Authors: James Holland
'Did you kill him? The officer, that is?'
'Zellner? I don't think so. Broke his nose. Possibly
his jaw.' He grinned. 'Any explosives left after your little diversion? I
haven't even looked in my pack yet.'
'Not much. A carton of Nobel's and a few sticks of
Polar. It seemed the right thing to do at the time.'
'Damn right, Stan. It's thanks to you those bastards
aren't at our backs now. You did well.'
'But we don't know when we might need some more.'
'We'll cross that path if and when.' They were silent
for a moment, then Tanner said, 'You don't have any beadies left, do you? I
could murder a smoke.'
'I'll roll you one.'
Sykes pulled out the tobacco and papers he had taken
from the captured Germans a few days before. 'Sarge?'
he said eventually, passing the cigarette to
Tanner. He eyed him furtively as he did so.
'What?' said Tanner, pausing to light his cigarette.
'It's probably nothing, and I don't want you to take this the wrong
way—'
'What, Stan?'
'It's just that, well - nah, it's nothing.'
'Spit it out.'
'Well, I'd just like to know how those Stukas knew it was us. And how
did those trucks know where we'd be?'
'They've had aerial reconnaissance buzzing over nearly non-stop in case
you hadn't noticed.'
'Yes, but not first thing this morning. We didn't see anything before
them Stukas turned up, did we?'
'What are you saying?'
Sykes made sure no one was listening, then said, in a hushed voice,
'I'm hoping we haven't got a spy among us.'
'A spy?' Tanner gaped at him. 'Are you joking, Stan? Who?'
'I don't know, do I?'
'And, more to the point, how? Don't you think we'd have noticed by now?
I mean, how on earth would anyone be contacting the enemy? We've been together
pretty much all the time.'
'Yes, but not
all
the
time. There've been times when we've been kipping, when we've wandered off to -
you know . . . and so on. We don't know what those Norwegians are carrying in
their rucksacks. Perhaps they've got a radio or something.'
'But wireless sets are pretty big. And how could they use it without
anyone else seeing?'
'I don't know. All I'm saying is that this whole thing
seems fishy to me. I keep thinking about how those Jerries keep dogging our
every move and that makes me think someone's tipping them the wink. That's
all.'
Tanner was quiet.
'Look, Sarge,' Sykes added, 'I don't claim to know
much about this sort of thing but you have to admit it's a bit strange. I mean,
you yourself thought those Jerries were waiting for us in Tretten. For that
matter, how did that mountain patrol know to come after us back on the other
side of the valley?'
'That could have been because of air reconnaissance.
At Tretten, they might simply have worked it out. I don't know. You don't think
maybe we're becoming overly suspicious?'
'I don't know. I still think those Stukas arriving was
odd. No buzzing around beforehand. They came straight over. Knew exactly who we
was and where ... Sarge?'
'I'm thinking, Stan, if any one of us could have had
the time to make some kind of signal.'
Sykes shrugged.
Tanner said, 'I suppose someone could. Unlikely, but
possible.'
'So?'
'We keep this to ourselves and watch everyone - the
Norwegians at any rate.' They walked on in silence, Tanner deep in thought. It
seemed so fantastical, yet there was no denying that the enemy did seem to have
been second-guessing their movements. A result of logical thought processes and
aerial reconnaissance, or a more sinister source of intelligence?
My God.
It hardly bore thinking about.
The sun had disappeared, casting the valley in deep
shadow. A shiver ran down Tanner's back, whether from the cold or the suspicion
that the corporal might be right, he couldn't say.
They reached the bridge safely. A sliver of moon appeared, but the
valley was dark and still. Although an occasional light twinkled from the farms
and houses round about, not a soul stirred. Once again, Tanner was struck by
how far away the war seemed, yet only a dozen or so miles to the south-east a
two-day battle had been fought. He could still smell the whiff of woodsmoke on
the night breeze, but he knew that was as likely to be from a home fire as the
blazing forest near Kvam.
They crossed the bridge, Tanner cringing at the sound
of the studded boots on the wooden struts. They were bunched up now, walking
together so they didn't lose one another. 'Keep together, boys,' Tanner told
his men, and to Sykes he added, 'Don't take your eyes off those Norwegians. No
matter how dark, keep within arm's reach.'
They walked in silence along the soft verge that ran
close to the northern bank of the Sjoa river to deaden the sound of their
footsteps. Even so, Tanner sensed they were dragging their feet; he was too.
Every step seemed harder. His shoulders ached, his knees hurt, his calves
burnt. In the faint creamy night light, he could see that Sandvold was almost
falling asleep as he stumbled on.
'Sir,' he said to Chevannes, 'we should stop soon.'
Chevannes snorted. 'And this from the man who never
thinks we should rest at all.'
'I need to rest,' muttered Sandvold. 'I cannot go much
further.'
Chevannes lit a match and squinted at Anna's map.
'We're near Heidel, I think.'
'Yes,' agreed Anna. 'It's not much, a few houses and
farms, that's all.'
'Very well,' said Chevannes, 'we will look for somewhere
to rest for a few hours. A hut, a farmhouse, a barn. We can try to find food in
the morning.'
For once Tanner found himself agreeing with the
Frenchman and only a short distance further on a farmhouse loomed, set back
from the road. It was dark, with no light showing, but in the drive and the
yard there were signs of vehicle tracks.
'Larsen, go and have a look round,' said Chevannes, as
they clustered at the open gate. Larsen, with Nielssen accompanying him, walked
forward cautiously. Tanner glanced round his men, dark shadows all, leaning
against the gate, most so tired they could barely stand.
When the Norwegians returned, the news was good. 'It's
empty,' said Larsen. 'Someone's been here recently, though.'
'Sergeant,' said Chevannes to Tanner, 'organize
guards. The rest, follow me into the house.'
'Hep, you can take first watch with me,' said Tanner.
Hepworth groaned. 'Sarge, why's it have to be me?'
'Would you rather be woken up in an hour? This way you
get it over and done with.' He leant his machine-gun against the gate. 'Now,
stay here and watch the road.'
'Where are you going, Sarge?'
'For a nose round. I won't be long.'
Tanner watched the others head into the house, then
walked quietly towards the farm. There were two barns and several other
outbuildings, while to the back a shallow field rose steadily towards the
patchily wooded valley sides. The house, he noticed, was shuttered, and
effectively so - only the faintest light could be seen from within.
The smell of woodsmoke again. A wisp now floated from
the chimney.
Good
,
he thought.
They've found some scoff.
His stomach groaned.
Back at the gate he found Hepworth leaning against it,
his head in his arms.
'Hep,' he said, 'wake up.'
'Hm?' said Hepworth. 'Sorry, Sarge ...'
Tanner left him and, taking his machine-gun, walked
across the road. There was only one way the Germans could come, he reasoned,
and that was from Sjoa. He had his rifle and the MG set up on its bipod. The
night was so quiet that if any vehicles approached he knew he would hear them a
long way off.
Satisfied that should there be any sign of the enemy
he could raise the alarm and get everyone hidden in the woods behind the farm,
he sat down on the bank, listening to the water hurrying over the rocks in the
river below and thinking of what Sykes had said earlier. He felt sure it
couldn't be Sandvold, yet the professor had been in Oslo during the first days
of the occupation and had admitted to him that he had been reluctant to leave.
Perhaps the story of his mother was a lie. Perhaps he was working for the Nazis
after all. Then he considered Larsen and Nielssen. Again, it was possible, but
seemed so unlikely. If one was a spy, he could surely have killed the other two
and taken Sandvold to the Germans long before they ever reached the Balberkamp.
He thought about Anna. In truth, he'd thought about
her quite a lot over the past two days, although it troubled him that he should
even consider her as a spy. Yet there was no denying that she had been very
keen to help them - perhaps overly so. But if she was a traitor, how was she
passing on information? She carried a rucksack, but was it big enough for a
wireless? Tanner wasn't sure. And what was her motive? He shook his head. It
didn't make sense.
And, of course, there was Chevannes. No one, in his
view, had done more to hinder them at every turn. And yet it couldn't be the
Frenchman - of that he was sure. Maybe it really was just paranoia.
Sleep. That was what he needed. Sleep and food. Perhaps he'd be able to
see the situation more clearly after that.
An hour later Sykes and Bell relieved him and Hepworth.
'Go on, Sarge. Get inside,' Sykes told him. 'We found
a whole load of tins of Maconochie's and a few bottles of vino too. There's no
doubt about it, some of our boys were here not so long ago.'
'Probably till this afternoon,' muttered Tanner. He shook Hepworth
awake. 'Wakey, wakey, Hep, you useless sod. Time for some food.' Hepworth
grunted then staggered after him.
Inside, Tanner found Chevannes and Nielssen sitting at the table, one
empty and a further half-drunk bottle of wine between them.
'Where's the professor?' he asked.
'Upstairs,' said Chevannes, pointing above his head. 'Don't worry -
he's safe, and sound asleep.' His eyes were glassy, his words somewhat slurred.
'For God's sake,' mumbled Tanner.
'What?' said Chevannes. 'What was that you said, Sergeant?
Parlez haut.'
'Nothing, sir. I'll just get something for me and Hepworth to eat. I
hear there's some stew about.'
'Out, oui.
Heat up another tin. And have some wine.' While
Tanner found two tins of stew and vegetables, Chevannes poured out a chipped
tumbler of wine, spilling some. 'A toast, Sergeant,' he said, pushing the
tumbler in Tanner's direction. 'A toast to surviving so far.'
Give me strength,
thought Tanner. He scowled at the Frenchman, said,
'No bloody thanks to you,' then picked up the tumbler and drank, slamming the
glass down only when he had finished it all.
'What did you say, Sergeant?' slurred Chevannes.
'You heard,' Tanner retorted. He went back to heating his tins of stew
over the fire.
'How dare you?'
'How dare I what?' said Tanner, turning on him. 'If it wasn't for you,
we wouldn't be sitting in this
God-forsaken hole. Now, get drunk if you want to but in a few hours'
time we'll be off again and I'm not bloody well waiting for you.' Tanner
grabbed the tins and stormed out of the room.
'Sergeant!' Chevannes called after him. 'Come back
here!'
Tanner ignored him. He found Hepworth almost asleep on
the stairs, then entered another room on the ground floor in which McAllister
and Kershaw were already asleep. He lit a match and saw a half-burnt candle on
a desk, which stood before a fireplace. Lighting it, he looked around, eating
his stew as he did so. It was not warmed through, but he didn't care. It was
food, and he'd eaten a lot worse. An empty whisky bottle stood on the table,
while in the grate he found the remains of a number of papers. Tanner picked up
the top of a sheet entitled, 'War Diary or Intelligence Summary', beside which
had been scrawled in pencil, '148 Inf Bde.' What remained of the writing
underneath had been scribbled out. So, this had been Brigadier Morgan's headquarters,
he thought. Missed by hours.