The Odin Mission sjt-1 Read online

  Chevannes' cheek muscles were twitching and his lips moved as though he was about to answer. Instead, he merely barked orders that they were to get going and take the prisoners with them.

  They set off in a column, the prisoners carrying Riggs and the wounded Frenchman on stretchers made from rifles and greatcoats, between Chevannes' and two of Tanner's men. Lieutenant Larsen was in front, keeping his distance from Zellner and the other prisoners. It was, Tanner guessed, still a few degrees above freezing, helped by the toneless grey cloud that covered the sky; he wondered whether it would snow again. The air was crisp, and although the light was fading, there was still a couple of hours' daylight ahead.

  Every so often, Chevannes paused to scan the area with his binoculars, then they moved on again. Tanner wondered what the French lieutenant had decided. He wanted to suggest they talk to the Norwegians, find a farm in which to lie up for a while and make a properly considered plan. His men had endured so much over the past two days; he felt they had a right to know where they were heading now and how much longer they could expect to tramp through the snow.

  They had been going for almost half an hour when Chevannes stopped again, peered through his binoculars, then told them to head up the mountain, out of the main treeline and towards the open plateau. The men groaned, but even with his naked eye, Tanner could see the seter through the trees above and smiled to himself. Perhaps Chevannes was starting to listen.

  'Not another night in a God-forsaken bloody hut,' said Hepworth. 'Honestly, Sarge, I’m done for here.'

  'You're all right, Hep,' said Tanner. 'I'm sure Mr Chevannes knows what he's doing.'

  'You've changed your tune,' Sykes said, in a low voice.

  'Only because it's what I told him we should do,' Tanner replied. 'We're going to ditch the prisoners in that basha up there.' He pointed to the wooden seter through the trees above.

  'Kill 'em?'

  'No, just tie 'em up. And I also suggested it might be a good idea to find a farm with food and somewhere half decent to rest for a while.'

  'Too bloody right. Let's hope he listens to that too.'

  On reaching the hut, Chevannes ordered the prisoners to be herded inside. He looked at Larsen. 'Let Tanner do it, Lieutenant,' he said. Larsen glared at Zellner, then walked a short way back down the slope.

  Tanner pushed the prisoners inside. Using bootlaces and some of his and Sykes's fuse cable, they bound the men. As they were doing so, Tanner noticed that the German officer, Captain Zellner, still had his binoculars round his neck and his empty holster at his side.

  'I'll take those,' said Tanner, lifting the Zeiss binoculars over Zellner's head and removing the holster and bullet pouches from his belt.

  Zellner stared at him, then at his rifle, and noticed the scope mounts next to the breech. 'A sniper rifle,' he said in English. Tanner met his gaze. 'I'll not forget this, Tanner,' said Zellner. 'And next time I see you, I will kill you.'

  'I'm sure you will.' He smiled. 'In the meantime, my apologies for what I'm about to do.' He drew his hand into a fist and rammed it into Zellner's temple. The German gasped and lost consciousness.

  'Bloody 'ell, Sarge! Where d'you learn to do that?' asked Sykes.

  'The Army can teach you a lot, Corporal,' Tanner replied, 'including how to box. Damned useful. I must say, I don't really like knocking someone out like that but he's a filthy piece of work and he threatened to kill me. And we don't want them following us too soon, do we?'

  'No, course not.'

  Tanner looked at Zellner carefully. 'Hit too hard and in the wrong place,' he told Sykes, 'and you can kill a man.

  Too soft and you'll do very little damage at all. One blow, that's what you want. Short, sharp and very much to the point. He might not forget me, but he'll not want to remember the headache when he comes round.'

  With the Germans tied and left in the seter, the men retraced their steps until they were back among the trees, clear of the plateau. Chevannes called a halt. 'We'll rest a moment,' he said.

  Larsen walked over to Tanner. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I behaved badly ... back there with that German.'

  'No need to apologize, sir.'

  'It was my fault,' he said. 'We stopped at my cousin's farm and took his truck. I didn't think at the time, but I should have done. It was obvious the Germans would come back and find it gone.'

  'And you think they took your cousin?'

  'I do not know. I had thought they might have killed him.' He shrugged. 'I am not sure now. Maybe he was telling the truth. I was angry - but more angry with myself.' He sighed. 'It has been preying on my mind, you see. I just wish I knew. I wish I could find out that he is all right.' He looked up at Tanner. 'Anyway, I wanted to explain.' He wiped his brow.

  Tanner nodded. 'Thank you, sir,' he said, then moved a few steps and leant against a tree next to Sandvold. The Norwegian grimaced as he slipped off his rucksack. He was as white as a ghost, and Tanner realized that, despite his preoccupation with getting them all to safety, he had not thought about Sandvold's physical condition. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder. 'Are you all right?' he asked.

  'I am tired, that is all,' he replied. 'I am forty-seven, after all. You boys - you are all in the prime of youth. This has been a long trek for a man of my age.' He smiled weakly, then gasped and slumped against the tree. Tanner caught him, crouched, and rested Sandvold's head against his rucksack.

  'My God, what has happened to him?' Larsen had hurried over and now stood beside them.

  Nielssen joined them. 'Is he all right?' he asked, frowning.

  Tanner felt for a pulse. 'He's passed out, that's all.' He took out the flask of schnapps and tipped it into Sandvold's mouth. The Norwegian spluttered, coughed and opened his eyes. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'What must you think of me?'

  'It's all right,' said Tanner. 'Drink a bit more of this.' He gave Sandvold the flask, then stood up beside the two Norwegians. 'None of us can go much further tonight. We need to find somewhere to rest properly. Get some food - preferably hot.'

  'But what about reaching the Allies?' asked Nielssen.

  'They're not in Tretten any more. They've fallen back.' He sighed. 'We need a new plan.'

  Larsen said, 'You are right, Sergeant. I know I could do with a proper rest. If we keep going like this, none of us will make it, let alone Professor Sandvold.'

  Professor? Tanner looked down at him - the gaunt face, unkempt moustache, the dark rings and wrinkles round the eyes. Just what was this man's secret? He wondered whether he would ever know.

  'I'll talk to Chevannes,' said Larsen.

  'There are farmsteads along this side of the valley,' added Nielssen. 'It's west-facing here so they will be quite high.'

  'We must be careful,' said Tanner. 'With the Germans in the valley, it'll be hard to know who to trust. There'll be a lot at stake for the civilians.'

  'I doubt we will find many pro-Germans up here, if that is what you mean,' said Nielssen.

  Tanner yawned. 'I suppose there's risk with every move we make. It's a matter of balancing that risk. Right now, we need rest urgently. If that means we have to take our chance with some farmer, then so be it.'

  'Hot food.' Nielssen smiled. 'I would risk a lot for that right now.'

  It began to snow, only lightly, but Tanner was pleased to see the flakes drifting down from the blanket of grey above them. There was, of course, every chance that Zellner and his men would free themselves and get off the mountain, despite the strength of the fuse and the tightness with which he and Sykes had bound them. And then what? It wouldn't take them long to get down to the valley, where they would fetch help and begin to search the mountain once more. Had it been a cold, clear night, the enemy would have found their tracks with ease. They should have killed the prisoners, he reflected, but he knew he would have had no stomach for murdering men in cold blood, and neither would his men. War was cruel and hard, but there were still some lines that could not be crossed.

  He tilted his face to th
e sky and felt the flakes land and dissolve. At least the snow would hide their tracks. That was something.

  He now saw Sandvold lift himself to his feet, then reach back to the tree for support. 'Shall I get you a stick, Professor? Would that help?'

  'Thank you, yes.'

  Tanner picked up a fallen pine branch, cut off the loose twigs with his sword bayonet, than handed it to him.

  'Thank you, Sergeant.' He straightened his back, grimaced, then said, 'You know, I never in my wildest dreams imagined anything like this.'

  'Having to escape the Germans?'

  'Yes, if you like, but Norway being at war. It's so incredible. We may have been Norsemen once, Sergeant Tanner, but that was a long, long time ago. We have forgotten how to fight. We are a peaceful nation - a nation that makes no claim on other land and wants no part in other people's arguments. All my life, Norway has been like this - a neutral country. While you were destroying each other twenty years ago, we Norwegians were getting on with our lives. And yet here we are, tramping across a mountain at dawn, praying we will not be captured and shot.' He shook his head. 'Do you have a family, Sergeant?' he asked suddenly.

  'No,' Tanner replied. 'Only the Army.'

  'A bachelor like me,' Sandvold smiled, 'wedded to your work. But I do have a mother still alive. At least, I pray she is. I was supposed to leave Oslo, you know,' he added, 'told to leave the moment the invasion began, but my mother would not come with me. She said she was too old to run away and that she was not sure she wanted to live if she could not stay in our home in Oslo. Well, it has been her home for more than fifty years, so I suppose she had a point. I felt I could not leave her - my own mother, how could I? And then one day Colonel Gulbrand arrived with three men and suddenly the matter was no longer in my hands. My mother wept when I left. It is ridiculous, I know, but I am worried about her and I know she will be worried about me. And all because of my work - work that I thought would benefit Norway. Now I discover that what I know is so valuable that my own countrymen will kill me rather than let me fall into enemy hands.' He sighed again. 'There has been much time to think since I left Oslo - since I left my mother weeping at the door of the house. And if I am honest,' he chuckled mirthlessly, 'I have drawn few conclusions, except that everything I believed in and thought to be right seems to have been turned on its head. It is as though a kind of madness has descended. The war is like a plague or flood or some other biblical pestilence. It rips our world apart, bringing nothing but suffering and, it seems to me, achieving very little. I pray it will be over soon, but that seems unlikely, yes?'

  'God only knows,' said Tanner.

  'What am I trying to say to you, Sergeant? I am saying that I would be most grateful if you could get me to safety. I want to help my country, not become a martyr for her. And I also want to live for the sake of my mother, if that is not too sentimental.'

  'Why are you asking me this?' asked Tanner. 'Lieutenant Chevannes is in charge. And there are two of your countrymen to guard you too.'

  Sandvold smiled. 'Yes, I like your use of the word. It makes me feel rather like a prisoner, which I suppose in a way I am. But I am saying this to you because I know what Colonel Gulbrand told you. Yes, I know. I left you and Gulbrand to talk, but I heard every word. And, as it happens, I agree with him. You are evidently a highly capable soldier, Sergeant. Even a pacifist like me can see that.'

  'Thank you,' said Tanner quietly. 'Then you will have heard me give Gulbrand my word, which stands now as it did then. I can't promise anything, Professor, but I'll do my best.'

  Whether it was what Tanner had said earlier, or the snow, or whether Chevannes had been persuaded by the Norwegians, the French lieutenant appeared to agree that they should find a farmstead in which to lie up and rest. They were now a couple of miles north of Tretten, beneath a peak known as the Vangsberget, and following the course of another shallow ravine. Now several hundred feet below the lip of the high plateau, they were walking through increasingly dense forest, so dark that the only glimpse of daylight came from above the mountain stream. They emerged along the top of a mountain pasture. The snow had stopped falling. At the far end of the field there was an old gate and beyond that a path, clearly well trodden.

  Nielssen and Larsen led them along the track, which wound its way in a series of hairpin bends, then straightened out and ended at an old farmstead. It looked much like the others Tanner had seen, a large barn with a bright red tin roof and a stone ramp leading to the first floor, a cluster of other outbuildings and a main house of white clapperboard with a high pitched roof and carvings along the edges.

  As they had the previous evening, the two Norwegian officers approached cautiously while the rest waited. The promise of warmth and food was intoxicating. Tanner watched Larsen and Nielssen reach the front, and heard a dog bark. His stomach churned with hunger.

  Anxious minutes. Tanner could see the tension and exhaustion on the faces of every man. And there were the wounded to think of too - Riggs, Saxby and the French Chasseur. All three had shown stoic fortitude as they had been roughly carried over and down the mountain. The Frenchman had a bullet through the leg, but while none of the wounds were yet serious, Tanner was keenly aware they soon would be. His rudimentary antiseptic had not worked on Gulbrand and there was every chance it would fail these lads too. They needed proper help if they were to avoid gangrene and septicaemia - merciless killers both.

  The valley was quiet. Tretten village, a short way to the south, was hidden from view, as were the road and railway below, but Tanner could see the river, now widening into a lake, and beyond, the densely forested valley sides.

  A figure appeared at the door - Larsen - and beckoned them in. Relief.

  'Bloody hooray,' grinned Sykes, who, with Hepworth, picked up the wounded Riggs. 'All right, Riggsy?' he said. 'Soon have you cleaned up, mate.'

  Riggs smiled. 'Cheers, Corp,' he said.

  A middle-aged man with greying hair, an unshaven chin and a large moustache stood anxiously by the doorway, his eyes darting from one man to another. He wore an old corduroy jacket, wool trousers and boots, and chewed one of his fingers as the men came towards him. Muttering to Larsen in Norwegian, he walked towards the large barn.

  'Follow him,' said Larsen, 'including the wounded. He wants you all in there.'

  The farmer scampered deftly up the stone ramp and opened one of the twin doors at the top, then swung his arm in a sweeping motion - in you go - until the men followed.

  'The wounded need help right away,' Tanner told Larsen.

  Larsen nodded. 'His wife and daughter are coming. They're bringing some bread and water first, then some hot water and bandages.'

  The wounded had been set against one side of the barn, packs propping up their heads. They lay on the greatcoats that had been used as stretchers just a short while before. It was dark in there and dusty, the smell of dried hay and straw mixing with the stench of animal dung below. Tanner joined Sykes and eased off his packs. A burden released. He felt in his haversack for Zellner's pistol. It was a Walther, a neat semiautomatic that fitted comfortably in his hand. Loading it with a new clip of eight rounds, he put it into its holster. The men were quiet, too exhausted to speak. Tanner noticed that a Frenchman was already asleep on the straw, curled up, his rifle by his side.

  So, too, was Sandvold. Beside him, Nielssen was looking through his rucksack. He saw Tanner watching him, then brought it closer to him and pulled the cord tight. Tanner wondered what he was hiding. Crown jewels and papers, or something more? What was the real story behind these Norwegians? He thought about Sandvold. He was curious - damned curious. What was that man's big secret? Had he invented some new terror weapon? It was hard to know what to think, but certainly the boffins had been busy over the past few years. The advances in aircraft, tanks and other war materiel was astonishing. They'd noticed the pace of change less in India and Palestine but he had found returning home that January quite an eye-opener: the world had moved on while he had bee
n away. There had certainly been no Spitfires or even Hurricanes in the Middle East, let alone in India, yet suddenly there they were in Britain, completely different from anything Tanner had ever seen before. And so sleek and fast, rolling about the sky at more than three hundred miles an hour, a speed that had seemed impossible not so long ago. They made the old Bulldogs and Harts that Tanner had been used to seem horribly slow and outmoded. Even the bombers were now monoplanes, made entirely from stressed metal. And the size of them! It was still a wonder to Tanner that those beasts were able to leave the ground at all.

  So perhaps that was what it was, Tanner thought. Sandvold had invented something that could be used as an earth-shattering weapon, one that would change the course of the war. And if that was the case, the sooner Britain got to use it the better, because here in Norway the Army was getting a pasting.

  He lay back against his pack. The inside of the barn was much like any other, with its ageing beams, grain on the wooden floor, dust and distinctive smell. He closed his eyes, sighed, and thought of home and his childhood. They'd used to climb along the joists, he and the other lads on the estate; and once they were given a hiding for doing so. He could remember the sting of Mr Gulliver's belt even now.