Authors: James Holland
'Time to go,' said Tanner.
They ran back to the Marines' lines and watched as the
enemy cautiously approached. Germans shouted as they reached the gaps in the
road, then pressed on, spreading out through the trees. Soon after, as Tanner
and his men wove their way through the Marines' positions, they heard a small
explosion and another scream.
McAllister grinned. 'That's one trip they didn't
notice.'
Crouching beside one of the Marines' Bren crews,
Tanner took a bead on one of the jelly-mounds. A short distance beyond he could
make out some enemy troops darting from tree to tree. 'Come on, Jerry,' he
muttered, 'a bit closer.'
Now.
As he squeezed the trigger, the tracer round hurtled
down the rifle's barrel at a little under two and a half thousand feet per
second, smacked straight into the cartridge of gelignite and exploded
instantly. Several men disintegrated with the blast, while others were flung
through the air, limbs torn from them. A half- minute later, Tanner had
detonated a second. Trees caught fire, enemy troops cried out and then, as the
first Germans came into range of the Marines' Lewis and Bren guns, the chatter
of small-arms rang out around the valley.
A tank was now squeaking and scraping its way forward,
trundling at a steep angle round the side of the trucks. It was huge, larger
than any Tanner had seen before. Pausing to watch, he followed it as it edged
its way towards the first of the fallen trees.
'Come on, my lovely,' said Tanner. 'A bit closer.' He
glanced round and saw that his men were crouching beside him, watching too.
The tank drew within twenty yards of the first of the
felled trees, then opened fire at point-blank range. Immediately a huge ball of
flame erupted into the sky followed by a second explosion as the tank's
magazine detonated. The dark shape of the turret was silhouetted against the
flames as it was propelled into the air. Thick black smoke engulfed the road
and railway line and swept across the river, and then, as indistinct figures
emerged through the smoke, the machine guns opened fire again. But the enemy
infantry pressed on. Half a dozen ran straight down the road towards them,
shouting as they came.
'The mad bastards,' said Tanner, carefully drawing his
rifle to his shoulder and taking aim at the lone gelignite box now directly in
front of the advancing soldiers. He fired, the gelignite exploded, and when the
smoke cleared, the six men were gone. So, too, were the rest of the attackers,
who had slipped back behind the cover of the smoke.
The attack had been stopped dead.
The small band of Marines and Rangers now waited.
Pacing up and down through the trees, Tanner peered ahead through the smoke and
haze, straining his eyes for any sign of the enemy. The tank still burned,
thick black smoke pitching high into the valley. 'Where are those bastards?' he
muttered. An eerie quiet had descended across the valley. A cough from someone
beside him, a chink of metal, but no one spoke. He saw the exhausted and tense
expressions on the faces of his men and on those of the Marines nearby.
Minutes ticked past. Sykes passed round a packet of
cigarettes. Tanner smoked, looked at his watch for the twentieth time in as
many minutes, then said, 'Damn it,' and strode towards Lieutenant Lindsay's
sangar.
'Any news, sir?' he asked.
'None, Sergeant, I'm afraid. Perhaps Jerry's called it
off for the night.'
'Maybe,' said Tanner. 'I just wish that damned train
would leave.' He looked at his watch:
20.21.
He walked back to his men, and as he approached
Sykes, he stopped suddenly and cocked his ear.
'What is it, Sarge?' asked Sykes.
'Listen.' The faint, but increasingly distinct sound
of engines. Aero-engines.
They could all hear them now, the sound rising to
deafening roar.
Jesus,
thought Tanner,
how many is that?
A dozen at least. The aircraft
were above them now, and through the trees and the thinning smoke, he saw a
formation of Stukas high above them. As he craned his neck, the first flipped
over on to its back and dived, siren howling, then the next, and the next, and
the one after that, until the air was rent by the crescendo wail of their
diving scream. Tanner lay flat on the ground, his hands clasping his tin helmet
to his head as bombs hurtled towards them.
Explosions, an ear-splitting clatter, one after
another. Tanner heard the scream of one man, then was lifted clean off the
ground and smacked back down again, the air knocked clean from his lungs. He
gasped, debris and grit tinkling on to his hands and helmet, and pattering through
the branches above. Suddenly he noticed he could no longer hear. He could feel
the pulse of the bombs rippling through the ground, could see the flash of
orange and thick clouds of smoke, but there was no sound. Daring to look up he
saw two Marines crouching in their sangar not forty yards from him as another
falling bomb seemed to detonate right on top of them. Tanner ducked again as
debris sprayed him. When he raised his head and the smoke cleared, he saw the
men had gone, their sangar replaced by a large hole in the ground. There was
something wet on his hand - a glob of gore. 'Christ,' he said to himself, and
wiped it off. Five yards ahead the bloodied face of one of the Marines lay
among the dried pine needles. Of the rest of the head and body, there was no
sign.
His ears began to ring, a high, piercing whine, then
sound returned. The sirens of the Stukas had gone but, he realized, shells were
now ranging in towards them from the south. 'Rangers!' he shouted, and began to
run between the trees. He found Hepworth vomiting, then saw Sykes and
McAllister. Another artillery shell fizzed over and exploded behind them.
'Where are the others?' he yelled.
Sykes pointed to Bell and Chambers, taking cover a
short distance behind, then spotted Kershaw half running, half crouching,
towards him. 'Keep looking out for the infantry,' he shouted.
A glance at his watch:
20.42. Bloody hell
, he thought. Artillery shells
continued to smash through the trees and along the valley, and there were
mortars, too, popping down, almost with no warning, blasting deadly shards of
shredded metal.
'We can't hold out here much longer, Sarge,' said
Sykes.
'No,' agreed Tanner, 'I just hope to Christ that
train's gone now the Stukas have buggered off.'
A shrill single whistle blast rang out, and as one the
Marines moved from their positions and hurried backwards.
'Rangers!' shouted Tanner again, at a second whistle
blast. 'Fall back!'
A shell screamed above them and now the burp of a
Spandau and the crack of rifle fire could be heard. As Tanner began to run, he
turned to see shadowy figures emerging through the smoke. 'They're coming,' he
yelled, then a flash of orange and more screams as another trip-wire was
detonated. He paused briefly, squatting on his haunches, and using his scope,
aimed at one of the remaining jelly-mounds. Bullets whiffled through the air,
zapping through branches and slapping into the ground around him. Spotting the
stick of gelignite, he aimed his rifle as troops materialized through the
smoke. Tanner squeezed the trigger, watching the tracer trail slice through
the air and hit the explosive. A ball of flame erupted. He turned and ran, more
bullets hissing and slicing around him.
A searing pain scorched his neck and he stumbled,
crashing to the ground. Gasping he put up a hand. It came back red with blood.
Someone grabbed his shoulders and yanked him to his feet. Sykes and Hepworth
were beside him.
'Can you still run, Sarge?' yelled Sykes.
Tanner nodded.
'Then run!'
The three sprinted through the trees until at last the
bullets were no longer following them. Ahead was a clearing and Tanner groggily
saw trucks pulling out.
He stumbled again. A hand grabbed his collar and urged
him forward. 'Come on, Sarge, nearly there!'
Sykes.
Tanner's neck stung like hell,
his chest was so tight he thought it would burst, and his legs felt as though
they had turned to jelly. A shell whistled over, and another landed a hundred
yards to the right. The trucks were leaving.
One left.
Men leaning out, arms
outstretched. Tanner cried out, then sped towards it. Suddenly his hand was
clutching the wood of the tailgate and he was being pulled aboard.
He collapsed on to his back as the truck rattled away
out of the clearing and sped on to the road, away from the carnage and turmoil
of battle. Grimacing he clutched his neck. Sykes and Lieutenant Lindsay were
staring down at him.
'The trains? Have they gone?' he asked.
The captain nodded. 'Yes, Sergeant. They have.'
Tanner closed his eyes briefly. 'Thank God for that.'
'Here, Sarge,' said Sykes, handing him a field
dressing. Tanner sat up and, still short of breath, hoisted himself on to the
wooden bench. As he pressed the bandage to his neck he saw that all six of his
men were among the Marines.
Thank Christ.
'Let's have a look at you, Sarge,' said Sykes. He
pushed Tanner's head forward. 'It's just grazed you. You'll live. Here, let me
wrap that bandage round it.'
As he began to breathe more easily, Tanner felt his
composure return. His neck hurt, but his mind had cleared. His legs no longer
felt weak. As Sykes bandaged him, Tanner gazed at his men: Hepworth and
Kershaw, McAllister, Bell and Chambers. McAllister and Hepworth were by the
tailgate, scanning the skies for aircraft; he'd not even asked them to do that.
They were becoming soldiers, he thought. Not kids any more.
'You did damned well there,' said Lieutenant Lindsay,
sitting opposite him, 'you and your men. If it hadn't been for your
pyrotechnics, I'm not so sure we'd have held them off.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'And it was a pretty close-run thing.'
'But you know for certain that the trains went, sir?'
The Captain smiled. 'Yes, Sergeant. I had a clear line
throughout. They left after the Stukas went. And we haven't had any more visits
from the Luftwaffe, so they'll be there already.'
They fell into silence as the truck rumbled on. They
had left the Germans and the enemy artillery behind, and were within touching
distance of safety, yet just one enemy attack from the air could end their
chances. Tanner smoked almost continuously, until his throat, already sore from
the thick smoke of battle, was so dry he could barely speak. He tapped his feet
and drummed his fingers, patted the wound on his neck and stowed his father's
old scope in his haversack. But the truck would not go any faster, however much
he might wish otherwise.
At last, after nearly an hour, they emerged from the
valley, and there, nestling at the water's edge beneath a thick pall of smoke,
stood the tiny port of Andalsnes.
The town was a wreck, hardly any houses standing; most
had been reduced to little more than charred, blackened remains. Thick,
cloying smoke hung heavy on the air. The harbour teemed with exhausted troops,
but there was no sign of the ships. Tanner and his men jumped down from the
truck.
'Thank you, sir,' he said, offering his hand to
Lieutenant Lindsay, 'but we must leave you here. We need to find the
Norwegians.'
Lieutenant Lindsay shook his hand. 'I hope our paths
cross again, Sergeant. Good luck.'
They left the Marines and headed down a rubble- strewn
road towards the quayside. 'Stick close to me, boys, and keep your eyes peeled.
We've got to find them.'
'Why, Sarge?' said McAllister. 'They'll be here somewhere.'
Tanner turned on him. 'I'll tell you why, Mac. Because
we've lost good men for that professor. We've hacked over mountains and across
lakes, been strafed, bombed and shot at, and I'm damned if I'm going to leave
this God-forsaken place without knowing that they're here and safely on a
ship.'
His head throbbed and now that he was on his legs once
more, the depth of his post-battle fatigue weighed down on him. Ahead, as they
reached the quayside, all he could see was a sea of men.
Jesus,
he thought,
how are we ever going to
find them?
They pushed their way through amid angry cries from equally exhausted and
irritable men. 'We're looking for three Norwegians,' he said. 'Two men and a
girl? Anyone seen them?' It was hopeless asking, he knew.