Hans looked across the table at me and winked. ‘Thanks for that,’ he said.
‘No problem,’ I replied. ‘I guessed what was happening – that you weren’t meant to take us where you did – and that we were spotted by another pilot.’
‘Yes,’ said Dieter. ‘Still, the other pilot didn’t get close enough to see our identification marks, so no way could he actually prove anything.’
‘So you’re in the clear then?’ said Loki.
‘Hope so.’ Hans grinned.
‘Hey, Dieter,’ I said. ‘What does that shield above the door signify?’ I pointed to it. ‘We were admiring it earlier but couldn’t figure it out.’
He stood to attention and saluted it. ‘That, gentlemen, is our squadron badge. Tomorrow it will be painted onto the nose of my new plane.’ He chuckled. ‘Had it already been painted on, that other pilot might have seen it. Then we’d be guilty as charged.’
I sank into my chair. Sirens were wailing in my head. Was Dieter the Penguin? My God, what if he was? What about Hans? He seemed decent enough. And he was a navigator – the Telescope? My head spun like the propellers of Dieter’s Heinkel. Then again, I thought while scanning the room, all these men belonged to the same squadron. It could be any one of them, even the blasted squadron leader.
Dieter escorted us to the main gate. It had begun snowing heavily, the storm of huge, wet flakes catching the light of the tall lamps strung out along the path and dotted along the barbed-wire fence surrounding the base. Our boots crunched with every step. ‘Glad you enjoyed the flight,’ said Dieter. Loki and I dutifully shook hands with him as we waited for the sentry to locate and hand back our identity papers. ‘I’m sure Anna’s itching to hear all about it,’ he added. ‘Safe journey home. If you’re quick, you should catch the last bus.’ He smiled, turned and walked off towards the Mess, waving without looking back. I watched him trudge into the gloom.
We walked to the bus stop. I couldn’t get the image of the squadron badge out of my head. ‘Remember what Jack told us?’ I said excitedly.
‘About what?’ asked Loki.
‘He more or less let slip that we had Germans working on our side – the Penguin and the Telescope.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Dieter and Hans!’
‘Possibly,’ Loki replied. ‘But you can’t prove it. And you can hardly ask them, can you? I mean, what if you were wrong?’
‘True. But the more I think about it … I mean, Dieter lied to his squadron leader about where we’d flown. He could have simply refused to fly us there or, like you said, avoided the Foettenfjord. Do you think he wanted us to see the battleship?’
‘Don’t know, Finn. It was our idea to look for that hut.’
Loki was right, it had been our idea. Maybe Dieter had just assumed there was no harm flying us there at high altitude. The impossible question burning inside me, though, was whether he’d have flown us there anyway – impossible because there was no way I could ask him. ‘I wonder,’ I thought aloud. Loki peered at me expectantly. ‘I wonder how much the Penguin knows? Suppose he knows about the maps and about Jack’s failure to escape. Maybe he even knows that we were involved. And maybe he knows that the maps are still here, possibly even that we have them. Maybe showing us the battleship was meant to impress upon us the importance of the maps. Maybe he hopes to spur us into action.’
‘Blimey, Finn, that’s a lot of maybes!’ Loki shook his head at me in disbelief.
Despite my friend’s doubts making sense, I couldn’t help feeling differently about Dieter all of a sudden. It was as if I could see beyond that uniform of his. He’d always been nice to us. He’d even put in a good word for me when I’d been arrested. A thought struck me. Perhaps Anna knew he was the Penguin but was sworn to secrecy. It would explain a lot, like what Mother said about her getting too much information too easily. They might be working together as a team. And she was adamant she wasn’t going to Sweden with us. Dare I ask her? I wondered.
‘How’s the skijoring training going?’ Loki asked, changing the subject.
‘Not good. Truth is, I could do with heaps more practice. And I wish Heimar was here to teach me. I’ve been out every day with Oslo, but it’s proving harder than I expected. There’s something pretty basic I’m not getting right. I have the feeling Oslo’s way better than me, way cleverer. Mostly he just ignores my commands. Still, I’m going to fit in a long training session tomorrow morning. I’ll skip church. Look, here’s our bus. Come on, let’s get home. I can’t wait to tell your father about the battleship.’
Chapter Nineteen
Racing for My Life
‘NOW, OSLO, LISTEN carefully. This is how we do it. When I shout Heeejaaa! it means “go”. Got it? And when I shout Whoa! you stop. I suppose you know your left paw from your right, don’t you?’
Oslo yawned and looked utterly bored with my pre-practice briefing. While Mother and Anna had trudged off to church, I’d taken Oslo and my new skis to the snow-covered fields and woods just outside our village. Oslo, strapped snugly into his harness, waited patiently while I put on my skis. I’d found a suitable length of strong rope at home and attached one end to his harness. I now grabbed the other end, tied a large loop in it and passed it over my head and right shoulder. I gripped the rope in front of me with both hands and readied myself. Once I gave the order, I’d have no choice but to go wherever Oslo decided to take me.
‘On the count of three, Oslo. And go steady, right! We’ve got plenty of time. One … two … three! Heeejaaa!’
Oslo just stood and stared at me.
‘Heeejaaa!’
He barked, wagged his tail and then bounded towards me excitedly. He didn’t stop. He threw himself at me, and bowled me over. I landed in a heap. He stood on top of me with his wet tongue lashing against my face. I shoved him off, sat up and cursed. ‘This is proving to be a lot harder than I thought, Oslo. You and I have got to reach some sort of understanding. Right, let’s try again.’
It was hopeless. ‘So much for your army training, Oslo. No wonder Jack didn’t want you back. You’re useless.’ In truth, deep down, I knew I was the weak link.
‘Try shouting Mush!’
Oslo’s ears pricked up. I turned round in fright. SS Officer Anders Jacobsen, the man who’d delighted in interrogating me at the fortress, was leaning against the gate to the field. His black Mercedes staff car was parked some way further up the lane, and two soldiers were standing by it, smoking and chatting to one another. How had I not heard them arrive? In his ultra-smart SS uniform and heavy trenchcoat, Jacobsen was an unwelcome sight. Be calm, I reminded myself. Act normal. ‘What?’ I shouted.
‘Try shouting Mush! To get him to go.’ He waved a glove.
‘I know that,’ I lied.
‘Good. Then let’s see how fast you can go, Finn Gunnersen.’
I felt like snapping back that I would go when I was damn well ready but thought better of it.
He clapped his hands and yelled ‘Mush!’ as loudly as he could. Oslo was off like a bullet. It took me by surprise. The slack in the coiled rope was quickly taken up, and I was yanked with such force I was flipped head over heels, my skis tearing from their bindings. Oslo didn’t stop. Jacobsen repeatedly shouted ‘Mush’, the key to unlocking Oslo’s full power, and each time, Oslo pulled harder, faster. I was dragged across the entire length of the field, my face acting as a human snowplough.
Jacobsen laughed so loudly and for so long I thought he’d do himself a terrible injury. That was just wishful thinking. Finally I managed to twist myself up and round until my boots were facing forward and, though still sliding on my bum, I dug my boots into the snow. They acted as an anchor. Eventually Oslo stopped. I wiped the snow from my face and blinked the icicles from my eyes, turned round and looked back at the deep trench we’d dug in the snow.
‘Not bad,’ Jacobsen bellowed through cupped hands. ‘Try it with skis next time. You might find it a little easier.’
Hah! Very f
unny, I thought. I gathered myself up and trudged back across the field. Oslo bounded happily after me. Jacobsen came to greet me at the spot where my skis stood more or less upright in the snow.
‘So this must be Oslo, then.’ He bent down and made a fuss of the dog.
‘You remembered his name,’ I said.
‘Of course. I have an extraordinarily good memory,’ he replied. ‘I suppose you intend to take part in the skijoring races.’
‘That’s the general idea.’
He straightened up and inspected the rope I’d used. ‘I don’t wish to be rude, but it doesn’t look like you’ve done this before.’
I said nothing.
Jacobsen nodded as if congratulating himself on being right. ‘I thought so. But surely you’ve worked with dogs and sleds?’
‘Yes. Once or twice.’
‘Good. That’s a start. I could teach you the basics if you like.’
I eyeballed him. Questions circled in my head. What did this carrion crow want? What was he doing here? More to the point, why was he being all nice and friendly to me? A horrible thought struck me. Had Heimar talked?
‘Well, Finn, do you want my help or not?’
‘Thanks, but I’m fine on my own. Really.’
‘Come now,’ he said. ‘I insist. I’ll have you know my father was a champion racer in his youth. Pretty good myself too, as it happens. So get those skis back on.’
What could I do? I had to go along with it. And to be honest, I ended up being rather glad. In truth, I had no idea what I was doing. But Jacobsen showed me. With great patience, he taught me how to stand correctly on my skis before the off, how to hold the rope, and how to use my voice and commands to get the best out of Oslo. I learned quickly. Within half an hour I had the basics covered and could steer Oslo around the field. We were beginning to look like a half-decent team. Jacobsen seemed delighted. Oddly, he struck me as a pretty decent, ordinary man. To an outsider the scene might have looked simply like one Norwegian helping another. Except for one crucial difference. Every time I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye, all I saw was his uniform – a constant reminder that I needed to be on my guard. Trust was out of the question, and to even think of liking him would be tantamount to treason. He was the enemy. Finally, breathless, I drew to a stop.
‘You’re getting there,’ he said. Hands on hips, he smiled broadly. ‘Practice is all you need. You learn fast, Finn. I’m impressed. And Oslo’s a fine dog. One of the finest, in fact. Where did you get him?’
‘Birthday present. From my uncle. I already told you. Don’t you remember? Thought you said you had a good memory.’
‘Ah, yes, that’s right. I did, didn’t I? Uncle Heimar. Heimar Haukelid, hunter, fisherman, and … what else, I wonder.’
‘Bloody good dog trainer,’ I said.
An awkward moment followed during which neither of us spoke. Jacobsen lifted a sleeve and gazed at his watch. His smile melted and his expression darkened. Somehow I knew ‘play time’ was over.
‘Why did you lot arrest my Uncle Heimar?’ I asked. ‘He’s done nothing.’
Jacobsen cast his eyes skywards and squinted at the brightness. ‘Some people,’ he began, ‘consider our presence here an unwelcome intrusion.’ He lowered his head and looked me in the eye. ‘They cannot see the future, the inevitable conquering glory of Germany and the Third Reich. We are here to stay, Finn. This is our time.’ He sighed. ‘If only people understood that, there’d be no need for all the arrests, the endless questioning, the sending of men and women to the camps. It’s not how we want it to be, Finn. Really!’
‘Then leave us alone,’ I replied.
He held out his arms. ‘I wish we could. But it’s down to you lot, Finn, not us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Three supply trains have been derailed in the last fortnight alone. Fuel dumps have been blown up. A week ago a fishing vessel rammed one of our patrol boats. It has to stop. And we will stop it, Finn. As sure as night follows day.’
I thought of the burning Gjall, our small victory against tyranny. I wanted to shout, ‘We’ll never stop,’ but didn’t. Instead, I said, ‘So what are you doing to Heimar at the fortress?’
He shrugged. ‘He is merely helping us with our enquiries. He’s well enough.’
‘Huh! For how long?’
‘As long as it takes. We’re not animals, you know.’ He saw my look of disbelief, because he added, ‘Oh, I know the rumours: that we supposedly torture people. It’s all propaganda, of course. And you should know that. After all, we didn’t harm you, did we?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But try telling that to Mrs Naerog.’
Jacobsen’s lips curled upwards in discomfort.
‘And,’ I added, ‘was it really necessary to kill Heimar’s dogs and burn his house down. Was it really necessary to murder Idur Svalbad? Was it really necessary to shoot Heimar?’
He blinked repeatedly at me. I froze and felt choked. What had I just said? It was so stupid of me. I wasn’t thinking. In the heat of the moment I’d just blurted it out. I could sense the questions forming on his lips. Questions like, How on earth does he know about the house and the dogs, about Idur, and about Heimar being shot? I had the awful, crushing feeling I’d just made the worst mistake of my life.
‘I thought I told you to watch that tongue of yours.’
‘Anyway,’ I said belligerently, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘I came to find you.’
‘What for?’
‘Questioning. I understand you’ve been flying with Oberleutnant Braun.’
How did he know that? I felt my cheeks flush. ‘So?’
‘Oberleutnant Braun is in serious trouble, and so are you.’ He paused thoughtfully a moment. ‘Still, I might be willing to overlook it all if you help me out.’
‘Help you. How?’
‘I understand that you know of some maps and photographs. I would like to have them. It’s as simple as that. Tell me where I can find them, and we’ll end the matter there. After all, I’ve helped you with your dog skiing, so now I’d like the favour returned. I think that’s fair, don’t you?’
I had to think quickly. On our return from the seaplane base the previous evening Loki and I had told Mr Larson of our discovery. I’d hoped it would renew his enthusiasm for finding a way to get the maps to England. His reaction was unexpected. He said it changed nothing. It merely confirmed the accuracy of Jack’s work. There was no way of getting the maps out in time and he berated me for not destroying them as he’d asked. He made me promise to do it. But I hadn’t.
Anders Jacobsen was growing impatient with me. Denial seemed the best starting point. ‘Maps? Photographs? Of what? I’ve got Father’s old navigation charts, and we’ve got photographs of our holidays. Is that what you mean?’
‘Don’t play games,’ he snapped.
‘I really have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I lied.
Agitated, he began pacing back and forth, kicking through the snow. He stopped and turned. ‘I’ll ask you one more time, Finn Gunnersen. Where are they?’
I shrugged.
‘You leave me no choice,’ he said. He turned and waved to the two soldiers loitering by his car. ‘I’m afraid you’re under arrest. And you will talk, Finn Gunnersen, you do realize that. Be in no doubt. The Gestapo’s methods differ from mine. They will have you begging to spill everything. I’m sorry, but that’s how it has to be. And as we speak, Oberst Hauptmann’s men are already ransacking your house. It’s only a matter of time before we find what we’re looking for.’
Searching our house! I drew a sharp breath. I felt sick. My brain buzzed with horrid thoughts. Surely they’d look beneath the floorboards and find Jack’s stuff along with the tobacco tin and Father’s Norwegian Cross. And the photograph of Father beside his Spitfire! Mother, Anna and I were doomed. And it would all be my fault!
‘Of course,’ he added, ‘we’ll have to arrest and interrogate your mother
and sister too. I’d hoped that could be avoided.’ He glared at me. ‘Last chance, Finn. Last chance to save them. And to save yourself. You can trust me. I’m a man of my word. Give me what I want, and I’ll let you go.’
He’d said nothing about Loki and Mr Larson. Did that mean they were OK for now? If only I could warn them.
‘The maps!’ Jacobsen repeated.
What a nightmare. How on earth did he know about the maps, let alone that I might have them? An awful thought struck me. No way could he have extracted that from Heimar. Heimar didn’t know about what happened to Jack. So who’d betrayed us? And what now? What should I do? Save Mother and Anna? Save my own skin? Could I trust him? Somehow, I suspected his word was worthless. But maybe I had no choice. I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. It wasn’t fair. I’d not asked for it.
Jacobsen’s stare was piercing. I think he knew my vulnerability, my closeness to the precipice. He knew it wouldn’t take much for me to topple over. He knew that all I really wanted was for the problem to go away, to disappear. All I had to do was give him the maps, or tell him where they were hidden. Maybe if I cooperated, they’d be lenient with us. Could I lie? Could I concoct some sort of story? That the maps had fallen accidentally into my hands, that I knew nothing about them. I’d merely kept them because I collected maps and charts. But what about the photograph of Father and his Spitfire? That was surely enough on its own to seal our fate.
I was about to blurt out some ill-conceived excuse for having the maps when something inside me snatched me back. It gripped me tightly. No! That one word filled me with an irresistible force. I heard it again and again. I felt as if I was in freefall. I thought of Heimar and Freya. And Idur too. They would never even entertain the idea of giving in to the enemy, not in a million years. And Father would turn in his grave at the very idea that I’d grown into a cowardly, yellow-bellied traitor. It was just possible they’d not find the maps. It was our only hope. And I was responsible for them. I had to do what was right. Surrender was impossible.
Dogfight Page 24
