'So he was primed,' said von Poncets.
'Primed - yes, exactly. And then with a bit of gentle persuasion we had our spy. A massive stroke of luck, of course, that he was chosen to go back and fetch Odin. Initially, we thought we would use him to get to the King and the gold.'
'Why didn't he lead you to Odin in Oslo, then?' asked Zellner.
'He didn't know. It wasn't until later. We ransacked Odin's offices and interrogated his mother. We didn't find any blue papers but we found enough to know what he was trying to do. Trust me, if this fellow can truly get oil from under the seabed, we'll have the eternal gratitude of the Fuhrer.'
The thought cheered Zellner even more. Well, it wouldn't be long now. This time nothing had been left to chance. He was certain they could not fail again.
It was mindless work, patrolling a bridge. One man walked one way, one the other, up and down, back and forth. Schutze Pieter Greiger was tired. It had been a gruelling two weeks, and although they had successfully hammered their way northwards, victory helped keep you going only so far. The fighting at Dombas had been gruelling for his company and they had lost several men. Half his platoon had been killed or wounded. One of the dead had been a good friend, Dieter Manser; they had known each other since boyhood. He'd tried hard to put his loss out of his mind and found that so long as he was busy it was quite easy to do. But sentry duty gave him too much time to think about Dieter's bloodied body, the life draining from him ... He reached the north side of the bridge, then began to walk back, the rhythmic clump of his boots loud on the thick wooden planking.
He had passed Reitmann when a sound pulled him from his reverie. Clasping the strap of his rifle more tightly, he listened. Then, a short distance ahead, he saw a column of men emerge from the shadows of the mountain, silhouetted against the pale dirt of the road. The men were marching towards the bridge and, seeing the outline of their field caps, he relaxed. He called to Reitmann and they strode towards the southern end of the bridge.
'Halt!' said Greiger, as the men approached. The officer brought his men to a standstill and waited as
Greiger, with Reitmann beside him, walked towards them.
'Good evening,' said the officer. 'We've come from the crossing-point. We've been ordered to help man the bridge.'
Greiger stared at him but it was hard to see much in the darkness. Then he noticed the white Edelweiss on the side of the cap, standing out starkly in the gloom.
'Gebirgsjager?' he asked. The officer nodded. 'May I see your orders, sir?'
The officer said, 'Of course,' then made for a leather satchel at his waist. Instead of producing papers, though, the officer pulled out a short bayonet and thrust it hard into Greiger's side, under his ribs, through his liver and into his kidney. The pain was so extreme, Greiger had only a quarter-second of intense agony, then his body shut down. His heart seized and the signals to his brain were severed. It was as though a switch had been turned off. Pieter Greiger's short life was over.
At the same moment Nielssen was ending the life of the second man he had despatched within an hour, Sergeant Tanner, beside him, had used his right fist to knock the second sentry out cold before the German could so much as pull back the bolt on his Mauser.
'Quick,' whispered Tanner to his men, as he grabbed the first man's Mauser. 'Get the rest of their weapons, ammo and helmets and drag them off the bridge. 'Mac and Hep, put these helmets on and take over sentry duty.'
Chevannes was now standing beside him.
'Good work, Nielssen,' said Chevannes to the Norwegian. 'Now for the truck.'
'Sir?' said Tanner.
'What now, Sergeant?'
'Sykes and I are going to blow the bridge - prevent any of those mountain boys coming after us.'
'You don't think it might alert the enemy?' His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
'We'll set a delay with the safety fuse.'
He dithered, then said, 'Well, be quick about it.'
'Yes, sir. If you and the men wait off the road, sir, I'll put up two sentries.'
'Yes, yes, all right. Get a move on.'
Tanner called over McAllister and Hepworth. 'Put those Jerry helmets on you two,' he said, 'then start walking up and down the bridge.' He hurried over to Sykes, who was already delving in his pack, took out a packet of Nobel's from his gas-mask case and passed it to him.
'Sarge, open it, take out two cartridges and tie them together with a small length of fuse.'
'You think that'll be enough?' He could just see that Sykes was doing the same with another packet.
'Yes.'
Tanner nodded. His heart was thumping in his chest again, his brittle fingers tearing at the thin cardboard. Taking out two cartridges, he put the remainder of the packet back into his gas-mask case, then took out the tin of fuses. With his clasp knife, he cut a strip and tied the two cartridges together. 'Done,' he said.
'Good,' said Sykes, fumbling with the detonators. 'How long do we want to wait?'
'Six hundred yards to the church,' he muttered to himself, 'but we need to get in the truck and start it. On the other hand, the distraction of the blast might be useful. Ten minutes? No - let's say eight.'
'Sure?'
'Yes, eight minutes.'
'All right - cut me a sixteen-foot length.'
Using his forearm as a measure, Tanner did so, then passed one end to Sykes who managed to crimp the fuse to the detonators with his teeth.
'And another length the same, Sarge,' whispered Sykes.
Suddenly Chevannes was beside them. 'Have you finished?' he hissed.
'Almost, sir,' said Sykes.
'Hurry.' He disappeared back down the bridge as Tanner measured another length of fuse. This time he had only counted thirteen feet when he reached the end of the tin. 'I've run out, Stan. I'm three foot short.'
'Bollocks,' said Sykes, then scratched his head. 'All right, here's what we do: we tie the explosives each side of the bridge rather than at either end and run a length of fuse from one on to the main fuse. Here, give it me.' He took one end, crimped it to the detonator, then hurried across to the other side of the bridge. Lying down and straining over the side, he used another short length of fuse to tie it to one of the girders. That done, he ran back to the other side, feeding the fuse through his hands, and tied it to the longer length. Grabbing the second batch of cartridges, he lay down again, head and arms disappearing over the side of the bridge.
A few moments later he stood up, dusted off his hands and said, 'All set, Sarge.'
In a loud whisper, Tanner called to McAllister and Hepworth, then Sykes lit the fuse.
'About time,' whispered Chevannes, as they rejoined the others. 'Same marching order, all right?'
'Sir,' said Tanner. He held the face of his watch to the sky. He could just make out the hands. Fourteen minutes past eleven. Christ! he thought. This'll be close.
A couple of minutes later they had still not reached the first houses of the town and had gone less than two hundred yards. Frantically trying to perform mental arithmetic, he realized they needed to increase their pace if they were going to reach the truck before the gelignite detonated.
'Sir,' he whispered to Nielssen, 'we need to speed up.'
Nielssen nodded and a couple of minutes later they reached the edge of the town. Ahead, the wooden spire of the church was silhouetted against the sky.
Two figures emerged in front of them. Tanner felt himself tense, but as the two men passed, they merely saluted. Replacement sentries, thought Tanner. Poor bastards. Part of him wanted to warn them of what they were walking towards.
23.20 hours. Six minutes gone. Either side of the road, sleeping houses, the night as still as ever. The church getting closer. Tanner struggled with the overwhelming desire to run. His heart continued to pound. Two minutes until the shooting started. Would they make it? Or was he now facing the final moments of his life? Stop thinking like that.
He held up his watch to the night sky again. 23.21. Seven minutes
. And there they were, two trucks parked together, a third the far side of the church. Nielssen halted them.
'Sir, we might as well take both these trucks,' whispered Tanner to Chevannes, standing directly behind him. 'More fuel and in case anything happens.'
'D'accord,' said Chevannes.
Suddenly figures appeared before them, calling out. Christ, sentries, thought Tanner. Nielssen spoke to them. How many? Tanner couldn't see but he had his rifle off his shoulder and felt in his haversack for a grenade.
'Lads, get ready,' he hissed.
A German soldier stepped forward, his tone aggressive, angry even. The moon now drifted clear of a cloud. It did not have much light to offer but it was enough for Tanner to see half a dozen men round the trucks. He glanced at his watch. 23.22. Eight minutes. Where the hell was the explosion? Had the fuse gone out? Had he miscounted? A bead of sweat ran down his back but he felt a chill at the nape of his neck. Come on, come on.
The German NCO pointed to the rest of them and walked towards Tanner. He was looking at Tanner's rifle and the Mauser slung on his other shoulder. Damn it, thought Tanner. Now just a few feet away, the German addressed him directly, ignoring Nielssen. Again he pointed angrily to the rifle Tanner held and the other on his shoulder. What was he saying? Why have you got two? Where did you get that Tommy rifle? Tanner had no idea.
Sod it, he thought. 'I'm sorry, mate, I don't understand a word you're saying,' he said, as he drew back the bolt on his rifle, pushed it forward, clicked it back into place, and squeezed the trigger. The report echoed round the church and surrounding buildings, the German crumpled to the ground, and at that moment, the bridge blew. Tanner started, but so did the enemy soldiers, who ducked involuntarily and looked south towards the bridge as an orange ball of flame mushroomed into the night sky. Seeing his chance, Tanner sprinted towards them. Pull the bolt back and forward, fire. Another man fell. A third fumbled at his rifle as Tanner swung the butt of his own into the man's head. The soldier cried out as Tanner kicked a fourth to the ground, all before one had fired a shot.
Shouts now from the surrounding houses. Tanner yelled, 'Into the trucks, quick!' Pistol shots - Nielssen and Chevannes. Screams from another man. Tanner grabbed Lance Corporal Erwood's shoulder. 'Get into the second truck and fire that bloody Spandau from the tailgate!' He searched frantically for Anna and the professor. 'Get in! Get in!' he yelled, when he saw them running, crouching, towards the first truck.
'Sir,' he shouted to Nielssen, 'drive the second truck!' Nielssen nodded, Tanner grabbed Anna's arm, shoved her towards the cab of the first and hastily jumped in beside her, shoving his two rifles between them. Of course, it was dark in the cab and the German Opel was unfamiliar. He hadn't thought of that. 'Jesus Christ!' he muttered. 'How do you start this bloody thing?' He fumbled around with his feet in the pitch-dark footwell, hitting pedals but there was no starter knob on the floor.
Frantically, he slapped his hand against the dashboard, finding what felt like a button, but although he pressed hard, nothing happened. Chevannes now clambered in next to Anna.
'Come on, Sergeant!' shouted Chevannes as Tanner inadvertently switched on the wipers. 'Merde! Get us out of here!'
Troops were now running out of the surrounding houses, shots cracking apart the night. Another button on the far right of the dashboard. What was it? The choke? From the back of the truck, their own men were firing and then, behind, an engine roared into life and the truck drew alongside.
'I can't get it started!' he yelled across to Nielssen.
'Isn't there a key?' Nielssen shouted back.
'No, nothing!'
'Use a piece of wire, or a screwdriver - it's above the ignition button.'
Tanner's mind raced as bullets smacked into the side of the truck, then feeling into his haversack he fumbled for his tool wallet and found what he was searching for - a set of five different-sized reamers. The first he tried was too large for the hole. 'Bloody hell,' he muttered, his heart hammering, then felt the second slide into the ignition. Immediately a small red light came on, revealing a sign that said 'ANLASSER' and what had to be the ignition button. Pulling what he hoped was the choke on the far side of the dashboard, he then pressed the button and the engine coughed into life. Yanking the reamer hard upwards to keep it in place, he shouted across to Nielssen, 'Tell Erwood to spray the other vehicles, sir!'
A bullet cracked through the windscreen. Anna screamed, and Tanner thrust the truck into gear, released the handbrake and the Opel lurched forward. 'Professor?' he shouted. 'Professor, are you there?'
'Yes! Just go!'
Chevannes fired his pistol through the window. More bullets rang out. Another thumped into the door and died. Tanner found the headlights, switched them on. Slits, just slivers of light, but enough. Out of the church square. Ahead, troops kneeling in the road. Tanner stamped on the throttle. Another bullet cracked through the top of the windscreen, and ripped through the metal roof, and Anna screamed again. Tanner charged at the men. Figures scattered but he felt a thump as he hit one, heard a scream. Feeling in his pocket he passed a grenade to Anna. 'Here!' he said. 'Pull the pin and throw it out the window. Can you do that?'
Anna nodded, pulled the pin and tossed it away. It hit the framework round the door and rebounded on to Tanner's lap. 'Jack, I'm so sorry!' she cried. Half looking ahead, half fumbling in his lap he found it and hurled it out as hard as he could.
Behind him the men were still firing. He was conscious of the Spandau's short, clattering bursts. Ahead the second bridge. No time to blow that. He dropped a gear, turned, rumbled across the short expanse, then drove left towards the valley road that led north. More shooting ahead, and Tanner ducked every time a bullet pinged nearby. From the back someone yelled. 'Keep going, Tanner, faster!' screamed Chevannes, then leant across Anna, grabbed
Tanner's Mauser and fired off five rounds in quick succession.
Changing up a gear, Tanner pushed down again on the accelerator as they reached the edge of town. He was vaguely aware of Chevannes reloading the Mauser and preparing to fire, then suddenly realized what the lieutenant had done. 'No, sir, don't fire!' he shouted.
With a loud crack, the rifle jerked upwards, Chevannes screamed and his head and shoulders were flung backwards. Anna cried out as Chevannes threw his hands to his face, howling wildly. Even in the faint moonlight, Tanner could see blood on the windscreen.
'Sir!' shouted Tanner. 'How bad is it? How bad is it, sir? Anna, try to calm him down. See if you can find out what he's done. I can't stop now.' He dropped down a gear once more, pressed hard on the throttle to bring up both revs and speed, then changed up. The town was now behind them, the shooting receding. From behind him he could hear desultory shots, and an occasional second-long burst from the Spandau.
Chevannes groaned.
'Keep still,' said Anna, her voice calm once more. 'Rest your head on my lap.' She took his shoulders and straightened him. 'Try to bring your legs up.' Slowly, he did so until he was lying across half the seat and her. 'There's a lot of blood,' she said. 'He needs dressings as soon as possible.'
Tanner hitched his pack and webbing from his back and waist as he drove, shoved them on to his lap, then began taking off his German tunic. 'Here,' he said, 'have
this. I'll stop as soon as I can.' Then he called, 'How are you in the back?'
'Tinker's hit, Sarge,' McAllister yelled, 'but I don't think it's serious.'
'Yes, it bloody is!' called Bell. 'My arm's agony!'
Almost too late, Tanner saw the road ahead fork. 'Which way?' he said, bringing the truck to a halt.
'I can't get to my map,' said Anna.
'Hold on,' said Tanner. With the engine still running, he jumped out of the cab and ran towards the other truck.
'What's happened?' asked Nielssen.
'We don't know which way - left or right? Do you have your map, sir?'
'A moment, Sergeant.'
'Any casualties?'
'I'm afraid so
- one.'
'Who?'
'Your lance corporal. Erwood. Shot in the head.'
'Dead?'
Nielssen nodded.
'Damn,' said Tanner. 'He was a good man. Is he still in the back?'
'No, he was hit as he was trying to get in. Hepworth's been on the Spandau. What about you, Sergeant?'
'The lieutenant's hit in the face. He needs dressings and attention soon. And Bell - not serious.'
Nielssen looked at the map and passed it on. 'We need to turn right. We've a bit of a climb, then in thirty kilometres we reach the main road to Andalsnes. How much fuel do you have?'
'About a quarter of a tank. Not enough.'
Nielssen grinned. 'We've some spare cans in the back and the gauge is reading over half a tank. And that is enough.'
'Let's keep going,' said Tanner. 'It would be good to be on the main road by first light.' He paused to get some field dressings, then hurried back to the cab. Passing the bandages to Anna, he pushed the stick into gear and rolled forward.
Hauptmann Wolf Zellner had seen the explosion before he heard it: a bright orange glow lighting the sky to the east. A moment later, the report. Then a sickening feeling swept over him. An almost speechless von Poncets had immediately sent a signal to Vinstra. A quarter of an hour later the truth was revealed: around fifteen men, dressed in German uniforms, had infiltrated the town and stolen two troop carriers. And the bridge had been blown to pieces.
On hearing this news rage gripped him, rage he feared he would not be able to control. Staggering outside, he walked to the water's edge, picked up a large rock and hurled it at one of the moored dinghies. The boat sank, until all that remained was a length of rope disappearing beneath the water.
The Odin Mission sjt-1 Page 32
