Enemies and Traitors: The Norsemen's War: Book One - Teigen and Selby (The Hansen Series 1)

by Kris Tualla

  Someone snorted loudly. “We’re prisoners, aren’t we?”

  Falko nodded. “And in every war the injured and ill must leave the front lines while the healthy continue to fight.”

  “That’s not the issue, though, is it Jensen?” a man bellowed. “It’s the damned loyalty oath all over again! What good is our resistance if we encourage them to sign it?”

  A lightning bolt of realization shot through Teigen’s veins. This document was in German, not Norwegian.

  “No! It’s not!” he shouted, jumping to his feet and waving the paper over his head. “This is completely different!”

  Confused looks bounced around the hut like a loose pinball as the uproar quieted once again.

  “How is it different?”

  Teigen grinned. “This statement is in German. It’s an agreement with the Nazis—it’s not caving into Quisling.”

  Falko grinned, his expression transformed. “That’s right! It’s not Quisling’s Norwegian Teacher’s Union—it’s the new Nazi teachers’ organization.”

  “That’s just a technicality,” the first man growled.

  “No, it’s not,” another countered. “Those are completely different organizations.”

  “Not to mention, I don’t read German,” another said, grinning. “How can anyone hold me to something I was forced to sign but couldn’t read it?”

  One older man stood up in the middle of the hut drawing all eyes to him. “You’re saying that we tell those men who are being released to sign the paper—because we’re here to resist Quisling, and not the German army?”

  Falko nodded. “Exactly.”

  Chapter

  Twelve

  October 1, 1942

  Trondheim, Norway

  Selby’s heart beat against her ribs as she stood on the pier in Trondheim for the second time in ten days, hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘her’ teacher among the men who were being returned from the labor camp.

  The rapidly-spreading news that one hundred and fifty sick or injured men were being released from their arctic prison lit up Norway like nothing she had ever seen. These men were considered national heroes—they were being released from their imprisonment without ever giving in to Quisling’s demands.

  The pier was crowded with celebrating citizens who cheered for the men as they hobbled down the gangway from the ship. The teachers were sorted according to their situation and taken to where they could be treated best: the Trondheim hospital, private doctors’ clinics, or simply a hotel where they could rest.

  The assistance was given free of charge to the teachers by their proud countrymen as thanks for their loyalty and fortitude. The men were invited to stay in Trondheim until they well enough to be put on a train and complete their journey back to their homes.

  Selby was deeply disappointed when the tall, bearded man she diligently searched the crowd for was not one of the passengers on the first ship. But when word reached them that an additional ninety-nine teachers were being released, her hopes soared again.

  Maybe today.

  Of course if he wasn’t included in either group that meant he was still healthy enough to work. That was a good thing, she reminded herself.

  Unless he was the one who died.

  Selby didn’t know his name, of course, but she hoped it wasn’t Jans Lund.

  No. I won’t let it be.

  For some inexplicable reason this stranger had become an anchor for her. He was a man, true, but a man who was safe. Distant. Unknown. Merely a symbol of how her country had pulled together in the dual faces of German occupation and Norwegian treason, resisting both at every turn. And too often at the cost of their lives.

  Somehow Selby felt that if her teacher triumphed, so would her country.

  It hadn’t been an easy task to convince Dahl to let her stay behind when the Troupe began its hundred-mile voyage south to Kristiansund.

  “I’ll be two days behind you,” she promised. “That gives me a day-and-a-half before we perform.”

  Dahl stared at her, his face twisted in confusion. “Selby, this is crazy.”

  She felt her cheeks flushing. “I know.”

  “You don’t even know who this guy is.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. “I can’t explain it, Dahl. But I just want to know. I need to know.”

  Dahl folded his arms across his chest as if to protect his heart. “What will you do if he is on the ship?”

  Good question.

  What would she do?

  Selby had played a variety of scenes through her mind, none with a definitive ending. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Dahl shook his head in obvious disbelief. “You want to stay behind, and pay for your own hotel here and passage to Kristiansund, just to see if a man you glimpsed once gets off that ship—and even if he does, you’re just going to walk away?”

  Selby glared at him. Dahl made a clear case against her seemingly pointless suggestion, and that angered her. Probably because she told herself exactly the same thing.

  “What does it matter to you?” she groused. “It’s my decision, and I really don’t care if you understand.”

  When she said I really don’t care Dahl’s expression shifted. Selby knew he wanted her to care. Ached for her to care. Practically begged for her to care. Guilt bloomed in her chest.

  “You’re right, Sel,” he conceded softly. “It doesn’t matter if I understand.”

  Her cheeks flamed with mortification at Dahl’s allowing her to take such an indefensible stand. “Thank you.”

  “A woman like you, who stands so strong and fights so well, should be encouraged to show her support for others who also resist.” Dahl’s declaration was stilted, but judging by the look on his face it was sincere.

  Selby reached for his hand, feeling like she owed him something. “I’ll be there when I said I would. I promise.”

  Dahl’s skin was warm and his larger hand encased hers. “I know you will. I have no doubts.”

  Before she could pull away, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then wrapped her in a hug she didn’t dare resist. “I’ll see you in Kristiansund.”

  Selby gripped the collar of her expensive wool coat close to her throat to keep out the damp sea breeze. A few people seemed to recognize her and she smiled at those who stared. Not all of them smiled back.

  The ship’s gangway was lowered once the vessel was tied securely to the massive cleats on the dock. The crowd was silent, with women standing on the tips of their toes and children hoisted onto their fathers’ shoulders.

  Selby stepped to the side, standing on the edge of the crowd. When the first man appeared he looked shocked. He lifted a tentative hand and waved at the crowd, his smile uncertain.

  The crowd erupted, cheering raucously and waving Norwegian flags. Women burst into unashamed tears.

  One by one, the men—who were overall in better condition than the first group—made their way down the walkway toward the enthusiastic crowd. Once again, the teachers were sorted and taken to where either their recuperation or their continued journey would begin.

  Selby’s hopes dimmed slowly with each man that appeared, but they weren’t extinguished until the last man disembarked.

  Her teacher wasn’t on the ship.

  She turned away and walked to her hotel, her path blurred by stupid tears which stubbornly replenished themselves every time she wiped them away.

  What now?

  She wanted to visit some of the men in the hospital under the guise of ‘famous actress congratulates returnees’ to try and find out about the man who had haunted her thoughts these last five months or so, but realized the futility.

  She didn’t know his name, and ‘tall, blond, with a light brown beard and green eyes’ described half of the Norwegian men in both groups. Selby wiped her tears, drew a deep breathe to quell her disappointment, and pressed the last scraps of it out of reach. She held her head high as she walked past the doorman who opened the
hotel door for her.

  The clerk behind the reception desk called out to her. “Miss Sunde?”

  She cleared her throat and turned to the man. “Yes?”

  He lifted a paper-wrapped parcel. “You have a package.”

  Selby flashed a bright, fake smile and reached for the parcel. Though she wasn’t expecting anything, when she saw the name of the sender she was glad she stayed behind.

  “Another one of my admirers, I suppose,” she deflected, tucking the covert package under her arm. “Thank you.”

  October 30, 1942

  Kirkenes, Norway

  Teigen shivered in his bed, his bones aching with cold.

  Two hundred and fifty teachers still remained at the camp—half their original number. Now there were only two groups of laborers, one working on the road along the fjord, and the other working at the docks.

  Several of the townspeople passed blankets to the remaining prisoners who marched through their town twice a day, and the dock workers shared them with the road workers who were never seen in Kirkenes.

  Since they were so far north of the Arctic Circle the sun shone less than eleven hours a day now so their shifts were shorter. That was the good news.

  But with the receding sun the temperature was dropping far below freezing at night. Even the fjord was starting to freeze around the edges.

  Thank you God for hay and blankets, Teigen prayed. But could You please see fit to get us out of here?

  “If they decide to send us all back they better get a move on,” Falko grumbled as he and Teigen trudged back from the docks. “Pretty soon it’ll be too late.”

  Teigen didn’t respond at first. He was too tired. Too hungry. Too cold.

  “Do you think anyone remembers that we’re here?” he asked finally. “Or have we been forgotten?”

  Falko didn’t respond to that, but instead returned to their normal daily discussion: the Resistance.

  Ever since their shifts at the dock were combined, Falko had stepped up his efforts to teach Teigen about the subversive war efforts coordinated throughout Norway. In order to hide the subject of their conversations, Teigen and Falko took a place at the very end of the queue of teachers under the guise of preventing stragglers.

  Two or three times during the forty-five minute stroll into town, one of them would call out a teacher’s name and shout, “Hurry up!” in German, then follow with, “You know what I mean by that!” in Norse.

  The man whose name was called would grumble or make a rude gesture before temporarily closing the gap in front of him. That was enough to keep the German guards satisfied so they never rode at the end of the line anymore, preferring to ride in tandem and have their own conversations.

  Teigen was frankly surprised to learn the unexpectedly far-reaching extent of the movement. Falko, who was somehow receiving covert reports, explained more about the Special Operations Executive, or SOE, and that the resistance which was paying salaries to the families of the imprisoned teachers.

  “I’ve never married and I don’t have a family,” Teigen said shakily, unprepared for the raw rush of emotions that statement brought; he wondered if Elsa was pining for him even now. “But I—I was wondering about those who do.”

  Falko’s expression was quizzical, but thankfully he didn’t ask Teigen to elaborate.

  “Right before we were arrested they established a fleet of regular fishing boats and volunteers, called the Shetland Bus,” Falko told him today. “They sail from the west coast to the Shetland Islands.”

  Teigen slid him a surprised look. “Helping people escape Norway?”

  “That, sure.” Falko nodded. “But mostly to carry all kinds of food, medical supplies, and radios into Norway.”

  Teigen scowled. “I’ve never heard of this.”

  “Good!” Falko chuckled. “Anyway, they sail from lots of places, mostly small towns where the German navy isn’t.”

  “Would you leave Norway?” Teigen asked. “If you could?”

  “I can,” Falko stated. “But no. Especially not after this.” He peered into Teigen’s eyes. “What about you?”

  Teigen’s scowl deepened. “My brother did.”

  Falko was clearly surprised. “When?”

  “The day the Germans attacked. He joined the army and sailed to England within the week.”

  “But you stayed behind,” Falko said carefully.

  “Someone needed to be sure our parents were safe.” Even now the difference in his and Tor’s situation rankled.

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No.”

  Their conversation died there as they reached the first building in the town and the pair walked toward the docks in contemplative silence.

  The residents of Kirkenes were no longer turning out in the same numbers as before. Teigen couldn’t resent them for it; the prisoners arrived in April and now it was the end of October. The novelty had worn off. Even Teigen’s faithful saluting supporter no longer stood beside the road.

  Yet those who remained faithful to the twice-a-day parade of prisoners offered whatever comfort they could.

  Their German guards seemed to be as miserable as the prisoners they escorted. They stopped scolding the people for handing food, mittens, or scarves to the men, and instead looked envious.

  “They’re just boys,” Roald said as one urged his horse past them to open the gate to the camp. “I doubt this is what they signed up for.”

  “But they did sign up, didn’t they?” Falko reminded him. “Heil Hitler and all that glory.”

  Teigen snorted and tightened the scarf around his neck. “The only glory here is in the sky.”

  The men looked up. Faint green streaks were swirling overhead as the Northern lights fought to dominate the last faint glow of the sun.

  “Leaders! A meeting!” Hauptman Mueller barked.

  Five men, including Falko and Teigen, broke away from the dock workers and joined the five road-building leaders already warming up in the captain’s cramped office.

  Hauptman Mueller stood behind his desk to address the men. He had an odd look on his face. Almost happy.

  “I have received word today that our glorious leader is promoting every soldier and officer who has served him so faithfully in our successful endeavors here,” he stated. “As a result, we are being reassigned to important duties elsewhere.”

  Teigen glanced at Falko, afraid to hope.

  “This means, of course, that this camp is being vacated.” Mueller paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he spat, “Don’t you understand? You will be put on a ship in five days and sailed back to Trondheim.”

  But will we still be prisoners?

  Teigen cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, Herr Hauptman, but are we being released?”

  Mueller sneered at him. “Yes. Unless you wish to continue serving the Third Reich?”

  Teigen bit back what he really wanted to say to the pompous bastard. “Thank you for clarifying Herr Hauptman.”

  The men refrained from celebrating, or even daring to meet each other’s eyes, as they reluctantly shuffled out of the warmth of the captain’s office and into the frigid arctic air.

  One of them said, “Look up.”

  The ten men stopped walking and looked into the clear sky. As if God was celebrating on their behalf an impossible swirl of green, white, red, and blue grew overhead until the heavens were filled with streams of shifting color.

  Teigen smiled. Thank you.

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  November 20, 1942

  Bergen, Norway

  The seven actors and three crew members in the Royal Shakespearean Acting Troupe huddled around the homemade radio in their dressing room and listened to the covert broadcast from Trondheim.

  “After sixteen days on a requisitioned steamer, the remaining two-hundred-and-fifty male teachers who were imprisoned at the Nazis’ arctic labor camp in Kirkenes have arrived at the Trondheim docks today.”

/>   Oh, thank God.

  Selby was elated that the men were safe, yet she couldn’t help being deeply disappointed at the same time. There was now no possible way for her to ever see ‘her’ teacher again.

  Will I forget him someday? she mused. Or will I always wonder what became of him?

  “Though overly thin and dressed in ragged clothing,” the electronic voice continued, “these men appear to be otherwise healthy. We were told that they were allowed to shower on the steamer, and that their meals were more substantial than those they received while being held in the work camp.”

  Glances bounced between the troupe members. The teachers were already thin when Selby saw them in April. How much worse were they now?

  “Crowds of well-wishers met the ship, singing, cheering and waving flags as the men disembarked in a stumbling single file.”

  Bennett chuckled. “They must have been surprised at their welcome—after all, they probably had no way to know how the first two ships were received.”

  Several heads nodded their silent agreement.

  “I was able to reach one man and I asked him what was the first thing that he wanted to do on this day of freedom…”

  Suggested responses erupted from the troupe: “Call his wife!”

  “Drink a beer!”

  “Eat a thick steak!”

  Dahl shushed them so they would hear the answer.

  The announcer laughed a little. “And he said shave and get a haircut!”

  The men in the room guffawed, while the women rolled their eyes and shrugged.

  Gunter, the second male lead, raised suddenly moist eyes to consider his mates. “We should invite them to a show.”

  Selby perked up at that. “Or do a show especially for them!”

  Bennett, their props manager grinned. “That’s a great idea!”

  With a sigh, Dahl brought them all back to their unpleasant reality. “Except that we are heading south after this, not north.”

  Karolina, the troupe’s second female lead and Selby’s understudy, made a very attractive pouty face, one which she obviously had practiced in the mirror. “Couldn’t we change our plans?”