Flames Over Norway

by Robert Jackson

  “Did you see anything on your recce?” Gough asked. “We are desperate for information about what’s happening between here and Lillehammer.”

  “I went as far as Kvam,” Armstrong told him. “It looks as though the village is in enemy hands. At any rate, I was fired on. My guess is that they’ve dropped some paratroops. I saw some on the road, and they seemed to be wearing white camouflage overalls.” He fished in the pocket of his fleece-lined flying jacket and pulled out the crumpled map. “There’s a spur line just here,” he said, his finger indicating the spot. “It disappears into the trees, and if you look closely you’ll see a cluster of buildings in this clearing. There were people there, too, and some of them waved. Pulling all the threads together, it’s my guess that our missing train is hidden somewhere up that line.”

  “Did you see anything — anything at all — to indicate whether the train might have been captured?”

  The pilot shook his head. “No. But then, I’m not even sure that it’s there at all. I’m just going on guesswork. I’d hoped that Captain Kalinski might have been able to find out more. The Spitfire’s speed doesn’t give one time to make much of an assessment.”

  Gough nodded, and spent a few moments deep in thought, his chin resting on his hand. Then his head came up and he looked at each man in turn. His earlier look of anxiety, Armstrong noted, had been replaced by one of firm decision.

  “Right. We’ve wasted enough time here. Nip into that room there —” he pointed to a door that stood ajar “— and give me a minute to contact the Brigade Commander. Then we’ll hold a council of war.”

  Armstrong and Kalinski went through into the small room, and saw at once that it must be the head teacher’s office. There were bookshelves around the walls, and a globe stood on a pedestal in one corner. The centrepiece was a large desk.

  “I wonder where they keep the cane?” Armstrong muttered. Kalinski looked at him, puzzled, and then smiled in understanding. “In Poland we use the birch,” he said. “Maybe in Norway the children are all well-behaved.”

  After a few minutes Colonel Gough entered the room, followed by two British Army officers: he introduced them as Major Stavely of the Green Howards and Captain Bush of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

  “Very well,” Gough said, once the brief formalities had been completed, “here’s the picture. Where’s that map of yours, Armstrong? It’s the only decently detailed one we’ve got.”

  Armstrong unfolded the map and smoothed it out on the desktop. Gough tapped his finger on the Gudbrandsdal, frowning, and moved it on to Lillehammer.

  “By now, 148 Brigade should have been well on its way to relieve the Norwegians here,” he said, “but it isn’t. The main problem is a shortage of transport, both road and rail, and of course the confusion created by the air raid hasn’t helped. Now, 148 Brigade is assembling and will advance on Dombaas as soon as sufficient transport is available, but from the information supplied by Flight Lieutenant Armstrong the Germans may be on the way to beating us to it. The Norwegians are still holding on at Lillehammer, but by all accounts they’ve about had it, and may well cave in before 148 Brigade gets through to them.”

  His finger retraced the course of the railway line from Dombaas to its terminus at Aandalsnes.

  “The only troops we have in position so far along the line,” he continued, “are the Royal Marines, bless ’em, who are holding key points between Verma and Lesja, this side of Dombaas. Their function is not offensive; it is to defend the approaches to Aandalsnes along the Gudbrandsdal. There is also a single Norwegian battalion a few miles to the south, which is being slowly reinforced by militia, or so I am led to believe.”

  He gazed at the two Army officers. “That’s it, in essence. Now, what I want you to do is to take two companies by road through to Kvam as a spearhead force for 148 Brigade. I have cleared this with the Brigade Commander. Upon reaching Kvam, your first task will be to eliminate any enemy troops you may find there, and to secure a train which we believe may be concealed in the woods, just here. Once you have dealt with the Germans, your only priority will be to ensure that this train remains in our hands. When you are relieved by the rest of 148 Brigade — and I hope that this will only take a matter of hours — you will escort the train back here, to Aandalsnes.”

  The two officers looked at one another in perplexity. Armstrong smiled inwardly, certain that they were going to ask the same question he had put to Gough soon after his arrival at Lesjaskog. He was right, but he was wrong in his assumption about what Gough’s answer would be.

  “Well,” the Colonel said, “I don’t suppose it can do any harm to put you fully in the picture. After all, the Germans would appear to know what the train contains. But mind you — not a word to anyone else outside this room.”

  Briefly, Gough told them the story of the train’s cargo. When he had finished, they looked at him in utter silence. Major Stavely was the first to break it. He cleared his throat. “Did you say fifty-five million dollars, sir?”

  Gough nodded. “That is correct, Major. About eleven million pounds Sterling, but worth far more to the Nazi war effort if they get their hands on it.”

  “Good Lord! I could buy Yorkshire with that,” Bush exclaimed. Gough smiled thinly. “No doubt. Captain. A fair slice of it, at least. So now you will appreciate how important it is for us to get that gold out of the country. We have to assume the worse case — that Norwegian resistance will collapse because we simply can’t provide enough assistance, and that the country will be quickly overrun. I hope it won’t come to that, but we can’t afford to take chances. There’s a fast cruiser standing by offshore to take the gold on board, and has been for the past couple of days. I can tell you that her skipper is far from happy; the Germans have had a go at bombing him twice already. That’s all — except for one thing. I am assigning Captain Kalinski and his aircraft to you for observation duties. Make the most of him — his is the only observation aircraft we have left.”

  Kalinski stepped forward and clicked his heels, a difficult exercise in flying boots. “There is just one thing, Colonel,” he said. “I no longer have an observer. He was killed in the attack on the lake.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gough said with sincerity. “We shall have to find you a replacement for him.”

  “There’s no need, sir,” Armstrong interjected. “I’ll fly with the Captain. After all, I haven’t got an aircraft of my own any more.”

  “Thank you, Flight Lieutenant. I’m grateful to you. It remains only for me to wish you the very best of luck. Report back to me as soon as you can. I fear we may not have much time.”

  They saluted and left the room. Gough sighed heavily and sat down at the big desk, letting his thoughts run on for a while, trying to put events so far into perspective. It had been no easy task to land the Allied forces at Aandalsnes, nor for that matter at Namsos on the other side of Trondheim. Despite the fact that many of their officers were inexperienced, the troops had responded magnificently to their task; not only had they got ashore, but they had succeeded in obliterating all traces of their landing in record time, even though they had the benefit of only about three hours of darkness. Consequently, there had been a period of respite before the German reconnaissance aircraft discovered what was going on, and called in the bombers.

  But the troops lacked all the essentials of equipment with which to fight a winter war. They had no skis, and even if these had been available the troops were not trained to use them. Some French Chasseurs Alpins who had been put ashore at Namsos were equipped with skis, and would have been invaluable except that some quartermaster had neglected to pack the straps with which to attach the skis to their feet, without which they were completely useless. They normally used mules for transport in the mountains, but these had not turned up in Norway either.

  The British troops had been issued with fur coats, special boots and socks to ward off the cold. The only problem was that the kit was so cumbersome that it was quite im
possible to fight in it. As one of Gough’s fellow officers put it, the men looked like paralyzed bears.

  As for the deployment of tanks, heavy artillery and supporting aircraft, thought Gough, there was no problem at all, because there were none.

  The RAF’s fighter force, pitifully small to start with, was now reduced to two or three machines that had survived the attack on the frozen lake, and even they were starved of fuel.

  Deep down, Gough knew that the Allied expedition to Norway was not going to succeed. It had never had any hope of succeeding. But it had to try.

  At the other end of the Gudbrandsdal, similar thoughts were passing through the mind of General Ruge, the Norwegian commander. The situation of his forces was becoming increasingly desperate. Four columns of German troops, equipped with tanks and artillery and constantly supported from the air, were pushing rapidly north, constantly outflanking the gallant but inexperienced Norwegian forces that tried to block their path.

  Already — it was now 18 April — the enemy had advanced along the Glomma valley and taken Elverum, near the Swedish border. A second column captured Hamar, midway along the eastern shore of Lake Mjosa, on the same day. Across the lake, below Gjorvik, the enemy were advancing on Raufoss, bent on capturing the only munitions factory that still remained in Norwegian hands.

  To the west, the Germans were making a rapid advance along the east bank of the Randsfjord, putting them in a position from which they could outflank the whole of Ruge’s defences around Mjosa. With the last of his reserves committed and his men exhausted, rapid reinforcement by the Allies was the general’s only remaining hope.

  So it was that, when a messenger arrived from the telephone exchange with the news that an Allied force had left Aandalsnes and was heading into the Gudbrandsdal, Ruge’s spirits soared.

  “At last!” he exclaimed. “How many troops?”

  The messenger hesitated before replying. “I fear — less than two hundred, General,” he said lamely, knowing what the effect would be.

  General Ruge slumped in a chair and buried his face in his hands. Up to a moment ago, his heart had been filled with hopelessness. Now there was nothing but bitterness.

  *

  The two companies of troops reached Dombaas as Norway’s brief night was falling to find the town in ruins. Norwegian troops, civilians and some Royal Marines were moving among the smouldering wreckage of once-neat homes. The British soldiers were aghast at the devastation, and willingly set about helping wherever and however they could. Major Stavely, their commander, noticed that the townspeople virtually ignored the new arrivals, and wondered why. Then he realised that the answer was simple. They were in a state of shock, still unable to comprehend the disaster that had overwhelmed their peaceful existence.

  “Air attack,” explained a Royal Marines lieutenant simply. “We were at Lesja, a few miles up the road, and we saw them going in. Funny thing,” he added, waving a hand at the destruction, “the Jerries missed both the road and the railway line. You’d almost think it was intentional.”

  “It would be,” Stavely told him. “They’ll need to keep both intact if they’re planning on driving towards the coast, which no doubt they are.”

  He glanced at his watch. His column had made good progress, so he decided to remain at Dombaas for an hour or so to let his men go on helping with cleaning the place up. Besides, he thought, they could do with a brew. After that they would press on towards Kvam, which was still some 30 miles distant, and halt at a place called Kjorem, which according to the map was about five miles short of the main objective. He would then advance on Kvam at first light, for he had no wish to go blundering into trouble in the dark.

  At Kvam, Major Hahn was also anticipating first light, but for a different reason. His signaller had finally managed to establish contact with advance units of the German forces on the offensive in the Lillehammer area, and he had been advised that a second airdrop would take place in the morning, this time to the south of the valley. With this reinforcement, he would not only be able to take his principal objective — the train, around which the Norwegians were still keeping his men pinned down — but also form a much stronger blocking position than he had at first anticipated. In his mind’s eye, he could already see the Führer hanging the Ritterkreuz — perhaps even a higher decoration — around his neck.

  A few miles to the west, the Allied convoy was moving steadily along the tortuous road through the Norwegian night that was not really night at all, for there was no darkness such as the men were used to in more southerly climes. But it was enough to shelter them from the prying eyes of German reconnaissance aircraft, and Major Stavely was convinced that with luck, his small force would achieve the desired element of surprise.

  The trucks reached Kjorem before daybreak and Stavely ordered the Norwegian drivers to pull the vehicles off the road into the shelter of the trees. Concealing the vehicles did not present a problem, for the woods were dense. He also ordered the troops to strip off their cumbersome winter clothing and stow it on the trucks. The men would fight the coming battle in light webbing: belt, braces and ammunition pouches. Stavely was concerned that his troops were very lightly armed; apart from rifles and Brens, they had only two 3-inch mortars and a solitary 25-mm Hotchkiss anti-tank gun. It would have to do.

  Leaving the trucks in charge of their uncomplaining Norwegian drivers, Stavely led his men towards Kvam, filtering through the woods in small groups under a gradually lightening sky. It was heavy going, for the snow was deep in places between the pines, and despite the cold the troops were soon sweating, grateful that they were no longer burdened by heavy clothing. It took them three hours, with several halts on the way, before Stavely’s map told him that they were within three-quarters of a mile of Kvam. Ordering another halt, he crept forward with an NCO, Sergeant Neesham, to ascertain what might lie ahead.

  They had gone barely 100 yards when a machine-gun chattered, frighteningly close. Both men threw themselves flat in the snow and lay there, breathing hard, before daring to raise their heads slightly.

  It was a trail of smoke, drifting through the trees, that drew their attention to the weapon’s position. It fired again, loosing off two short bursts at some unseen target up the slope. A crackle of rifle shots answered it, and a ricochet whined away between the tree-trunks.

  Stavely had left orders with Captain Bush to bring up the rest of the men if there was any hint of trouble, and was about to send Neesham back to make sure that they advanced cautiously, without being seen, when he saw Bush himself crouching behind a tree only a few yards back. Seeing that his superior officer had spotted him, Bush kitten-crawled through the snow until he lay alongside. Panting, with the effort, he whispered: “There’s a Norwegian officer back there with us, sir. His scouts have been shadowing us for ages; wanted to make certain whose side we were on. The train’s here all right, up there in the woods, and he’s in charge of it. Those are Jerry paratroops up ahead; he says his men have captured a few. There are others in Kvam village.”

  “Does he know how many machine-guns?” Stavely whispered back.

  “Just one here, sir, but others in the village. Mortars, too.”

  “Right. Let’s deal with this lot first. Are the men coming up?”

  “Already moving into position, sir.”

  “Good. I want two Brens up here right away. We’ll get that MG out of the way first. Nip back to our Norwegian chum, and tell him to go back to his train. When he hears the grenade go off, I want his chaps to open up with everything they’ve got. Five minutes from now, OK?” Bush nodded, consulting his watch, and slipped away.

  The two Bren gunners arrived — making enough noise to wake the dead, in Stavely’s opinion, although there was no sign that their approach had been detected by the enemy — and he urgently motioned them under cover. They lay prone, their weapons cocked and ready, sighting on targets they could not see as yet.

  Stavely concentrated on his wrist-watch, seeing the second hand mo
ve around the face with painful slowness. At last, it reached the vertical.

  “Now, Sergeant,” the officer said quietly.

  Neesham had been clutching a Mills bomb for some time, ready primed with its pin removed. An expert grenade thrower, he half rose and hurled the bomb at the spot where he had pinpointed the enemy machine-gun. There was a flash and a puff of smoke, followed instantly by the crack of the explosion and an almost simultaneous screaming that jarred Stavely’s nerves. He had never heard a noise like it, a raw mixture of pain, shock, disbelief and naked terror.

  “Fire!” he roared at the top of his voice.

  From positions up the slope, where the train was concealed, and from the flank, bullets raked the Germans where they lay in shallow foxholes among the trees. Beside Stavely, the two Brens stuttered, chopping at the enemy in short bursts. For a while the Germans returned the fire, but then, realizing that their position was no longer tenable, Baumer, their NCO, gave the order to withdraw. White-clothed figures leaped to their feet and flitted away through the trees, making for the village. The bullets sought some of them out and they fell headlong, but the majority got away.

  “Well,” Stavely said to Bush a few minutes later, as the Norwegians set about the grim task of collecting the dead and wounded Germans, “now they know we’re here. Let’s hope we can flush the rest out before their pals come up the road. And for God’s sake, somebody tell the Norwegians to get this damned train ready to move.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The valley reverberated to the rattle of gunfire and the explosions of mortar bombs. Aided by the Norwegians, Major Stavely had deployed his men as expertly as possible around Kvam, completely surrounding the village, and had also positioned platoons on either bank of the River Laagen and on the island that divided it, on guard for enemy forces approaching from the east.

  He had quickly come to realize that whoever commanded the German paratroops was no novice, which of course Major Hahn was not. The German had not wasted time; he had turned the village into a formidable strongpoint, setting his men to felling trees in order to provide the houses with extra protection and to construct solid mortar pits. His machine-guns commanded a wide field of fire, covering every angle of approach.