joined the Army as a sixteen-year-old
boy soldier. In any case, he reasoned, their climb down the mountain would be
easier without the colonel - and greater manoeuvrability meant the risk would
be less. Wounded men, he reminded himself, were always a hindrance.
Tanner took Private McAllister, one of the riflemen in Sykes's section
- he seemed less affected by the afternoon's events than the others. At any
rate, he was still awake and appeared to have his wits about him. Nielssen
accompanied Larsen, leaving the civilian with the colonel.
Progress was slow to begin with but, overlooking the steep ravine cut
by the stream, they found the outline of a rough track that wound its way
through the trees and off the slopes. The further they climbed down, the more
the snow thinned until eventually the dark stone and grit of the track was
revealed and the four men were able to walk freely. As the trees cleared, they
crept forward to the bank at the side of the track. Spread beneath them was the
snaking valley of the Lagen river, which resembled a winding lake. Nestling
above the water's edge was the village of Oyer, the valley and the single
railway line clearly visible. Beyond, isolated farms dotted the lower slopes on
both sides of the river, and around them, marking clear breaks in the thick
pine forests, were small fields - which would soon be full of rich grass for
hay-making and grazing. Now, though, in the third week of April, the valley was
like a photograph - black and white and shades of grey. Only the water of the
Lagen, deeply, darkly, icily blue, offered colour.
Almost directly below there was a farmstead, and another beyond, a
hundred yards further down. Tanner admired the now familiar design: the
steep-pitched roof, the ornate wooden veranda, the barn with its stone ramp. A
dog barked briefly, but otherwise it was as eerily still as it had been higher
up on the mountain. Again, he could not hear the song of a single bird.
'It seems quiet enough,' said Larsen.
Tanner pulled out his scope. 'There's movement,' he said. Several
Heinkels flew northwards along the valley, dropping their bombs a few miles
north-west of the village. Clouds of smoke erupted on the lower slopes of the
mountains and across the river. Intermittent artillery shells resounded around
the same part of the valley. In the distance there were bursts of small arms.
'They're making some kind of stand up there,' said Tanner.
'What can you see?' asked Larsen.
'Not sure. Hard to tell, even with this. A few vehicles on the road in
front of us, though. What look like several carts. I need to get closer.'
'Nielssen and I will try these farms,' said Larsen.
'All right,' said Tanner. 'McAllister and I will cover you. We'll be
able to see if the coast is clear, then we'll head down a bit further.' Tanner
looked at his watch. 'It's a quarter to ten. Meet back here in half an hour, no
later. We need to get on our way. If the front really is only a few miles up
the valley, we've a good chance of catching up tonight.'
Larsen nodded. 'Good luck, Sergeant.'
Tanner and McAllister watched the two Norwegians walk cautiously down
the track towards the farm, their rifles slung over their shoulders and
rucksacks still on their backs. Tanner heard McAllister's stomach grumble. 'My
God, Mac,' he said. 'That's some racket your belly's making.'
'Sorry, Sarge,' said McAllister. He grinned at Tanner sheepishly. 'It's
them Vikings heading off for food. It's got me going again.'
'Well, stop thinking about it. Concentrate on keeping a bead on them.'
Tanner had his own rifle out and aimed towards the farm. In silence now
they watched the two men approach the house. Two dogs barked and ran towards
them. Nielssen held out his hands and they approached, tails wagging at the
friendly gesture. Larsen knocked on the door, which opened. A middle-aged man,
with a grey moustache. Talking - an explanation. Then the two men were inside,
the door closed behind them.
'Good,' said Tanner.
boy soldier. In any case, he reasoned, their climb down the mountain would be
easier without the colonel - and greater manoeuvrability meant the risk would
be less. Wounded men, he reminded himself, were always a hindrance.
Tanner took Private McAllister, one of the riflemen in Sykes's section
- he seemed less affected by the afternoon's events than the others. At any
rate, he was still awake and appeared to have his wits about him. Nielssen
accompanied Larsen, leaving the civilian with the colonel.
Progress was slow to begin with but, overlooking the steep ravine cut
by the stream, they found the outline of a rough track that wound its way
through the trees and off the slopes. The further they climbed down, the more
the snow thinned until eventually the dark stone and grit of the track was
revealed and the four men were able to walk freely. As the trees cleared, they
crept forward to the bank at the side of the track. Spread beneath them was the
snaking valley of the Lagen river, which resembled a winding lake. Nestling
above the water's edge was the village of Oyer, the valley and the single
railway line clearly visible. Beyond, isolated farms dotted the lower slopes on
both sides of the river, and around them, marking clear breaks in the thick
pine forests, were small fields - which would soon be full of rich grass for
hay-making and grazing. Now, though, in the third week of April, the valley was
like a photograph - black and white and shades of grey. Only the water of the
Lagen, deeply, darkly, icily blue, offered colour.
Almost directly below there was a farmstead, and another beyond, a
hundred yards further down. Tanner admired the now familiar design: the
steep-pitched roof, the ornate wooden veranda, the barn with its stone ramp. A
dog barked briefly, but otherwise it was as eerily still as it had been higher
up on the mountain. Again, he could not hear the song of a single bird.
'It seems quiet enough,' said Larsen.
Tanner pulled out his scope. 'There's movement,' he said. Several
Heinkels flew northwards along the valley, dropping their bombs a few miles
north-west of the village. Clouds of smoke erupted on the lower slopes of the
mountains and across the river. Intermittent artillery shells resounded around
the same part of the valley. In the distance there were bursts of small arms.
'They're making some kind of stand up there,' said Tanner.
'What can you see?' asked Larsen.
'Not sure. Hard to tell, even with this. A few vehicles on the road in
front of us, though. What look like several carts. I need to get closer.'
'Nielssen and I will try these farms,' said Larsen.
'All right,' said Tanner. 'McAllister and I will cover you. We'll be
able to see if the coast is clear, then we'll head down a bit further.' Tanner
looked at his watch. 'It's a quarter to ten. Meet back here in half an hour, no
later. We need to get on our way. If the front really is only a few miles up
the valley, we've a good chance of catching up tonight.'
Larsen nodded. 'Good luck, Sergeant.'
Tanner and McAllister watched the two Norwegians walk cautiously down
the track towards the farm, their rifles slung over their shoulders and
rucksacks still on their backs. Tanner heard McAllister's stomach grumble. 'My
God, Mac,' he said. 'That's some racket your belly's making.'
'Sorry, Sarge,' said McAllister. He grinned at Tanner sheepishly. 'It's
them Vikings heading off for food. It's got me going again.'
'Well, stop thinking about it. Concentrate on keeping a bead on them.'
Tanner had his own rifle out and aimed towards the farm. In silence now
they watched the two men approach the house. Two dogs barked and ran towards
them. Nielssen held out his hands and they approached, tails wagging at the
friendly gesture. Larsen knocked on the door, which opened. A middle-aged man,
with a grey moustache. Talking - an explanation. Then the two men were inside,
the door closed behind them.
'Good,' said Tanner.
Similar Books
