Having retrieved their uniforms, and with the Germans never far behind, they had headed north from Elverum, had nearly been caught hiding in a barn and soon after shot at by aircraft. They had been forced to abandon their transport again and cross the mountains. It had been a difficult four-day journey. On the second day, Lieutenant Stunde had broken his leg. They couldn't carry him so had been forced to leave him. 'It was,' said Gulbrand, weakly, 'the worst decision I have ever had to make. We found a seter, and hoped someone would find him, but we knew there was little chance of that. Poor Roald. It would have been kinder to put a bullet in his head. So, you see, I couldn't ask Nielssen or Larsen to make an exception for me. And, in any case, I couldn't allow the enemy to catch me. What if I told them something when I was delirious?'
Gulbrand's teeth were chattering now. Beads of sweat ran down his face. His skin looked sallow, his eyes hollow, even in the dim light. 'I have entrusted Larsen and Nielssen with the jewels and papers, but what I ask of you now is of far greater importance. You must get Sandvold to safety somehow. To the coast and Britain.'
'All right,' said Tanner, 'you have my word. I'll try. But why me? Why aren't you saying this to Larsen or Nielssen?'
Gulbrand coughed, which evidently caused him further agonies. Eventually he sank down again. 'They are officers, yes, second lieutenants, or fenriks, as we call them, but Nielssen should be a sergeant or less. The Norwegian Army did away with non-commissioned officers a few years ago. Now men train as NCOs for a couple of years, then spend a year as a sergeant before being promoted. Larsen is different, but he is not the leader you are. I've watched you, Sergeant. You are in command of these men, not Henrik Larsen. And I think you have more experience than the rest of us put together.' He smiled weakly. 'Yes, Sergeant tanner, and you are already a decorated soldier.'
Tanner was embarrassed. 'Thank you, sir.'
'Don't thank me,' said Gulbrand. 'It is a thankless task I have given you. But you will have the eternal thanks of my king and country if you succeed, and I suspect your own as well.' He closed his eyes, grimaced, then said, 'One last thing. Trust no one. And kill Sandvold rather than let him fall into enemy hands. Kill him and destroy any papers he may be carrying. If the others try to stop you, kill them too. Do you think you can do that?'
'Yes,' said Tanner. 'One thing, though, sir. Do the Germans know about him? Are you being followed?'
Gulbrand gasped. 'I don't think so. Why would those planes have tried to kill us? Sandvold's no use to them dead. But they mustn't get him, d'you hear?' He gripped Tanner's sleeve. 'They mustn't get him.'
Tanner left Gulbrand. What a mess, he thought. The whole bloody show. He thought of Captain Cartwright and Lieutenant Dingwall, prisoners now along with many others. He wondered if anything remained of the company; or even anything of the battalion. It was hard to accept. A damned stupid waste of lives. And now he had the extra burden of Hening Sandvold. He had no idea what was so special about him. A scientist, he supposed. What those boffins knew was beyond him; the world was changing so fast. He just hoped that in Sandvold's case it would be worth it.
It was after eleven and he stepped outside to find the snow falling heavily now. Christ, this was all he needed. He wanted to get going, move off this God-forsaken mountain, try to catch up with the Allies while they still had a chance. He prayed it was snowing in the valley too - at least then the front would be held up as they were.
'We can't move in this.' It was Sykes, taking his turn as sentry. 'Just in case you were thinking of it, Sarge.' Tanner said nothing, so Sykes added, 'They're only scrawny tykes. They're probably not as fit as you are, Sarge.'
Tanner breathed out heavily. 'Yes, all right, Stan. I've got the message.'
'Christ, it's dark out here,' Sykes said, banging his helmet against the side of the seter to knock off the snow. 'You were having a long chinwag with the colonel, Sarge.'
'We've got to take the Norwegians with us,' said Tanner. 'That civvy - he's special. A boffin or something. Anyway, we've got to get him to safety. Preferably back to Britain.'
'Where's the front?'
'Not at Oyer.'
Sykes tutted. There's a surprise. 'So where are our boys?'
In the hands of the Jerries, thought Tanner. 'Not so far. A few miles. It's so bloody frustrating. I just want to get going. Sodding Norwegians.'
'Well, we can't go anywhere in this,' said Sykes again.
'It's my only consolation.'
But it was at that moment that Sykes heard something moving between the trees not forty yards ahead. Then Tanner heard it too. Footsteps. In the faint glow of the snow they saw the dark shape of troops approaching.
Chapter 6
Brigadier Harold de Reimer Morgan, commander of the British 148th Brigade - or what was left of it - placed his index finger on the map at a point roughly three miles west of Oyer where the river narrowed. 'Here,' he said. 'I'd like to say there are two companies of Leicesters but, in truth, it's a mixture of Leicesters, Foresters, Rangers and Norwegians. Let's call it a composite force of Allied troops.' His eyes stung with fatigue and from the dim light in the room. 'They've been bombed and strafed and the enemy has got his 5.9s trained on them, but they seem to have stout hearts and are doing their best. It's quiet now but, come the morning, they won't be able to hold on long. The rest of our force is here,' he added, pointing to the narrow gorge south of Tretten, a couple of miles further back along the winding valley. He stood up and smoothed back his hair. 'But I have to tell you, General, that without support, I cannot guarantee that we'll be able to hold Tretten for long.'
General Ruge studied the map in silence. The building in Favang that he had made his latest headquarters was the station house, a simple brick structure with a handful of rooms. Until the day before, his office had belonged to the station master, but although there was dust on the shelves and the floorboards were worn, it had an old leather-topped desk and a clock on the wall that proved to be an accurate timepiece, and there was room enough for the Norwegian Army commander and several staff officers.
Ruge ran a hand round the stiff collar of his tunic, stretched his neck, then sank back into his chair. 'Where is the extra company of Leicesters from Andalsnes? Are they at Tretten?' he asked Brigadier Morgan.
'Yes, but without much kit, I'm afraid. Apparently there's a Bofors waiting to be moved down here from Andalsnes, but as yet no one has found a way to get it here.' He was eyeing the general keenly. 'So we still don't have a single anti-aircraft gun.'
Ruge said nothing. Instead he banged his fist hard on the desk top. Frustration, anger.
'The Tretten gorge is a good natural defensive position,' Morgan continued, 'but I'm worried about our flanks. The enemy's mountain troops went round us successfully at the Balberkamp and I'm concerned they'll do so again. But I don't have enough men. I need to make a position here, to the east of Tretten village, otherwise—'
'Very well, Morgan, I take your point,' snapped Ruge. 'Beichmann,' he said, to the staff officer seated next to the desk, in English so that Morgan could understand, 'find Colonel Jansen. Order him to place his Dragoons there, and tell him he is now to fall under the direct command of Brigadier Morgan.'
'Sir.' Colonel Beichmann saluted and left the room.