The Odin Mission (27 page)

He had been writing a note to Brigadier Smyth when he
had felt his eyes close, his head lurch forward and his pen drop from his hand.
One of his staff officers had hurried into the room and he had immediately
woken, sitting bolt upright in his chair and blinking.

'Sir?' said the young captain. 'Are you all right?'

'Fine, thank you,' muttered Morgan. 'What is it, Grayson?'

'It's the Norwegians, sir.'

'Yes?'

'They're struggling to hold the enemy and are asking
for assistance.'

Morgan leant back in his seat and sighed. 'Do they
know another battalion is on its way to them?'

'Er, that battalion's already there. They reached them
an hour ago.'

Morgan stood up and walked to the window. Outside it
was now almost dark. It looked cold out there, cold and clear. He noticed a
cobweb in the corner of the window, stretched across the flaking paintwork. A
small insect was struggling frantically in the sticky silk as the spider, with
all the time in the world, advanced towards it to deliver the death blow.
How appropriate
, he thought.

'Look here, it's nearly dark,' he said. 'Order them to
stand firm and then make it absolutely clear to 15th Brigade that they keep up
with their deployment at Kvam through the night. If the Norwegians can hold out
until the morning, there's every chance they can check the Germans until the
middle of the day. Impress upon them the urgent need to remain at Vinstra as
long as they can. Every hour they can stand their ground is another hour in
which 15th Brigade can strengthen their position at Kvam.'

'Yes, sir.' Captain Grayson wavered, as though he was
about to say something else.

'What is it? Come on - spit it out, man.'

'The Norwegians say they've already lost two-thirds of
their strength, sir.'

Morgan laughed. 'And how much have we lost, eh,
Grayson? About seven-eighths of ours, I'd say, wouldn't you? Tell them to stay
where they are. Tell them if they don't, the whole front is likely to
collapse.'

Captain Grayson had barely gone, and Brigadier Morgan
had hardly had a chance to fill his pipe before General Ruge was announced. The
Norwegian Commander-in- Chief strode in, as immaculate as ever, although,
Morgan saw, noticeably tired. The past few days had aged them all.

'A present for you, Brigadier,' said Ruge, placing a
bottle of whisky on the kitchen table that was now Morgan's desk.

Morgan thanked him, found two tumblers and poured
generous measures into each, making sure he kept the chipped glass for himself.
Then he spread the map across the table. While Ruge bent over it, Morgan took a
large mouthful of whisky, relishing the sharp sensation as it scoured his mouth
and throat.
Yes,
he thought.
That feels better
.
Beside the general, he pointed
out where the Norwegians were attempting to hold the enemy, and where, six
miles further back, the newly arrived 15th Brigade were preparing to make a
stand.

Ruge nodded thoughtfully. 'And what about 148th
Brigade? Should they not help 15th at Kvam?'

'General, there's nothing left. Around four hundred
and fifty men and not a single officer of the rank of company commander or
above. That's it. Most are at Otta where they're organizing themselves into a reserve,
but they've taken even more casualties today, thanks to the Luftwaffe. Is there
any news of our air support? Have you heard if it's coming? Because until we
have some cover from the air, we're fighting blind and have little or no chance
of holding the enemy.'

'Actually, yes,' replied Ruge. 'I thought you had been
told. A squadron of Gladiators landed north of Dombas earlier today. They're
using a frozen lake as a landing strip.'

Morgan could hardly believe what he was hearing. He
stood up straight and walked away from the table, his hand kneading his brow.
'Gladiators,' he muttered, 'but they're biplanes. What good can they do against
the Messerschmitts, Junkers and Heinkels? And one squadron! It's risible, General,
an abominable disgrace. By God, this is a damned shambles! This whole damned
campaign. And 15th Brigade arrived here with just three anti-aircraft guns -
three! Needless to say, General, they were all destroyed during the course of
today.' Morgan flung his arms into the air in despair. 'I'm sorry - my God,
what must you think of us?'

Ruge looked at him, his face grim. 'I do not blame
you, Brigadier, or your men. But I do blame London. False promises, lack of
appreciation or thought. Completely inadequate planning. It has cost many
lives, both British and Norwegian. As it is we are now threatened on our
flanks. The Germans are pushing up the 0sterdalen with ease. Soon they'll they
have the east of the country and will be able to attack Trondheim from the south.'

Morgan sat down again, poured himself another whisky
and smoothed back his hair resignedly. 'Your troops at Vinstra will fall back
earlier than I'd hoped,' he said wearily, 'but 15th Brigade are building up
their positions at Kvam and, God willing, they'll put up a good fight. They're
reasonably fresh and well armed - they've got a number of 25mm guns - and they
appear to be in good heart. But the hard fact remains, General, that Jerry has
the best part of an entire division and as many as nine thousand troops, while
we have only around three thousand. And, of course, he's got tanks and armoured
vehicles, bigger 4.14s and even 5.9 inch guns, and a frightening amount of air
power. From the ground, we have a good position to defend, but from the air you
have to face facts: our boys are funnelled into a valley that's never more than
a mile wide, with one road and railway line as our only line of communication.
The railway, thank goodness, still appears to be in reasonable order but the
road is horribly cratered now and anyone travelling down is fearfully exposed
to attack from the air. To make matters worse, we've no real way of preventing
an outflanking manoeuvre because of the lack of mountain troops.'

'I'm sending you more Norwegian ski troops,' said
Ruge. 'We'll put them up in the mountains to watch over our positions.'

Morgan sighed once more. 'Well, that's something.'

'You are tired, Brigadier, I know. But at least it is
not your country that is about to fall. At least your king and government are still
in London. And in two days' time, General Paget will be here and you can hand
over command to him.'

Morgan was chastened. 'Yes, you're quite right,
General. I'm sorry.'

Ruge now walked towards the window, tumbler in hand.
'There is one other matter I wish to discuss,' he said, still facing the
window. 'This morning I saw the King at Molde.'

'And how was His Majesty?'

'Stoical. Bearing up surprisingly well, all things considered.'
Ruge paused, then said, 'But there is one matter that is of great concern to
him: the whereabouts of four of His Majesty's Guard.' Under a certain Colonel
Gulbrand, Ruge explained, these men had been entrusted by the King personally
not only with some priceless Crown Jewels, a number of diamonds included, but
also the safe passage of an important scientist, one Professor Hening Sandvold.
It was while they were trying to get him safely from Oslo after the invasion
that these men became separated from the royal party. The King had not heard a
word until two days ago. A message had been intercepted by British
Intelligence, indicating that Colonel Gulbrand was dead, but Sandvold and two
of His Majesty's Guards were being escorted by a group of British and French
troops.

'British and French?' said Morgan, incredulously.
'Really? Where were they?'

'Just south of Tretten. But there's more. Apparently
they defeated an entire platoon of German mountain troops. I have some names
too: a Sergeant Tanner and a Lieutenant Chevannes. I have already been informed
by the French about him. He's from the 6th Battalion, Chasseurs Alpins.'

'Ah, yes,' said Morgan. 'We had a company of them at
Oyer.'

'Chevannes was on a mountain patrol a day earlier when
he and his men went missing.'

'Then presumably Sergeant Tanner and his men were
doing much the same.' Morgan stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'If you don't mind
me asking, apart from the obvious reasons about the jewels, why is the King so
particularly concerned about Professor Sandvold?

'That I cannot say. But I can tell you that it is what
this man knows. He would be very valuable to the Germans - and to Norway,
eventually. But there are concerns about him. In the early thirties he was a
member of the National Party - he was a friend of Quisling's.'

'He
was,
you say?'

'Yes. We're not sure why, but he let his membership
drop in 1934, and although he has never been particularly political, he was
asked by the government - and, I understand, the King - to leave Oslo the
moment the Germans invaded. But he did not, which was why Gulbrand, with the
King in Hamar, was sent back to get him and take him to safety. It is a serious
matter, Brigadier.'

'You doubt his loyalty?'

'Let us say it would be potentially catastrophic were
he to fall into German hands.'

'I see.'

'I want you to find out more about this Sergeant Tanner and to keep a
lookout for these men. I hate to think what might have happened to them.
Gulbrand was under strict orders to kill Sandvold rather than let him fall into
enemy hands, so it may be that he is already dead. However, I think it is
better to assume he is not. It is one of the reasons I have been able to get
ski troops down here for you. The King is determined that they should be found.
I am sorry, Morgan - another thing for you to think about, but there it is. I
just hope to God they are not already in German hands.'

The leading German soldier walked to barely five yards in front of
Sergeant Tanner and Lieutenant Chevannes, then stopped. Tanner held his breath,
his mouth as dry as chalk. Then to his amazement, the soldier hoisted his rifle
on to his shoulder, fiddled with his fly buttons and began to urinate. Two of
his comrades followed suit. By the trucks, soldiers were talking, lighting
cigarettes, laughing even.

The German directly in front of Tanner broke wind,
grunted, then looked into the inky darkness ahead of him and turned away.
Don't make a sound
, thought Tanner, then felt an
overwhelming urge to scratch his chin; a blade of grass was tickling him - or
was it an insect?
Keep still
, he told himself.
Ignore it.
He heard a rustle, small but
distinct - one of the men moving - and froze. He could hear his heart thumping,
and his breathing, however slight, seemed to him to be now strangely amplified.
But none of the Germans appeared to hear anything.

Five minutes later orders were barked and the men were
clambering back into the trucks. Engines started, a booming cacophony in the
still night, and they were off, a dim column trundling down the road towards
the front.

'Mon dieu
,' whispered Chevannes. 'A lucky
escape, Sergeant. And now for the crossing,
non?'
The sound of the column died
away, but there was a faint breeze now. Around them the trees rustled. Tanner
was relieved: when the air was as still as it had been, sound carried alarmingly.
The breeze, however gentle, would help them. Gingerly clambering down the bank
to the edge of the road, he reminded each man in turn of the drill: Anna was to
lead. Lieutenant Chevannes would wait on the far side of the road while he
himself would stay where he was, giving each man the signal to cross.

Everyone was there; everyone was ready. He ran back to
Anna and Chevannes.

'All right,' he said. 'Let's go.' His hands were
shaking and he felt sick. The enormous risk of what they were about to attempt
struck him like a slap in the face. Jesus, what had he been thinking?
It's our only chance
, he reminded himself. He took
two deep breaths, patted Anna lightly on the shoulder, saw the fear in her
eyes, then watched her disappear into the darkness. Chevannes followed, then
his own men and the Norwegians, Larsen, Nielssen and Sandvold, each half
crouching, half running across the narrow road and down to the edge of the
river. Damn it, they were so loud, he thought. Metal studs on tarmac. He
grimaced; he'd not thought of that.
Come on, come on, let's get this over with -
but with every crossing, Tanner
winced.