Free The Odin Mission by James Holland Page B

die.'
    'You're going to be fine,' said Tanner, stuffing wadding into the
bullet-hole in Draper's chest. 'Stan, press down here,' he said to Sykes. 'Quick
- he can't feel a thing. He's in deep shock.' Several others were now gathered
round him, peering at Draper's prostrate body. 'I thought I told you to keep
watch,' growled Tanner. 'Stop bloody gawping and keep a lookout. Now!' He
turned back to Draper. Blood still seeped through the mass of wadding and
bandages. Draper's eyes were filled with fear and he was frothing at the mouth.
'Mother!' he gurgled. 'Mother!' He kicked. 'Easy, Gordo, easy. You're all
right,' said Tanner. But, of course, he was not. Tanner and Sykes tried to
steady him and then a sudden calm spread over Draper's face. The kicking
stopped and his head dropped limply to one side.
    'Goddamn it!' cursed Tanner, slamming a fist into the ground. He
glanced at his watch. It was now nearly six o'clock in the evening. Standing up
and scanning the mountains, he could still see no sign of any troops, enemy or
otherwise. 'Stan, you stay here with three of your lads and bury Gordon and
Keith.' Sykes nodded.
    'The rest come
with me.'
     
    It was often hard
for a pilot to hit a human target on the ground. Travelling at high speeds
there was little time to aim, and although the mixture of MG17 7.92mm bullets
and Oerlikon 20mm cannon shells poured out through the nose cone of the
twin-engined Messerschmitt 110, there was no time to respond should the targets
suddenly fling themselves out of the line of fire. Nor was there much chance to
see the fruits of such an attack. The rule of strafing was simple: keep your
finger on the firing buttons, then fly straight on out of harm's way as quickly
as possible; it only took a lucky bullet and the plane could be in serious
trouble, especially at such a low height.
    Lieutenant Franz Meidel was pleased with his efforts, though. Flying
low along Lake Mj0sa, he had climbed due north using the bend in the lake as
his marker. He had arrived south-east of the Balberkamp, then pulled back on
the throttle so that he was travelling at two hundred miles per hour, and
swooped north without being seen or heard. He had not been expecting to see a
patrol of British troops but at just under a hundred feet off the ground he had
seen their distinctive wide-rimmed helmets clearly. A three-second burst of
fire had certainly knocked them over, and he was sure he had seen one man badly
hit before the reeling figure had flashed out of sight beneath the aircraft.
    Lieutenant
Meidel had flown on, spotting five men. There was so little time in which to
assess who they were, but they carried rifles and looked - so far as he could tell
- like Norwegian troops. He had opened fire on them too. Although he had been
unable to see whether or not he had been successful, his rear-gunner told him
he was certain at least one man had been hit. Meidel flew on, and since there
were neither enemy aircraft nor anti-aircraft fire to worry about, and because
the adrenalin coursing through him was making him feel bold, he had decided to
turn and swoop back low over the tree-tops to examine his handiwork. Of the men
there had been no sign, but he had spied a distinct trail of blood in the snow. Good, he thought. 'I think we
can go home, Reike,' he said.
    Although
Sergeant Tanner had heard the second attack, it had not been his intention to
investigate further. He guessed it had been made on the Frenchmen, in which
case he hoped the German pilot had been successful. And, in any case, his
orders were to look for German mountain troops preparing an outflanking
manoeuvre, not get caught up in somebody else's trouble.
    So, with nothing to report from the summit of the Balberkamp, he had
told his still-shaken patrol they would head down to rejoin the rest of the
company. They had retraced their steps and had cleared the lip so that they
were looking down on the Rangers' positions, when Tanner realized something was
wrong. in the