Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  ‘You’ll have to crawl out along that branch,’ Loki replied. ‘The one above and behind him. The one the rope’s over.’

  ‘Scared’ was an inadequate word to describe the sinking feeling in my belly. Truth was, I wasn’t mad about heights either. Still, I had little choice. I reached up, grabbed hold of the branch and hauled myself onto it. I let out a small whimper: my sore muscles felt as if they were tearing inside me. I had Ned to thank for that. Straddling the branch, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around it. Slowly I edged my way along but, of course, it turned out to be a branch that was horribly flexible. As I crawled out, it shook as if it was about to snap. Finally I got to within range of the agent’s head and shoulders. I reached out and grabbed him. He let out a pitiful groan. I jumped out of my skin, and almost slipped and fell. I’d already made up my mind that he was dead.

  Steadying myself, I gingerly sat up and untied the rope about my waist. Then I leaned back down and fed it about the man’s body, deciding it best to attach it to the parachute harness. This was the really dangerous bit, as I no longer had the reassurance of a safety rope. Job done, I puffed out my cheeks and wiped the sweat from my face. Reaching for my hunting knife, I began sawing through the parachute cords. ‘Nearly done,’ I shouted. ‘Better take the strain.’ Each cord pinged in turn as my knife cut through it, and each time the body lurched slightly. At last I’d cut him free, and Heimar gently lowered him. Then it was my turn.

  Having laid the man out on the ground, Heimar shone a torch into his face. The agent was dressed in black, including a black balaclava over his head. And he’d smeared dark paint across his cheeks and forehead. It took a moment for Heimar to react, but when he did, he sprang back as if he’d seen a ghost. ‘My God,’ he muttered. ‘Jack?’

  ‘You know him?’ I asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Who is he? Jack who?’

  ‘Never mind that for now. We’ve got to check him out. Here, help me get him out of his parachute harness. And be gentle. We don’t know what’s broken.’

  We gave ‘Jack’ the once over. He was mostly unconscious but occasionally let out a cry, as if wanting to remind us that he was still in the land of the living – just. ‘Don’t think anything’s broken,’ said Heimar. ‘Probably just banged his head. Doesn’t look too good, though. What a nightmare. Didn’t I say this was all a bad idea? I just knew it would end in trouble.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Loki, scratching his head thoughtfully. ‘We’re a long way from anywhere. And we can’t carry him. Not all the way. Do we leave him here or what?’

  ‘Of course we can’t leave him here,’ Heimar snapped angrily. ‘Just give me a minute to think, Loki. Go and take a look in that container. See what supplies he brought with him.’

  While Loki disappeared into the darkness, I remained with Heimar. ‘Why on earth did he bring a dog with him?’ I asked, although I was really just thinking aloud.

  ‘I expect you’ll find the answer lies in that container, Finn. Damn. If only London had faith in us. Whatever job they wanted Jack to do, I’m sure we could have managed it ourselves.’

  Jack drifted in and out of consciousness. I ran and fetched a canteen of water from my rucksack, but he was in no fit state to swallow any.

  Loki returned. ‘Right,’ he said breathlessly. ‘There are guns and ammo, maps and food rations. Some clothes too. There are quite a few unmarked tins. Figure they might be food for Oslo. The rest of the container is taken up with skis, canvas, poles and ropes. Probably his tent.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Heimar. ‘But my guess would be kit for making a ski sled.’

  ‘I get it,’ I said. ‘That’s why he brought Oslo. Once the snow arrives, the best way of getting round and covering vast distances with all that gear would be by dog and sled.’

  Heimar rummaged in his pocket for his pipe. ‘Yes. There are other advantages too. I expect he’s specially trained. A dog has keen senses. He can tell you that men are close by, long before you can see them. He might even be able to sniff out land mines, and warn you of approaching vehicles or aircraft. And, should you get stuck somewhere and run short of food, you can always eat him.’

  ‘What? Eat Oslo? Never,’ I said in dismay.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Heimar. ‘If you knew real hunger and desperation, Finn, you’d not think twice.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Loki again.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Heimar replied. ‘I’ll stay here with Jack. You two run back to the house and tell Freya what’s happened. Be as precise as you can about this location. Tell her to go and see Idur Svalbad immediately, and tell her to take the dogs with her. He has a summer training rig, one with wheels. She must hitch the dogs to it and bring it here. That’s how we’ll get Jack home. Clear?’

  We nodded. But I had a question. ‘Will Idur let her borrow it?’

  Like Heimar, Idur Svalbad was a hunter and fisherman who lived in a large wooden house further along the fjord’s shore. Few people ever dared visit. The story went that Idur was as mad, mean and unpredictable as a drunken polar bear, as likely to pick a fight as shake your hand. His nickname was Isbjørn, the Ice Bear. Apparently even the Germans left him alone. Occasionally he’d sail into Trondheim for supplies. Most folk gave him a wide berth. We all knew of him – the big bloke who smelled awful and dressed in filthy skins – but few actually knew the man.

  ‘We’re good friends,’ said Heimar. ‘He can be trusted.’

  ‘Anything else we can do?’ asked Loki.

  ‘Yes. Get home as quickly as you can. And I want you to get a message to a Father Amundsen without delay. Do you know him?’

  We shook our heads.

  ‘You’ll find him at the Hospitalskirken.’

  ‘You mean the wooden church in town, the eight-sided one?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. Ask for him there. Insist on talking to him in person. Do not take no for an answer.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘What do we say?’

  ‘Tell him that you bring a message from me. Say that the Bald Eagle has landed but has a broken wing. And that he should send a friendly doctor without delay. Got it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I guessed Bald Eagle was the agent’s code name.

  About to ask why he’d been called that, I was cut off by Heimar: ‘And no questions, lads,’ he added. ‘Doesn’t do to know too much. Quickly gather up your gear and get going. It’s cold out here.’

  ‘And what about Oslo?’ I asked.

  Heimar studied the dog a while and then heaved a big sigh. ‘He’s a fine-looking specimen. Bet he’s pretty clever too. Unfortunately my dogs will never accept an outsider. They’ll set upon him and show no mercy. No way can I keep him. There’s only one option, I’m afraid.’ He reached for his hunting knife.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I shouted.

  ‘It’s for the best, Finn,’ he said. ‘Here, hold him still for me. I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can.’

  ‘No!’ I seized Oslo’s harness and pulled him close to me. ‘No way.’

  ‘Don’t argue, Finn. I know what’s best.’

  ‘No! There must be another way,’ I protested. ‘I’ll look after him. Just until Jack’s back on his feet.’

  ‘People will ask questions, Finn. And we don’t need tricky questions right now. I know it’s hard, but sometimes it’s the only way.’

  I tightened my hold on Oslo. ‘I’ll say you gave him to me as a gift. An early birthday present. Everyone knows I’ve always wanted my own dog.’

  ‘You haven’t thought it through, Finn. What happens if Jack recovers and needs his dog back? And what will people say when the dog disappears as suddenly as he arrived?’

  ‘I’ll say he got run over, or drowned, or something. Come on, Heimar. I’ll take good care of him. I promise. And you said yourself, Jack might need him. He wouldn’t have risked bringing him unless it was really important.’

  Oslo started licking my face. The poor ani
mal had no idea he was a hair’s-breadth from having his throat cut. I fixed my eyes on Heimar, willing him to reconsider.

  Eventually Heimar lowered his knife and returned it to his belt. He muttered under his breath. ‘Very well,’ he grunted. ‘But I want you to know it’s against my better judgement. One thing – and no arguments: as soon as you get him home, get rid of that harness and leash. Burn it or bury it. Any German worth his salt will recognize the parachute cord. OK?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks, Heimar.’

  ‘Well, go then!’ he snapped. ‘And be quick about it. Jack’s not looking too good.’

  Chapter Five

  The Kristiansten Fortress

  IGNORING MY SORE ribs, I ran with Loki most of the way back to Heimar’s house, pausing every so often to catch my breath. Before leaving the valley, I raided the parachute canister for the tins Loki reckoned were food for Oslo, dividing them between our rucksacks. I figured taking them was essential to keep Mother happy. If I’d returned with another hungry mouth to feed, and no means of doing it, I think she’d have finally flipped.

  Heimar’s dogs heard us coming and their barking filled the night air. I think they detected Oslo’s scent too, because as we drew closer, their yapping turned into vicious, slavering snarls and growls. Heimar was right: tough though Oslo was, Algron would have him for breakfast, and Sleipnir the scraps for afters. All the noise brought Freya to an upstairs window. Half asleep, she leaned out, saw it was us and instantly guessed something had gone horribly wrong. She let us in and told us to stay calm as we spilled out all that had happened.

  ‘Jack!’ she exclaimed, the instant Loki spoke his name.

  ‘You know him too? Who is he?’ I asked.

  She ignored my question. Freya was never one to panic. She remained in total control, cool as ice. ‘You two had better get home,’ she said, fetching her things together. ‘It’ll be morning by the time you arrive’ – she pulled on a sweater – ‘so you shouldn’t get stopped heading into town.’ She threw on a coat and buttoned it up.

  ‘Did you send the messages OK?’ asked Loki. ‘To London?’

  ‘Yes. Everything went fine.’

  ‘No sign of any soldiers or detector vans then?’

  ‘No. Listen, you really should get going. Sounds like Jack’s in a bad way.’ She rushed towards the door.

  ‘Want one of us to come with you to Idur’s?’ Loki asked. ‘I’ve heard awful stories about him.’

  Freya smiled. ‘Nice thought, but I’ll be fine. Really. They’re just stories, Loki, spoken by those who should know better.’

  ‘But everyone knows he’s a madman.’

  ‘That’s just because he looks different from other people. I’ll be safe there, don’t worry. Idur’s OK. Plus, you have to get back to deliver the message to Father Amundsen.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, Freya. But listen, I’ve been thinking. I know this isn’t really the right time, but …’ Loki paused and looked hesitant. ‘It’s just that I wondered if you fancied going to see a picture at the cinema sometime? My treat. Just you and me.’

  ‘Come on, Loki, we haven’t got time for this idle chatter,’ I said hastily, interrupting him and filling what I assumed would be an awkward silence. I thought that if I dragged him quickly out of the door, before Freya had a chance to reply, then I’d save my friend from the inevitable crushing blow of rejection. I also had my own well-being at heart, knowing that a dejected Loki would be an insufferable, inconsolable Loki.

  ‘Yes. That would be nice,’ she replied.

  My jaw dropped.

  ‘In fact, I’m coming into town next weekend,’ she added. ‘Shall we say Saturday afternoon? Three o’clock. Outside the cinema.’

  Loki appeared as stunned as I was. ‘G-g-great, Freya,’ he said. ‘S-S-Saturday it is then.’

  During our long row home Loki slowly emerged from his state of shock and his face beamed at me. ‘She said yes, Finn. I just knew she would.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ I replied mockingly.

  Oslo quickly settled down beside me and fell asleep. ‘Why do you think Jack brought him, Loki?’ I asked. ‘I mean, surely he could use Heimar’s dogs, couldn’t he?’

  ‘Maybe, Finn. But you heard Heimar. He said that Oslo’s probably highly trained. And anyway, I expect Jack needs to be self-sufficient. I mean, suppose no one turned up to meet him. He’d have to cope alone. And with winter on our doorstep that’s a recipe for disaster unless you come fully prepared.’

  I gazed down at Oslo and wondered what he thought about it all. Did he have any idea what he was caught up in? Or was it all just one big exciting adventure? I pulled up my anorak hood, grabbed hold of him for warmth and tried to get some sleep lying in the bottom of the boat. With Loki heaving rhythmically on the oars, my thoughts turned to Jack. What exactly was his mission? Would he be able to carry it out? Just what were the Germans up to? I decided that whatever it was, it had to be important. After all, the British had sent in an agent. They wanted one of their own on the ground.

  We reached the far shore of the fjord just after seven o’clock in the morning. Loki tied our boat to the jetty. Unable to stop yawning, I clambered onto the slippery walkway and stretched the stiffness from my aching limbs. I felt as if I could sleep for a month. Only Oslo had managed some shut-eye. Loki had done most of the rowing and, with his shoulders hunched and head hung low, looked exhausted. ‘You go home and get some sleep,’ I said. ‘I’ll cycle into town and deliver the message.’

  ‘Thanks, Finn. That was some night, wasn’t it? Hope Jack makes it OK.’

  ‘Yeah. How come both Heimar and Freya know him? I didn’t recognize him.’

  ‘Me neither. I’ll ask Freya when I see her next weekend.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  We walked home together and then, having gone our separate ways, I slipped into my back yard. With a little persuasion, I managed to get Oslo into the wood-shed. I removed his harness and leash then closed the door and fastened the flimsy latch with a piece of string. Remembering what Heimar had said, I dipped indoors, lit a fire in the hearth, and threw the parachute cord and harness into the grate. Then I went out again, grabbed my rusty old bike and headed into town.

  The church lay in the grounds of the old hospital, close to the city centre. At that early hour on a Sunday morning the streets were asleep. I felt awkward, exposed, cycling down deserted roads, and knew that every German patrol would scrutinize me because the bored soldiers had little else to fill their empty heads. Luckily, though, apart from glancing at my papers at the checkpoints, no one stopped me for questioning. I arrived outside the church just before eight o’clock and leaned my bike up against the wall to the right of the main entrance.

  The church was small, the main part octagonal under a gently sloping roof. It was crowned by a tower with a copper hat that rose sharply to a point, the whole thing finished off with a cross. The copper had long since oxidized and turned green. I heard a voice inside and hoped it was Father Amundsen. In truth, it was only during our trip back that an awful thought had struck me. What if he wasn’t there? What if he’d left town for a few days? Who would I give the message to? I’d decided that I’d have to try Loki’s father and pray that he knew the right contacts.

  I seized the heavy door handle, twisted it and shoved the door open. It creaked menacingly. I stepped inside and swung it shut. Its clunk echoed. Inside, the church was lit by hundreds of candles. Several small suitcases were stacked neatly behind the door. The voice, booming and dramatic, sounded much louder now I was inside. I walked into the main part of the church and gazed down the aisle towards the altar. Kneeling before it, his back to me, was a man with long, unkempt, flame-red hair. I yanked back my anorak hood and cautiously stepped forward. The priest seemed unaware of my presence.

  ‘O Lord, give us strength. Let us not cower in the face of evil. By Thy mercy, deliver us from the pestilence and plague that has set upon this land. Give us courage to drive these devils from our s
hores. Bring us the freedom and the light. Rid us of eternal darkness.’

  Listening to his words, I gulped. Then I noticed four people at one end of the front pew. There was a man, a woman and two children: a rather fidgety boy of about six and a girl I guessed to be a year or two older. They were all dressed in bulky clothes, raincoats and hats, and not in their Sunday best. Taking a deep breath, I coughed, and noisily cleared my throat. The family looked startled. Their faces shot round. But they weren’t just startled, I decided. They were fearful. The priest stopped praying and peered over his shoulder. He was a strange-looking man with a large, hooked nose and a chin that seemed to go on for ever. From glistening pale eyes, his stare drilled right through me. ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘I’m looking for Father Amundsen,’ I replied. ‘I’ve got an urgent message for him.’

  ‘I’m Father Amundsen,’ he declared.

  Recalling Heimar had said I was to deliver the message to Father Amundsen and to no one else, I had to be sure. ‘Can you prove it?’ I asked.

  He rose from his knees and approached me. I took a step back. God, he was tall. Like a church spire. And that hair! It stood out as if the poor man had been struck by lightning. He gazed into my face, then smiled and reached beneath his robe. He produced and handed me his identity card. He was Father Amundsen. Thank God. ‘You’re right to be cautious. Now, young man, how may I be of assistance?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve come from …’ I hesitated. I looked to my left. The family of four were staring at me. I grasped Father Amundsen’s hand and took him beyond earshot of the others. ‘I have a message for you,’ I said. ‘Bald Eagle has landed but has a broken wing. He needs a doctor. A friendly one, that is.’

  Father Amundsen raised a bony finger to his lips. ‘Ssssh, not so loud! Walls have ears.’

  I lowered my voice to a husky whisper and repeated the message.

  ‘And where exactly is this Bald Eagle?’ he asked.

  There was a noise. It sounded like a door clicking shut. It came from the side of the church, amid the shadows. I couldn’t quite see.