Authors: James Holland
Chevannes swallowed hard. 'I still cannot believe it,
Sergeant.'
'Sir, we need to go.'
'Yes, yes, of course,' he said. 'Right, men, we will go
through the town. We must now forget about this traitor. We need to clear our
minds and concentrate on the task ahead; successfully getting into Vagamo, and
taking one of those trucks.'
As they finally set off from the
seter
, Tanner did not glance back:
his mind had already turned to what lay before them. Larsen's body was left
where it lay: unburied on a patch of hard ground among the trees, high on an
empty mountainside.
From the upstairs window of the newly requisitioned farmhouse beside the
lake, Hauptmann Wolf Zellner had a grandstand view of the headland that jutted
out into the water, and the boats lying roped to the short wooden jetty. Beside
him were Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz and Major von Poncets. Next to them, a field
telephone had been rigged up, linking them to the men crouching in the trees
round the farm and along the shore for a hundred metres and more. His nose
still throbbed, his cheek still throbbed, and the pain of being cheated by the
British sergeant a third time hurt him most of all, yet the prospect of
Tanner's imminent death had improved his mood. The last light of the day was
fading in the west. He looked at his watch.
An hour - that's all
, he thought.
Next to him, Kurz was telling them about their source.
'We pinned him down at Hamar, the day after the invasion,' he said. 'He was
with the King and the rest of the government. He didn't need much persuading, I
must say, although we did mention that we knew where his family was. He's got a
charming wife and two small girls in Oslo. I'm not sure how much it had to do
with it but we did mention that we might not be able to guarantee their safety
should he decline our offer.' He chuckled. 'Not that I
would
have done anything to them. But
a man like that, with a young family and everything, it's what they hold most
dear, isn't it?'
'Yes,' said von Poncets. 'It is. I'm certainly not
doing this for Hitler.'
'Actually,' said Kurz, scratching his cheek, 'I must
give Scheidt some credit. He's a bit of an old woman, you know, but he's sharp.
He's been over here since last year, grooming that buffoon Quisling on the
say-so of the Fuhrer. But he's also been working all sorts of other people in
preparation for the invasion. I think it was Quisling's men who put him on to
Larsen. Apparently he was a secret National Party man.'
'So he was primed,' said von Poncets.
'Primed - yes, exactly. And then with a bit of gentle
persuasion we had our spy. A massive stroke of luck, of course, that he was
chosen to go back and fetch Odin. Initially, we thought we would use him to get
to the King and the gold.'
'Why didn't he lead you to Odin in Oslo, then?' asked
Zellner.
'He didn't know. It wasn't until later. We ransacked
Odin's offices and interrogated his mother. We didn't find any blue papers but
we found enough to know what he was trying to do. Trust me, if this fellow can
truly get oil from under the seabed, we'll have the eternal gratitude of the
Fuhrer.'
The thought cheered Zellner even more. Well, it wouldn't be long now.
This time nothing had been left to chance. He was certain they could not fail
again.
It was mindless work, patrolling a bridge. One man walked one way, one
the other, up and down, back and forth. Schutze Pieter Greiger was tired. It had
been a gruelling two weeks, and although they had successfully hammered their
way northwards, victory helped keep you going only so far. The fighting at
Dombas had been gruelling for his company and they had lost several men. Half
his platoon had been killed or wounded. One of the dead had been a good friend,
Dieter Manser; they had known each other since boyhood. He'd tried hard to put
his loss out of his mind and found that so long as he was busy it was quite
easy to do. But sentry duty gave him too much time to think about Dieter's
bloodied body, the life draining from him ... He reached the north side of the
bridge, then began to walk back, the rhythmic clump of his boots loud on the
thick wooden planking.
He had passed Reitmann when a sound pulled him from
his reverie. Clasping the strap of his rifle more tightly, he listened. Then, a
short distance ahead, he saw a column of men emerge from the shadows of the
mountain, silhouetted against the pale dirt of the road. The men were marching
towards the bridge and, seeing the outline of their field caps, he relaxed. He
called to Reitmann and they strode towards the southern end of the bridge.
'Halt!' said Greiger, as the men approached. The
officer brought his men to a standstill and waited as
Greiger, with Reitmann beside him, walked towards them.
'Good evening,' said the officer. 'We've come from the
crossing-point. We've been ordered to help man the bridge.'
Greiger stared at him but it was hard to see much in
the darkness. Then he noticed the white
Edelweiss
on the side of the cap, standing out starkly in the
gloom.
'Gebirgsjager?' he asked. The officer nodded. 'May I
see your orders, sir?'
The officer said, 'Of course,' then made for a leather satchel at his
waist. Instead of producing papers, though, the officer pulled out a short
bayonet and thrust it hard into Greiger's side, under his ribs, through his
liver and into his kidney. The pain was so extreme, Greiger had only a
quarter-second of intense agony, then his body shut down. His heart seized and
the signals to his brain were severed. It was as though a switch had been
turned off. Pieter Greiger's short life was over.
At the same moment Nielssen was ending the life of the second man he
had despatched within an hour, Sergeant Tanner, beside him, had used his right
fist to knock the second sentry out cold before the German could so much as
pull back the bolt on his Mauser.
'Quick,' whispered Tanner to his men, as he grabbed
the first man's Mauser. 'Get the rest of their weapons, ammo and helmets and
drag them off the bridge. 'Mac and Hep, put these helmets on and take over
sentry duty.'
Chevannes was now standing beside him.
'Good work, Nielssen,' said Chevannes to the Norwegian. 'Now for the
truck.'
'Sir?' said Tanner.
'What now, Sergeant?'
'Sykes and I are going to blow the bridge - prevent any of those
mountain boys coming after us.'
'You don't think it might alert the enemy?' His voice was heavy with
sarcasm.
'We'll set a delay with the safety fuse.'
He dithered, then said, 'Well, be quick about it.'
'Yes, sir. If you and the men wait off the road, sir, I'll put up two
sentries.'
'Yes, yes, all right. Get a move on.'
Tanner called over McAllister and Hepworth. 'Put those Jerry helmets on
you two,' he said, 'then start walking up and down the bridge.' He hurried
over to Sykes, who was already delving in his pack, took out a packet of
Nobel's from his gas-mask case and passed it to him.
'Sarge, open it, take out two cartridges and tie them together with a
small length of fuse.'
'You think that'll be enough?' He could just see that Sykes was doing
the same with another packet.
'Yes.'
Tanner nodded. His heart was thumping in his chest again, his brittle
fingers tearing at the thin cardboard. Taking out two cartridges, he put the
remainder of the packet back into his gas-mask case, then took out the tin of
fuses. With his clasp knife, he cut a strip and tied the two cartridges
together. 'Done,' he said.
'Good,' said Sykes, fumbling with the detonators. 'How long do we want
to wait?'
'Six hundred yards to the church,' he muttered to himself,
'but we need to get in the truck and start it. On the other hand, the
distraction of the blast might be useful. Ten minutes? No - let's say eight.'
'Sure?'
'Yes, eight minutes.'
'All right - cut me a sixteen-foot length.'
Using his forearm as a measure, Tanner did so, then
passed one end to Sykes who managed to crimp the fuse to the detonators with
his teeth.
'And another length the same, Sarge,' whispered Sykes.
Suddenly Chevannes was beside them. 'Have you
finished?' he hissed.
'Almost, sir,' said Sykes.
'Hurry.' He disappeared back down the bridge as Tanner
measured another length of fuse. This time he had only counted thirteen feet
when he reached the end of the tin. 'I've run out, Stan. I'm three foot short.'
'Bollocks,' said Sykes, then scratched his head. 'All
right, here's what we do: we tie the explosives each side of the bridge rather
than at either end and run a length of fuse from one on to the main fuse. Here,
give it me.' He took one end, crimped it to the detonator, then hurried across
to the other side of the bridge. Lying down and straining over the side, he
used another short length of fuse to tie it to one of the girders. That done,
he ran back to the other side, feeding the fuse through his hands, and tied it
to the longer length. Grabbing the second batch of cartridges, he lay down
again, head and arms disappearing over the side of the bridge.
A few moments later he stood up, dusted off his hands and
said, 'All set, Sarge.'
In a loud whisper, Tanner called to McAllister and
Hepworth, then Sykes lit the fuse.
'About time,' whispered Chevannes, as they rejoined
the others. 'Same marching order, all right?'
'Sir,' said Tanner. He held the face of his watch to
the sky. He could just make out the hands. Fourteen minutes past eleven.
Christ!
he thought.
This'll be close.
A couple of minutes later they had still not reached
the first houses of the town and had gone less than two hundred yards.
Frantically trying to perform mental arithmetic, he realized they needed to
increase their pace if they were going to reach the truck before the gelignite
detonated.
'Sir,' he whispered to Nielssen, 'we need to speed
up.'
Nielssen nodded and a couple of minutes later they
reached the edge of the town. Ahead, the wooden spire of the church was
silhouetted against the sky.
Two figures emerged in front of them. Tanner felt
himself tense, but as the two men passed, they merely saluted.
Replacement sentries
, thought Tanner.
Poor bastards.
Part of him wanted to warn them
of what they were walking towards.
23.20 hours. Six minutes
gone.
Either
side of the road, sleeping houses, the night as still as ever. The church
getting closer. Tanner struggled with the overwhelming desire to run. His heart
continued to pound. Two minutes until the shooting started. Would they make it?
Or was he now facing the final moments of his life?
Stop thinking like that.
He held up his watch to the night sky again.
23.21. Seven minutes.
And there they were, two trucks
parked together, a third the far side of the church. Nielssen halted them.
'Sir, we might as well take both these trucks,'
whispered Tanner to Chevannes, standing directly behind him. 'More fuel and in
case anything happens.'
'D'accord
,' said Chevannes.
Suddenly figures appeared before them, calling out.
Christ, sentries
, thought Tanner. Nielssen spoke
to them. How many? Tanner couldn't see but he had his rifle off his shoulder
and felt in his haversack for a grenade.
'Lads, get ready,' he hissed.
A German soldier stepped forward, his tone aggressive,
angry even. The moon now drifted clear of a cloud. It did not have much light
to offer but it was enough for Tanner to see half a dozen men round the trucks.
He glanced at his watch.
23.22. Eight minutes.
Where the hell was the
explosion? Had the fuse gone out? Had he miscounted? A bead of sweat ran down
his back but he felt a chill at the nape of his neck.
Come on, come on.