The Odin Mission

Germany like this. Times had changed. War could no longer be fought without support from the air and without modern equipment. Norway was not a colonial outpost and neither was the enemy a rag-tag of troublesome tribesmen. Britain needed to catch up - and quickly. I hope it's not too late.

Tretten. He wondered whether Colonel Jansen and his promised Dragoons would materialize. Even if they did - presumably with their usual lack of arms and ammunition - he doubted that he could hold the position for more than a day. His only hope of extricating himself and his men from this mess was the arrival of 15th Brigade, which was expected to reach Andalsnes within forty-eight hours. And with 15th Brigade came Major General Paget, who was to take over command of both. Thank God, he thought. Bernard Paget was an old friend and yet he was glad that he would soon be handing over the responsibility for this failure. His own task was no longer to defeat the Germans - he recognized that was an impossibility. Rather, it was to complete a successful fighting retreat, holding the Germans at bay for as long as possible with the loss of as few men as possible until he could hand over the reins to Paget.

He rubbed his stinging eyes. Even that would be a considerable challenge.

The figures stumbling through the thick snow towards Tanner and Sykes were so close there was no time to warn the others. Instead, heart pounding, Tanner whispered to Sykes to move to the side of the seter and to have a hand grenade ready. If it came to it, he hoped the explosion would not only kill or maim several of the foe, it would also produce a dazzlingly bright light that would temporarily blind them and produce confusion while he fired as many rounds as he could. That was the theory, anyway, but although he told himself that the element of surprise was a considerable advantage, he had no idea how many were advancing towards them - he simply could not see clearly enough. His body tensed. It's fear of the unknown, he told himself, as he slung his rifle from his shoulder and silently, carefully, pulled back the bolt. Calm down.

He could hear them more than he could see them, their footsteps in the snow, until several shapes, with rifles and packs, became clearer as they reached the hut.

'Halt! Hande hoch! shouted Tanner. The men, startled, swivelled towards him.

'Vous tous, vite faites ce qu'il vous dit! one of the men shouted.

Relief surged through Tanner. They were French. He laughed to himself as he approached, rifle still pointed at them.

'You are British?' said one of the Frenchmen.

'Too bloody right,' said Sykes, emerging from the other side of the seter. At the same moment, Larsen opened the door, as startled as the French troops.

'A patrol of Frenchmen, sir,' Tanner told him.

'How many?' Larsen asked, pulling out a small electric torch.

'How many are you?' Tanner asked them.

'Sept - seven. Myself and six men,' came the reply. The French commander stared at Tanner. 'You! The Tommy who likes to throw shovels at his allies.'

Tanner's heart sank. Christ, this was all he needed, some arrogant Frog to put a spanner in the works. But he was in no mood to pander to the man's jumped-up self- importance. 'The Chasseurs Alpins,' he said slowly, with no attempt at a French accent. 'I appreciate that you're elite forces, but since you've surrendered to me, perhaps you'd like to tell me who the bloody hell you are and what your men are doing up here?'

'How dare you speak to a superior officer like that? And how dare you suggest that I have surrendered to you?'

'But you did, sir,' said Tanner. 'I said, 'Halt, hands up,' and you put your hands in the air. That's the recognized way of surrendering. It's in the Geneva Convention.'

'Perhaps you could tell me your name,' Larsen suggested to the Frenchman. 'I am Henrik Larsen of His Majesty the King's Guard.'

The Frenchman turned to Larsen, his face tense with anger. 'And I am Lieutenant Xavier Chevannes of the Deuxieme Compagnie de Fusiliers Voltigeurs, part of the Sixieme Bataillon de Chasseurs Alpins. We were on a reconnoitring patrol after the British ordered a withdrawal to Oyer. But it seems our allies have fallen back yet again so we were stranded. When the snowstorm came we went looking for shelter.'

As Chevannes and his six men followed Larsen into the seter, Tanner placed a hand on Sykes's shoulder. 'Hold on a minute, Stan.'

'Who the bleedin' 'ell does 'e think 'e is?'

'A pain in the ruddy arse,' muttered Tanner.

'But, Sarge, be careful, hey? I enjoy seeing you make him look a right idiot as much as anyone, but he could make life tricky if we're not careful.'

'He's a bloody show-pony,' said Tanner, irritably. 'Anyway, we'll soon be shot of him and his sodding patrol. Haven't you noticed?'

'What, Sarge?'

'It's barely snowing any more. Look up there. What can you see?' He pointed to the sky.

'Stars, Sarge.'

'Exactly. So, let's get back in the hut, kick everyone awake and get the hell out of here. Leave those Frogs to get some kip. I'm sure they need it.'

Tanner and Sykes burst noisily into the seter and immediately began to shake awake the rest of their men. 'Come on, wakey-wakey,' said Sykes. 'Mac, Hep, come on, up you get.' The men yawned and stretched.

'Just what do you think you're doing, Sergeant?' said Chevannes. 'Is this how you always treat your men?'

'We're off,' Tanner said tersely. 'Time to go.'

'You'll do no such thing, Sergeant.' In the dark half- light, Chevannes glared up at him, almost daring Tanner to challenge him.

'You're not in command of my men, sir. I am. And, furthermore, Colonel Gulbrand has ordered me to take Mr Sandvold here to the safety of the Allied lines. If I'm to do that, I need to get going while it's still dark and the Germans are getting their beauty sleep.'

Chevannes laughed. 'The colonel ordered you, did he? Tell me, Sergeant, why on earth would a Norwegian colonel order you - a mere sergeant - to such a task when two of his men, his fellow countrymen and officers senior in rank, are infinitely better placed to carry out that role?'

Tanner felt his anger rising. 'He ordered me not fifteen minutes ago. Ask him yourself.'

Chevannes' mouth curled into a barely suppressed smile. 'Yes, why don't we?' He moved towards the colonel and, crouching beside him, said, 'Colonel Gulbrand? Colonel, can you hear me?' The colonel's eyes were wide and staring, his face glistening with sweat. 'Colonel?'

Gulbrand gibbered, his words inaudible.

'Colonel!' said Chevannes again, then stood up slowly, and faced Tanner and the Norwegians. 'He's delirious with fever.'

Quickly Tanner knelt beside Gulbrand. 'Colonel! Colonel!' Gulbrand's eyes suddenly locked on his. With one hand he clutched Tanner's shoulder and began speaking in Norwegian, gabbling frantically, panic in his eyes. 'Colonel,' said Tanner again, 'it's me, Sergeant Tanner.'

'He thinks he is talking to the King,' said Larsen, quietly.

Tanner felt Gulbrand's grip loosen and with it his own grip on the situation. Anger and humiliation flushed through him as he realized he had lost his fight with Chevannes. 'Colonel!' said Tanner again, searching desperately for life in Gulbrand's face. 'Come on, damn you!'

'Sarge.' It was Sykes, standing beside him. 'Sarge, he's gone.'