the bank beside the road. Blindly, he fired several rounds in succession. A man cried out and a spectral figure fell, but Tanner knew it was now critical that he and his men move back. His mouth was parched with acrid smoke. Tracer now arced luminously through the smoke - a machine-gun: its rapid fire raked the ground around them in short deadly bursts. Even with half the force destroyed or out of action, enemy fire-power was already proving too heavy.
'Come on, Dan, we've got to move.' He pulled out a grenade. 'On three get up and go. One, two, three! Now!'
Erwood stood up, then fell back with a cry. 'Bastard!' he yelled. 'He's got my arm!'
'Think you can still move?'
Grimacing, Erwood nodded.
'Right,' said Tanner. 'Hand over the Bren. I'll cover you.' He rammed another thirty-round magazine into the breech and pulled back the cock. 'Go, Dan!' he shouted, as he opened fire, the butt of the Bren pummelling his shoulder. Tanner glanced back as Erwood slid behind a tree a short way above, then hollered, 'Fall back! Everyone, fall back!' Sykes was still firing at the first truck. More mortar shells fell among them, but the enemy machine-gun was now silent. Had Sykes or one of the others hit the men manning it or had they moved? Tanner couldn't tell. He had to get Sykes's attention above the din of battle. 'Stan!' he yelled. 'Stan!' Out of the corner of his eye, he could see more enemy troops working their way round the lead truck, ghostly figures in the smoke, and opened fire with another burst from the Bren. Christ, but we've got to get out of here. The first truck was drawing all their fire, yet he knew the men from the last must be working their way behind them. 'Stan!' he yelled again, and this time the corporal looked across. Frantically, Tanner waved his arm - fall back!-and Sykes nodded. First, though, the corporal pulled a stick of Polar dynamite from his haversack. Tanner fired another burst of the Bren, saw Sykes light the dynamite, count, then hurl it across the stream towards the enemy troops now working their way up the slope opposite. More mortar rounds rippled across the slopes, the blast tearing branches and kicking up spurts of snow, rock and mud.
Then Sykes's dynamite exploded, and for a moment, the enemy fire from the lead truck stopped.
Tanner snatched his rifle, slung it over his shoulder, grabbed the Bren, stuffed two more magazines into his pouches and scrambled out of his position - to be met by bullets fizzing past his head from the opposite direction. Damn it! Frantically Tanner searched the ground above him. He needed cover. Trees ahead and above him and to his left, a fallen trunk. He gasped, lungs straining. More bullets. Something whipped through his trousers. Yards to go. Feet losing their grip. Where were the others? Shouting from behind. Another mortar shell, this time below him, followed by yet another, between him and his attackers from the flank. It was just the cover he needed and as the blast erupted twenty yards away from him, he plunged over the fallen tree, face down, then rolled and lay sideways. He brought the Bren to bear, slammed in another magazine as debris pattered on his tin helmet, cocked it and opened fire.
Men loomed into view ahead. Bollocks, he thought. I've got sodding Jerries either side. He glanced behind and saw Sykes up ahead, urging him to follow, mouthing something he couldn't hear above the ear-shattering noise of mortars, shouts and small-arms fire. Another shell hit a tree not far from Sykes and exploded. Tanner ducked again, then shot a glance back to his corporal. No one was there.
'No!' yelled Tanner. 'You bastards!' Bullets pinged above him and slapped into the fallen tree-trunk. Blindly he fired another burst of the Bren, then pulled out a grenade and hurled it at his attackers. A whistle as yet another mortar round hurtled towards him, closer this time. Tanner ducked, heard the explosion, then felt the blast knock him back against the tree-trunk.
He was unsure how long he had been unconscious, but when he came to he was aware that the deafening din of battle had gone and then that he was surrounded by half a dozen enemy troops. As his mind cleared and his eyes focused, he realized he was looking up at none other than Hauptmann Zellner.
Tanner rubbed his head. He had a pounding headache, his ears still rang shrilly and his mouth was drier than sand, yet despite his predicament, he had the presence of mind to glance at his watch. Well, that's something, he thought. Nearly fifty minutes had passed since Chevannes had led Sandvold into the trees. Fifty minutes was a good head start.
Two men grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet, so that he was now face to face with Zellner. The German smiled, then rammed his fist into Tanner's belly. The sergeant gasped and doubled over, only to be pulled up again.
'Where is he?' Zellner hissed.
'Who?' said Tanner.
Zellner punched him again, every bit as hard. 'Where is he?' he repeated, as Tanner gasped and retched a second time.
'I couldn't possibly say,' murmured Tanner. 'We're just the holding force - holding you up, that is. And we have. In fact we are. I am, right now. So, let's chat some more.'
'Enough!' said Zellner, and then struck him a third time, this time on the jaw but the blow was misjudged. Tanner jerked his head back and the blow barely hurt. 'That should wipe the smile off your face. In any case, we do not need to know. We will just follow the tracks,' said Zellner, 'and we will catch him.'
'You won't,' said Tanner. 'Because he'll be shot before you get a chance.'
Zellner pulled out the pistol from Tanner's holster. 'Mine, I think,' he said. He held it, checked the magazine was full, then cocked it and pointed it at the centre of Tanner's forehead. 'I said I would kill you, Tanner, and so I will.'
Tanner smiled. 'You're a fool, Zellner,' he said. 'A stupid Nazi bastard fool.'
Zellner glared back. 'Tanner,' he said slowly, 'you have said your last.'
From the safety of his position among the trees on the slopes above, Sykes crouched, watching his sergeant and wondering what on earth he could do. Having seen Tanner knocked backwards, he had immediately thought to turn his back, follow the others and slip into the trees, but something had made him stop. As he had turned he had seen enemy troops hurry to Tanner and pull him to his feet. Knowing he was alive, Sykes felt compelled to stay and help. But how?
Wincing as the German officer landed repeated punches on his sergeant, he decided that a diversion was his best option. He still had a few packets of Nobel's 808 as well as several sticks of dynamite, and he had Tanner's pack too. Crouching, he glanced to his left in the direction the fourth truck of troops had come from. It was hard to see, so he scampered a short distance forward, climbed a bit higher, then he saw what he was looking for: a jutting outcrop of rock, like a giant boulder. If he could get enough explosives behind it and force it to tumble down the mountainside, he might help Tanner escape or, at worst, give the enemy a further headache.
He took a deep breath, then glanced back at Tanner and the enemy troops around him. He froze. The sergeant was now obscured from view by another of the German troops but the officer had his arm extended with a pistol pointing at Tanner's head. 'No!' mouthed Sykes, under his breath. He turned his head, not daring to look.
Then came the sound of a single pistol shot.
Chapter 16
Tanner had eyed the men gathered round Hauptmann Zellner. There were six, with more milling about in the trees beyond and, he knew, others on the far side of the shallow ravine behind him. But it was the seven men in front of him that he needed to worry about first. Three had their rifles slung on their shoulders, two clutched them loosely with one arm, while a sixth had a machine- gun slung by his side from a strap that ran over his shoulder. Tanner was not familiar with the different types of German machine-gun, but it looked to him to be a similar if somewhat more sophisticated weapon than those he had seen after the firefight at the
