Authors: Alan Bricklin
NORTH OF TVEDESTRAND, NORWAY. 13 APRIL, 1945
In the more Northern reaches of Europe it was also obvious
to just about everyone that the war would soon be over and the Nazi empire,
hailed to last a thousand years, would come to an end less than a decade from
its birth. However, not everyone in the German military thought that defeat was
a foregone conclusion, or at least they didn't espouse such beliefs, and the
generals commanding the forces in Norway boldly declared to Hitler that Norway
would be held at all costs. Such statements did not bode well for Sten who
feared that a protracted struggle with a cornered enemy that saw no way out
could lead to death and destruction on a scale that far surpassed the
atrocities during the past four years. Further, he was not sure that he could
survive such a struggle.
The invasion of Norway had begun on April 9
th
,
1940, and by June the Germans were firmly in control, even as Sten felt control
of his own life slipping away. The resistance movement had provided purpose and
direction, but he still felt that he could not get a grip on his own life; it
was, he thought, like trying to hold a fistful of water. Eventually he just
gave up and realized that life as he knew it would have to be put on hold until
the invaders were driven out —— a feeling shared by many throughout
the course of the conflict that engulfed the world. His fear and fatigue were
fueled by concerns for his family. The conflict between duty to his country and
shepherding a wife and child through perilous times had drained his energy,
both physical and mental, to the point that Sten doubted his ability to keep up
the fight much longer, and hence his dismay at the German proclamation that
Norway would be held at all costs.
These thoughts occupied him more than his current task of
picking his way through the woods North of the port city of Tvedestrand, an
area whose contours, streams and forests were hardwired into his brain, no more
concentration needed to navigate the region than one would expend in taking an
afternoon walk at home. Nor was he particularly interested in the middle aged
man he had in tow, one of the conscripted German scientists from Norsk Hydro
who had participated in the production of heavy water and plutonium at the
hydroelectric plant until allied bombing and commando raids had halted
production permanently.
Although the man had had essentially nothing to do for over
a year, the concentration plant having been rendered non functional, he had not
been recalled to Germany or reassigned, so he spent his days doing odd jobs
around that part of the power station that remained intact, and taking long
leisurely walks in the nearby mountains. With little to do and little interest
from the Nazi party after the plant became irrelevant, he had a great deal of
time to think during his strolls through the stark beauty of the surrounding countryside.
Being an intelligent man who saw Hitler for what he was, he could only pity
what had been done to the people of Norway and to their country. His basic
humanity was apparent and several Norwegian workers at the plant, including one
who was an active member of the resistance, began to engage him in occasional
conversations, innocent and inconsequential without even a breath of sedition.
Over the weeks and months this contact was assiduously cultivated, following a
plan and schedule laid out by British intelligence, which had been alerted to
this potential asset, until one day the casual talks could be ever so gently
nudged in the direction of politics and the war. Once started, this line of
discourse led relatively quickly to an admission by the disillusioned scientist
that the interests of humanity as well as his personal fortunes would best be
served if he went over to the allied cause. Today began the first day of that
journey for Hulbart, Hulbart Gerlach, chemical engineer, and it was Sten's job to
get him to the coast where he could be spirited away to be debriefed by the
intelligence types in London.
When the two men approached the coastal region, the cover of
the woods would thin and there was likely to be more German military activity.
In the depths of the forests and mountains there were few German patrols, the
likelihood of their returning safely being slim, for the heart of the country
that was Norway belonged to the Norwegians in the same way that their hearts in
turn belonged to the mountains, fjords and forests of their native land. Sten
knew this. All Norwegians knew it. Theodor Broch, mayor of Narvik, had said it
best when he crossed the border into Sweden to join Norwegian forces there.
"Now strangers had taken over our land. They would loot it and pluck it
clean before we returned. But the country itself they could not spoil. The sea
and the fjords and the mountains —— to these we alone could give
life. We were coming back. The mountains would wait for us."
Sten halted before they left the cover of the forest.
"We'll wait here until dark, then cover the last seven or eight kilometers
to the coast."
"Do you have anything to eat? I couldn't take anything
with me; it might have looked suspicious."
"With 400,000 Germans occupying our land, none of us
have very much."
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to come here. I was ordered.
I don't want to take your food." He paused, and when the discomfiture of
the silence that ensued became too uncomfortable for him, he forced himself to
speak, embarrassed at the awkward non sequitur that followed. "Your
country is beautiful and I would have liked to come here as a guest, not some
uninvited intruder."
Sten did not dislike this man with any vehement passion, but
neither did he particularly feel any fondness for him. It was possible that he
was deserting the Nazi cause because he could not stomach what they stood for,
but, he thought, someone who jumps ship at this point in the decline of a
regime may simply be abandoning a sinking vessel and looking out for their own
interests without any higher moral viewpoint. He knew that the Nazis held even
some of their own German citizens as hostages to their cause, so there was
really no way for him to tell exactly where this scientist stood. Best leave
that to the boys who would be taking him off his hands. In the meantime, he
maintained a somewhat sullen appearing neutrality. Reaching into his pack, Sten
produced a small tin of smoked fish and a few pieces of bread. He opened the
tin, took some with his hands and offered the rest to his charge along with a
portion of the bread, all of which he eagerly devoured, using the bread to soak
up whatever oil remained in the container. His thanks to Sten produced a nod
and a non committal grunt which was not quite what he expected, although, on
reflection, he couldn't suppose that this member of the resistance would know
much about him; he was unlikely to have heard any details from the Norwegian
workers at the plant and thus would not realize that his sympathies had never
been with the Nazi party. No, to him he was just a package to be delivered, and
a grunt and nod was better than open hostility.
"We will stay here for a few hours so you may as well
try to sleep. Once we leave this shelter we will be moving quickly and
constantly with no chance for rest until you are aboard the submarine that has
been sent for you. If we make it."
That was not particularly reassuring for Hulbart. The fact
that his guide showed no fear, or for that matter any emotion at all, he
chalked up to resignation rather than confidence. He closed his eyes but sleep
eluded him; he would just have to call on what reserves he had for the final
leg of his escape.
The comfort of sleep was also denied to Sten, for recently,
whenever he was out like this, waiting, which often seemed the greatest part of
the resistance effort, memories of tragedies past surfaced, unbidden and
unwelcome, to haunt him and call out from quiet recesses of his mind. His only
chance for sleep was to so thoroughly exhaust himself that he almost collapsed,
falling into a soporific state immediately. But even then, the dreams came, and
he awoke tired and drained. It had not been that long since a major battle
between the resistance and German troops had taken place in the mountain region
of Matrefjell, a direct confrontation of the kind that Sten always hoped for,
not some lurking about in shadows to blow up a delivery truck, but a battle
where he could see the enemy, face him directly and destroy the invader of his
cherished homeland. Funny thing about battles, though, ——
regardless of who held the morally correct position, people on both sides died
and there was grief enough to go around. Olaf, who had matured a great deal
since their first work together that day in February when the Hydro had mushroomed
into oblivion on the surface of quiet lake Tinnsjo, did not return. Dead or
wounded and captured, they did not know although they hoped it was the former.
But misfortune had struck deep and the battered young man was taken by the
Germans to his village where, his wounds bound up sufficiently to keep him
alive, he was hung from the large tree in the town square, the lanky body
twitching in its final agony as it rotated slowly to the left, then back to the
right. His mother could not bear to watch the execution, remaining at home with
friends for support, a stoic look upon her face until neighbors came to tell
her it was over, whereupon, like mothers throughout history who had lost their
sons in battle, she had beat her breast in anguish and cried out, "Why my
boy? He was still so young." The townspeople held her closely and did what
they could to console her, but her question went unanswered.
Sten forced these thoughts from his consciousness and closed
his eyes, trying to focus on his wife and child, fortunately too young to go to
war but ever in danger from the vagaries of Nazi brutality. There would be no
sleep now, this he knew, but perhaps an hour or so of rest. He could only hope.
Some time later he stood and stretched, looking up at the
somber, moonless sky, fast moving gray clouds low to the ground. Hulbart
watched him, the darkness accentuating the hollows of Sten's eyes and giving
his head a macabre skeletal look. "Time for us to go, Mr. Scientist."
"Hulbart, my name's Hulbart."
"You should not have told me. The less we know about
each other, the better. Safer that way."
"As you wish."
I will always be the enemy to
him and he will never like me or anything that I say or do. He doesn't
understand that I am not Germany.
Sten led the way out of the woods and they kept a quick pace
down the gentle incline that led to the town. Their presence out in the open
worried him because it would be suspicious to any Germans they encountered. He
carried a brace of rabbits, dead for two days now, and their paltry carcasses
would provide the only cover he could muster, a hunting foray to try to
supplement the meager rations they had to live with. Once in the town it would
be safer to move about, the locals were still allowed their nightly visits to
the bars. The terrain flew by as they double-timed it down the hillside, no
encounters with German patrols, and their heavy footfalls and equally heavy
breathing the only sounds they heard.
"Slow down now," Sten said, motioning to Hulbart
who was several paces behind him. "Two men running through town would
certainly raise eyebrows. From here on, we saunter, two fellows back from
trapping rabbits, looking for a beer." Their breathing returned to normal
as they rambled through the center of Tvedestrand, although Sten heard Hulbart
suddenly suck in his breath as two German soldiers walked towards them on the
opposite pavement. Sten briefly put his arm on his companion's shoulder,
seemingly a gesture of camaraderie, or so he hoped, while he turned to him and
whispered, "Easy does it, don't speed up, don't look at them, we're just
strolling over to that pub on the next street. If we're stopped let me do all
the talking."
The soldiers were almost alongside them now, and one of them
pointed in their direction but they still remained on the opposite side of the
street. "Just keep walking," Sten whispered. When the Germans were
abreast of them, Sten could hear them laughing and making comments about the
rabbits that hung over his shoulder, and he sighed inwardly as he and his
charge passed un-accosted, thankful for his foresight. They were the last
Germans they saw that night, the hike down to the shore uneventful as they
picked their way over rocks and debris until they found a sheltered location
out of view from anyone not on the ocean.
At the appointed time Sten lit a small candle and used a tin
cup, the inside highly polished, as a reflector to signal the submarine. After
five minutes a return signal flashed briefly, and fifteen minutes later a small
boat put ashore, two sailors jumping out and standing guard with machine guns
while a third held the craft and motioned the two of them forward. Following a
brief exchange, Hulbart was helped aboard, the sailors pushed off, and the
German scientist, now bound for London, turned to thank his guide and
protector, but saw only the retreating back of a man for whom each day was both
a curse and salvation.
Maria leaned over the low stone rail of the bridge, looked right
and left and, seeing no one, dropped the distributor and a set of keys into the
swift flow of the full stream below. She remained for a minute, staring down
and listening to the sound of the water as it rushed over rocks, brushed
against the bank and swirled about the footings of the bridge, fluid, ever
changing, uninjured and undeterred by obstacles. Her hope of achieving some
philosophical acceptance, if not an understanding, of what was happening around
her and to her, was interrupted by an impatient knocking on the windshield of
the car, Larry's signal to get back to the car.