Jumping into the stream, they clambered along the rocks, keeping an eye on the trees in the direction they had come and praying they wouldn't be spotted. The weight of his packs affected his balance, and Tanner slipped on a smooth rock. He cursed to himself as ice- cold water splashed up his trousers. Regaining his footing, he staggered on. Ahead he caught sight of Hepworth dashing from one tree to another. Stop bloody moving about, Hep, he thought. He could feel his pulse throbbing again; he wanted to run but the splashing of water would be too noisy, yet if the enemy arrived now he and Sykes would be sitting ducks. Fifteen yards ahead he spotted a pine close to the water's edge, leaning out awkwardly over the stream. If we can just reach that, he thought. The trunk would hide his tracks on the far side. 'Stan!' he whispered, and pointed urgently to the tree. Sykes nodded.
Reaching the tree first, the corporal clambered up out of the stream bed, holding out a hand for Tanner. A short distance away there was a small knoll between the trees, shallow, but offering good cover. The two men ran over to it. For a moment, Tanner lay on his back, looking up into the trees, breathing in the chill, crisp mountain air. In the valley below he could still hear the battle, but there was silence around them, save for water gurgling through the rocks on its journey down the slope.
Tanner rolled over, pulling his rifle to his chin. They were about sixty yards from the hut with a clear view towards it. Glancing around him he could see some of the men, thankfully now well hidden from the enemy behind rocks, trees and rises in the ground. Only a few yards away Lance Corporal Erwood and the Bren crew had their machine-gun ready.
A minute ticked by. Tanner wondered where the Germans were; perhaps the ambush hadn't been such a good idea. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. He glanced at his watch; he reckoned they now had at least a fifteen-minute advantage over the enemy. Perhaps they should have pushed on. Another minute passed. 'Come on, damn you,' he muttered. 'Where the bloody hell are you?'
'There, Sarge!' whispered Sykes. 'Look! See that Jerry dropping on to his knee?'
Tanner could see him clearly - perhaps eighty yards away. The man was studying the tracks in the snow that led to the seter. Tanner gripped the barrel of his rifle and felt his finger glide against the cool dark metal of the trigger. About bloody time, he thought.
Hauptmann Zellner saw the leading group commander stop, kneel, then signal back. Crouching, Zellner hurried forward.
'Tracks, sir,' said the sergeant, 'leading to the hut. And there's blood on the ground. Looks like at least one is wounded.'
Zellner took out his pistol. Clutching the grip was somehow reassuring. 'Well, there are certainly plenty of footprints here.' He lifted his arm and waved in a circular motion, the signal for his men to deploy into an open skirmish line. Two machine-gun teams hurried through the trees sixty yards either side of him, while the third fell in beside him. Without a word, the soldier carrying the MG30 lay down in the snow, prised apart the bipod, drew the stock into his shoulder, and pulled back the cock until it clicked into place. His partner crouched beside him with the spare ammunition, then unfastened the clip that held the two drum magazines together. At the same time, the rest of the men had hastily taken up positions behind trees and on the ground and, with their rifles unslung, the seter was now covered. It had taken less than half a minute and Zellner felt proud of his men. They had confirmed what he already knew: that there could be few men better trained in the entire 3rd Gebirgsjager Division. General Dietl himself would have been impressed.
'Do you think they're in there?' the sergeant asked.
Zellner was not sure. It seemed likely. After all, if they were not, where were they? These were the only tracks. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes and swept the ground ahead. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. But what if the hut was a trap? He bit at his thumbnail. Three machine-guns now covered it and were mutually supporting, while eighteen rifles were trained towards it.
In addition, his men each carried at least three stick grenades. It was a considerable amount of fire-power. Moreover, he had to do something. His mission was to capture Odin. He must act decisively.
'I'm going to tell them to surrender,' Zellner told his sergeant, 'and if they don't come out, I'll send you forward. What can they do? We've got them covered.'
Tanner had seen the German officer lift his binoculars and pressed his own head into the snow. He prayed that curiosity would not get the better of any of his young, inexperienced men and that they would, like him, keep themselves hidden. Seconds ticked by. Silence - no cry of alarm, no crack of a rifle. The enemy officer could not have seen them. Tanner breathed a sigh of relief.
'Ergebt euch!' he suddenly heard shouted out. 'Waffen neider!'
'What's he goin' on about?' whispered Sykes.
'I think he wants us to show ourselves.'
'Surrender!' the German shouted in English. 'Come out with your hands up!'
'Told you,' whispered Tanner. Carefully he lifted his head. The German officer was ordering his men forward. Six soldiers, crouching, their rifles drawn to their shoulders and aimed at the hut, scampered across the open ground to the seter. Four stood at either side of the door, while the remaining two stood back a few yards, their rifles still aimed at the hut's entrance.
'The moment of truth, Sarge,' whispered Sykes.
One man had a silver bar on his upper left sleeve. Tanner guessed he was an NCO; at any rate, he now walked to the door, listened a moment, turned briefly to the officer, then kicked hard.
The door swung open and Tanner's heart sank. 'Bollocks,' he muttered.
But then came a deafening crack and the hut erupted into a ball of angry orange flame. Even eighty yards away Tanner could feel the blast as the air was sucked towards the fireball, and a pulse throbbed through the ground. A shot rang out next to him. Dan Erwood's Bren began to chatter. Tanner could see the Germans were startled once again - so much so that, for a moment, they seemed frozen to the spot. As grit and flecks of bone and flesh fell round them, Tanner began firing. He saw one man go down and another fall prostrate in the snow. Where's that Jerry officer? He scanned the trees but already his view was clouded by smoke rolling across the clearing. Spurts of flame and tracer bullets glowed curiously through the haze, pinning down the rifle fire from beyond the stream. More tracer arced from the other end of the German line snapping branches and twigs. He heard one man cry out, then another.
'We've got to take out those MGs,' Tanner said to Sykes. 'They've got us covered but they're firing blind. Dan!' he called. 'Keep firing bursts, all right? I need you to cover me and Sykes.'
Lance Corporal Erwood raised his hand in acknowledgement. 'Good,' said Tanner, then turned to Sykes and pointed into the trees away and behind them. 'On three we're going to head back twenty yards over there where the ground slopes away, then use that drop in the land to get underneath the line of fire and work round their flank. OK?'
Sykes nodded.
Tanner took a deep breath. 'One, two, three!'
Bullets followed them like a swarm of bees, hissing over their heads and kicking up the snow around them, but although Tanner's body had tensed for the moment when one or more ripped into him, it appeared luck was with them. Suddenly the twenty yards had been crossed, the ground was falling away, and the bullets zapping clear into the wood above him. He stopped, crouched and, to his relief, saw that Sykes was beside him.
'Bloody hell!' gasped the corporal. 'That was a bit hot, Sarge!'
'Pretty warm,' agreed Tanner. 'Where are the rest of them?' He spotted Hepworth, Kershaw and Bell. Hepworth was lying flat on the ground, clutching his helmet to his head; Bell was taking occasional pot-shots then
