The Odin Mission (41 page)

Now he looked out at the passing countryside through
the rain-streaked window. The snow was melting in the valley, leaving ever more
drab fields, grey-yellow from lack of sun. His gamble, he supposed, had paid
off, but although he now had the support he had gone to Oslo to ask for, he
felt no sense of elation. Rather, he could not stop thinking about what would
become of him once the hunt for Odin was over. It was as though he had reached
the endgame, not only for Odin but for himself.

In Lillehammer, he stopped at SD Headquarters, picked
up Kurz and together they drove on to Vinstra. The signs of battle were
obvious. Shell-holes littered the route. In places, the road had been only
roughly repaired. Tretten was a pitiful sight: a collection of burnt and
collapsed buildings, with rows of fresh graves dug in the fields leading away
from the road. The scenes of destruction were similar in Favang and Ringebu,
villages unfortunate enough to have played host to bitter fighting. Burnt-out
vehicles and dead horses could be seen at every mile. In places, wide swathes
of forest had been in flames. The smell of scorched timber hung in the valley,
in places mingling with the stench of decomposing flesh, invading even the car
as they swept through.

They found the commander of the 163rd Infantry
Division in a large, ornate building a few hundred yards south of the railway
station. He was in conference with several of his commanders, including Major
von Poncets, and insisted they be ushered into his planning room, where a large
map of the Gudbrandsdal valley had been hung on one wall.

He cut an impressive figure, Scheidt thought,
immaculate in his field grey and glistening black cavalry boots, with a strong,
square, youthful face and shaved head. He spoke clearly and crisply.
Reconnaissance reports earlier that morning had suggested the British would be
making a stand in battalion strength only. The first attack had been made a few
hours earlier, but repulsed with heavy casualties.

'I had hoped we would force a way through quickly,'
said Engelbrecht, 'but we must now wait and deploy in strength.'

'It's always easier for the defender to get away
quickly, General,' said one of his commanders. 'The road between Sjoa and Otta
is badly damaged. It's been a long night trying to get my guns in place. The
rain hasn't helped either.'

'The engineers are working flat-out,' said another
officer.

Engelbrecht nodded. 'Don't worry. Your artillery is
now in place, is it not, Oberst?'

The colonel nodded.

'And, Major,' continued Engelbrecht, 'when will your
two battalions be ready?'

'Any moment, Herr Generalmajor.'

'Good,' said Engelbrecht, rubbing his hands together.
'The Luftwaffe will bomb the British positions once more, followed by a short
but concentrated barrage. Then Infantry Regiment 307 will attack on a wide
front with von Poncets' men sweeping around the eastern flanks.' He smiled.
'That should do the trick. But I want everyone else to continue bringing their
troops forward towards Otta. There must be no let-up.'

He dismissed his commanders, then turned to Scheidt
and Kurz. 'Forgive me, gentlemen,' he said, shaking their hands and leading
them into another room, which he had established as his office. 'Sit,' he said,
pointing to two chairs in front of his desk. After offering them both a
cigarette, he sat down. 'Now,' he said, 'I've spoken with the Reichskommissar and
I assured him I will do what I can to help. So where do you think this elusive
fellow is?'

'We're not sure, General,' said Kurz. 'We had contact
yesterday to the west of Vinstra, then received a signal that they were heading
for Sjoa.'

Engelbrecht laughed. 'Then I'm sorry to say they've
most probably reached the British.'

Kurz shook his head. 'I don't think so, General.
Yesterday evening we intercepted a message from the British Brigade
headquarters in Otta to their HQ in Dombas informing them that they still had
no news of Odin. Another intercept this morning confirmed they still have not
made contact. They are as in the dark as we are.'

'And your intelligence is reliable?' Engelbrecht
asked.

'I'm certain. It was picked up from an insecure
civilian telephone line. The British have few radios - and what communication
equipment they do have is far from secure.'

'Even so,' said Engelbrecht, 'you may have to accept
that this fellow has already reached safety.'

'It's possible, yes,' admitted Kurz.

'The point, however, General,' said Scheidt, 'is that
we must be ready to strike if and when we do hear news. Assume Odin is still at
large and that there is much to be gained by his safe capture.'

'Yes, yes,' said Engelbrecht. 'Herr Reichsamtsleiter,
I've heard all this from Terboven. Of course we will do what we can. But my
forces are engaged in a battle at
Otta.
This afternoon, or perhaps this evening, we will have beaten the British once
more and the town will be in our hands. Thereafter, I will be in a better position
to help, not least because, as you heard, most of my division will have caught
up with the vanguard.' He smiled again. 'So it might be better for you if Odin
is not only still at large but that he waits for us to clean up at Otta before
making his whereabouts known again.'

As it happened, Odin was no more than twenty-five miles as the crow
flew from Engelbrecht's headquarters. He was lying in a dark, shuttered room,
with a perilously high temperature and a crushing migraine. He had vomited
repeatedly, although now could only retch bile.

In the barn, the men had been fed - boiled eggs,
chicken, bread and stewed apple. The old man and his daughter-in-law had been
generous hosts. They had rested too, and the straw in the barn had helped dry
their clothes. Above, the rain clattered on the red tin roof.

Tanner leant against some straw, carving a small aircraft
from an old piece of wood with his bayonet and clasp-knife, watched by the two
little girls, who sat beside him, cross-legged, their chins in their hands.

Larsen wandered over. 'You're a natural, Sergeant.'

'It's something to do. Anyway, you should have seen
Corporal Sykes earlier. Had them captivated with his coin tricks.'

Larsen spoke to the children, then smiled. 'They want
to know which will have the plane. Perhaps you should make two.'

It was nearly three o'clock, Tanner saw. He smiled
ruefully. 'I've nothing better to do.' He had already checked his weapons,
stripped and cleaned his rifle, then examined the working parts of the Spandau.

'You do not have children yourself, Sergeant?' Larsen
asked.

'No, sir.'

'I have two girls, a little younger than these.' He
sighed. 'I do not mind telling you, Sergeant, that I miss them terribly. This
war.. .' He shook his head. 'It is a terrible thing.'

'But you're a soldier, sir. One of the few Norwegian
professionals.'

'Yes - you are right. And I should not say this, but
if I am honest, I never expected to fight. I thought I would remain a member of
His Majesty's Guard in Oslo, but not that Norway would find itself at war. We
are neutrals, Sergeant.'

'Yes,' said Tanner, 'you're not the first to say so.
We British are a bit more used to it. There's not a year goes by without a bit
of fighting, war or no war.'

Tanner finished the first model and gave it to the
elder child. He had just begun a second when their mother entered the barn and
spoke with Larsen. She was, he guessed, perhaps thirty, with a thin, kind face.
The fear in her eyes that had been so evident when they had first descended on
the farm had gone, soothed by the soldiers' apparent harmlessness and by the
reassuring return of her father-in-law. But the anxiety was still there. Tanner
could hardly blame her. It was brave to take in Allied soldiers with the
Germans only a short way off.

She looked at her daughters and the model Tanner had
made, smiled, then spoke with Larsen.

'What news?' Tanner asked him, once she had left them.

'Not much. The professor's asleep. Anna has put her
medical training to good use.'

On their arrival at the farm, Chevannes had ordered
Tanner to organize guards, so he had. One was stationed in the attic at the top
of the house from which there was a clear view of the valley they had walked up
earlier, while the other stood guard outside Sandvold's room. Each man did two hours
on, four hours off; only the officers were exempt. Later, when Tanner and
McAllister went into the farmhouse to relieve Kershaw and Erwood, he had a
chance to talk to Anna.

She looked tired, Tanner thought, as they sat on the
wooden floorboards of the second-floor landing. 'You must get some rest too,
you know,' he told her.

'I will.' She leant her head against his shoulder. 'I
could fall asleep now.'

'Why don't you? I can listen for you.'

For a moment there was silence between them.
Downstairs, they could hear chairs scraping, the children talking. In the hall
at the bottom of the staircase, an old grandfather clock ticked methodically.

'At least he's going to be all right,' said Anna at
length.

'He is?'

'Yes. It's exhaustion more than anything. He's twenty-
five years older than most of us, not a young man. Ten days he's been on the
run now, tramping over mountains, across rivers and lakes without proper sleep
or food.'

'And he's been shot at, strafed and bombed.'

'Yes. It creates a great strain, physically and
mentally. And the professor's a scientist, a city-dweller. It's not surprising
that his body is rebelling. Oh, and he has migraines. I pity anyone who does -
a terrible affliction. If you get a bad one, you can do nothing except lie in a
dark room until it passes.'

'And your prognosis, Doctor?'

'The migraine should have passed by the morning. I
expect the fever will subside too.'

'Will he be able to walk?'

'He'll be a bit weak, but possibly.'

'We could always make a stretcher.' Tanner sighed. 'I
know this can't be helped, but the moment he can move again, we must leave. God
knows where the front is now, but one thing is for certain: our forces are only
going backwards. To have any hope of catching them up again, we can't afford to
stay here too long.'

'Let's pray he sleeps well tonight, then.'

'You too, Anna. If we get going tomorrow, we all need to be rested.'
Her face was truly lovely, he thought. The eyes, the gentle arc of her
eyebrows, the curve of her lips. She moved her head, her eyes turned to his.
Leaning down, he kissed her. Suddenly it seemed the most obvious and natural
thing in the world.

A long night and an even longer morning. The rain had passed, and so had
the professor's fever, but the head- shattering migraine was proving more
stubborn. The men were restless; so, too, were Astrid Madsen and her
father-in-law. It was clear they had had enough of sheltering a disparate bunch
of soldiers.

And that damned clock, ticking away the seconds, the
minutes, the hours. Tanner had taken over guard duty again outside Sandvold's
room at around noon, and all the time he waited there he could hear it,
reminding him that time, a precious commodity, was passing. He had felt more at
ease on the mountain at Uksum Farm, where at least he could see the valley
spread before them and watch the enemy's movement. Here they were hidden; the
view back down the valley was not a long one - and it had occurred to him that
they might now just as likely see German troops approaching from the north.

At one, Anna checked on the professor again, clasping
Tanner's hand as she passed him. Reappearing a few minutes later, she said,
'The migraine has subsided. We can leave.'

Tanner breathed out heavily.
At last.

The old farmer helped make a stretcher from two
lengths of wood and an old piece of tarpaulin. The professor protested
half-heartedly that he was capable of walking, but after nearly collapsing down
the stairs that led from the farmhouse, he acquiesced. He looked ill, Tanner
thought, his eyes dark hollows and his skin sallow.

'Are you sure he's fit to travel?' Tanner asked Anna.

'He is weak, but if he is on a stretcher he will be
fine. It is no worse for him than lying on a bed. He needs rest, that is all.'

At least the others were now refreshed, Tanner
thought. With the exception of Nielssen, who had kept his beard, the men were
now cleanshaven once more, the sloping shoulders and foot-dragging of the
previous morning replaced by a renewed vigour that was clear from the moment
they set off.