The Odin Mission

Chapter 9

Tanner put an arm to the nearest tree and rested his head against it. Now that the fight was over, the adrenalin surge that had kept him going evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. His legs ached, his hands were shaky, and his stomach was racked with hunger cramps. A pounding headache drummed in his skull, while his mouth was as dry as bone. Stiffly leaning down, he picked up some snow and put it into his mouth, the icy water striking the nerve ends in his teeth.

'Sarge,' said a voice.

Tanner looked round. Sykes was standing beside him. 'Three casualties, Sarge. Gibson's dead, Saxby and Riggs wounded.'

'Riggs again?' asked Tanner.

'Bullet through the shoulder. It's not hit his lung, but he needs help. The lads are patching him up now.'

'What about Saxby?'

'Shoulder as well. Should pull through. Neither'll be going far, though.'

Tanner put another handful of snow to his mouth. 'We'll have to think about what's best for the wounded. Better get Gibbo buried. And the Krauts. And Sandvold? Is the professor safe?'

'Yes, Sarge. Not a scratch.'

'Anyone else?'

'One of the Froggies bought it, and another was wounded, but that's it. Lieutenants Larsen and Nielssen are still good.'

'And bloody Chevannes?'

'Yes, Sarge,' said Sykes, with a wry smile. 'Nothing wrong with him.'

Tanner should have felt pleased. His plan had worked, Sandvold was safe, and the enemy threat was, for the moment, over. Yet despair overwhelmed him once more. It was half past eight in the evening and the sound of battle from the valley was noticeably lessening, receding into the distance by the minute, and with it their chance of freedom. They had been so close again - just a mile or two from the safety of their own lines. Christ, thought Tanner. How were they ever going to get out of this? Physically he was finished - they all were. Those last reserves of energy had been summoned by sheer willpower and the promise of reaching the Allies that evening. Now the finishing line had been cruelly moved, far out of reach. And then there was Chevannes. By God, Tanner hated the man: his arrogance, his stupidity, his woeful leadership the previous evening. It was Chevannes' fault they had failed today. Tanner had half a mind to shoot the bastard there and then.

'Sergeant! Sergeant Tanner!'

Chevannes. Tanner closed his eyes, quietly drummed his tightly clenched fist into the side of the tree, then faced the French lieutenant striding towards him.

'A good victory,' said the Frenchman, 'although yon should not have blown the shelter without my permission.'

Tanner took a deep breath. 'It killed six men, sir, and gave us the chance to hit them hard before they had a moment to recover their balance.'

'Always answering back to everything I say,' Chevannes snapped. He paused a moment then said, 'We need to tie up these prisoners and bury the dead. See to it quickly, while I question their officer.'

Tanner said nothing, but walked away and called his men over. 'Well done, lads,' he said. 'You did well.' He looked into their faces, one by one. The youthfulness had gone. They had fought their first fight, had killed, had been touched by death and had survived. They had grown up, and he knew they were better soldiers for the experience.

He ordered six to fetch the dead, instructing them to line the bodies up by the stream, then strip them of usable clothing and kit. They were to cover them with snow and stones from the brook, and place the tin helmets strapped to their packs on top as a marker. 'Just take Gibbo's bunduck and ammunition,' he added. 'Leave him dressed.'

Burying the dead; a grim task. Few men died with a neat bullet hole through the heart; most did so with a profusion of blood, with chunks of their bodies ripped from them or their guts spewing from their bellies. It took time to get used to such sights, but there was no denying that most became inured to them quickly. War hardened the mind. Probably the soul too, Tanner thought.

He was sorry about Gibson - the third of his men to die. Gibson had been popular, a tough little Yorkshire- man. Bloody hell, he thought.

He took McAllister and Hepworth to the prisoners who were being guarded by Chevannes' Chasseurs Alpins. The Germans were standing close together not far from the blackened crater where the hut had once been. Cordite hung in the air. The seter had gone but for a jumble of charred and still burning logs. Thick smoke rose into the air, a beacon for any passing aircraft. Tanner looked at his watch again. Just after half past eight. They needed to get a move on. 'Iggery, lads,' he said. 'Let's get into the woods.' He began pushing and shoving the prisoners and, with Hepworth, McAllister and the two Frenchmen's help, walked them past the mangled machine-gun crews being lined up on the ground by the stream and under the cover of thicker trees.

A hundred yards from the seter, he ordered them to stop. He turned one to face him, a youth with dark hair and a defiant glare. 'What's this?' Tanner asked, pointing to the flower embroidered on his sleeve. The same flower was on their field caps too.

^‘Ein Edelweiss,' the man replied. 'Wir sind der Gebirgsjageren.'

'It is the symbol of all Gebirgsjager troops,' said another of the men, in heavily accented English. He looked slightly older, with pale grey eyes and pockmarked cheeks. 'We are mountain troops.'

'And your kit? Good, is it?' Tanner asked. He patted the younger man's pockets, felt the shape of a cigarette packet and took it out. 'Cheers,' he said, shook out a cigarette and lit it.

'Yes,' said the older man. 'We have the best kit of any fighting soldier in Norway.'

'Good,' said Tanner, 'because ours is pretty useless.' He pushed his way through the men, measuring his feet against theirs until he was standing beside a man of similar height and size. 'Yours look about right. I'll have those.' The man looked at him blankly, so Tanner mimed his demand. Reluctantly, the prisoner did as he was ordered. 'And you tell them,' said Tanner, turning back to the English-speaker, 'that I want all of you stripped. I want your jackets, tunics, boots and caps. And your goggles.' He took the pair from above the peak of the man nearest him and put them on.

'Isn't that against the Geneva Convention, Sarge?' asked McAllister. 'They could freeze to death.'

'Mac, do you want to survive this?' Tanner snapped.

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Then don't worry your head about things like that. And, no, I don't think it is against the Geneva Convention. Let's get on with it. And I want them to empty their packs too. Look for food, fags, ammunition, grenades - anything.'

'You can't do this to us,' said the English speaker.

'I can and I will,' said Tanner. 'Now, give me your pack and get undressed.' The man slowly slipped off his rucksack and passed it to Tanner, who emptied it on to the ground. To his delight there was some food - a chunk of dark, dry bread and some cured sausage. The man had a small flask of schnapps too. Tanner ate hungrily, took a swig from the flask and felt the sweet, burning liquid soothe his throat. Ah, that feels good. He passed the flask and food to Hepworth, rolled up the tunic, cap and green-grey jacket, then strapped them to his pack. Finally, he exchanged his own boots and ankle gaiters for the German's dark brown ankle boots and puttees. 'Beautiful,' he said aloud. 'Bloody beautiful.' He threw his own to the prisoner whose boots he was now wearing. 'Here,' he said, 'have these.'

He went to help Sykes and the others, and found them laying stones and boulders on top of Gibson's grave. 'Take it in turns to get yourselves some kit from the prisoners,' he told them. 'Kershaw, hop it.'

'Nice boots, Sarge,' said Sykes.

Tanner smiled ruefully. 'Make sure you get a pair too, Stan. They're bloody marvellous, I'm telling you.'

'I have already.' He grinned, jerking a thumb towards a shoeless German corpse. 'Just haven't put 'em on yet.'

Tanner took out two cigarettes and gave one to the corporal.

'What do we do now, Sarge?' Sykes asked, as he exhaled a large cloud of smoke. He held his cigarette between finger and thumb, hovering in front of his mouth.

'We're too bloody late to get to Tretten.'

'I can hear. Or, rather, I can't.'

'We should have gone last night when I said.'

'No point agonizing over it, Sarge. It's done now.'

'Sodding French bastard.' Tanner kicked at the snow.

'I should have stood my ground.' He sighed. 'If I'm honest, Stan, we've got to find somewhere to rest. A farm or something. I need to think clearly and I can't right now.'

'Can't we just take our lads and scarper?' Sykes asked.

Tanner shook his head. 'I promised Gulbrand. It's not that, though - it's what he said. If this Sandvold really is as important as the colonel made out, we've got to get him out of here. I can't abandon him to Chevannes. I wouldn't trust him to get Sandvold to safety for all the money in the world.'

The minutes passed. The burial was completed, as was the reassignment of German kit. The prisoners, huddled together, stripped to their shirts and trousers, were shivering.

Eventually Chevannes reappeared with the German officer. 'Are you done, Sergeant?'

'Yes, sir.' Tanner turned to the German.

'Captain Zellner,' said Chevannes.

'Heil Hitler,' said Zellner.

'Don't you bloody Heil Hitler me, you Nazi bastard,' said Tanner, then asked Chevannes, 'What have you got out of him?'

'The captain refuses to say anything.'

Tanner was about to speak when Lieutenant Larsen appeared from across the stream.

'Wait,' he said, hurrying towards them. As he saw the German, his eyes widened. 'You!'

Zellner seemed surprised. 'Do I know you?'

'You were at the farm,' said Larsen. 'At Okset. North of Elverum.'

Zellner's eyes narrowed

'It was you,' said Larsen, jabbing his finger into Zellner's chest. 'You were looking for us. What did you do to the farmer?'

Zellner nodded - yes, I remember now - and glanced at Chevannes. 'Nothing,' he said. 'Nothing at all.'

'Liar!' said Larsen. He wiped his hand across his mouth, then punched Zellner hard in the stomach. The German doubled over and collapsed on to the ground.

'Lieutenant! My God, man, what do you think you are doing?' shouted Chevannes.

Larsen grabbed Zellner by the scruff of the neck, pulled him to his feet. Clasping the German's jaw in his hand, said, 'Tell me what you did!'

Zellner glared at him, his pale eyes wild with defiance.

'Lieutenant, that will do!' yelled Chevannes.

'He's lying!' shouted Larsen, face red with fury. 'I know he is! I want to know what he did to my cousin!'

Chevannes turned to Zellner. 'Capitaine,' he said, 'can you give me your word as an officer that you did not harm Lieutenant Larsen's cousin?'

Zellner coughed, and ran his hand round his collar. 'Of course. I give you my word.'

'For pity's sake,' said Tanner. He put a hand on Larsen's shoulder. 'Leave it, sir.'

Larsen glared at Zellner. 'You lie.'

'Lieutenant! Enough!' said Chevannes. 'He has given you his word.'

Shaking his head, Larsen walked away.

'Sir,' said Tanner now, 'do you really think his say-so counts for anything? He's a bloody Nazi.'

'He may be, but he is still an officer,' the Frenchman replied. 'You may not understand what honour is, Sergeant Tanner, but I and my men most certainly do.'

'I don't believe this.' Tanner spun round and went to his men.

The German caught sight of his troops a short distance away, huddled in the trees, and spoke angrily to Chevannes, who turned sharply.

'Sergeant! Come back! What have you done to the prisoners?'

'Nothing. Just taken a few bits of clothing, weapons and so on.'

'They will die of cold if we leave them like that.'

'Then that's one less thing to worry about, isn't it, sir? Actually, sir,' Tanner continued, ignoring the lieutenant's barely disguised fury, 'I was wondering what you were thinking of doing with them.'

'Doing with them?'

'Yes, sir. We can't take them with us and we can't let them loose in case they make it back and tell their superiors about us - and, in particular our Norwegian friend. There is, of course, one way of getting them off our hands—'

'What are you saying, Sergeant? That we shoot them? My God—'

'No, of course not, sir. I was thinking we could try to find another hut and tie them up there. If they keep cosy they'll probably live. It's cold but it's not that cold. Or we could tie them up and leave them here.'

'Or you could behave honourably, Sergeant, and give them back their uniforms.'

Tanner's patience snapped. 'Christ, I've had just about enough of this,' he said angrily. 'We're miles behind the lines now - thanks entirely to you, sir - and all you seem to care about is sodding honour. This isn't bloody knights-in-shining-armour, this is war. It's nasty and bad things happen. I don't give a toss about upsetting these Jerries. I care about making sure my men survive and that we get back to our lines. Regardless of what you may or may not believe, I made a solemn promise to get Mr Sandvold to safety and I'm going to bloody well do it. But we're in a whole load of trouble and we need every bit of help we can get our hands on. These Jerry boots are a damn sight better than our own, and their kit will not only keep us warm but could give us a useful disguise, should it come to it. After this little fight our ammunition levels are down and the extra fire-power might come in bloody useful. If you think that's wrong, then you're an even bigger fool than I thought. Sir.'

Chevannes' cheek muscles were twitching and his lips moved as though he was about to answer. Instead, he merely barked orders that they were to get going and take the prisoners with them.

They set off in a column, the prisoners carrying Riggs and the wounded Frenchman on stretchers made from rifles and greatcoats, between Chevannes' and two of Tanner's men. Lieutenant Larsen was in front, keeping his distance from Zellner and the other prisoners. It was, Tanner guessed, still a few degrees above freezing, helped by the toneless grey cloud that covered the sky; he wondered whether it would snow again. The air was crisp, and although the light was fading, there was still a couple of hours' daylight ahead.

Every so often, Chevannes paused to scan the area with his binoculars, then they moved on again. Tanner wondered what the French lieutenant had decided. He wanted to suggest they talk to the Norwegians, find a farm in which to lie up for a while and make a properly considered plan. His men had endured so much over the past two days; he felt they had a right to know where they were heading now and how much longer they could expect to tramp through the snow.

They had been going for almost half an hour when Chevannes stopped again, peered through his binoculars, then told them to head up the mountain, out of the main treeline and towards the open plateau. The men groaned, but even with his naked eye, Tanner could see the seter through the trees above and smiled to himself. Perhaps Chevannes was starting to listen.

'Not another night in a God-forsaken bloody hut,' said Hepworth. 'Honestly, Sarge, I’m done for here.'

'You're all right, Hep,' said Tanner. 'I'm sure Mr Chevannes knows what he's doing.'

'You've changed your tune,' Sykes said, in a low voice.

'Only because it's what I told him we should do,' Tanner replied. 'We're going to ditch the prisoners in that basha up there.' He pointed to the wooden seter through the trees above.

'Kill 'em?'

'No, just tie 'em up. And I also suggested it might be a good idea to find a farm with food and somewhere half decent to rest for a while.'

'Too bloody right. Let's hope he listens to that too.'

On reaching the hut, Chevannes ordered the prisoners to be herded inside. He looked at Larsen. 'Let Tanner do it, Lieutenant,' he said. Larsen glared at Zellner, then walked a short way back down the slope.

Tanner pushed the prisoners inside. Using bootlaces and some of his and Sykes's fuse cable, they bound the men. As they were doing so, Tanner noticed that the German officer, Captain Zellner, still had his binoculars round his neck and his empty holster at his side.

'I'll take those,' said Tanner, lifting the Zeiss binoculars over Zellner's head and removing the holster and bullet pouches from his belt.

Zellner stared at him, then at his rifle, and noticed the scope mounts next to the breech. 'A sniper rifle,' he said in English. Tanner met his gaze. 'I'll not forget this, Tanner,' said Zellner. 'And next time I see you, I will kill you.'

'I'm sure you will.' He smiled. 'In the meantime, my apologies for what I'm about to do.' He drew his hand into a fist and rammed it into Zellner's temple. The German gasped and lost consciousness.

'Bloody 'ell, Sarge! Where d'you learn to do that?' asked Sykes.

'The Army can teach you a lot, Corporal,' Tanner replied, 'including how to box. Damned useful. I must say, I don't really like knocking someone out like that but he's a filthy piece of work and he threatened to kill me. And we don't want them following us too soon, do we?'

'No, course not.'

Tanner looked at Zellner carefully. 'Hit too hard and in the wrong place,' he told Sykes, 'and you can kill a man.

Too soft and you'll do very little damage at all. One blow, that's what you want. Short, sharp and very much to the point. He might not forget me, but he'll not want to remember the headache when he comes round.'

With the Germans tied and left in the seter, the men retraced their steps until they were back among the trees, clear of the plateau. Chevannes called a halt. 'We'll rest a moment,' he said.

Larsen walked over to Tanner. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I behaved badly ... back there with that German.'

'No need to apologize, sir.'

'It was my fault,' he said. 'We stopped at my cousin's farm and took his truck. I didn't think at the time, but I should have done. It was obvious the Germans would come back and find it gone.'

'And you think they took your cousin?'

'I do not know. I had thought they might have killed him.' He shrugged. 'I am not sure now. Maybe he was telling the truth. I was angry - but more angry with myself.' He sighed. 'It has been preying on my mind, you see. I just wish I knew. I wish I could find out that he is all right.' He looked up at Tanner. 'Anyway, I wanted to explain.' He wiped his brow.

Tanner nodded. 'Thank you, sir,' he said, then moved a few steps and leant against a tree next to Sandvold. The Norwegian grimaced as he slipped off his rucksack. He was as white as a ghost, and Tanner realized that, despite his preoccupation with getting them all to safety, he had not thought about Sandvold's physical condition. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder. 'Are you all right?' he asked.

'I am tired, that is all,' he replied. 'I am forty-seven, after all. You boys - you are all in the prime of youth. This has been a long trek for a man of my age.' He smiled weakly, then gasped and slumped against the tree. Tanner caught him, crouched, and rested Sandvold's head against his rucksack.

'My God, what has happened to him?' Larsen had hurried over and now stood beside them.

Nielssen joined them. 'Is he all right?' he asked, frowning.

Tanner felt for a pulse. 'He's passed out, that's all.' He took out the flask of schnapps and tipped it into Sandvold's mouth. The Norwegian spluttered, coughed and opened his eyes. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'What must you think of me?'

'It's all right,' said Tanner. 'Drink a bit more of this.' He gave Sandvold the flask, then stood up beside the two Norwegians. 'None of us can go much further tonight. We need to find somewhere to rest properly. Get some food - preferably hot.'

'But what about reaching the Allies?' asked Nielssen.

'They're not in Tretten any more. They've fallen back.' He sighed. 'We need a new plan.'

Larsen said, 'You are right, Sergeant. I know I could do with a proper rest. If we keep going like this, none of us will make it, let alone Professor Sandvold.'

Professor? Tanner looked down at him - the gaunt face, unkempt moustache, the dark rings and wrinkles round the eyes. Just what was this man's secret? He wondered whether he would ever know.

'I'll talk to Chevannes,' said Larsen.

'There are farmsteads along this side of the valley,' added Nielssen. 'It's west-facing here so they will be quite high.'

'We must be careful,' said Tanner. 'With the Germans in the valley, it'll be hard to know who to trust. There'll be a lot at stake for the civilians.'

'I doubt we will find many pro-Germans up here, if that is what you mean,' said Nielssen.

Tanner yawned. 'I suppose there's risk with every move we make. It's a matter of balancing that risk. Right now, we need rest urgently. If that means we have to take our chance with some farmer, then so be it.'

'Hot food.' Nielssen smiled. 'I would risk a lot for that right now.'

It began to snow, only lightly, but Tanner was pleased to see the flakes drifting down from the blanket of grey above them. There was, of course, every chance that Zellner and his men would free themselves and get off the mountain, despite the strength of the fuse and the tightness with which he and Sykes had bound them. And then what? It wouldn't take them long to get down to the valley, where they would fetch help and begin to search the mountain once more. Had it been a cold, clear night, the enemy would have found their tracks with ease. They should have killed the prisoners, he reflected, but he knew he would have had no stomach for murdering men in cold blood, and neither would his men. War was cruel and hard, but there were still some lines that could not be crossed.

He tilted his face to the sky and felt the flakes land and dissolve. At least the snow would hide their tracks. That was something.

He now saw Sandvold lift himself to his feet, then reach back to the tree for support. 'Shall I get you a stick, Professor? Would that help?'

'Thank you, yes.'

Tanner picked up a fallen pine branch, cut off the loose twigs with his sword bayonet, than handed it to him.

'Thank you, Sergeant.' He straightened his back, grimaced, then said, 'You know, I never in my wildest dreams imagined anything like this.'

'Having to escape the Germans?'

'Yes, if you like, but Norway being at war. It's so incredible. We may have been Norsemen once, Sergeant Tanner, but that was a long, long time ago. We have forgotten how to fight. We are a peaceful nation - a nation that makes no claim on other land and wants no part in other people's arguments. All my life, Norway has been like this - a neutral country. While you were destroying each other twenty years ago, we Norwegians were getting on with our lives. And yet here we are, tramping across a mountain at dawn, praying we will not be captured and shot.' He shook his head. 'Do you have a family, Sergeant?' he asked suddenly.

'No,' Tanner replied. 'Only the Army.'

'A bachelor like me,' Sandvold smiled, 'wedded to your work. But I do have a mother still alive. At least, I pray she is. I was supposed to leave Oslo, you know,' he added, 'told to leave the moment the invasion began, but my mother would not come with me. She said she was too old to run away and that she was not sure she wanted to live if she could not stay in our home in Oslo. Well, it has been her home for more than fifty years, so I suppose she had a point. I felt I could not leave her - my own mother, how could I? And then one day Colonel Gulbrand arrived with three men and suddenly the matter was no longer in my hands. My mother wept when I left. It is ridiculous, I know, but I am worried about her and I know she will be worried about me. And all because of my work - work that I thought would benefit Norway. Now I discover that what I know is so valuable that my own countrymen will kill me rather than let me fall into enemy hands.' He sighed again. 'There has been much time to think since I left Oslo - since I left my mother weeping at the door of the house. And if I am honest,' he chuckled mirthlessly, 'I have drawn few conclusions, except that everything I believed in and thought to be right seems to have been turned on its head. It is as though a kind of madness has descended. The war is like a plague or flood or some other biblical pestilence. It rips our world apart, bringing nothing but suffering and, it seems to me, achieving very little. I pray it will be over soon, but that seems unlikely, yes?'

'God only knows,' said Tanner.

'What am I trying to say to you, Sergeant? I am saying that I would be most grateful if you could get me to safety. I want to help my country, not become a martyr for her. And I also want to live for the sake of my mother, if that is not too sentimental.'

'Why are you asking me this?' asked Tanner. 'Lieutenant Chevannes is in charge. And there are two of your countrymen to guard you too.'

Sandvold smiled. 'Yes, I like your use of the word. It makes me feel rather like a prisoner, which I suppose in a way I am. But I am saying this to you because I know what Colonel Gulbrand told you. Yes, I know. I left you and Gulbrand to talk, but I heard every word. And, as it happens, I agree with him. You are evidently a highly capable soldier, Sergeant. Even a pacifist like me can see that.'

'Thank you,' said Tanner quietly. 'Then you will have heard me give Gulbrand my word, which stands now as it did then. I can't promise anything, Professor, but I'll do my best.'

Whether it was what Tanner had said earlier, or the snow, or whether Chevannes had been persuaded by the Norwegians, the French lieutenant appeared to agree that they should find a farmstead in which to lie up and rest. They were now a couple of miles north of Tretten, beneath a peak known as the Vangsberget, and following the course of another shallow ravine. Now several hundred feet below the lip of the high plateau, they were walking through increasingly dense forest, so dark that the only glimpse of daylight came from above the mountain stream. They emerged along the top of a mountain pasture. The snow had stopped falling. At the far end of the field there was an old gate and beyond that a path, clearly well trodden.

Nielssen and Larsen led them along the track, which wound its way in a series of hairpin bends, then straightened out and ended at an old farmstead. It looked much like the others Tanner had seen, a large barn with a bright red tin roof and a stone ramp leading to the first floor, a cluster of other outbuildings and a main house of white clapperboard with a high pitched roof and carvings along the edges.

As they had the previous evening, the two Norwegian officers approached cautiously while the rest waited. The promise of warmth and food was intoxicating. Tanner watched Larsen and Nielssen reach the front, and heard a dog bark. His stomach churned with hunger.

Anxious minutes. Tanner could see the tension and exhaustion on the faces of every man. And there were the wounded to think of too - Riggs, Saxby and the French Chasseur. All three had shown stoic fortitude as they had been roughly carried over and down the mountain. The Frenchman had a bullet through the leg, but while none of the wounds were yet serious, Tanner was keenly aware they soon would be. His rudimentary antiseptic had not worked on Gulbrand and there was every chance it would fail these lads too. They needed proper help if they were to avoid gangrene and septicaemia - merciless killers both.

The valley was quiet. Tretten village, a short way to the south, was hidden from view, as were the road and railway below, but Tanner could see the river, now widening into a lake, and beyond, the densely forested valley sides.

A figure appeared at the door - Larsen - and beckoned them in. Relief.

'Bloody hooray,' grinned Sykes, who, with Hepworth, picked up the wounded Riggs. 'All right, Riggsy?' he said. 'Soon have you cleaned up, mate.'

Riggs smiled. 'Cheers, Corp,' he said.

A middle-aged man with greying hair, an unshaven chin and a large moustache stood anxiously by the doorway, his eyes darting from one man to another. He wore an old corduroy jacket, wool trousers and boots, and chewed one of his fingers as the men came towards him. Muttering to Larsen in Norwegian, he walked towards the large barn.

'Follow him,' said Larsen, 'including the wounded. He wants you all in there.'

The farmer scampered deftly up the stone ramp and opened one of the twin doors at the top, then swung his arm in a sweeping motion - in you go - until the men followed.

'The wounded need help right away,' Tanner told Larsen.

Larsen nodded. 'His wife and daughter are coming. They're bringing some bread and water first, then some hot water and bandages.'

The wounded had been set against one side of the barn, packs propping up their heads. They lay on the greatcoats that had been used as stretchers just a short while before. It was dark in there and dusty, the smell of dried hay and straw mixing with the stench of animal dung below. Tanner joined Sykes and eased off his packs. A burden released. He felt in his haversack for Zellner's pistol. It was a Walther, a neat semiautomatic that fitted comfortably in his hand. Loading it with a new clip of eight rounds, he put it into its holster. The men were quiet, too exhausted to speak. Tanner noticed that a Frenchman was already asleep on the straw, curled up, his rifle by his side.

So, too, was Sandvold. Beside him, Nielssen was looking through his rucksack. He saw Tanner watching him, then brought it closer to him and pulled the cord tight. Tanner wondered what he was hiding. Crown jewels and papers, or something more? What was the real story behind these Norwegians? He thought about Sandvold. He was curious - damned curious. What was that man's big secret? Had he invented some new terror weapon? It was hard to know what to think, but certainly the boffins had been busy over the past few years. The advances in aircraft, tanks and other war materiel was astonishing. They'd noticed the pace of change less in India and Palestine but he had found returning home that January quite an eye-opener: the world had moved on while he had been away. There had certainly been no Spitfires or even Hurricanes in the Middle East, let alone in India, yet suddenly there they were in Britain, completely different from anything Tanner had ever seen before. And so sleek and fast, rolling about the sky at more than three hundred miles an hour, a speed that had seemed impossible not so long ago. They made the old Bulldogs and Harts that Tanner had been used to seem horribly slow and outmoded. Even the bombers were now monoplanes, made entirely from stressed metal. And the size of them! It was still a wonder to Tanner that those beasts were able to leave the ground at all.

So perhaps that was what it was, Tanner thought. Sandvold had invented something that could be used as an earth-shattering weapon, one that would change the course of the war. And if that was the case, the sooner Britain got to use it the better, because here in Norway the Army was getting a pasting.

He lay back against his pack. The inside of the barn was much like any other, with its ageing beams, grain on the wooden floor, dust and distinctive smell. He closed his eyes, sighed, and thought of home and his childhood. They'd used to climb along the joists, he and the other lads on the estate; and once they were given a hiding for doing so. He could remember the sting of Mr Gulliver's belt even now.

Jack Tanner was dreaming, sleep a luxurious release, and then, all too quickly, he was being shaken. Voices. For a moment he was completely disoriented; he had forgotten where he was. Opening his eyes, sleep seeping away, he saw Sykes and next to him a young woman - a pretty girl with an oval face, pale eyes, dark eyebrows and straw-coloured hair.

'Sorry,' said Tanner, 'I must have fallen asleep.' He sat up, then checked that his rifle and haversack were still there. Suddenly aware that the girl had followed his gaze, he smiled sheepishly and said, 'An old habit.'

'This is Miss Rostad, Sarge,' said Sykes. 'She and 'er mother 'ave brought us some food an' water.'

'It's not much, I'm afraid, Sergeant,' she said, in fluent English, 'but until the chickens are cooked ...' She passed him a bowl of soup and a piece of bread.

'Thank you,' said Tanner. The warm meaty stock soothed his throat. It tasted just about as good as anything he had ever eaten.

'It's about the wounded men,' she continued. 'My mother and I have done what we can, but I'm afraid that's very little. We have some first-aid equipment up here but not much. We've cleaned their wounds but they could easily become infected.'

'The bullet went clean through the Frenchie's thigh,' added Sykes, 'and through Sax's shoulder, but it's stuck somewhere inside poor old Riggsy.'

'How are they now?' asked Tanner.

'Asleep,' said Anna. 'We gave them some brandy. But they need a doctor.'

'In the valley,' said Tanner.

Anna nodded. 'We could take them down tomorrow, my father and I. We could put them in the cart.'

'I told her it's too risky,' said Sykes.

Tanner thought for a moment. 'Where would you take them? Tretten?'

'Yes. There's a doctor there.'

'The Germans would have surgeons too. You'd be questioned. What would you say?'

'That we found them. What else would the Germans expect us to do? If they stay here, they will probably die. If we take them into Tretten they at least have a chance.'

Tanner smiled. 'You're very brave - for what you've just said and for letting us stay here. And thank you - it's not right, involving civilians in such things. We soldiers, well, that's different. We're paid to go off and fight.'

Anna shrugged. 'I can't just watch the Germans swarm over our country and do nothing. Anyway, you have come to help us. It's the least we can do.' She looked at him wistfully. 'My brother, Jonny, is fighting somewhere. He was called up two weeks ago, so off he went to Lillehammer. We had a telegram from him in Narvik, but we have heard nothing since. He is my twin. I think he is still alive but I cannot say for sure.' She wiped the corner of her eye. 'Really, it is too terrible.' She stood up.

Tanner grabbed his rifle and pushed himself up to his feet. 'Where are Larsen and Chevannes?' he asked Sykes.

'I think they're in the farmhouse,' Sykes replied.

'They are,' said Anna. 'They're talking with Father. I will take you to them.'

Anna led him out of the barn, across the yard and into the house. The three men were in the kitchen. It was getting dark and the shutters had been closed. An open fire, raised on a brick hearth, burnt gently in the corner of the room; to the side stood a bread oven and a blackened range. Soft pinewood smoke suffused the place, mingling with the smell of damp dog hair and tobacco. At the foot of the range lay two grey-muzzled canines, their coats drying slowly in the warmth. A large table stood in the centre of the room; Larsen, Chevannes and Anna's father were sitting round it. A lamp in the centre of the table flickered gently, lighting the men's faces.

'What do you want, Sergeant?' said Chevannes.

'To talk to you about what we're going to do,' Tanner replied.

'You're not an officer. It's up to us to make such plans and for you to carry out our orders. When we have decided what those are, we will tell you, as we will the others. Was there anything else?'

Tanner's expression was one of unconcealed anger. 'You might be the officer in charge here, sir,' he retorted, 'but I still have ten men to look after. That gives me a right to know what you're proposing, damn it.'

Larsen looked at Chevannes. 'He has a point.'

Chevannes sighed. 'You may stay and listen, Sergeant, but our decisions will be final. Understood?'

Anna's mother came into the kitchen. She looked much like her daughter, but older. Her eyes darted from one man to another, then she placed some more wood on the fire and glanced at the two chickens cooking in the range. The smell of hot fat wafted across the room. As she stood up again, Tanner could see the fear in her eyes. But of course she's frightened, he thought.

Larsen spread his map on the table and Erik Rostad pointed to where they now were. He spoke quietly with Larsen, as his wife put two bottles of beer on the table and brought over four glasses.

'There are mountain tracks that run along the valley,' Larsen explained to Chevannes and Tanner. 'It is not unusual to have snow still on the ground at this time of year although it has usually stopped falling by now. The snowfall of last night was not typical. Summer comes quickly here. In a week the snow could be gone from the valley, although not on the mountains.'

'We have to chance it and head north along here,' said Chevannes pointing to the map.

'We need roads,' said Tanner, 'a vehicle of some kind. If we try to walk it we'll never make it.'

'We nearly made it today,' said Larsen.

'But we didn't, did we? And we only had to cover six or seven miles. I've no idea how far the Allies have fallen back, but it's got to be some distance. At least to here - Favang - and that's, what? A dozen miles. Twenty kilometres. In any case, Brigade's lost so many men and we're so short of guns and M/T that there would be little point in making another stand just a few miles down the road. Those generals might want their heads examining but even they're not that stupid. But whatever distance they've retreated, we'll never be able to walk faster through the mountains than Jerry can through the valley. And he's got increasing amounts of M/T as well as horses.' There was silence for a moment. Tanner leant over the table. 'Here,' he said, 'what about this road? Look - it goes from Tretten, cuts over the mountains into this valley here. Jerry's not going to go down there because it's this valley that's the axis of his advance. If we can get over there and find ourselves some transport, we could overtake them. We could maybe get all the way to here - Otta - without seeing any Germans at all.'

Chevannes shook his head. 'Brilliant, Sergeant,' he said, smirking at the others, 'and just how do you think we can get past the Germans in the valley and across a three-hundred-metre-wide lake? And where exactly will we find a vehicle that will take us all?'

'We don't cross the lake. We cross at Tretten where the river is much narrower.'

'And the fact that the village will be full of Germans does not worry you?'

'We go at night, when it's dark. There's no moon tomorrow. Anyway, we've got German uniforms now. Of course it's a risk, but if we do as you suggest, we have no chance at all.'

'It's a preposterous idea.'

'There is a place you could cross,' said Anna. All eyes turned to her. 'Just north of the village, a few hundred metres before the bridge. There is a small spur that juts out into the river. The crossing is only about a hundred and fifty metres wide at that point and there is a wooden jetty. On the bank are several small row-boats.'

Good girl, thought Tanner. 'In any case,' he added, 'there's no reason why Tretten will be full of Germans. Some, maybe, but most will already have headed north.'

Anna spoke hurriedly to her father, who nodded. Then Larsen spoke to her in Norwegian. For a minute an argument ensued between Larsen, Anna and her father: Larsen, firm and emphatic, Anna increasingly animated and irate.

At length Chevannes said, 'What are you talking about?'

'She wants to come with us,' said Larsen. 'I told her it is out of the question.'

'But I know those mountains. I know the J0ra valley. My brother and I hiked all over the Oppland mountains last summer.' She looked imploringly at Chevannes, then Tanner. 'Please,' she said. 'I want to help.'

'What we have to do is far too dangerous for a woman,' said Chevannes, 'and especially for a pretty girl like yourself, Mademoiselle.'

Tanner groaned to himself, then said, 'But there's no doubting she'd be a great help. Listen to what she said. She knows these mountains - none of the rest of us do. Second, the fact that she's a woman might be an asset. The Germans would be less likely to suspect her.'

'And I speak German,' she added.

'Sir, please, listen to her,' said Tanner.

'She'll slow us down,' said Chevannes.

'I will not,' said Anna, defiant now.

Her mother spoke to her, but her father interjected angrily.

'Her father says she is twenty-two,' Larsen translated, 'and old enough to know her own mind. He also says he is proud of his daughter for wanting to help in the battle against these Nazi thugs.'

Chevannes sat quietly for a few moments, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

'Sir?' said Tanner.

The Frenchman picked up his dark blue beret, which had been on the table in front of him, and felt with his finger round the badge. 'I want to think about it. I am not at all convinced that we should even try to cross the valley, regardless of what you say, Sergeant. In any case, are you proposing that we stay here until tomorrow night?'

'If possible, yes. We might have to move elsewhere, but not too far from here. I don't see that we have any choice.'

'There is a cave in the forest above the farm,' said Anna. 'It is a secret place. We could show you in the morning.'

'And we need to move the wounded,' added Tanner. 'Anna and her father are proposing to take them in their cart to Tretten.'

'And hand them over to the enemy?' said Chevannes. He seemed appalled by the suggestion.

'They will die if they stay here,' said Anna. 'They need proper attention.'

'Sir?' said Tanner, again. Chevannes picked at his lip.

Come on, damn you, thought Tanner. Make a decision. 'Sir,' he said again, 'we need to make a plan.'

'Be quiet, Tanner!' Chevannes snapped. 'Mon dieu, I need to think. Stop rushing me.'

'But what about the wounded?' Tanner insisted. 'You're the commander here. Mr Rostad and his daughter are willing to risk their lives to save them. Tell them what you want them to do.' He looked at the lieutenant with barely concealed contempt.

'Steady, Sergeant Tanner,' said Larsen. 'We are all exhausted.'

'Yes, we are,' snarled Tanner, 'but it's a simple enough decision.'

'All right, all right, damn you!' Chevannes ran his hands through his hair. 'Take the wounded men. In the morning.' He smiled weakly at Anna and her father, then said, 'Thank you, Mademoiselle, Monsieur.'

Larsen placed his hands flat on the table and said, 'Well, gentlemen, Miss, I think we should get some sleep now. The situation may seem simpler when we have rested.' He stood up and bade the family good night. Without a further word, Chevannes and Tanner followed him outside into the darkness.

The air was sharp and cold after the warmth of the kitchen. The sliver of moon was hidden behind the mountains, but despite the dark, Tanner could sense the looming immensity of their surroundings. Such a vast place. He looked towards the valley, a black cavity in front of him, and thought of the enemy below and the net they were casting inexorably over this land. Christ, he thought, what chance have we got? The responsibility, the huge barriers facing him at every turn, suddenly seemed too much. He wondered what the next day would bring, then chastised himself. Don't think, he told himself. Sleep.