All found Jan’s good disposition following such a disaster amazing. He was able to both tease and laugh, and showed no sign of fear. “I‘ll be back in London celebrating in two weeks,” he joked. His upbeat mood was a completely natural occurrence. Known as psychological euphoria, it sometimes happens after a devastating experience such as Jan had suffered. But Jan felt the weight of the tragedy as well.
His main concern was for this caring family. He told them exactly what to say when the Germans came searching. Jan had no doubt they would come around, because of the Pedersens’ vicinity to Toftefjord. “And remember, I threatened you with my pistol to do as I commanded,” Jan said as he pointed to the pistol lying close by him on the kitchen table.
Anna’s son Ingvald returned from his row-trip to Bromnes. He gave the details of what he had learned and Jan understood why the Germans had launched the surprise attack against Brattholm.
Jan planned to leave as soon as his clothes dried. He had to protect this beautiful family even if they had no thought for themselves. Two of the older girls stood watch outside. Should someone approach they were to come in and give warning. Two boats arrived and docked. The girls ran in to warn Jan and he rushed outside and hid behind some large boulders. The first boat held friends of the family wanting to know if the Pedersen family was all right after the huge explosion. The second boat held Peder Idrupsen and his friend.
Peder left the man in the boat while he went to check on his aunt and her family. On the way up to his aunt’s house, his cousin Ingvald ran to meet him.
“Who is the man in the boat?”
“Just a friend from Leirstrand.”
“Hurry! Take him away. We have one of the escapees from Brattholm here!”
Just then Peder saw Jan pop his head out behind one of the rocks. Peder hurried back to the dock.
“Thank goodness Mother and all the others are here. They are just fine. I’ll take you back to Leirstrand.” Peder untied the boat stepped in and rowed off.
Once Jan was back inside, Anna found him a pair of socks and an old seaman’s boot that fit his wounded right foot. Jan kept the military boot; it would not be as slippery.
He discussed with Ingvald and Ragnar how to best continue his escape. They decided that Ingvald would row Jan the nearly two miles to Mikkelvik on Ringvassøy Island. The family sketched out a map for him and gave him information about people they knew along the chosen route. They told Jan who was trustworthy, where the Nazis lived, and the built-up areas he should avoid. Jan memorized the map and burned it. Around 1 a.m. he left with Ingvald.
“Tusen, tusen takk,” thousands and thousands of thanks. “No words can express my deep gratitude for all you have done for me. I promise you, I’ll never be caught. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Be careful, Jan. Remember who to stay away from.”
“So long.”
Ingvald and Jan slipped down to the dock and set out into the fjord in silence. There was no place to hide out on the open water. The thump of the oars echoed across the channel. This late in the year, even at the hour they had chosen, the Arctic night was only murky gray when the sky was fairly clear as it was tonight. If the Germans were still out hunting an escapee, their chances of success were good this evening.
Toftefjord, March 31, 1943: In the wee hours of the morning, Haldis Idrupsen and her children left for home shortly after Ingvald left with Jan. Haldis was appalled at the sight of her home. With all the windows broken, the cottage was ice cold and in total chaos. Their home was wrecked, but under the circumstances they had so much to be grateful for. They still had each other.
The night was a sleepless and uncomfortable one for the Idrupsen family. Early in the morning they heard a large boat. They woke each other and rushed to the glassless windows.
“German soldiers! They are returning!”
The terror-stricken children began to cry. The horrors of yesterday were still too vivid in their innocent minds. They watched the soldiers lower a small skiff and approach the house. Soon they banged on the door with a gun butt.
“Guten morgen!”
“Come in.” Haldis replied. Her offer was rejected – the family was ordered outside. Peder placed himself close to his mother to protect her. The Germans had brought a translator and began their interrogation. They wanted to know all the family knew.
“Are you aware that one man from Brattholm escaped?
“No.”
“When is the next boat from England expected in Toftefjord?”
“We don’t know anything,” answered Haldis.
“I don’t know of any boats. Don’t you think one is more than enough?” interrupted Peder. The officer in charge gave him an icy stare. He left no doubt that such a rash remark was received with disdain. Haldis nudged her son. Both shuddered unnoticed.
The soldiers searched the house and the barn. Behind the door in the cow barn Haldis’ husband Hans kept his rifle and a shotgun. The soldiers did not discover it.
The family breathed a sigh of relief when the Germans returned to the warship.
Peder was frightened at the thought of their return. The following day he took his father’s guns, rowed far out into the fjord, and threw them overboard. They could not take any chances.
TROMSØ HAPPENINGS
THE NORWEGIAN Navy had worked to build up intelligence services along the coast in northern Norway as early as the summer of 1940. Editor Oscar Larsen in the newspaper Tromsø had heard rumors about this. He realized the importance of building an intelligence service before the Gestapo was able to infiltrate the population.
One day in the late summer of 1940, Larsen gathered several prominent persons in Tromsø to a secret meeting in his home. Eight men were present including Larsen, editorial secretary Tor Knudsen and department head Kaare Moursund. The men discussed how to build a resistance group and what they could do.
Knudsen and Moursund became two of the most actively involved people in building up the resistance movement. Before long, they had organized several smaller resistance groups throughout the Troms District. Knudsen and Moursund were responsible for collecting funds for needed activities, including the printing and distribution of underground newspapers, the installation of clandestine radio transmitters, and the establishment of lines of communication in the Tromsø region.
In the spring of 1941 a radio transmitter was opened in the attic of the office building of the Tromsø newspaper. Telegrapher Egil Lindberg attended the station. Later it was moved to the attic at Tromsø Merchant Bank. The bank was located about 20 feet from the Gestapo headquarters in Bankgaten 13. The problem was that the street lamps flickered each time the telegraph keys clicked. The transmitter was again moved, this time to the tower at the Tromsø Hospital.
One evening in the late fall of 1942, a man rang Kaare Moursund’s doorbell. The man introduced himself as Erik Reichelt. He said he had just arrived from London. Moursund’s wife and medical student Sverre Sandmo were present at the time, and Tor Knudsen had dropped in for a cup of coffee.
Reichelt was originally from the Skien district, and he had come to Tromsø to gather information. He was interested in what the people in the area felt about the occupation authorities, and what the mood was among the Norwegians in the Troms District. He was particularly interested in learning about the mine fields in Kvalsund, Langsund and Malangen. These were the most important gateways to Tromsø. Moursund promised Reichelt he’d contact the pilots aboard the local boats to learn more about the mine fields. The discussions lasted about two hours before everyone went his own way. Reichelt never mentioned a word about the planned Brattholm expedition that would arrive only four months later.
FATE OF THE BRATTHOLM MEN
TROMSØ, MARCH 30, 1943: Per Blindheim was killed at Toftefjord. Skipper Kvernhellen had been able to hide for some time, but was eventually captured before the warship sailed out of the fjord.
When the Schnell boat arrived in Toftefjord and the shooting battle bega
n, Sheriff Hoel had become quite disturbed and retired below deck. He was still aboard as the warship made its way up the fjord to the Tromsø docks with the men captured from the ill-fated mission in Toftefjord.
The city of Tromsø lies three hundred and fifty miles north of the Arctic Circle; heavy snows of several feet cover the city during winter each year. Tromsø is sometimes called the capital of northern Norway; it is also known as the Gateway to the Arctic.
Today, seagulls squawked and played in the air beneath the somber clouds, then hung suspended as if this was an ordinary day. A few nervous but curious people watched from a distance as the Schnell boat docked, and the longshoremen, noticing something unusual happening, paused in their work.
Two ambulances slowly rolled down the cobblestone streets and stopped on the dock. Near the ambulances, a German Gestapo officer stepped out from a black car adorned with swastika flags flying from short poles mounted on each front fender. Dressed in mossy green vestment, officer’s cap with black brim and the German eagle, a double-breasted long wool coat, shiny black high boots and leather gloves, he paced back and forth. Stopping at intervals, he tapped the leather gloves in his right hand over his left wrist, carefully watching the happenings.
A few German soldiers carried two stretchers up the lowered gangplank. They returned with Eskeland and Reichelt fastened to each stretcher with heavy straps. The instant the doors of the waiting ambulances slammed shut with the stretchers and their cargo, they sped off to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital. The Gestapo officer rushed back to his car and ordered the driver to follow them.
Gestapo Headquarters in Tromsø
Eight disheveled prisoners chained together and under heavy guard appeared at the head of the gangplank. Ordered down to the dock, they were loaded into the waiting canvas-covered truck and taken to Gestapo headquarters at Bankgaten 13. Gestapo agents were waiting for them.
Numerous Gestapo agents worked at the headquarters in Tromsø. Men and women imprisoned by the Gestapo agonized about their upcoming treatment, knowing full well the Gestapo’s lack of pity for prisoners. Before interrogation, they rehearsed the answers to the assumed questions in their mind, and could but hope they would be believed.
Two of the Gestapo agents at the headquarters were more feared and detested than all the rest. One, a short, slight man named Kneiser, was known to be extremely cunning in his interrogation of the prisoners, constantly laying shrewd traps.
The other Gestapo agent’s name was Adam Schmidt. A man of a totally different sort, stocky and only about five feet tall, Schmidt’s lopsided flat face was framed by thick dark blond hair. Some said his face reminded them of a flounder. He was an uncouth boor who took pleasure in torturing prisoners. No method was too grisly for Schmidt, the most hated of all Gestapo agents in Tromsø.
The men from Brattholm were interrogated individually. Crewmember Sjur TrovÅg was the first. Three grim-looking agents were stationed around the room. Schmidt, with his crooked false smile, bid him welcome as he strutted around his desk and pointed for him to sit down in the chair held out for him. Schmidt offered Sjur some candy. The Norwegian shook his head. Schmidt’s face turned red; with his eyes flashing, he clenched his fist and lunged out toward Sjur, jamming his fist into his face. The young man flew backward out of the chair and slammed into the wall behind him. The three other Gestapos in the room pounced on him, kicking and beating until Sjur was nearly unconscious. They grabbed him by his arms and legs and dragged him through the door and down the narrow steps into the dingy basement. Unbolting the cell door they threw him like a potato sack into the over-crowded cell that held most of the other Brattholm men. No one mistook the Gestapo’s intent; they wanted the other men to know what was in store for them upstairs. Sjur’s swollen face and hoarse moaning filled his cellmates with dread.
St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, March 30, 1943: Followed by the Gestapo car, the two ambulances delivered Erik Reichelt and Sigurd Eskeland to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital. Sigurd had been shot in the thigh. Erik, with grenade fragments in his stomach and a broken finger, was so seriously ill that his doctor, a courageous man, refused Gestapo agent Adam Schmidt and his cohorts permission to interrogate him. Schmidt and his men left in a huff, but made it very plain they would return soon, no matter how sick Reichelt was. The wounded saboteurs were placed on the second floor of the hospital and soldiers with automatic weapons were stationed in front of their rooms.
The Gestapo had knowledge of Erik Reichelt’s contacts with the resistance leaders on his earlier trips to Tromsø. Because of this, his treatment was more vicious than what the other Brattholm men received. The Gestapo agents put him through barbarous torture hoping he would reveal secrets to them.
Tromsø, March 31, 1943: The day following the battle in Toftefjord, Haakon Sørensen and Sheriff Hoel were summoned to appear at Gestapo Headquarters in Tromsø. They gave a complete report and Sørensen also explained that the men from Brattholm were referred to the two half-brothers at Grøtøy. These two were quickly arrested and brought to Gestapo Headquarters.
After Sørensen and Sheriff Hoel explained the happenings to the Gestapo, they were told they were to stay until the following day. The Gestapo summoned them once again. As a reward for work well done, each one was given a large crate of food, 30 packages of cigarettes, cured sausages, coffee, butter and ten bottles of hard liquor. In addition, Sheriff Hoel received 500 kroner and Sørensen was rewarded with 5000 kroner.
Sørensen felt uneasy about taking the gifts. He was told that refusal would be understood as a demonstration. He took the gifts.
Both men returned to Sheriff Hoel’s home on Karlsøy after leaving the Gestapo headquarters. Sørensen remained until the following day because the weather was too stormy to return to Bromnes. In the evening they tasted some of the liquor.
St. Elizabeth Hospital, Tromsø, April 1, 1943: Schmidt and his men returned to the hospital. A terrified hush filled the hospital corridors as personnel and guards were rushed off the floor. The Gestapo interrogated Sigurd in the bathroom, but Erik, too ill to be moved, was interrogated in bed. A short, suspense-filled time passed, then Erik’s spine-chilling screams pierced through bone and marrow of all who heard them. He had nothing to tell the Gestapo despite their inhumane torture.
Reichelt’s heart-wrenching outcry and suffering meant nothing to Schmidt and his agents as they tormented him for several hours without compassion. They had only one mission: gathering information. Since the Germans had for some time been convinced that the Allied invasion would happen in northern Norway, Adam Schmidt believed that the Brattholm men might hold the key that would unlock some of the enemy’s ambitions. Therefore, no punishment was too brutal or too drawn out - no sacrifice too exacting to get the information he desired.
When the Gestapo agents left the hospital, the nurses rushed to Erik’s side. They found him, lying on bed linens soaked with blood. His face was swollen and misshapen. He had received several blows to his face and thick needles had been forced underneath his fingernails, leaving deep bloody grooves that had turned purplish-black.
Erik was in a daze, and no doubt realized that his life was coming to a close. Turning to one of the nurses, he whispered, “please send greetings to everyone at home.”
Tromsø, Evening, April 1, 1943: Moursund and Knudsen, the resistance leaders Reichelt had met with a few months earlier in Tromsø, were rounded up in their homes. Schmidt and Kneiser interrogated both. The two prisoners had agreed beforehand, to concede to the Germans all the information they knew they already had, if they were taken prisoner. Moursund and Knudsen knew everything and everyone involved with the resistance movement in Tromsø and the surrounding area. Their hope was to pacify the Germans so as to escape torture and not be forced to reveal other secret information that would put many other lives at stake. Most likely the Gestapo agents became perplexed over their responsiveness because the men were not tortured.
Tromsø, April 2, 1943: Early in the morning, 20 Norwegian pris
oners who were incarcerated at Krøkkebærsletta, a German internment camp in Tromsø, were summoned for a special assignment. They were ferried across Tromsøy Sound, herded into a canvas-covered truck and driven to the Gestapo headquarters in downtown Tromsø. Ordered inside, they each were given a long-handled shovel. Led back outside, they were rounded up and pushed back into the truck, which set off for the Njord factory on the outer edge of Tromsø.
As the truck came to an abrupt stop, the prisoners were ordered out. Soldiers with machine guns stood ready. The officer yelled for them to head in the direction of the rifle range at GrønnÅsen, several hundred yards away. Dressed in rags, the prisoners sank into the wet snow and labored to advance uphill lifting, and sometimes dragging, their spades along with them.
Situated on a steep hill, the rifle range was covered in part by marshland with numerous dwarfed deciduous trees, mainly birch. From here, one could view Tromsøy Sound and the lofty mountain ranges across the fjord. At the foot of the mountains in Tromsdalen Valley, the closely-built wooden homes came into view among the evergreens and the white snow. It was a majestic panorama, but not one the prisoners paid attention to.
The twenty prisoners struggled to keep their composure. When ordered to dig a large grave, to a man they thought it was for them. The strong tried in their way to encourage the weaker.
“Don’t worry, they have no reason to kill us.”
“And if they do, let’s not give them the satisfaction of seeing our fear.”
“If they kill us, I guess that’s our fate,” another chimed in.
When told that the grave had to fit eight bodies, the prisoners were both bewildered and relieved. One prisoner then recalled a conversation overheard when the spades were handed out.
The 12th Man Page 8