They pressed on, clambering down the slopes through open pasture until they reached the first of half a dozen farmsteads. Several dogs ran out into the yard as Anna walked ahead with Larsen, past ageing outhouses with grass-covered roofs. Tanner watched apprehensively, his rifle at the ready.
A few minutes later, Larsen reappeared and signalled to them. The men left their position along a track above the farm, and hurried into the yard, past chickens and geese cackling at the invasion. Old carts and farm machinery, green with lichen, spokes shattered, were piled haphazardly against the sheds. They reached the steps where the farmer stood, watching them approach. His face was weatherbeaten and wrinkled, with a two-day growth of white beard, and he stared at the men suspiciously as they trooped past him into the low-ceilinged kitchen. It was musty, primitive and dark, and with their packs, rifles and equipment, the men crowded it.
The farmer's wife ushered the stretcher-bearers to an armchair by the fire, then barked at her husband, who grudgingly edged his way through the men and began to stoke the fire with more wood. His wife disappeared, but could be heard moving overhead. Soon she returned with a pile of blankets. Junot was then stripped from the waist down, swathed in wool and the woman began vigorously to rub his hands and feet, talking to Anna as she did so.
'She knows how to deal with hypothermia,' Anna said, turning to Tanner and Chevannes. 'Her cousin had it once, but she is worried it is too late for Junot.' The woman now shouted at her husband, who quickly filled a large black pot and hung it above the fire. 'They're making coffee,' Anna explained. 'Sweet coffee. The sugar and hot fluid will help him.'
Suddenly the woman stopped what she was doing and felt Junot's neck. She sat back and looked up at Anna and Chevannes.
'He is dead?' said Chevannes to Anna, disbelief on his face.
Anna nodded. 'I am sorry, Lieutenant. The poor man. It is too terrible.'
Chevannes put his hands to his face. 'Mon Dieu,' he muttered. 'Mon Dieu.'
Tanner's first thoughts were about what they should do with the body. They needed to cover not only their own tracks but those of the farmer and his wife. Then they had to consider what they would do next. Chevannes was wavering, he could see, while Nielssen and Larsen were keeping quiet, allowing the French lieutenant to make the decisions. For God's sake.
The farmer and his wife were arguing now.
'What are they saying?' asked Chevannes.
'He wants us to take Junot with us,' Anna explained.
'His wife is saying we should carry him to the church - then he can have a proper Christian burial.'
'That's ridiculous,' said Tanner. 'We need to take him up into the trees and bury him there.' He turned to Chevannes. 'Don't you agree, sir?'
'Yes, Sergeant. Yes, we must.' Chevannes seemed distant and distracted.
'Shall I organize it, sir?' Tanner asked.
Chevannes nodded. Tanner gathered his men, told them to ditch their German caps and jackets, put on their old greatcoats, jerkins and tin helmets, then lift Junot. The farmer's wife tried to stop them, but with Anna placating her, the men picked up the dead Chasseur and went back out into the morning light, trudged back through the yard, up the track and into the trees overlooking the farm.
As a shallow grave was dug, Tanner gazed down at the valley below. It looked so peaceful, as though the war could never touch it. There were no charred remains or piles of rubble here. Rather, the only smoke was that which rose in narrow columns from the farms on the lower slopes, their inhabitants up and about, getting ready for another day.
Sykes was standing beside him.
'Do you reckon Jerry knows about our professor, then?' the corporal asked.
'I can't work it out, Stan. The other evening that German patrol seemed to be coming after us for a reason. Why else go to all that trouble just to catch a few soldiers on the run? And last night I could have sworn those men at Tretten were waiting for us, as
though they knew we were going to cross the valley.'
'But how could they have done?'
Tanner shook his head. 'I don't know. And there's another thing. Did you notice most of their shooting was high?'
'Was it?'
'Well, not a single one of us was hit, were we? Except maybe Mitch.'
'No, I suppose not.'
'But then again, no one came looking for us yesterday, did they? A few recce planes overhead, but that was all. It doesn't make sense.' He lit a cigarette. 'Maybe I'm imagining things.' He was silent for a moment, then said, 'With any luck they won't come looking for us along here. If we keep our eyes and ears strained for aircraft, we should be all right.'
'We could do with some M/T, Sarge,' added Sykes. 'Perhaps one of these farmers here has got some.'
'Perhaps.'
They gazed at the valley again. 'Just fourteen of us now,' said Tanner.
'A few less to worry about.'
'Yes, that's true.' Tanner sighed. Behind him, the men had finished covering Junot and were putting away their entrenching tools. 'Come on, boys,' said Tanner. 'Let's get back to the farmhouse.'
As they reached the yard, they saw the farmer hurry outside. He glared at them as they passed him.
'Bloody hell, what's the matter with him?' said Hepworth.
'Trouble with the missus?' suggested McAllister.
'She's a tough-looking woman,' said Sykes. 'Had him running around earlier.'
'Maybe he doesn't like having a bunch of soldiers turn up early for breakfast,' said Tanner. They went back inside to find the others putting their packs on their shoulders.
'Have you buried Junot, Sergeant?' Chevannes asked Tanner. 'We need to leave.'
'Er, yes,' Tanner replied, handing him Junot's identity tags. 'He's well hidden up in the trees.'
'Good. We go.'
'The farmer is nervous,' explained Anna. 'He is worried about what the Germans will do if they find out we have been here. Henrik Larsen has tried to reason with him, but I am afraid it is no use.' She looked towards the farmer's wife. 'She is furious with him. She called him a coward and a traitor.'
'Have we asked her whether anyone in the village has any transport?'
'Not yet.' She turned and spoke to the farmer's wife, who replied after a moment's thought, then pointed and gesticulated.
'Uksum Farm,' said Anna. 'A man called Merit Sulheim. She says he has a truck he uses to take livestock to Lillehammer.'
Tanner's spirits rose. 'Perfect,' he said. 'Where is this farm?'
'Not far. About a kilometre north from the church.'
'Good. Let's head there right away.'
As they left the farm and continued down the track towards the valley, they heard the now familiar sound of aero-engines thrumming faintly over the mountains above them. Tanner stopped, and held up an arm. 'Ssh!' he said, cocking his head. There it was, faint but distinct, somewhere over the mountains from which they had just crossed. A little louder, then a Junkers roared into view a few hundred yards ahead as it crested the lip of the mountain plateau and plunged into the valley.
'Everyone, take cover - quick!' shouted Chevannes. They flung themselves onto the track's bushy bank. Tanner watched the aircraft bank and swoop across the valley, then turn, curving, so that its bulbous nose pointed directly towards them.
