Authors: James Holland
As they reached the yard, they saw the farmer hurry outside. He glared
at them as they passed him.
'Bloody hell, what's the matter with him?' said Hepworth.
'Trouble with the missus?' suggested McAllister.
'She's a tough-looking woman,' said Sykes. 'Had him running around
earlier.'
'Maybe he doesn't like having a bunch of soldiers turn up early for
breakfast,' said Tanner. They went back inside to find the others putting their
packs on their shoulders.
'Have you buried Junot, Sergeant?' Chevannes asked Tanner. 'We need to
leave.'
'Er, yes,' Tanner replied, handing him Junot's identity tags. 'He's
well hidden up in the trees.'
'Good. We go.'
'The farmer is nervous,' explained Anna. 'He is worried about what the
Germans will do if they find out we have been here. Henrik Larsen has tried to
reason with him, but I am afraid it is no use.' She looked towards the farmer's
wife. 'She is furious with him. She called him a coward and a traitor.'
'Have we asked her whether anyone in the village has any transport?'
'Not yet.' She turned and spoke to the farmer's wife, who replied after
a moment's thought, then pointed and gesticulated.
'Uksum Farm,' said Anna. 'A man called Merit Sulheim. She says he has a
truck he uses to take livestock to Lillehammer.'
Tanner's spirits rose. 'Perfect,' he said. 'Where is this farm?'
'Not far. About a kilometre north from the church.'
'Good. Let's head there right away.'
As they left the farm and continued down the track towards the valley,
they heard the now familiar sound of aero-engines thrumming faintly over the
mountains above them. Tanner stopped, and held up an arm. 'Ssh!' he said,
cocking his head. There it was, faint but distinct, somewhere over the
mountains from which they had just crossed. A little louder, then a Junkers
roared into view a few hundred yards ahead as it crested the lip of the
mountain plateau and plunged into the valley.
'Everyone, take cover - quick!' shouted Chevannes.
They flung themselves onto the track's bushy bank. Tanner watched the aircraft
bank and swoop across the valley, then turn, curving, so that its bulbous nose
pointed directly towards them.
'It's bloody well coming right for us!' said Sykes,
clutching his helmet to his head. Moments later, the Junkers thundered directly
over them, the black crosses and pale blue underside startlingly close. They
watched as the aircraft flew on, then banked again, arcing lazily across the
valley before turning for another run above them.
'Here, Dan!' Tanner called out to Lance Corporal
Erwood. 'Have a crack with the Bren, will you?'
'And give away our position?' called Chevannes. 'Are
you mad, Sergeant?'
'Sir, he's seen us. The only way we're going to stop
him bleating is by shooting the bastard down.'
'No, Sergeant, and that is an order!'
The Junkers was approaching once more, no more than a
hundred feet above them. Again it roared overhead, oil streaks from the two
radial engines staining the pale underside of the wings. Tanner cursed, then
watched as it swung out over the valley and began to bank yet again. 'Sir, he's
bloody well seen us!' he shouted. 'Let's have a pop at it. What have we got to
lose?' Chevannes said nothing. Tanner smiled, aware that the French
lieutenant's silence was the authority he needed. 'Aim off, Dan,' he called to
Erwood once more. 'Give yourself plenty of lead.' Erwood glanced at Chevannes,
then back at the sergeant. 'Do it, Dan,' said Tanner. He had his own rifle to
his shoulder now and saw that the rest of his men had followed his example. He
knew a .303 round would probably make little impression on an eight-ton
monster such as a Junkers 88, but it was flying so low he reckoned it had to be
worth a shot. It was rather like aiming at a high bird, he thought to himself.
Admittedly it was travelling at probably a hundred and fifty miles per hour,
rather than fifty like a pheasant with a good wind behind it but, he told
himself, a Junkers was far bigger.
He watched it straighten and its wings level. At that
distance it looked as though it was travelling slower than a pheasant, but all
too soon that illusion was dispelled. Tanner pointed his rifle vertically in
the air. 'Ready, Dan?' he called. 'Two seconds now
One, two - fire!'
he yelled, and as bullets
pumped into the sky the aircraft swept over them.
Then a miracle happened. The starboard engine
spluttered and, as the aircraft banked over the valley, flames appeared,
followed by a long trail of smoke. As one, the men on the ground stood up and
watched, open- mouthed. The pilot tried to climb and they followed the plane as
it headed north up the valley, rose over the mountains, then plunged
earthwards. A ball of flame erupted briefly on the far side of the mountains
followed by the dull rumble of destruction a few seconds later. For a moment
the men were dumbstruck, then raised their rifles and cheered.
It was Dan Erwood who received the most slaps on the
back but Tanner knew it could have been any of them, and that in firing
together, they had claimed victory together.
'Good shooting, men,' said Chevannes, adjusting his
beret on his head. 'Very good shooting.'
'And a very good decision to let us fire, if I might
say so, sir,' said Tanner.
'Be careful, Tanner,' said Chevannes. 'My patience is
wearing thin.'
'Come on, lads,' said Tanner, ignoring the Frenchman.
'Iggery, all right?'
They walked on quickly, past anxious, startled farmers
who had emerged from their houses to see what the commotion was about. Two
young boys stood on a gate to watch them pass and several of Tanner's men
cheered at them as they did so, the boys grinning back.
'That's enough!' Tanner warned.
'They are like schoolboys,' said Anna, walking beside
him. 'It is amazing to see everyone's spirits lift like this.'
'Mine will be even higher if this truck works out,'
Tanner replied. He turned and barked at his men: 'Come on, you lot! You can
stop congratulating yourselves now and get a bloody move on!'
'We were just saying, Sarge,' said Erwood, hurrying to
his side, 'what a shame it is that Mitch isn't with us, him being on my Bren
crew an' that. He'd have loved to have seen that Jerry plane come down. I wish
I knew he was all right.'
'I'm sure he is.'
'Only I feel bad. One minute he was with us and the
next he wasn't. It's not knowing what happened . . .'
'He probably just tripped and fell,' said Tanner. 'Easy to do when it's
dark like that. You'll probably find he was picked up by the Jerries.'
'I'm telling you,' mumbled Mitch Moran, 'I don't know anything. We were
just trying to get back to our lines.'
Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz sat on the edge of his desk and
looked at the pitiful figure in front of him. A swollen and cut eye, so puffed
and blackened it had closed, a darkening cheek, cracked and bloodied lips, a
line of congealed blood and mucus from nose to mouth. Moran's shirt was torn,
but hid the bruising round his cracked ribs, while his feet were bare and also
bloody and blackened. With his arms tied behind the back of the chair, his head
hung down as though it were too heavy for him now that it had been so badly
pummelled.
Kurz sighed. He had been taught torture techniques,
but beating someone to within an inch of their life always struck him as crude.
And this fellow - well, he was just a simple boy. A few cigarettes, a bit of
friendly chat and the Englishman would have been eating out of his hand ages
ago. Now it was probably too late.
Ah, well, worth a try.
He ordered the guard at the
door to untie Moran's hands, then lit a cigarette.
'A smoke?' he said, and without waiting for an answer,
placed the cigarette between Moran's lips. 'Listen, I'm sorry you've been so
roughly treated. Hauptmann Zellner was - well, he was a bit frustrated, to put
it mildly. I'm sorry he took it out on you.' He saw Moran lift his head a
fraction, then shakily raise a hand to the cigarette. Kurz smiled. 'I certainly
wouldn't want you thinking we're all like that.' Standing up, he walked towards
the window. 'War . .. what a waste of time it is. Killing people, uprooting
people from their homes - it is all so futile. You know, I was a teacher before
the war. I used to teach English in a small town in the Thuringen. I loved
England - I travelled all over when I was still a student. You are from
Yorkshire, I believe?'
Moran nodded.
Kurz stood up again and walked to the cabinet behind
Moran where he now kept his Baedekers. He picked up the England edition. 'Which
part?'
'Knaresborough,' mumbled Moran.
'Knaresborough,' said Kurz, flicking through the
pages. 'Near Harrogate, is it not?' He paused, as though lost in the depths of
a happy memory. 'Yes, I remember a wonderful English tea at Betty's in
Harrogate.' He smiled. 'Do you know it?'
'It's only for nobs and that, really,' Moran mumbled,
'but my grandma took me there for my tenth birthday.'
'I remember it being quite charming,' said Kurz, 'as
was all of Yorkshire. One day, when this is all over, I should like to go
back.' He sighed, then said, 'And here I am, a soldier of sorts, fighting
against a people for whom I have a very great affection. It is damnable, it
really is.' He leant closer towards Moran. 'Look, I want to help you. You are
just a boy and, I am sure, would much rather be at home in Knaresborough with
your family, just as I would rather be at home with my wife and baby daughter
in Ludwigsstadt, but there is a war on and that is all there is to it. I cannot
get you home tomorrow, but I can get you cleaned up and properly looked after,
and I can promise you there will be no more beatings.' He paused, looked at
Moran and said, 'Can I get you anything? Some water perhaps?'Thank you.'
Kurz went to a cabinet in the corner and poured a
glass, then handed it to the Tommy. 'There,' he said, taking the cigarette butt
from Moran's lips and handing him the glass. 'I was wondering why you were
crossing the river last night. It seems rather a risk.'
'Because you lot were going down the main valley. We
thought there'd be less of you about.'
'But difficult to walk through those mountains.
There's still plenty of snow up there.'
'Not in the valley beyond.'
Kurz smiled. Really, he thought, this was almost too
easy. 'No, I suppose not. So your plan was to head north down the j0ra valley?'
Moran nodded.
'As a matter of interest,' Kurz added, 'what made you
cross where you did? It showed extraordinary local knowledge, if you don't mind
me saying so.'
'Our sarge had recced the area earlier and found the
boats,' said Moran, still almost in a whisper. 'And we had a Norwegian girl
showing us the way.'
'Ah,' said Kurz.
Now I understand.
'Well, I'll let you rest now,
Moran. And good luck.' Two guards
came
over, picked up Moran and took him away.
Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt, who had been sitting
silently in a chair in the corner watching Kurz, clapped slowly. 'Bravo,
Sturmbannfuhrer. A virtuoso performance.'
Kurz made a mock bow.
'I had no idea you had been a teacher,' Scheidt added.
'You don't strike me as the type.'
'I wasn't.'
'Ah. And you don't have a wife and baby daughter?'
'No, of course not. Nor have I been to England and
certainly not Betty's Tea Rooms, whatever they might be. Baedeker's a useful
friend.'
Scheidt smiled, but then his expression changed. The
British sergeant was proving a thorn in their side. And they had a guide with
them. Damn them, he thought. And damn Zellner. Twice he had bungled what should
have been a straightforward operation. Worse, last night he had flagrantly
disobeyed Kurz's orders and Odin had slipped through their fingers again. He
ran a hand wearily through his hair.
'Cheer up, my dear Reichsamtsleiter,' said Kurz. 'We
know where they're heading and they've still a long way to go. Patience. We're
closing in on them.'
'You keep saying that,' snapped Scheidt, 'yet Odin
repeatedly eludes us, and for two days we've heard nothing from our source. The
clock is ticking, Sturmbannfuhrer, and if we fail, it won't be only me who
falls.'