down the j0ra valley?'
Moran nodded.
'As a matter of interest,' Kurz added, 'what made you cross where you did? It showed extraordinary local knowledge, if you don't mind me saying so.'
'Our sarge had recced the area earlier and found the boats,' said Moran, still almost in a whisper. 'And we had a Norwegian girl showing us the way.'
'Ah,' said Kurz. Now I understand. 'Well, I'll let you rest now, Moran. And good luck.' Two guards came over, picked up Moran and took him away.
Reichsamtsleiter Scheidt, who had been sitting silently in a chair in the corner watching Kurz, clapped slowly. 'Bravo, Sturmbannfuhrer. A virtuoso performance.'
Kurz made a mock bow.
'I had no idea you had been a teacher,' Scheidt added. 'You don't strike me as the type.'
'I wasn't.'
'Ah. And you don't have a wife and baby daughter?'
'No, of course not. Nor have I been to England and certainly not Betty's Tea Rooms, whatever they might be. Baedeker's a useful friend.'
Scheidt smiled, but then his expression changed. The British sergeant was proving a thorn in their side. And they had a guide with them. Damn them, he thought. And damn Zellner. Twice he had bungled what should have been a straightforward operation. Worse, last night he had flagrantly disobeyed Kurz's orders and Odin had slipped through their fingers again. He ran a hand wearily through his hair.
'Cheer up, my dear Reichsamtsleiter,' said Kurz. 'We know where they're heading and they've still a long way to go. Patience. We're closing in on them.'
'You keep saying that,' snapped Scheidt, 'yet Odin repeatedly eludes us, and for two days we've heard nothing from our source. The clock is ticking, Sturmbannfuhrer, and if we fail, it won't be only me who falls.'
'Yet we know where they have headed. The j0ra valley is narrow and quite small. Zellner and his men will be able to search it with far greater ease than they could the Gudbrandsdalen.'
'Zellner,' muttered Scheidt. 'Hardly a man to inspire confidence.'
'Don't write him off yet, Herr Reichsamtsleiter. He has excellent credentials and no doubt he'll be anxious to put right his previous attempts to capture Odin.'
'I hope to God you're right, Kurz,' said Scheidt.
At Tretten station, Hauptmann Wolf Zellner was anxiously awaiting a call from the Luftwaffe. At ten o'clock, they had told him, he could expect a report from their morning reconnaissance yet it was now nearly half past and there was still nothing. He glanced at his watch again, drummed his fingers on the desk in the station master's office, then impatiently put a call through to Fornebu. One plane was back, he was told, and had found nothing. The other was late and out of radio contact.
Zellner slammed down the receiver and kicked the door. He cursed Odin and Tanner, every single one of those miserable fugitives - men who were making a fool of him. He still could not believe they had got away. Countless times he had replayed the events of the previous evening over in his mind, and every time, his anger and despair grew.
He could feel the career for which he had worked and trained so hard slipping away from him. As a boy he had wanted to be a soldier, an ambition that had never left him. He had joined the Austrian Army at eighteen, and had cheered when Hitler had marched into Vienna in the spring of 1938. He was proud to be part of what would surely become a great nation - a military nation in which he had a part to play. From that moment on, he had dreamt of great things. Ahead lay a future of endless opportunity in which he would perform great deeds, win a multitude of awards for valour, and in which he would rise steadily but surely to the top of his chosen profession.
Yet now a handful of Tommies, a few Frenchmen and Norwegians threatened to shatter those dreams. It was inconceivable. The sense of humiliation was too great. Tanner, he thought. He picked up an old cup from the desk and flung it at the wall.
There was one small consolation. The rest of the division were now further north, engaged in fighting at Kvam. That had meant a reprieve for him and his company. It was not yet too late. If he could successfully capture Odin, all else would be forgotten, and the upward path of his career would continue uninterrupted.
He made a decision. He could not wait for late- returning planes any longer. Odin had to be found. His men were ready and waiting so they would begin the search now, on their own, without the Luftwaffe's help. Kurz had told him they had been heading for the Jora valley. Well, if that was so, someone somewhere must have seen them. And, that being so, he would make sure they talked.
Chapter 14
Sergeant Tanner had to remind himself that it didn't pay to allow over-confidence to creep into one's thinking, but nonetheless he couldn't help feeling that things were looking up. Shooting down the Junkers had probably meant their whereabouts would remain secret for a while longer, but had also boosted everyone's spirits. And then they had safely reached Uksum Farm, where Merit Sulheim was considerably more helpful than the nervous farmer they had encountered above Alstad earlier that Thursday morning.
With the men left to keep a close watch from the large barn outside, Fanner, Sandvold, Anna and the officers were ushered into the house. A spry, heavily built man in his thirties, Sulheim had a young family, ran a successful logging business, and also kept cattle, goats, sheep and even pigs, all housed in a number of rambling barns on the farm during winter and on pastures that ran along either side of the J0ra river in summer. Evidently a man of enterprise and zeal, he had, unlike most other farmers of the Gudbrandsdal valley, invested in the latest machinery, including an American Fordson tractor and a large Morris-Commercial truck. Neither was the farmhouse as primitive as some of the others Tanner had seen: rather, it was equipped with electricity, running water, had a modern range in the kitchen and even a radio, on which Sulheim had been carefully following the progress of the war.
It was because of this that the farmer was able to tell them some news as to what was happening in the ongoing battle for Norway. There was fighting to the north of Trondheim, near Namsos; Narvik had also been heavily bombed. In the Gudbrandsdal valley, there was heavy fighting at Kvam, some forty-five miles to the north- east. German-backed radio had reported that they were advancing virtually unopposed up the Glama valley, east of, but parallel to, the Gudbrandsdal. On hearing this Tanner had glanced at Chevannes.
But Sulheim reported something more. That morning an announcement had been broadcast by the German authorities that a dangerous band of British, French and Norwegian troops was at large in the Gudbrandsdalen. There was a reward for any help in securing their capture, but a warning too: anyone offering these men help could expect 'the severest' punishment for doing so. Well, that made one thing clear, though Tanner. The Germans knew about Sandvold.
The threat of severe punishment did not seem to perturb Sulheim, who explained that he was a patriot and openly professed his desire to help his country against the Nazi oppressor. He had already tried to join up in Lillehammer, but because of his timber business and position as one of the few milk and meat producers in the area, he had been sent home. 'In any case,' he added, in near-perfect English as his wife ladled out bowls of porridge, 'we have seen a few planes, but not a single German soldier yet.' He offered them his truck. Petrol was scarce and there was little in the tank, but he produced two four-litre cans that he told them he had kept to one side. 'You should have enough for maybe fifty kilometres.'
'Then we should leave right away,' Tanner said.
