Cast No Shadow: A Thrilling WW2 Adventure (Dragan Kelly Book 1)

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  “We have a plan,” she translated, “to get you out to the Russians.”

  Kelly, reclining and enjoying the warmth of the fire, sat upright with a start. He motioned for Gunnar to continue.

  Gunnar spoke, gesturing occasionally, then his wife would take over and translate. The whole process was repeated in bite-sized chunks until the whole of the plan had been revealed. Sybilla spoke in the first person as if the plan was her own:

  “Tomorrow I will receive a telegram from Bjornstad, that’s a village in the next valley. It will advise me that my sister is ill, and suggest I visit. I will have no difficulty getting leave from the German Commander, Jürgen, as I know him well.” She coloured slightly as she relayed the last part, but Kelly inconspicuously averted his gaze from both Sybilla and Gunnar.

  “I will leave for Bjornstad tomorrow afternoon with my brother Hansy. We will return in two days’ time. My sister will have made a full recovery.”

  “But where do I fit into this?” asked Kelly.

  “You will be Hansy,” she replied quietly. “He will come to this cottage where you will exchange clothes. He will remain in the cottage when we leave.”

  “But I will be seen as an impostor,” said Kelly.

  Sybilla’s tone was flat, matter of fact.

  “We will be muffled up against the cold and will leave from here walking, to the beginning of the pass on the outskirts of the village by the southern path. We will of course wave to anyone we see.”

  “How will” —Kelly hesitated with the name— “Hansy arrive back with you when you return?”

  “He will slip out at night and climb the pass in the dark. He can do that easily. He knows these mountains better than anyone. He will have caught up with me before I reach Bjornstad.”

  Kelly leaned back and exhaled noisily. “Fine. Let’s do it!”

  There was a short interchange between Gunnar and Sybilla before Sybilla turned to Kelly and nodded. “It’s agreed then. We will go tomorrow afternoon.”

  Kelly nodded.

  Sybilla continued, “What about your feet?”

  “I’ll manage,” said Kelly determinedly. “The sooner I go the better. I’m placing you both in ever greater danger the longer I stay.”

  The other two exchanged reluctant nods.

  To the Mountain

  Kelly watched through a small opening in the curtain as the heavily muffled figure made his way towards the house. He was moving quite swiftly despite a slight limp. Occasionally he called out to people he passed, waving conspicuously.

  With a single knock he unlatched the door, shouting rather ostentatiously Kelly thought.

  “Sybilla, it’s me!” Hans closed the door and walked into the living room.

  After hugging his sister and kissing her affectionately, Hans Knudsen shook Kelly’s hand and introduced himself. His English was not as good as his sister’s, but he managed to converse with relative ease. As he did so he started stripping off his clothing, gesturing to Kelly to do the same.

  As they exchanged clothing the small talk between the two continued, mostly about climbing. Kelly had done some climbing whilst at university, but Hans was clearly an expert.

  “Did you hurt your leg in a climbing accident?” Kelly asked. Hans looked bemused. “You have a limp,” Kelly said in response to the look of puzzlement. The Norwegian laughed.

  “No Dan! I don’t have a limp, you do! Sybilla told me!” He smiled at Kelly who instantly understood.

  “Of course,” Kelly said. “We couldn’t have someone clearly fit walking into the house and, twenty minutes later, someone limping away from the house.”

  “Exactly,” smiled the Norwegian.

  Sybilla Thorstaadt and Dan Kelly crossed the road and headed up a small path towards the foot of the pass over the mountain. Someone called from a distance and Sybilla responded with a return call and a wave. Kelly half-turned and waved also.

  The rest of the journey around the south of Grense was uneventful. The ground was rising slightly but Kelly felt fully recovered, apart from a little discomfort on one foot which caused the slight limp so carefully mimicked by Hans Knudsen. It was bitterly cold, but they were well muffled against the weather, wearing Norwegian climbing gear, and carrying heavy over smocks in their bergens, along with sleeping bags and a few dry rations.

  He was enjoying this walk with Sybilla. He glanced at her. This seemed to be bread and butter to her; she looked totally at home in this environment. She returned his glance and smiled. Kelly had felt a distance between them since their altercation, but he hoped now that they could be friends again for the brief time they were likely to be together.

  Reluctant though he was to leave this beautiful woman, to whom he was inexplicably drawn, he knew the moment was approaching when he would have no choice. When that time came, he would want to separate and be left with only the memories of her beauty, her kindness and her bravery.

  The climb was steep now. The path had been hidden by the light dusting of powder snow that was falling, but Sybilla stepped out with confidence; she clearly knew the route well. They spoke rarely, but their exchanges were cordial and occasionally tender as she displayed concern for his feet and general wellbeing. Kelly’s spirits were high as night began to fall. They were walking along a tree line, approaching a small cabin.

  The force of Sybilla’s charge knocked Kelly off his feet and they rolled together into the undergrowth of the forest.

  “What—” Kelly began.

  Sybilla instantly silenced him with a warning look. “Keep quiet!” she hissed between clenched teeth.

  There was a ‘whoosh’ as a skier flashed by their position, followed by another then a third and a fourth. In the fading light Kelly recognised German soldiers in white camouflage with their rifles slung across their backs. They were disappearing into the valley and appeared not to have seen them.

  Kelly breathed a sigh of relief but cursed himself for not being fully alert. He was so caught up in thoughts of the woman he accompanied, that he had allowed himself to become complacent. It was a good thing Sybilla had kept her wits about her. Kelly started to ask Sybilla about the patrol, but she silenced him again. Pointing to the cabin she said, “Let’s talk in there.”

  They reached the cabin and threw their bergens down. Sybilla motioned to him to sit by her on one of the two solid wooden benches, the only furniture in the cabin. A full moon had replaced the sun and the reflected light on the white snow served to provide an unexpected level of illumination within the cabin.

  Sybilla had taken off her top layer of clothing and Kelly did the same.

  “Where did that patrol come from?” asked Kelly, still feeling rueful about not spotting it.

  “From the plant,” Sybilla responded. “Come, I’ll show you.” She gently took his arm and led him outside. They moved onto a high tree-covered mound, under which the cabin sheltered, and Sybilla pointed to some faint twinkling lights in the far distance.

  “There!” she said. “That’s the heavy water plant.”

  “What in God’s name is ‘heavy water’?” asked Kelly, remembering he had heard it spoken of once before. He was reluctant to remember the circumstances.

  “We’ll talk inside.” She led him back to the cabin and they settled on the bench. She moved closer to him and linked her arm with his. Her face was intense as she spoke, looking directly into his eyes.

  “We think they are producing some kind of Armageddon weapon. A device so horrific that it will destroy the allies completely, annihilating whole armies!”

  Kelly blinked. She was serious.

  “That’s absurd,” said Kelly. “It’s HG Wells stuff. Science fiction.”

  “The group discussed the possibility that it was some kind of elaborate propaganda story, but that seems unlikely. The plant is real. The secrecy is real and Otto, Doctor Amundsen, thinks it is possible in theory,” Sybilla explained.

  “But Otto is a medical doctor. Is he qualified to make that judgemen
t?” asked Kelly

  “A doctor with a close interest in physics. He worked with Niels Bohr in the past,” Sybilla answered.

  Kelly didn’t like to ask who Niels Bohr was. Instead, he changed tack slightly. “Who is ‘the Group’?”

  Sybilla hesitated for a moment before answering. “You may as well know. It’s myself, Gunnar, Hansy, Eric Jorgsen and Thomas Borg, another man at the factory. We are all people who believe our country would be destroyed by German occupation and who are praying for an allied victory. In addition, the doctor, Amundsen, is of use at times, but he prefers to keep us at arms’ length.”

  “And what do you do?” asked Kelly.

  Sybilla hesitated again, just for a moment. “We have a short-wave radio and transmit information to a contact in Sweden who then transmits that information to the British.”

  “Sybilla!” Kelly exclaimed. “That is so dangerous! The Germans can trace radio signals.”

  “We transmit from a different location each time and we know to keep the transmissions really short.” Sybilla’s defiant eyes flashed at him.

  “What sort of information are you sending?”

  Sybilla dropped her gaze and stared at the floor.

  “Anything I can get out of Jürgen. All of the information on the heavy water plant came from him.” She spoke quietly in a monotone.

  Kelly felt he could see a straw of comfort and stretched for it. “So you sleep with him to get information?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide now, tears beginning to well in the corners. “Partly ...” she said simply.

  Kelly’s heart sank into his boots again.

  “I need to explain,” she said. “No!” She lifted a hand and cut Kelly off before he could protest. “I need to do this.” She withdrew her arm from his and curled it around his shoulders, pulling him close into her.

  “Please!” she whispered.

  Dan Kelly nodded.

  Sybilla’s Story

  “My Father was Johannes Knudsen; he was born near Grense and was raised in this area.

  “His greatest friend during his school days was Gunnar Thorstaadt. Yes, my Gunnar. In the early years, Gunnar was bullied because he was a little simple. My father protected him. He liked Gunnar. There was something intrinsically kind and good about the poor soul.

  “However, as they grew, Gunnar grew faster than the rest. He was a sport fanatic and excelled at the strength sports, weightlifting, discus and shot. Needless to say, the bullying soon stopped. However, my father and Gunnar stayed close. Gunnar never forgot the care and kindness my father had shown him as a child.

  “When they left school, both went into the fishing fleet and worked together on the same boat, but my father grew restless. He wanted more and so left the fleet and travelled south to Bergen to seek a career in industry.

  “While in Bergen, he met my mother, Guthrun, the child of an émigré family from Germany who had fled during the Great War. They fell in love and married. I was born less than a year later.

  “My father grew unsettled and missed the fishing. He often discussed moving back to this area. He had received letters from Gunnar who had bought a boat and set up on his own and was keen for my father to join him as a partner. However, my mother would have none of it. She would have preferred to move south to Oslo, so staying in Bergen seemed to be the best compromise.

  “Their situation was pretty well confirmed with the arrival of Hans, and later when Mother conceived Inga.

  “Then disaster. My mother died giving birth to Inga. My father was at first devastated at the loss of the only woman he had ever loved, but then saw it as an opportunity. He moved back to Grense and moved in with Gunnar. At that time Gunnar lived with his old mother in a large house near the quay. She agreed to nurse Inga and take care of the rest of us. Father went off to sea with Gunnar. I was four at the time and Hans three.

  “Those days are my earliest recollections. I remember sitting on the quayside looking out for Gunnar’s boat and rushing to my father when he stepped ashore. He smelled of herring. His hands were rough, and his kisses tasted of salt, but I didn’t care. They were magic moments.

  “There was always a special hug for Uncle Gunnar as well. His emotions often got the better of him and he would laugh out loud at his joy at seeing us. We had become his family. His mother became ‘grandma’. She especially adored us. Looking back, I think it was because we gave her Gunnar our unqualified love, something he had been deprived of because of his affliction. They were happy times.

  “Things were going well for Thorstaadt and Knudsen. They decided to double the fleet by buying a second boat. Father would skipper one and Gunnar the other. I so remember Christmas Eve of 1931, when both boats appeared almost simultaneously, bearing down on the quay in the descending gloom. They had been at sea a week and were now racing to be the first to dock. It was so exciting!

  “Gunnar won, so he had the first hug, but father was close behind. Both had bumper catches and we celebrated Christmas that year in style with presents, games, plentiful food, and much laughter.

  “Two months later, on my twelfth birthday in February 1932, the sea took my father and his entire crew.

  “I can’t begin to tell you of the despair that descended on the Thorstaadt household. Not only were we children inconsolable, but Grandma Thorstaadt and particularly Gunnar were broken hearted. Eventually of course, despite our misery and despondency, things returned to some form of normality.

  “I would still wait at the quay, but now only for Uncle Gunnar and we would meet after his voyages more often with tears than with joy.

  “Grandma now was very frail, and I was in effect the housekeeper. She guided me but was able to do little herself. Between Hans and me, and with a little hindrance from Inga, we were able to do most of the tasks required. The following year Grandma died, and I was left in complete charge of the household when Gunnar was at sea. I was thirteen years old.

  “No one bothered much about the fact that Gunnar’s house was being looked after by Hans and myself, with Inga becoming more useful as time went on. We were happy in our way and wanted for nothing. We knew Gunnar loved us all dearly. Then, just after my sixteenth birthday, we were visited by a number of the good and noble of the village including the vicar. Gunnar fell into a deep gloom and for the only time I can remember, missed a fishing trip, sending his number two out as skipper.

  “I pleaded with him to tell me what was troubling him and eventually he broke down and cried like a baby. Between huge sobs he told me that the three of us children would have to be housed somewhere else. When I asked why he explained that it was now deemed ‘unseemly’ for a single man to live in the same house as a sixteen-year-old girl.

  “I kept this from Hans and Inga and that night cried myself to sleep. I couldn’t bear the thought of my little family being broken up. What if they separated us? What would be the effect on Hans who adored Gunnar and couldn’t wait to leave school and join him in his boat? And what about poor Gunnar? How would this affect him? It would break his heart to be separated from his little family. These thoughts crashed around in my mind as I tossed and turned in bed until I eventually fell into a restless sleep.

  “The following morning as Gunnar was just rising, I walked determinedly into his room and informed him that there was only one solution. We would have to be married.

  “To say that he was thunderstruck was an understatement. He protested of course, but I waved away his protests and explained that it was the only way we could be sure of keeping the family together.

  “And so it was, a few months before my seventeenth birthday, I became Mrs Thorstaadt.”

  Sybilla stopped for a moment and drew Kelly closer to her. She wept quietly now, and her body was shaking. Kelly reciprocated her gesture by putting his arm around her shoulders and holding her tight.

  “You must go on, you must finish this story,” he said. She nodded but did not speak for a moment as she tried to bring her emotions under cont
rol.

  After a little while Sybilla was able to continue.

  “It wasn’t anything like I had expected. I was an attractive girl, nearly seventeen and I had urges. I had been looking at the boys at school in a different way since I was fifteen and they had certainly been looking at me! But nothing ever came of these mild flirtations.

  “Now I was a married woman, I expected things to happen. The night I was married I went to bed with Gunnar. I went to bed a virgin and I arose the next morning still a virgin.

  “Poor Gunnar is impotent. I don’t just mean he can’t father children. I mean he is completely impotent. He simply can’t do it.

  “He tried hard, but he was unable to carry out his role and I was so ready and so willing to become a real wife. We spent a miserable night in each other’s arms, crying. After several nights without fulfilment, we both agreed that it was not going to happen. How miserable I was, but I did my best to hide it from the other children.

  “We slept in the same bed for several years, but as the children grew and left, first Hans and then Inga, who was married two years ago, we dropped the pretence. We moved to the little cottage by the slip, where you stayed, and Gunnar took one bedroom and I took the other.

  “Gunnar’s failure of course had no effect on the teenage urges I felt. I still wanted to be a ‘real’ woman. I finally lost my virginity when I was nineteen. I had dreamt of the moment, inspired I suppose by Hollywood films. There would be billowing sheets, a soft downy mattress and it would be with the love of my life. Instead, it was late one evening, standing upright in the bridge house of an arctic drifter looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was coming along the quayside.

  “My ‘dream lover’ was one of Gunnar’s crewmen, a married man with three children. I could argue that he used me, but that would not be strictly true. In reality, I used him. But that’s not to say it didn’t ‘happen’. It did happen for me, but afterwards I felt cheap and sordid. We made love only twice more before I became totally disenchanted with the affair. Apart from which, I was scared to death that I would get pregnant. I could hardly tell Gunnar it was his child, could I?