Authors: James Holland
'We jumped out, Sarge. There were lots of bullets. He
might have been hit.'
The valley below was now eerily quiet. Tanner hated to
leave Moran behind, but they needed to get going - and quickly. He peered into
the trees. Nothing.
Damn you, Mitch, where are you?
he thought. Then, turning to
Chevannes, he said, 'Sir? We have to move off.'
'I know, Sergeant,' snapped Chevannes. 'Mademoiselle
Rostad,' he said to Anna, 'where should we be heading?'
'Straight up the hill through the trees,' she said.
'At the top there is a track that leads to Svingvoll, a small farming hamlet
at the head of a shallow valley. We should head for there, where—' She was cut
off by a sharp hiss as a flare shot into the sky, followed swiftly by several
more, which burst like crackling fireworks, showering the mountainside with
light. A moment later they heard troops below them.
'Vite!'
whispered Chevannes, the glow
from the flares briefly lighting his face. He waved his arm and the men
clambered onwards as rifle and machine-gun fire cracked and sputtered behind
them. Tanner urged his men, then ducked as a bullet hurtled over him, missing
his head by inches. Melting into the trees once more, he paused to fire, then
took out a grenade and having pulled the pin, hurled it as hard as he could
down the mountain, more in the hope of blinding their pursuers than from any
realistic expectation of hitting anyone. A few seconds later, as it exploded,
Tanner heard a German cry out. He smiled grimly to himself and clambered on up
the slope, through patchy snow, until it seemed that at last the pursuers had
given up the chase.
Cresting the hill, Tanner paused. He could only just
make out the others, although he could hear them. They had all stopped, and
most now stood with hands on hips or knees as they fought for breath. Across the
valley, he could see the looming mountains, the formidable mass of rock and
snow over which they had struggled the past few days. Now they had made it
successfully to the other side. A miracle, Chevannes had called it, and for
once Tanner was content to agree with the French lieutenant.
Beneath them, an engine started up. The Germans were
back in their truck. Tanner heard the driver revving the engine until it
screamed.
'You know what that is, don't you, Sarge?' said Sykes
beside him.
'Yes, Stan,' Tanner grinned. 'Jerry's got his wheels
stuck.'
As Anna had promised there was a track, which wove its way past a
number of farmsteads, hidden from the valley floor, but which overlooked the
bend in the river as it curved eastwards at the end of the Tretten gorge back
towards Oyer. There was snow on the ground, but the track had been well trodden
by foot and cart and was compacted in a way that made walking easy.
Occasionally a dog barked, but otherwise the same eerie stillness that had
accompanied them on the other side of the valley seemed to have descended on
the mountains once more. It made Tanner feel that he was not atop some vast
expanse of rock, but rather that they were walking through a narrow chasm. Each
footstep sounded so clear, his breathing heavy and close.
They reached Svingvoll and skirted the lip of the
shallow valley, then joined another track that led across an empty forested
plateau of thin snow. Shortly after two in the morning, the first hint of dawn spread
pinkly across the horizon behind them. Tanner was glad for the thin light. He
had enjoyed the thrill of night as a boy - being out with his father, shooting
rabbits and setting traps. Yet that had been on familiar ground; he had known
every inch of those woods. Now, though, he was relieved to be able to see in
front of him, his surroundings gradually more defined, the men - and Anna -
walking in front and behind him.
Anna.
She had already more than
proved her worth, he thought. And he had been impressed by her cool-
headedness: her first time under fire and she had not panicked. He thought of
striding ahead and talking to her, but decided against it. Better to wait for
the right moment.
Instead he drew alongside Professor Sandvold, the man
he had vowed to deliver safely to the Allies. 'How are you, Professor?' he
asked.
'Too old for making daring dashes across rivers,' he
replied. 'I don't mind telling you, Sergeant, I found the whole experience terrifying.
It is one thing being strafed by enemy aircraft because it is all over before
you have realized it is happening. But crossing the lake was truly frightening.
Tell me there will not be any more episodes like that.'
Tanner smiled. 'I hope not, Professor. I can't say I
enjoyed it much either.'
'And all those bullets. Really, how do you keep calm
in such situations?'
'I always find that in the heat of the moment there's
no time to be frightened.'
Sandvold eyed him sceptically. 'That is why you are a
soldier and I am not, Sergeant.'
********
Soon after, Junot collapsed. The small column of men stopped and
gathered round him as he lay propped against a tree, his teeth chattering,
gibbering incoherently. Crouching beside him, Anna felt his brow. 'His temperature's
dropped,' she said.
'He's got hypothermia,' said Tanner. 'We need to wrap
him in something warm, quickly, or else he'll croak. Here,' he said, taking off
his German wind jacket, 'fold this round his legs.' Anna did so, while Tanner
retrieved his leather jerkin from his pack. Another makeshift stretcher was
assembled using Mausers and greatcoats and the prostrate Junot hoisted on to
it. Chevannes' two remaining men took one end, while Sykes ordered Hepworth and
Kershaw to take the other.
'He's going to need help,' Anna said, turning to
Chevannes.
'And we can't walk all the way to the front with a
stretcher,' added the French lieutenant. '
Merde
.' He glanced ahead at the
seemingly endless trees, stretching across the plateau. 'How far is it to the valley?'
Anna shrugged. 'Five kilometres, maybe. There's the
village of Alstad. We can get help there.'
'Good,' he said, 'Let's keep going.'
It was nearly half past eight on the morning of
Thursday, 25 April, when they reached the crest of the mountain plateau and
were able to look down over the narrow j0ra valley. On the east-facing slopes,
the valley was once again thickly wooded with a blanket of snow still on the
ground, but below them, on the west- facing valley sides, the snow had all but
gone. On the valley floor, a narrow river wound away to the north-west, silvery
in the morning light. Beside it there was a road, little more than a rough
track but smooth and free of snow.
Chevannes called a brief halt to change stretcher-
bearers. Beneath them lay a settlement of scattered farms and, standing on its
own, at the edge of the river, a small church. This was Alstad, Anna told them.
Junot was now ghostly white, his lips and ears blue. 'We need to hurry,' she
told Chevannes.
They pressed on, clambering down the slopes through
open pasture until they reached the first of half a dozen farmsteads. Several
dogs ran out into the yard as Anna walked ahead with Larsen, past ageing
outhouses with grass-covered roofs. Tanner watched apprehensively, his rifle at
the ready.
A few minutes later, Larsen reappeared and signalled
to them. The men left their position along a track above the farm, and hurried
into the yard, past chickens and geese cackling at the invasion. Old carts and
farm machinery, green with lichen, spokes shattered, were piled haphazardly
against the sheds. They reached the steps where the farmer stood, watching them
approach. His face was weatherbeaten and wrinkled, with a two-day growth of
white beard, and he stared at the men suspiciously as they trooped past him
into the low-ceilinged kitchen. It was musty, primitive and dark, and with
their packs, rifles and equipment, the men crowded it.
The farmer's wife ushered the stretcher-bearers to an armchair
by the fire, then barked at her husband, who grudgingly edged his way through
the men and began to stoke the fire with more wood. His wife disappeared, but
could be heard moving overhead. Soon she returned with a pile of blankets.
Junot was then stripped from the waist down, swathed in wool and the woman
began vigorously to rub his hands and feet, talking to Anna as she did so.
'She knows how to deal with hypothermia,' Anna said,
turning to Tanner and Chevannes. 'Her cousin had it once, but she is worried it
is too late for Junot.' The woman now shouted at her husband, who quickly
filled a large black pot and hung it above the fire. 'They're making coffee,'
Anna explained. 'Sweet coffee. The sugar and hot fluid will help him.'
Suddenly the woman stopped what she was doing and felt
Junot's neck. She sat back and looked up at Anna and Chevannes.
'He is dead?' said Chevannes to Anna, disbelief on his
face.
Anna nodded. 'I am sorry, Lieutenant. The poor man. It
is too terrible.'
Chevannes put his hands to his face.
'Mon Dieu,'
he muttered. '
Mon Dieu.'
Tanner's first thoughts were about what they should do
with the body. They needed to cover not only their own tracks but those of the
farmer and his wife. Then they had to consider what they would do next. Chevannes
was wavering, he could see, while Nielssen and Larsen were keeping quiet,
allowing the French lieutenant to make the decisions.
For God's sake.
The farmer and his wife were arguing now.
'What are they saying?' asked Chevannes.
'He wants us to take Junot with us,' Anna explained.
'His wife is saying we should carry him to the church - then he can
have a proper Christian burial.'
'That's ridiculous,' said Tanner. 'We need to take him
up into the trees and bury him there.' He turned to Chevannes. 'Don't you
agree, sir?'
'Yes, Sergeant. Yes, we must.' Chevannes seemed distant
and distracted.
'Shall I organize it, sir?' Tanner asked.
Chevannes nodded. Tanner gathered his men, told them
to ditch their German caps and jackets, put on their old greatcoats, jerkins
and tin helmets, then lift Junot. The farmer's wife tried to stop them, but
with Anna placating her, the men picked up the dead Chasseur and went back out
into the morning light, trudged back through the yard, up the track and into
the trees overlooking the farm.
As a shallow grave was dug, Tanner gazed down at the
valley below. It looked so peaceful, as though the war could never touch it.
There were no charred remains or piles of rubble here. Rather, the only smoke
was that which rose in narrow columns from the farms on the lower slopes, their
inhabitants up and about, getting ready for another day.
Sykes was standing beside him.
'Do you reckon Jerry knows about our professor, then?'
the corporal asked.
'I can't work it out, Stan. The other evening that
German patrol seemed to be coming after us for a reason. Why else go to all
that trouble just to catch a few soldiers on the run? And last night I could
have sworn those men at Tretten were waiting for us, as
though they knew we were going to cross the valley.'
'But how could they have done?'
Tanner shook his head. 'I don't know. And there's another thing. Did
you notice most of their shooting was high?'
'Was it?'
'Well, not a single one of us was hit, were we? Except maybe Mitch.'
'No, I suppose not.'
'But then again, no one came looking for us yesterday, did they? A few
recce planes overhead, but that was all. It doesn't make sense.' He lit a
cigarette. 'Maybe I'm imagining things.' He was silent for a moment, then said,
'With any luck they won't come looking for us along here. If we keep our eyes
and ears strained for aircraft, we should be all right.'
'We could do with some M/T, Sarge,' added Sykes. 'Perhaps one of these
farmers here has got some.'
'Perhaps.'
They gazed at the valley again. 'Just fourteen of us now,' said Tanner.
'A few less to worry about.'
'Yes, that's true.' Tanner sighed. Behind him, the men had finished
covering Junot and were putting away their entrenching tools. 'Come on, boys,'
said Tanner. 'Let's get back to the farmhouse.'