The Odin Mission sjt-1

by James Holland

  'She knows how to deal with hypothermia,' Anna said, turning to Tanner and Chevannes. 'Her cousin had it once, but she is worried it is too late for Junot.' The woman now shouted at her husband, who quickly filled a large black pot and hung it above the fire. 'They're making coffee,' Anna explained. 'Sweet coffee. The sugar and hot fluid will help him.'

  Suddenly the woman stopped what she was doing and felt Junot's neck. She sat back and looked up at Anna and Chevannes.

  'He is dead?' said Chevannes to Anna, disbelief on his face.

  Anna nodded. 'I am sorry, Lieutenant. The poor man. It is too terrible.'

  Chevannes put his hands to his face. 'Mon Dieu,' he muttered. 'Mon Dieu.'

  Tanner's first thoughts were about what they should do with the body. They needed to cover not only their own tracks but those of the farmer and his wife. Then they had to consider what they would do next. Chevannes was wavering, he could see, while Nielssen and Larsen were keeping quiet, allowing the French lieutenant to make the decisions. For God's sake.

  The farmer and his wife were arguing now.

  'What are they saying?' asked Chevannes.

  'He wants us to take Junot with us,' Anna explained.

  'His wife is saying we should carry him to the church - then he can have a proper Christian burial.'

  'That's ridiculous,' said Tanner. 'We need to take him up into the trees and bury him there.' He turned to Chevannes. 'Don't you agree, sir?'

  'Yes, Sergeant. Yes, we must.' Chevannes seemed distant and distracted.

  'Shall I organize it, sir?' Tanner asked.

  Chevannes nodded. Tanner gathered his men, told them to ditch their German caps and jackets, put on their old greatcoats, jerkins and tin helmets, then lift Junot. The farmer's wife tried to stop them, but with Anna placating her, the men picked up the dead Chasseur and went back out into the morning light, trudged back through the yard, up the track and into the trees overlooking the farm.

  As a shallow grave was dug, Tanner gazed down at the valley below. It looked so peaceful, as though the war could never touch it. There were no charred remains or piles of rubble here. Rather, the only smoke was that which rose in narrow columns from the farms on the lower slopes, their inhabitants up and about, getting ready for another day.

  Sykes was standing beside him.

  'Do you reckon Jerry knows about our professor, then?' the corporal asked.

  'I can't work it out, Stan. The other evening that German patrol seemed to be coming after us for a reason. Why else go to all that trouble just to catch a few soldiers on the run? And last night I could have sworn those men at Tretten were waiting for us, as

  though they knew we were going to cross the valley.'

  'But how could they have done?'

  Tanner shook his head. 'I don't know. And there's another thing. Did you notice most of their shooting was high?'

  'Was it?'

  'Well, not a single one of us was hit, were we? Except maybe Mitch.'

  'No, I suppose not.'

  'But then again, no one came looking for us yesterday, did they? A few recce planes overhead, but that was all. It doesn't make sense.' He lit a cigarette. 'Maybe I'm imagining things.' He was silent for a moment, then said, 'With any luck they won't come looking for us along here. If we keep our eyes and ears strained for aircraft, we should be all right.'

  'We could do with some M/T, Sarge,' added Sykes. 'Perhaps one of these farmers here has got some.'

  'Perhaps.'

  They gazed at the valley again. 'Just fourteen of us now,' said Tanner.

  'A few less to worry about.'

  'Yes, that's true.' Tanner sighed. Behind him, the men had finished covering Junot and were putting away their entrenching tools. 'Come on, boys,' said Tanner. 'Let's get back to the farmhouse.'

  As they reached the yard, they saw the farmer hurry outside. He glared at them as they passed him.

  'Bloody hell, what's the matter with him?' said Hepworth.

  'Trouble with the missus?' suggested McAllister.

  'She's a tough-looking woman,' said Sykes. 'Had him running around earlier.'

  'Maybe he doesn't like having a bunch of soldiers turn up early for breakfast,' said Tanner. They went back inside to find the others putting their packs on their shoulders.

  'Have you buried Junot, Sergeant?' Chevannes asked Tanner. 'We need to leave.'

  'Er, yes,' Tanner replied, handing him Junot's identity tags. 'He's well hidden up in the trees.'

  'Good. We go.'

  'The farmer is nervous,' explained Anna. 'He is worried about what the Germans will do if they find out we have been here. Henrik Larsen has tried to reason with him, but I am afraid it is no use.' She looked towards the farmer's wife. 'She is furious with him. She called him a coward and a traitor.'

  'Have we asked her whether anyone in the village has any transport?'

  'Not yet.' She turned and spoke to the farmer's wife, who replied after a moment's thought, then pointed and gesticulated.

  'Uksum Farm,' said Anna. 'A man called Merit Sulheim. She says he has a truck he uses to take livestock to Lillehammer.'

  Tanner's spirits rose. 'Perfect,' he said. 'Where is this farm?'

  'Not far. About a kilometre north from the church.'

  'Good. Let's head there right away.'

  As they left the farm and continued down the track towards the valley, they heard the now familiar sound of aero-engines thrumming faintly over the mountains above them. Tanner stopped, and held up an arm. 'Ssh!' he said, cocking his head. There it was, faint but distinct, somewhere over the mountains from which they had just crossed. A little louder, then a Junkers roared into view a few hundred yards ahead as it crested the lip of the mountain plateau and plunged into the valley.

  'Everyone, take cover - quick!' shouted Chevannes. They flung themselves onto the track's bushy bank. Tanner watched the aircraft bank and swoop across the valley, then turn, curving, so that its bulbous nose pointed directly towards them.

  'It's bloody well coming right for us!' said Sykes, clutching his helmet to his head. Moments later, the Junkers thundered directly over them, the black crosses and pale blue underside startlingly close. They watched as the aircraft flew on, then banked again, arcing lazily across the valley before turning for another run above them.

  'Here, Dan!' Tanner called out to Lance Corporal Erwood. 'Have a crack with the Bren, will you?'

  'And give away our position?' called Chevannes. 'Are you mad, Sergeant?'

  'Sir, he's seen us. The only way we're going to stop him bleating is by shooting the bastard down.'

  'No, Sergeant, and that is an order!'

  The Junkers was approaching once more, no more than a hundred feet above them. Again it roared overhead, oil streaks from the two radial engines staining the pale underside of the wings. Tanner cursed, then watched as it swung out over the valley and began to bank yet again. 'Sir, he's bloody well seen us!' he shouted. 'Let's have a pop at it. What have we got to lose?' Chevannes said nothing. Tanner smiled, aware that the French lieutenant's silence was the authority he needed. 'Aim off, Dan,' he called to Erwood once more. 'Give yourself plenty of lead.' Erwood glanced at Chevannes, then back at the sergeant. 'Do it, Dan,' said Tanner. He had his own rifle to his shoulder now and saw that the rest of his men had followed his example. He knew a .303 round would probably make little impression on an eight-ton monster such as a Junkers 88, but it was flying so low he reckoned it had to be worth a shot. It was rather like aiming at a high bird, he thought to himself. Admittedly it was travelling at probably a hundred and fifty miles per hour, rather than fifty like a pheasant with a good wind behind it but, he told himself, a Junkers was far bigger.

  He watched it straighten and its wings level. At that distance it looked as though it was travelling slower than a pheasant, but all too soon that illusion was dispelled. Tanner pointed his rifle vertically in the air. 'Ready, Dan?' he called. 'Two seconds now One, two - fire!' he yelled, and as bullets pumped
into the sky the aircraft swept over them.

  Then a miracle happened. The starboard engine spluttered and, as the aircraft banked over the valley, flames appeared, followed by a long trail of smoke. As one, the men on the ground stood up and watched, open- mouthed. The pilot tried to climb and they followed the plane as it headed north up the valley, rose over the mountains, then plunged earthwards. A ball of flame erupted briefly on the far side of the mountains followed by the dull rumble of destruction a few seconds later. For a moment the men were dumbstruck, then raised their rifles and cheered.

  It was Dan Erwood who received the most slaps on the back but Tanner knew it could have been any of them, and that in firing together, they had claimed victory together.

  'Good shooting, men,' said Chevannes, adjusting his beret on his head. 'Very good shooting.'

  'And a very good decision to let us fire, if I might say so, sir,' said Tanner.

  'Be careful, Tanner,' said Chevannes. 'My patience is wearing thin.'

  'Come on, lads,' said Tanner, ignoring the Frenchman. 'Iggery, all right?'

  They walked on quickly, past anxious, startled farmers who had emerged from their houses to see what the commotion was about. Two young boys stood on a gate to watch them pass and several of Tanner's men cheered at them as they did so, the boys grinning back.

  'That's enough!' Tanner warned.

  'They are like schoolboys,' said Anna, walking beside him. 'It is amazing to see everyone's spirits lift like this.'

  'Mine will be even higher if this truck works out,' Tanner replied. He turned and barked at his men: 'Come on, you lot! You can stop congratulating yourselves now and get a bloody move on!'

  'We were just saying, Sarge,' said Erwood, hurrying to his side, 'what a shame it is that Mitch isn't with us, him being on my Bren crew an' that. He'd have loved to have seen that Jerry plane come down. I wish I knew he was all right.'

  'I'm sure he is.'

  'Only I feel bad. One minute he was with us and the next he wasn't. It's not knowing what happened . . .'

  'He probably just tripped and fell,' said Tanner. 'Easy to do when it's dark like that. You'll probably find he was picked up by the Jerries.'

  'I'm telling you,' mumbled Mitch Moran, 'I don't know anything. We were just trying to get back to our lines.'

  Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz sat on the edge of his desk and looked at the pitiful figure in front of him. A swollen and cut eye, so puffed and blackened it had closed, a darkening cheek, cracked and bloodied lips, a line of congealed blood and mucus from nose to mouth. Moran's shirt was torn, but hid the bruising round his cracked ribs, while his feet were bare and also bloody and blackened. With his arms tied behind the back of the chair, his head hung down as though it were too heavy for him now that it had been so badly pummelled.

  Kurz sighed. He had been taught torture techniques, but beating someone to within an inch of their life always struck him as crude. And this fellow - well, he was just a simple boy. A few cigarettes, a bit of friendly chat and the Englishman would have been eating out of his hand ages ago. Now it was probably too late. Ah, well, worth a try. He ordered the guard at the door to untie Moran's hands, then lit a cigarette.

  'A smoke?' he said, and without waiting for an answer, placed the cigarette between Moran's lips. 'Listen, I'm sorry you've been so roughly treated. Hauptmann Zellner was - well, he was a bit frustrated, to put it mildly. I'm sorry he took it out on you.' He saw Moran lift his head a fraction, then shakily raise a hand to the cigarette. Kurz smiled. 'I certainly wouldn't want you thinking we're all like that.' Standing up, he walked towards the window. 'War . .. what a waste of time it is. Killing people, uprooting people from their homes - it is all so futile. You know, I was a teacher before the war. I used to teach English in a small town in the Thuringen. I loved England - I travelled all over when I was still a student. You are from Yorkshire, I believe?'

  Moran nodded.

  Kurz stood up again and walked to the cabinet behind Moran where he now kept his Baedekers. He picked up the England edition. 'Which part?'

  'Knaresborough,' mumbled Moran.

  'Knaresborough,' said Kurz, flicking through the pages. 'Near Harrogate, is it not?' He paused, as though lost in the depths of a happy memory. 'Yes, I remember a wonderful English tea at Betty's in Harrogate.' He smiled. 'Do you know it?'

  'It's only for nobs and that, really,' Moran mumbled, 'but my grandma took me there for my tenth birthday.'

  'I remember it being quite charming,' said Kurz, 'as was all of Yorkshire. One day, when this is all over, I should like to go back.' He sighed, then said, 'And here I am, a soldier of sorts, fighting against a people for whom I have a very great affection. It is damnable, it really is.' He leant closer towards Moran. 'Look, I want to help you. You are just a boy and, I am sure, would much rather be at home in Knaresborough with your family, just as I would rather be at home with my wife and baby daughter in Ludwigsstadt, but there is a war on and that is all there is to it. I cannot get you home tomorrow, but I can get you cleaned up and properly looked after, and I can promise you there will be no more beatings.' He paused, looked at Moran and said, 'Can I get you anything? Some water perhaps?'Thank you.'

  Kurz went to a cabinet in the corner and poured a glass, then handed it to the Tommy. 'There,' he said, taking the cigarette butt from Moran's lips and handing him the glass. 'I was wondering why you were crossing the river last night. It seems rather a risk.'

  'Because you lot were going down the main valley. We thought there'd be less of you about.'

  'But difficult to walk through those mountains. There's still plenty of snow up there.'

  'Not in the valley beyond.'

  Kurz smiled. Really, he thought, this was almost too easy. 'No, I suppose not. So your plan was to head north down the j0ra valley?'

  Moran nodded.

  'As a matter of interest,' Kurz added, 'what made you cross where you did? It showed extraordinary local knowledge, if you don't mind me saying so.'

  'Our sarge had recced the area earlier and found the boats,' said Moran, still almost in a whisper. 'And we had a Norwegian girl showing us the way.'

  'Ah,' said Kurz. Now I understand. 'Well, I'll let you rest now, Moran. And good luck.' Two guards came over, picked up Moran and took him away.

  Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt, who had been sitting silently in a chair in the corner watching Kurz, clapped slowly. 'Bravo, Sturmbannfuhrer. A virtuoso performance.'

  Kurz made a mock bow.

  'I had no idea you had been a teacher,' Scheidt added. 'You don't strike me as the type.'

  'I wasn't.'

  'Ah. And you don't have a wife and baby daughter?'

  'No, of course not. Nor have I been to England and certainly not Betty's Tea Rooms, whatever they might be. Baedeker's a useful friend.'

  Scheidt smiled, but then his expression changed. The British sergeant was proving a thorn in their side. And they had a guide with them. Damn them, he thought. And damn Zellner. Twice he had bungled what should have been a straightforward operation. Worse, last night he had flagrantly disobeyed Kurz's orders and Odin had slipped through their fingers again. He ran a hand wearily through his hair.

  'Cheer up, my dear Reichsamtsleiter,' said Kurz. 'We know where they're heading and they've still a long way to go. Patience. We're closing in on them.'

  'You keep saying that,' snapped Scheidt, 'yet Odin repeatedly eludes us, and for two days we've heard nothing from our source. The clock is ticking, Sturmbannfuhrer, and if we fail, it won't be only me who falls.'

  'Yet we know where they have headed. The j0ra valley is narrow and quite small. Zellner and his men will be able to search it with far greater ease than they could the Gudbrandsdalen.'

  'Zellner,' muttered Scheidt. 'Hardly a man to inspire confidence.'

  'Don't write him off yet, Herr Reichsamtsleiter. He has excellent credentials and no doubt he'll be anxious to put right his previous attempts to capture Odin.'

  'I hope to God you're rig
ht, Kurz,' said Scheidt.

  At Tretten station, Hauptmann Wolf Zellner was anxiously awaiting a call from the Luftwaffe. At ten o'clock, they had told him, he could expect a report from their morning reconnaissance yet it was now nearly half past and there was still nothing. He glanced at his watch again, drummed his fingers on the desk in the station master's office, then impatiently put a call through to Fornebu. One plane was back, he was told, and had found nothing. The other was late and out of radio contact.

  Zellner slammed down the receiver and kicked the door. He cursed Odin and Tanner, every single one of those miserable fugitives - men who were making a fool of him. He still could not believe they had got away. Countless times he had replayed the events of the previous evening over in his mind, and every time, his anger and despair grew.

  He could feel the career for which he had worked and trained so hard slipping away from him. As a boy he had wanted to be a soldier, an ambition that had never left him. He had joined the Austrian Army at eighteen, and had cheered when Hitler had marched into Vienna in the spring of 1938. He was proud to be part of what would surely become a great nation - a military nation in which he had a part to play. From that moment on, he had dreamt of great things. Ahead lay a future of endless opportunity in which he would perform great deeds, win a multitude of awards for valour, and in which he would rise steadily but surely to the top of his chosen profession.

  Yet now a handful of Tommies, a few Frenchmen and Norwegians threatened to shatter those dreams. It was inconceivable. The sense of humiliation was too great. Tanner, he thought. He picked up an old cup from the desk and flung it at the wall.