The Odin Mission sjt-1 Read online

  From the upstairs dormer window of Tretten station, on the west bank of the Lagen river, Hauptmann Wolf Zellner had a fine view of the bridge below to his right. With the window open, the cold night air wafted across his face. He gazed out, marvelling at the billions of stars, pinpricks of light that gave the land below a faint ethereal shape. He looked at his watch: eleven twenty- three. Will they come? he wondered, not for the first time that evening, then lifted his binoculars to his eyes once more.

  Despite instructions from Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz to prepare an ambush at Tretten bridge, Zellner had felt there were a number of places where Odin and the fugitives might cross the valley. There was a bridge at Favang, for example, just ten kilometres north of Tretten, while six kilometres further on, at Ringebu, the railway crossed back over the river and rejoined the main valley road. True, they had not found the men despite a day of intense search, but Zellner was less convinced than Kurz or Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt that they had remained holed up near Tretten. With this in mind, and hoping to restore both his standing and pride, he had decided, on receiving his orders from the SD Headquarters in Lillehammer, to deploy his men along the valley not only at Tretten but also at Favang and Ringebu. Admittedly, his company was now only three platoons strong, and he was painfully aware that the fugitives had got the better of his men when they had been operating with just one platoon, but he had no doubt that, however skilled the British sergeant might be, the fugitives could not achieve such a victory again. After all, they were now only seventeen strong, and Zellner knew much more about them than he had the day before. Most importantly, he and his men would be ambushing them, not the other way round. So it was that with forty fresh, well-armed men, Hauptmann Zellner had driven back to Tretten that evening confident that he had most possibilities covered and that his men were more than equal to the task.

  He had agreed with Kurz that, should the fugitives still be near Tretten, the bridge was the most likely crossing place, simply because it was by far the easiest way for them to get to the other side. He had told his men to keep out of sight: the aim was to encourage the fugitives in their belief that the village was unoccupied.

  Time had been tight. On reaching Tretten shortly after ten that evening, they had quickly found a hiding-place for the trucks in a disused barn, then positioned themselves at either side of the bridge, using bushes and trees as cover, also buildings, both intact and partially destroyed. Zellner had prayed the fugitives would cross here. Playing his moment of triumph over and over in his mind he had begun to believe that Fate would ensure this was so, when a convoy had passed through ripping apart the quiet. How Zellner had cursed, especially when he saw, a kilometre or so beyond the village, that the column had stopped. They had moved on soon enough but in the minutes that followed Zellner had doubted his earlier conviction.

  Suddenly he thought he heard something from away to his left - further along the river. He turned to Lieutenant Huber, the platoon commander. 'Did you hear that?'

  'What, Hauptmann?' asked Huber.

  'Ssh!' said Zellner. 'Listen.' And there it was again, a scraping sound - faint, almost inaudible, but there. 'What is that?' He peered through his binoculars towards where the river widened into Lake Losna. He could see the water, smooth as glass, twinkling, the mountains looming behind and beyond, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  'Shall I investigate?' Huber asked.

  'And give ourselves away? No,' said Zellner. 'Keep listening.'

  He continued to stare through his binoculars and, at last, something caught his eye. A faint ripple on the otherwise smooth water. A sensation of intense exhilaration coursed through Zellner and a moment later he saw a boat as it passed in line with the valley and was silhouetted against the sky. Zellner smiled. 'Yes!' he said. 'I think we have them. Quick, Huber. We haven't a moment to waste.'

  All six men were paddling with their Mausers and Tanner's boat soon caught up with the one in front and then they passed it. Ahead, the far bank still seemed an interminably long way off. A hundred and fifty metres wide, Anna had said, and from his recce earlier that day he had agreed with her. Now, though, he realized it was more like two hundred yards, if not further.

  'Come on, boys, keep at it,' he snapped.

  His heart pounded with exertion and raw fear. His whole body was tense, waiting for the sound of shouts and machine-gun fire. He'd never liked being on open water. It made him feel he was no longer in control, that he was exposed and vulnerable.

  Closer now. The lead boat was drawing near to the shore. Tanner allowed himself a sigh of relief. Perhaps they would make it, after all.

  The sound of an engine shattered the illusion, then another, both from the direction of the village but on opposite sides of the river. The others heard it too, among expletives and panicked paddling. 'Quick, lads, quick!' said Tanner, plunging the Mauser into the water furiously.

  Ahead, the first boat was drawing on to the gravel shore. There were splashes as the occupants stumbled out. The beam from the trucks cut across the water. The first lorry had stopped on the side from which they had come. Orders were being barked, and moments later shots rang out, bullets whining over their heads. A warning, thought Tanner. Don't try to turn back.

  Shapes retreating from the first boat. Where was Sandvold? The lights of the second lorry curving round the river's edge were only a few hundred metres away now. Tanner heard the grinding of gears just as their own boat scraped against the stony shore. 'Get out, quick!' Tanner shouted. 'Cross the railway and head for the trees!' The third boat was closing on the shore too. One of the Frenchmen jumped but the water was deeper than he'd thought, and he flailed trying desperately to free his pack.

  'Keep going!' Tanner shouted, kneeling to take aim as the vehicle turned towards them. He fired once, missed, then fired again and hit the windscreen of the lorry, which veered. He fired once more, and heard the ping of a bullet hitting metal. A screech of brakes, and the lorry came to a halt at the side of the road, a hundred yards ahead. A German voice yelled orders, and enemy troops hurried from the back of the truck. The Frenchman in the water was drowning, but Tanner ignored him and grabbed the prow of the dinghy. 'Jump!' he yelled, as Chevannes leapt out. Bullets ricocheted off the stones. Tanner was conscious of someone beside him. 'Go!' he shouted.

  'Non!'came the reply. 'Mon ami. Vites, Henri, vites!'

  'He's gone, mate,' said Tanner, but the Chasseur stepped into the water to rescue his friend.

  'For God's sake,' said Tanner, grabbing him. 'Go! Now!' A machine-gun opened fire, raking the water, tracer arcing towards them. At this, the Chasseur gave up and both men were running for their lives, off the pebble shore, across a grassy verge and over the railway line. The machine-gun had stopped firing but Tanner could hear the footsteps of enemy troops running towards them. He spun round and fired twice, then ran on, up another grassy bank, stumbled, cursed, picked himself up, as more bullets whistled over his head and into the ground at either side of him, then headed for the trees.

  Where was everyone? Shouts from below and more shots. He could barely see anything, and hit a thin branch, which whipped back and slashed him across the face. Stinging pain coursed through him, then seared the side of his leg, and he cried out.

  'Sarge, is that you?' called a voice.

  'Stan!' said Tanner. 'Where the hell is everyone?'

  'Up ahead. Are you all right, Sarge?'

  'I think so. Thank God for dense forests.'

  'A-bloody-men to that.'

  Bullets tore into the trees, ripped through branches and smacked into the ground, but the slope was steep and the forest close. Tanner could hear others panting and gasping for breath. Suddenly a machine-gun opened fire again, a long burst spurting bullets up the wooded slopes. Tanner crouched behind a tree as the bullets flew. He saw a flickering torch beam, but it was weak so he stepped out from behind the tree, aimed his rifle towards the light and fired. The reply was another long burst of machine-gun fire, but this time the aim was way
off, the bullets cutting through the trees high above their heads.

  'Reckon they're angry, Sarge,' said Sykes, from a few yards to Tanner's right.

  'Very, I'd say,' Tanner replied. 'Come on, Stan, let's keep going. You sure the others are all ahead?'

  'I'm sure.'

  The firing lessened as they climbed higher and eventually, a couple of hundred feet above the lake, they reached a clearing in the trees.

  'Hey,' said Tanner, in a loud whisper.

  'Sergeant, is that you?'

  Larsen. Tanner breathed a sigh of relief. 'Sir,' said Tanner, 'where are you?'

  'Up ahead. Keep going, Sergeant.'

  Tanner scrambled up the slope and, straining his eyes, peered into the darkness. Above, near the edge of the thickening forest, he could just make out the dark shape of several people crouched together. 'Stan,' he whispered, 'they're up here.' All six from the leading boat - Sandvold included - were still together. Thank God.

  'We made it, sir,' said Sykes, breathlessly, to Chevannes.

  'Yes,' replied the Frenchman. 'A miracle.'

  By listening for panting, they were able, one by one, to gather the men together. Most collapsed on the ground, some laughing and whispering animatedly with the release of tension until Chevannes sharply told them to be quiet. 'We're not in the clear yet,' he told them. 'Not by any means.'

  A head count showed that two men were missing: Chasseur Bardet and Private Mitch Moran. Both had been in the last boat. 'I'm sorry, sir,' said Tanner to Chevannes, 'but Bardet drowned. He jumped from the boat too early and his pack weighed him down. Chasseur Junot tried to rescue him but it was too late.'

  Chevannes nodded. Junot himself was not in a good way. Soaked above the waist, he was shivering. He was also inconsolable at the loss of his friend.

  'He needs to change his clothes,' said Tanner, 'or he'll be following his friend pretty soon.' But no one had any spare trousers, only jackets. Neither had they seen Moran. 'Tinker?' he said to Bell. 'You were in the boat with him.'

  'We jumped out, Sarge. There were lots of bullets. He might have been hit.'

  The valley below was now eerily quiet. Tanner hated to leave Moran behind, but they needed to get going - and quickly. He peered into the trees. Nothing. Damn you, Mitch, where are you? he thought. Then, turning to Chevannes, he said, 'Sir? We have to move off.'

  'I know, Sergeant,' snapped Chevannes. 'Mademoiselle Rostad,' he said to Anna, 'where should we be heading?'

  'Straight up the hill through the trees,' she said. 'At the top there is a track that leads to Svingvoll, a small farming hamlet at the head of a shallow valley. We should head for there, where—' She was cut off by a sharp hiss as a flare shot into the sky, followed swiftly by several more, which burst like crackling fireworks, showering the mountainside with light. A moment later they heard troops below them.

  'Vite!' whispered Chevannes, the glow from the flares briefly lighting his face. He waved his arm and the men clambered onwards as rifle and machine-gun fire cracked and sputtered behind them. Tanner urged his men, then ducked as a bullet hurtled over him, missing his head by inches. Melting into the trees once more, he paused to fire, then took out a grenade and having pulled the pin, hurled it as hard as he could down the mountain, more in the hope of blinding their pursuers than from any realistic expectation of hitting anyone. A few seconds later, as it exploded, Tanner heard a German cry out. He smiled grimly to himself and clambered on up the slope, through patchy snow, until it seemed that at last the pursuers had given up the chase.

  Cresting the hill, Tanner paused. He could only just make out the others, although he could hear them. They had all stopped, and most now stood with hands on hips or knees as they fought for breath. Across the valley, he could see the looming mountains, the formidable mass of rock and snow over which they had struggled the past few days. Now they had made it successfully to the other side. A miracle, Chevannes had called it, and for once Tanner was content to agree with the French lieutenant.

  Beneath them, an engine started up. The Germans were back in their truck. Tanner heard the driver revving the engine until it screamed.

  'You know what that is, don't you, Sarge?' said Sykes beside him.

  'Yes, Stan,' Tanner grinned. 'Jerry's got his wheels stuck.'

  Chapter 13

  As Anna had promised there was a track, which wove its way past a number of farmsteads, hidden from the valley floor, but which overlooked the bend in the river as it curved eastwards at the end of the Tretten gorge back towards Oyer. There was snow on the ground, but the track had been well trodden by foot and cart and was compacted in a way that made walking easy. Occasionally a dog barked, but otherwise the same eerie stillness that had accompanied them on the other side of the valley seemed to have descended on the mountains once more. It made Tanner feel that he was not atop some vast expanse of rock, but rather that they were walking through a narrow chasm. Each footstep sounded so clear, his breathing heavy and close.

  They reached Svingvoll and skirted the lip of the shallow valley, then joined another track that led across an empty forested plateau of thin snow. Shortly after two in the morning, the first hint of dawn spread pinkly across the horizon behind them. Tanner was glad for the thin light. He had enjoyed the thrill of night as a boy - being out with his father, shooting rabbits and setting traps. Yet that had been on familiar ground; he had known every inch of those woods. Now, though, he was relieved to be able to see in front of him, his surroundings gradually more defined, the men - and Anna - walking in front and behind him.

  Anna. She had already more than proved her worth, he thought. And he had been impressed by her cool- headedness: her first time under fire and she had not panicked. He thought of striding ahead and talking to her, but decided against it. Better to wait for the right moment.

  Instead he drew alongside Professor Sandvold, the man he had vowed to deliver safely to the Allies. 'How are you, Professor?' he asked.

  'Too old for making daring dashes across rivers,' he replied. 'I don't mind telling you, Sergeant, I found the whole experience terrifying. It is one thing being strafed by enemy aircraft because it is all over before you have realized it is happening. But crossing the lake was truly frightening. Tell me there will not be any more episodes like that.'

  Tanner smiled. 'I hope not, Professor. I can't say I enjoyed it much either.'

  'And all those bullets. Really, how do you keep calm in such situations?'

  'I always find that in the heat of the moment there's no time to be frightened.'

  Sandvold eyed him sceptically. 'That is why you are a soldier and I am not, Sergeant.'

  ********

  Soon after, Junot collapsed. The small column of men stopped and gathered round him as he lay propped against a tree, his teeth chattering, gibbering incoherently. Crouching beside him, Anna felt his brow. 'His temperature's dropped,' she said.

  'He's got hypothermia,' said Tanner. 'We need to wrap him in something warm, quickly, or else he'll croak. Here,' he said, taking off his German wind jacket, 'fold this round his legs.' Anna did so, while Tanner retrieved his leather jerkin from his pack. Another makeshift stretcher was assembled using Mausers and greatcoats and the prostrate Junot hoisted on to it. Chevannes' two remaining men took one end, while Sykes ordered Hepworth and Kershaw to take the other.

  'He's going to need help,' Anna said, turning to Chevannes.

  'And we can't walk all the way to the front with a stretcher,' added the French lieutenant. 'Merde.' He glanced ahead at the seemingly endless trees, stretching across the plateau. 'How far is it to the valley?'

  Anna shrugged. 'Five kilometres, maybe. There's the village of Alstad. We can get help there.'

  'Good,' he said, 'Let's keep going.'

  It was nearly half past eight on the morning of Thursday, 25 April, when they reached the crest of the mountain plateau and were able to look down over the narrow j0ra valley. On the east-facing slopes, the valley was once again thickly wooded wi
th a blanket of snow still on the ground, but below them, on the west- facing valley sides, the snow had all but gone. On the valley floor, a narrow river wound away to the north-west, silvery in the morning light. Beside it there was a road, little more than a rough track but smooth and free of snow.

  Chevannes called a brief halt to change stretcher- bearers. Beneath them lay a settlement of scattered farms and, standing on its own, at the edge of the river, a small church. This was Alstad, Anna told them. Junot was now ghostly white, his lips and ears blue. 'We need to hurry,' she told Chevannes.

  They pressed on, clambering down the slopes through open pasture until they reached the first of half a dozen farmsteads. Several dogs ran out into the yard as Anna walked ahead with Larsen, past ageing outhouses with grass-covered roofs. Tanner watched apprehensively, his rifle at the ready.

  A few minutes later, Larsen reappeared and signalled to them. The men left their position along a track above the farm, and hurried into the yard, past chickens and geese cackling at the invasion. Old carts and farm machinery, green with lichen, spokes shattered, were piled haphazardly against the sheds. They reached the steps where the farmer stood, watching them approach. His face was weatherbeaten and wrinkled, with a two-day growth of white beard, and he stared at the men suspiciously as they trooped past him into the low-ceilinged kitchen. It was musty, primitive and dark, and with their packs, rifles and equipment, the men crowded it.

  The farmer's wife ushered the stretcher-bearers to an armchair by the fire, then barked at her husband, who grudgingly edged his way through the men and began to stoke the fire with more wood. His wife disappeared, but could be heard moving overhead. Soon she returned with a pile of blankets. Junot was then stripped from the waist down, swathed in wool and the woman began vigorously to rub his hands and feet, talking to Anna as she did so.