'Listen.' The faint, but increasingly distinct sound of engines. Aero-engines.
They could all hear them now, the sound rising to deafening roar. Jesus, thought Tanner, how many is that? A dozen at least. The aircraft were above them now, and through the trees and the thinning smoke, he saw a formation of Stukas high above them. As he craned his neck, the first flipped over on to its back and dived, siren howling, then the next, and the next, and the one after that, until the air was rent by the crescendo wail of their diving scream. Tanner lay flat on the ground, his hands clasping his tin helmet to his head as bombs hurtled towards them.
Explosions, an ear-splitting clatter, one after another. Tanner heard the scream of one man, then was lifted clean off the ground and smacked back down again, the air knocked clean from his lungs. He gasped, debris and grit tinkling on to his hands and helmet, and pattering through the branches above. Suddenly he noticed he could no longer hear. He could feel the pulse of the bombs rippling through the ground, could see the flash of orange and thick clouds of smoke, but there was no sound. Daring to look up he saw two Marines crouching in their sangar not forty yards from him as another falling bomb seemed to detonate right on top of them. Tanner ducked again as debris sprayed him. When he raised his head and the smoke cleared, he saw the men had gone, their sangar replaced by a large hole in the ground. There was something wet on his hand - a glob of gore. 'Christ,' he said to himself, and wiped it off. Five yards ahead the bloodied face of one of the Marines lay among the dried pine needles. Of the rest of the head and body, there was no sign.
His ears began to ring, a high, piercing whine, then sound returned. The sirens of the Stukas had gone but, he realized, shells were now ranging in towards them from the south. 'Rangers!' he shouted, and began to run between the trees. He found Hepworth vomiting, then saw Sykes and McAllister. Another artillery shell fizzed over and exploded behind them. 'Where are the others?' he yelled.
Sykes pointed to Bell and Chambers, taking cover a short distance behind, then spotted Kershaw half running, half crouching, towards him. 'Keep looking out for the infantry,' he shouted.
A glance at his watch: 20.42. Bloody hell, he thought. Artillery shells continued to smash through the trees and along the valley, and there were mortars, too, popping down, almost with no warning, blasting deadly shards of shredded metal.
'We can't hold out here much longer, Sarge,' said Sykes.
'No,' agreed Tanner, 'I just hope to Christ that train's gone now the Stukas have buggered off.'
A shrill single whistle blast rang out, and as one the Marines moved from their positions and hurried backwards.
'Rangers!' shouted Tanner again, at a second whistle blast. 'Fall back!'
A shell screamed above them and now the burp of a Spandau and the crack of rifle fire could be heard. As Tanner began to run, he turned to see shadowy figures emerging through the smoke. 'They're coming,' he yelled, then a flash of orange and more screams as another trip-wire was detonated. He paused briefly, squatting on his haunches, and using his scope, aimed at one of the remaining jelly-mounds. Bullets whiffled through the air, zapping through branches and slapping into the ground around him. Spotting the stick of gelignite, he aimed his rifle as troops materialized through the smoke. Tanner squeezed the trigger, watching the tracer trail slice through the air and hit the explosive. A ball of flame erupted. He turned and ran, more bullets hissing and slicing around him.
A searing pain scorched his neck and he stumbled, crashing to the ground. Gasping he put up a hand. It came back red with blood. Someone grabbed his shoulders and yanked him to his feet. Sykes and Hepworth were beside him.
'Can you still run, Sarge?' yelled Sykes.
Tanner nodded.
'Then run!'
The three sprinted through the trees until at last the bullets were no longer following them. Ahead was a clearing and Tanner groggily saw trucks pulling out.
He stumbled again. A hand grabbed his collar and urged him forward. 'Come on, Sarge, nearly there!'Sykes. Tanner's neck stung like hell, his chest was so tight he thought it would burst, and his legs felt as though they had turned to jelly. A shell whistled over, and another landed a hundred yards to the right. The trucks were leaving. One left. Men leaning out, arms outstretched. Tanner cried out, then sped towards it. Suddenly his hand was clutching the wood of the tailgate and he was being pulled aboard.
He collapsed on to his back as the truck rattled away out of the clearing and sped on to the road, away from the carnage and turmoil of battle. Grimacing he clutched his neck. Sykes and Lieutenant Lindsay were staring down at him.
'The trains? Have they gone?' he asked.
The captain nodded. 'Yes, Sergeant. They have.'
Tanner closed his eyes briefly. 'Thank God for that.'
'Here, Sarge,' said Sykes, handing him a field dressing. Tanner sat up and, still short of breath, hoisted himself on to the wooden bench. As he pressed the bandage to his neck he saw that all six of his men were among the Marines. Thank Christ.
'Let's have a look at you, Sarge,' said Sykes. He pushed Tanner's head forward. 'It's just grazed you. You'll live. Here, let me wrap that bandage round it.'
As he began to breathe more easily, Tanner felt his composure return. His neck hurt, but his mind had cleared. His legs no longer felt weak. As Sykes bandaged him, Tanner gazed at his men: Hepworth and Kershaw, McAllister, Bell and Chambers. McAllister and Hepworth were by the tailgate, scanning the skies for aircraft; he'd not even asked them to do that. They were becoming soldiers, he thought. Not kids any more.
'You did damned well there,' said Lieutenant Lindsay, sitting opposite him, 'you and your men. If it hadn't been for your pyrotechnics, I'm not so sure we'd have held them off.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'And it was a pretty close-run thing.'
'But you know for certain that the trains went, sir?'
The Captain smiled. 'Yes, Sergeant. I had a clear line throughout. They left after the Stukas went. And we haven't had any more visits from the Luftwaffe, so they'll be there already.'
They fell into silence as the truck rumbled on. They had left the Germans and the enemy artillery behind, and were within touching distance of safety, yet just one enemy attack from the air could end their chances. Tanner smoked almost continuously, until his throat, already sore from the thick smoke of battle, was so dry he could barely speak. He tapped his feet and drummed his fingers, patted the wound on his neck and stowed his father's old scope in his haversack. But the truck would not go any faster, however much he might wish otherwise.
At last, after nearly an hour, they emerged from the valley, and there, nestling at the water's edge beneath a thick pall of smoke, stood the tiny port of Andalsnes.
The town was a wreck, hardly any houses standing; most had been reduced to little more than charred, blackened remains. Thick, cloying smoke hung heavy on the air. The harbour teemed with exhausted troops, but there was no sign of the ships. Tanner and his men jumped down from the truck.
'Thank you, sir,' he said, offering his hand to Lieutenant Lindsay, 'but we must leave you here. We need to find the Norwegians.'
Lieutenant Lindsay shook his hand. 'I hope our paths cross again, Sergeant. Good luck.'
They left the Marines and headed down a rubble- strewn road towards the quayside. 'Stick close to me, boys, and keep your eyes peeled. We've got to find them.'
'Why, Sarge?' said McAllister. 'They'll be here somewhere.'
Tanner turned on him. 'I'll tell you why, Mac. Because we've lost good men for that professor. We've hacked over mountains and across lakes, been strafed, bombed and shot at, and I'm damned if I'm going to leave this God-forsaken place without knowing that they're here and safely on a ship.'