The Odin Mission (13 page)

Ruge ran a hand round the stiff collar of his tunic, stretched his
neck, then sank back into his chair. 'Where is the extra company of Leicesters
from Andalsnes? Are they at Tretten?' he asked Brigadier Morgan.

'Yes, but without much kit, I'm afraid. Apparently there's a Bofors waiting
to be moved down here from Andalsnes, but as yet no one has found a way to get
it here.' He was eyeing the general keenly. 'So we still don't have a single
anti-aircraft gun.'

Ruge said nothing. Instead he banged his fist hard on the desk top.
Frustration, anger.

'The Tretten gorge is a good natural defensive position,' Morgan
continued, 'but I'm worried about our flanks. The enemy's mountain troops went
round us successfully at the Balberkamp and I'm concerned they'll do so again.
But I don't have enough men. I need to make a position here, to the east of
Tretten village, otherwise—'

'Very well, Morgan, I take your point,' snapped Ruge. 'Beichmann,' he
said, to the staff officer seated next to the desk, in English so that Morgan
could understand, 'find Colonel Jansen. Order him to place his Dragoons there,
and tell him he is now to fall under the direct command of Brigadier Morgan.'

'Sir.' Colonel Beichmann saluted and left the room.

General Ruge sighed wearily. 'What else can we do?'

'It would help the men greatly if they could have something to eat,
sir. Most haven't had anything for more than thirty-six hours. We were promised
that Norwegian troops would be bringing up rations this afternoon, but so far
nothing has arrived. All we have is a store of dry rations left at Tretten
station by the newly arrived Leicesters. It's not enough.'

'All right, Morgan, I'll look into it. The problem, as
you know, is transport.' He chuckled mirthlessly. 'Just one of our many
problems,' he added, holding up his hands -
what am I expected
to do
? 'Just one of many.'

Brigadier Morgan
left the general and drove back towards Tretten in a requisitioned Peugeot,
squashed into the back seat next to Major Dornley, his Brigade- Major, their
knees knocking together and elbows almost touching. It was cold, and he pulled
up the collar of his coat so that the coarse wool scraped against his cheeks
and ears. He was fifty-two, which, he reflected, was no great age to be a
brigade commander during peace time, but too old in a time of war. He felt the
cold more than he had in his younger days, and right now he felt more exhausted
- mentally and physically - than he had ever done as a young man in the
trenches.

Outside, light snow was falling, dusting the road ahead. Out of his left
window, dark, dense forest ran away from the verge; to his right, he could see
the smooth, almost black mass of the Lagen river, as wide as a lake; while
above, dark and menacing, were the mountains. Magnificent, yes - but right now
a snare, trapping and constraining his meagre forces. A funnel for the
Luftwaffe and German gunners.

Morgan bit one of his nails.

'Are you all right, sir?' asked his Brigade-Major.

'I suppose so, Dornley, thank you for asking.' He clicked his tongue
several times, then said, 'It's just bloody difficult trying to command a
brigade when you've got someone like General Ruge breathing down your neck.'

'I thought you were getting along all right, sir,' said Dornley.

'Oh, we are - but that's not what I meant. He's a decent fellow and, I
grant you, doing his best in very difficult circumstances. But the fact is,
Dornley, General Ruge has only just been promoted from colonel, and is now ten
days into the job of being C-in-C of a tiny tinpot army with no
battlefield-command experience whatsoever. A couple of weeks ago he was junior
to me in rank, yet now we're subordinate to him. It's all rather absurd.'

'He's giving you a pretty free rein, though, isn't he, sir?'

'Now he's got us down here, you mean?' He bit his nail again, then stared
out into the darkness, shaking his head. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.
'I'm beginning to think I made the wrong call. We should be at Trondheim now.
Instead, the brigade's being chewed up bit by bit in this damned deathtrap of a
valley.'

'Sir, you had very little choice in the matter.'

'Really?' said Morgan.

'We had no word from London and, as the general pointed out, as
commander of Norway's forces, every other Allied officer in the country had to
come under his command. And his orders were to reinforce his troops here. I
can't see what else you could have done.'

Morgan sighed again. 'It's good of you to say so, Dornley, but I rather
think now that I might have made that decision too quickly.' He knocked his
fist lightly against his chin. 'I do really. I should have waited longer for a
response from London. I had no idea what state Ruge's forces were in and it's
since become perfectly clear that he expected a damn sight more from us.' He
shook his head. 'Christ, we must be a disappointment. I can see what he must
have been thinking - that these chaps have been fighting all their lives, that
they beat the Germans twenty years ago, that we'd be bristling with guns,
aircraft, tanks and M/T. Instead, all we've been able to offer are three
battalions of inexperienced territorial infantry, half of whom are already
dead, wounded or taken prisoner.'

'But it's not your fault, sir, that we lost two supply ships.'

Morgan laughed with exasperation. 'It
is
my fault, Dornley, that I allowed myself to be persuaded by Ruge to move the
brigade south. I should have waited for word from the War Office.' He knocked
his fists together. 'For Christ's sake, we haven't got a single bloody
anti-aircraft gun. Those Luftwaffe boys are laughing their heads off. Jerry
artillery are firing their 5.9s over open sights in full view of us from as
little as two thousand yards - and what can our chaps do about it? Not a damned
thing, because we've got sod-all with which to reply.' He glanced at Dornley,
but this time his Brigade-Major was quiet.
Perhaps I've said
too much
, he thought.

In front, his driver was peering intently through the windscreen.
Morgan was glad it was not himself driving through the night in these snowy
conditions with only narrow slits for headlights. The windscreen wipers groaned
as they swiped the snow from the glass.

He felt in his coat pocket and pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch.
Once filled, he lit it, inhaling the rich fumes and watching the dark orange
glow reflected in the window. Much of their misfortune, he knew, could be
blamed on the losses of
Sirius
and
Cedarbank
and problems of an over-extended line of communication. Even so, he had begun
to accept, with an increasingly sickening feeling after three days of a fighting
retreat, that in the Germans they were confronting a formidable enemy, both in
tactics and strength. Overwhelming air support working hand in hand with the
troops on the ground was a devastating combination - yet such tactics had
barely been discussed back at Staff College. At least, he'd never heard anyone
talk in such terms - and he'd been a bloody instructor, for God's sake. What
had they all been thinking? In every respect the enemy seemed better prepared,
better trained and better equipped. So, the mountains and conditions were
unfamiliar to his men; but they were to the Germans too, yet they had trained
mountain troops, ready to take advantage of such surroundings.

It was a bitter pill to swallow and his confidence in his country, and
in the Army he had served loyally for so long, had been shaken. They had won
the last war, and he had played his own small part in that, but it now occurred
to him for the first time that perhaps Britain would not survive a second one.
And although he tried to push such thoughts clear of his brain, they doggedly
remained rooted there. Certainly, they could never hope to defeat Germany like
this. Times had changed. War could no longer be fought without support from the
air and without modern equipment. Norway was not a colonial outpost and neither
was the enemy a rag-tag of troublesome tribesmen. Britain needed to catch up -
and quickly.
I hope it's not too
late.

Tretten. He wondered whether Colonel Jansen and his promised Dragoons
would materialize. Even if they did - presumably with their usual lack of arms
and ammunition - he doubted that he could hold the position for more than a
day. His only hope of extricating himself and his men from this mess was the
arrival of 15th Brigade, which was expected to reach Andalsnes within
forty-eight hours. And with 15th Brigade came Major General Paget, who was to
take over command of both.
Thank God
, he thought. Bernard
Paget was an old friend and yet he was glad that he would soon be handing over
the responsibility for this failure. His own task was no longer to defeat the
Germans - he recognized that was an impossibility. Rather, it was to complete a
successful fighting retreat, holding the Germans at bay for as long as possible
with the loss of as few men as possible until he could hand over the reins to
Paget.

He rubbed his stinging eyes. Even that would be a considerable
challenge.

The figures
stumbling through the thick snow towards Tanner and Sykes were so close there was
no time to warn the others. Instead, heart pounding, Tanner whispered to Sykes
to move to the side of the
seter
and to have a hand grenade
ready. If it came to it, he hoped the explosion would not only kill or maim
several of the foe, it would also produce a dazzlingly bright light that would
temporarily blind them and produce confusion while he fired as many rounds as
he could. That was the theory, anyway, but although he told himself that the
element of surprise was a considerable advantage, he had no idea how many were
advancing towards them - he simply could not see clearly enough. His body
tensed.
It's fear of the unknown
, he told
himself, as he slung his rifle from his shoulder and silently, carefully,
pulled back the bolt.
Calm down.

He could hear them more than he could see them, their footsteps in the
snow, until several shapes, with rifles and packs, became clearer as they
reached the hut.

'Halt! Hande hoch!
shouted Tanner. The men, startled, swivelled towards
him.

'Vous
tous, vite faites ce qu'il vous dit!
one
of the men shouted.

Relief surged through Tanner. They were French. He laughed to himself
as he approached, rifle still pointed at them.

'You are British?' said one of the Frenchmen.

'Too bloody right,' said Sykes, emerging from the other side of the
seter.
At the same moment,
Larsen opened the door, as startled as the French troops.

'A patrol of Frenchmen, sir,' Tanner told him.

'How many?' Larsen asked, pulling out a small electric torch.

'How many are you?' Tanner asked them.

'Sept
- seven. Myself and six men,' came the reply. The
French commander stared at Tanner. 'You! The Tommy who likes to throw shovels
at his allies.'

Tanner's heart sank. Christ, this was all he needed, some arrogant Frog
to put a spanner in the works. But he was in no mood to pander to the man's
jumped-up self- importance. 'The Chasseurs Alpins,' he said slowly, with no
attempt at a French accent. 'I appreciate that you're elite forces, but since
you've surrendered to me, perhaps you'd like to tell me who the bloody hell you
are and what your men are doing up here?'

'How dare you speak to a superior officer like that? And how dare you
suggest that I have surrendered to you?'

'But you did, sir,' said Tanner. 'I said, "Halt, hands up," and
you put your hands in the air. That's the recognized way of surrendering. It's
in the Geneva Convention.'

'Perhaps you could tell me your name,' Larsen suggested to the
Frenchman. 'I am Henrik Larsen of His Majesty the King's Guard.'

The Frenchman turned to Larsen, his face tense with anger. 'And I am
Lieutenant Xavier Chevannes of the Deuxieme Compagnie de Fusiliers Voltigeurs,
part of the Sixieme Bataillon de Chasseurs Alpins. We were on a reconnoitring
patrol after the British ordered a withdrawal to Oyer. But it seems our allies
have fallen back yet again so we were stranded. When the snowstorm came we went
looking for shelter.'

As Chevannes and
his six men followed Larsen into the
seter,
Tanner placed a hand on Sykes's shoulder. 'Hold on
a minute, Stan.'

'Who the
bleedin' 'ell does 'e think 'e is?'

'A pain in the
ruddy arse,' muttered Tanner.

'But, Sarge, be
careful, hey? I enjoy seeing you make him look a right idiot as much as anyone,
but he could make life tricky if we're not careful.'

'He's a bloody
show-pony,' said Tanner, irritably. 'Anyway, we'll soon be shot of him and his
sodding patrol. Haven't you noticed?'

'What, Sarge?'

'It's barely
snowing any more. Look up there. What can you see?' He pointed to the sky.