The 12th Man

by Astrid Karlsen Scott

  Jan yearned for news from his friends. His recurring worry was that something had happened to them. He was genuinely concerned that the Germans had arrested them, and that they would be tortured. All he wanted was a hint of them, a small piece of encouragement to make his own burden easier to carry. Jan drifted in and out of consciousness from the pain.

  Icy fingers of fear left him little hope. Why this prolonged suffering? What was its purpose? Why had he not perished in Toftefjord with his friends? Why could he not just die now?

  Agonizing in his bed, Jan felt forsaken. He did not know that only a few feet away four men trudged through the snow toward the hut. They carried clothing, a couple of wool blankets, an old military sleeping bag, food, drink and some cigarettes. Olaf carried coils of rope over his shoulders.

  Alvin brought the long package with the unplaned boards. He fought his way a little past the cottage, up towards the incline, and put the package down. The muscles in his arms ached and his neck felt stiff. Alvin stretched and bent from side to side to loosen up after toting the heavy load. Above, he discerned the outline of clouds hanging low up against the mountainside. He thought back to the kind German soldier who had helped him earlier in Lyngseidet. He had been unaware, of course, of the package contents. The soldier, a young man about his own age, who longed for his own home and loved ones, had been so trusting. Alvin opened the package and set the pieces out in order. Jensen’s directions on how to assemble the sled were excellent. Screws, bolts, boards and runners fit together perfectly and swiftly completed the ski sled. Alvin laid down on it to try its strength. He stretched out; it was both long and wide enough and sturdy.

  Earlier in the day Alvin rummaged through his house to find the Navy jacket he had worn with pride. It had hung in the back of the closet since his leave in 1940. He had never been recalled. Tonight he dressed in his uniform jacket once again. Alvin tried it on in front of the small mirror at home and was pleased with how well it fit. He looked good. He knew Jan was wearing a Navy uniform. Alvin hoped dressing in a Navy outfit would contribute to Jan’s well being, and make him more relaxed and comfortable.

  MARIUS OPENED the door to the hut; Amandus and Olaf were right behind. Jan was very ill. The putrid smell of rotting flesh still lingered in the air. The men tried to cheer him. After all, he would soon be on his way to Sweden.

  “We will get you out of here as soon as you have eaten, Jan.”

  “Before too long, we will have you in Sweden. The Manndalen men are meeting us up on the plateau.”

  “By the way, my family sends warm greetings and wishes you their heartfelt best,” Marius added.

  Jan barely managed a smile.

  The men went to work. They cleaned him up and tended to his feet. They changed his clothes and disposed of the waste. With something warm to drink and a slice or two of bread, a little of Jan’s strength returned. Mingling with his friends cheered him. They reassured him that his worst trials were behind him. Jan’s inherent optimism began to return.

  His admiration for these men, these courageous giants, knew no limits. His gratitude for their sacrifices and the risks they were taking overwhelmed him. He was keenly aware that these men had put their own safety and comfort aside to save his life, and by so doing they might give up their own. They wanted neither payment nor praise for their effort. Their reward, as they had expressed it, was in seeing him brought to safety. Most of them did not even know him. Life, even in the midst of the relentless trials and evils of the war, was good. His mood and confidence rose.

  A short time earlier, Jan felt like he’d reached the end of his road; with a little food to comfort him, tenderness, warm friendship and joviality, his outlook changed to near euphoria. His friends had brought with them a plan of action, a new hope. Jan had learned that one cannot live without hope. With the faith and hope the men brought, Jan returned to the man he really was, a courageous man who could withstand most anything, a gentle man who possessed the strength of the granite mountains he had traversed.

  The men bumped into each other as they readied Jan. They removed the door from its hinges and put it out of the way. Six strong arms gently lifted Jan out from the contracted bunk bed. There were no stair steps but Alvin stood in the snow outside, ready to help, and they lifted him down toward him. Soon they placed Jan on the waiting sled. The fresh sea breeze was like a tonic. Jan began to feel alive!

  This was the first time Jan and Alvin met. Alvin bent down toward him with outstretched hand.

  “I have been looking forward to this meeting. My name is Alvin Larsen, I live in Furuflaten.”

  Jan slowly reached Alvin’s hand and held it in both of his.

  “Many thanks for joining us.” Jan smiled warmly.

  “I’m just happy to be of help.”

  “I see you are also a Navy man.” Hotel Savoy launched a lifelong friendship between the two soldiers.

  The resistance men wrapped Jan in two blankets and placed him in the sleeping bag. They then tied him securely to the sled, intertwining the ropes in and around the braces of the sled up to his armpits and down to his ankles. From time to time, especially when they tied his legs and feet down, Jan grimaced – but not a word of complaint escaped his lips. He resembled a mummy tied to the sled as he was, but this was his happy choice. Soon, with the help of his friends, he would be over the mountains and into Sweden where freedom and medical support would end his ordeal. He longed to be there.

  The two pairs of skis the men had brought were tied to the side of the sled. Everything had to be absolutely secure for the vertical climb they faced. Jan looked up at the men and again expressed his gratitude for their service to him.

  He looked toward the nearly vertical mountain ahead of them.

  “If I survive this, I will be able to live through anything,” he said.

  Shortly before midnight they began their climb up the Revdal Mountains. The path they had chosen was the ravine that tended upward from the hut. Marius, Alvin, Amandus and Olaf had examined the mountain from the fjord and later from the shore and found it to be the only logical way.

  Closest to the fjord, scattered brush dotted the gently sloped terrain. The men reached the thicket where the incline rose sharply all at once. The snow was heavy and deep. In some places they disappeared into the mountain-snow up to their waist. Two of the men were at the front of the sled. Fifteen-foot long ropes were secured to each side of the front of the sled, which two of the Furuflaten men held. A six-foot length of rope was attached to each side of the rear of the sled and held by the other two men. In this way, two men on each side ensured the sled’s stability.

  The four young men were all in excellent physical condition. In spite of that, they soon realized that the climb would require more energy than they had imagined. They pulled and pushed, slid and fell, and climbed again. All along, they did their best to keep the sled steady to minimize Jan’s suffering.

  In the midst of the thickets they had difficulty getting the sled through and around the dwarfed timber. Olaf pulled out a small ax and chopped at the stunted trees, clearing the way while the others steadied the sled. These moments gave them brief respite. These were also the times when Amandus kept them all in good humor with his stored-up anecdotes.

  “Have you heard…?” or “Did you know…?” he’d begin.

  They forged ahead, scrambling over stony outcrops, pulling on boughs, stumps, and exposed roots. Jan helped when he could, grasping at nearby branches and rocks. Sometimes, when the men needed it the most, they’d find a small, strong tree strategically located for them to throw their arms around and pull themselves up with. The complexity of the mountain increased as they scaled upwards, but the men refused to give in.

  Just above the tree line they rested on an outcrop. Below the mighty Lyngenfjord came into view. They were amazed at how precipitous the mountain was, compared to their view from below. Each man watched his steps carefully on the ice-encrustred granite. A slip here and the next stopwould be the
fjord. Looking backward a few yards on the tracks they’d made, the men saw only air, an abyss, and the fjord below them. The loose snow they had waded through further down now had a crusty surface. When they sank through it up here, it sounded like the crushing of gravel.

  The mountain accentuated everything, including itself. It was appallingly rugged and steep. The situation worsened with every few steps. They no longer could just pull and push, though that had been strenuous enough. At present they had to force an entrance to the more difficult passageways, then through absolute determination, the two men in front grabbed a rock or whatever was accessible and pulled themselves up. In a kneeling position, they hoisted the sled up behind them while the two in the rear struggled to lift it up above their heads.

  Other times, one man led the way and kicked holes in the crusty snow, providing those who followed a foothold. Cinched down tight, Jan focused on the group’s objective, rather than his own pain. When the going was unusually tough or bumpy he let out a stifled groan, but he never complained.

  When the men thought they should be nearing the plateau, they discovered that another crest rose higher. The struggle, far from over, tested their faith and determination to the limit. It was too discouraging to look up, better to concentrate on one step or foothold at a time.

  The terrain dropped so steeply that the sled hung almost vertically, and the stumps on Jan’s foot began to bleed again. Jan thought his feet would burst from the unbearable pain. He frequently lost consciousness; each episode was a moment of relief, then he came to and the horror began yet again. He was torn in his own suffering. How could he complain? His selfless friends were exerting themselves beyond human endurance, but they went on. So must he. But when the pain became utterly insufferable he gave in.

  “Is it possible to turn the sleigh?”

  They gladly did anything for Jan to give him even a moment’s relief.

  It eased his pain momentarily as he hung there upside down, suspended in space as it were. Soon the pressure to his brain became overwhelming. Marius and the others returned him to the original position.

  The men panted and puffed, spit and pulled, went through the crusty snow, pulled themselves out and pressed upward.

  And Jan just hung, tied to the sled.

  The time came when the men were spent. They had no more to give. Their arms trembled from exertion; their knees refused to hold them up. The muscles in their legs and thighs cramped and wouldn’t respond. Soaked through from perspiration, tumbling in the snow and grappling with the mountain, they were burning hot and thirsty. They prostrated themselves in the snow and closed their eyes. All the while they kept a sure hold on the ropes that kept Jan’s sled close by. They lay there, desperately needing rest and renewed strength.

  As soon as they laid down, they noticed the freezing wind gusts, more penetrating up here, closer to the plateau. And when physical exertion forced them to stop, their bodies quickly chilled. Only a few moments’ relief was all they dared give themselves.

  They climbed upwards.

  When they reached the edge where the ravine unfolded itself onto the plateau they knew it all would become easier.

  The terrain leveled off and they trudged through the snow instead of crawling and clawing. Before they got far, they realized they would have to cross a cleft in the mountain, sideways, beneath a huge overhang of ice. It was vertical and the snow was so hard and cumbersome that the men had to work out minute details each step of the way. They had to force their way through. Because of the gradient they could only place one sled-runner on the snow close into the cleft. Two men sat down and guided it along foot by foot. The other two kicked repeatedly to get a foothold in the iced-over snow while suspending the outside runner in the air.

  This way the sled lay perpendicularly. Jan’s friends carried the carefully balanced sled over to the other side, one measured step at a time. These were committed men; no obstruction seemed too dangerous, and relinquishing the fight was not part of the plan.

  Jan now hung in open air, the determined efforts of the men the only thing between him and a terrible abyss. Even if only one of the men, for one split second, lost his foothold, all five would plummet violently downwards. In long free falls they would be thrown about in a wild breakaway toward the fjord some 2500 feet below. They were somber men struggling to concentrate on their own and their friends’ movements. The only words were of the details of their next step.

  Jan was, for the most part, quiet except for his occasional moaning. He tackled his own problems as best he could. The excruciating pain continued, almost beyond his ability to endure. Yet through it all, he was aware that his survival depended fully on his friends’ endurance.

  They had almost reached the plateau when they heard the drone of an airplane. The noise increased rapidly. Almost straight overhead, it reverberated amid the mountaintops. A plane came into view at a low altitude. Alvin recognized the big black swastika painted on its side at once.

  “A German Junker!”

  Jan reacted like lightning, knowing exactly what to do.

  “Throw yourselves face down!“

  Hopefully they would look like rocks from the air, and be camouflaged by the mountain terrain. The Junker disappeared as quickly as it had come. They had succeeded.

  In those moments Jan felt a heavy responsibility for his friends. The four men knew anything could happen when they took on the commitment to help Jan to freedom. This was just part of their commitment. They were proud to be part of this rescue effort to help a countryman to freedom. It gave a deep purpose to their lives. And to outsmart the Gestapo would bring them many a story to tell after the war. Such thoughts added determination to their endeavors.

  The mountain plateau spread before them. Some three hours after they had tied Jan to the sled outside the hut in Revdal they reached their destination.

  Like a white carpet, the next 2000 feet lay before them with hardly a rise. In actuality it began with a lengthened gentle downgrade, which flattened out, then gradually eased up to an extended slope where at the end another dark-walled bluff rose straight up.

  The sled moved slowly on its own power, the men needed only to guide it along. Across the level plain they were able to pull the sled with two men walking on each side. Here and there they fell through the snow but not as often as earlier. The last steep stretch was difficult, but compared with the cliffs they considered it easy.

  The men of Furuflaten were nearing complete exhaustion. But they had accomplished what most would call humanly impossible; their minds and bodies had been pushed to the brink, and they were beginning to pay the price.

  In addition to their own exhaustion they were greatly concerned for Jan. He too was totally spent. But he was their inspiration, their reason for completing the deed. He had suffered right along with them in silence. He kept all his fears and pain to himself. Jan was deeply moved and most grateful for their self-sacrifice.

  On the south side of the plateau a steep mountain wall rose some 2700 feet. At the foot of this black wall was a large stony wasteland.

  “This is the place! We have reached our goal. This is where the men from Manndalen will come!” Marius was jubilant.

  They found a level place to rest the sled. For the first time in four hours the resistance men let go of the ropes. They felt free knowing the sled would not rush away from them. Beneath them the babbling river hurried by, but they were safe on thick ice and a layer of snow.

  The four men settled down in the snow close by Jan to rest. Even now they did not say much, too exhausted to carry on a conversation. With a quick movement of his arm Olaf pushed his cap back, the brim pointing straight skyward. The others also adjusted their caps and wiped their sweaty faces. They peered across the plateau looking for the men from Manndalen.

  Turning away from the plateau they glimpsed the frigid six-mile-wide, Lyngenfjord. Just north of Furuflaten, on the opposite side of the fjord, they observed the outline of the headland jutting out int
o the fjord. When they moved a few more feet in a northerly direction they could make out the rooftops of their homes in Furuflaten.

  The agreement had been to meet between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. and they became concerned for the men from Manndalen.

  Marius questioned if he had the time right. Were they too early, or had the men already been here and left? Were they delayed, or a little lost perhaps? He wondered if something serious had happened to them. Innumerable thoughts ran through his mind, but none of them gave answers to his questions.

  Luckily they had thought to bring two pairs of skis along in case of an emergency. Amandus and Olaf strapped them on and searched for tracks in an ever-widening circle. There was no trace of either man or animal. No one could have been near the place for days. Where were they? Marius asked if they had strength to go toward Manndalen to try and meet up with the other fellows.

  “We’ll do it.”

  Rocks and boulders lay sprinkled throughout the plateau as if a giant hand had snatched handfuls and scattered them around. Some rocks were several feet high.

  Amandus and Olaf trudged among these rocks into the plateau. They disappeared from sight far up in the inner terrain. Mountain distances seem small until one watches a person moving away. The person gradually shrinks, but is never totally out of sight, until at long last he vanishes. Then one begins to understand the immensity and the power of the mountains.

  The men moved in a northeast direction toward Kjerringdal Valley, a precipitous side valley on the west side of Manndalen where they assumed that the men from that side had, or would be coming up.

  They skied to the very ridge of the mountain. From here they had an overview of the whole landscape as it stretched before them. They looked up and down the surrounding mountains, back down in the valley and across the valley floor, scraped flat by ancient glaciers. They saw no sign of life. Moreover they saw no tracks. They stood there forlorn, unable to speak. Taken aback, they just looked at each other. The disappointment was acute. All they could do was turn back.