The Odin Mission

'Your corporal's right, Sergeant Tanner,' said Chevannes.

Tanner clenched his fist. By God, he wanted to knock the man down. Momentarily closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then stood up once more.

'So,' said Chevannes, 'I am in command.'

'We still need to get going - and now,' said Tanner, with undisguised exasperation.

'We need rest.'

Give me strength, thought Tanner. 'Sir, we need to get to the Allied lines as quickly as possible. Half an hour before dark last night, the Germans were attacking a position only four or five miles west of here. My guess is that they're still there, and I'd put money on the rest of our forces being at Tretten. That's no more than six or seven miles. We can do that in three hours. The men can rest then.'

'Sergeant, it is still dark out there, the snow is deep, and although my men have proper mountain boots, yours do not, and none of us has either skis or snowshoes. It is freezing cold and my men - yours too - are exhausted. If we stumble out there now, we are asking for trouble.'

What was this madness? 'But we'll be in considerably worse trouble if we don't get to Tretten before the Germans.'

Chevannes smiled and scratched his chin thoughtfully. 'You've obviously not been studying the German modus operandi, Sergeant.' He glanced at the Norwegians, then at his men, and chuckled. 'The German is an organized fellow, Sergeant, and has a plan that he likes to stick to. Let me enlighten you. Every morning at first light, reconnaissance planes are sent over. Later in the morning, their field guns start firing. At noon, the Luftwaffe arrives and bombs and strafes the position they are going to attack. The artillery firing increases and later in the afternoon, with our infantry nicely softened up, their infantry and armour move forward and attack. And he will do precisely the same tomorrow. So I tell you this - again. No, I order you, Sergeant.' The smirk had gone. 'We stay here now, rest, and leave in the morning. We will still be at Tretten before noon, well before your commander decides it is time to retreat once more.'

Tanner appealed to the Norwegians. 'You're surely not going to listen to this?' But as he said it, Nielssen avoided his eye and Larsen was unmoved. Some of his men were awake now, and he looked at them for support. No one spoke in his defence, but they wouldn't: it wasn't the place of privates and lance corporals to argue with officers. Their task was to obey orders, whether it be from their section leader, patrol leader or an officer.

'Sergeant,' said Larsen, his voice placatory, 'we have been on the run for more than a week and on these mountains for three days. We have lost Stunde and now our beloved colonel. Neither I nor Nielssen have had any sleep for two days. I believe Lieutenant Chevannes is right. We will, God willing, still make the Allied lines if we rest here a while longer.' He nodded at Sandvold, huddled in the corner of the hut, his arms hugging his knees. 'He is still asleep. Leave him be a while longer.'

Tanner was defeated. 'Very well,' he muttered. He realized he was exhausted too. His limbs ached, his feet were sore, and he could no longer think clearly. 'We need to bury the colonel,' he said.

Chevannes spoke to two of his men, who went over to Gulbrand's body, lifted it and took it outside. Tanner slumped against the far wall next to Sykes, took out his gas cape, draped it over himself and closed his eyes.

'We'll all be better for the rest,' whispered Sykes.

'I don't give a damn,' muttered Tanner. 'We're soldiers and we're at war. Our task is to get back to our lines as quickly as possible and, according to Gulbrand, there's a hell of a lot at stake. If we fail because of that French bastard, I'll kill him.'

They were on their way by seven, with Gulbrand buried and their stomachs warmed with coffee. The sky above was blue and bright, the air cold and the snow deep. The landscape had changed. Golden early-morning light cast long, blue shadows. Snow twinkled brightly on the trees. Three of Chevannes' men were scouting ahead of the column, followed by the French lieutenant and the Norwegians, Tanner and his men trudging silently behind, like chastened schoolboys still in disgrace.

Snow crunched beneath their feet. Tanner clutched the canvas strap of his rifle and felt his pack weighing on his shoulders. The air was so still that his own breathing seemed to be amplified.

If he was honest, he felt better for the sleep, but his anger and frustration had not subsided. Neither was his mood improved when he realized the French and Norwegians were walking faster than his own men. He had promised himself he would keep Sandvold in sight at all times, but although he could still see him, the gap between his men and the Norwegians was increasing.

'Come on, lads,' he urged. 'Get a move on.'

'We're not so well dressed for a snowy stroll in the mountains as they are, Sarge,' said Sykes. 'Look at the clobber of those Froggies.'

It was true, and Tanner had eyed the Chasseurs Alpins' uniforms with envy. Each man had a thick sheepskin jacket, or canadienne, as they called it, with a wide collar that could be turned up to warm the neck and cheeks. Underneath, they wore a waterproof khaki canvas anorak and a thick wool sweater, while their trousers were heavy-duty serge plus-fours. Stout studded mountain boots, made of sealskin, kept their feet warm and equally waterproof gaiters covered their ankles and shins. A dark blue beret, with snow goggles completed the outfit. Again, Tanner cursed the brass who had planned this expedition to Norway. The Germans had mountain troops, the French had mountain troops, why the hell didn't the British? Or, at least, why hadn't the bigwigs given the men kit designed for the job? Already, his feet were painfully cold; the leather of his boots was not waterproof now that the polish had largely worn off, while the soles were slippery in the snow. Nonetheless, the length of his stride gave him an advantage over his men, most of whom, he knew, were runts from the working- class slums of Leeds and Bradford. No wonder they were struggling to keep up.

And when, Tanner wondered, were they going to head back into the trees? Chevannes' men had led them round the top of the narrow ravine he had overlooked the previous evening, then round another, but Tanner remembered seeing no other such streams on Larsen's map.

'This is bloody ridiculous,' he muttered to Sykes. 'Why the hell are we slogging through this? I'm going to have a word with Chevannes.' He pushed on ahead and eventually caught up with the lieutenant.

'Ah, Sergeant,' said Chevannes, as Tanner drew alongside, 'your men seem to be struggling this morning. I hate to think how many we would have lost in the dark last night.'

'Why aren't we pushing further down towards the treeline?'

'We're taking the most direct route, Sergeant, so we can get to Tretten in good time.'

Tanner fought a renewed urge to knock Chevannes down. 'The most direct route, Lieutenant, is not the quickest,' he said. 'If we go along beneath the lip of the valley, the snow won't be so deep, and the trees will give us greater cover. Up here we stand out like sore thumbs.'

'Are you questioning my decisions again? Good God, Sergeant, your superior officers will hear something of this! Now, get back to your men and tell them to hurry. I do not want to hear another word.'

Tanner turned, then heard the now-familiar sound of aero-engines and paused to scan the sky. A moment later he spotted the dark outline of a German aircraft, like an insect moving slowly in their direction from the south. Chevannes saw it too.

'Quick!' he shouted. 'Lie down!'

'Why, sir?' asked Tanner. 'I thought you said the Germans only send out recce planes in the morning.'

Chevannes glared at him. The Junkers flew over, a thousand feet or so above them, circled twice then flew west. Tanner, who had remained standing the entire time, watched Chevannes get to his feet and brush the snow off his jacket and beret. 'You were right, sir. A recce plane,' he said. 'I wonder how long it will take them to get that information back.'

'Go to your men, Sergeant!' Chevannes hissed.

Tanner glared back as he stood defiantly in the snow and waited for his men to catch up.

Soon after, the scouts changed direction, heading west towards the treeline. At