North Strike

by John Harris

  Magnusson frowned, wondering what was coming. ‘Get all the non-Finnish speakers aloft out of the way,’ he ordered. ‘And tell Willie John to send his radio operators with ’em. They can make it to the main spars, surely to God.’

  There were two Germans in the boat, one of them an officer, one a petty officer. The harbourmaster’s expression had changed; the official face he wore was bleak now and angry.

  As they climbed aboard, Magnusson met them.

  ‘I am to inform you,’ Vinje said stiffly, ‘that you will be allowed to leave, but that your departure is to be delayed for a day or two. It may be necessary to search you.’

  Magnusson brought out the bottle of whisky and offered it round as he ushered them into the saloon. The petty officer remained by the ladder, fascinated by the men on the main spars above his head.

  The Norwegian was bitter at what had happened and didn’t hesitate to let it show in his expression. ‘Are you still intending to head for Mariehamn?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s the idea,’ Magnusson said cautiously.

  ‘Will you be able to get away?’

  Magnusson eyed him warily. ‘It would be better with a few more hands.’

  ‘With more hands, you could make a quick getaway?’ Magnusson sensed that he was trying to find out something. ‘Depends on the hands,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a ferry. It’s a sailing ship.’

  Vinje nodded, slapping his gloves against his thigh. ‘I must inspect your hold,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It is normal.’

  Hoping to God Willie John’s men had left the radios well hidden, Magnusson led the way. The German seemed to be enjoying the whisky and Magnusson pushed the bottle closer. The German smiled.

  ‘It is dirty in the hold,’ Magnusson said in English. ‘You understand?’

  The German nodded and pointed at the deck. ‘I stay here,’ he said. ‘With the whisky.’

  Opening the hold, the Norwegian began to climb down the ladder. Halfway down, as Magnusson was about to follow him, he looked up.

  ‘Stay there,’ he ordered, and Magnusson stood on the ladder with his head and shoulders above the deck.

  ‘When I speak to you, bend down and point,’ Vinje said quietly. ‘If the German petty officer comes near, we are talking about the cargo of grain. You understand?’

  Magnusson nodded.

  ‘You are Finnish and neutrals,’ Vinje went on. ‘The Germans will not stop you leaving. They already have enough on their hands. They have the town, but they also have ten destroyers here all in urgent need of oil, and they are expecting the British to retaliate. You understand?’

  Magnusson bent down and pointed. ‘I’m getting the drift,’ he said.

  ‘Do not put into any other Norwegian port. They might try to hold you.’

  ‘To hold a Finnish ship could provoke an international incident.’

  Vinje’s face became red and angry. ‘What do you call the occupation of Narvik? They had the place within half an hour of the expiration of their ultimatum and only three quarters of an hour after it was handed in.’

  Magnusson bent and indicated the sacks, talking loudly in broken English and explaining how it was stowed.

  The Norwegian’s face was still angry. ‘Norway is full of small sailing vessels,’ he said. ‘I can guarantee you plenty of help. Every Norwegian knows all about sail. I myself was in sail before I joined the Navy and I know of three others in Narvik at least.’

  Magnusson smiled. ‘And you would be the help?’

  The Norwegian’s face was bleak still, but it was softening. ‘I do not wish to remain under German domination.’

  Magnusson bent again, talking loudly about the cargo once more, then he dropped his voice. They were fiddling about like dogs round a lamp-post, trying to decide which should lift his leg first. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said quietly. ‘We aren’t heading for Mariehamn. We’re heading for Rosyth in Scotland. And this isn’t a Finnish ship. It’s a Royal Navy ship, and I need your help as much as you need mine.’

  The Norwegian managed a thin smile. ‘Just as we suspected,’ he said. ‘It was you who directed your ships to Altmark, no?’

  He began to climb the ladder. ‘I will come back,’ he said. ‘Watch the point after dark. I will flash a light. Can you put a boat in the water to pick me up?’

  ‘Yes. But no women, children or cripples. Only able-bodied men who can work, and carrying no luggage.’

  ‘Very well. Now, I must go. We’ve talked long enough about your cargo. They’ll be suspicious.’ Vinje raised his voice. ‘Det var nok i orden alt sammen.’

  The German officer had just reappeared from the saloon as the Norwegian emerged.

  ‘Alles ist in ordnung?’ he asked.

  ‘Jawohl. Alles.’

  Magnusson watched silently as they headed for the ladder, collecting the petty officer en route. With the boat heading back towards the trawler, he called Campbell towards him.

  ‘We have the hands we need,’ he said quietly. ‘Norwegians who wish to leave. Sailing ship men.’

  The BBC early evening news was full of the day’s events. Having occupied Denmark without interrupting their stride north, the Germans had control of several points on the Norwegian coast. But the Norwegians were beginning to resist strongly and the king, the government, the country’s gold reserves and the Foreign Office papers had vanished northwards. The Luftwaffe was flying into Sola near Stavanger and it was expected that when the king and the government were found they would be bombed.

  During the day Cuxhaven left, towed by a Norwegian tug flying the German flag. They watched her pass, her yards shortening as she came beam-on to them. There were no waves from the Germans, and the binoculars that studied them seemed to gleam with heavy suspicion. The deck was singularly empty of crew and they guessed that many of the men she’d had aboard were now ashore, probably dressed in heavy boots and steel helmets, guarding strongpoints about the town.

  ‘I hope she runs into a British ship.’ Willie John watched the German vessel gloomily. ‘’Tis somethin’ in the wind there iss, boy. There iss a gey lot o’ signallin’ off the coast. I’ve identified Home Fleet, a cruiser force and Second Destroyer Flotilla already.’

  It was growing dark when they spotted a small rowing boat heading out to them from the bay where the village of Djupvik was situated. The figure at the oars wore a red woollen hat, a dark-coloured lumber jacket and gloves. It was only as it drew nearer that they saw it was a woman at the oars and, as it swung to come alongside, they realised it was Annie Egge.

  She made the boat fast to the ladder, shipped the oars in seamanlike fashion, and scrambled aboard. She was perspiring and pink in the face with exertion as she wrenched off the woollen hat to let her blonde hair fall free. When she removed her gloves, they saw her palms were covered with blisters.

  ‘I wish to come with you,’ she snapped.

  Magnusson was startled. ‘With us?’

  ‘Why not? And if you have any sense you will leave at once because the Germans will soon find out about you.’

  Magnusson explained that they were hoping for the harbourmaster to bring extra hands, and unwillingly she agreed that they should wait.

  ‘But you must be clear before tomorrow morning,’ she insisted. ‘They have the crews of five British merchant ships which were in the harbour held prisoner in the whaling ship. Soon they will be looking for you.’

  Magnusson looked uneasily up the fjord. The mist was coming down again as the wind dropped.

  ‘Better come into the saloon and have a drink,’ he said. ‘You’re probably cold.’

  ‘After rowing from Djupvik?’ she snorted. ‘Herre Gud, don’t be stupid!’

  Magnusson shrugged. ‘Better have a drink, anyway,’ he said gently.

  As Campbell poured her a whisky, she stared at the glass, emptied most of it into another glass, then lifted what was left and swallowed.

  ‘To Great Britain and France,’ sh
e said. ‘I cannot believe they will allow those beasts to stay here. They have put the British and French residents in Oslo into the Nedre Mollergaten prison and they are now rounding up others who fled into the country. They will do the same here soon. Quisling and the Nasjonal Samling Party have formed a government. He’s a traitor, of course. We regarded him only as an eccentric politician with no backing, but now he’s got the support of Hitler.’

  ‘Will he keep power?’

  ‘With the king chased by the Germans, and the government running for the countryside? Of course he will! Until the Germans decide to take it off him.’ She managed a shaky smile. ‘Our only consolation is that we did not lose our honour. We sank their Blücher and damaged the pocket battleship, Lützow, and I have heard that your navy has damaged Gneisenau. But they have taken many Norwegian lives here and the traitor, Sundlo, told his men to lay down their arms.’ She looked bitter. ‘It is ironic that one of the few untrustworthy men in Narvik was the military commandant.’

  She paused and sat back in her chair, looking exhausted as she lifted her eyes to stare at Magnusson. ‘I think the Germans will soon be searching for me,’ she said. ‘It seemed safer to leave. I took a bus and borrowed a boat at Djupvik.’

  Magnusson leaned forward. ‘It was a long way to row,’ he said quietly.

  She studied her hands ruefully and sighed again. ‘There is nothing much we can do now. But Norwegians can ski and can shoot, and if they can’t fight as an army they will fight as guerrillas.’ She sat up, caught by the fire of her own blazing enthusiasm. ‘And our merchant ships will go to the free world! We have the third largest merchant marine in the world, two hundred and seventy-two of them tankers, all modern! They will be worth their weight in gold!’

  It was impossible not to be swept up by her excitement, even dulled as it was by her eternal statistics.

  She indicated the chart on the table. ‘You mustn’t delay,’ she went on. ‘The Germans are worried because their ships are short of fuel. There are ten destroyers in Narvik and the only supply they have at the moment is the whaling ship. Her cargo’s furnace fuel oil for the destroyers and diesel for U-boats, but there’s insufficient to top up everything and they’ve been ordered to leave in case the British come. But she has only a slow pumping capacity and it would take at least seven hours to fill two destroyers, one on each side. So they can’t leave tonight, and they’ve decided to wait for twenty-four hours. They’re afraid to send them in groups because it would lessen their chances of breaking through.’

  ‘What about their army?’

  ‘Third Mountain Division!’ She rapped out the information with her usual brisk efficiency. ‘But they’re worried they might not be able to hold the town against our soldiers or whatever the British will do. They’re going to leave two of the destroyers to support them.’

  ‘What are they doing now?’

  ‘Refuelling and repairing damage caused by the gale. That means there are four destroyers in the harbour at once, all vulnerable to air or surface attack. You must inform your Admiralty. The rest are dispersed in the smaller fjords. They’re so worried your navy will come they’re sleeping in their clothes.’

  She had done her homework well and was even able to give names. ‘They are two thousand-four-hundred-ton ships with five-inch guns and a speed of thirty-eight knots. They brought two hundred troops each, with light weapons, mountain guns and motorcycles. They landed at Ramnes and Hamnes, the Post Pier and the Ore Quay. When they blew up the Eidsvold, the fog looked like a sea of flame. There was a general and his staff aboard Jan Willem as well as troops. Some of the mountain guns they brought were wrenched overboard as they came by the gale and, with the growing resistance that’s already beginning to come from the hills, they’re worried because they have no anti-aircraft guns or field guns and no reserves of stores or ammunition. The freighter, Rauenfels, is due, however, and if the mist holds, she’ll hug the southern shore. You’ll have to slip out close to Tjeldöy.’

  ‘You know your stuff!’ Magnusson said.

  She gave him a cold look. ‘My father was a sailor. My brother was a sailor. My cousin was a sailor. He was in Eidsvold and he didn’t survive. My brother was in the armed whaler, Pol III, at Oslo. Pol III has also been destroyed. My brother is missing.’

  Her blazing hatred for the Germans was making her shake with emotion and it occurred to Magnusson that she could be a dangerous character to cross.

  ‘We’re ready to sail,’ he assured her. ‘The wind’s in the right direction. You’d better get those hands bandaged and perhaps have something to eat.’

  She sat meekly at the table while he cleaned up the raw palms and applied ointment and bandage. After a while he glanced up at her and saw she was watching him carefully.

  ‘Have you the determination to escape?’ she asked.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘You have always seemed to me too – how shall I say it? – too light-hearted for the job you were doing.’

  ‘Everybody always thinks the British take too light-hearted a view of war. We’re inclined to think everybody else takes too gloomy a view.’

  ‘You are a good sailor?’

  ‘You should see me in uniform.’

  She gave him a smile and for the first time it was warm and genuine.

  ‘I think perhaps you are.’

  He fastened the last of the bandages as Myers appeared with a plate of stew. It looked an unappetising mess but she tucked into it willingly. ‘Perhaps,’ she suggested, ‘I will now have the rest of that whisky.’

  Magnusson watched her eat, wondering if Vinje – far from a likeable man at the best of times – was intending to betray him. Having extracted the knowledge that Oulu was a British ship, was he waiting the opportunity to lead the Germans down to him?

  When Annie had finished, they went on deck. Almost immediately, they saw a light flashing from the point.

  ‘Get going, Campbell,’ Magnusson said. ‘Take the whaler. Marques, you take the Norwegian boat. There might be more of them than we expected and it could save us a second journey.’

  There were seven Norwegians, and Vinje’s face was bleak. When he saw Annie Egge his jaw dropped.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I am escaping as you are,’ she said stiffly.

  The Norwegian turned to Magnusson. ‘You said no women.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice,’ Magnusson pointed out.

  They pushed the Norwegians into the forecastle and gave them the bunks of the vanished Finns. They reappeared soon afterwards, dressed in jerseys and lumber-jackets, prepared to work.

  The rest of the night was spent in tense waiting, with Magnusson prowling about the ship, making sure everything was ready and that there was nothing left undone to delay them when daylight came.

  Campbell met him in the thinning darkness of next morning, bundled into heavy clothing, his face taut and alert, eyes bright with a sense of being able to do something worthwhile.

  ‘How’s the tide?’ Magnusson asked.

  ‘High. Stream’s slack. Wind’s nor’-nor’-east.’

  Magnusson wasn’t sorry to be leaving the inhospitable coast of Norway and it was with a sense of relief that he watched the crew running along the deck in the light of lanterns, struggling with ropes. On the yards, men were casting off the gaskets that secured the furled sails. As the wind caught them they bellied out and were sheeted home by the men on deck. With topsails set on main and mizzen, Oulu began to gather way.

  ‘Mainsail,’ Magnusson said.

  More canvas billowed out and they began to move faster, followed by flurries of snow. Behind them, the first ferry was preparing to leave Narvik, its lights shining against the blackness of the mountains.

  Magnusson was still staring over the stern when Myers at the wheel touched his arm and pointed ahead. Staring in the direction of his pointing finger, Magnusson saw a ship just coming through the murk of snow and fog. Behind her there wa
s another, then another, and another and another, all with the high, peaked silhouettes of warships.

  ‘Christ, what’s going on?’

  He had just decided that the Germans had learned about them leaving and that destroyers had arrived to capture them, when Myers spoke again.

  ‘Sir, them’s H class ships.’

  ‘British ships?’

  ‘I was in ’Avoc before the war, sir. Thirteen ’undred tons, four four-point-sevens. The one in front’s ’Ardy, the flotilla leader. She’s a bit bigger. That’s Second Destroyer Flotilla, sir.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’ve seen ’em drunk, sir, and I’ve seen ’em sober. I’d swear to it.’

  Magnusson stared at the approaching ships a moment longer. They were approaching warily, steaming in line ahead, and it suddenly occurred to him that they might well mistake Oulu for a German ship.

  ‘Shove the ensign up,’ he yelled. ‘The British one this time! They’ve come to retake Narvik from the Germans!’

  Four

  The word flew round the ship and they all cheered as the destroyers passed them. Magnusson was standing towards the entrance to the fjord, waiting for the transports bringing troops and the big-gun ships of the back-up force, but as the destroyers slipped away astern it dawned on him there were no troopships, and no back-up force. He began to wonder what the five destroyers could hope to achieve against ten Germans, all bigger than they were, and came to the conclusion that Oulu would probably be safer outside the fjord and in the lee of the Lofotens.

  The destroyers were disappearing into the mist and Oulu was gathering speed as the breeze filled her sails. Then as they made their way along the coast he realised that Annie Egge had appeared alongside him, frowning.

  ‘Where are the others?’ she demanded. ‘The transports full of soldiers and guns. They cannot capture Narvik with five destroyers.’

  He didn’t reply, pretending to be occupied with the business of the ship. The destroyers had vanished and as Annie moved in front of him, her eyes angry, doggedly determined to get an answer, they saw a white flash of flame light up the curling vapour astern and a moment later heard the crash of an explosion.