Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  Heimar and Freya’s house was isolated. It was about a mile to the next dwelling along the shore of the fjord, and maybe six miles to the nearest village. They lived on the fringes of the wilderness. Behind their house the land rose, slowly at first, then more steeply, until grassy valley and dense copse gave way to open, rocky terrain. Not much grew on the upper slopes except mosses and lichens and the odd alpine plant. The mountains towered above us. Their impenetrable faces of rock and impossibly steep slopes of loose scree always looked foreboding, especially close up and in the moonlight. I knew the area well enough as we’d often hiked through the mountains in summer and skied the slopes in winter. But I would have quickly got lost if I’d been walking alone, despite the full moon bathing us in a cool glow. Heimar led us forward apace, surefooted and deliberate.

  ‘What’s being dropped?’ I asked. ‘Guns and ammo? Explosives?’

  ‘No. London’s sending us one of their agents,’ he replied.

  I looked to Loki in surprise. ‘Really! Why?’ I asked.

  He stopped and turned round. ‘Not sure. Personally, I think it’s a bad idea. The last thing we need is a stranger in our midst. It just complicates everything. Still, London thinks it knows best. Who am I to argue?’

  He set off again and soon left us trailing well behind. ‘Keep up, lads,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘I’ll not slow down for you.’

  When he wasn’t fishing, Heimar spent much of his life amid nature, walking the hills and mountains in summer, and skiing or sledding in winter. His hunting trips could last for weeks at a time and took him far to the north, hundreds of miles from home. He lived and breathed the wilderness and understood it in ways beyond most men. And should anyone dare to challenge his freedom to roam the great outdoors, he’d snap back at them angrily, ‘Allemannsretten!’ – it’s every man’s right. In fact, for almost a thousand years such a right has been enshrined in our law. With the arrival of the Nazis, had all that changed for ever?

  As we climbed, Loki and I chatted endlessly – my friend needed a distraction from the ever-increasing drop behind us. Inevitably the conversation swung round to Freya, and he lowered his voice so Heimar couldn’t hear. ‘Thought that when we get back, I’d pluck up the courage to ask her out,’ he said. ‘To the pictures or something. Whatever she wants. What do you think, Finn? You think she’ll say yes?’

  I suspected she’d say no, not in a million years, but I didn’t want to disappoint my best friend. I decided to offer encouragement instead. ‘I’m sure Freya will leap at the opportunity, Loki,’ I said, although in my head I was thinking she might rather leap off a mountaintop.

  Our hike took us up and away from the fjord. We were heading for a gap in the mountains, where a narrow pass allowed access to the neighbouring valley. Now and again, when the steep climb rendered me breathless, I paused and looked down towards the fjord. Its surface struck me as impossibly smooth, like silk, and it shone in the moonlight like metal foil. In the distance, on the opposite shore, I could just make out the lights of home. They seemed a long way off, a different world. I took a gulp of water from my canteen and wiped the sweat from my brow. My rucksack was heavy and the rifle’s strap had dug into my shoulder. My ribs were still sore too, all thanks to Ned. Heimar grew impatient at my apparent lack of fitness. We had an appointment and simply couldn’t be late.

  The mountain pass was narrow, both sides being sheer rock faces that rose up towards the heavens. As we trudged through, I remembered that there were hidden caves close by. Once we camped in one during a summer hike, just for the hell of it, just to say we’d done it. In the gloom, I couldn’t quite figure out where they were.

  Our descent into the next valley was quick. The stones were loose underfoot and we had to be careful not to slip. Loki cursed and even tried to walk backwards. Heimar told him not to be so stupid. The long narrow valley had a lake at the bottom. Although barely a hundred yards wide, the stretch of water was about two miles long and in places very, very deep. In past summers we’d spent dreamy days fishing and larking about – chucking stones, building dams in streams, dunking each other in the cold, crystal-clear water. At one end lay a dense wood.

  About thirty yards from the valley’s floor, Heimar stopped and took off his rucksack. ‘We’ll wait here,’ he said. He sat down on a boulder and removed his pipe from his jacket pocket. We settled and made ourselves as comfortable as we could. It soon grew cold and I found myself shivering. I got up and walked about, rubbing my arms and legs to keep them from seizing up. Loki did too. Heimar sat quietly, as if immune to the biting wind.

  ‘About all these restrictions on the fjord,’ I said, my teeth chattering, ‘that Anna keeps on about. What’s going on?’

  Heimar sucked on the stem of his pipe and exhaled a huge plume of smoke that was instantly snatched away by the breeze. ‘My guess,’ he said, ‘is that the Germans have got big plans for this area.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Loki.

  ‘Well,’ said Heimar thoughtfully, ‘why do you think the Germans are so interested in our country?’

  ‘Iron ore!’ Loki replied. ‘We all know that Germany depends on iron ore from Sweden. And in winter the Baltic Sea freezes so ships can’t transport it directly from Sweden to Germany. They have to ship it from our northernmost ports like Narvik, where the routes remain open. That’s why they came.’

  Heimar grunted. ‘What you say is true, Loki, but there are other reasons too. Our long, ragged western coastline of islands and fjords is perfect for hiding ships and submarines. And it gives them quick access to the Atlantic, and to the Allied merchant convoys.’

  ‘So you think that’s it?’ I said. ‘I’ve read in the papers about all the ships that have been attacked and sunk.’

  ‘That’s what I’d stake my money on,’ he replied.

  ‘And what’s this British agent going to do about it?’ I asked.

  Heimar roared with laughter. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea, Finn! Your guess is as good as mine.’

  We all looked skyward and listened out for the distant drone of aircraft engines. I wondered what sort of plane the British RAF was using for the drop. I thought of Father and Mr Larson. Although born into families of fishermen, they had decided years ago that life at sea wasn’t for them. So they sold their boats, pooled their money and used the proceeds to buy a second-hand seaplane – Father’s pet hog – and loads of flying lessons. I remembered she was a handful to fly, but she could carry quite a few passengers or a significant payload. Once confident and with plenty of flying hours under their belts, our fathers went into business together, reckoning there’d be a huge demand for people wanting to get from A to B in a hurry. Mother thought they were crazy. But Father had a dream. If he ever caught sight of a soaring eagle, he’d stop whatever he was doing and gaze at it as it rode the thermals. He wanted to be up there with it, to rise above the mountain peaks and experience what he called true freedom. He also wanted to make his fortune and move somewhere else, like Bergen or Oslo. Mr Larson shared his ambition, especially the bit about making loads of cash. Mother, though, never shared their dream. She was born in our small village and fully intended to die there without ever living further away than you could throw a stick.

  At five minutes to midnight we removed the flares from our rucksacks. ‘We’ll take up positions down there,’ said Heimar, pointing. ‘We’ll spread out a bit. Set off the flares when I give the signal, and not a moment before.’

  Without another word he set off down towards the floor of the valley. Loki and I trudged along behind him. Then, as we waited patiently in position, I looked around and realized that within a month or two the landscape would have changed beyond recognition. There’d be a thick carpet of snow and the lake would freeze over. You’d be able to land a small aircraft on the ice. But you’d also freeze to death unless you quickly found shelter and the warmth of a fire. It was a wild, hostile place where life struggled, where plants and trees hung on with every fibre of their roots, and a
nimals scavenged for food across vast sweeps of frozen land – bleak but awesome.

  Loki heard the plane first. He shouted and pointed to the west. I seized my binoculars and scanned above and below the ridges of the mountains, hoping to spot the distant speck against the dark night sky. And there she was, really high up, at the far end of the valley. She banked into a steep turn, levelled off and then headed in our direction. I couldn’t identify her at such a high altitude, but just prayed she wasn’t a German night patrol.

  ‘Now, lads!’ Heimar bellowed.

  We pulled the ignition tabs on our flares and ran a good distance so we didn’t get burned. They fizzed and spat into life, spouting blindingly bright red flames and plumes of smoke. Our eyes returned to the heavens. We watched and waited. Come on, I thought. Surely you can see us.

  Loki ran up beside me. Heaving for breath, he panted, ‘What’s keeping them? Shall we set off more flares?’

  ‘Not unless Heimar says so,’ I replied.

  ‘Give me your binoculars, Finn.’

  I handed them over. The plane was almost past the valley when I saw three tiny objects tumble from it in quick succession. Almost immediately they grew bigger. Parachutes! They’d opened. I watched them drift slowly down, the plane quickly disappearing over a distant ridge.

  ‘They’re drifting too far,’ Loki shouted. ‘They’ll miss the drop zone.’

  A worrying thought struck me. If they misjudged their landing, they might end up in the middle of the lake and we’d never be able to get to them in time. All tangled up in their gear, they’d drown. ‘Will they make it beyond the water?’ I asked.

  ‘Think so. It’s those blasted trees that frighten me. Looks like they’re going to land right in the middle of them!’ Loki answered.

  I snatched my binoculars back and held them to my eyes. What I saw surprised me. Were my eyes being deceived? Beneath one parachute dangled a figure. Below the second hung what looked like a long metal cylinder, easily the size of a man. It was the third parachute, however, that confused me. I blinked, looked again, and tweaked the focus to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. This parachute appeared much smaller than the other two, as was the object hanging beneath it. At first I thought it must be a backpack or small container. In the moonlight it was impossible to tell for sure. But it seemed to be moving, kind of wriggling and writhing. ‘Loki?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, Finn. What is it?’

  ‘Take a closer look at the small parachute.’ I gave him my binoculars again.

  ‘Yeah, got it,’ he said. ‘What about it?’

  ‘What’s that underneath it?’ I asked. ‘It’s small but looks like it’s alive.’

  ‘Optical illusion,’ Loki replied.

  Heimar yelled at us, ‘Don’t just stand there! He’s going to land in the woods. Come on, we’ve got to get to him.’

  We grabbed our rifles and rucksacks and ran down to the lake, tracking the shoreline to where the trees began. All three parachutes disappeared into the dense forest. I heard the cracking and snapping of branches, and then a hideous scream of agony. It was so loud it echoed through the valley.

  ‘Jesus!’ Loki shouted. ‘Bet he’s a goner. Nobody could survive that landing.’

  Chapter Four

  The Eagle Has Landed

  THE FOREST LOOKED impenetrable. We dumped our rifles and rucksacks, and seized our torches. Heimar slung a climbing rope over his shoulder. ‘We’ll split up,’ he said. ‘Shout if you find anything.’

  I moved forward one cautious step at a time, swinging my torch from side to side. It picked out the tree trunks and cast moving shadows. It was annoyingly uneven underfoot, but soft, the ground carpeted in pine needles. I kept stumbling. This was a dead place that sunlight and moonlight never reached. The heavy upper branches blotted out everything. I thought it would be a good place to hide. Suddenly I couldn’t see the other torch beams, and an uncomfortable shiver swept through me. I felt strangely alone but pressed deeper into the trees, swaying my torch to and fro.

  ‘Found the container!’ Loki shouted. ‘What now?’

  Heimar’s reply sounded even more distant. ‘Did it reach the ground?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then leave it and keep looking.’

  ‘OK.’

  It was reassuring to hear their voices. I moved on, flashing my torch beam left and right, and up and down. Then an idea occurred to me. I stopped and leaned up against a large tree trunk. I switched off my torch to save its batteries, and listened intently. Maybe the agent was still alive. Perhaps I could hear his cries or moans above the sound of the wind in the trees. But I heard no one. Then came a strange noise, like a sorrowful whimpering and breathless panting. It seemed close by too. To my left, in fact. I pointed my torch towards it and flicked the switch.

  ‘Argh!’ I cried aloud. The torch fell from my grasp. There was a monster staring back at me with glowing eyes. Turning to run, I heard a bark. Then another higher-pitched sound, more of a desperate yap. I crouched down, felt around and picked up my torch. Swallowing hard, I told myself to be brave. There were wolves in the wilderness and I’d never be able to outrun them. Best I could do was scare them off.

  Just as I prepared myself to confront the beast, it dawned on me that the eyes I’d seen were level with mine. It struck me as odd. Either it was the world’s biggest damn wolf, or …

  My feeble torchlight revealed a large, silver-furred dog hanging from a branch in some sort of harness. Looking up, I saw that his torn parachute had caught in the tree and broken his fall. The dog let out a low-pitched woof and his tail began wagging furiously. I called out to the others. ‘Heimar! Loki! You’re not going to believe this.’

  I approached cautiously, holding out a hand towards his snout so he could pick up my scent. I got too close and thought he was about to bite me. But instead, a long, wet tongue flashed out and licked my fingers. I gently patted him on his head.

  ‘Finn?’ Crashing through low-hanging branches, Loki arrived on the scene. He pointed his torch at us. ‘What have you found …? Christ! It’s a dog!’

  ‘You don’t say. Here, give me a hand. You hold him while I release his harness from the parachute.’

  I undid the straps, and Loki lowered the dog to the ground. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’ he said. ‘I mean, what kind of war is this, Finn? Are things going so badly the British have resorted to dropping animals onto the enemy’s heads?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ I replied. ‘But you know the old English saying, It’s raining cats and dogs, well, looks like there’s a sliver of truth to it.’

  ‘What now?’ he asked.

  ‘Give me a moment to think,’ I said.

  The dog seemed pleased to have made it safely. After a bit of stretching and scratching, and cocking his leg and taking a pee up against the nearest tree, he obediently came and sat on his haunches next to me.

  ‘Looks like you’ve got a new friend there, Finn,’ Loki observed, smiling.

  ‘Indeed.’ As I petted him, a thought occurred to me. This animal knew his real master and his scent. Out of all of us, he had the best chance of locating him. ‘Cut a length of parachute cord with your hunting knife, Loki. I’ll use it as a leash.’

  Having secured the dog, I spoke encouraging words to him, ‘Find your master … Go on, dog. Fetch him.’

  The dog took little notice of me. ‘Go on, stupid dog,’ I said, pointing into the darkness. ‘Well, don’t just sit there. Go!’

  ‘It’s no use,’ said Loki. ‘Reckon he doesn’t speak Norwegian.’

  Heimar’s voice called from far away. The dog’s ears lifted and he sprang to his feet. He looked all set to dash off. I tightened my grip on the parachute cord. Heimar called out again. ‘We’re coming!’ I yelled. ‘Just keep calling out so we know where you are.’

  In fact, there was no need because the dog seemed to know the way. He dragged me along. ‘Flipping heck, he’s strong,’ I said, barely able to keep him in check. ‘Slow down, dog!’
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  Reaching Heimar, we saw the awful fate of the British agent. His limp body swung gently about twenty feet above us. Heimar had attached a short but heavy stick to one end of his rope and had managed to fling it up and over a branch slightly above the body. ‘Is he still alive?’ I asked.

  ‘Better find out,’ said Heimar. He fed the rope through his hands until the stick returned and was within reach. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I need a volunteer to climb up and attach one end of this rope to him. I’ll take the strain so you can cut him free from his parachute, and then I’ll lower him down.’

  It was an awfully long way up, and a difficult climb. ‘I’m looking after Oslo,’ I said. ‘You’d better go, Loki.’

  ‘Oslo! What kind of name is that?’ Loki asked.

  The name had sprung to mind as we’d walked. ‘I think it suits him,’ I replied.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Loki shrugged his shoulders. ‘Finn,’ he said as he peered upwards, ‘you know me and heights don’t mix. I mean, going up’s fine, but coming back down … Well, you know … remember?’

  We argued the toss until Heimar interrupted. ‘Take hold of that dog, Loki. Up you go, Finn.’

  ‘Thanks! Why’s it always me?’ I complained.

  ‘Just do it – there’s no time for arguing. Here, we’ll tie the rope to you, just so you’ll feel safer. If you lose your footing, I’ll stop you from falling.’

  So up I went. It was easy at first because Loki’s torchlight lit the branches so I could see what I was doing. But higher up, the beam was weak and I had to feel my way. My mission suddenly became ten times harder when I drew level with the body. It dangled some way away from the trunk, and I couldn’t reach it even at full stretch. ‘What now? Got any bright ideas?’ I shouted down.