The Odin Mission

by James Holland

  A lieutenant showed them through to another room where clerks were tapping at coding machines and typewriters. Perched on a table, was Major von Poncets, commander of the 4th Battalion, 138th Mountain Regiment, talking animatedly with one of his staff officers.

  'Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz and Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt?' he said, sliding off the table and extending a hand. 'I was told you'd be coming.'

  'You seem busy here, Major,' said Scheidt.

  Von Poncets laughed. 'My men are going to be attacking the enemy lines at Tretten later. Fortunately the Tommies don't seem to have either mountain troops or aircraft, so outflanking their positions is proving easier than we'd hoped.'

  'The men certainly seem in good heart,' said Scheidt.

  'Of course,' von Poncets said. 'We're winning!' He clapped his hands together, then said, 'I've got some men for you from the Reconnaissance Battalion of the 6th Mountain Regiment.' He turned to one of his staff officers and asked him to fetch Hauptmann Zellner. 'He's commander of 1 Company and his men are here,' he said, turning back to Kurz and Scheidt. 'He'll be with us shortly.'

  'And a company is how many?' Scheidt asked. 'A hundred?'

  Von Poncets smiled. 'I take it you're not a military man, Herr Reichsamtsleiter.'

  Scheidt noticed Kurz smirk. 'No,' he said. 'I wasn't quite old enough for the last war. I've been fortunate enough to serve the Reich in other ways.'

  'And, of course, we need people like you,' said von Poncets, slapping him convivially on the arm. He added, 'No, Zellner's company is nearer two hundred, although I'm afraid I've told the battalion commander I need most of his men for the fight here. But one platoon of fifty or so should be more than enough and you do have a company commander to lead them. Don't forget these men are trained for operations in the mountains. As I said, the Tommies have no such troops, while the Norwegians - well, they haven't had any training at all.' He laughed. 'We're attacking again this afternoon with the outflanking manoeuvre following our initial assault, so unless these fellows reach Tretten within—' he consulted his watch '— the next hour, I would say they're as good as in the bag.'

  'Aerial reconnaissance suggested that was likely,' added Kurz.

  'Ah, here he is now,' said von Poncets, as a young officer entered the room and saluted crisply. He was dressed differently from the troops outside: although he wore the long grey trousers, puttees and studded brown ankle boots that marked out these units, over his field tunic he had on a thick green-grey cotton wind-jacket, into which was tucked a wool scarf, and a mountain cap, with an embroidered Edelweiss on the left side. A pair of tinted round lenses rested on the peak. Hauptmann Wolf Zellner stared ahead implacably.

  'Stand easy, Zellner,' said von Poncets. 'I've told these gentlemen that you are taking just one of your platoons.'

  'Yes, sir. The rest of the company, under Lieutenant Biermann, will be taking part in the attack on Tretten.'

  'And you're sure that will be enough men?' Scheidt asked.

  Zellner glanced at von Poncets. 'Yes, sir. I think that will be plenty. I don't wish to sound arrogant, Herr Reichsamtsleiter, but one platoon of my men will be more than enough for a few fugitives like these.'

  'And the Reconnaissance Battalion is particularly well suited to high mountain operations,' added von Poncets, 'having trained extensively in the Bavarian Alps. Hauptmann Zellner has been fully briefed - but if there's anything else you'd like to add, Herr Reichsamtsleiter? Sturmbannfuhrer?'

  'I want to underline how important this man Odin is, Hauptmann,' said Scheidt. 'He could be of vital - and I mean vital - importance to Germany. He must be captured alive. Whether you kill the others or take them prisoner is of no consequence to me. But Odin I must see in person. You have his photograph?'

  'Yes, sir,' Zellner replied. 'You can depend on me and my men, sir. We'll find him for you.'

  Von Poncets had lit a cigar, and now a puff of smoke swirled lazily into the room. 'Good,' he said. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen .. .' He smiled once more. 'I've a battle to win.'

  Zellner saluted again, then left.

  Outside, the sky was clouding over, but the air was still crisp and cold. His boots sounded loud, the metal studs clicking through the thin slick of mud caused by too many vehicles, carts and men trampling across it. He would have preferred to be taking part in the attack on Tretten, leading his company into battle, yet von Poncets, apparently, had insisted. Well, he now knew where that had come from - the politician, he was certain. But at least this mission gave him a chance for revenge. These were the men he'd so nearly caught five days ago north of Elverum. There had been no mention of anyone called 'Odin' then. All they had been told was that the Norwegians were carrying important documents and even Crown Jewels - but now he'd read the briefing sent by the SD and there could be no mistake. They were the same men. And this time he was not going to fail.

  By noon the mixed column of British, Norwegian and French, twenty-two strong, was still some miles southeast of Tretten. Even though the French scouts had led them off the mountain plateau and into the treeline, the going had been tough. The stretch of the valley west of Oyer, before it snaked north into the Tretten gorge, was wider and the slopes gentler. Here, fields spread high above the wide Lagen river, and even where there was forest, it was far less dense than it had been. The high fields had forced them to stay well above the farmland, where the snow was deeper - not just because of the altitude but because the slopes were less precipitous and cover from the trees not so great. Even the Chasseurs Alpins struggled, the men frequently losing their footing, or taking a stride forward only to find themselves buried to their waists in drifts. Tanner had been forced to admit to himself that his claim that they would cover seven miles in three hours had been over-optimistic. Still, if he had been at fault in his calculations, he laid the blame for their slow progress with Chevannes. If they had left the seter whe n he had suggested, they would have had more than six hours' start.

  It had been shortly after noon that the tell-tale sounds of battle had begun in the valley below. More aircraft had droned over, while the dull thud of artillery fire, although intermittent, had resounded ominously. The unwavering German battle plan Chevannes, it seemed, had judged that about right.

  A little more than four hours later, they were nearing Tretten, the valley sides steeper once more. The wide farmland to the south had gone, the forest thickened and the snow thinned, and progress had improved. Below them, the shelling had increased, the medium howitzers booming more insistently now. The whistle of the missiles' flight could occasionally be heard, and the reports of the ensuing explosions echoed through the valley. A flight of bombers arrived, dropping their loads with a rip of detonations. Occasional small-arms chatter drifted to them on the afternoon breeze.

  Chevannes called a halt. The men were exhausted, Tanner included. Once again, hunger was gnawing at him, as he knew it must be at the others. Their faces were drawn and blank with fatigue. Several of his men, Hepworth among them, fell asleep where they sat on rocks or against a tree stump.

  Chevannes and Larsen consulted the map once more.

  The Frenchman looked directly behind him to a peak marked as the Skj0nsberg. 'We're no more than three kilometres from Tretten,' he said.

  'Then we should start dropping into the valley,' said Tanner, who had walked over to join the impromptu conference. 'If we head slightly north-west, we can aim straight for Tretten. It'll be easier and quicker than if we continue north along the lip of the plateau.'

  'What about the Germans?' said Larsen.

  'They haven't started their infantry attack yet, have they? If we get a move on—'

  'No,' said Chevannes, cutting him short. 'That's far too risky. We head due north, then cut down to the village. Two more minutes, then we get going.'

  Tanner walked back to his men. 'Come on, lads,' he said. 'Nearly there now. Then this'll be over. One last effort, eh?' He shook Hepworth awake. 'Hep, come on, up you get.' Hepworth opened his eyes, nodd
ed bleakly and stood up, stumbling backwards from the weight and awkward balance of his pack. 'Remind me never to go up a mountain again, Sarge,' he said.

  Away to the left, Tanner spotted a clearing in the trees and what seemed like a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley. 'Stan, keep an eye on Sandvold, will you?'

  'Where you goin', Sarge?'

  'To have a quick look round. I'll catch you up. He moved through the trees until he could see Tretten nestling just up the valley, then felt in his haversack and pulled out his scope. He squatted by a jutting rock and peered through the lens. A shell exploded near the village, the mass of smoke and debris mushrooming, into the sky several seconds before any sound reached him. He looked south. Troops and vehicles were on the road, emerging round a bend in the gorge. He lowered his scope to clean the lens. Suddenly, movement caught his eye in the trees below to his left and he brought the scope back to his eye. Nothing. He scanned the trees, then there it was - men moving. A mass of German troops, just a few hundred yards below and no more than a quarter of a mile to the south.

  'Bloody hell,' he muttered. 'We're bloody running out of time here.' He scrambled to his feet and soon caught up with the others, then strode on towards Lieutenant Chevannes.

  'What is it, Sergeant?' The tone was impatient, weary.

  'German troops, sir, on the slopes below, not far behind.'

  'Who would have caught us out if we had done as you suggested.'

  Tanner clenched his fist. Just one blow, he thought - that was all it would take to silence the man. 'No, sir,' he said slowly, 'because, as I explained at the time, it was a chance worth taking. The moment we saw them we would either have altered course or hurried onwards.'

  'You can't ever admit it when you are wrong, can you, Sergeant Tanner? Your insolence is really wearing very thin. Do remember that you are speaking to a senior officer.'

  'I don't give a damn,' said Tanner, his fury mounting. 'If we'd left last night when I said we should, we'd have been in Tretten by now.'

  'I've had just about enough—'

  'Please,' said Sandvold, speaking up for the first time. 'No more arguing. Let's just keep going. We still have a chance of reaching safety.'

  Chevannes glared at Tanner. 'We must push on beyond the village. There is little we can do to stop the Germans outflanking Tretten now.'

  Tanner thought of the gelignite and TNT in his pack. Actually, he realized, there was quite a lot they could do with a sackload of explosives and the twin advantage of height and steep, rocky slopes. Had it not been for Sandvold, he would have peeled his men away from Chevannes and had some fun. Instead he said, 'I'll tell my men to keep at it, sir,' then fell back towards Sykes and the others.

  'What's going on, Sarge?' Sykes asked, as Tanner rejoined him.

  'Jerries,' said Tanner. 'Down below.'

  Sykes whistled softly. 'Cunning sods,' he said.

  'Listen, we need to keep our wits about us,' Tanner told him. 'We don't want to get caught napping. We've got to watch our arses up here. Make sure we keep looking around.'

  Sykes nodded, then repeated the sergeant's instructions to each of the men. Tanner walked on. He needed to think, but fatigue had settled over him, as though it was sucking out the remnant of energy he had left. Come on, he told himself. Keep going. Think. Gulbrand had said the Germans were not following them, but what if he had been wrong? The Norwegians had been strafed twice, nearly caught during a German search, and the reconnaissance planes must have spotted them that morning. Coincidence, perhaps, maybe these things had happened because there was a war on and they were near the fighting. Maybe the enemy didn't know about Sandvold but were aware that they were carrying something important. He rubbed his eyes and his brow. Tiredness was putting ideas into his head.

  At least they were among the trees, rather than out in the open. The canopy provided by forest - the closeness of the environment, the sharpness of sound - was something he always found reassuring, even though these were high mountain forests of dark conifers, rather than the broadleaf woodland of southern Wiltshire. As a boy he had spent much of his time in woods, helping his father or on his own. He knew the smells of the changing seasons, the dry, cool shade of summer, the damp, earthy mustiness of winter. He knew the different songs of birds, from the nightingale to the wood warbler. From his father, he had learnt which mushrooms and fungi could be eaten and which would play havoc with your guts. He knew stoat from weasel, fox dung from badger, hawthorn from blackthorn.

  He remembered taking a boy from the village one night to see the badger cubs; the other lad had been frightened of the dark and the night shadows; of strange beasts that might lurk. Tanner had been mystified - what was there to be scared about? - then angry when the boy had insisted on going home before they had got anywhere near the sett. 'It's the unknown that people are afraid of,' his father had told him. 'You and I have always roamed the woods. They're a second home to us.'

  Home. What wouldn't he do to see it again - yet wasn't the Army his home now? Certainly it had been all his adult life. Or, rather, the 2nd Battalion had been; but now, a little more than twelve hours since Chevannes and his men had stumbled on them, he felt new warmth for these Territorial lads of the 5th Battalion.

  'Sarge! Sarge!'

  Tanner was startled from his thoughts.

  'You'd better come, Sarge. Looks like we're being followed,' Sykes gasped.

  Adrenalin coursed through his blood and in an instant his mind cleared. He reached the end of their column where Riggs and Chambers were each crouched behind a pine, looking backwards, rifles ready.

  'How far?' said Tanner, as he pulled out his scope once more.

  'Couldn't say, Sarge,' said Riggs, 'but maybe a third of a mile.'

  Tanner peered through the scope. Yes, there they were, still some way off but climbing in their direction. He could see the lead men advancing through the pines. Silently he passed the scope to Sykes.

  'They're wearing caps and goggles,' said Sykes.

  'Mountain troops,' said Tanner. 'How many can you see now?'

  'Hard to say. A platoon, is my guess. God knows whether there are more behind, though, Sarge. They can't really be after us, can they?'

  Tanner shrugged, and put his scope into his trouser pocket. 'Right,' he said. 'Let's get out of here.' He hurried his men forward, Sykes chivvying them too, until they caught up with Chevannes and the Norwegians.

  'Mon dieu,' muttered Chevannes, when Tanner told him what they had seen.

  'We need to find out exactly how many there are,' said Tanner. His mind was alert once more, his heart thumping.

  'Yes,' said Chevannes.

  'I'll take Sykes here and two of my men and head back for a dekko,' Tanner continued. 'You keep going and we'll catch you up shortly.'

  Chevannes nodded, his face taut.

  Tanner hurried over to Lance Corporal Erwood, the Bren leader. 'Dan, I want you to take charge of the rest of the lads, and I need you to do one other thing. See that Norwegian civvy up ahead with the Frog officer?'

  'Sarge.'

  'Don't let him out of your sight.'

  'Aye, Sarge. I won't.'

  Tanner slapped him on the back. Then, collecting Chambers and Riggs, he briefly looked around. Although the valley sides were densely forested, especially along the east-facing slopes, up here, where it was more difficult for the loggers to fell and remove their timber, the pines and larch grew wildly, covering but not smothering the mountain. There were open patches too, and it was as the German troops crossed one that Tanner hoped to get a good look at their enemy.

  He reckoned he wanted to be about four hundred yards away when he saw them - far enough for them to be out of effective range, but close enough for him to see them clearly through the scope.

  'Sarge?' said Sykes. 'I don't like to hurry you or nothing but—'

  'I know,' cut in Tanner, still peering at the snow and trees around him. He had spotted a small spur a short distance above and was trying to decide whethe
r it would offer the view and cover they needed. For a brief moment he was paralysed by indecision, then said, 'Up there, quick, to that crest.'

  They scrambled up and, as they crouched between two pines, Tanner was relieved to see they had a fine view down the undulating slopes of the valley sides.

  'There they are,' hissed Sykes.

  Tanner smiled as he watched the enemy troops reach the edge of the clearing, pause, spy the tracks in the snow, then continue forward. 'Start counting them, lads,' he said quietly, then screwed his scope onto the mounts on his rifle.

  'You going to start firing, Sarge?' asked Chambers. He looked worried.

  'Keep counting, Punter,' said Tanner, 'and if you've got a full magazine, take it from your rifle and hold on to it until I ask you to pass it to me.' He raised the rifle to his shoulder. Through the scope he could clearly see the first section of men. They were spread out in a loose single file and, Tanner was glad to see, their rifles were still slung over their backs. Behind the section leader was a machine-gunner, his weapon carried loosely on his shoulder. A further section of ten followed, and another beyond that. Tanner led his aim along the column. Where was the commander? Some of the men wore green-collared greatcoats, but most had on shorter, light olive jackets. All were wearing peaked field caps rather than helmets and had only small rucksacks on their backs. At that distance, even with the scope, it was hard to tell who was in charge.

  'Thirty-nine, sir,' said Riggs.

  'That's what I make it,' agreed Sykes.

  'Fine,' said Tanner. 'You ready with that magazine, Punter?'

  'Yes, Sarge,' said Chambers.

  His father had taught Tanner a good trick for judging distance. The key was to be able to assess a hundred- yard stretch almost exactly. Do that, his father had assured him, and the next hundred yards and the hundred yards beyond that were easier to judge; it was a matter of understanding the naked eye's sense of perspective and increasingly reducing each ensuing hundred-yard stretch. He reckoned the leading troops were now at about four hundred yards. Then remembering that distance was easily overestimated when you were looking downwards, he aimed just a fraction low at the lead troop, exhaled gently and fired.