“What’s the matter with you? This isn’t like you, Håkon,” said the spy.
“Sorry. I told you this isn’t a good time for me.”
“Listen here. I don’t appreciate being turned down. You’ll come or else. This is war and you know things just happen. You know what I mean?” Håkon was not quite sure what the spy meant, but with a family, he didn’t want to take any chances.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to do my work later. I didn’t realize how important it was to you that I’d come along.” Håkon said he would come along whatever day he needed him.
Later the spy sent a report to the German headquarters in Tromsø with information he had gathered about the Brattholm affair. He made his co-workers on the wood-collecting jaunt, including Håkon Heika, sign the report. The spy expressed afterwards that he felt the Heikas had acted strange on that particular visit, but was unable to ascertain what caused this.
When the spy finally left the Heika family, they were concerned, and didn’t know what to do about Jan. When he was brought down, it was all too clear to the Heikas and to Jan that he had to escape while he still had the chance.
Again Jan had been spared disaster. All were relieved that the second floor ceiling had not creaked while the informer was present, and that the children never said a word, nor made a slip about Jan’s presence in the house. It was also a godsend that the spy left in the direction he had come without milling about the farm. He could have discovered Jan’s tracks leading down from the mountains.
Jan spent a few more hours with the Heika family.
“We know you’re anxious to leave Jan, but you have to wait until the snowdrifts start up again before you continue on to Bjørnskar,” Marineus, Håkon’s brother explained. “I will walk with you down to the beach,” he offered.
“See, what happens here in this sector of Langsund, is that the snowdrifts, at this time of the year, begin instantly as if dropped from the sky.” Håkon clarified. “The snow will only last ten or twenty minutes, then the horizon will suddenly clear, only to start up again within a short while.” The Langsund Sound was fairly narrow around Kopparelv.
“Should someone across the fjord be looking out a window with binoculars, questions could arise about the strange man who left the Heika home with Marinius and headed down toward the beach,” Magna laughed. “And soon the telephone wires would heat up.”
In isolated areas like these, any exception to the daily routine raises the curiosity level, and particularly so during wartime. The questions might be innocent, without malice, but in the end they would have the same devastating result. Jan’s flight would be in the open, and it would only be a matter of time until the Germans learned of it.
“As soon as you notice the snowdrift clearing, drop down and curl up behind a rock if possible, or prostrate yourself flat on the beach and do not move a muscle until the snow starts up again,” warned Håkon.
“You’ve all been so wonderful. I hope you’ll be safe. Many, many thanks.”
“We wish you God’s speed.”
With a few sandwiches in his pockets, and directions on how to reach Bjørneskar, Jan was ready to leave the comforts and the warmth of the Heika family.
“Now is the time, Jan. Let’s hurry! These snowdrifts will cover us.” Marinius had watched for the weather change through the window. The men set off down toward the beach.
BJØRNSKAR
APRIL 3, 1943: Jan felt energized when he left the Heika house. Twilight and the driving snow gave him and Marinius Heika good cover on their way to the shore.
“Here we are. Just follow the water’s edge and you will reach Bjørnskar before too many hours,” said Marinius.
“Many thousands of thanks, I…”
“Nonsense. No problem, we were happy to help. Hurry while you have the snow cover, Jan. And all good luck to you.” Marinius enfolded Jan’s hand in his and shook it warmly.
“All good to you and yours, and again a thousand thanks.” Jan turned toward Bjørnskar.
The weather, as Håkon had warned, changed between thick snowdrifts and sudden cessations. He took care to lie down quiet as soon as the thick snow let up, hoping to blend in with the rocks. The episode with the spy at the Heika home made him aware of how vulnerable he was. He was willing to take his time to get to Bjørnskar because he knew carelessness would carry a high price. Soon it would be dark and the seven miles along the shoreline to Bjørnskar seemed an easy undertaking compared with traversing the deep snow up and down mountainsides and over plateaus. The snowdrifts and large rocks were probably the best possible camouflage he could have until total darkness set in.
The southern end of the Langsund coastline where Bjørnskar was located, like Dåfjordbotn, had no connecting roads. Jan hurried along as far and fast as feasible while the snow showers hid him. The rubber boots were perilous on the large slippery rocks and boulders and he limped around them when he could. By the water’s edge the snow was sparse, so he stayed as close to the water as possible; then again, sometimes the water licked the rocks far inland, making it impossible.
There were no homes along the stretch to Bjørnskar. Because Langsund was heavily mined, there was no traffic on the fjord except for the smaller boats that could maneuver inside the minefields close to the shoreline. Jan’s chances of being discovered here in the dark were slim.
Jan had been fleeing four days. The exertions he suffered consumed the physical strength he had regained while resting in the Heika home. In spite of the generous help and rest granted him by all the strangers along the way, his strength ebbed quickly. Despite the nuisance of the rocks, the going was easier down here by the water, but his ability to keep a steady straightforward course had vanished. His arms and legs lacked vigor. Jan’s feet moved ahead but his arms hung limp by his side, except when he steadied himself on a large rock. His tracks were those of someone intoxicated, wavering from side to side, but he counted each step as a victory. Jan’s whole body ached, his feet the worst. In spite of it all, the word “impossible” was not part of Jan’s vocabulary. He didn’t know how to give in. In the past he had cheated death more than a few times, and now to reach Bjørnskar was just a question of enduring a few more hours. All he needed to do was to put one foot in front of the other, and not give in to the weight of the anxiety or the pain. In fact, walking seemed almost automatic by now; it had become a habit.
He had been told that there were no houses between Kopparelv and Bjørnskar. Bjørnskar consisted only of three houses belonging to the same family. In the southernmost house lived Bernhard Sørensen and his wife. Close by in the middle house lived his son, Einar Sørensen, and his family. Einar was the man so many had suggested that Jan should contact.
It was near nine in the evening on an unusually dark night for this time of the year. For some time Jan had kept his eyes open for three houses. Jubilation surged through him when he saw a small light coming from a house in the distance as he came around a bend on the shore. The remainder of the way was made quicker and easier with the hope of warmth and friendly people close by. A German patrol boat was stationed just inside of Sjurnes, less than a mile from Bjørnskar. Jan tempered his excitement with caution.
The Sørensen’s home in Bjørnskar.
Nearing the house, Jan made out the silhouettes of a man, a woman, and two young boys sitting around the kitchen table close to the window. He did not know Einar Sørensen and his family were discussing the gruesome tragedy in Toftefjord four days earlier. Einar related to his wife Elna and his two boys what he had heard during his visit to Tromsø. “The rumors are flying. People believe that one man did escape the Gestapo’s claws.”
“Then it will not be long before he will come visiting us,” Mrs. Sørensen firmly resolved.
The Sørensen family. From left, Odd, Elna, Ragnhild, Einar and Svein in 1950.
She was used to her husband’s generosity toward escapees and his reputation among the underground. That moment, all noticed a dark shadow below the
kitchen window. Einar took a closer look and saw a fatigued and somewhat wobbly form steadying itself by the south house-corner. The form stopped a few feet back from the steps leading to the kitchen door, and peeked through a window. Einar turned to his family and looked somewhat astounded. The four of them looked at each other and all thought, “He is here already!” Einar hurried to open the door and went out into the cold to meet the stranger, who asked for Einar Sørensen.
Jan was ushered into the warm kitchen, where he again told his story, that he had come from Toftefjord and as far as he knew he was the only survivor from the skirmish with the Germans and the warship.
“My situation is desperate. I need to escape across the border to Sweden as soon as possible.”
Einar did not feel comfortable with Jan’s story; it was difficult to believe that a wounded, hunted man could have survived the Arctic weather conditions for four days not knowing the area, and not properly outfitted.
“Tell me, if you can, how did you find Bjørnskar? And how did you know we were here? Who sent you?” Einar had to know.
It was obvious to Jan, from the many people who spoke highly of Einar, that he was a respected and trustworthy fellow. Jan knew he would be in a despairing position if he was turned down. He tried a bluff. “The reputation of your good deeds has reached London.”
“You mean they arrived in London?” Sørensen asked, surprised. His answer revealed that he had helped others escape.
“I can’t tell you for sure if those you helped reached London, or Sweden, but at least the report of your efforts has reached London.” Jan felt a twinge of guilt for leading this good man on.
Subsequent to Jan’s explanation, Einar was satisfied; it was not a question of him being willing to help, but rather how he could best help Jan get out of the difficulties that he was in. His wife was not so easily convinced. She wanted more answers and continued her questioning.
“Tell us how many other homes have you visited?”
“None.”
“Who were the people you saw?”
“Yours is the first home I have stopped at.”
“Who gave our names to you?” Elna ignored Jan’s answers and kept pressing. Jan became a little irritated at this lady and somewhat indignant at her repeated questioning.
“Listen here. How many ways do I have to repeat the same answer? I’ve told you yours is the only home I have visited.”
Jan firmly denied ever having been any other place. During his saboteur training with the Linge Company in Scotland it was strongly impressed upon the men never to reveal the name of anyone who had helped.
Elna backed down. “I’m sorry. We just have to be sure. You understand, don’t you?”
“I understand and appreciate your concern. And I realize you have to be careful. I am also grateful you invited me in out of the weather.”
Following the settling of this little controversy, all three enjoyed and were open toward one another. The Sørensens had Jan remove his wet clothes and hung them to dry, and they gladly shared with him what food they had available. Under such soothing conditions, Jan soon relaxed a bit and felt his body slowly recovering.
Considering his traumatic, demanding last few days, Einar noticed that this man was in incredibly good condition. However, he had a difficult time understanding how he had been able to survive the trek across the untamed mountains in the middle of the arctic winter storms with a wounded foot and no skis. Einar had great admiration for such a man, his courage and fortitude. Jan lightly dismissed it by saying, “I had good training in Scotland; I was in good shape, and I am the right age.”
He took out his pistol, polished it and stroked it; a grateful smile brushed his face. “This gun saved my life when I shot the Gestapo chasing me up the ravine in Toftefjord.”
At first, they did not talk much about the battle in Toftefjord. Instead they concentrated on the possibility of getting Jan to Sweden. He felt bad that he still did not know the true fate of the men from Brattholm.
“I just returned from Tromsø earlier today,” said Einar.
“What can you tell me?” Jan leaned forward attentively.
“The people were in shock. Rumors were flying as the story of the battle in Toftefjord got out. The tragedy was on everyone’s lips.”
“What did the people know? Or was it just rumors that they’d heard?”
“It was rather chilling,” Einar continued. “When the evening sky darkened they all stayed inside and pulled the blinds. They were frightened, and in spite of that, they could talk of nothing else. Terror spread of what reprisals the Germans would mete out on the populace. There was special concern for the resistance men and whether the movement would be unraveled. Everyone’s nerves were raw.”
“And the Germans? What did they do?”
“Oh…that was the astonishing part! It was not only the Norwegians who were scared; the Germans were unnerved as well. The Gestapo headquarters was buzzing and the German soldiers were called on an immediate alert. Throughout the city they were marching through the streets with loaded guns, breaking into homes, pushing people around, questioning and arresting some and hauling them into the patrol wagons. Patrol cars, with screeching sirens, sped off to the Gestapo headquarters with them. Many Germans wondered if the Brattholm affair would be the beginning of the suspected Allied invasion.”
“And what did you learn about the Brattholm men?”
“The way I heard the story,” Einar continued, “was that a fishing cutter had anchored in Toftefjord and that the boat had had trouble with its motor. But there were no fishermen aboard, only saboteurs from England.”
“How did the Germans find us?”
“The story was that a merchant at Bromnes had betrayed the saboteurs. The Gestapo was called and a German warship, a Schnell boat, launched the surprise attack against them. The cutter had been blown up, and the remaining crew imprisoned.”
Jan was totally absorbed in Einar’s report. “And my comrades? What did you hear about my comrades?”
Einar hesitated, but he realized he couldn’t keep anything from Jan. “It was believed that most of them were shot on the spot. Nonetheless when the warship returned to Tromsø the people had noticed that the Gestapo had three prisoners, two of them seriously wounded. The third man seemed older than the rest.”
“That must have been Eskeland,” Jan interrupted.
“It was also said,” Einar was loath to pass on this piece of news, “that two of them were shot the following day, but that a third one was still alive either in the hospital or imprisoned.”
Jan was helpless against the depression that settled over him when he learned the fate of his friends. The realization set in that he was indeed the only survivor. Guilt swept over him that he had been unable to help his comrades. It also occurred to him that the two contacts in Tromsø, Moursund and Knudsen, the underground leaders, had to be forewarned.
“This is a messy situation, Einar. With one, or possibly more of the Brattholm men still alive, there is no doubt the Gestapo will torture the men. It’s obvious that in time, one or more will break,” said Jan.
“It’s humanly impossible not to,” agreed Einar.
“We have to warn Moursund and Knudsen somehow. I would like to go and warn them myself.” Jan was in earnest.
“That’s unthinkable! You’ll be arrested and executed.”
“Einar, do you dare take the risk? It is a lot to ask.”
“You know our identification cards are always checked going in and out of the city. And I have just come back,” Einar was thoughtful. “The Germans have the uncanny ability to keep track of everyone and everything going on around them. Moreover, gas rationing is on and Tromsø is some 20 miles away.”
“It’s too much,” Jan reflected. “It was a terrible thing of me to have asked.”
“Give me some time, I’ll find a way.”
“Please be extremely cautious. You know the possibility remains that Knudsen and Moursund might
already have been rounded up, or they at least might be shadowed.”
“Yes. All things considered, Jan, it might not be safe to keep you here overnight.”
Jan and Einar sat at the kitchen table and discussed Jan’s continued flight.
“If we can get you to the mainland on the other side of Grøtsundet Sound, you will be closer to Sweden without risking your life going into Tromsø,” said Einar. Both men were aware that Jan’s flight was extremely dangerous both for his helpers and for himself.
They decided to leave around two in the morning, the darkest time of the night. Einar would take Jan across the fjord in his rowboat. Jan would be set ashore close to some friends of Einar’s, a family where he knew Jan could safely get some rest.
Jan left his code name with the Sørensens in case he didn’t reach his destination alive. The code was MARTIN 3. Elna wrote it down on the back of their kitchen calendar in the right hand corner, a simple square piece of cardboard. In the center of the front, a smaller block of 365 pieces of white paper was glued. Bold black numbers were printed in the center of the white paper, one for each day of the year. Holidays and Sundays were easy to distinguish and those numbers were printed in red. Each day a numbered piece of paper was torn off. On the back of the Sørensen calendar it now said, “MARTIN 3.” Maybe this was not the safest place if the house was raided. In any case, they all hoped that Jan would reach Sweden in safety, eliminating the need to give his code name to the Norwegian authorities in the future.
EINAR AND BERNHARD
EINAR NEEDED someone to come with him to take Jan across the fjord. The choice was between his stoic, seventy-six year old father and his oldest son, Odd. Just fourteen years old, Einar’s son was a good lad and strong; moreover he was anxious to come along and help his father. In truth, both Einar’s sons would have liked to help.
There was a good chance that no one would return. Should this be their lot, his wife would lose both a husband and her oldest son, and Einar felt that was too much to ask of a woman. He chose his father Bernhard.
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