The Odin Mission

Chapter 7

Reichsamtsleiter Hans-Wilhelm Scheidt reached Lillehammer shortly before noon, having driven the hundred miles without incident. Conscious that he would soon be among fighting men, he had been mindful to change out of his civilian suit and into the tan Party tunic instead. With his Amtsleiter tabs on the collar, Party badge on the right breast pocket and military belt, he felt more suitably attired, albeit less comfortable. Black trousers, knee-length boots and a high peaked cap completed the makeover.

He had managed to secure a brief audience with the Reichskommissar before leaving Oslo. Terboven had not been best pleased to have his breakfast interrupted but had given Scheidt the written authority to demand whatever assistance he required.

It was with this letter tucked into the inside of his tunic pocket that he strode past two SS policemen in Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz's new headquarters, a comfortable townhouse that, until the day before, had been a lawyer's premises.

Kurz had brought with him a small staff of several junior officers and a number of clerks. For the most part, the room still looked like a lawyer's office, with bookshelves of legal case studies, and filing cabinets. A radio set and accompanying operator had been established in one room, but otherwise there was a temporary air about the place.

Kurz was on the telephone when Scheidt walked in. He was wearing the pale grey uniform of the Allgemeine SS, rather than the plain clothes often favoured by Sicherheitdienst and Gestapo officers, and his long black boots were crossed on the desk in front of him while he gesticulated airily with one hand, a cigarette between his fingers. Seeing Scheidt, he swung his boots off the desk, raised a hand - I'll only be a moment- and hurriedly ended his conversation.

'Ah, Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt,' he said, with a broad smile. 'Here in person!'

'Have you got him?' Scheidt asked.

'Alas, no.' He stretched forward, tapped a cigarette from a paper packet and offered it to Scheidt. 'Cigarette? We might even be able to stretch to coffee. Or perhaps you'd care for something stronger after your drive. I take it you did drive here?'

Ignoring Kurz's small-talk, Scheidt said, 'So? Tell me. Are your mountain troops closing in?'

'My dear Scheidt,' said Kurz, the bad-tempered words of their previous conversation apparently a matter of the past, 'please, sit down.' He motioned to a chair in front of the desk. Scheidt did as he was told. How he disliked men like Kurz. Still young, and with the kind of arrogant insouciance Scheidt knew he had once perfected in himself but which he despised in others. Typical arsehole SD man. 'There was a heavy snowstorm last night,' Kurz continued, 'not so much down here in the valley but up on the mountains. A complete white-out. Not even mountain troops can operate in such conditions. But then again, Odin and his friends would not have got far either. Relax. We will get him.'

'And now?'

'We have reconnaissance aircraft looking for them.'

Someone knocked lightly on the door. 'Yes?' said Kurz.

'A Luftwaffe message just in, sir,' said a junior SD officer, passing Kurz a scribbled signal. Kurz took it, read it, smiled, then passed it to Scheidt. 'They've been spotted. And they've got some followers now - what looks like a British patrol. Most considerate of them. Much easier to find twenty men than three.' Kurz unrolled a map and spread it on the desk. 'Let me see,' he said. 'Yes, here they are. Heading for Tretten, by the look of it. The fools are crossing this high open ground here.' He chuckled. 'No cover, just deep snow.'

Impatiently Scheidt grabbed the map and turned it so that it was facing him. 'Where are the mountain troops now? They should be able to cut them off as they descend towards Tretten.'

'Exactly,' said Kurz, standing now and clapping his hands. 'You and I will go together to Engelbrecht's headquarters.' He picked up his cap and placed it on his head at a jaunty angle. Smirking, he opened the door and, with a flourish, ushered Scheidt out.

They took Kurz's car and drove through Lillehammer. A number of houses had been destroyed by bomb and battle damage; piles of stones, rubble and charred wood were evidence of the conflict that had taken place the previous day. They passed the station where the remains of a large warehouse still smoked and where debris littered the yard in front of it. At the far side, the blackened remains of a German tank still stood.

'My God, what happened here?' asked Scheidt.

'A British ammunition and supply dump,' Kurz told him. 'Unfortunately it was blown up by a couple of Tommies as our boys entered the yard.'

'I thought the enemy were rolling over?'

'Oh, they are. Of course, what do I know of military matters?' He turned to Scheidt and grinned. 'But I do know they've no guns and, it seems, no air force to speak of. Which is why I keep telling you you've nothing to worry about. The Tommies are beaten and so are the Norwegians. It's really not a question of if we catch Odin but when.''

As Kurz had promised, General Engelbrecht confirmed that he had a detachment of mountain troops ready for the task, and waved away Scheidt's attempt to show him Terboven's written instructions. They drove on to Oyer where they found troops preparing to attack the Allied lines at Tretten later that afternoon. By the church and along the main village street a number of horses were pulling artillery pieces, some standing still, their tails whisking away flies, while others slowly hauled howitzers and Pak 38 anti-tank guns through the village. There were trucks, too, and other vehicles - even one of the huge Panzer VI heavy tanks, the 'land battleships', that had been brought to Norway. As Kurz threaded his way through the milling soldiers and past the tank, it suddenly burst into life, a dark cloud of exhaust erupting from its rear. Scheidt started.

Kurz laughed. 'Don't worry, we'll soon be safely out of the battle zone.'

Scheidt ignored the comment; in any case, he was too absorbed in watching the activity - men, horses, machines: a German division on the move. Leaving the village, his gaze fell on two teams of six horses pulling a pair of 105mm field guns, the howitzers lurching forward with every stride of the animals. Alongside the gun carriages, solemn troops, grey greatcoats tightly buttoned, stared back at him. Some farm workers were in the fields nearby and Scheidt realized they were the first civilians he'd noticed since leaving Lillehammer.

A little further on, they reached a farmstead. Patchy fields spread up the slopes towards the treeline, and Scheidt gazed up the mountainside to the white-topped plateau beyond. He wondered whether Odin and his escort were up there, peering down at the activity in the valley. Kurz pulled into the farmyard, stopped by a timber barn and yanked on the handbrake with a loud grating sound. Mountain troops milled about, smoking and laughing. On the ramp of the large barn, a group of soldiers played cards, their packs and rifles stacked together. Another group stood round a small fire, evidently made from some old farm equipment, now burning warmly; a mess tin of coffee was brewing on it.

'Come on,' said Kurz, leading him into the farmhouse.

It was dark, but warm with another fire burning, this time the stove in the kitchen. Several junior officers stood up as they entered, but Kurz, with a casual flick of his hand, waved at them to sit down again. 'Where I can find Major von Poncets?' he asked.

A lieutenant showed them through to another room where clerks were tapping at coding machines and typewriters. Perched on a table, was Major von Poncets, commander of the 4th Battalion, 138th Mountain Regiment, talking animatedly with one of his staff officers.

'Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz and Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt?' he said, sliding off the table and extending a hand. 'I was told you'd be coming.'

'You seem busy here, Major,' said Scheidt.

Von Poncets laughed. 'My men are going to be attacking the enemy lines at Tretten later. Fortunately the Tommies don't seem to have either mountain troops or aircraft, so outflanking their positions is proving easier than we'd hoped.'

'The men certainly seem in good heart,' said Scheidt.

'Of course,' von Poncets said. 'We're winning!' He clapped his hands together, then said, 'I've got some men for you from the Reconnaissance Battalion of the 6th Mountain Regiment.' He turned to one of his staff officers and asked him to fetch Hauptmann Zellner. 'He's commander of 1 Company and his men are here,' he said, turning back to Kurz and Scheidt. 'He'll be with us shortly.'

'And a company is how many?' Scheidt asked. 'A hundred?'

Von Poncets smiled. 'I take it you're not a military man, Herr Reichsamtsleiter.'

Scheidt noticed Kurz smirk. 'No,' he said. 'I wasn't quite old enough for the last war. I've been fortunate enough to serve the Reich in other ways.'

'And, of course, we need people like you,' said von Poncets, slapping him convivially on the arm. He added, 'No, Zellner's company is nearer two hundred, although I'm afraid I've told the battalion commander I need most of his men for the fight here. But one platoon of fifty or so should be more than enough and you do have a company commander to lead them. Don't forget these men are trained for operations in the mountains. As I said, the Tommies have no such troops, while the Norwegians - well, they haven't had any training at all.' He laughed. 'We're attacking again this afternoon with the outflanking manoeuvre following our initial assault, so unless these fellows reach Tretten within—' he consulted his watch '— the next hour, I would say they're as good as in the bag.'

'Aerial reconnaissance suggested that was likely,' added Kurz.

'Ah, here he is now,' said von Poncets, as a young officer entered the room and saluted crisply. He was dressed differently from the troops outside: although he wore the long grey trousers, puttees and studded brown ankle boots that marked out these units, over his field tunic he had on a thick green-grey cotton wind-jacket, into which was tucked a wool scarf, and a mountain cap, with an embroidered Edelweiss on the left side. A pair of tinted round lenses rested on the peak. Hauptmann Wolf Zellner stared ahead implacably.

'Stand easy, Zellner,' said von Poncets. 'I've told these gentlemen that you are taking just one of your platoons.'

'Yes, sir. The rest of the company, under Lieutenant Biermann, will be taking part in the attack on Tretten.'

'And you're sure that will be enough men?' Scheidt asked.

Zellner glanced at von Poncets. 'Yes, sir. I think that will be plenty. I don't wish to sound arrogant, Herr Reichsamtsleiter, but one platoon of my men will be more than enough for a few fugitives like these.'

'And the Reconnaissance Battalion is particularly well suited to high mountain operations,' added von Poncets, 'having trained extensively in the Bavarian Alps. Hauptmann Zellner has been fully briefed - but if there's anything else you'd like to add, Herr Reichsamtsleiter? Sturmbannfuhrer?'

'I want to underline how important this man Odin is, Hauptmann,' said Scheidt. 'He could be of vital - and I mean vital - importance to Germany. He must be captured alive. Whether you kill the others or take them prisoner is of no consequence to me. But Odin I must see in person. You have his photograph?'

'Yes, sir,' Zellner replied. 'You can depend on me and my men, sir. We'll find him for you.'

Von Poncets had lit a cigar, and now a puff of smoke swirled lazily into the room. 'Good,' he said. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen .. .' He smiled once more. 'I've a battle to win.'

Zellner saluted again, then left.

Outside, the sky was clouding over, but the air was still crisp and cold. His boots sounded loud, the metal studs clicking through the thin slick of mud caused by too many vehicles, carts and men trampling across it. He would have preferred to be taking part in the attack on Tretten, leading his company into battle, yet von Poncets, apparently, had insisted. Well, he now knew where that had come from - the politician, he was certain. But at least this mission gave him a chance for revenge. These were the men he'd so nearly caught five days ago north of Elverum. There had been no mention of anyone called 'Odin' then. All they had been told was that the Norwegians were carrying important documents and even Crown Jewels - but now he'd read the briefing sent by the SD and there could be no mistake. They were the same men. And this time he was not going to fail.

By noon the mixed column of British, Norwegian and French, twenty-two strong, was still some miles southeast of Tretten. Even though the French scouts had led them off the mountain plateau and into the treeline, the going had been tough. The stretch of the valley west of Oyer, before it snaked north into the Tretten gorge, was wider and the slopes gentler. Here, fields spread high above the wide Lagen river, and even where there was forest, it was far less dense than it had been. The high fields had forced them to stay well above the farmland, where the snow was deeper - not just because of the altitude but because the slopes were less precipitous and cover from the trees not so great. Even the Chasseurs Alpins struggled, the men frequently losing their footing, or taking a stride forward only to find themselves buried to their waists in drifts. Tanner had been forced to admit to himself that his claim that they would cover seven miles in three hours had been over-optimistic. Still, if he had been at fault in his calculations, he laid the blame for their slow progress with Chevannes. If they had left the seter whe n he had suggested, they would have had more than six hours' start.

It had been shortly after noon that the tell-tale sounds of battle had begun in the valley below. More aircraft had droned over, while the dull thud of artillery fire, although intermittent, had resounded ominously. The unwavering German battle plan Chevannes, it seemed, had judged that about right.

A little more than four hours later, they were nearing Tretten, the valley sides steeper once more. The wide farmland to the south had gone, the forest thickened and the snow thinned, and progress had improved. Below them, the shelling had increased, the medium howitzers booming more insistently now. The whistle of the missiles' flight could occasionally be heard, and the reports of the ensuing explosions echoed through the valley. A flight of bombers arrived, dropping their loads with a rip of detonations. Occasional small-arms chatter drifted to them on the afternoon breeze.

Chevannes called a halt. The men were exhausted, Tanner included. Once again, hunger was gnawing at him, as he knew it must be at the others. Their faces were drawn and blank with fatigue. Several of his men, Hepworth among them, fell asleep where they sat on rocks or against a tree stump.

Chevannes and Larsen consulted the map once more.

The Frenchman looked directly behind him to a peak marked as the Skj0nsberg. 'We're no more than three kilometres from Tretten,' he said.

'Then we should start dropping into the valley,' said Tanner, who had walked over to join the impromptu conference. 'If we head slightly north-west, we can aim straight for Tretten. It'll be easier and quicker than if we continue north along the lip of the plateau.'

'What about the Germans?' said Larsen.

'They haven't started their infantry attack yet, have they? If we get a move on—'

'No,' said Chevannes, cutting him short. 'That's far too risky. We head due north, then cut down to the village. Two more minutes, then we get going.'

Tanner walked back to his men. 'Come on, lads,' he said. 'Nearly there now. Then this'll be over. One last effort, eh?' He shook Hepworth awake. 'Hep, come on, up you get.' Hepworth opened his eyes, nodded bleakly and stood up, stumbling backwards from the weight and awkward balance of his pack. 'Remind me never to go up a mountain again, Sarge,' he said.

Away to the left, Tanner spotted a clearing in the trees and what seemed like a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley. 'Stan, keep an eye on Sandvold, will you?'

'Where you goin', Sarge?'

'To have a quick look round. I'll catch you up. He moved through the trees until he could see Tretten nestling just up the valley, then felt in his haversack and pulled out his scope. He squatted by a jutting rock and peered through the lens. A shell exploded near the village, the mass of smoke and debris mushrooming, into the sky several seconds before any sound reached him. He looked south. Troops and vehicles were on the road, emerging round a bend in the gorge. He lowered his scope to clean the lens. Suddenly, movement caught his eye in the trees below to his left and he brought the scope back to his eye. Nothing. He scanned the trees, then there it was - men moving. A mass of German troops, just a few hundred yards below and no more than a quarter of a mile to the south.

'Bloody hell,' he muttered. 'We're bloody running out of time here.' He scrambled to his feet and soon caught up with the others, then strode on towards Lieutenant Chevannes.

'What is it, Sergeant?' The tone was impatient, weary.

'German troops, sir, on the slopes below, not far behind.'

'Who would have caught us out if we had done as you suggested.'

Tanner clenched his fist. Just one blow, he thought - that was all it would take to silence the man. 'No, sir,' he said slowly, 'because, as I explained at the time, it was a chance worth taking. The moment we saw them we would either have altered course or hurried onwards.'

'You can't ever admit it when you are wrong, can you, Sergeant Tanner? Your insolence is really wearing very thin. Do remember that you are speaking to a senior officer.'

'I don't give a damn,' said Tanner, his fury mounting. 'If we'd left last night when I said we should, we'd have been in Tretten by now.'

'I've had just about enough—'

'Please,' said Sandvold, speaking up for the first time. 'No more arguing. Let's just keep going. We still have a chance of reaching safety.'

Chevannes glared at Tanner. 'We must push on beyond the village. There is little we can do to stop the Germans outflanking Tretten now.'

Tanner thought of the gelignite and TNT in his pack. Actually, he realized, there was quite a lot they could do with a sackload of explosives and the twin advantage of height and steep, rocky slopes. Had it not been for Sandvold, he would have peeled his men away from Chevannes and had some fun. Instead he said, 'I'll tell my men to keep at it, sir,' then fell back towards Sykes and the others.

'What's going on, Sarge?' Sykes asked, as Tanner rejoined him.

'Jerries,' said Tanner. 'Down below.'

Sykes whistled softly. 'Cunning sods,' he said.

'Listen, we need to keep our wits about us,' Tanner told him. 'We don't want to get caught napping. We've got to watch our arses up here. Make sure we keep looking around.'

Sykes nodded, then repeated the sergeant's instructions to each of the men. Tanner walked on. He needed to think, but fatigue had settled over him, as though it was sucking out the remnant of energy he had left. Come on, he told himself.Keep going. Think. Gulbrand had said the Germans were not following them, but what if he had been wrong? The Norwegians had been strafed twice, nearly caught during a German search, and the reconnaissance planes must have spotted them that morning. Coincidence, perhaps, maybe these things had happened because there was a war on and they were near the fighting. Maybe the enemy didn't know about Sandvold but were aware that they were carrying something important. He rubbed his eyes and his brow. Tiredness was putting ideas into his head.

At least they were among the trees, rather than out in the open. The canopy provided by forest - the closeness of the environment, the sharpness of sound - was something he always found reassuring, even though these were high mountain forests of dark conifers, rather than the broadleaf woodland of southern Wiltshire. As a boy he had spent much of his time in woods, helping his father or on his own. He knew the smells of the changing seasons, the dry, cool shade of summer, the damp, earthy mustiness of winter. He knew the different songs of birds, from the nightingale to the wood warbler. From his father, he had learnt which mushrooms and fungi could be eaten and which would play havoc with your guts. He knew stoat from weasel, fox dung from badger, hawthorn from blackthorn.

He remembered taking a boy from the village one night to see the badger cubs; the other lad had been frightened of the dark and the night shadows; of strange beasts that might lurk. Tanner had been mystified - what was there to be scared about? - then angry when the boy had insisted on going home before they had got anywhere near the sett. 'It's the unknown that people are afraid of,' his father had told him. 'You and I have always roamed the woods. They're a second home to us.'

Home. What wouldn't he do to see it again - yet wasn't the Army his home now? Certainly it had been all his adult life. Or, rather, the 2nd Battalion had been; but now, a little more than twelve hours since Chevannes and his men had stumbled on them, he felt new warmth for these Territorial lads of the 5th Battalion.

'Sarge! Sarge!'

Tanner was startled from his thoughts.

'You'd better come, Sarge. Looks like we're being followed,' Sykes gasped.

Adrenalin coursed through his blood and in an instant his mind cleared. He reached the end of their column where Riggs and Chambers were each crouched behind a pine, looking backwards, rifles ready.

'How far?' said Tanner, as he pulled out his scope once more.

'Couldn't say, Sarge,' said Riggs, 'but maybe a third of a mile.'

Tanner peered through the scope. Yes, there they were, still some way off but climbing in their direction. He could see the lead men advancing through the pines. Silently he passed the scope to Sykes.

'They're wearing caps and goggles,' said Sykes.

'Mountain troops,' said Tanner. 'How many can you see now?'

'Hard to say. A platoon, is my guess. God knows whether there are more behind, though, Sarge. They can't really be after us, can they?'

Tanner shrugged, and put his scope into his trouser pocket. 'Right,' he said. 'Let's get out of here.' He hurried his men forward, Sykes chivvying them too, until they caught up with Chevannes and the Norwegians.

'Mon dieu,' muttered Chevannes, when Tanner told him what they had seen.

'We need to find out exactly how many there are,' said Tanner. His mind was alert once more, his heart thumping.

'Yes,' said Chevannes.

'I'll take Sykes here and two of my men and head back for a dekko,' Tanner continued. 'You keep going and we'll catch you up shortly.'

Chevannes nodded, his face taut.

Tanner hurried over to Lance Corporal Erwood, the Bren leader. 'Dan, I want you to take charge of the rest of the lads, and I need you to do one other thing. See that Norwegian civvy up ahead with the Frog officer?'

'Sarge.'

'Don't let him out of your sight.'

'Aye, Sarge. I won't.'

Tanner slapped him on the back. Then, collecting Chambers and Riggs, he briefly looked around. Although the valley sides were densely forested, especially along the east-facing slopes, up here, where it was more difficult for the loggers to fell and remove their timber, the pines and larch grew wildly, covering but not smothering the mountain. There were open patches too, and it was as the German troops crossed one that Tanner hoped to get a good look at their enemy.

He reckoned he wanted to be about four hundred yards away when he saw them - far enough for them to be out of effective range, but close enough for him to see them clearly through the scope.

'Sarge?' said Sykes. 'I don't like to hurry you or nothing but—'

'I know,' cut in Tanner, still peering at the snow and trees around him. He had spotted a small spur a short distance above and was trying to decide whether it would offer the view and cover they needed. For a brief moment he was paralysed by indecision, then said, 'Up there, quick, to that crest.'

They scrambled up and, as they crouched between two pines, Tanner was relieved to see they had a fine view down the undulating slopes of the valley sides.

'There they are,' hissed Sykes.

Tanner smiled as he watched the enemy troops reach the edge of the clearing, pause, spy the tracks in the snow, then continue forward. 'Start counting them, lads,' he said quietly, then screwed his scope onto the mounts on his rifle.

'You going to start firing, Sarge?' asked Chambers. He looked worried.

'Keep counting, Punter,' said Tanner, 'and if you've got a full magazine, take it from your rifle and hold on to it until I ask you to pass it to me.' He raised the rifle to his shoulder. Through the scope he could clearly see the first section of men. They were spread out in a loose single file and, Tanner was glad to see, their rifles were still slung over their backs. Behind the section leader was a machine-gunner, his weapon carried loosely on his shoulder. A further section of ten followed, and another beyond that. Tanner led his aim along the column. Where was the commander? Some of the men wore green-collared greatcoats, but most had on shorter, light olive jackets. All were wearing peaked field caps rather than helmets and had only small rucksacks on their backs. At that distance, even with the scope, it was hard to tell who was in charge.

'Thirty-nine, sir,' said Riggs.

'That's what I make it,' agreed Sykes.

'Fine,' said Tanner. 'You ready with that magazine, Punter?'

'Yes, Sarge,' said Chambers.

His father had taught Tanner a good trick for judging distance. The key was to be able to assess a hundred- yard stretch almost exactly. Do that, his father had assured him, and the next hundred yards and the hundred yards beyond that were easier to judge; it was a matter of understanding the naked eye's sense of perspective and increasingly reducing each ensuing hundred-yard stretch. He reckoned the leading troops were now at about four hundred yards. Then remembering that distance was easily overestimated when you were looking downwards, he aimed just a fraction low at the lead troop, exhaled gently and fired.

The man dropped immediately, and Tanner fired his next three shots while the startled troops looked around wildly and thought to flatten themselves on the ground. Even once they were prostrate on the snow, there were some easy targets as they lifted their heads to loosen their rifles, or crouched and ran for the cover of the trees. Tanner reckoned he had hit seven men with his first magazine. One man was crawling across the snow, vivid blood trailing behind him. Men were shouting. The first German rifle shot cracked through the mountainside, way off, but was followed by many more, bullets zipping through the trees above and below them.

'Give me that magazine,' said Tanner. His voice was steady, firm. He unclicked the first, drove the replacement into its place and fired again. Five shots and by then the machine-gunner of the second section was firing. The aim was wild, but the short, rapid bursts were well spread. Tanner fired twice more. Another burst from the machine-gun, and this time bullets fizzed close by. Riggs screamed.

'Sarge, we need to get out of here!' Sykes had grabbed Riggs, who was clutching the side of his head.

Tanner pulled back the bolt one last time and hit a man square in the chest. 'Come on, let's go. Is it serious?' he said to Sykes as they scrambled down from the spur.

'I've been hit in the head!' Riggs shouted, but he was still upright.

'Can you keep going?' Tanner said, grabbing Riggs's greatcoat and, with Sykes, propelling the lad forward.

'I think so,' he gasped.

Shots were still pinging through the trees, snapping branches and ricocheting off rocks, but most were fizzing harmlessly above their heads. A burr of intermittent machine-gun fire also cut through the mountain. 'Just keep going, lads. Run,' Tanner urged, as they rejoined their tracks to slide and stumble away from the enemy.

Only once the shots died out did they pause, bent double and gasping. Tanner put an arm round Riggs's shoulders. 'You're still alive, then?'

'I think I must be in shock, Sarge.'

'Let's have a look at you.' Blood covered the side of Riggs's face and neck. 'Under all this red stuff you look pretty intact,' said Tanner, as he clutched Riggs's head and peered intently at it. Then he spotted a gash at the side of his forehead and laughed. 'It's a bloody little nick! You've been grazed by a bullet or a splinter or something. But you'll live. You'll be fine.'

'It really hurts, though, Sarge.'

'Stop being such an old woman, Private,' said Sykes, pulling out a field-dressing pack.

'No, hang on a minute with that, Stan,' said Tanner. 'Bit of blood in the snow could be useful. Here, Harry, lean over a bit.' He pushed Riggs's head forward. 'Good thing about a cut on the head - lots of blood. That's it, drip there.'

'Bloody hell, Sarge, I'm draining away here!' Riggs was indignant.

'King and country, Riggs, think of that,' said Tanner. 'Right, now iggery. Let's get a move on back to the others and, Harry, if you could lean your head forward as we run, I'd be much obliged.' Sykes and Chambers grinned at him. Tanner slapped Riggs on the back. 'Well, done, Harry,' he said. 'You're a brave man - a very brave man.'

'How long do you reckon that'll hold them up, Sarge?' Sykes asked, as Tanner unslung his rifle, quickly unscrewed the scope and placed it back in his trouser pocket.

'Not long. But it'll make them more cautious, and that'll slow them. Those Jerries'll be a bit on edge now, too, and that's what we want. And, of course, there's a few less for us to worry about.'

'That was good shooting back there, Sarge,' said Chambers, as they hurried onwards, following the tracks in the snow.

'Thanks, Punter. A bit wild, I'm afraid but, dead or wounded, I reckon maybe ten won't be going any further today.'

'That was twenty shots in about half a minute.' Chambers was quite animated. 'I've never seen anyone fire so fast.'

'Really?' said Tanner. 'I don't know who's been teaching you to shoot, then. Any half-decent shot should be able to fire thirty well-aimed rounds a minute. If you've got someone at hand with spare magazines, it's not hard to fire forty a minute. Have you Territorial boys never been taught that?'

'No, Sarge,' admitted Chambers. 'We've done plenty of marksmanship but we've never timed ourselves.'

'Well, get practising, then.'

Pausing frequently to glance behind them, they hurried on, following the tracks of the rest of the column. Tanner conceded that Riggs now needed to staunch the flow of blood so they stopped to wrap a bandage round his head. Despite the hold-up, they had caught up with the others in half an hour. Ignoring the questions of his men, Tanner reported to Chevannes straight away. He told the Frenchman little, except to warn him that there were now about thirty men pursuing them.

'We must keep going,' said Chevannes.

'And watch our flanks,' added Tanner. 'They'll still be in better shape than us. They'll follow our tracks but they could probably outflank us and have us surrounded if we're not careful.'

'Thank you, Sergeant,' said Chevannes. 'I do realize that.'

It was just after six o'clock. Tanner guessed they must be level with Tretten, although he knew better than to ask Chevannes if he could have a look at the map. From the valley, guns and shells could be heard clearly. How much further was Chevannes going to take them before they cut down into the valley? They were so close; tantalizingly so. The sound of battle told him the Allies were still there. Another half-hour, and he reckoned they'd make it - thirty minutes, that was all. He also knew that their pursuers would be upon them sooner than that.

And then he heard the enemy mountain troops attacking from the flank. They all heard it - the increase in shelling, the intensity of small-arms fire, suddenly loud and echoing across the valley and up the mountain. Through the trees they could see Stukas wheeling and diving, their manic sirens screaming through the din of battle.

For a moment, no one said a word. No one needed to. After all, what was there to say? The Allied positions in Tretten were about to be overrun. How could it be otherwise with that weight of fire? All too soon they'd be back where they'd started, high on a mountain, without food or rest, out of reach of safety once more. Only now the enemy was stalking them.

Tanner tried desperately to think. Despair engulfed him. Despair, frustration and, above all, anger. Think! think! he told himself. Then ahead, through the trees, he saw something, and an idea entered his head.

It gave him a glimmer of hope.