The 12th Man

by Astrid Karlsen Scott

  He went straight to the “lion’s den” – the German headquarters at Solhov School. Like Daniel of old, Alvin went undaunted and filled with faith. It was a threatening situation but he believed the outcome would be favorable. He hastened over to one of the guards. Knowing a little German he said, “Guten tag,” Good day.

  “Guten tag,” replied the guard.

  “Ich suche Jensen,” I have a meeting with Caretaker Jensen.

  The soldier quickly understood; nevertheless, he was a little annoyed at being disturbed but brushed it off.

  “Danke sehr,” thank you, said Alvin.

  All the soldiers knew of Jensen, but regarded the carpenter as harmless. As a result he didn’t question Alvin further. He gave the go-ahead with a nod of his head and waved him over in the direction of the stairs leading to the large windowed entrance door. Alvin thanked him, closed the heavy doors behind him, and continued down the few steps to the basement. As he walked along the corridor, he noticed the guardroom door ajar where some soldiers were relaxing; they paid no attention to him.

  Jensen waved Alvin on and closed the door behind him to the workshop. The sled was ready to be moved. But knowing an assembled sled would lead to many questions, Jensen had constructed it like a building set. He carefully explained to Alvin how to piece it together.

  The workbench at Solhov School where Caretaker Jensen made the sled on which Jan lay when he was taken up into Revdal Mountains.

  “Easy to transport, easy to assemble,” he whispered.

  They tied the twelve-foot long un-planed boards together into a pile. These planks were quite a bit longer then the rest of the pieces so that both ends could be stuffed with the un-planed sawed-off pieces for the wooden braces, making it all look like 12 foot long planks when tied together and wrapped. The package was extremely heavy, but also fragile, so had to be handled with care.

  The two men decided it was best for Alvin to bicycle ahead down to the docks in Lyngseidet to wait by his uncle’s boat.

  “Auf weidersehen,” one of the soldiers waved through the cracked door as he walked back down the hall.

  “Auf weidersehen.”

  Within half an hour Jensen arrived with the horse and sleigh and a long well-wrapped package of wooden planks destined for Furuflaten, and eventually to be Jan’s transportation to Sweden.

  Soldiers patrolled the Lyngseidet dock. The air coming off the fjord was biting cold, but their compensation was the magnificent view of the Lyngen Alps in the distance. The tide was out and Alvin struggled to get the cumbersome package down into the boat, which lay several meters lower than the edge of the dock. The German guard saw his predicament, removed his machine gun which, up to now, had been loosely flung over his shoulder, and carefully placed it on the dock.

  “Ich helfe,” I will help, he said, hurrying over to Alvin. With care, the two placed the valuable package up in the bow of the boat.

  Quivering nerves never disturbed Alvin; he was a feisty young man. On the contrary, he was stable, wise and daring. With his cheerful disposition, both friends and strangers took an instant liking to him.

  “And where is the crew to the boat?” the soldier queried.

  “They’ll be along shortly. I’m just hitching a ride with them.”

  Alvin crawled back up on the dock and chatted with the soldier in his broken German. With a thick German burr, the soldier made an effort to speak Norwegian. A pleasant conversation ensued.

  “I long for my family and home in Germany. May the war soon end so I can return to my homeland.” The soldier was melancholy.

  Alvin agreed. He fumbled through his pockets as if trying to find a cigarette, though he didn’t have any. The soldier unbuttoned the breast pocket of his uniform, took out a package of cigarettes and seemed pleased to offer one to him, though he was forbidden to smoke on duty.

  Soon Alvin’s uncle and his son arrived, ready to return to Furuflaten.

  “I guess I can come along?” Alvin queried.

  “Ka har du der?” What have you got there? His uncle stared, and pointed at the long package up in front of the boat.

  “Just some material from Solhov School.”

  “You are a lucky man to have contact with Jensen.” His uncle removed his cap, smiled and scratched his head. “There is such a shortage of material these days.”

  Alvin lifted his bicycle and put it down on the deck. They loosened the ropes, and as the boat distanced itself from the dock, Alvin raised his hand and thanked the soldier for his kindness.

  “Bitte sehr,” My pleasure! The soldier saluted.

  Arriving at Furuflaten, the package was left aboard the boat.

  Furuflaten, April 22, 1943: Alvin’s friend, Hans Olsen, picked up the package with the twelve-foot-long boards and loaded it into his rowboat. He rowed along the coast a little further south in the village. Upon his arrival Alvin was waiting. They wrapped the set in burlap and hid it in a secure place close by the water’s edge. It would be picked up again when they set out toward Revdal to transport Jan.

  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FJORD

  KÅFJORD, LYNGENFJORD’S 15-mile arm, stretches southeast toward the mountainous village of Birtavärre at the head of the fjord. Birtavärre lies on the southeast side of Manndalen Valley; to the north lies Olderdalen Valley. West across the Lyngenfjord lies Lyngseidet and nine miles south of Lyngseidet lies Furuflaten. These communities form sort of a quadrangle on the map.

  Daring patriots from each village were active in the resistance movement. Each village had established its own sensitive and secret communication nets. Communicating by telephone was risky because one never knew who would be listening in. The only roads were between Furuflaten and Lyngseidet. There were none between Manndalen, Birtavärre and Olderdalen. A ferry ran between Olderdalen and Lyngseidet and sometimes it was utilized to send secret messages. Other times the resistance members rowed half way out into the Kåfjord between Olderdalen and Manndalen to meet and exchange messages. From Samuelsberg, on the outskirts of Manndalen, over to Olderdalen, the distance was around four miles to row midways into the fjord.

  Kåfjorddalen Valley

  Peder Bergmo, a thirty-one-year old father of five, lived in Olderdalen. His oldest son Asmund was only six. Peder was known as a loving and attentive dad, firm, but fair. He appreciated nature’s beauty and loved to be outdoors in any season.

  In 1943 Peder managed the communal office for medical insurance. A compassionate man, he cared deeply for the poor, and anyone who faced difficult times. He was of great service to many in the rural community when hard times or disaster struck in its varied forms.

  In his youth Peder become acquainted with the Bjørn brothers in Birtavärre. Through this friendship he was later drawn into the resistance movement when the war came. As time passed, he became the leader of the group in Olderdalen. He was the key person in the village’s connection with the schoolmaster Leigland in Lyngseidet.

  After Jan Baalsrud arrived in Furuflaten, resistance leaders in the area discussed plans for his evacuation to Sweden. In Olderdalen, there were rumors that fundraising to obtain money for Jan’s transport to Sweden had begun. The Gestapo got a whiff of this, and Peder Bergmo was arrested and imprisoned in Tromsø. Suddenly his wife was left alone to care for their young children, fearing all the while for her husband’s life.

  Sheriff Marvold heard about Peder’s arrest. He and Peder had been in the same class all through folk school and had spent much time together in their youth. Marvold took pity on his old school chum and his family. Being friendly with the Germans, he traveled to Tromsø and sought out the Gestapo. Since Marvold had an in with the Gestapo and they trusted him, he tried them out.

  “You have Peder Bergmo from Olderdalen imprisoned here. I believe you have the wrong man.”

  The Gestapo agent straightened up and stared at Marvold. “Are you questioning our judgment?” The sheriff ignored the question. “Peder is a school buddy of mine, a father of five. He keeps busy seeing
to the need of the villagers through his work and he is law abiding!”

  They discussed the issue back and forth without coming to an agreement. When Marvold readied to leave he turned and resolutely stated, “I vouch for this man.”

  After a short imprisonment, Peder was set free. He returned to Olderdalen, and unafraid despite his misadventure, he continued his work with the underground.

  In Manndalen, it was a 43-year-old bachelor, Aslak Fossvoll, and teacher Nordnes who were the contact persons. Aslak was totally trustworthy and an extremely polite man. He owned a small farm that he nurtured with care. He loved nothing more than fishing in the clear streams of the nearby majestic mountains, with his faithful dog by his side. People in the valley said that if you saw Aslak you would also see his dog. The two were inseparable and often went out into the wilds together. Aslak was happiest if no one knew where they were going.

  Peder Nordnes was Manndalen’s revered folk-school teacher. The rural community considered him a man of sterling character. He was a tall, well-built man and very strong, with Nordic blond hair and intelligent blue eyes. Like Aslak, he was unmarried. All the youth in the valley had had him as a teacher, and he was greatly respected. He had impeccable manners and was known for his ability and willingness to cooperate with others.

  When Marius, Alfon and Alvin visited Olderdalen, Birtavärre and Manndalen on April 19, they had worked with these men and made plans for Jan’s transport to Sweden. The final date for putting the plan into action was the only thing that was not set.

  Furuflaten 23 April 1943: Marius decided it was the right time to carry out the well-laid plans to begin Jan’s transfer to Sweden. The weather, something that always had to be considered in the North, was good. The wind was calm and it was not too cold - and all the men were ready. On that day, Marius sent a message via Lyngseidet to Peder Bergmo in Olderdalen. It read, “He will be delivered to the Manndalen men early Saturday, April 25, between two and four in the morning.”

  Ankerlia and Moskogaisa Mountains

  Peder Bergmo was working at his office when Marius’ message arrived. There was no way he could just close his office and leave, since people depended on him to be there. At the end of the workday, it was too late to reach the Manndalen men and organize the climb up to the Revdal Mountains. The men hadn’t been sought out and told in advance in order to keep the plan secret. If someone should make a slip it could be catastrophic for all. No one was to know anything before the time was ripe.

  Olderdalen, April 24, 1943: It was early morning when Peder set course for Manndalen. He rowed across Kåfjord and tied his little boat at Samuelsberg, at the edge of Manndalen. Time was of the essence – he had only one day to find four men who were able and willing to take on this dangerous assignment.

  A chill wind blasted Peder as he walked briskly toward the post office to inquire of a trusted friend as to whom he should approach. He received names of people who could possibly help. Another friend loaned Peder his horse to make his trip around the hilly village faster and easier.

  From the post office, Peder went straight to the school to see teacher Nordnes, who also was helpful with names. Teacher Nordnes himself desired to be part of the team, but felt he was not in good enough condition for the fatiguing climb. Teacher Nordnes was plagued with a stiff body and was often wracked with pain. He felt that his participation would be a hindrance and possibly cause failure for all.

  After Peder left Teacher Nordnes he went to Aslak Fossvoll. As the leader of the resistance movement in the village, he would surely be the right man to ask for help.

  The two men discussed able-bodied men who could make the hike. After a short discussion, they both knew they had the right man. Peder left Aslak.

  The horse trotted along the wintry road to Hans Oppevold’s little house further up in the valley. There Peder found that Hans had cut his foot the day before while working in the woods. It was impossible for him to take on the assignment.

  By the time Peder left Oppervoll’s home, it was late afternoon and he had yet to find the men he needed for the job. The next man that Aslak had suggested Peder see lived nearby. Peder gave the horse a little rap with the reins and in a small gallop headed toward Nils Nilsen’s house. The horse slowed down after awhile, and Peder had to continually smack the horse with the reins to hurry him on. The horse leaped ahead and kept up the speed once more. Time was short.

  Nilsen was a tireless and hard working man. Married with a house full of children, his friends called him “Nigo.” He ran a small farm and fished on the side for extra income. Everyone admired his ability to handle strenuous work and his diligence long after all others quit. He was a man who could work hard for 48 hours without a bite to eat. On the other hand, Nigo could easily eat a whole loaf of homemade bread once he got started. His unbeatable optimism, no matter the situation, was also well known.

  Nigo was working outside when Peder arrived. Peder explained the urgency and the secrecy of his message and Nigo brought him over to a quiet place away from the children. As quickly as possible, Peder laid out what needed to be done and the danger of it all.

  “Ja, I’ll go,” Nigo responded, without a moment’s hesitation. He knew the mountains, the terrain and the danger at this time of the year; he asked for a companion, one who was both strong and persevering.

  Peder was elated knowing Nigo would see this assignment through, but he needed one more man. He had started out from Olderdalen early in the morning and worked all day. Now the day was gone. And Peder Bergmo had been unable to find two men who could climb up to Jan in the Revdal Mountains. He had to leave the responsibility to find the second man with the Manndalen men. Knowing they would not be able to meet the Furuflaten men up in the Revdal Mountains at the appointed time, Peder’s heart was heavy. He returned the horse back to its owner and walked down to the dock. He climbed into the rowboat and began the journey home. The rowing home seemed extra long and strenuous.

  On the west side of the Revdal Mountains, the Furuflaten men had already begun their climb up from Hotel Savoy with Jan tied to a sled.

  PUSHED TO THE BRINK

  THE TRANQUIL spring evening with its warm breeze was welcome respite from the harsh winter storms. Quiet waves gently lapped the shore and vanished over nearby rocks. A few puffy clouds hung suspended midway up the nearby mountains.

  Despite the peace that surrounded them, Marius Grønvoll, Alvin Larsen, Olaf Lanes and Amandus Lillevoll were apprehensive. They motioned to one another and spoke in whispers when they had to communicate. German soldiers were quartered at Furuflaten School a short distance into the village. The young men hoped the soldiers were unwinding for the day. On the village road a short way from the docks, a lone German soldier patrolled; he might hear any accidental noise. The village was quieting down with families relaxing at home. This was the evening the three men had prepared for. This was the evening Jan had been waiting for.

  The men, to the minute of the prearranged time, brought the long wrapped package with the sled material aboard Amandus Lillevoll’s boat. Inaudibly they rowed out into the fjord, knowing the first few hundred meters were the most perilous. The open water magnified every small sound and could easily be heard in the village.

  Cautiously they slipped the oars into the water. Drops formed on the oars and fell back into the water like tinkling silver bells. Too big a splash could give them all away. With the stealth of their Viking ancestors, the Furuflaten men glided smoothly into the nocturnal shadows of the unknown future.

  Tension eased as they distanced themselves from the land. Once they were well out in the fjord they felt safe in raising the mast and sail, a noisy proposition. Knowing they would be easier to spot from land, they had waited to hoist the sail for as long as possible.

  The wind was almost still and the sail provided little momentum to the boat’s forward thrust. But Jan’s friends were prepared for any contingency and their sail had a totally different purpose. Should a German patrol boat surpris
e them, they would have difficulty explaining the long package in the bottom of the boat. Under such circumstances, they planned to sink the package, to which they had attached a heavy rock. Next, they would get their fishing lines out.

  As an added camouflage they had brought nakkeskudd, which literally means a shot in the head from the back. Nakkeskudd was Furuflaten’s own homemade brew, a hard liquor with caraway seeds added. The drink derived its name from the violent effect it had on the bodies of those who dared. They had brought several bottles. The plan was to pretend as if they were on a genuine rabble-rousing party out in the fjord.

  If necessary, they would pour a little nakkeskudd on their clothes; they would take a gulp or two as well. All this, designed to fool the Germans, would happen quickly and behind the sail. Surely the Germans would find nothing suspicious aboard their boat: only provisions, fish gear and liquor. As it turned out, the Norwegians pulled the boat up on the shore opposite Furuflaten, in Revdal, after an hour of hard rowing and without incident.

  A stone’s throw away from the beach, up a small incline, stood the forsaken wood hut almost buried in snowdrift. Within, an ill friend wasted away, yet the hut sat there gawking over the fjord, utterly void of human feelings, dark and threatening.

  Behind the rough wood door, Jan battled in solitude against pain and fear. Even after his self-operation, the pain in his feet troubled him. Loneliness pricked his heart and never let go. Unfulfilled longing for human contact made the wound deeper and the solitude harder to bear. For Jan, panic was never far removed. Sometimes it prevailed.

  During the day a few rays of light crept through the narrow cracks around the doorframe and along the wall, but they were narrow and sparse. From his cot, Jan pulled out some of the moss which had been stuffed into tiny fissures of the walls to prevent drafts. These gaps were miniscule, the size of small coins. He mused over which spot of moss he should remove next. These small openings had been his only source of light. In some places where he had pulled the moss out, no light came through. The soldier realized the snowdrifts reached far up the wall.