The Valkyrie Directive

by Peter MacAlan

  ‘Will you talk?’

  Branting gasped, his lungs straining for air.

  Again came Knesebeck’s voice: ‘Talk!’

  Bran ting could only shake his head.

  The second man lifted him easily and threw him back into the bath again. Once more he tried to kick and struggle but it was no use. He passed out again and came to on the tiled floor after an eternity. This time he felt a rushing in his ears.

  He could no longer make out what Knesebeck was saying. The man’s voice was one long scream.

  He lost count of how many times he was thrown back in the bath.

  He recovered consciousness again to find that he was being dragged along the corridor. He was pushed onto a chair, cold, wet and semi-conscious. He was aware that Knesebeck was striking him across the face. He tried to laugh because he could no longer feel a thing. His face was too numb.

  ‘You are a fool,’ Knesebeck assured him. ‘You will die anyway.’

  Branting found himself strangely detached, as if he were merely an observer of this grotesque scene.

  ‘We will try one more time.’ Knesebeck grinned. He rose lazily, sauntered to the stove in the corner and, opening the door, prodded the coals inside with a poker.

  ‘You are cold, aren’t you? Well, we will warm you up a little.’ He thrust the poker into the fire, turning it slowly. Branting tried to shut his mind, tried to isolate himself from the pain which he knew was inevitable.

  ‘Sturmbannführer Knesebeck!’

  The voice was sharp and authoritative. It cracked across the room. Branting’s eyes, almost closed from the pain, tried to focus. He was aware of an officer in field grey entering the room.

  Hauptmann Eschig stared from Knesebeck to the huddled naked man on the chair. His face was a mask of disgust and anger.

  ‘You cannot interfere with the Geheime Staats Polizei, Hauptmann Eschig,’ returned Knesebeck, angry at the interruption.

  ‘No? With the Herr Sturmbannführer’s permission, I can and will.’

  ‘You are treading on dangerous ground,’ warned Knesebeck.

  ‘Be it so. This is a military affair, not a police matter, and it is under the jurisdiction of the commander of the land, sea and air forces, Herr General von Falkenhorst. He has placed me in charge.’

  ‘My authority …’

  ‘Your authority,’ snapped Eschig, ‘if I may point out, Herr Sturmbannführer, is vested in the Reichskommissar who is in charge of civil administration in the occupied zones of Norway.’

  Knesebeck hesitated. He knew that technically Eschig was right.

  ‘I want Stenersen,’ he said defiantly.

  ‘You will get him, Herr Sturmbannführer. But I will get him for you. In the meantime, I suggest that you cease to interrogate this prisoner as he is now in my custody.’

  Knesebeck stared at Eschig a moment and then nodded. He smiled thinly.

  ‘I shan’t forget this, Herr Hauptmann. I hope that you will not have cause to regret this decision.’

  The Gestapo officer slammed the door as he left the room. Feldwebel Weiss, standing by the door, regarded his superior officer with his usual impassivity. Only his eyes showed that he was troubled.

  ‘If I may be so bold, Herr Hauptmann …’ Weiss hesitated. He was slightly awed by his own temerity at breaching military protocol. ‘The Gestapo can be a powerful enemy.’

  Eschig turned to his sergeant and actually smiled, wryly.

  ‘I know it, Feldwebel,’ he said. ‘But occasionally one has to listen to conscience and honour. Also it is a matter of practicalities. Knesebeck would never have made this man speak with his methods.’

  He stared down at Branting and sighed.

  ‘It is useless to try to question the man now. Get him to a cell and get him attended to. I want to be able to speak with him when we come back.’

  Branting had slipped into unconsciousness again and when he came to he was in the cell. For the first time in his life he felt utterly alone. His agony was atrocious, and the circulation in his arms was almost nil because of the handcuffs. But someone had removed them now. His wrists felt swollen, for the metal had bit deeply into them. He also felt the blood clotting on his face and beginning to draw the skin. His face was hurting terribly now and his mouth was full of the salt taste of his own blood. He lay in the darkness of the cell, his breath rasping. One thought registered strongly with him. He would like a few moments alone, on equal terms, with the vicious Gestapo officer. A few moments … that was all it would take.

  *

  The Luftwaffe navigator turned and clutched at Hauptmann Eschig’s arm.

  ‘It’s too dark to land now, Herr Hauptmann,’ he yelled. ‘Are you really sure you want to make the jump?’

  ‘Of course!’ returned Eschig, raising his voice above the roar of the Storch’s engine.

  ‘Well, we have a radio fix on the Gerbirgsjäger.’ He turned and peered forward. Then he jabbed a gloved finger downwards. ‘There they are.’ Eschig could see the flashing of a torch from below. ‘Get ready to jump.’

  The Storch was flying through the white-peaked mountains which separated Norway from Sweden. For nearly one hundred years Norway and Sweden had been united into one country and this natural barrier had not meant a thing politically. Eschig smiled. It was one of those inconsequential facts that he had learnt when he had been informed that he was to serve in Norway. The union between Sweden and Norway had been dissolved on 7 June 1905 and on November 18 the Norwegians had elected their own king, Prince Carl of Denmark, who had taken the name of Haakon VII. Norway had become the model democratic kingdom. One of the weak democracies which the Führer had declared to be an impediment to progress. Eschig smiled cynically and turned to Weiss.

  ‘Ready, Feldwebel?’

  Weiss nodded impassively.

  The Storch pilot was circling round now. Below on the white slopes of the mountain, the torch was flashing out its signal. The navigator moved back and opened the side door, letting in a blast of cold air.

  ‘On this run, Herr Hauptmann,’ he yelled. ‘On my signal.’

  Eschig stood ready at the door, braced for the jump.

  The navigator yelled and slapped him on the back.

  Eschig launched himself into space. The white of the mountains and the valley floor seemed to merge in the darkness of evening. For some time he was not sure whether he was falling to the ground or miraculously spinning upwards to the sky. Then his ’chute opened, and a few moments later white-clad figures were emerging to help him as he landed. Eschig noticed the dark shadow of Weiss coming down a few yards away. A young man clad in white coveralls, carrying a rucksack and a Schmeisser slung across his shoulder, had moved towards him.

  ‘Hauptmann Eschig?’

  Eschig nodded.

  ‘I am Oberleutnant Gerhardt.’

  ‘Any sign of the fugitives?’ asked Eschig.

  ‘They’ve gone to ground for the night, as we should do. There is a turisthytten, a hut where tourists in the mountains stay. It’s about a mile away at the head of the next valley. I plan to bivouac there and then move on in the morning.’

  Eschig bit his lip, hiding his disappointment.

  ‘Are we far behind?’

  Gerhardt shook his head.

  ‘I know this country, Herr Hauptmann. I spent many hours climbing and skiing here before the war. From the route the fugitives are taking, it seems that they plan to cross the Svabensverk Glacier. There is no other pass ahead. We should be able to cut them off quite easily.’

  Eschig felt a sudden elation.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  The young oberleutnant smiled.

  ‘I’ll wager a bottle of schnapps, Herr Hauptmann. I know these mountains like the back of my hand. We’ll get them tomorrow, no question of it.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  The fugitives reached the cave just after dark.

  Sweeny was feeling a sense of loss. There was always the chance that Branting might have been able to
avoid the Germans, but he felt it was hardly likely. Sweeny realized just how attached he had become to the young Norwegian officer during these last few days; how much he had relied on the man’s knowledge and organizing ability. The map he had left behind had been easy to follow, and the only delay had been when Doctor Birkenes had missed his footing, slipped and fallen, knocking his head.

  He was a little dazed, but able to keep up with them after a short rest. Trina Lanstrad had dressed the abrasion and the doctor himself had diagnosed a slight concussion. His sense of humour had not been affected, because he grinned at Sweeny and said, ‘It’s no problem when I have the best medical brains in Norway to look after me. Two nurses and five doctors! At least I’ve chosen the right time for needing medical attention.’

  In spite of his humour it was clear that the blow had been a severe one and Professor Stenersen ordered his colleague to rest immediately. Trina made the doctor comfortable in the back of the cave while the others lit a fire within its confines, so that its flames could not be detected from outside. They were able to prepare some hot soup to have with the flatbrod and goat’s cheese they carried.

  Afterwards, Sweeny organized a watch system just in case the Germans tried to track them under cover of darkness. Woods was placed on watch first while the others were told to get some rest.

  Woods took the Schmeisser left by Branting, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders for warmth and went to the mouth of the cave, perching himself on a rock. Outside it was quite light, the pale moon reflecting on the white carpet of snow.

  ‘Okay?’ asked Sweeny, making a final check.

  Woods was about to affirm that he was fine when he caught sight of a flicker far away across the valley. He thought for a moment it was a reflection.

  ‘What is it?’ Sweeny asked, seeing Woods’s eyes narrow. ‘There! See it?’

  Sweeny followed his outstretched hand.

  ‘That’s the direction of the turisthytten. It must be the Germans. That’s about two miles away. We’d better make sure we are up before dawn and well on our way.’

  ‘Sweeny.’ Woods was hesitant. ‘I’m sorry for what I said earlier about Branting. Do you think they got him?’

  ‘It seems likely, otherwise they wouldn’t have come on after us so quickly.’

  ‘The poor bastard,’ breathed Woods. ‘I really liked the man.’

  About half an hour later Inge came to join him with a mug containing a shot of aquavit.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said, sitting down beside him.

  ‘It’ll be a long day tomorrow,’ Woods warned her, although he was pleased to have the girl’s company.

  ‘What will you do when we get back to London, Michael?’

  Woods thought a moment.

  ‘Commander Wallace promised that my job at the hospital will be waiting for me. There’s no decision.’

  The girl had half expected him to say that.

  ‘Seeing the way you’ve been during these last few days I was wondering whether you might join up?’

  Woods stared at her incredulously.

  ‘Join up? You mean join the army or something? Good God, no! There are plenty of people about who like pulling the triggers of these things,’ he gestured to the Schmeisser. ‘It doesn’t take much intellect to destroy men, but it requires some skill to put them together. I wasn’t raised to destroy people. I was trained to heal them. That’s what I know.’

  ‘I’m going to volunteer to join the Norwegian forces when I get back,’ Inge said quietly.

  Woods looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘Norway needs everyone she can get to help her during the months ahead,’ the girl went on, pretending not to notice the shock in his eyes. ‘It may even be years before she is finally liberated.’

  ‘Come on, Inge,’ Woods said, ‘you are a biochemist. You are trained and people need your training. Any fool can run around in uniform with a gun. Leave fighting wars to men like Sweeny.’

  ‘I’ve made a choice, Michael.’

  ‘But … but what about us?’

  Inge smiled at him softly.

  ‘I see no problem. But my first duty is to Norway.’

  ‘That’s patriotic emotionalism …’

  A shrill scream came from the far end of the cave.

  Woods leapt to his feet and went hurrying in. Everyone was stirring from where they had been sleeping. Sweeny was already on his feet.

  At the back of the cave Trina Lanstrad was standing beside Jan Birkenes, hand to her mouth. Birkenes was stretched on his back, one hand flung out in careless fashion in front of him. Hiseyes were open and there was a shadow across his neck and chest. It was only when Sweeny moved forward with a burning brand from the fire that they saw that the shadow was bright red. Birkenes had had his throat cut.

  Trina Lanstrad began to shiver.

  Woods brushed Sweeny aside and felt for Birkenes’ pulse, although he knew from the wound it was obviously a futile gesture.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Sweeny was staring fixedly at the wound. He kept seeing the wound across his cousin Freya’s throat. For a moment Birkenes’ face and that of Freya became one. It was a wound that seemed so similar. Sweeny dragged his eyes away and stared up at Trina.

  ‘What happened?’

  The girl tried to control her shaking limbs.

  ‘I was just coming to check on him when … when I saw …’

  Sweeny nodded, his eyes seeking out the pale face of Hersleb.

  The little man backed away, fear in his eyes.

  ‘Sweeny,’ Stenersen said, frowning, ‘who killed Birkenes and why?’

  ‘The same person who killed the nurse, Hilde,’ Sweeny replied tightly.

  ‘But that was an accident!’ protested the professor.

  ‘No. Her safety clasp had been tampered with. The pin was removed so that the clasp broke away from the safety rope the moment pressure was put on it.’

  Sweeny took the clasp from his pocket and threw it on the floor.

  ‘See for yourself.’

  Stenersen bent forward and recovered it.

  Woods was staring in horror.

  ‘Are you saying that one of us is a murderer?’

  Sweeny nodded.

  ‘That’s obvious.’ His eyes were on the excitable little anaesthetist, who began to back away before his accusing stare.

  ‘I did not do it. I did not do it!’ The little man began to moan as the others saw Sweeny’s gaze and followed it. ‘You hate me because I believe in the New Order. I know that. But I did not kill Birkenes. I did not kill Hilde. What kind of man do you think I am?’

  ‘It’s monstrous, Sweeny,’ Stenersen said quietly. ‘We’ve worked with Hersleb for years. I know he has a loud mouth and is a pain about politics, but …’

  ‘I am responsible for your safety, professor, and it appears that I am not doing a good job,’ replied Sweeny.

  ‘It’s a terrible accusation, Lars,’ Trina Lanstrad said. ‘The professor is right. We cannot condemn a man just because of his politics.’

  ‘No, Sweeny is right,’ Woods said. ‘There’s no one else other than Hersleb who would want to delay or stop us. Hersleb is the obvious suspect.’

  ‘It is not true,’ the little man cried. ‘It is not me.’

  Sweeny took a step towards Hersleb, but Stenersen intervened.

  ‘If Hersleb is the killer then he deserves to be killed. But I say that we must be sure. We shall be in Sweden tomorrow. Let the authorities deal with it.’

  Sweeny hesitated.

  ‘Very well. Doctor Arendt, you will relieve Woods on guard duty. Hersleb, you will sit over here, and Woods … you will watch him until I relieve you.’

  Stenersen nodded toward Birkenes’s body. ‘What about … We ought to bury Jan.’

  Sweeny bit his lip.

  ‘Hersleb, you take the shoulders,’ he ordered, while bending to pick up the feet. They moved the body as far as they could into the rear of the cave. It was as good a g
rave as any, and without spades they could not make a proper grave in the hard snow of the mountain.

  *

  Sweeny was dreaming. He was swimming away from the Gunnlöd, leaving Uncle Tenvig’s bloodstained body lying on the deck. The German E Boat was closing in. Before him was Freya, standing on the shore with outstretched hands … only Freya’s face kept fading and he saw only the face of Trina Lanstrad. The hands gripped his and started to shake him.

  ‘Sweeny!’

  He sat up abruptly. It was Woods’ voice.

  ‘Hersleb’s gone.’

  Sweeny was wide awake.

  ‘How?’ he snapped coldly.

  ‘It was my fault …’ Woods hesitated, looking away. ‘I dozed off. Only a few moments, I suppose. It was a grunt that woke me. Hersleb was gone. I went to the cave entrance. He’d knocked Arendt unconscious. It was Arendt’s grunt that I heard.’

  Sweeny was making for the cave entrance before Woods finished. ‘Hersleb’s on skis,’ Woods said behind him. ‘He can’t have more than a few minutes’ start.’

  Sweeny was already strapping on his own skis.

  ‘I should have made sure of the bastard when I had the chance,’ he said bitterly. He stood up and grabbed his sticks, swinging the Schmeisser over his shoulder. ‘I may be able to cut him off before he reaches his Nazi friends.’ He reached into his pocket and threw Branting’s map and compass towards Woods. ‘Don’t wait for dawn. Start moving everyone towards the glacier pass as soon as you can. Don’t stop for anything until you are in Sweden.’

  Before Woods could utter a protest, Sweeny had pivoted on his skis and pushed himself off down the slope, following the tracks of Hersleb’s skis. The moon was still up, throwing the serried ranks of surrounding mountaintops into black silhouette. The snow beneath Sweeny’s skis was hard white crystal and it whistled as he crouched down, head bent into the wind. His eyes peered forward into the white wilderness.

  The moon on the white snow lit the countryside as if it were daylight rather than the silent hours before dawn. Somewhere among the shadows before him was the treacherous figure of Hersleb. With his skis humming along on the frost-covered snow, Sweeny descended into the valley in a series of sudden rushes, feeling the icy freshness of the air on his cheeks.