A hand on his shoulder. Zellner turned and saw a major surgeon standing in front of him. 'That's enough, Hauptmann,' he said. 'We don't concern ourselves with how the wounded get here. Our job is to deal with them as best we can. Now, please, stop making a scene, and let us get on with our job. We have lives to save.'
Chastened, Zellner scowled and left the tent. He wondered what else could go wrong. No British Tommy was going to make a fool of him. Consumed with thoughts of revenge, he stumbled off in search of his men.
Chapter 11
Not until the afternoon did Tanner return to the safety of the cave above the Rostad's farmstead, by which time Anna and her father were safely at home. He had learnt much, and reported his findings to Lieutenant Chevannes and the two Norwegian officers. As he had hoped, Tretten was now far quieter than it had been. Soldiers had been leaving all day and continued to do so. A half battalion of mountain troops was still in the village, as was a tented field dressing station, but a number of the wounded had already been loaded on to a train south. The upturned boats that Anna had mentioned were down by the jetty - the bank jutted out into the river and there was a shingle beach where they lay. He also suggested an approach route that would enable them to stay within the cover of the trees almost to the riverbank. The only open ground was the last seventy-five yards across the road to the water's edge.
Chevannes dismissed him without a word, so he went to find Sykes and the others, who were sitting in a corner of the cave. Hepworth and Kershaw were on guard duty, McAllister and Erwood asleep, while the corporal, Moran, Bell and Chambers, were playing poker.
Sykes put down his cards when he saw Tanner. 'I've lost a fortune, Sarge.' He grinned. 'IOUs. Mac's cleaning up.'
'I've got to think of my future, Sarge,' said McAllister. 'I see it as a kind of nest-egg for when the war's over. At this rate I reckon I'll be able to move to a big house in Harrogate when I get back.'
Tanner lit two German cigarettes from one of the orange Niderehe packets he had taken from the prisoners the day before, and passed it to Sykes.
'Cheers, Sarge.'
'It's a bit rough, but it's tobacco, isn't it? Better than nothing.'
'Too bloody right.' Sykes inhaled deeply, then said, 'Are we going to be all right, then?'
Tanner nodded. 'It's not going to be much fun crossing the river, but if we hold our nerve .. .'
'Course.' They smoked in silence for a moment, then Sykes said, 'We've been having a gander at some of that Jerry kit. Here.' He picked up a rifle and passed it to Tanner.
Tanner gripped it, weighing it in his hands. 'About the same weight as the SMLE. Eight pounds or so.'
'That's what we thought,' said Sykes.
Tanner lifted it to his shoulder, aimed, then pulled back the bolt. 'Oi, oi,' he said. 'Don't like this much.' He whistled. 'Bloody hell, it comes back a long way, doesn't it? How are you supposed to keep your aim with that bloody great thing knocking your cheek every time?'
'You couldn't fire thirty rounds a minute with it, could you?'
'Not accurately, that's for sure.' He tried a sequence of five blank shots, then passed it back to Sykes. 'I reckon if you fired fifteen properly aimed shots a minute you'd be doing well. I'd rather have my old No.l Enfield any day. What about the shells?'
'Fractionally larger. Almost nothing in it.'
'But enough. We'd better make sure no one mixes this ammo up.'
'Don't worry, I've warned everyone already. What's the pistol like?'
Tanner took it out of its holster and passed it to him. 'See for yourself. I don't really feel that comfortable with pistols, but useful for clearing a room, I suppose.'
'Close-quarters stuff.'
'Exactly.' Tanner watched as Sykes loaded and unloaded the magazine, cocked and uncocked the pistol, then examined the safety catch. Not far away, the others continued to play cards and sleep. All the Rangers were on the same side of the cave, he noticed, while the French and Norwegians were on the other. There was, he recognized, a cohesion to his men, even though the patrol had originally been brought together by combining two different parts of the platoon. It was strange, he thought, how attached to them he now felt. After all, his background was so completely different; really, he knew very little about any of them, or they about him. They had nothing in common as far as he knew - except shared nationality and the experience of being stuck together, but clearly that was enough.
He hoped he had made the right decision to cross the valley, hoped he wasn't wasting these men's lives. They trusted him, he knew, and trust was so important - but was it justified? Was he leading them to capture - death? Just a few years ago most of them would have been young boys scampering around the backstreets of Leeds, playing football, getting into trouble and bunking off school. Now they were sitting in a damp cave on a mountain in Norway, deep behind enemy lines on a mission of critical importance. Jesus, he thought. How did we all get into this bloody mess? He looked at Sykes again, still fiddling with the pistol. He barely even knew his corporal, a man he considered in many ways a friend.
'I've been meaning to ask,' he said at length, to Sykes, 'where did you learn how to handle explosives like that? You set that booby trap like an expert.'
'In the Army, of course.'
'In your basic infantry training? Pull the other one.'
'We did a bit of training with grenades. Even live ones.'
'But not handling gelignite.' He stared at Sykes, who smiled sheepishly. 'Come on, Stan. Spit it out.'
Sykes glanced around to check no one else was listening, then leant forward. 'I, um - before I joined the Army - well, I was ... I got in with a few bad 'uns and, well, I used to rob stuff.'
Tanner raised an eyebrow. Go on.
Sykes sighed, took out his tobacco and began rolling a cigarette. 'Yes, you know, houses, offices - I could crack most safes, but they didn't always have combination locks, you see. So that's when I learnt how to use explosives.'
'Christ, Stan,' said Tanner.
'I'm not proud of it. I was the oldest of six kids, my dad was bloody useless - liked the sauce too much - and we needed the money. I'm not excusing it or anything, but when you're doing offices and banks and so on, you persuade yourself they can afford it.'
'When did you join the Army?'
'We was doin' an office in Islington, and we got caught in the act, and before we knew what was going on there was police everywhere. One of the lads pulled out a gun. He didn't hit anyone but it made me think things had gone far enough. Anyway, he was caught but me and the other two got away. I decided there and then that my criminal days was over. I sent my mother all the money I'd saved up and told her I had to leave town for a while and not to try to get in touch. I got on a train to Leeds and joined the Army. That was October 1938. And here I am.'
'And what about the one with the gun?'
'He got banged up but he never said nothing, so I was all right. And I haven't stolen anything since then - except what I nicked from that dump in Lillehammer.' He looked at Tanner. 'I'm not proud of myself, but I did start it with good intentions. You won't say anything, though, will you, Sarge? Not even to the other lads?'
'Course not. You're a good corporal, Stan. I don't care what you did before the war - that's your affair and for your conscience to deal with. It's what happens now that matters.' He paused. 'Anyway, I'm in no position to judge. My past isn't exactly whiter than white.'
They were silent for a moment, Tanner cursing himself for revealing even that, but then Sykes said, 'How come you ended up in the Rangers, Sarge? Where did you say you were from again?'
'Wiltshire,' said Tanner. 'In the south-west.' He was quiet again, toying in his mind with how much to tell the corporal, if anything. Sykes might have been glad to get his past off his chest, but Tanner felt no such compunction. 'My mother died when I was a baby,' he said. He spoke slowly, softly. 'My father was a gamekeeper on an estate.'
'So that's where you learnt to shoot.'
T
anner smiled. 'I reckon I had a rifle in my hands from the age of about five.' There had not been much schooling: his education had been out of doors, accompanying his father, learning about the countryside. He wouldn't have had it any other way.
'So why did you join the Army?'
Tanner looked away. 'My father died. There were . . . complications.' He picked up the German rifle again, pretending to examine it once more. 'I left home and joined the Army as a boy soldier. Straight out to India with the 2nd Battalion.'
'And you saw action out there?'
'A bit.'
Sykes nodded thoughtfully. 'So we're both outsiders, aren't we? Southerners among all these northern bastards.'
Tanner smiled. 'Yes, Corporal, but I think we're licking them into shape.'
In the offices of the Sicherheitdienst in Lillehammer, Reichsamtsleiter Hans-Wilhelm Scheidt was waiting for news of progress with mounting frustration. Reconnaissance aircraft had reported nothing despite countless sorties up and down the valley. 'Damned Luftwaffe,' he railed at Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz. 'I know they're not really bothering.' He stood up, walked to Kurz's window, overlooking a sunlit street, then strode back to the large, leather-topped desk, snatched the photographs delivered by the Luftwaffe an hour before and peered at them intently.
'I couldn't see anything in those,' said Kurz, sitting back in his chair, his arms behind his head.
'They're taken from too damned high up.' Scheidt smacked the back of his fingers against them, then flung them on to the desk.
Absent-mindedly Kurz picked at a tooth. 'And I suppose the Luftwaffe do have to find the British positions.'
Scheidt glared at him. Kurz ignored him, instead picking up the Luftwaffe's aerial photographs once more. Despite Scheidt's comments, they were both clear and detailed, but even with a magnifying-glass no tracks could be seen in the snow. High on the mountain plateau there was nothing but an undulating whiteness. Then came the treeline, the forest gradually becoming denser as the sides of the valley plunged towards the river and lake below. What was most striking, however, was the rapidity with which the snow was already melting along the lower slopes and valley floor. 'Spring has come,' said
Kurz, almost to himself. 'In another week it'll probably be summer.' He looked up at Scheidt, who had sat down again on the other side of the desk. 'Maybe we'll still get a message through.'
'Two days,' muttered Scheidt. 'Two damned days!'
'It happens.' Kurz shrugged. 'Changes in weather patterns. Even small atmospheric fluctuations. It's probably nothing more sinister than that.'
'I'm feeling blind,' said Scheidt. 'Christ, where are they?' He paced the room again, then said, 'I'm going out. I need to think.'
He stepped outside into the cool evening air. Above him the Nazi flag over the door of the SD offices clapped and the rope knocked against the flagpole. A sudden gust swept down the street, throwing up dust. A speck of grit caught in his eye. Scheidt cursed, then looked up to see a sullen Norwegian creaking past in a cart, the mule's head bowed. Scheidt glared at him but the man simply stared back, unmoved and defiant.
Norway. By God, he loathed the place, with its endless mountains and curiously backward people. And what did Lillehammer have to offer? Nothing but a couple of cafes, a few hotels and a population of glowering, resentful inhabitants. He wished he could be back in Berlin, he needed to think. Where were the bars and vitality of Bitte and Friedrichstrasse - places where he could sit with a drink or two, watch the people go by and relax? He was a metropolitan man, born and brought up in the bustle and mass of Munich, and although he had been to university in the country town of Freiburg, in the Black Forest, it had had all the sophistication that could be expected from a centuries-old and highly distinguished university city Then had come Berlin. How he missed it - a city that had always seemed to him the centre of the civilized world. A city of fine buildings and deep culture that even so seemed always to be moving forward. The beauty of its past sat so comfortably with the daring innovations of the future. He wished he could be there now, just for one night - a drink at the Cafe Josty to hear the latest gossip followed by dinner at Horcher's. Ah, that would be good.
He walked into his hotel. The reception area was still and quiet, save for the ticking of the pendulum on the clock.
'Brandy,' said Scheidt to the man at the desk, then walked through into the lounge. A couple sat in the corner, speaking in hushed tones and glancing nervously at Scheidt. Ignoring them, he sank into an armchair of deep maroon plush - stale cigarette and cigar smoke had pervaded every fibre of it. Cheap paintings of mountain scenes hung on the walls, while above the fireplace there was an ageing mirror spotted dark where the silver had been damaged. Scheidt ran his hands through his hair, and sighed. His brandy arrived and he took it without a word to the waiter, drank it in one and called for another.
He knew there was a large area in which to search for Odin, but even so, there were practical constraints that limited the opportunities for manoeuvre considerably. He had cursed the Luftwaffe, yet he knew they had flown countless sorties up and down the valley. Von Poncets' men had been trawling it too, yet they had found nothing - not a single clue, even though they were fresh, had trucks at their disposal and could travel further than Odin and his cohorts could possibly have managed on foot. It made no sense.
Then inspiration struck. Suppose they had not been seen because they weren't there? Suppose they had stayed where they were, lying low somewhere, while von Poncets' troops headed north and wasted time hunting for a false trail? He sat up and sipped his second brandy. Yes, he thought, it made perfect sense. Zellner himself had said there were clever, experienced men among them. For God's sake, Odin himself had enough of a brain! He finished his brandy, hurried out of the hotel and back to the SD headquarters.
Rushing into Kurz's office, he said, 'They're going to cross the river!'
Kurz looked at him with utter bewilderment. 'You've lost me, Herr Reichsamtsleiter. Who is?'
'Odin,' said Scheidt, 'and the men with him. We haven't found them because they're still somewhere on the mountain above Tretten. Tonight, when it's dark, they'll try to cross to the other side of the valley. I'm sure of it.'
Kurz looked dubious. 'It seems unlikely. Surely they wouldn't dare.'
'They would because, on the face of it, where's the risk? Who will still be in Tretten tonight? A few reinforcements passing through from the south and that's about it. For God's sake, even von Poncets' company of mountain troops won't be there.'
Kurz still seemed doubtful.
'Listen to me,' said Scheidt. 'They know they can't travel through the mountains faster than us, and they know the Luftwaffe will be out looking for them. They're stuck on the same side of the valley as the road and the railway line. But what's on the other side? Nothing! If they can get over there, they have a better chance of getting us off their trail. Moreover, the far side of the valley is more densely covered with forest. I know I'm right. Tonight, they'll come down and attempt to cross to the other side.'
Kurz was nodding now. 'Yes,' he said, a smile creeping across his face. 'I think you might be right. It should be easy enough to stop them. The bridge is undamaged. All we have to do is make sure von Poncets' mountain troops are ready and waiting.' He glanced at his watch. 'Ten to nine. Somehow we need to get them back to Tretten - and quickly.' He stood up and slapped Scheidt on the back. 'Smart thinking, Herr Reichsamtsleiter.'
As Kurz disappeared to send a signal to von Poncets, Scheidt leant against the desk and examined the photographs once more. He felt sure he was right. Perhaps, at long last, they really were just hours from snaring their prey. And, if so, it would have been worth the wait.
At a little after half past ten that night, a small column of sixteen French, British and Norwegian troops, with two civilians, began to head down through the trees on the slopes towards the tiny village of Tretten. They were unusually attired. The Tommies, at Tanner's insistence, had put away their tin helmets and greatcoats
and replaced them with German field caps and wind jackets. The French, believing their canadienne jackets and berets were sufficiently similar to the German mountain-troops uniform, had stuck with their own clothing, while the two Norwegian officers had kept their greatcoats, a similar green-grey to those worn by the enemy, but had replaced their kepis with captured field caps. The idea, Tanner had suggested, was not necessarily to pass themselves off as German troops but, rather, to throw seeds of doubt and even confusion should they be seen silhouetted - however faintly - as they crossed the river. Anything that might chink or make any noise had been removed. It had been impressed upon every man that stealth was of paramount importance to their chance of success.
The sun had set behind the mountains on the far side of the valley, although a faint pink and gold glow crowned the snowy plateau, as though beckoning the fugitives towards a better place. Above, the sky was darkening at last, but there was still enough light with which to navigate through the trees and to warn them of any danger.
Sergeant Tanner, with Anna Rostad beside him and his men behind, led the way, following the route he had worked out earlier that morning. It had been more than twenty-four hours since they had reached the Rostads' farmstead, an entire day in which to rest, recover and rebuild their strength. They had certainly been fortunate to find such willing and accommodating hosts. Even now they were setting off with full stomachs, bread and cold meat in their haversacks. Erik Rostad had told them that most Norwegians in the Gudbrandsdal would share their own antipathy towards the German invaders, and if this
was so, Tanner reflected, it would give them an important advantage; they would need such help in the days to come. The thought gave him heart.
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