The 12th Man

by Astrid Karlsen Scott

  His only hope now was to reach the larger island, VÅrøya. Jan believed it was the island straight ahead, if he remembered the map right. If he was unable to reach it, the current would force him down to Bromnes and toward Ringvassøy Island, which would mean certain death. He would rather drown than fall into German hands.

  As he realized how slowly he was moving, he tried to swim faster and harder, but his strokes became shorter and quicker. He was surrounded with black water; the current churned around him and formed large eddies which floated past him in the opposite direction. In spite of Jan’s expert swimming ability, he was in the midst of his life’s most grueling scuffle. He was about 25 feet from shore when his strength gave out. His muscles refused to function; they were stiff and they would not obey his strong mind. “Is this is how it will all end?” he asked himself.

  Jan became aware that he was still alive when his whole body went into spasms as he lay partially in the water with the upper part of his body over a low rock. He did not remember how he got there. The spasms seized him and the unbearable pain forced him to move up into a crawling position. He moaned and twisted and moved as fast as he could. Finally he forced himself to limp along and after a while, the spasms weakened. Jan flopped back down on the uneven rocks, but was only able to stay down for a couple of minutes. The cold was getting the upper hand. He forced himself to move again.

  Jan clutched the long dried up, ice-covered grasses and painstakingly pulled himself up again. VÅrøya Island was one of the smaller islands, midpoint in the sound between Rebbenes Island and Hersøya Island further east. VÅrøya’s low rolling hills were bare of trees and most other vegetation, and were uninhabited. The terrain was low, reaching only a height of about 150 feet. Jan hid himself in the hollows to stay out of the Germans’ sight. Though water streamed off his weary body, it wasn’t long before his uniform stiffened again as it froze.

  Jan forced his mind to concentrate, to think, and lay new plans. He ended up toward the east side of the island. Here he discovered yet another bay and another island toward the east. This surprised him. From his vantage point on the mountain plateau of Rebbenes Island it all looked like one large island. This bay was about 450 feet across, and he again noticed a strong current. The island ahead was much larger than the one he was on. In a cove he saw a compact two-story wooden house built on a slope and surrounded by a small field, not too far from the water’s edge. He remembered he had seen this house from the plateau in Rebbenes.

  VÅrøya Island. Arrow shows where Jan was picked up by Olaug and Dina.

  While he was taking it all in, a small rowboat came from the south on its way into the sound. Two people were aboard. Jan tensed. Coming from the south as it was, the boat surely could not be Germans looking for him. Yet Jan felt safest hiding. The boat glided past through Vargsundet Sound.

  Jan’s situation had deteriorated and seemed utterly irreversible. His hope of finding some help here on the island had been dashed. There was nothing for any human being here. Darkness was slowly but steadily moving in. Alone here on this island at the mouth of the Arctic Ocean, without any hope of warmth or shelter, it would be impossible to withstand the cold for many more hours. In spite of all the suffering he had experienced in the hours since the Germans overwhelmed them in Toftefjord, Jan knew what he had to do. He had to leave this island also - but how? Only frigid water with a strong current surrounded him.

  In the oncoming dusk, across the water, the Germans’ torches flickered back and forth, signaling each other. He wondered how much longer they would hunt him tonight – or did they even realize one man had escaped? While watching them, he felt the temperature drop by several degrees. Time was running out.

  Jan limped back and forth as best he could. He looked toward the newly-discovered island and the house. The current looked swift, but he had no choice. Warm rays of light cast their glow on the snow beneath the little windows and smoke had been visible from the chimney before the twilight shadows blocked the view. How comforting it would be to be dry and warm again. He had to act now! Slowly he crept over icy, slippery rocks and headed straight for the water’s edge.

  Suddenly Jan became aware of children playing close to the house, and he momentarily stopped and watched them. They were veiled in mist but their voices reached him. Yes! It was children’s voices. Deep emotion gripped him as he heard their playful sounds. A new thought formed in his mind. Maybe it would work?

  He had to be careful not to be seen or heard on Rebbenes Island behind him.

  “Ho, ho. Ho, ho!”

  “Ho, ho. Ho, ho!”

  One of the children heard him. She grabbed the arm of another. The playing stopped. All the children turned and looked toward him, or was he imagining? It was getting so dark it was difficult to see. But then the most delightful sounds reached him.

  “Ho-ho, Ho-ho!”

  It was nearly seven in the evening. Olaug and her cousin Dina thought it was Peder, Olaug’s brother who had returned from fishing, though they did not quite understand why he was over on VÅrøya Island. They left the other children, jumped into the rowboat, and headed out to pick him up.

  “Peder!” they called as they neared the island.

  “Ho -ho,” came the answer.

  They had almost reached the shore before they discovered that it was not Peder. The girls began to turn the boat around. They relaxed a little when the man spoke Norwegian.

  “Come back! I am not dangerous.” The stranger spoke with a southern dialect. They rowed to the shore and picked him up.

  Jan did not know it was possible to be so cold for this long and still live. His whole body shook violently as he crawled in the boat. His body began to cramp again and he massaged his arms and legs while the girls started to row. Jan took out his pistol and said, “Remember, if we are discovered before we reach the shore, it was I who forced you to row me across.” He patted his pistol and the teenage girls understood.

  From left, Olaug Idrupsen, Dina Pedersen, and Dagmar Idrupsen

  I venture to say no war

  can be long carried on

  against the will of the people.

  — Edmund Berke

  THE GESTAPO BRINGS TERROR

  MARCH 30, 1943: Amidst the fresh and transparent purity of the Arctic solitude on this idyllic spring afternoon in late March, the two youngest Idrupsen children, without knowing, used the splendor of the day to its fullest. They frolicked in the deep snow outside their home in Toftefjord. The fun the rosy-cheeked siblings shared eclipsed the chill of the wind brought in from the frigid iced-up fjord.

  The peaceful surroundings were disturbed only by the delighted squeals coming from seven-year old Halvor and his 12-year old sister Dagmar. Inside, close to the kitchen’s cozy-warm black wood stove, big sister Olaug was helping her mother with the dinner dishes; it gave them a chance to visit without interruptions from the younger children.

  The previous day, two men from the fishing vessel Brattholm, still anchored by the solitary island in the narrow fjord, had been ashore and visited them. Brattholm added to the tranquility of the day as it rolled in the gentle whitecaps. Chunks of broken off ice floated close up to the boat.

  The children playing on the lower hillside could easily see the movements on the deck and found it exciting to have this large fishing vessel so close at hand, and all to themselves.

  “Halvor, would it not be fun if the men returned and let us visit them on the boat?”

  “I am first,” Halvor demanded.

  Suddenly the humming of an engine from the fjord behind the headland reached the children. They leaped for joy; it was a boat and obviously it had to be Papa and their brother Idrup, the children believed, returning from the fishing grounds early. Papa always, on his return from his trips, brought a surprise package for the children, which made his returns even more exciting.

  The boat came into view, but it was not Papa’s. Rather, it was a huge, dark and threatening boat unknown to the children, outfitted
with bulky cannons, and soldiers with rifles on the deck. Dagmar supposed something was terribly wrong. The murky boat and the soldiers with their pointed rifles gave her an ominous feeling. She called for Halvor to come, grabbed his wrist and the two darted towards the house. She tore the kitchen door open, and they rushed in to the safety of their family.

  “Did you see your papa?” her mother asked, peering through the tiny kitchen window panes without really looking, at the same time pointing out at an angle toward the mouth of the fjord.

  “But Mama, can’t you see?” Dagmar’s frightened eyes and gestures startled her.

  The mother looked and saw - a German warship! She suddenly understood the connection between the fishing vessel and the warship and froze in place. She hardly had time to react before the shooting began.

  “They’re going to kill everyone!” the mother cried out in horror.

  The Idrupsens fled up the hillside behind their home.

  The family heard the cracking guns and shouts from terror-stricken men aboard the fishing vessel. Whining projectiles flew about. Haldis made a quick decision; they were leaving their home. Swiftly they grabbed only the most necessary clothes to ward off the cold. The children clustered about her as she fumbled to lock the door behind them. The family scattered and rushed, struggling up the craggy snow- covered hillside behind their house. Upward they climbed toward the plateau.

  The Idrupsens had only reached about halfway up the slope when a deafening explosion rolled over them coming from the fjord; the mountains, unable to hold the noise, sent it back out again over the fjord. The leafless birches all around them and up the other mountainsides encircling the fjord laid down flat as if a strong hurricane was blowing grass and lanky stemmed flowers that could not withstand the force. Burning oil barrels flew through the air like tiny toys, landing up in the mountain outcrops. Black smoke rose from where the fishing vessel had been anchored. It was gone! Several rowboats were in the water. Yells and shooting vibrated around the fjord that had stood undisturbed for thousands of years but now, in a flash, had been transformed into a burning combat zone. War had come to their tranquil Toftefjord.

  Halvor and Dagmar ran in front up the hillside. Olaug stayed back a little, and waited for her mother, fraught with fear and exhaustion. Once the roar eased and the echo silenced, they still heard thuds of wreckage fall to the earth. All the way up on the plateau some of the pieces fell.

  Haldis was breathless. Coming to a standstill, she sank down on a rock almost hysterical.

  “They have no consideration for others,” she cried. “We might as well give up, we’re all going to die!” Dagmar ran back down to her mother, trying with Olaug, to comfort her as best a 12-year old could. They steadied her between them and brought her, still sobbing now and then, up to the plateau.

  On the plateau, it was nearly flat and there were only patches of snow. They were able to hurry along. The family headed for the steep slope on the east side of Rebbenes. Across the Vargsund Sound, on the island of Hersøy, they had family. Aunt Anna Pedersen and her children lived there in a dark green wooden house.

  From the water’s edge, they could see Aunt Anna’s house on the other island. They jumped about, shouted, and waved their arms in hopes that somebody on Hersøy, a half mile away, would notice.

  Home with Anna Pedersen were her three children Ingvald, Ragnar and Dina. Her husband Hans, like most of the men around these islands, was away fishing in the Lofoten Islands. Anna and her family had heard the explosion and were extremely anxious to know how their family on Ringvassøy was. They kept looking out across the sound, hoping that somehow Haldis and the children would come into view. Joy surged through them when they did see their family waving from the other shore. Ragnar and Ingvald quickly ran down to the dock, scrambled into the rowboat and rowed to pick them up.

  Between sobs, Haldis and the children told of the happenings in Toftefjord. Anna Pedersen sickened as the story unfolded. Such horror was not known here among these peaceful islands. Though they were aware a war was raging in their country, up to now they had mostly been left untouched by it. Ingvald became anxious to get the whole story and rowed over to Bromnes to learn about the happenings of the last few days. He tied his boat to the dock in Bromnes. There he learned the fishermen aboard Brattholm had been betrayed by the merchant in Bromnes and reported to the sheriff at Karlsøy. Ivanna Pedersen, Anaton Pedersen’s widow, the man the saboteurs were supposed to have met up with, was furious. She said that had she known that these men would be informed on, she would have cut the telephone wire for Haakon Sørensen.

  The two women sat by the little kitchen table and over a cup of coffee spoke of the events that had just happened. They both felt comforted being together. Suddenly their lives had turned about, changing from serenity to fear and insecurity. If only their husbands had been home they could have drawn from their strength. Anna’s son, Ingvald, was still away at Bromnes, while the other cousins played together outside.

  “It’s amazing how children are able to regain their composure so quickly,” sighed Anna.

  They kept a lookout for Peder, Haldis’ son. He had been fishing, supposedly close to Rebbenes, when the fighting began in Toftefjord. No one knew where he could be found.

  A SICKENING FEAR

  MARCH 30, 1943: Small fishing vessels dotted Grøtsund Sound just outside of Toftefjord. Peder Idrupsen, Haldis’ son, was on one of them. The fishermen enjoyed the peaceful afternoon until two approaching German fighter planes and a bomber shattered the tranquility. Warning shots were fired at the fishermen at the mouth of the sound, driving them back into the fjord. Then the planes turned, headed into the inner fjord, and swooped down close to Peder. His nose filled with the exhaust and hurriedly he pulled his lines in and started rowing homeward. The planes flew away.

  When Peder reached the outcrop between Andammen Island and Toftefjord, he heard a loud, steady drone coming from the direction of BÅrdset Sound among the outer islands. A German Schnell-boat headed for Toftefjord! He felt sure there was a connection between the fishermen anchored close to his home and the warship. Soon shooting began and shortly afterwards, a deafening explosion. The racket echoed across the water and black smoke billowed skyward. It settled over Godstrandtinden Peak in the distance.

  Peder Idrupsen

  Concerned about his family, Peder rapidly rowed homeward. But a young girl from the only family living at Toftefjordnes came running down to the edge of the water, and screamed “Don’t go any further!”

  Peder set ashore. Borrowing binoculars, he ran to the nearest hilltop. All he could see in Toftefjord was the warship. Brattholm was gone! Several rowboats were in the fjord and it looked like the Germans had taken prisoners and were bringing them aboard the Schnell-boat. The fishing cutter had vanished. Peder stood and watched the warship leave Toftefjord.

  Soon after, he rowed home. Toftefjord and the beach, even the tree branches were littered with Brattholm’s wreckage. Myriads of cigarettes floated among the debris along the shoreline. Peder pulled his rowboat up on the rocky beach and sprinted toward his little home. On the way he saw several razors, pieces of wood and iron rods. All the windows were blown out in both his home and the nearby barn where the animals bleated their terror. The front door to the house was locked! They had never locked the door before. Peder ran around the house to the back. The back door was open, swinging on its hinges.

  Rushing into the house, Peder called for his family.

  “Mother! Olaug! I’m home! I’m home!” No answer. The only sound was the wind, still chill under winter’s grasp, rustling the curtains through the broken windows. The kitchen was in disarray and leftover dinner was scattered among broken dishes on the counter and the floor and kitchen chairs were turned over.

  Panic gripped Peder. “Where are my siblings and mother? Have the Germans taken them prisoner?”

  Everything had happened so quickly. There was no time to think or reason; he did not know where to turn. “May
be they had been able to escape? But where can I find them?”

  He pondered these questions as he walked among the wreckage scattered across their beach lot. The fjord was still filled with floating rubble. Now Peder noticed that even the surrounding mountains held scattered debris.

  A man came skiing down the mountainside, a friend from Leirstrand who was concerned about the family’s well being. Peder did not know what had happened to them but he had decided to row out to his aunt Anna Pedersen on Hersøy Island. The friend accompanied him.

  A WARM WELCOME ON HERSØY ISLAND

  Hersøy, March 30, 1943: Jan helped the girls secure the boat. “You’re so wet and cold. You’ve got to come home with us!” Dina pointed to the house Jan had seen from VÅrøya Island. “That’s my home.”

  Anna Pedersen and Haldis Idrupsen were horrified when they saw who the girls brought home.

  There were no questions. The women immediately knew where this man had come from. Like mothers know so well to do, they saw a need and went to work. A kettle of water was put on the stove to heat. Off came Jan’s navy uniform and the underwear. On went warm wool undergarments belonging to Anna’s husband. While Haldis rinsed Jan’s clothes out in water to get rid of the salt, Anna stoked the range with wood the children had brought. Soon the little kitchen heated up until it was nearly impossible to remain inside. The women massaged Jan’s arms and legs to start circulation, and then they cleaned and bandaged his foot.

  Anna Pedersen

  The women gave Jan a blanket to wrap around himself and hung his clothes to dry over the range. Jan recovered quickly and a spirited conversation ensued. He explained the fate of his comrades and the subsequent events. Children and adults listened horror-struck. The event could not be hidden from the children; they had heard the explosion and their cousins’ and aunt Haldis’ explanation.