barn and outlined the plan exactly as he and Anna Rostad had suggested the previous evening. 'After careful thought,' he told them, 'I have devised a plan that I believe gives us the best chance of success.' They would be crossing the valley that night, he announced, and they were to spend the day resting and getting ready for the continuation of their mission. The three wounded men were to be taken into Tretten, he told them. 'It means they will become prisoners,' he added solemnly, 'but they will also have a chance to live.' Neither did Chevannes object to Tanner's suggestion that he accompany Anna and Erik Rostad part of the way.
'He's hoping you'll get caught, Sarge,' said Sykes.
Tanner grinned. 'You might be right, Stan.'
First, however, Anna Rostad would lead them to the cave, in the woods above the farm, where they would lie up until evening. It proved to be ideal, no more than a quarter of a mile from the farm, approached first through bare grey grassland, then through dense pine forest where there were only patchy drifts of snow, enabling them to reach it without leaving a trail of footprints. The entrance to the cave was further hidden by a jutting rockface.
Tanner left Sykes in charge of the men and his own packs. 'You know the drill, Stan,' he told him. 'And don't let Sandvold out of your sight.' He hoped he would not be seen, but had left his jerkin and tin helmet behind, instead taking the German wind jacket and field cap.
It was an old, creaking cart, led by a plodding mule. Erik Rostad sat up front with his daughter, his foot resting on the flimsy brake pedal, as they stuttered down the track. Saxby was awake and, sitting in the back with the three men, Tanner saw him contort with pain at every jolting stone the cart passed over. 'All right, Sax,' said Tanner. 'Not long now.'
'I don't want to die,' Saxby mumbled. 'I don't want the Jerries to kill me.'
'They won't. They'll look after you. Make you better.' Tanner watched tears run down his face. 'You've got to be strong,' he told him. 'You're a fighter, I know you are. Be brave and you'll get through this. One day you can go home.' He knew he sounded trite. He was sending them to the Germans in the hope that the enemy would show compassion but, really, he had no idea whether they would or not. Hell, he thought, and moved away from Saxby's misery to draw alongside Anna and her father. 'Thank you for doing this,' he said.
'I only wish we could have looked after them ourselves,' said Anna. 'I'm training to be a doctor, so I feel bad that I cannot help more.'
'Where are you training, Miss?'
'In Oslo. Or, rather, I was. The war has interrupted my studies. I'm afraid I've rather a long way to go, but in any case, I don't have the equipment or medicines to help these men.' She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then glanced at Tanner, a wistful expression - and framed by such a lovely face, he thought. It was madness, but he wished he could hold her and tell her all would be well: that her brother Jonny would come home, that the Germans would go away and that one day she would be a doctor. For the first time since the war had broken out, he began to realize what a terrible thing it must be for the Norwegians. He tried to imagine how he would feel if there were Germans swarming across England. It was incomprehensible.
'I'm sorry, Miss,' he said. 'It must be a very difficult time for you.'
'Yes - yes, it is. One minute I feel overcome with grief, for Norway, for me, for Jonny; the next just very angry. It's one of the reasons I want to come with you. I don't want to sit at home feeling sorry for myself and wondering what will become of us all. I want to do something.'
'I had a word with Lieutenant Larsen this morning, Miss,' he told her. 'He said he would speak to Lieutenant Chevannes again.' For a brief moment, he held her gaze. Those eyes, he thought. 'And for what it's worth,' he added, 'I think you'd be a great help to us.'
She smiled. 'Thank you for saying that.'
Tanner stayed with the cart until they had the first glimpse of the valley road below. Pasture and forest jostled for space along the lower slopes of the valley, but by weaving his way and keeping within the treeline, Tanner was confident he could remain hidden.
'You won't have to go far along here,' Anna told him. 'You'll soon see Tretten below you.'
Tanner thanked her and wished them luck, then paused to take Saxby's hand. The lad was only nineteen. 'You'll be all right,' Tanner told him. Saxby looked at him, with resentment, deep sadness and resignation, then turned his head away. The cart trundled on, and as Tanner watched it rumble down the track, doubt and guilt flooded over him.
The telephone in his hotel room rang shrilly, shattering the silence in which Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt had been lying for the past three hours. It was Kurz, asking him to come over right away. Scheldt's spirits soared - at last! - but then as he replaced the receiver he realized there had been little euphoria in Kurz's voice, and pessimism filled him instead.
He looked at his watch. Seven forty, getting on for twelve hours since news had arrived that Zellner's men had come under attack. Yet there had been good news too: the mountain troops were closing in on Odin, and his capture would surely follow soon.
Scheidt had waited, on tenterhooks, ever since, but the call had never come. It had been a long night of little sleep. A night of too many cigarettes, a half-bottle of brandy, and too much time in the armchair by the window staring out at the cold starry night. With impatient fingers, he put on his NSDAP jacket and cap once more, his long cavalry boots and black breeches. What could possibly have gone wrong? He left the room, door slamming behind him, hurried through the hotel out into the crisp sunshine and almost ran to Kurz's office.
The SS major looked up as Scheidt entered, his face grave.
'Good morning,' he said, stubbing out a cigarette in a green marble ashtray. 'We need to go to Tretten. Come on, I've got the car outside.'
'They haven't found Odin?'
'Worse,' said Kurz, brushing past him and heading for the front door.
In the car - a requisitioned black Citroen from Oslo - Kurz gave him the bad news. Hauptmann Zellner and just eight of his men had reached von Poncets' new headquarters in Tretten a short while ago. Stripped to their shirts, underclothes and trousers, mostly wearing British Army boots, they had stumbled into the station house in a terrible state.
'Needless to say,' added Kurz, 'they did not bring Odin.'
For a few moments, Scheidt was unable to speak. He thought of the confidence of von Poncets the day before, the square-jawed youthfulness and apparent professionalism of Hauptmann Zellner. It was impossible to think that a platoon of mountain troops - supposedly elite troops - had failed so spectacularly.
'However,' said Kurz at length, 'Engelbrecht's boys did take Tretten and the bulk of von Poncets' troops performed admirably. The British were crushed yesterday.'
'I don't give a damn about that,' snapped Scheidt. 'As far as I'm concerned they should damn well forget about the rest of the war until Odin has been captured. And no contact?'
Kurz shook his head. 'Not yet, but we'll hear something today, I'm sure.'
'Where the hell are they now?' Scheidt muttered, to himself more than to Kurz.
'I've asked the Luftwaffe for more air reconnaissance.'
'What would you do, Kurz, if you'd seen off your pursuers?'
'I'd try to make as much ground as possible, especially now that the snow's melting.'
'Not on the mountains, it's not.' Scheidt drummed a fist against his leg. 'We have to find him, Kurz. We have to find him.'
Tretten was a hive of activity. A small place, like so many of the valley settlements, it now heaved with
