The 12th Man

by Astrid Karlsen Scott

  The four German soldiers who scrambled down the hillside had crossed a long deep furrow behind the hillock where Jan was hiding. In doing so, they disappeared from Jan’s sight. He was not sure where they would come out, but he grabbed his only chance of escaping, and dashed straight toward the mountainside. Jan ran away from the water’s edge, and headed for the Germans’ newly made tracks; he crossed them, and pressed on directly toward a shallow ravine which swept upwards from the fjord, and which he had noticed between the birch trunks while he was observing the soldiers’ movements.

  This ravine was a little to the left of his hiding place and toward the Idrupsens’ house, where the four Germans had disappeared over the ridge. Jan reasoned that in the ravine ahead, he would be hidden from the ship’s barrage of death, and could possibly reach the top of the mountain that way. The four soldiers were still out of sight and he pushed onward.

  Rushing through the deep snow, the Germans discovered him. Most likely they had intended to creep toward Jan at the water’s edge and subdue him where he had hidden behind the rock. Astonished to see him 120 feet behind them on the way up the steep incline, they quickly turned and rushed toward him, demanding that he stop and surrender. Jan kept running. Filled with Viking spirit, no thought of relinquishing the fight ever entered his mind. Summoning his last strength, he tumbled through the deep snow. When Jan reached the ravine, he began clawing his way up the nearly vertical mountain, but the powdery snow had no favorites. Using the heavily intertwined underbrush, Jan pulled himself up a few feet, only to slip backwards and start anew. Jan’s struggle weakened him, but he refused to give up. Only a few feet away, and yet so far, a large rock jutted out above him. With his indomitable will, he determined he would make it! Exerting all his strength, Jan threw himself behind the stone and pulled out his pistol.

  The energy and vigor he had enjoyed earlier in the day had deserted him. The chill Arctic air hurt to inhale and he was cold, so very cold. Two choices were left open to him: he could continue the useless climb and die, or he could stay and fight. Jan cocked his pistol.

  “Halt! Halt! Ubergeben!” Stop! Stop! Surrender! The Germans, hastening ever closer, called out for him to stop. The shots from their guns churned the snow around Jan like a foaming river.

  Swiftly he popped his head out from behind the rock, aimed at the soldiers, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He pulled the trigger again, and again and again. The pistol that had been at his side during the swim remained silent, crammed full of ice. The shouts from the German soldiers grew louder as they approached Jan’s hiding place. With fingers blue and clumsy from cold, he feverishly dislodged the magazine and removed the first two cartridges.

  Should the pistol not work this time, his life would end. Anew he swiftly popped his head out and fired. Relieved, Jan heard the pistol go off. The nearest soldier, a lieutenant in Gestapo uniform, received two hits. His arms shot heavenward and he fell backward into the snow. The soldier following him was wounded, but not mortally. The last two soldiers turned around in panic. They alternately ran and rolled down the steep slope toward the water and disappeared from sight.

  COURAGE THAT DEFIED DEATH

  MARCH 30, 1943: The snow clung to Jan’s frozen uniform. Teeth chattering uncontrollably, Jan shivered in the merciless cold. He struggled with cramped, frozen fingers to force the pistol back in his pocket.

  As the echoes of the final shots dissipated into the mountains, he took comfort in the sudden respite from the guns, and momentarily felt safe. An eerie stillness settled over the mountain slope broken only by Jan’s breathing and movements.

  From his vantage point behind the protruding rock he scanned the mountainside all the way up to the plateau nearly 200 feet above his head. It would be a strenuous climb. All the same, he had already climbed more than 100 feet. Compared with the view below, the snow above him was untouched, and spread itself like a huge, soft white blanket, beckoning him upward. The snow below was a patchwork of footprints, scattered spots of crimson blood and one dead Gestapo officer.

  The ravine was Jan’s only hope. Beginning in the marshes down by the fjord, the ravine cut deeply into the mountainside all the way up to the plateau. Here in the lower part of the ravine, he was concealed from the warship.

  From across the fjord Jan heard screams, some quiet, others more piercing and sharp. There did not seem to be any complete sentences or clear instructions issued, just short yells. Between the shouts were long periods of quiet. During those moments, a tense stillness returned to the ravine on the mountainside. Jan knew what was taking place on the other side of the fjord: the yells were from his Brattholm friends, caught and mishandled by the Gestapo.

  The arrow points to the mountain crest that shielded Jan from the warship.

  Each shout reminded him of the urgent need to climb. Every muscle tensed as he struggled upward. Jan fought for a foothold. His frozen foot was an encumbrance but he grasped for small rocks, shrubs or birch tree trunks to cling to. He inched his way upward, continually slipping and sliding backward and starting all over again. The only thought in his mind was “climb!”

  At the upper part of the ravine, the steep precipice on the south side no longer provided protection from the warship. Jan feared the moment he came into the Germans’ view, their bullets would penetrate his body and he would roll down this mountain he had fought so hard to conquer. Memories flashed through his mind. He saw his former peaceful life: the family gatherings, his parents, and the hikes in the mountains with his father and younger brother Nils Ivar, his dear sister Bitten. In split seconds he relived the preparations for this mission, and he saw his friends, the men of Brattholm. Fear gripped him; he felt totally alone and unnerved. Yet, Jan possessed a natural determination; it unlocked his will. Jan’s resolve to live surged up from deep within him and mingled with his iron will. He knew his chances were slim, but giving up and sacrificing himself to the Germans’ baseness would accomplish nothing. He kept climbing.

  The Germans sighted him and the guns roared out. The bullets lashed the snow into white waves that frothed around him. Pain. The snow turned red. Jan coiled up. A bullet had torn off the bottom part of his large right toe. “Will the next bullet end my life? I’m so close to the top. I must try.” The cold snow and the freezing temperature prevented the wound from bleeding heavily. All the same, Jan’s injury was extremely painful and made it almost impossible to climb. He managed to drag himself uphill a few more feet. He could hardly see in the stirred-up snow but crawling and scratching, he reached the plateau. The whole way up he fully expected that one last bullet would end it all.

  The texture of the snow on the plateau was coarse. The sharp grains of the crusty snow felt like a grater scratching against his wound. He limped doubled over for a few steps, slipped and fell, pulled himself up again, then clawed and scratched his way inland and out of sight of the Germans. At last their bullets could not reach him anymore.

  Enervated, Jan sank into a pile, and for a few seconds, lay still, gasping for breath. For the first time since he’d defended himself against and shot the Gestapo lieutenant, he could rest. Once more he noticed the fjord’s silence. After lingering a few moments, he mustered strength and courage to crawl back to the brink of the mountain to see what was happening. With bated breath he looked down upon the blue-gray Toftefjord below. The German warship was quite visible. The deck was a scurry of activity.

  Jan spotted his friends – the four men who had swum with him and the crew on the opposite side of the fjord. None of them were moving and he presumed they were all dead. He also spotted some of the widely-spread debris from Brattholm. German soldiers swarmed about; some had gone ashore on some of the smaller islets. “How could it all have gone so wrong?”

  Jan scrutinized his chances, and was left feeling desperate. On this arctic mountain plateau with nothing but snowclad mountains and freezing water as far as he could see, loneliness and fear gnawed at him. He was in a place totally unknown to him. He
was comforted by his knowledge of cartography, his good sense of direction and his memory. Seemingly he had lost his friends. He yearned to help them but he was powerless. The Germans would surely follow in his tracks soon. His wet clothes had long since frozen to ice and for the most part, his large toe on the bare foot was gone. Though death seemed imminent, he determined he would fight until the last pittance of strength left him. His courage defied death.

  Jan knew he had to keep as warm as possible. He flapped his arms and limped about. Somehow he had to escape this forsaken place. On the east side of the mountain plateau, the snow was shallower; in places there were only patches. He tried to leap from one bare plot to the other as much as possible. In this way he hoped to baffle the Germans if they came up to the plateau hunting him. Sometimes he walked backwards in the snow to confuse his pursuers further.

  For a long time Jan continued toward the southwest part of Rebbenes Island. He reached the periphery of the mountain. There were too many houses below to attempt that direction. Later people down in Leirstrand reported they had seen a man up on the mountain ridge. They had heard the roar from Toftefjord and they were on the lookout, but they puzzled over this stranger who disappeared seconds after he had appeared.

  Jan turned eastward. He was unable to reckon time anymore but he had reached the end of the plateau and looked down on the little settlement of Bromnes. He looked over the scattered rooftops and yearned for help. Because of its nearness to Toftefjord, Jan realized this would be one of the first places the Germans would search.

  The craggy, treacherous descent toward the shore was strenuous. Jan hung on to the scattered underbrush where it was not covered by snow. Clinging to jagged, protruding rocks, he slowly worked his way down toward the beach. He ended up some 300 feet from the little dock in Bromnes where the three men had come in to seek help the night before.

  Jan was aware that the Germans would soon catch him unless he could find a way to fool them. Once he reached the shore, instead of going toward Bromnes and the built-up part of the village, he turned in the opposite direction and went northward. He went away from the people. Desperate, hungry, and suffering, Jan almost turned back toward Bromnes. He knew he’d find comfort in the village. In place of satisfying his urgent needs, he let his instinct rule and forced himself to take the opposite direction.

  Along the shoreline there was no snow, which eliminated his worry of leaving tracks. There was a wide belt of slippery, icy seaweed that hid the sharp uneven beach rocks. It was nearly impossible to move forward. Jan slid in every direction and fell every-which-way each time he tried. It took all his concentration and progress was slow. He continued northward. A few feet on the inside of the seaweed, he found it wasn’t slippery, but there were huge craggy rocks, boulders and clefts which he had to pass through or over.

  Jan hurried as fast he was able; his only hope was to get away before the Germans arrived on top of the ridge. In his wild escape it was difficult to see where he was treading. Sometimes his wounded foot hit upon sharp rocks, which smarted. He was grateful when his foot hit even surfaces. The blood had begun to seep out again. With his life at stake he would not let pain stop him.

  The craggy, treacherous descent down to Bromnes.

  Jan waded out to the little island (indicated by an arrow) when the tide was low.

  After he had crossed the SmÅtrollneset he continued northward some distance. About 30 feet from the shore he spotted a small islet, about nine feet high and 45 feet wide. Maybe his pursuers would not see him if he was on the islet. To cross the wide belt of seaweed, Jan had to crawl. Even then he slipped and fell sideways, his arms and legs shooting out in every direction. Seaweed and rocks hit his stomach and hips, but there wasn’t time to be careful. Jan repeatedly turned to search for Germans on the mountain ridge. He knew he was a sitting duck for them. He reached the water and waded in. His Navy uniform filled with ice water once more. Soon he had to swim again.

  For some time Jan had felt he was close to freezing to death. Should he die here in the Arctic, his family would never know. For the rest of their lives they would wonder what had happened to him. He did not want to cause them that pain. It was the love of his family and his refusal to die by himself that forced him to suffer this added cold. His body quivered and his muscles stopped responding. His consciousness had slipped into a strange emptiness filled only with a bizarre scenario of horror, pain, aloneness, grief and utter despair. Yet he pushed himself forward. He did not know where he was, nor where he wanted to go. But the calm voice within always prompted him to go further, someplace away from the nightmare he was living.

  VÅRØYA ISLAND

  MARCH 30, 1943: Small waves coursed around the islet as Jan grasped the wet beach rocks. Iced up and slippery, Jan attempted to hold on but lost his grip and slid backwards into the water. Moving to the left a few feet, it was easier and he was able to get a foothold.

  Jan dragged himself up onto the islet and lay exhausted on his back. His uniform, soaked, was heavy and he hoped some of the water would run off before it froze. Jan’s clothes soon creaked ominously anyway.

  On top of the islet was a square deep hole. Jan exerted all his efforts to pull himself out of the water up over the edge and let himself fall in the hollow with a thump. He believed the Germans would reach the mountain ridges of Rebbenes shortly, but he hoped his enemy would not look for him on the islet.

  His right foot was nearly numb. Covered with frozen blood and grime, part of the foot had turned a corpse white. A slow trickle of blood oozed out. His running, climbing and swerving had effectively kept the wound gaping. The pain had subsided somewhat, but he was aware that he had frostbite.

  Jan sat up and tugged at his only boot. Full of water, it gurgled when he pulled and adhered to his foot. Wrenching on the boot sapped his stamina, but at last the boot gave way. The wet sock came off with the boot. He jerked it out and wrung it as best he could. With trembling fingers, Jan stretched the neck of the sock and bunched it up with his thumbs and fingers all the way down to the tip of the toe. It amazed him that such a simple thing could take so long a time and require such concentration. With infinite care he pulled it over his wounded toe, grimacing when it stuck to the wound or other rough parts of his foot. Once on, the sock felt comforting, almost warm. He slipped his bare left foot back into the soaked boot. Having both feet covered, though sparsely and wet, gave him solace.

  Numbness brought on by the freezing cold gradually crept through his body. It was almost overwhelming. For two hours Jan tried to stay active. He lay on his back in the hollow and flapped his arms, but it was not enough. He crawled out and rolled back and forth on the 45-foot islet, keeping a steady eye on the mountain ridges across the fjord. He wondered if it really mattered. He felt sure if he stopped to rest, death would result. Though he feared the Germans, they were no longer his worst enemy. The bitter, all-encompassing cold was.

  In the late afternoon he had clung to the rock for two hours when he heard voices and he saw several flashlights in the dim light. The Germans had arrived and they were hunting him. They searched carefully behind each rock and boulder and they signaled each other. Jan crawled back down in the hollow feeling confident they would never find him there. He watched the soldiers: they were rather unsystematic, almost as if they were frightened. After all, one Gestapo officer was dead and another wounded, and they were not sure they were safe.

  Jan’s second swim was to the rock indicated by an arrow — his third swim was to VÅrøya Island on the left.

  Slowly they moved back over the grassy, rocky hillside, their voices became distant until he couldn’t hear them any more nor see their flashlights. It became evident to Jan that the Germans knew he was alive. They still thought him to be on Rebbenes Island and were determined to hunt him down.

  He had to get away from this little islet. It was too close to Rebbenes. Another 150 feet away he noticed a smaller rock about ten or 15 feet across and it only protruded above the water about thr
ee feet from what he could see. He waded into the water. The bottom here was even and at first it reached only up to his waist. But as he waded toward the rock, the bottom slanted sharply downward and Jan had to swim once again.

  Frozen through, Jan pulled himself up on the outside of the rock. He was further away from the Germans here and felt safer. As long as he was lying down, no one could see him.

  Jan had swum out to the little rock when the tide was out. Now he noticed the tide was returning. He continually had to crawl higher up on the rock. Soon only the top was visible above the water’s surface. The rock would soon be covered completely and Jan had to take to the icy waters for the third time.

  He only had two possibilities – he could return to Rebbenes where the Germans were or continue further out in a northerly direction towards the next island. Jan estimated the distance to be around 300 feet. The current looked strong but he knew he was a good swimmer. On the other hand, Rebbenes was much closer and maybe the Germans had given up hunting him by now. He reasoned he could work his way south toward the hamlet of Bromnes as soon as his pursuers had left Rebbenes.

  He began to swim back toward the little round island. The strong current helped push him along.

  He was about half way back to Rebbenes when he again heard German voices up in the hillside. Though dusk was approaching, he realized that to return to Rebbenes would be to sign his own death warrant. Jan turned. Now he was fighting the current, much stronger than he had realized. He hoped to find the rock he had left earlier, but the water completely covered it. Jan needed to rest and he was freezing, but he could not find the rock.