan that I believe gives us the best chance of success.' They would be crossing the valley that night, he announced, and they were to spend the day resting and getting ready for the continuation of their mission. The three wounded men were to be taken into Tretten, he told them. 'It means they will become prisoners,' he added solemnly, 'but they will also have a chance to live.' Neither did Chevannes object to Tanner's suggestion that he accompany Anna and Erik Rostad part of the way.
'He's hoping you'll get caught, Sarge,' said Sykes.
Tanner grinned. 'You might be right, Stan.'
First, however, Anna Rostad would lead them to the cave, in the woods above the farm, where they would lie up until evening. It proved to be ideal, no more than a quarter of a mile from the farm, approached first through bare grey grassland, then through dense pine forest where there were only patchy drifts of snow, enabling them to reach it without leaving a trail of footprints. The entrance to the cave was further hidden by a jutting rockface.
Tanner left Sykes in charge of the men and his own packs. 'You know the drill, Stan,' he told him. 'And don't let Sandvold out of your sight.' He hoped he would not be seen, but had left his jerkin and tin helmet behind, instead taking the German wind jacket and field cap.
It was an old, creaking cart, led by a plodding mule. Erik Rostad sat up front with his daughter, his foot resting on the flimsy brake pedal, as they stuttered down the track. Saxby was awake and, sitting in the back with the three men, Tanner saw him contort with pain at every jolting stone the cart passed over. 'All right, Sax,' said Tanner. 'Not long now.'
'I don't want to die,' Saxby mumbled. 'I don't want the Jerries to kill me.'
'They won't. They'll look after you. Make you better.' Tanner watched tears run down his face. 'You've got to be strong,' he told him. 'You're a fighter, I know you are. Be brave and you'll get through this. One day you can go home.' He knew he sounded trite. He was sending them to the Germans in the hope that the enemy would show compassion but, really, he had no idea whether they would or not. Hell, he thought, and moved away from Saxby's misery to draw alongside Anna and her father. 'Thank you for doing this,' he said.
'I only wish we could have looked after them ourselves,' said Anna. 'I'm training to be a doctor, so I feel bad that I cannot help more.'
'Where are you training, Miss?'
'In Oslo. Or, rather, I was. The war has interrupted my studies. I'm afraid I've rather a long way to go, but in any case, I don't have the equipment or medicines to help these men.' She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then glanced at Tanner, a wistful expression - and framed by such a lovely face, he thought. It was madness, but he wished he could hold her and tell her all would be well: that her brother Jonny would come home, that the Germans would go away and that one day she would be a doctor. For the first time since the war had broken out, he began to realize what a terrible thing it must be for the Norwegians. He tried to imagine how he would feel if there were Germans swarming across England. It was incomprehensible.
'I'm sorry, Miss,' he said. 'It must be a very difficult time for you.'
'Yes - yes, it is. One minute I feel overcome with grief, for Norway, for me, for Jonny; the next just very angry. It's one of the reasons I want to come with you. I don't want to sit at home feeling sorry for myself and wondering what will become of us all. I want to do something.'
'I had a word with Lieutenant Larsen this morning, Miss,' he told her. 'He said he would speak to Lieutenant Chevannes again.' For a brief moment, he held her gaze. Those eyes, he thought. 'And for what it's worth,' he added, 'I think you'd be a great help to us.'
She smiled. 'Thank you for saying that.'
Tanner stayed with the cart until they had the first glimpse of the valley road below. Pasture and forest jostled for space along the lower slopes of the valley, but by weaving his way and keeping within the treeline, Tanner was confident he could remain hidden.
'You won't have to go far along here,' Anna told him. 'You'll soon see Tretten below you.'
Tanner thanked her and wished them luck, then paused to take Saxby's hand. The lad was only nineteen. 'You'll be all right,' Tanner told him. Saxby looked at him, with resentment, deep sadness and resignation, then turned his head away. The cart trundled on, and as Tanner watched it rumble down the track, doubt and guilt flooded over him.
The telephone in his hotel room rang shrilly, shattering the silence in which Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt had been lying for the past three hours. It was Kurz, asking him to come over right away. Scheldt's spirits soared - at last! - but then as he replaced the receiver he realized there had been little euphoria in Kurz's voice, and pessimism filled him instead.
He looked at his watch. Seven forty, getting on for twelve hours since news had arrived that Zellner's men had come under attack. Yet there had been good news too: the mountain troops were closing in on Odin, and his capture would surely follow soon.
Scheidt had waited, on tenterhooks, ever since, but the call had never come. It had been a long night of little sleep. A night of too many cigarettes, a half-bottle of brandy, and too much time in the armchair by the window staring out at the cold starry night. With impatient fingers, he put on his NSDAP jacket and cap once more, his long cavalry boots and black breeches. What could possibly have gone wrong? He left the room, door slamming behind him, hurried through the hotel out into the crisp sunshine and almost ran to Kurz's office.
The SS major looked up as Scheidt entered, his face grave.
'Good morning,' he said, stubbing out a cigarette in a green marble ashtray. 'We need to go to Tretten. Come on, I've got the car outside.'
'They haven't found Odin?'
'Worse,' said Kurz, brushing past him and heading for the front door.
In the car - a requisitioned black Citroen from Oslo - Kurz gave him the bad news. Hauptmann Zellner and just eight of his men had reached von Poncets' new headquarters in Tretten a short while ago. Stripped to their shirts, underclothes and trousers, mostly wearing British Army boots, they had stumbled into the station house in a terrible state.
'Needless to say,' added Kurz, 'they did not bring Odin.'
For a few moments, Scheidt was unable to speak. He thought of the confidence of von Poncets the day before, the square-jawed youthfulness and apparent professionalism of Hauptmann Zellner. It was impossible to think that a platoon of mountain troops - supposedly elit
e troops - had failed so spectacularly.
'However,' said Kurz at length, 'Engelbrecht's boys did take Tretten and the bulk of von Poncets' troops performed admirably. The British were crushed yesterday.'
'I don't give a damn about that,' snapped Scheidt. 'As far as I'm concerned they should damn well forget about the rest of the war until Odin has been captured. And no contact?'
Kurz shook his head. 'Not yet, but we'll hear something today, I'm sure.'
'Where the hell are they now?' Scheidt muttered, to himself more than to Kurz.
'I've asked the Luftwaffe for more air reconnaissance.'
'What would you do, Kurz, if you'd seen off your pursuers?'
'I'd try to make as much ground as possible, especially now that the snow's melting.'
'Not on the mountains, it's not.' Scheidt drummed a fist against his leg. 'We have to find him, Kurz. We have to find him.'
Tretten was a hive of activity. A small place, like so many of the valley settlements, it now heaved with troops, most of whom, however, were loading up into carts, wagons, trucks and armoured vehicles ready for the advance up the Gudbrandsdal valley. A short way off the road, above the village, Scheidt watched a burial party lining up bodies of German dead in a grey-looking field. By the side of the road the legs of two dead horses pointed stiffly skywards. A burnt-out truck, stripped and skeletal, lay turned over in a ditch, while opposite, a column of dishevelled British and Norwegian prisoners were being ushered into trucks. Kurz drove slowly, weaving through the bottleneck of troops and vehicles, passing bombed-out houses, piles of rubble and charred timber. Even in the close confines of the Citroen, the smell of a recently fought battle was pervasive.
Eventually Kurz turned off the road and down to the station. Two guards presented arms as they entered the building. Inside, clerks and staff officers were busy organizing the next German thrust down the valley. Phones rang, typewriters clattered. Scheidt and Kurz were led upstairs to see Major von Poncets, who greeted them with the affability he had shown the previous day.
'Congratulations, Herr Major,' said Scheidt. 'Another easy victory, just as you predicted.'
'More costly than I'd hoped, but thank you,' he replied. 'And I'm sorry I don't have better news for you regarding Odin. Those men the Norwegians are with clearly have more steel than we had appreciated.'
'Where is Hauptmann Zellner?' asked Scheidt.
'He'll be here any moment. I sent him to get a new uniform.'
'And what now?' asked Scheidt. 'When will you mount another search?'
Von Poncets smiled, and offered both men a cigar, which Kurz accepted and Scheidt declined. 'The Tommies have fallen back a long way, it seems. Our recce boys have been flying up and down the valley since first light and there's little sign of them. It's one thing advancing a few kilometres, but to shift our entire forces any distance takes time. We're moving most of our men out today—'
'So we saw,' said Kurz.
'Yes, well, most will be gone by this evening. Nearly all the men you saw were from the four battalions of the 324th and 345th Infantry Regiments, but there is also Artillery Regiment 223 to move, a further machine-gun battalion, a number of panzers and, of course, my own men. Then there are all the accompanying equipment, ammunition, rations and so on, which must be in place before we can attack again. It's easy for the defenders to cover ground quickly because they only take what they can. We have to be better prepared. So.' He clapped his hands together. 'What am I trying to say to you? I'm saying we have something of a respite on our hands.'
'Which means you have time to find Odin?' asked Scheidt.
'Yes, I think so,' smiled von Poncets. 'I'm going to give one of my own companies this particular task. I'm sorry - I thought a platoon would be more than enough. I was wrong.'
'An under-strength platoon,' added Scheidt. 'There was a group missing, if you remember.'
'Yes, well, we won't make that mistake again.'
There was a knock on the door. 'Come,' called out the Major. Zellner entered, freshly shaved and wearing a new uniform. 'Much better, Hauptmann, much better,' said von Poncets, cheerfully.
Zellner saluted. His right eye was swollen and blackened and, Scheidt noticed, much of the swagger of the day before had gone. Zellner began quickly, 'I would like to say, Herr Reichsamtsleiter and Herr Sturmbann fuhrer, that I apologize unreservedly for failing in my duty yesterday. I underestimated the strength of the enemy and allowed Odin to slip through my grasp, a gross dereliction on my part.'
Scheidt raised a hand to silence him. 'All right, Hauptmann. Now tell me who was there.'
Zellner did so. Yes, he had seen a middle-aged man with spectacles and a moustache. There were two other Norwegians, a few French mountain troops and the rest were British. A French officer seemed to be in charge. 'He's weak, though,' Zellner told them. 'He questioned me and his interrogation was pathetic. Furthermore, he did it in full view of Odin.'
'You told him nothing?' asked Kurz.
'Of course not. He wouldn't touch me - a fellow officer. He's too concerned with behaving honourably.'
'You don't believe in honour?' asked Kurz.
'Only my own, that of my regiment and of Germany. There was a British sergeant there who would have had us killed, I think. The Frenchman - Chevannes is his name - was horrified.'
'So if they are led by this man, how did they defeat you?' Kurz asked.
Zellner bristled. 'The sergeant is good. His name is Tanner. Chevannes does not like him, but he's a clever soldier. He also has a sniper rifle with sights. It was how he ambushed us first. And he has explosives.'
'A good right hook too?' Von Poncets grinned.
Zellner looked down, embarrassed. He regretted having admitted to the major that he had been knocked out cold by the British sergeant. 'Yes, sir.'
'How old is this man?' asked Kurz.
'Young - in his twenties. My age, probably.'
'So, not in the last war.'
'No, quite definitely not. But he has been decorated - I saw a ribbon on his tunic. I only saw it briefly, but it was striped, blue, white and red.'
'The Military Medal,' said Kurz. 'A gallantry award for men in the ranks.' He turned to von Poncets and Scheidt. 'We've had Poland in which to hone our battle skills, but the British have had their empire. Colonial skirmishes.' He grinned.
'It appears to have done them little good,' said von Poncets. 'Perhaps they were expecting us to attack with spears.' At that even Zellner managed to smile.
'Is there anything else we should know?' Scheidt asked the Hauptmann.
'Two of their men were killed and three wounded. Naturally I made a note of their strength. They are now sixteen strong, not including Odin.'
'Very good, Zellner, you may rejoin your men,' said von Poncets.
'Sir?' said Zellner. Von Poncets looked up. 'Sir, I would like your permission to stay here and help find Odin.'
'Thank you, Hauptmann,' the major replied, 'but that won't be necessary.'
'Wait,' said Scheidt. 'There is logic in continuing to use Hauptmann Zellner and his men, Herr Major. His knowledge of the enemy would be useful, surely.'
Von Poncets drew on his cigar and nodded slowly. 'Very well. Zellner, you may continue the hunt for Odin.'
Zellner thanked them. 'I vowed I would kill Sergeant Tanner, and I will,' he explained. 'And I will also bring you Odin. You have my word.'
'That's enough, Hauptmann,' said von Poncets. 'You've made your position clear.'
'Hauptmann,' added Scheidt, 'I don't care about your personal vendettas, but I cannot stress enough the importance of finding Odin - alive.'
Zellner saluted again and left them.
Zellner walked back towards the village and the troop dressing station where he had left his men. His interview with the Reichsamtsleiter and SD Sturmbannfuhrer had gone well, he supposed, but the shame of losing so many men and of failing in his mission was hard to bear. Anger and frustration hung over him like a dead weight. Tanner, h
e thought. If it hadn't been for that Tommy sergeant it would have been so different. He had not realized it was possible to hate a man so intensely.
At the dressing station, he moved uneasily through the rows of men. Some were on stretchers, swathed in bloodied bandages, others sitting or squatting on the ground. The air in the tent was putrid. Men groaned and cried out. He spotted three men lying side by side, two Tommies and a Frenchman. He paused beside them, his mind suddenly alert. He peered down at the British men. There was the shoulder tab, 'Yorks Rangers,' on their uniforms. It was the same as he had seen on the men on the mountain. How had they got there? He leant over them. One of the Tommies, wounded in the head and shoulder, was unconscious. The Frenchman, he could see, was dead; he had the blue-grey waxy complexion that he had already learnt to recognize as the mask of death. But the third was awake, his head tilted to one side, staring towards the tent's entrance. Zellner leant closer to him and the Tommy's eyes widened in recognition.
'You!' Zellner said, grabbing the young man's collar. 'Where are they? How did you get here?'
The Tommy looked at him, fear in his eyes, muttering in English.
'Tell me!' shouted Zellner, shaking him. 'Tell me where they are!' Bitter rage consumed him now. 'Speak!' said Zellner in English. 'Where is Tanner?' The Englishman mouthed something, words Zellner could not hear. 'What?' He shook him again. 'What are you saying? Tell me!' Frothy blood appeared from the Tommy's mouth then his eyes became fixed. A faint gasp and a last exhalation came from his mouth. Zellner dropped the lifeless body back on to the stretcher, then raced towards two medics bringing in another stretcher. 'Where did those men come from?' he demanded. 'Those three - the Frenchman and the two Tommies? Who brought them here?' But the medics did not know. No one did.
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