steady him and then a sudden calm spread over Draper's face. The kicking stopped and his head dropped limply to one side.
'Goddamn it!' cursed Tanner, slamming a fist into the ground. He glanced at his watch. It was now nearly six o'clock in the evening. Standing up and scanning the mountains, he could still see no sign of any troops, enemy or otherwise. 'Stan, you stay here with three of your lads and bury Gordon and Keith.' Sykes nodded.
'The rest come with me.'
It was often hard for a pilot to hit a human target on the ground. Travelling at high speeds there was little time to aim, and although the mixture of MG17 7.92mm bullets and Oerlikon 20mm cannon shells poured out through the nose cone of the twin-engined Messerschmitt 110, there was no time to respond should the targets suddenly fling themselves out of the line of fire. Nor was there much chance to see the fruits of such an attack. The rule of strafing was simple: keep your finger on the firing buttons, then fly straight on out of harm's way as quickly as possible; it only took a lucky bullet and the plane could be in serious trouble, especially at such a low height.
Lieutenant Franz Meidel was pleased with his efforts, though. Flying low along Lake Mj0sa, he had climbed due north using the bend in the lake as his marker. He had arrived south-east of the Balberkamp, then pulled back on the throttle so that he was travelling at two hundred miles per hour, and swooped north without being seen or heard. He had not been expecting to see a patrol of British troops but at just under a hundred feet off the ground he had seen their distinctive wide-rimmed helmets clearly. A three-second burst of fire had certainly knocked them over, and he was sure he had seen one man badly hit before the reeling figure had flashed out of sight beneath the aircraft.
Lieutenant Meidel had flown on, spotting five men. There was so little time in which to assess who they were, but they carried rifles and looked - so far as he could tell - like Norwegian troops. He had opened fire on them too. Although he had been unable to see whether or not he had been successful, his rear-gunner told him he was certain at least one man had been hit. Meidel flew on, and since there were neither enemy aircraft nor anti-aircraft fire to worry about, and because the adrenalin coursing through him was making him feel bold, he had decided to turn and swoop back low over the tree-tops to examine his handiwork. Of the men there had been no sign, but he had spied a distinct trail of blood in the snow. Good, he thought. 'I think we can go home, Reike,' he said.
Although Sergeant Tanner had heard the second attack, it had not been his intention to investigate further. He guessed it had been made on the Frenchmen, in which case he hoped the German pilot had been successful. And, in any case, his orders were to look for German mountain troops preparing an outflanking manoeuvre, not get caught up in somebody else's trouble.
So, with nothing to report from the summit of the Balberkamp, he had told his still-shaken patrol they would head down to rejoin the rest of the company. They had retraced their steps and had cleared the lip so that they were looking down on the Rangers' positions, when Tanner realized something was wrong. in the valley. Sykes had spotted it too.
'If the lads are still down there, Sarge,' Sykes said, behind his shoulder, 'why isn't there any sight or sound of gunfire? And why are the Jerry shells landing further to the north?'
'You're a mind-reader, Stan. Mind you, they were shelling behind our lines earlier, too.'
'And our positions at the same time. But it's quiet now. I reckon they've bloody scarpered.'
Tanner felt for his haversack on his hip, reached into it and pulled out the Aldis sight. With one hand he held the leather lens cap as a shield to avoid any light reflecting into the valley, while with the other he put it to his eye.
Sykes eyed the scope admiringly, then peered at the rifle now on Tanner's shoulder. 'You crafty sod, Sarge! You've had the fittings added. Blimey, I never noticed that.'
'Nor has anyone else,' said Tanner, still observing the valley. 'I can't see any sign of them. Jerry aircraft and Jerry shells have done for them, I think.'
'It was a bloody hopeless position in the first place, if you ask me,' said Sykes.
'Course it bloody was,' agreed Tanner. He replaced the cap and carefully put the scope back into his haversack. He felt in his pocket for his cigarettes, only to find he had already smoked the last one. 'Sod it,' he said, tossing away the empty packet. Lieutenant Dingwall had mentioned Tretten, some miles to the north, but in the snow, with almost no food and on the back of four days and nights of very little sleep, this would be tough on the men. They now looked at him expectantly.
'Sarge?' said Sykes.
A faint chatter of small arms could be heard further up the valley - it was the indication Tanner needed. 'We head north,' he said. 'We'll rejoin that track.' The men looked downhearted. 'Listen to me,' said Tanner. 'No one ever said this war would be easy, but unless you want to end up in some Jerry cooler, we've got to keep
going. If you've any rations left, eat something now.'
Lack of food was his prime concern, and as they set off once more it played on his mind. When in action, with adrenalin pumping through the blood, hunger melted away, but as he well knew, there were always long intervals between. Hunger could torment a man, sap his energy, weaken his spirit. He had hoped they might be able to shoot a rabbit or some birds, but on this mountain he'd seen few of either. The lads were not grumbling yet; rather, they were quiet, most still stunned by the loss of Garraby and Draper. Tanner had to remind himself that those deaths had probably been the first his men had witnessed. The platoon was close; some had joined at the same time, but all had trained and headed off to war together. To lose good friends so violently was hard to take.
He wondered whether he should have said more. He could have told them that the first dead body was always the worst. That the brain becomes used to such sights and the loss of friends. And that too soon it was possible to put the death of even a close mate quickly to one side and carry on as though nothing had happened. It was strange how hardened one became. The moment for such words had passed, though. They would work it out soon enough.
From the valley below came the continued sounds of battle. More aircraft, more shelling and, occasionally, distant bursts of small arms. He pulled out Dingwall's map. Assuming the lieutenant had drawn it to scale, then Tanner reckoned they were nearing a bend in the Lagen river just south of a village the lieutenant had marked as Oyer. He had been leading the patrol due north and certainly the fighting now sounded closer, which tallied with the eastward bend in the valley. But although the patrol appeared to be making progress, he knew they must still be behind the front line. A breather in the fighting, that was what he needed. The chance to catch up, get ahead of the German advance, and then they could rejoin the battalion.
His thoughts returned to his stomach. By God, he was hungry. Curse this bloody country, and curse the idiots who'd planned the campaign. Thoughts of food entered his head: a steaming game pie like his father used to make; curries he had eaten in Bombay; the baked apples Mrs Gulliver used to bring round sometimes on Sundays, covered with treacle and currants. He chided himself. Stop thinking about it, you bloody fool.
A raised hand from Sykes provided him with the distraction he needed. Tanner had sent the corporal and McAllister up ahead and the two were now squatting fifty yards in front. Warning the rest of the patrol to halt, Tanner moved in a crouch towards the two men. 'What is it?' he whispered, as he reached them.
'I'm not sure,' said Sykes. 'I thought I saw someone up ahead. Behind that rock.' He pointed to an outcrop, some fifteen foot high, emerging darkly from the snow next to a young pine some hundred yards ahead. Silently, Tanner signalled to the rest of the patrol to move forward, then holding his arm out flat and with his open hand facing the ground, waved downwards to make sure they, too, crouched as they came. The three men of the Bren group were the first to reach them. 'Dan, get ready with the
Bren,' he said, under his breath to Lance-Corporal Erwood. 'Mac,' he said softly to McAllister, 'you and I will move forward. Make a run for a tree, then cover me as I go to the next. Then I'll cover you. All right? Dan, you cover us with the Bren. The rest of you stay here, don't make a sound, and watch our backs.'
McAllister, clutching his rifle, took a deep breath, then set off, making for a tree no more than ten yards away. Tanner followed. Whoever was behind the rock - if anyone - made no attempt to move. They pushed forward again until, as Tanner was leading, he spotted a line of blood and several footprints in the snow. He beckoned McAllister to him and pointed to the trail. 'There's someone there, all right,' he whispered to McAllister.
'What do we do now, Sarge?'
