This Shining Land

by Rosalind Laker

  The driver put his foot down on the accelerator. He was worried about Christina. His interest in her was not wholly that of a concerned relative. She could be a lot of fun. Beside him the soldier retrieved his helmet from under the seat and put it on.

  At the depot, Johanna helped with the loading into the farm truck which had been brought to the door, the crates of vegetables removed until a few could be piled back to hide what lay behind them. It was swift and desperate work, for all three had been left with the impression that the driver was far from satisfied with the explanation for the office girl’s absence. To leave without enough cards would be disastrous. The whole action had to be completed before card-issuing began the following week and there would be no chance to gain extra stock once the Germans discovered what had taken place. Johanna was glad she had chosen to wear sneakers. She ran easily in them. It was her shoulders and back that were feeling the strain of the heavy packages, every muscle aching, the sweat running down inside her dress.

  “That’s it!” Steffen proclaimed the truck full. “We’ve enough and some to spare. In with the vegetable crates now.”

  When that was done, Gunnar took the wheel again and waved to Johanna and Steffen before he turned into the road. Steffen finished shutting the depot doors. Then he and Johanna ran for the van under the trees, she taking the passenger seat. As he backed out he saw an army truck approaching in the distance. Gunnar had met and passed it, which was a good sign. Steffen turned the van in the opposite direction to go back through the town and take the road beyond that would lead him to the ferry. A last look as he turned the corner showed him the army truck drawing up outside the depot.

  “We must get moving,” he said with dry understatement. “It looks as if they’re on to us. At least Gunnar has slipped through, thank God. That’s what matters. That and your safety. I’m going to make sure of that now.”

  He drove. The gravel road was rough and pitted, making the van leap where the surface rose and fell like a roller-coaster, owing to the casual disregard for the levelling of country routes. Johanna, bounding on the old leather seat, held on tightly. She had no illusions about the danger they were in. When the Germans discovered two people tied up and the packages missing it would not take them long to learn from passersby that a van had been seen in the vicinity, even allowing for the number who automatically held their tongues when questioned about anything by the enemy. S.S. security would be notified, soldiers dispatched and quayside guards alerted. She and Steffen had become far more of a quarry than Gunnar ambling past military traffic at a farmer’s pace to allay suspicion. In the back of the van the remainder of the vegetable crates danced and fell about like dice in a box, sufficient camouflage for a guard at a road-block or on a jetty making a routine check, but nothing to stand up to close scrutiny and merciless questions if suspicions were fully aroused.

  The road took them to a brow of a hill and the sudden and beautiful view of the wide fjord lying below. A ferry was drawing close in to shore. “We must catch that ferry before it leaves again!” Steffen exclaimed. He gave her instructions as the van charged down the winding road, scooping gravel up under the wheels with every bend. “I’ll slow down just before we get within sight of the jetty. Then you’ll get out and run to catch it. You can’t risk remaining in the van with me. I’ll time the driving to get on board just behind you, but you must not speak to me or acknowledge me in any way from the moment you leave the van. Your life could depend upon it. Once you’re the other side of the fjord, catch the bus into town and go back to Astrid, or you could go in to work. Try to make the rest of the day as normal as possible.”

  “Why don’t you dump the van and run with me?”

  “I don’t want to leave it this side of the fjord. The longer I can make the Germans think I may have the packages in the back of this van, the better chance Gunnar has of getting clear away.” He observed how quiet she became, and knew she did not want to make the break and yet understood that it was necessary. Below them military and civilian vehicles had begun to roll off the ferry. As a precaution he drew into a side track, having spotted a truckload of soldiers who might easily have been dispatched to search for him. There would be guards to question him on the jetty, but he planned to take a chance and rush them as the ferrry was on the point of departure. He put an arm around her, gathering her to him. “It’s time for you to go now.”

  She clung to him, kissing him back with all of herself. Then he leaned across to open the van door for her and she jumped out. As she ran towards the road, she saw an open staff car bearing past at full speed, Axel and another S.S. officer sitting in the back seat. Although she jerked her face away, she could not be sure that Axel had not glimpsed her. There was no sense in waiting to find out and at least the car was driving away from the ferry. Thankful for all her efforts to keep trained in running, she began to race down the last slope to the fjord, keeping to the grass verge until it gave way to the open parking area. Her hair streamed out, her legs flew. The ferry was on the point of departure. She waved frantically in a plea to wait and saw the ferryhand let the half-lifted ramp fall back for her and the van that was following behind. A guard stepped forward. “Papers! Papers!”

  She had her identity card ready and he perused it at a glance so as not to delay her. Almost leaping on board she swung round as Steffen began to drive full speed for the ferry, ignoring the guard who was shouting at him. It was only then she saw Axel’s car coming up in the rear. The driver must have turned round after Axel’s sighting of her and was coming after them. The ferryhand, with the blank look on his face that people chose to adopt in the pretence of not understanding anything, shouted at them in German, prepared to wind up the ramp the moment the van was aboard. Then he hesitated. The junior officer beside the driver had stood up, one hand gripping the top of the windscreen, the other raised in imperious command that the ferry should be delayed for them. Johanna stood numbed by a sense of disaster as the ferryhand obediently kept the ramp in position after Steffen had shot past her in the van and braked to a halt, the only vehicle on board. Axel could only have come onto the scene in the first place through having been notified by telephone of what had occurred at the depot. Now he was about to make a personal arrest. She and Steffen together. The car was close enough now for her to see Axel’s iron face clamp into full recognition as he stared directly at her.

  The front wheels of the large car rolled onto the ramp. Johanna stared in horrified disbelief, seeing that although the ramp had been kept in position the ferryhand had not signalled through to the skipper at the wheel. The ferry was moving. As she watched, the whole sequence was seemingly almost in slow motion, and yet it took place in a matter of seconds. The back of the car began to dip. She saw Axel’s expression change. Then, like a child’s toy, the car was completely upended as the gap between the quay and the ferry widened swiftly. Amid the Germans’ terrified shouts, the whole vehicle plunged down under the swirling water. Johanna covered her eyes with her hands.

  When she looked again, the ferry was several metres out into the fjord on its unhalted way. People on shore had rushed to the scene. Row-boats were already gathering. The officer who had been standing in the front of the car had escaped and was being hauled out of the water, but of Axel and the two other occupants there was no sign. Johanna could guess at the depths of the water there. Trapped under the upended car against the rocks they would have had no chance. Slowly she turned her head and looked towards the ferryhand. Their eyes met. His were totally without expression and deliberately he looked away from her towards Steffen, who had got out of the van. She saw the ferryhand give him the same steady glance before turning that expressionless gaze shorewards again. He had saved them. He had seen the pursuit and he had saved them.

  Shakily she went to the saloon and sat down on one of the seats. Nobody else was there. The few passengers on board were civilian and they were all on deck, watching events. Steffen seized the opportunity to come in search of her. He slid o
nto the neighbouring seat and put an arm around her.

  “Listen to me,” he said urgently. “All hell is going to be let loose after this. That officer who escaped drowning is going to be on a telephone at this moment and I expect a full military reception committee when I get to the other side. You should be perfectly safe. There’s no reason for anyone to suspect you were with me, which is why I mustn’t stay with you much longer.”

  “That was Axel Werner in the car. He recognised me.”

  “Can you be sure of that?”

  “I thought he glimpsed me when I came out of the sidetrack. His expression was terrible when he stared at me on the ferry.”

  “I expect he was beginning to connect the disappearance of his secret paper with his visit to your office. Probably he looked back to see if it was you he had glimpsed just as I pulled out into the road. The van would have sent him turning back immediately. Did you know either of the officers with him?”

  “No. I’d never seen either of them before.”

  “Then there’s a chance he said nothing about you to them, because the sight of the van would have been an important development. Was he talking to his fellow officers when he stared at you?”

  She shook her head. “I think it was only in those last moments that he was entirely sure that it was me he had seen.”

  “Good. When the ferry arrives, simply walk off with the other passengers and take the bus into town. Axel is the only person who could have named you as being connected with today’s events and he has gone.”

  “But what will you do?”

  He gave her a smile. “I’m going to swim for it. Now. When everybody’s attention is elsewhere.”

  He would not let her watch him go, for it would have involved her in an unnecessary risk. On deck, he slipped off his sneakers, stuck them into his belt, clambered up onto the rails and dived. The sun-shot water was so clear that when he cleaved through it and began to rise for air he could see the hull of the ferry and the churning of the propeller, the shoals of darting fish and starfish floating in the blue-green light like diaphanous decorations adrift from a Christmas tree. When he broke the sparkling surface and gulped in air, there was no shout from the ferry. His escape had been unobserved. He struck out strongly, knowing himself protected from observation by the sun-diamonds lifting the surface of the fjord. His aim was to put as great a distance as possible between himself and the two landing stages of the ferry where his pursuers would gather.

  When Johanna came out on deck again she glanced around at the water and could not see him anywhere. On the approaching shore, army vehicles made a blockade and there were soldiers with rifles on the quay. The moment the ramp was lowered they rushed on board to surround the van and start herding the passengers and crew into the saloon for questioning while a thorough search was made of the ferry, the Germans going down into the engine-room and into the lavatories and the equipment lockers to make sure no one was in hiding. All papers were checked. When it became obvious that the driver of the van was not among those present, the soldiers made a second search. A child’s remark that he had seen a man go for a swim solved the mystery for the officer in charge. In exasperation he permitted the passengers to leave, keeping the skipper and the ferryhand in the saloon for further interrogation. All on board had vouched for its having been an accident. He was of the same opinion. The ferryhand was a simple country lout and too stupid to have planned anything.

  Johanna took her place in the bus. When asked why she had been on the other side of the fjord, she had said she had heard there was knitting wool on sale that day in one of the shops and she had gone to wait in line for it without success. It was a reasonable explanation. Women went everywhere within an area in which travel was allowed to get anything that was in short supply. The bus began to move. Her thoughts were with Steffen. He had promised to contact her and let her know he was safe, even if he was not able to come himself.

  The delay had made it too late to go to work. She would go home to Astrid’s house and hope for news that evening.

  Steffen had chosen to come ashore where boulders from an ancient avalanche had made easy access out of the water. He had disturbed a pair of otters, who stared at him, droplets glittering on their whiskers before diving out of sight under the water with barely a ripple. When he threw himself down on the soft grass and fir cones beneath the trees, red squirrels bounded away at his intrusion. As he lay gasping to get his breath back he could hear them in the branches overhead.

  He was almost rested when there came other sounds, a crackling of twigs underfoot that made him freeze through to the marrow of his spine. Scrambling to his feet, he stood poised for flight. On the sun-patched slope between the trees were a dozen soldiers with rifles pointing directly at him. He took a step backwards in the direction of the water.

  “Achtung! Hands up!”

  Every rifle had slipped its safety catch with an ominous click. There was no chance. He would be dead before he could dive from the rocks. Inwardly a surge of wrath overcame fear. He saw everything sliding away from him. His liberty to help his country; his strong physical strength through what they would do to his body to try and extract information from him; his future with the woman he loved. Her name was a silent shout in his mind, a last link with hope and sanity. Johanna!

  No word came that evening. When Johanna went to work next morning she was surprised as time went by and Tom did not appear. One of the letters she opened was on an urgent matter. When she telephoned his Ålesund apartment, hoping to contact him, there was no reply. She went down to the reception area in the hall and asked the soldier on duty if Major Ryen had left any message for her.

  “No, fräulein. I have heard he is under arrest.”

  “On what charge?” she demanded incredulously.

  “I don’t know. It was said that S.S. Obersturmbannführer Werner made the charge early yesterday morning before being called away on an urgent matter. Did you hear that he was drowned in an accident with the car later in the day? A sad business.”

  “I heard.” She returned to the office and went to Tom’s desk, opening drawers. It looked as though papers had been removed for inspection. Yet there was nothing that Tom handled that could be remotely incriminating. Then she remembered the paper she had removed from Axel’s folder. Had Tom been accused of that? Leaving the office again, she went downstairs to the military department and asked to see one of the young officers she knew there. He was able to answer her questions.

  “Ryen was arrested after Werner discovered an important paper was missing from his files yesterday morning. The folder had been in a safe since he had placed it there after leaving Ryen’s office. Nobody else could have taken it. Ryen was the only one to be left alone with the folder at any time. Werner’s drowning has delayed the questioning. Somebody else will deal with it in a day or two.”

  “May I see Major Ryen?”

  “He’s allowed no visitors.”

  It was always the same. To be accused was tantamount to being found guilty already. Justice was a travesty when the Third Reich made its interrogations. There was nothing she could do until she had consulted with a Resistance leader. Her hope was that they might help her think of a loophole through which to extract Tom from the charge. With Axel gone there would be no one to deny it was the truth if she said she saw him crumple the paper into the wastepaper basket or tear it across, or otherwise dispose of it. Better still, if she could get the original paper back she could leave it somewhere in the building to be discovered by chance and Tom would be cleared.

  Two nights later Gunnar came to the cellar. It was after midnight. Sliding back the panel, he entered the house. A fan of light shone from the kitchen and he saw Astrid in a silken robe seated at the kitchen table. He spoke her name quietly, not wanting to alarm her. She gave a start, rising to her feet and opening the door wider. Seeing him, she drew her fingers lightly across her brow.

  “It’s you, Gunnar. I never seem to get used to one section o
f my house being occupied by strangers while the cellar is reserved for my friends. Come into the kitchen.” She gestured to a chair. “Would you like a cup of elderberry tea? I made the tea myself by drying the petals last summer. It’s an old recipe of my grandmother’s.” Her voice faltered. “Why am I talking so quickly. Is it because I believe you have something to tell me?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Her mouth was working. There was a shaking in her that made the hand she reached to him for support flutter like a bird within his. “That must be why I couldn’t sleep, because the house is quiet enough tonight. Is Steffen dead?”

  “No. He’s been taken prisoner.”

  Her eyes were enormous with the tears she could not shed. “Should I thank God for that?”

  “Steffen is a fighter.”

  “The Gestapo will torture him.” She swallowed a thin wail, keeping it trapped within her throat.

  “They won’t break his spirit.”

  She moved unsteadily to the door. He would have assisted her up the stairs, but she held herself erect. “I can manage. Please tell Johanna for me. I would like to be on my own for a little while.”

  Slowly she went up the stairs, holding on to the baluster rail, her silk robe trailing after her like a geisha skirt. On the landing she tapped on Johanna’s door until there was a response. Then she went to her own room.

  Johanna came out on the landing sleepily, tying the ribbons of a striped robe. When she saw Gunnar in the well of light at the foot of the stairs a tremor went through her. “How did it go?”

  “The sortie was a complete success. The ration cards are already in the right hands. The national press has been forbidden by Reichskommissar Terboven to mention either the Oslo hijack or our little venture. That’s a good sign. It shows that the last thing he wants is for their trickery to come to light. Werner’s drowning has received full coverage as you’ve probably seen. Even that has been classed as an accident. But that’s not why I’m here.”