The Odin Mission sjt-1 Page 4

  'Less of the chit-chat, Hep,' said Tanner. 'Let's concentrate on catching up with the others and getting out of here in one piece.'

  They were nearing the edge of the town. A few frightened civilians were peering from their houses, but the streets were still empty. He had hoped to come across a car, a motorbike or even bicycles, but there had been nothing and no time in which to look more thoroughly. The houses thinned and then they were in the open, running along a cleared road, patchy snow at either side and yellowed grass showing through. Of the rest of the platoon there was no sign. How much of a head start had they had? he wondered. Fifteen minutes? No wonder he couldn't see them.

  'How much further, Sarge?' gasped Hepworth.

  'A mile. Not much more.' Tanner could see the mass of the Balberg strutting imperiously above them. German field guns continued booming behind them. They could see the dark shells as they hurtled across the sky and exploded among the Allied positions, the sound of the detonation always arriving a moment after the flash. 'Keep going, Hep,' urged Tanner. 'Soon be there.'

  Then, behind them, they heard the sound of gears grinding and the chugging drone of vehicles. Turning, they saw a column of trucks emerging from Lillehammer some half a mile away. Tanner's heart sank. Coming round a bend in the open road he could see at least half a dozen, filled with troops, each pulling an anti-tank gun.

  'What are we going to do now, Sarge?' said Hepworth. 'We'll never be able to stop them.' Hepworth was a small lad, barely nineteen, his face pale and his brows knotted in despair. Tanner eyed him, then glanced around. The land was open, but about fifty yards ahead, a short way back from the road, there was a farmhouse.

  'Keep calm, Hep,' he said. 'First we're going to head to that house where we can get a bit of cover.'

  'And then what, Sarge?'

  'If you asked a few less questions, Hep, I might be able to think a bit more clearly,' Tanner snapped. He was trying to weigh up a couple of options in his mind. 'Bloody hell,' he mumbled, as he tried to catch his breath. 'What a mess.' No matter what he decided, the reality was that he and Hepworth were now caught between the new Allied lines and the vanguard of the German attack. He had a good mind to floor Captain Webb if and when he ever saw him again.

  Chapter 3

  Tanner noticed that a large barn extended out at right angles from the house. Good, he thought, grateful for whatever cover he could get. The twitch of a curtain showed the place was still occupied, but it appeared that the owners preferred not to show themselves. He crouched beside the stone ramp that led up to the barn's first floor and opened the haversack slung behind his left hip. He felt inside, pulled out an old piece of oily cloth and carefully unwrapped it.

  'What's that, Sarge?' asked Hepworth, crouching beside him.

  'It's a telescopic sight,' said Tanner. 'An Aldis.' It had once belonged to his father, and Tanner had carried it with him throughout his army career. Most gunsmiths could modify the Enfield rifle easily enough by milling and fitting two scope mounts and pads to the action body - alterations that were sufficiently discreet to enable a platoon sergeant to have his rifle adapted without his superiors noticing. Consequently, having joined the 5th Battalion in Leeds, he had wasted no time in taking his newly issued SMLE No. 1 Mk III rifle to a gunsmith in the Royal Armoury to have it adapted and his scope sighted. It was a good scope and his father had sworn by it; certainly Tanner had found that on the rare occasions he had used it, the Aldis had never lost its zero.

  'There's someone in the house,' said Tanner. 'Go and find out whether they've got any transport.'

  Hepworth hurried up to the front door.

  Screwing the scope into place, Tanner stood behind the ramp leading up to the barn and, using it as a rest, peered through the sight. The column was now about seven hundred yards away, and his sight zeroed at four hundred. He had found that allowing a foot's drop for every fifty yards beyond the zero usually did the trick, but this was going to be a long shot even with the scope; as it was, he could only just see the driver of the lead vehicle. Tanner reminded himself that all he needed to do was delay the column, cause a bit of confusion. He lowered his aim to the bottom of the truck, then lifted it again by, he guessed, about six foot. The truck was moving slowly - under fifteen miles per hour, he reckoned - and almost directly towards him. Half exhaling as he pulled back the bolt, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger.

  The truck lurched and ploughed off the road, so that the vehicle immediately behind quickly emerged around it. This time Tanner aimed at the indistinct figure of the driver, then made a generous adjustment for the bullet's falling trajectory, and fired again. The man was hit - Tanner could see him thrown backwards. 'Damn,' he mouthed, pulled back the bolt again and fired once more. This time he saw the driver punched back in his seat, then slump forward. The man next to him grabbed at the steering-wheel, but it was too late and the truck struck the first, which came to a halt spread across the width of the road. Men were pouring out of the vehicles now and taking cover. Tanner smiled to himself with satisfaction, then turned towards the front of the farm, where Hepworth was still banging on the door.

  'What the hell are you playing at?' shouted Tanner.

  'They're not answering,' said Hepworth.

  'For God's sake, Hepworth,' snarled Tanner. 'Forget 'em. Don't waste bloody time on niceties. A quick dekko in the barns and sheds. We need to get out of here - fast.'

  There were several ageing carts in a barn but two bicycles in one of the sheds adjoining the house. One had a flat tyre and was covered with dust and cobwebs, but the two infantrymen grabbed them. 'Right, let's go,' said Tanner. 'Come on, quick.'

  German artillery shells were whistling overhead with greater regularity now, bombarding the Allied positions just half a mile ahead. Tanner wove back and forth across the road, hoping to make himself a more elusive target should the Germans attempt to fire at them. His flat rear wheel was sliding badly, but he managed to keep his balance. Hepworth, making faster progress, repeatedly looked back until Tanner urged him to press on. Suddenly he became aware of an eerie silence - no birds singing, no blast of shells exploding. In the next moment there came a faint whirr and Tanner yelled at Hepworth, then flung down his bicycle and leapt into the snow by the side of the road, just as a stream of bullets spat up a line along the road followed by four Messerschmitt 110s thundering over.

  He stood up and saw them strafing the Allies ahead, then shouted to Hepworth. To his relief, the private got up, dusted off the snow, hitched his rifle onto his shoulder and waved.

  Soon after, they reached the Allied forward positions, waved in through the hastily prepared roadblock by a corporal from the Sherwood Foresters.

  'Where're our lot?' Tanner asked.

  'Behind. Two hundred yards, on the right of the road under the Balberkamp.'

  A subaltern approached Tanner. 'Anyone behind you, Sergeant?'

  'Only a column of enemy infantry.'

  'How many?'

  'Hard to say, sir. I counted at least a dozen trucks. They were all towing guns - about the size of our two- pounders, I reckon. And they've got tanks.'

  'Good God,' muttered the lieutenant. 'You'd better report to HQ right away.'

  'Yes, sir. Where is it, sir?'

  '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 sti
ll 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 Tan
ner, '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.'