Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  ‘Can’t you even keep control of your dogs?’ Ned shouted while helping me to my feet. ‘Give him his papers back,’ he added sharply. He snatched my documents from the rather startled corporal. ‘Come on, Finn, let’s get out of here.’

  Grasping his arm, I limped off as best I could and didn’t dare look back.

  ‘You OK?’ Ned asked, his brow creased with concern.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Wasn’t a good idea to yell at him though. He might have made life difficult for us.’

  He grinned. ‘I got away with it, didn’t I?’

  When we’d put a healthy distance between us and the soldier, I stopped. ‘Thanks for coming to my rescue.’

  He shrugged. ‘Just returning the favour, Finn. I’ve been meaning to thank you for coming to look for me in town during the raids for the printing presses. Did you really get past the barriers by going over the rooftops?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted.

  ‘That’s what I call impressive.’

  I laughed. ‘Odd, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘Barely a few weeks ago we were arch enemies.’

  He pointed back towards the square and the soldiers. ‘Those are our real enemies, Finn.’

  ‘Yes. You’re right.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Guess I was wrong about you. Your family aren’t the Nazi boot-lickers I took you all for.’

  ‘Looks can be deceptive,’ I replied. ‘Just as not all of you are fascists.’

  ‘No,’ he snarled. ‘Thankfully I’m not like my stepfather at all. I hate him, Finn, and everything he stands for.’

  ‘I believe you, Ned. We were both wrong about each other. Anyway, what was Anders Jacobsen talking to you about just now?’

  He looked surprised. ‘Oh, it’s just that he thinks I’m trouble. Whenever he spots me, he gives me a hard time.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘Listen, Finn, I’m sorry for taking your flying jacket. I knew your father had given it to you. I guessed it was important to you. That’s why I took it. It was a horrible thing to do, but I honestly thought your family was involved with the Nazis. Delivering papers, I’d seen your mother in the bar and your sister with that German pilot and I hated it. I thought you were cosying up to the Nazis like my stepfather.’

  ‘Apology accepted. At least I got it back. And I’m sorry about the Hauptmann incident and the eggs. At least, I’m sorry they arrested you and confiscated your bike. I’m not sorry, however, that I ruined Colonel Hauptmann’s day.’

  A broad smirk filled Ned’s face. ‘I wish I’d been there. And about that trouble with the satchel and newsletters – I swear it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I had to get rid of it and just saw you there in the street behind those prisoners. I didn’t stop to think of the consequences. There just wasn’t time. Afterwards, I expected you to land me in it. When you didn’t, I couldn’t believe it. Then your mother came round and spoke to us. It changed everything. God, it must have been horrible being locked up for a whole week. I’m truly sorry, Finn. And I guess I owe you my life for not pointing the finger.’

  ‘It was pretty awful,’ I said. ‘But’ – I paused and looked him in the eye – ‘in a strange way I should be grateful to you.’

  ‘Grateful? Why?’

  ‘It made me realize what we’re up against. When I saw Mr Naerog in front of that firing squad—’

  ‘Jesus! You saw it?’

  I nodded.

  He shook his head in dismay. ‘Those evil pigs.’

  ‘Still, Loki and I finished off what Mr Naerog started. We got that German patrol boat in the end.’

  ‘That was you two? I read about that in the papers.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  He spat into his hand and held it out. ‘Let’s officially put the past behind us and work together from now on. Let’s shake on it.’

  I spat into my right palm, reached out and shook his hand.

  ‘Listen, Finn, if you plan any more acts of sabotage, make sure you count me in. Promise me.’

  I smiled. ‘All right, Ned, I’ll bear you in mind.’

  ‘Well, I’m heading that way.’ He pointed down a side street. ‘So, see you around.’

  ‘Yeah, see you around. And thanks again.’

  I watched him walk off and then made for the fjord and the seaplane base, not far from where the ferry docks. Arriving at the main gate – a break in the fencing and barbed wire – I saw a striped wooden barrier across the road. A hostile sign shouted, HALT! in big white letters on a red background. I spotted Loki leaning against a lamppost, and together we walked up to the barrier. I told him what had just happened.

  A small grey wooden hut lay to our left, a radio blaring out of its half-open door. An upbeat tune, it was the sort usually heard playing in bars and cafés. A young soldier stepped out wearily and frowned at us.

  ‘We’re here to see Oberleutnant Braun,’ I declared, handing him the pass. ‘He told me to ask you to telephone the Officers’ Mess. He’ll come and collect us.’

  ‘Einen Moment, bitte,’ the soldier replied grumpily. He stomped back into his hut, lifted his telephone receiver, gave the dynamo handle a few quick turns and then spoke loudly into the mouthpiece. All the while his questioning stare remained fixed on us. ‘Ja, richtig,’ I heard him say, nodding. ‘Zwei Jungen … Ja.’ He leaned out of the door. ‘Name?’

  ‘Finn Gunnersen and Loki Larson,’ I shouted.

  He repeated our names into the phone. After listening for a moment, he replaced the receiver and emerged from the hut. In poor Norwegian he said, ‘You wait here. Oberleutnant Braun will be along shortly. You can collect your papers when you leave. Now, I have to search both of you.’

  While he gave me the once-over, I stared out across the water. Digging into my pockets and examining their contents – a rather damp and gooey handkerchief, a rubber band, matchbox, small screwdriver and a couple of grubby coins – he grimaced in disgust like he was handling smelly dog mess. He returned all items to my pockets except the screwdriver. That particular item quickly disappeared into his own tunic pocket.

  Trying to figure out which plane might be Dieter’s, I shielded my eyes and looked around. A plane I’d seen many times lay nearby. Beached on the stony shore with just the last few feet of her floats dangling in the water, as if she was dipping her toes at the seaside, was a Heinkel 59, an old twin-engine biplane with an open cockpit, painted white all over and emblazoned with red crosses. She looked so decrepit I thought it amazing she could still defy gravity. Yet she flew almost every day. Her markings, those of the ‘Seenotstaffel’, meant she was used solely for air–sea rescue duties, though that hadn’t stopped the RAF from trying to blast her out of the sky. A man on a ladder was busy repairing a string of bullet holes in the side of her fuselage.

  The sentry switched his attention to Loki, swivelling him round roughly and patting him – almost punching him – hard all over his anorak to detect telltale lumps and bumps of hidden weapons or grenades. As if! Unfortunately Loki often received special attention, probably because he was big, strong and looked like a whole heap of trouble.

  I spotted Dieter emerging from a long wooden hut. Dressed in his flying gear – a leather jacket and tight-fitting leather helmet – he strode purposefully towards us. The biggest grin I’d ever seen occupied the space between his ears. ‘Ah, Finn, right on time.’ He waved cheerfully. Behind him ambled another man. I instantly recognized him as Hans Tauber, Dieter’s navigator.

  The sentry snapped to attention and saluted them. ‘Heil Hitler!’ he bellowed like he actually meant it. Dieter ignored him, instead eyeing my friend from head to toe.

  ‘This is Loki,’ I said. Dieter momentarily looked blank. ‘You remember him. My best friend,’ I added. ‘You did say I could bring someone along.’

  ‘Ah! Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ He peered around and looked a little disappointed. ‘I had hoped Anna might have shown up.’

  ‘Another time perhaps,’ I replied.

  He nodded tho
ughtfully, then spun on his heels and gestured towards Hans. ‘You’ve already met Hans Tauber, my navigator. Knows these mountains and fjords like the back of his hand, does Hans. Best damn navigator in the Luftwaffe – least that’s his story.’

  Hans yawned at us, stuffed his hands in his pockets and shivered. He saw me rub my shin. ‘What’s the matter with your leg?’ he asked.

  I explained.

  ‘Those damn animals,’ Dieter cursed. ‘They’re all vermin. The lot of them.’

  There was real hatred in his voice. Did he mean just the dog, or the whole Wehrmacht? I wondered.

  ‘Right, better be off,’ he went on, clapping his hands. ‘We’ll find you two a couple of lifejackets and some headgear. Follow me.’ He struck off down the path, with Loki and me following a few paces behind.

  ‘Are you sure about all this, Finn?’ whispered Loki. ‘I mean, is this wise? I have a strange feeling inside, like we shouldn’t be here. Know what I mean?’

  I knew exactly what he meant. They were the enemy. We were at war with them. We should have been thinking of ways to kill them. Instead, we were walking with them like they were our friends. Butterflies in my belly made me wish I’d eaten lunch but the excitement had killed my appetite.

  ‘Ever flown?’ Hans asked Loki.

  ‘Yes. My father used to fly with Finn’s. Least, he did until you lot showed up,’ Loki replied bitterly.

  I thumped him in the shoulder. ‘Be nice!’ I hissed.

  The path took us between several huts and a couple of parked trucks, and then beyond a string of rusty brown fuel barrels. It was a hive of activity: mechanics worked double-quick repairing aircraft in various states of brokenness in the few precious hours of daylight. Dieter collected some flying gear for us from the stores and helped us put on the lifejackets and headgear. Then we made for the jetties. Suddenly Dieter stopped and stood tall with his hands on his hips. He glanced round at me. ‘So, Finn, what do you think of her?’

  We were at the start of a long wooden jetty jutting out a good thirty yards into the fjord, at the end of which bobbed a twin-engine plane. At a guess, I’d say her wingspan was about seventy feet and she was probably close to sixty feet long. Her cockpit canopy was unusually long too, and I now understood why they were called glasshouses or conservatories. She was some bird. Loki whistled under his breath. ‘She looks great,’ I replied politely.

  ‘Come, let’s take a closer look,’ Dieter chirped. He struck off down the jetty at a trot, calling out a string of vital statistics over his shoulder. ‘She has two nine-cylinder air-cooled engines, boys, each rated at nine hundred and sixty horse power. She can do over one hundred and eighty miles per hour, and can climb to thirteen thousand feet in just twenty minutes. Not bad for a big girl like her. She can even stay in the air for up to eighteen hours and has a range of over one thousand seven hundred miles. Grossartig!’

  Her fuselage was narrow, quite arrow-like in fact, and she was painted a dullish grey-green. The black and white cross of the Luftwaffe stood out vividly on her fuselage, as did the swastika on her tail fin. Her massive floats sat deep in the water.

  Dieter pointed to several moorings about a hundred yards offshore, where other Heinkels had been tied up. ‘We’ve got five of them. All brand new. Christmas came early this year. So, you ready for a spin? I thought we’d just do a couple of circuits while the light’s good.’

  ‘Great,’ I replied.

  Hans clambered aboard first, scaling a ladder fixed behind the wing between the fuselage and one of the floats. Loki boarded next, followed by Dieter. As I waited, I surveyed the plane. She was smaller than Father’s Junkers but her sleek line told me she was probably a dream once we got her into the air. The nose of the plane was glass, and from it poked a rather large machine gun. Finally it was my turn. I seized the ladder and hauled myself up the widely spaced rungs. It proved pretty gloomy inside, and I was greeted by a heady odour of oil, kerosene, paint and that unmistakable but indescribable burnt-like smell of electrical stuff. I stumbled slightly as memories flooded back, crowding and jostling inside my head. I could almost hear Father’s voice. I blinked and shook it away.

  Inside, it was mighty cramped and we had to bend double as we shuffled forward towards the cockpit. No wonder they called it the ‘crawl way’. Dieter and Hans settled into their seats and Loki and I were instructed to strap ourselves into two smaller seats behind them. I sat in front of Loki. The glass conservatory extended far enough back to give both of us fantastic views on both sides. It never ceased to amaze me how small and tight everything felt inside a plane. From outside, you’d think there’d be room to swing a dead elk. Over Dieter’s shoulder, I studied the controls and watched him go through the pre-flight checks. I recognized most of the dials and switches, like the altimeter, airspeed indicator, compass, level indicator, oil pressure and temperature gauges. I learned more as he checked the tail plane, rudder and flap controls. Finally he gave the order to fire her up and Hans tweaked the throttles, set the fuel mixture and turned the carburettor air-intake controls to their start-up positions. Then Dieter flipped on the main ignition switches and magnetos. He hit the starter switch for the port engine.

  I twisted round and watched as the propeller blades slowly began to turn amid a loud whining noise. The engine coughed into life, spewing puffs of black smoke. The blades spun faster and quickly became a circular blur. A minute later and the starboard engine hummed loudly too. Hans turned in his seat. ‘Soon be off,’ he said. ‘Just need to let the engines warm up.’ He pointed to a gauge. ‘When the oil temperature reaches plus five degrees we can open up the throttles.’

  Dieter slid open the cockpit window and shouted to someone below that they could untie the plane. He waited for a reply, then slid the window shut and reached for the controls. The whining din of the engines grew into a frenetic howl. The whole plane shook and rattled as I felt us moving slowly forward. Hans turned in his seat again and shouted, ‘Going to get a bit bumpy, I’m afraid. Wind’s from the southeast. At least twenty knots. Surface of the fjord’s a bit choppy. We’re going to feel every wave.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘But nothing to worry about. Just sit tight.’

  I knew all about that. I recalled one particular night-time trip I’d made with Father in awful weather. Now that was scary!

  The unceasing noise proved ear-splitting and the vibrations felt strong enough to shake the fillings from my teeth. We gathered speed. I looked out of the window and saw the shoreline whizzing past us. Gradually the rocking, wallowing and wave-smacking subsided as the plane lifted slightly in the water. I squinted at the instruments – our groundspeed had reached forty miles per hour. Quickly, it rose to fifty, then sixty. At eighty, Dieter pulled back the column and I felt her rise from the water like some great sea bird that was almost too heavy to fly. We climbed steadily, engines screaming, and then levelled off. Hans made some fine adjustments to the fuel and air intakes and then sat back, clasping his hands and cracking his knuckles. As we headed due north, our airspeed rose to one hundred and seventy miles per hour before Dieter eased back on the throttles.

  ‘This is our cruising speed,’ he shouted. ‘We’re at eighty-five per cent power,’ he added, pointing to the engine-speed indicator. ‘So, how does she feel to you?’

  ‘Great,’ I replied loudly. ‘Not much different to Father’s plane.’

  He nodded. ‘You’d probably find the controls a bit lighter though. Right, time to make a right-hand turn. The key thing, boys, is to be gentle with her. Treat her like a lady.’ I thought of Anna and bristled.

  With a delicate, almost imperceptible movement of his column, we banked a few degrees to the right and turned. For the next five minutes or so we climbed gradually until the altimeter read six thousand feet. Heading northeastwards, we were tracking the path of the fjord at a similar height to the surrounding mountains. Looking down to my left, I saw we were close to where Heimar and Idur’s ruined houses lay. I tried picking them out but couldn’t see them
. There was still no news about Heimar, although prayers were being said for him every day in our village church. And Loki had told me his father was trying to figure out some way of springing him from the clutches of the Gestapo at the fortress. Nice idea, I thought, but I knew that would prove more dangerous than reaching into a roaring fire to rescue a burning log. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and nearly jumped out of my skin. Dieter was grinning at me. ‘The views are fantastic, aren’t they?’ he shouted. ‘Anything in particular you’d like to see? Do you want us to fly over your house?’

  ‘That would be great. I don’t suppose …’ I deliberately hesitated.

  ‘What, Finn?’

  ‘Well, it’s just that we own a mountain hut. Mother asked if I could check that it’s still there,’ I lied, pretty convincingly, I thought.

  Dieter glanced across at Hans, who just shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he replied.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure, Finn, whatever you want. It is your birthday present, after all. Just show us where it is on our map.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ I could hardly contain my joy. The gleeful smirk on Loki’s face was so broad I thought his head might actually split in two. Well, it had been his idea, I suppose. Hans handed me his chart.

  I took it from him and examined it. This was the awkward bit. Of course, there was no hut. Or was there? I thought back long and hard to all the times I’d walked in the mountains surrounding the Foettenfjord. Had I ever seen a hut? There had to be one or more up there somewhere. Many families owned huts and used them for hunting trips or summer holidays. I held the map close to my face but my eyes kept being drawn to the spot in the fjord Jack had circled on his map. Finally I decided it was best to point vaguely at a deep valley stretching off eastwards from the far end of the fjord. ‘Somewhere up there, I think,’ I said.