'Getting burnt and shot, sir.'
Colonel Chisholm smiled. 'Good man, Tanner. Well, that's something at least.' He squinted at his watch. 'All right, Sergeant, you'd better hurry back to your position. I think you'll have a chance to get a few more rounds off before long.' The colonel strode past him, presumably to inform his fellow battalion commanders, but as Tanner was about to leave, Webb grabbed his arm.
'I don't appreciate being humiliated like that,' he hissed.
Tanner clenched his fist. He had a strong desire to hit Webb, knock him to the floor, but instead he glowered at the man, yanked his arm free, then left the room. Outside, Hepworth was waiting for him. 'Come on,' growled Tanner. 'Let's go.'
They left the road to head through the trees and across the thinning snow. It was still in the woodland, and Tanner paused briefly to light cigarettes for himself and Hepworth. He passed one to the private and breathed in the smell of tobacco mixed with burning pinewood. A brief release of tension spread through him. Somewhere they heard the chatter of Bren light machine-guns, and a moment later another Junkers roared over, its twin engines louder than ever in their close surroundings. A split second later came the whistle of falling incendiaries, and once again Tanner and Hepworth flung themselves face down into the snow. A deafening ripple of explosions erupted a short distance behind them and the ground shuddered. Shards of shrapnel and splinters of wood pattered nearby, followed by the crackle of burning branches.
Lifting himself to his feet once more, Tanner saw his crumpled cigarette in the snow. 'Bugger it!' He glanced across at Hepworth.
'I reckon it's dangerous being near you, Sarge,' said the private, as he brushed snow from his battle dress.
'You're alive, aren't you?'
'Yes, but only just. Look, Sarge, my hands are shaking.' He held them out to show Tanner. 'I don't think I'm cut out for war.'
Tanner could not help smiling. 'Another beadie will sort you out,' he said, pulling out his packet of cigarettes again. A moment before he had thought to save his last precious few, but now his resolve was weakening. In truth, he needed a good smoke himself. 'Just don't go telling the rest of the lads or they'll think I've gone soft,' he said.
They found B Company soon after, strung out between the trees on the lower, more gentle slopes at the foot of the Balberkamp, next to a company of Norwegian troops. Men were attempting to dig in here too, hacking away at the shallow soil with their short spades, building sangars from stone, bits of wood, and anything else that could be salvaged. Shells continued to whistle over at intervals, but were landing further towards the road so the men were no longer bothering even to duck, let alone fall flat on the ground.
Number Four Platoon held the end of the line. Each of the three sections was trying to make their own defences - a sangar of sorts for the Bren team and whatever holes in the ground they could manage. Tanner was in despair. Nothing he had seen since reaching their lines had convinced him they had the remotest chance of holding off the enemy, and the efforts of his own platoon, only recently arrived at the position, were the worst of them all. What good were a few stones and a hole barely deep enough to lie flat in against tanks, guns and especially aircraft? What was it the brass knew that he didn't? Perhaps reinforcements were on their way. Perhaps the RAF. Perhaps another shipment of transport and guns had already docked and was driving towards them. He sighed, pushed his helmet to the back of his head and looked around for Lieutenant Dingwall.
The subaltern had seen him first, however, and strode over from his newly sited platoon headquarters between two close-together pine trees. 'There you are, Tanner. You took your bloody time. If I'd known you were going to be so long I'd never have let you take Hepworth - I've had to use Calder as my runner instead. Where the devil have you been?'
'I'm sorry, Mr Dingwall,' said Tanner. 'We got a bit held up and then I was ordered to report to Joint HQ.'
'Well, all right, but I need you here now. We've got a lot to do on these defences, so get digging.'
'What about reinforcements, sir?'
'Some Norwegian troops have joined us.'
'I saw them, but with all respect, they're not going to manage much, are they? They've got less equipment than us and most of them have only been in uniform a fortnight. Where's the heavy stuff? Have you heard anything, sir?'
Dingwall shook his head. 'Apparently there's another company of Leicesters on its way - they got left behind somehow at Rosyth, but Captain Cartwright heard from the IO that another supply ship's gone down.'
'For God's sake!' Tanner was exasperated.
'Rather you didn't spread that about, though, all right?' added the lieutenant, in a lower voice.
'My God, sir,' said Tanner, 'this is madness. What the hell are we going to achieve?'
'Keep your voice down, Sergeant,' said Dingwall, sharply. 'We're playing for time. Trying to keep the enemy at bay and help the Norwegians.'
'Then why not keep them at bay a hundred miles back towards Andalsnes? We've got a hundred-and-fifty- mile supply line here, with no guns to speak of, no bloody tanks, no trucks, and one piddling railway line that Jerry will knock out in no time if he hasn't already. And look at the men, sir. They're exhausted. When did we last have some proper grub? It's insanity.'
'We've got to do what we can, Sergeant,' said Dingwall. 'Captain Cartwright has been promised that hot food will be issued tonight. In the meantime, we must make do with what limited battle rations we've still got.'
Tanner knew there was no chance of any hot meal that day - how would it reach them? Captain Cartwright had been fobbed off, of course he had, but there was no point in saying any more to the lieutenant. He'd said his piece, got it off his chest, only it hadn't made him feel any better. Rather, a new wave of weariness spread over him.
'I'd like you to take over the end of the line and make sure our defences are up to scratch,' said Lieutenant Dingwall.
Tanner saluted, and wandered through the trees until he found Corporal Sykes and his section.
'Afternoon, Sarge,' said Sykes, cheerfully.
Tanner was pleased to see that Sykes had made the most of a large rock and a pine tree for positioning the Bren. Other, smaller, rocks had been brought over, and branches carefully placed so that the machine-gun was almost entirely hidden from forward view. 'Good work, Stan,' he said, as he eased off his pack and haversack.
Sykes grinned. 'Try digging, though, Sarge. It's flippin' 'ard rock they 'ave 'ere.' Sykes put down his entrenching tool and stood up. From his battle blouse he pulled out some chocolate, broke it in two and offered half to Tanner. 'Superior stuff this, Sarge.'
'Thanks. I'm starving. Just what I need. Where d'you get it?'
Sykes tapped his nose. 'Trade secrets . . . Well, actually, I got it from some Norwegian bloke in Lillehammer. Said he'd rather give it to us than have it stolen by Nazis.'
Tanner smiled. 'Makes for better tiffin than hard tack, that's for sure.' He liked Sykes. Of slight build and with short, mousy hair slicked to his skull with brilliantine, he was, as Tanner had discovered, far stronger than he looked. Sykes was sharp too - always ready with a quick reply - and he was the only man other than himself in the company who hadn't come from Yorkshire. Rather, he was a Londoner, from Deptford, as he had proudly admitted the first time they had met. Tanner had sensed an unspoken affinity between them, in part because he regarded himself and Sykes as outsiders. Every time Tanner opened his mouth, he revealed the soft remnants of a West Country burr that had not left him even after so many years away. Sykes's South London accent was even more marked among the thick Yorkshire tones of the other rankers.
He took out his spade and was about to start helping Sykes and the other men in the section when a Messerschmitt 110 pounded overhead, strafing their positions. There was no need to tell anyone what to do: they all hurled themselves flat on the ground as bullets kicked up gouts of earth and snow, shards of stone, and snicked through branches above. Tanner heard a bullet ricochet from the rock beside him and a tiny sliver of stone nicked the back of his hand.
It was over in a trice and, cursing, Tanner got to his feet once more. His hand was bleeding. 'This is a bloody
