Flames Over Norway

by Robert Jackson

  “Thanks. We will.” The Green Howard officer summoned a corporal and instructed him to take the two pilots to Major Stavely’s HQ. The river was still frozen over, and so presented no obstacle. Armstrong and Kalinski shook the subaltern’s hand and wished him good luck, with the certainty that he was going to need it.

  On the opposite slope the fire was beginning to die down as the wind, continuing to veer towards the north, shifted the path of the flames towards the open ground bordering the river bank. The smoke had served its purpose and the village had been taken with remarkably few casualties; in fact, Stavely wondered why the Germans had departed with such alacrity. He had expected them to put up stiffer resistance.

  “So that’s it,” he said, as the story told by the two pilots confirmed their earlier sighting of the approaching enemy force. “With reinforcements as close as that, they had no need to hold on to the village any more and risk further casualties. And, with tanks and artillery, the Huns can afford to bide their time; they can simply stand off and shell us out of our positions, and their isn’t a damned thing we can do about it.” His tone was understandably bitter.

  He turned to Captain Bush, who was in attendance. “Johnny, off you go and find Captain Jensen. Tell him to get that bloody train on the move, as fast as he can. If it’s still here in half an hour it will probably be blown off the track.” Bush nodded and left hurriedly. As an afterthought, he said to Armstrong, “You and Captain Kalinski had better go along with the train. There’s really nothing more you can do here. If you happen to bump into the rest of 148 Brigade, for God’s sake tell them to get a move on.”

  Armstrong knew that Stavely was right. The two airmen would be a hindrance rather than a help if they stayed. They bade farewell to the major and hurried off in the footsteps of his second in command.

  Only minutes after the departure of the train — an event viewed with much relief by Major Stavely — the Norwegian survivors of the action to the south of the valley began to filter back through the British positions. Exhausted and depleted though they were, they at once offered to join in the defence of Kvam. Stavely refused, recognizing that they had fought to the brink of their endurance, and ordered them back to the sawmill in the woodland clearing, with instructions that they were to be given hot food and time to rest. The weary men had scarcely cleared the area of the village when a German tank was sighted, nosing its way out of the woods about 2000 yards ahead of the forward defensive positions.

  From his observation post, Stavely could clearly see the enemy through the thinning smoke, which tended to cling to the valley floor. For that reason, he was worried in case the smoke might interfere with the field of fire of his outposts; however, it would hamper the enemy equally, if not more.

  Two more tanks emerged from the woods, followed by some artillery which was immediately wheeled into position on the river bank. Through his binoculars, Stavely could see groups of infantry, some in white smocks and others in standard issue field grey German uniforms, also moving into position under the concealment of the trees. Some scurried across the frozen surface of the river and went to ground beside the railway line. Of the trucks that had brought the infantry there was no sign; they would, he guessed, be held well back, just as his own were.

  Stavely swore under his breath. If he had possessed just one battery of 25-pounder field guns he could have blown the whole lot to kingdom come. As it was, he would have to sit tight and take whatever the enemy threw at him, waiting until their troops came within rifle shot.

  He had expected the German artillery, which he could now identify as 5.9 cm close support guns, to open fire at once. Instead, the three tanks came grinding forward slowly until they reached a dip in the ground, where they halted. Groups of infantry came on past them, advancing in short dashes along the fringe of the trees.

  In the forward slit trenches, the British troops waited until the enemy had come within a hundred yards. Then, with devastating effect, they opened fire. The Germans quickly withdrew, leaving a number of dead behind them. Then the enemy artillery opened up with a sustained and accurate artillery barrage.

  The next attack came from the high ground above the river, the Germans seeking to turn the flank of the defences. It was beaten off, but only at the cost of heavy casualties to the British.

  Through his binoculars, Stavely saw more enemy troops emerging from the woods, and knew that the Germans were committing everything they had to an all-out assault on Kvam before it grew dark. There was little he could do but pray for a miracle.

  It came in a thunder of engines, just as the enemy opened up with a renewed artillery barrage. Sweeping across the mountains, in two tight formations, came a dozen Skua dive-bombers. They seemed to know exactly where the enemy positions were. One by one, they peeled off and screamed down in their characteristic steep dive, each releasing a couple of 250 lb bombs before flattening out. Geysers of smoke, dirt, snow and fragments of trees erupted from the spot where the German guns were situated. Some of the aircraft dropped their bombs right on top of the enemy tanks, two of which were blown upside down. The third beat a hasty retreat, reversing into the shelter of the trees. Then, in turn, the Skuas dived down and strafed the enemy troops, driving them back along the river bank.

  As they formed up and flew away towards the coast, the pilot of the leading aircraft glanced back at the columns of smoke their bombs had created and smiled to himself. There was no greater satisfaction, thought Dickie Baird, than that which comes from a good job well done.

  *

  The train made its way slowly through the wreckage of Aandalsnes, finally drawing to a halt in a railway siding close to the harbour. Armstrong and Kalinski climbed down and watched as Norwegian troops marched off with the sullen-faced German prisoners.

  Captain Jensen also watched them go, his face split by a broad grin as he spotted a man approaching. The two shook hands warmly, and Armstrong noticed that the newcomer was a civilian. After exchanging some words with Jensen, he approached the two pilots and extended his hand to them, too.

  “Gentlemen,” he said in cultured English, “I should like to introduce myself to you. My name is Arne Oftedahl, of the Norwegian Foreign Office. You have risked your lives to assist us in our little subterfuge, and my country is grateful to you.”

  “Subterfuge?” Armstrong was as perplexed as his fellow pilot. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “No,” Oftedahl smiled, “I don’t suppose you do. Come with me, please.”

  He led them to the train, and a Norwegian soldier, obeying his command, slid open the door of one of the freight cars. They clambered inside, and stood looking at several wooden crates lying tightly up against one another. Oftedahl looked around, and his gaze fell on an axe fastened to a wall close to the door; Norwegian wood-burning trains were well-equipped with such implements.

  He tore it from its clips and swung it hard, its sharp blade shattering the lid of one of the wooden boxes. Pulling aside the splintered wood, he straightened up and gestured to Armstrong and Kalinski.

  “Go ahead,” he invited smilingly. “Help yourselves to Norway’s gold.”

  With some hesitation, Kalinski reached down and groped inside the remains of the crate. A moment later he turned to face Armstrong, an expression of utter bewilderment on his face as he hefted the bar that was in his hands.

  “Lead,” he murmured. “It’s lead. Just what in the name of heaven is going on?”

  “I shall explain,” Oftedahl said. “We were betrayed, you see. The traitor Quisling and his friends informed the enemy that we planned to move the gold to England. We knew that the Germans would do their utmost to seize it, so we let it slip that we were going to ship it out via Aandalsnes. We hoped that we would draw considerable enemy forces into this area, temporarily diverting the enemy’s attention from operations that were taking place elsewhere. I’m afraid that we had to mislead a number of people in the interests of security, including Colonel Gough, Captain Jensen — and, of
course, yourselves. I regret this very much, but it was necessary.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Armstrong said, with considerable feeling. “So where is the gold?”

  “The shipment was switched at Lillehammer,” Oftedahl told him. “It was then transported to another small port north of Namsos, one so unimportant that the Germans wouldn’t bother with it, and there it was transferred to a British cruiser. Only the highest-ranking Norwegian and British officials knew about the scheme. As an added bonus, the British Admiralty arranged for an aircraft-carrier to be standing by off Aandalsnes, with orders for its aircraft to attack the enemy forces which we knew would be searching for the train. I understand that they have already been in action, in support of British and Norwegian troops at Kvam.”

  Armstrong looked him in the eye. “I understand everything you’ve said. But tell me — it seems you’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to safeguard the gold shipment. After all, it could have been taken off at Aandalsnes, couldn’t it?”

  Oftedahl shook his head. “The risk was considered too great. You see, when the gold left Lillehammer it had an important travelling companion. At this very moment, en route to safety in England with his family and the gold, is His Majesty King Haakon of Norway.”

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