backwards. Anna cried out as Chevannes threw his hands to his face, howling wildly. Even in the faint moonlight, Tanner could see blood on the windscreen.
'Sir!' shouted Tanner. 'How bad is it? How bad is it, sir? Anna, try to calm him down. See if you can find out what he's done. I can't stop now.' He dropped down a gear once more, pressed hard on the throttle to bring up both revs and speed, then changed up. The town was now behind them, the shooting receding. From behind him he could hear desultory shots, and an occasional second-long burst from the Spandau.
Chevannes groaned.
'Keep still,' said Anna, her voice calm once more. 'Rest your head on my lap.' She took his shoulders and straightened him. 'Try to bring your legs up.' Slowly, he did so until he was lying across half the seat and her. 'There's a lot of blood,' she said. 'He needs dressings as soon as possible.'
Tanner hitched his pack and webbing from his back and waist as he drove, shoved them on to his lap, then began taking off his German tunic. 'Here,' he said, 'have
this. I'll stop as soon as I can.' Then he called, 'How are you in the back?'
'Tinker's hit, Sarge,' McAllister yelled, 'but I don't think it's serious.'
'Yes, it bloody is!' called Bell. 'My arm's agony!'
Almost too late, Tanner saw the road ahead fork. 'Which way?' he said, bringing the truck to a halt.
'I can't get to my map,' said Anna.
'Hold on,' said Tanner. With the engine still running, he jumped out of the cab and ran towards the other truck.
'What's happened?' asked Nielssen.
'We don't know which way - left or right? Do you have your map, sir?'
'A moment, Sergeant.'
'Any casualties?'
'I'm afraid so - one.'
'Who?'
'Your lance corporal. Erwood. Shot in the head.'
'Dead?'
Nielssen nodded.
'Damn,' said Tanner. 'He was a good man. Is he still in the back?'
'No, he was hit as he was trying to get in. Hepworth's been on the Spandau. What about you, Sergeant?'
'The lieutenant's hit in the face. He needs dressings and attention soon. And Bell - not serious.'
Nielssen looked at the map and passed it on. 'We need to turn right. We've a bit of a climb, then in thirty kilometres we reach the main road to Andalsnes. How much fuel do you have?'
'About a quarter of a tank. Not enough.'
Nielssen grinned. 'We've some spare cans in the back and the gauge is reading over half a tank. And that is enough.'
'Let's keep going,' said Tanner. 'It would be good to be on the main road by first light.' He paused to get some field dressings, then hurried back to the cab. Passing the bandages to Anna, he pushed the stick into gear and rolled forward.
Hauptmann Wolf Zellner had seen the explosion before he heard it: a bright orange glow lighting the sky to the east. A moment later, the report. Then a sickening feeling swept over him. An almost speechless von Poncets had immediately sent a signal to Vinstra. A quarter of an hour later the truth was revealed: around fifteen men, dressed in German uniforms, had infiltrated the town and stolen two troop carriers. And the bridge had been blown to pieces.
On hearing this news rage gripped him, rage he feared he would not be able to control. Staggering outside, he walked to the water's edge, picked up a large rock and hurled it at one of the moored dinghies. The boat sank, until all that remained was a length of rope disappearing beneath the water.
Zellner watched it. His rage had abated slightly but he was now overcome by the oppressive weight of despair. Tanner, he thought, and hurled another rock into the lake. Somehow he would have his revenge. 'I swear it.'
Chapter 22
May Day, 1940 - Wednesday - and as the dawn rose to their right, the sun gleaming over the mountains amid a cloudless sky, the signs were that summer had indeed arrived.
'Damn it,' said Tanner. 'What we want is a bit of rain and low cloud.' The speed with which winter seemed to have passed had surprised him. 'What happened to spring?' he asked Anna.
She laughed. 'We don't have one. Winter then summer. Now it's summer.'
Tanner glanced down at Chevannes' bloodied head, wrapped in an assortment of stained bandages and torn strips of lining from a German tunic. 'Stupid bugger,' he said.
Chevannes moaned.
'What happened to him, Jack?' Anna asked him, the Frenchman's head still resting in her lap. 'Was there something wrong with the rifle?'
'He put a clip of French ammunition into a German breech. The French rifles use a fractionally smaller cartridge than the German ones - but it's enough to bugger up the firing mechanism. When he fired, the bolt sprang back and hit him in the face. He should have known, but in the heat of the moment - well, he'll have a whopping scar to remind him not to make that mistake again.'
They had emerged into a deep, narrow valley, with mountains towering steeply at either side. Tanner whistled as he craned his neck to admire one of the most breathtaking stretches of scenery he had ever seen. Then, glancing at his petrol gauge, he saw the tank was almost empty.
Chevannes moaned again, louder this time.
'Jack,' said Anna, 'we need to stop. He needs attention.'
'We'll pull in at a farm. Perhaps we can find out what's happening.'
They reached a settlement called Lia, another collection of farmsteads nestling beside the river. The grey, tired fields of a week earlier had already been replaced by lush green pasture. Approaching a brightly coloured red farmhouse with clean white wooden fencing, Tanner slowed. 'This looks smarter than most.'
'You think they will have a wireless?'
'That's what I’m hoping.'
The farmer and his family had been asleep but they seemed untroubled to be roused prematurely by two trucks of fugitive troops pulling into their yard. As the men soon gathered, they had not been the first to arrive there over the past couple of days: since the fighting at
Otta had ended, troops had been streaming past, most by train, but a fair number in trucks and even on foot. And while the farmer had a radio set, he made it clear that the news announced on the wireless had told him nothing he couldn't see with his own eyes; the British were evacuating. 'You're the last,' he told Nielssen. 'You'd better hurry.'
The farmer and his wife brewed coffee and gave them bread while Anna examined Bell and Chevannes. Bell's wound was clean enough - a bullet had gone through his upper arm, but no bones had been broken. Chevannes' head, however, was a mess. His right cheekbone had been smashed, and a large gash had been torn in the side of his face, leaving the eyeball to hang loose. As Anna removed the bandages he screamed again. 'He needs pain relief,' she said.
