Authors: James Holland
'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.'