They found Joint HQ easily. One house nearby was still burning, thick smoke rising into the sky, another was burnt to the ground, while a third had a collapsed roof. A number of pines were still crackling with flames, their blackened branches bare of needles.
Outside, several civilian cars were parked haphazardly in the mud and slush. Tanner recognized one as the vehicle in which Captain Webb had made good his escape. In the yard beside the house there were a number of foldaway tables on which stood a line of field telephones, lines of cable extending across the snow. Evidently at least one was suffering from a break in the line as an exasperated Leicesters officer was cursing his inability to get through to his men. Runners reached the house as others headed through the trees towards the company positions.
'You stay out here, Hep,' said Tanner, pushing his way through the throng of clerks and other headquarters staff. His boots squelched on the mud. It was not cold, but the sky was overcast and grey and the snow was melting. Drips ran off the edge of the roof and from the branches of the trees. Indeed, Tanner now felt hot after his exertions, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead before he stepped inside HQ.
There was pandemonium. The house smelt musty, of coffee, sweat and damp clothes. In a room off the hallway, a number of men, including Norwegians, were peering at a map. Another Leicesters officer brushed past him, then Tanner spotted Lieutenant Wrightson, the battalion intelligence officer, sitting on the corner of a table in a room at the end of the hallway. Tanner knocked lightly on the open door.
Wrightson looked up. 'Yes?'
'I've been told to report to Battalion CO, sir, regarding what I've seen of enemy troop movements.'
Wrightson disappeared to fetch Colonel Chisholm.
A few moments later the colonel appeared with Captain Webb. 'Tanner, what the bloody hell are you doing here?' asked Webb. 'Shouldn't you be with the rest of your platoon?'
'All right, Captain, that will do,' said Colonel Chisholm. He was a tall man in his mid-forties, with a trim moustache above his lip and dark eyes. A North Yorkshire landowner and Member of Parliament, he, too, was new to war. 'What have you got for me, Sergeant? ‘I think Private Hepworth and I were the last out of Lillehammer, sir. We saw a tank entering the station with a number of accompanying troops, then a long column of motorized infantry deploying out of the town. The lead trucks had guns attached to the back. Only small ones, though. Anti-tank guns, I should say.'
The colonel ran his hand through his hair as Tanner spoke, then chewed one of his fingernails. 'How many tanks do you think they've got?'
'Hard to say, sir. There was one entering the station yard and another not far behind, but I heard the tracks of others as we were heading out of the town.'
'Good God,' muttered Chisholm. 'And now they'll have taken our stores. Damn it, Webb, why the hell didn't you blow them first?'
'There wasn't time, sir,' said Webb, defiantly. 'We were loading until the last minute, trying to salvage as much as we could, and then Jerry was upon us.'
Tanner shifted his feet. 'Excuse me, sir, but Private Hepworth and I managed to destroy the stores.'
'What the devil are you talking about, Tanner?' said Webb.
'We poured petrol over them, sir, and blew them up.'
'Oh, really? And what were the enemy doing while this was happening, Sergeant?'
'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.'