Authors: James Holland
'It's the only
brick building around, a few hundred yards behind by the road. And it's a Joint
HQ for all three battalions. The bastards have been dropping incendiaries to
smoke them out, so follow the line of charred houses.'
Another shell
hurtled over and they fell flat on the ground again. It exploded seventy yards
further on, the noise deafening as the report echoed off the imposing
Balberkamp. Tanner thanked the officer and then, with Hepworth, hurried
forward. Men were still trying frantically to dig holes in the thin soil,
officers and NCOs were shouting orders, while others were hastily laying down
wire and building makeshift sangars. The early-afternoon air was still, heavy
with the smell of cordite and smoke.
They found Joint HQ easily. One house nearby was still burning, thick
smoke rising into the sky, another was burnt to the ground, while a third had a
collapsed roof. A number of pines were still crackling with flames, their
blackened branches bare of needles.
Outside, several civilian cars were parked haphazardly in the mud and
slush. Tanner recognized one as the vehicle in which Captain Webb had made good
his escape. In the yard beside the house there were a number of foldaway tables
on which stood a line of field telephones, lines of cable extending across the
snow. Evidently at least one was suffering from a break in the line as an exasperated
Leicesters officer was cursing his inability to get through to his men. Runners
reached the house as others headed through the trees towards the company
positions.
'You stay out here, Hep,' said Tanner, pushing his way through the
throng of clerks and other headquarters staff. His boots squelched on the mud.
It was not cold, but the sky was overcast and grey and the snow was melting.
Drips ran off the edge of the roof and from the branches of the trees. Indeed,
Tanner now felt hot after his exertions, and he wiped the sweat from his
forehead before he stepped inside HQ.
There was pandemonium. The house smelt musty, of coffee, sweat and damp
clothes. In a room off the hallway, a number of men, including Norwegians,
were peering at a map. Another Leicesters officer brushed past him, then Tanner
spotted Lieutenant Wrightson, the battalion intelligence officer, sitting on
the corner of a table in a room at the end of the hallway. Tanner knocked
lightly on the open door.
Wrightson looked up. 'Yes?'
'I've been told to report to Battalion CO, sir, regarding what I've
seen of enemy troop movements.'
Wrightson disappeared to fetch Colonel Chisholm.
A few moments later the colonel appeared with Captain Webb. 'Tanner,
what the bloody hell are you doing here?' asked Webb. 'Shouldn't you be with
the rest of your platoon?'
'All right, Captain, that will do,' said Colonel Chisholm. He was a
tall man in his mid-forties, with a trim moustache above his lip and dark eyes.
A North Yorkshire landowner and Member of Parliament, he, too, was new to war.
'What have you got for me, Sergeant? ‘I think Private Hepworth and I were the
last out of Lillehammer, sir. We saw a tank entering the station with a number
of accompanying troops, then a long column of motorized infantry deploying out
of the town. The lead trucks had guns attached to the back. Only small ones,
though. Anti-tank guns, I should say.'
The colonel ran his hand through his hair as Tanner spoke, then chewed
one of his fingernails. 'How many tanks do you think they've got?'
'Hard to say, sir. There was one entering the station yard and another
not far behind, but I heard the tracks of others as we were heading out of the
town.'
'Good God,' muttered Chisholm. 'And now they'll have taken our stores.
Damn it, Webb, why the hell didn't you blow them first?'
'There wasn't time, sir,' said Webb, defiantly. 'We were loading until
the last minute, trying to salvage as much as we could, and then Jerry was upon
us.'
Tanner shifted his feet. 'Excuse me, sir, but Private Hepworth and I
managed to destroy the stores.'
'What the devil are you talking about, Tanner?' said Webb.
'We poured petrol over them, sir, and blew them up.'
'Oh, really? And what were the enemy doing while this was happening,
Sergeant?'
'Getting burnt and shot, sir.'
Colonel Chisholm smiled. 'Good man, Tanner. Well, that's something at
least.' He squinted at his watch. 'All right, Sergeant, you'd better hurry back
to your position. I think you'll have a chance to get a few more rounds off
before long.' The colonel strode past him, presumably to inform his fellow
battalion commanders, but as Tanner was about to leave, Webb grabbed his arm.
'I don't appreciate being humiliated like that,' he hissed.
Tanner clenched his fist. He had a strong desire to hit Webb, knock him
to the floor, but instead he glowered at the man, yanked his arm free, then
left the room. Outside, Hepworth was waiting for him. 'Come on,' growled
Tanner. 'Let's go.'
They left the road to head through the trees and across the thinning
snow. It was still in the woodland, and Tanner paused briefly to light
cigarettes for himself and Hepworth. He passed one to the private and breathed
in the smell of tobacco mixed with burning pinewood. A brief release of tension
spread through him. Somewhere they heard the chatter of Bren light
machine-guns, and a moment later another Junkers roared over, its twin engines
louder than ever in their close surroundings. A split second later came the
whistle of falling incendiaries, and once again Tanner and Hepworth flung
themselves face down into the snow. A deafening ripple of explosions erupted a
short distance behind them and the ground shuddered. Shards of shrapnel and
splinters of wood pattered nearby, followed by the crackle of burning branches.
Lifting himself to his feet once more, Tanner saw his crumpled
cigarette in the snow. 'Bugger it!' He glanced across at Hepworth.
'I reckon it's dangerous being near you, Sarge,' said the private, as
he brushed snow from his battle dress.
'You're alive, aren't you?'
'Yes, but only just. Look, Sarge, my hands are shaking.' He held them
out to show Tanner. 'I don't think I'm cut out for war.'
Tanner could not help smiling. 'Another beadie will sort you out,' he
said, pulling out his packet of cigarettes again. A moment before he had
thought to save his last precious few, but now his resolve was weakening. In
truth, he needed a good smoke himself. 'Just don't go telling the rest of the
lads or they'll think I've gone soft,' he said.
They found B Company soon after, strung out between the trees on the
lower, more gentle slopes at the foot of the Balberkamp, next to a company of
Norwegian troops. Men were attempting to dig in here too, hacking away at the
shallow soil with their short spades, building sangars from stone, bits of
wood, and anything else that could be salvaged. Shells continued to whistle
over at intervals, but were landing further towards the road so the men were no
longer bothering even to duck, let alone fall flat on the ground.
Number Four Platoon held the end of the line. Each of the three
sections was trying to make their own defences - a sangar of sorts for the Bren
team and whatever holes in the ground they could manage. Tanner was in
despair. Nothing he had seen since reaching their lines had convinced him they
had the remotest chance of holding off the enemy, and the efforts of his own
platoon, only recently arrived at the position, were the worst of them all.
What good were a few stones and a hole barely deep enough to lie flat in against
tanks, guns and especially aircraft? What was it the brass knew that he didn't?
Perhaps reinforcements were on their way. Perhaps the RAF. Perhaps another
shipment of transport and guns had already docked and was driving towards them.
He sighed, pushed his helmet to the back of his head and looked around for
Lieutenant Dingwall.
The subaltern had seen him first, however, and strode over from his
newly sited platoon headquarters between two close-together pine trees. 'There
you are, Tanner. You took your bloody time. If I'd known you were going to be
so long I'd never have let you take Hepworth - I've had to use Calder as my
runner instead. Where the devil have you been?'
'I'm sorry, Mr Dingwall,' said Tanner. 'We got a bit held up and then I
was ordered to report to Joint HQ.'
'Well, all right, but I need you here now. We've got a lot to do on
these defences, so get digging.'
'What about reinforcements, sir?'
'Some Norwegian troops have joined us.'
'I saw them, but with all respect, they're not going to manage much,
are they? They've got less equipment than us and most of them have only been in
uniform a fortnight. Where's the heavy stuff? Have you heard anything, sir?'
Dingwall shook his head. 'Apparently there's another company of
Leicesters on its way - they got left behind somehow at Rosyth, but Captain
Cartwright heard from the IO that another supply ship's gone down.'
'For God's sake!' Tanner was exasperated.
'Rather you didn't spread that about, though, all right?' added the
lieutenant, in a lower voice.
'My God, sir,' said Tanner, 'this is madness. What the hell are we
going to achieve?'
'Keep your voice down, Sergeant,' said Dingwall, sharply. 'We're
playing for time. Trying to keep the enemy at bay and help the Norwegians.'
'Then why not keep them at bay a hundred miles back towards Andalsnes?
We've got a hundred-and-fifty-mile supply line here, with no guns to speak of,
no bloody tanks, no trucks, and one piddling railway line that Jerry will knock
out in no time if he hasn't already. And look at the men, sir. They're
exhausted. When did we last have some proper grub? It's insanity.'
'We've got to do what we can, Sergeant,' said Dingwall. 'Captain
Cartwright has been promised that hot food will be issued tonight. In the
meantime, we must make do with what limited battle rations we've still got.'
Tanner knew there was no chance of any hot meal that day - how would it
reach them? Captain Cartwright had been fobbed off, of course he had, but there
was no point in saying any more to the lieutenant. He'd said his piece, got it
off his chest, only it hadn't made him feel any better. Rather, a new wave of
weariness spread over him.
'I'd like you to take over the end of the line and make sure our
defences are up to scratch,' said Lieutenant Dingwall.
Tanner saluted, and wandered through the trees until he found Corporal
Sykes and his section.
'Afternoon, Sarge,' said Sykes, cheerfully.
Tanner was pleased to see that Sykes had made the most of a large rock
and a pine tree for positioning the Bren. Other, smaller, rocks had been
brought over, and branches carefully placed so that the machine-gun was almost
entirely hidden from forward view. 'Good work, Stan,' he said, as he eased off
his pack and haversack.
Sykes grinned. 'Try digging, though, Sarge. It's flippin' 'ard rock
they 'ave 'ere.' Sykes put down his entrenching tool and stood up. From his
battle blouse he pulled out some chocolate, broke it in two and offered half to
Tanner. 'Superior stuff this, Sarge.'
'Thanks. I'm starving. Just what I need. Where d'you get it?'
Sykes tapped his nose. 'Trade secrets . . . Well, actually, I got it
from some Norwegian bloke in Lillehammer. Said he'd rather give it to us than
have it stolen by Nazis.'
Tanner smiled. 'Makes for better tiffin than hard tack, that's for sure.'
He liked Sykes. Of slight build and with short, mousy hair slicked to his skull
with brilliantine, he was, as Tanner had discovered, far stronger than he
looked. Sykes was sharp too - always ready with a quick reply - and he was the
only man other than himself in the company who hadn't come from Yorkshire.
Rather, he was a Londoner, from Deptford, as he had proudly admitted the first
time they had met. Tanner had sensed an unspoken affinity between them, in part
because he regarded himself and Sykes as outsiders. Every time Tanner opened
his mouth, he revealed the soft remnants of a West Country burr that had not
left him even after so many years away. Sykes's South London accent was even
more marked among the thick Yorkshire tones of the other rankers.
He took out his spade and was about to start helping Sykes and the
other men in the section when a Messerschmitt 110 pounded overhead, strafing
their positions. There was no need to tell anyone what to do: they all hurled
themselves flat on the ground as bullets kicked up gouts of earth and snow,
shards of stone, and snicked through branches above. Tanner heard a bullet
ricochet from the rock beside him and a tiny sliver of stone nicked the back of
his hand.
It was over in a trice and, cursing, Tanner got to his feet once more.
His hand was bleeding. 'This is a bloody Goddamn joke!' he said. Angrily, he
picked up his spade and hacked at the ground behind Sykes's Bren post. As the
corporal had warned, the spade cut through a few inches of soil, then hit rock.
Repeatedly, he tried to find an area where the soil might be deeper, but every
time it was the same. Rock.
'Who gave us these poxy spades anyway?' he barked at Sykes. 'Bloody
useless, they are. What was wrong with the old pick-and-mattock tool we used to
have? I wouldn't want one of these at the bloody seaside, let alone in the
middle of sodding Norway.' He dug in the spade and the wooden handle snapped.
With a curse, he flung what was left of it behind him.