stayed where they were, lying low somewhere, while von Poncets' troops headed north and wasted time hunting for a false trail? He sat up and sipped his second brandy. Yes, he thought, it made perfect sense. Zellner himself had said there were clever, experienced men among them. For God's sake, Odin himself had enough of a brain! He finished his brandy, hurried out of the hotel and back to the SD headquarters.
Rushing into Kurz's office, he said, 'They're going to cross the river!'
Kurz looked at him with utter bewilderment. 'You've lost me, Herr Reichsamtsleiter. Who is?'
'Odin,' said Scheidt, 'and the men with him. We haven't found them because they're still somewhere on the mountain above Tretten. Tonight, when it's dark, they'll try to cross to the other side of the valley. I'm sure of it.'
Kurz looked dubious. 'It seems unlikely. Surely they wouldn't dare.'
'They would because, on the face of it, where's the risk? Who will still be in Tretten tonight? A few reinforcements passing through from the south and that's about it. For God's sake, even von Poncets' company of mountain troops won't be there.'
Kurz still seemed doubtful.
'Listen to me,' said Scheidt. 'They know they can't travel through the mountains faster than us, and they know the Luftwaffe will be out looking for them. They're stuck on the same side of the valley as the road and the railway line. But what's on the other side? Nothing! If they can get over there, they have a better chance of getting us off their trail. Moreover, the far side of the valley is more densely covered with forest. I know I'm right. Tonight, they'll come down and attempt to cross to the other side.'
Kurz was nodding now. 'Yes,' he said, a smile creeping across his face. 'I think you might be right. It should be easy enough to stop them. The bridge is undamaged. All we have to do is make sure von Poncets' mountain troops are ready and waiting.' He glanced at his watch. 'Ten to nine. Somehow we need to get them back to Tretten - and quickly.' He stood up and slapped Scheidt on the back. 'Smart thinking, Herr Reichsamtsleiter.'
As Kurz disappeared to send a signal to von Poncets, Scheidt leant against the desk and examined the photographs once more. He felt sure he was right. Perhaps, at long last, they really were just hours from snaring their prey. And, if so, it would have been worth the wait.
At a little after half past ten that night, a small column of sixteen French, British and Norwegian troops, with two civilians, began to head down through the trees on the slopes towards the tiny village of Tretten. They were unusually attired. The Tommies, at Tanner's insistence, had put away their tin helmets and greatcoats and replaced them with German field caps and wind jackets. The French, believing their canadienne jackets and berets were sufficiently similar to the German mountain-troops uniform, had stuck with their own clothing, while the two Norwegian officers had kept their greatcoats, a similar green-grey to those worn by the enemy, but had replaced their kepis with captured field caps. The idea, Tanner had suggested, was not necessarily to pass themselves off as German troops but, rather, to throw seeds of doubt and even confusion should they be seen silhouetted - however faintly - as they crossed the river. Anything that might chink or make any noise had been removed. It had been impressed upon every man that stealth was of paramount importance to their chance of success.
The sun had set behind the mountains on the far side of the valley, although a faint pink and gold glow crowned the snowy plateau, as though beckoning the fugitives towards a better place. Above, the sky was darkening at last, but there was still enough light with which to navigate through the trees and to warn them of any danger.
Sergeant Tanner, with Anna Rostad beside him and his men behind, led the way, following the route he had worked out earlier that morning. It had been more than twenty-four hours since they had reached the Rostads' farmstead, an entire day in which to rest, recover and rebuild their strength. They had certainly been fortunate to find such willing and accommodating hosts. Even now they were setting off with full stomachs, bread and cold meat in their haversacks. Erik Rostad had told them that most Norwegians in the Gudbrandsdal would share their own antipathy towards the German invaders, and if this
was so, Tanner reflected, it would give them an important advantage; they would need such help in the days to come. The thought gave him heart.
They paused on a small crest that gave them a clear view down through the trees towards the beach-like spur that jutted out into the river. Tanner, with his German binoculars, scanned the ground in front of them. He could still see the three upturned dinghies on the shingle but, to his frustration, most of the village and the rapidly narrowing river as it entered the Tretten gorge were hidden beneath the crest and by ever more trees. He glanced at Anna, who bit her bottom lip and stared out into the darkening light with wide, alert eyes.
'It seems quiet,' he whispered.
'But we can't see the bridge or the church from here,' Anna replied.
'Then no one can see us.' He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
He signalled to them all to crouch and they moved forward again, down the last slope towards the road's edge. A faint brush of air occasionally caressed the trees but otherwise the valley was calm, so although Tanner knew they were moving as quietly as they could, every sound they made seemed jarringly amplified.
Just a hundred yards ahead lay the road. The snow had gone from the ground, replaced by thin, insipid grass, dried and broken twigs and a carpet of russet pine needles. Having paused again, Tanner waved them forward, wincing with every snapping twig, until they reached the edge of the treeline beside the road. There, as birch trees and alder mixed with the pines, long grass returned. A soft bank overlooked the road and beyond, a hundred yards away, was the water's edge.
Tanner lay down in the grass and signalled to the others to fall in beside him. Although it was dark now, the starry canopy above cast a faint glow over the landscape. He could see the mass of the mountains on the far side of the valley, and the inky river ahead, while the road glowed palely below. He tilted his watch to the stars. A quarter past eleven. He took a deep breath - they needed to get a move on.
Chevannes slid beside him. 'It seems quiet, no?'
Tanner nodded, but no sooner had he done so than he heard a rumble coming from the direction of the village. Chevannes heard it too and the two men stared at each other, frozen. In a moment, the noise increased - vehicles accelerating and changing gear. Heavy vehicles. Trucks.
'I knew this was an imbecile idea,' hissed Chevannes.
Tanner could think of no reply. The vehicles were getting closer, winding their way through the village. Then he saw the first, with its faint slits for headlights and dark bulky shape rumbling along the valley road. Everyone keep still, he thought. Then, carefully, he pulled up his rifle. They were, he told himself, most likely troops on their way north, but a trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck and his heart was hammering. The lead truck was now only fifty yards away and, to his horror, he realized it was slowing. Next to him, Chevannes let out a faint groan.
The first truck passed them and stopped just thirty yards beyond. The second in the convoy also ground to a halt - directly opposite and so close Tanner felt he could almost reach out and touch it.
Orders barked, the sound of an engine ticking as it cooled, then troops were jumping out of the back on to the road. Hardly daring to watch, Tanner saw half a dozen men, rifles in their hands, look directly towards him, then cross the road.
His hands tightened round the stock and barrel of his rifle. There were now just a dozen yards between him and the leading enemy rifleman.
Chapter 12
At his new headquarters in a farmhouse at Heidel, some fifty miles north of Tretten, Brigadier Morgan was bracing himself for General Ruge's visit. Most of 15th Brigade had now landed at Andalsnes and had been reaching the Gudbrandsdal valley throughout the day, but had brought little relief to the beleaguered brigadier. Their
