'Yes, sir. We can't take them with us and we can't let them loose in case they make it back and tell their superiors about us - and, in particular our Norwegian friend. There is, of course, one way of getting them off our hands—'
'What are you saying, Sergeant? That we shoot them? My God—'
'No, of course not, sir. I was thinking we could try to find another hut and tie them up there. If they keep cosy they'll probably live. It's cold but it's not that cold. Or we could tie them up and leave them here.'
'Or you could behave honourably, Sergeant, and give them back their uniforms.'
Tanner's patience snapped. 'Christ, I've had just about enough of this,' he said angrily. 'We're miles behind the lines now - thanks entirely to you, sir - and all you seem to care about is sodding honour. This isn't bloody knights-in-shining-armour, this is war. It's nasty and bad things happen. I don't give a toss about upsetting these Jerries. I care about making sure my men survive and that we get back to our lines. Regardless of what you may or may not believe, I made a solemn promise to get Mr Sandvold to safety and I'm going to bloody well do it. But we're in a whole load of trouble and we need every bit of help we can get our hands on. These Jerry boots are a damn sight better than our own, and their kit will not only keep us warm but could give us a useful disguise, should it come to it. After this little fight our ammunition levels are down and the extra fire-power might come in bloody useful. If you think that's wrong, then you're an even bigger fool than I thought. Sir.'
Chevannes' cheek muscles were twitching and his lips moved as though he was about to answer. Instead, he merely barked orders that they were to get going and take the prisoners with them.
They set off in a column, the prisoners carrying Riggs and the wounded Frenchman on stretchers made from rifles and greatcoats, between Chevannes' and two of Tanner's men. Lieutenant Larsen was in front, keeping his distance from Zellner and the other prisoners. It was, Tanner guessed, still a few degrees above freezing, helped by the toneless grey cloud that covered the sky; he wondered whether it would snow again. The air was crisp, and although the light was fading, there was still a couple of hours' daylight ahead.
Every so often, Chevannes paused to scan the area with his binoculars, then they moved on again. Tanner wondered what the French lieutenant had decided. He wanted to suggest they talk to the Norwegians, find a farm in which to lie up for a while and make a properly considered plan. His men had endured so much over the past two days; he felt they had a right to know where they were heading now and how much longer they could expect to tramp through the snow.
They had been going for almost half an hour when Chevannes stopped again, peered through his binoculars, then told them to head up the mountain, out of the main treeline and towards the open plateau. The men groaned, but even with his naked eye, Tanner could see the seter through the trees above and smiled to himself. Perhaps Chevannes was starting to listen.
'Not another night in a God-forsaken bloody hut,' said Hepworth. 'Honestly, Sarge, I’m done for here.'
'You're all right, Hep,' said Tanner. 'I'm sure Mr Chevannes knows what he's doing.'
'You've changed your tune,' Sykes said, in a low voice.
'Only because it's what I told him we should do,' Tanner replied. 'We're going to ditch the prisoners in that basha up there.' He pointed to the wooden seter through the trees above.
'Kill 'em?'
'No, just tie 'em up. And I also suggested it might be a good idea to find a farm with food and somewhere half decent to rest for a while.'
'Too bloody right. Let's hope he listens to that too.'
On reaching the hut, Chevannes ordered the prisoners to be herded inside. He looked at Larsen. 'Let Tanner do it, Lieutenant,' he said. Larsen glared at Zellner, then walked a short way back down the slope.
Tanner pushed the prisoners inside. Using bootlaces and some of his and Sykes's fuse cable, they bound the men. As they were doing so, Tanner noticed that the German officer, Captain Zellner, still had his binoculars round his neck and his empty holster at his side.
'I'll take those,' said Tanner, lifting the Zeiss binoculars over Zellner's head and removing the holster and bullet pouches from his belt.
Zellner stared at him, then at his rifle, and noticed the scope mounts next to the breech. 'A sniper rifle,' he said in English. Tanner met his gaze. 'I'll not forget this, Tanner,' said Zellner. 'And next time I see you, I will kill you.'
'I'm sure you will.' He smiled. 'In the meantime, my apologies for what I'm about to do.' He drew his hand into a fist and rammed it into Zellner's temple. The German gasped and lost consciousness.
'Bloody 'ell, Sarge! Where d'you learn to do that?' asked Sykes.
'The Army can teach you a lot, Corporal,' Tanner replied, 'including how to box. Damned useful. I must say, I don't really like knocking someone out like that but he's a filthy piece of work and he threatened to kill me. And we don't want them following us too soon, do we?'
'No, course not.'
Tanner looked at Zellner carefully. 'Hit too hard and in the wrong place,' he told Sykes, 'and you can kill a man.
Too soft and you'll do very little damage at all. One blow, that's what you want. Short, sharp and very much to the point. He might not forget me, but he'll not want to remember the headache when he comes round.'
With the Germans tied and left in the seter, the men retraced their steps until they were back among the trees, clear of the plateau. Chevannes called a halt. 'We'll rest a moment,' he said.
Larsen walked over to Tanner. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I behaved badly ... back there with that German.'
'No need to apologize, sir.'
'It was my fault,' he said. 'We stopped at my cousin's farm and took his truck. I didn't think at the time, but I should have done. It was obvious the Germans would come back and find it gone.'
'And you think they took your cousin?'
'I do not know. I had thought they might have killed him.' He shrugged. 'I am not sure now. Maybe he was telling the truth. I was angry - but more angry with myself.' He sighed. 'It has been preying on my mind, you see. I just wish I knew. I wish I could find out that he is all right.' He looked up at Tanner. 'Anyway, I wanted to explain.' He wiped his brow.
Tanner nodded. 'Thank you, sir,' he said, then moved a few steps and leant against a tree next to Sandvold. The Norwegian grimaced as he slipped off his rucksack. He was as white as a ghost, and Tanner realized that, despite his preoccupation with getting them all to safety, he had not thought about Sandvold's physical condition. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder. 'Are you all right?' he asked.
'I am tired, that is all,' he replied. 'I am forty-seven, after all. You boys - you are all in the prime of youth. This has been a long trek for a man of my age.' He smiled weakly, then gasped and slumped against the tree. Tanner caught him, crouched, and rested Sandvold's head against his rucksack.
'My God, what has happened to him?' Larsen had hurried over and now stood beside them.
Nielssen joined them. 'Is he all right?' he asked, frowning.
Tanner felt for a pulse. 'He's passed out, that's all.' He took out the flask of schnapps and tipped it into Sandvold's mouth. The Norwegian spluttered, coughed and opened his eyes. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'What must you think of me?'
'It's all right,' said Tanner. 'Drink a bit more of this.' He gave Sandvold the flask, then stood up beside the two Norwegians. 'None of us can go much further tonight. We need to find somewhere to rest properly. Get some food - preferably hot.'
'But what about reaching the Allies?' asked Nielssen.
'They're not in Tretten any more. They've fallen back.' He sighed. 'We need a new plan.'
