The Odin Mission

by James Holland

  Suddenly, above them, there was a loud drone of aircraft. Dornley and Morgan looked up as the wailing siren of Stuka dive-bombers shrieked overhead.

  Both men fell flat on the ground, their hands over their heads. The whistle of bombs, followed by an ear-splitting explosion. Morgan felt himself lifted off the ground and pushed down again. With every boom and whoosh of detonating bombs, the house shuddered, the floor quaked and plaster fell from the ceiling. Morgan screwed his eyes shut. The percussion of the bombs pressed on his lungs.

  Then the Stukas were gone, but as Morgan staggered to his feet and dusted himself down, he could hear artillery and small-arms still echoing through the valley. The sound was drawing closer. My brigade, he thought. All those people.

  They could do no more. 'Dornley,' he said, 'order what survivors we have to block the roads, get the remaining trucks and vehicles loaded up and tell everyone to fall back.'

  Dornley nodded.

  Morgan hurried back into his office to collect his own case, his papers and few belongings. He could not turn and stand a few miles further up the valley this time because his brigade, as a fighting force, had ceased to exist. Rather, they would head for the village of Kvam, where General Ruge hoped they would meet Major General Paget's freshly arrived 15th Brigade. And it would take the Germans a while to get there, Morgan hoped, because Kvam was some distance away. Forty miles, to be precise.

  Chapter 9

  Tanner put an arm to the nearest tree and rested his head against it. Now that the fight was over, the adrenalin surge that had kept him going evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. His legs ached, his hands were shaky, and his stomach was racked with hunger cramps. A pounding headache drummed in his skull, while his mouth was as dry as bone. Stiffly leaning down, he picked up some snow and put it into his mouth, the icy water striking the nerve ends in his teeth.

  'Sarge,' said a voice.

  Tanner looked round. Sykes was standing beside him. 'Three casualties, Sarge. Gibson's dead, Saxby and Riggs wounded.'

  'Riggs again?' asked Tanner.

  'Bullet through the shoulder. It's not hit his lung, but he needs help. The lads are patching him up now.'

  'What about Saxby?'

  'Shoulder as well. Should pull through. Neither'll be going far, though.'

  Tanner put another handful of snow to his mouth. 'We'll have to think about what's best for the wounded. Better get Gibbo buried. And the Krauts. And Sandvold? Is the professor safe?'

  'Yes, Sarge. Not a scratch.'

  'Anyone else?'

  'One of the Froggies bought it, and another was wounded, but that's it. Lieutenants Larsen and Nielssen are still good.'

  'And bloody Chevannes?'

  'Yes, Sarge,' said Sykes, with a wry smile. 'Nothing wrong with him.'

  Tanner should have felt pleased. His plan had worked, Sandvold was safe, and the enemy threat was, for the moment, over. Yet despair overwhelmed him once more. It was half past eight in the evening and the sound of battle from the valley was noticeably lessening, receding into the distance by the minute, and with it their chance of freedom. They had been so close again - just a mile or two from the safety of their own lines. Christ, thought Tanner. How were they ever going to get out of this? Physically he was finished - they all were. Those last reserves of energy had been summoned by sheer willpower and the promise of reaching the Allies that evening. Now the finishing line had been cruelly moved, far out of reach. And then there was Chevannes. By God, Tanner hated the man: his arrogance, his stupidity, his woeful leadership the previous evening. It was Chevannes' fault they had failed today. Tanner had half a mind to shoot the bastard there and then.

  'Sergeant! Sergeant Tanner!'

  Chevannes. Tanner closed his eyes, quietly drummed his tightly clenched fist into the side of the tree, then faced the French lieutenant striding towards him.

  'A good victory,' said the Frenchman, 'although yon should not have blown the shelter without my permission.'

  Tanner took a deep breath. 'It killed six men, sir, and gave us the chance to hit them hard before they had a moment to recover their balance.'

  'Always answering back to everything I say,' Chevannes snapped. He paused a moment then said, 'We need to tie up these prisoners and bury the dead. See to it quickly, while I question their officer.'

  Tanner said nothing, but walked away and called his men over. 'Well done, lads,' he said. 'You did well.' He looked into their faces, one by one. The youthfulness had gone. They had fought their first fight, had killed, had been touched by death and had survived. They had grown up, and he knew they were better soldiers for the experience.

  He ordered six to fetch the dead, instructing them to line the bodies up by the stream, then strip them of usable clothing and kit. They were to cover them with snow and stones from the brook, and place the tin helmets strapped to their packs on top as a marker. 'Just take Gibbo's bunduck and ammunition,' he added. 'Leave him dressed.'

  Burying the dead; a grim task. Few men died with a neat bullet hole through the heart; most did so with a profusion of blood, with chunks of their bodies ripped from them or their guts spewing from their bellies. It took time to get used to such sights, but there was no denying that most became inured to them quickly. War hardened the mind. Probably the soul too, Tanner thought.

  He was sorry about Gibson - the third of his men to die. Gibson had been popular, a tough little Yorkshire- man. Bloody hell, he thought.

  He took McAllister and Hepworth to the prisoners who were being guarded by Chevannes' Chasseurs Alpins. The Germans were standing close together not far from the blackened crater where the hut had once been. Cordite hung in the air. The seter had gone but for a jumble of charred and still burning logs. Thick smoke rose into the air, a beacon for any passing aircraft. Tanner looked at his watch again. Just after half past eight. They needed to get a move on. 'Iggery, lads,' he said. 'Let's get into the woods.' He began pushing and shoving the prisoners and, with Hepworth, McAllister and the two Frenchmen's help, walked them past the mangled machine-gun crews being lined up on the ground by the stream and under the cover of thicker trees.

  A hundred yards from the seter, he ordered them to stop. He turned one to face him, a youth with dark hair and a defiant glare. 'What's this?' Tanner asked, pointing to the flower embroidered on his sleeve. The same flower was on their field caps too.

  ‘Ein Edelweiss,' the man replied. 'Wir sind der Gebirgsjageren.'

  'It is the symbol of all Gebirgsjager troops,' said another of the men, in heavily accented English. He looked slightly older, with pale grey eyes and pockmarked cheeks. 'We are mountain troops.'

  'And your kit? Good, is it?' Tanner asked. He patted the younger man's pockets, felt the shape of a cigarette packet and took it out. 'Cheers,' he said, shook out a cigarette and lit it.

  'Yes,' said the older man. 'We have the best kit of any fighting soldier in Norway.'

  'Good,' said Tanner, 'because ours is pretty useless.' He pushed his way through the men, measuring his feet against theirs until he was standing beside a man of similar height and size. 'Yours look about right. I'll have those.' The man looked at him blankly, so Tanner mimed his demand. Reluctantly, the prisoner did as he was ordered. 'And you tell them,' said Tanner, turning back to the English-speaker, 'that I want all of you stripped. I want your jackets, tunics, boots and caps. And your goggles.' He took the pair from above the peak of the man nearest him and put them on.

  'Isn't that against the Geneva Convention, Sarge?' asked McAllister. 'They could freeze to death.'

  'Mac, do you want to survive this?' Tanner snapped.

  'Yes, Sarge.'

  'Then don't worry your head about things like that. And, no, I don't think it is against the Geneva Convention. Let's get on with it. And I want them to empty their packs too. Look for food, fags, ammunition, grenades - anything.'

  'You can't do this to us,' said the English speaker.

  'I can and I will,' said Tanner. 'Now, give me
your pack and get undressed.' The man slowly slipped off his rucksack and passed it to Tanner, who emptied it on to the ground. To his delight there was some food - a chunk of dark, dry bread and some cured sausage. The man had a small flask of schnapps too. Tanner ate hungrily, took a swig from the flask and felt the sweet, burning liquid soothe his throat. Ah, that feels good. He passed the flask and food to Hepworth, rolled up the tunic, cap and green-grey jacket, then strapped them to his pack. Finally, he exchanged his own boots and ankle gaiters for the German's dark brown ankle boots and puttees. 'Beautiful,' he said aloud. 'Bloody beautiful.' He threw his own to the prisoner whose boots he was now wearing. 'Here,' he said, 'have these.'

  He went to help Sykes and the others, and found them laying stones and boulders on top of Gibson's grave. 'Take it in turns to get yourselves some kit from the prisoners,' he told them. 'Kershaw, hop it.'

  'Nice boots, Sarge,' said Sykes.

  Tanner smiled ruefully. 'Make sure you get a pair too, Stan. They're bloody marvellous, I'm telling you.'

  'I have already.' He grinned, jerking a thumb towards a shoeless German corpse. 'Just haven't put 'em on yet.'

  Tanner took out two cigarettes and gave one to the corporal.

  'What do we do now, Sarge?' Sykes asked, as he exhaled a large cloud of smoke. He held his cigarette between finger and thumb, hovering in front of his mouth.

  'We're too bloody late to get to Tretten.'

  'I can hear. Or, rather, I can't.'

  'We should have gone last night when I said.'

  'No point agonizing over it, Sarge. It's done now.'

  'Sodding French bastard.' Tanner kicked at the snow.

  'I should have stood my ground.' He sighed. 'If I'm honest, Stan, we've got to find somewhere to rest. A farm or something. I need to think clearly and I can't right now.'

  'Can't we just take our lads and scarper?' Sykes asked.

  Tanner shook his head. 'I promised Gulbrand. It's not that, though - it's what he said. If this Sandvold really is as important as the colonel made out, we've got to get him out of here. I can't abandon him to Chevannes. I wouldn't trust him to get Sandvold to safety for all the money in the world.'

  The minutes passed. The burial was completed, as was the reassignment of German kit. The prisoners, huddled together, stripped to their shirts and trousers, were shivering.

  Eventually Chevannes reappeared with the German officer. 'Are you done, Sergeant?'

  'Yes, sir.' Tanner turned to the German.

  'Captain Zellner,' said Chevannes.

  'Heil Hitler,' said Zellner.

  'Don't you bloody Heil Hitler me, you Nazi bastard,' said Tanner, then asked Chevannes, 'What have you got out of him?'

  'The captain refuses to say anything.'

  Tanner was about to speak when Lieutenant Larsen appeared from across the stream.

  'Wait,' he said, hurrying towards them. As he saw the German, his eyes widened. 'You!'

  Zellner seemed surprised. 'Do I know you?'

  'You were at the farm,' said Larsen. 'At Okset. North of Elverum.'

  Zellner's eyes narrowed

  'It was you,' said Larsen, jabbing his finger into Zellner's chest. 'You were looking for us. What did you do to the farmer?'

  Zellner nodded - yes, I remember now - and glanced at Chevannes. 'Nothing,' he said. 'Nothing at all.'

  'Liar!' said Larsen. He wiped his hand across his mouth, then punched Zellner hard in the stomach. The German doubled over and collapsed on to the ground.

  'Lieutenant! My God, man, what do you think you are doing?' shouted Chevannes.

  Larsen grabbed Zellner by the scruff of the neck, pulled him to his feet. Clasping the German's jaw in his hand, said, 'Tell me what you did!'

  Zellner glared at him, his pale eyes wild with defiance.

  'Lieutenant, that will do!' yelled Chevannes.

  'He's lying!' shouted Larsen, face red with fury. 'I know he is! I want to know what he did to my cousin!'

  Chevannes turned to Zellner. 'Capitaine,' he said, 'can you give me your word as an officer that you did not harm Lieutenant Larsen's cousin?'

  Zellner coughed, and ran his hand round his collar. 'Of course. I give you my word.'

  'For pity's sake,' said Tanner. He put a hand on Larsen's shoulder. 'Leave it, sir.'

  Larsen glared at Zellner. 'You lie.'

  'Lieutenant! Enough!' said Chevannes. 'He has given you his word.'

  Shaking his head, Larsen walked away.

  'Sir,' said Tanner now, 'do you really think his say-so counts for anything? He's a bloody Nazi.'

  'He may be, but he is still an officer,' the Frenchman replied. 'You may not understand what honour is, Sergeant Tanner, but I and my men most certainly do.'

  'I don't believe this.' Tanner spun round and went to his men.

  The German caught sight of his troops a short distance away, huddled in the trees, and spoke angrily to Chevannes, who turned sharply.

  'Sergeant! Come back! What have you done to the prisoners?'

  'Nothing. Just taken a few bits of clothing, weapons and so on.'

  'They will die of cold if we leave them like that.'

  'Then that's one less thing to worry about, isn't it, sir? Actually, sir,' Tanner continued, ignoring the lieutenant's barely disguised fury, 'I was wondering what you were thinking of doing with them.'

  'Doing with them?'

  'Yes, sir. We can't take them with us and we can't let them loose in case they make it back and tell their superiors about us - and, in particular our Norwegian friend. There is, of course, one way of getting them off our hands—'

  'What are you saying, Sergeant? That we shoot them? My God—'

  'No, of course not, sir. I was thinking we could try to find another hut and tie them up there. If they keep cosy they'll probably live. It's cold but it's not that cold. Or we could tie them up and leave them here.'

  'Or you could behave honourably, Sergeant, and give them back their uniforms.'

  Tanner's patience snapped. 'Christ, I've had just about enough of this,' he said angrily. 'We're miles behind the lines now - thanks entirely to you, sir - and all you seem to care about is sodding honour. This isn't bloody knights-in-shining-armour, this is war. It's nasty and bad things happen. I don't give a toss about upsetting these Jerries. I care about making sure my men survive and that we get back to our lines. Regardless of what you may or may not believe, I made a solemn promise to get Mr Sandvold to safety and I'm going to bloody well do it. But we're in a whole load of trouble and we need every bit of help we can get our hands on. These Jerry boots are a damn sight better than our own, and their kit will not only keep us warm but could give us a useful disguise, should it come to it. After this little fight our ammunition levels are down and the extra fire-power might come in bloody useful. If you think that's wrong, then you're an even bigger fool than I thought. Sir.'

  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.