The 12th Man

by Astrid Karlsen Scott

  Peder and Peder waited until early in the morning of the 10th.

  Two dispirited young men, nearly overcome with cold and emotional defeat, climbed silently down toward Avzevaggi and Jan.

  By the time they returned from their fruitless search for the Sami, Jan was barely able to converse with them.

  The men were distraught to see Jan’s condition. They could see that Jan needed both medical help and to be gotten out of the weather. Jan’s courage to press forward had diminished, and the men determined that Jan had to be moved quickly or they would lose him.

  “There will be no reindeer transport.” Peder Isaksen had difficulty speaking.

  “In time there will be, Jan. Just not yet.”

  Jan stared into space. A hopeless look crossed his face and his despondency grew. At that moment they felt him disassociating himself from them and his surroundings.

  They promised him that the following evening four men would come up with provisions and other necessary things they were able to carry up here to the upper valley.

  Something snapped; Jan had reached the end of his tolerance. The five days in Avzevaggi had turned into a prolonged nightmare.

  “It is enough,” his dejected voice was almost inaudible. “I can’t anymore. Let’s call it quits. It is more than I can bear.”

  Watching him filled them with empathy. He was right. The suffering and loneliness he had been through, the uncertainty and the loss of his friends, pain and illness was more than most people could have coped with. Yet he had taken his hard knocks unflinchingly and with heroic valor. And now when he needed them, all they could do was to look down at him, powerless to help.

  Except for their presence, they had no meaningful comfort to offer. They tried as best they could to encourage him not to give up.

  “We’ll stand by you Jan, until you are across the border.”

  Anguished and frail, Jan lay there helpless and without hope. He just stared out in space. His friends grew resolute. They would save him no matter what the cost.

  Peder Isaksen and Peder Pedersen did not have four men ready to make the trip to Sweden at that point, but they also knew something had to be done, and soon. And they knew they would have no difficulty finding such men in the valley. Again they were able to ignite a spark of hope and life in Jan. They started their six-hour downward climb.

  BIRTAVÄRRE, MAY 10, 1943: When Hjalmar did not return when expected, the Bjørn brothers sent his friend John Olav a message, “Please come and see us at the store in Birtavärre.”

  “John Olav, what do you think has happened? Do you think the Germans have caught them?” Leif asked with great concern.

  “It is hard to know. Maybe after such a long time they have reached Sweden. But even at that they should have been back.”

  “John Olav, would you mind acting as our liaison and try to find the cause?”

  “I’ll go. But on my last outing I broke my skis.”

  “Come back to my house tonight and I’ll have skis for you,” Rolf said.

  When John Olav returned that evening, many guests filled the Bjørn home. Rolf brought him over to a corner in the ante-room filled with shoes and boots. Rolf picked out his own boots. “Use these, and here are my skis.”

  “Before you leave, come down to the store and I’ll have some tobacco for you, John Olav.”

  “I’ll take the road along the riverbed.”

  He headed for the store on the way home.

  Before long he became aware of two Germans behind him on bicycles.

  “Now,” he thought. “Now it is over! What will I tell them about carrying skis with no snow in the valley?”

  But the Germans bicycled right past him. Most likely, John Olav concluded, they were “trading-Germans.” From time to time German soldiers came from Spåkenes, a large German fortification. It was not unusual for them to bicycle the 20 miles to Birtavärre to trade their tobacco for home churned butter, mittens and other knitted goods.

  Rolf met Hjalmar at the store, and immediately called one of the contact men in Manndalen. He wanted to know if Jan had been brought to Sweden yet.

  “Has the fish been picked up?”

  The answer was not clear, though it sounded as if Jan hadn’t been picked up yet, but soon would be.

  “Jan has not been picked up yet.” Rolf turned to John Olav. “It is best you go searching. Here is some tobacco, both twist-tobacco and pipe tobacco for you. Good luck!”

  John Olav stopped home to prepare for the outing. Without delay, he changed clothes and packed his knapsack. He loved cold, cold milk and always took a quart whenever he went on outings. Next best, he liked to sink his teeth into homemade whole grain bread. The other “must” he carried was a bottle of hard liquor. He did not drink, but it was good to have close by should the need arise. It was always in his sack with his bread and milk, and Rika coffee.

  John Olav had never told his parents that he was involved in illegal activities, and they did not pry, but they were suspicious and a little unnerved. Fear of the Germans was very real, something most families learned to live with. John Olav wanted to protect his parents and siblings. Should the Germans come searching their home, his family could with good conscience tell them they did not know his whereabouts.

  “Don’t wait for me. I do not know when I will return.” They asked no questions.

  He left the little cottage around 9 p.m. A neighbor saw him and shouted through the window, “Are you heading into the mountains, John Olav?”

  “Ja. I am heading for Vaddas (a plateau some distance from John Olav’s home) to see if the Sami have returned.” The Samis’ return to the plateaus above Kåfjorddalen Valley was a sure sign of spring.

  Skiing along on the upland he noticed a silhouette coming toward him from the direction of Manndalen. He could not make out who it was and thought it might be a German. “Let that be as it may, I will make out,” he told himself.

  Coming closer he was happy to see it was his friend Hjalmar. He was discouraged and worn out. “We did not find Jan Baalsrud. Nils Siri has promised to wait in upper Manndalen.” Hjalmar expressed great concern.

  “Do you have any tobacco John Olav?”

  “Ja da, I can give you some tobacco. Rolf gave me some.”

  “Do you have any liquor as well?”

  “Ja, but that you can’t have until you have drunk some milk.” Hjalmar drank about one fourth of the bottle.

  “Tasty! Just what a weary body needed.”

  “Now my friend, since you’ve got some milk in you, have a nip so you don’t fall asleep.” John Olav handed him the bottle. “And don’t wait for me, if I don’t come home for a while, I have probably gone on to Sweden.”

  Kåfjorddalen, Monday, May 10, 1943: Hjalmar continued on his way homeward and arrived early the following morning. As soon as he had eaten and changed clothes, he set off toward the Bjørn brothers in Birtavärre. He told his fatiguing, discouraging story. They fell silent at the news. At the same time they knew the Manndalen men had gone up in the mountains to meet them, also in vain. Hjalmar was irritated and frustrated with the miscommunication. He was convinced that the place he and Nils had searched was not the correct one. As usual, the Bjørn brothers remained calm and said they would get to the bottom of it all. He would hear from them.

  Hjalmar pondered how the communication between the valleys worked. He knew there were many links and that it was difficult to arrange such a dangerous mission in the midst of spying Nazis, German troops and control points. The Brattholm affair was well known, but Jan’s escape had to be kept top secret.

  SPRING PUSHED forward and with it, the always-radiant midnight sun. But for the men in Manndalen Valley, the moments of darkness were more precious, especially since the Arctic spring robbed them of several minutes of shadows daily.

  The Manndalen men’s breeding gave them fortitude and resilience. They had gained their strength and character from the rugged mountains enclosing their valley and from the stormy s
eas. In their homes as children they had been taught honesty, dependability and hard work. They, to a man, had been taught not by words, but by the actions of their parents. By watching the people in the valley they had learned that living meant loving and caring for one another, and that to be a man was more than physical prowess and a flawless personality. A real man was tender and giving and filled with selflessness as well as strength

  Manndalen, May 10, 1943: In the lower part of Manndalen, a side valley from where Jan was lying in the open air, the men knew of a cave in the mountain wall from earlier times, located nearly 200 feet up a steep incline from the Manndalen River. Jan’s helpers had decided to bring him here until they could arrange the final transport to Sweden.

  The resistance members in Manndalen had been working extremely hard when they learned of Jan’s misfortune. As soon as they decided to transfer him down to the cave in Skaidijonni, men and women worked to make him as comfortable as possible. The most important for his weary body, they felt, was a good bed. The men began braiding together thick bundles of birch branches. They covered the top of this “mattress” with leaves and hay to make it soft and relaxing. The bed was placed right up against one of the inside walls of the cave, making it impossible to see the mattress from the outside. One had to come into the cave before one discovered anything made by human hands. They felt certain of Jan’s safety here.

  Aslak Fosvoll went to his sister Helene Mikalsen to ask her assistance. Helene was a widow with three children ranging in age from two to ten years old. She was also an expert at making grener – the woven woolen covers that the valley of Manndalen is famed for. Today these grener are mostly used for decorative wall hangings. But in days past, the nomadic Sami people would use them as coverlets in their tents. Helene was a Sami, as was Aslak, and the tradition of her people making these grener go back hundreds of years in the district of Troms. They were made in the natural colors of the wool, white, gray and black.

  “Helene, I need for you to make us two Manndalsgrener as soon as possible. They are for a wounded Norwegian soldier. We are bringing him to Skaidijonni, and we need to keep him warm.”

  Helene went right to work, never questioning her brother’s judgment. She bedded her children down and set up her work in her little kitchen. She worked straight through the night and the next day, stopping only to feed the animals and to meet of her children’s basic needs. The first one was ready the day after Jan arrived in the cave, because, as she said, “It is important for him to have a warm cover as soon as possible.”

  A few days later, the second cover was ready for him. Now he had one to sleep on and one to cover him.

  AVZEVAGGI, MAY 11, 1943: When the four Manndalen men reached Jan they tied him securely to the sled and fastened the long ropes. They knew this would be extremely difficult for him and they tried to be encouraging and told him of all the preparations made for him by many people in Manndalen Valley.

  “We want to make you as happy as possible”

  “And you will have a mattress! Well, maybe not as good as in Grand Hotel in Oslo. But the birch branches are braided with love and we think you will be comfortable.”

  Jan forced a smile. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt these generous people. But the truth was he had given up.

  The five hour descent from Avzevaggi to the cave in Skaidijonni was torturous for both Jan and the Manndalen men. His painful feet, made worse when the sleigh hung almost vertically downward, were unbearable. He was frozen and hungry but unable to eat. And the Manndalen men were tested to the limit as they inched their way down over the craggy, slippery outcrops struggling to handle Jan and the sled with care to minimize his pain and discomfort.

  Once they had come down the precipitous mountain in the north, they came directly upon a gentler birch-forested downgrade. It brought them to the edge of another steep incline where the Manndalen River in the valley bottom bordered the bold-faced mountain on the other side. At the edge of the downgrade, a thirty-foot perpendicular gradient led them down to a three-foot wide shelf. They traversed carefully, clinging to dwarfed birch trunks so as not to slip with the sled over the narrow shelf and down into the river far below. The narrow path turned slightly to the left and about another sixty feet ahead was the opening to the cave.

  Jan’s spirit was bankrupt of hope. Livsgleden, the joy of life, had come to naught. Everything seemed futile and he did not care what happened anymore. He allowed his friends to make all the decisions and he let them transport him wherever they wished. Did it really matter? Everyone now knew he would never experience Sweden and freedom again. He pitied his friends who had cared and slaved for him, knowing their dream for him could never be.

  Entrance to the cave in Skaidijonni.

  The Manndalen River is down the incline on the left.

  CONCEALED IN A CAVE IN SKAIDIJONNI

  SKAIDIJONNI, MAY 11, 1943: Jan was taken to the Skaidijonni cave. The cave had been formed from a large crevice in the interior of the mountain, and it was high enough that a grown person could almost stand upright. It was twenty feet long and had two apertures; the first was within a few feet of the thirty-foot incline they had brought Jan down. This gap was the smallest and most difficult to use as an entrance. At the opening in the lower end, huge boulders formed a natural camouflage in such a way that it was impossible to discover the cave until one was right on top of it.

  The roomy cave would be a good shelter from the spring storms. Jan’s helpers also felt it was a secure place away from the Nazis. From his bed he had a partial view of the sky and some trees growing near, and from the opening in the back, shafts of light entered the cave. There was room to lay his clothes on the rocks to dry, and when his helpers came, there was enough space for a couple of them to sit on the rock close by him.

  The day after Jan was taken to the cave, Peder Isaksen and Aslak Fosvoll made the trip from Manndalen to bring him food and other provisions. Aslak looked forward to meeting the soldier he had heard so much about.

  Peder introduced Aslak to Jan. The two men instantly connected. Peder had warned Aslak about Jan’s condition, but Aslak was still shocked to see how scrawny and sickly Jan looked with his sunken cheeks and eyes ringed in black.

  “If you have a wish or a need, please don’t hesitate to let me know,” Aslak offered.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it, but my needs are filled with this great bed and sheltered cave.”

  The upper entrance to the cave in Skaidijonni

  Inside the cave. Jan lay close to the left wall with his feet toward the left corner of the picture.

  “We brought clean clothes for you, and we’ll help you get cleaned up if you wish.”

  “It will be good to be clean and dry. Thanks!”

  Already a good night’s rest had strengthened Jan, and the care given and the kindnesses shown him brought hope back again in small doses.

  Aslak helped Jan remove his dirty socks, but the one on his wounded foot was bonded to scabs and dried up blood clinging to his foot – the skin was bluish-black. In Avzevaggi Jan had become aware that what was left of his toes had rotted away. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jan took his knife from his pocket and cut off the tissue that clung to the sock and the extra scar tissue left on his foot. He did it without a word.

  Aslak and Peder realized Jan was a remarkable man, uncommon in his capacity to tolerate pain and to survive traumatic experiences. They also realized his unique ability to make necessary decisions even in his wretched condition, and to cope with burdens too heavy for many.

  They observed how seriously ill he was and wondered how to best handle the crisis. Somehow they had to find a doctor who could come and help Jan, or at least give them advice.

  Once back in Manndalen, Aslak and Peder consulted with teacher Nordnes. Manndalen did not have a doctor. The nearest one, who was known as a patriot, kept an office in Lyngseidet. Nordnes’ sister worked for the doctor in his office, which gave Nordnes an idea. One morning Nordnes called
in and said his sister was ill and she needed for the doctor to come and give her a check up. The doctor intended to do so, but he missed the ferry.

  The following day Nordnes called again and said his sister’s condition had taken a turn for the worse, and would he please come quickly? When the doctor received the phone call, he called the sheriff, a Nazi, and asked for permission to take the doctor boat across the fjord to see a sick patient in Manndalen. Gasoline was rationed and the Germans maintained strict control of all the comings and goings. Permission was granted and he was on his way.

  The doctor found the school in Manndalen and went straight to teacher Nordnes. He handed the teacher Jan’s medication, along with a prescription, in case more was needed. Nordnes was also instructed on how best to treat and care for Jan’s feet, and how to wrap them. Jan’s helpers took him the medication and cared for his feet, following the doctor’s instructions.

  IN THE upper part of Manndalen Valley lived Nils Brustrøm with his wife Signe and their three children. To the south of their Finnish-style cottage, a secluded place quite some distance from the nearest neighbor, the valley stretched upward into the foothills, and steep mountains bordered the narrow plains on each side of the house. The Manndalen River flowed a few feet from the cottage and was filled with salmon. Wild fowl and animals lived in the forest. From time to time, reindeer appeared on the horizon high up in the mountains. For the Brustrøm children the place was pure paradise.

  One evening, that paradise changed forever. Hanna, the youngest child, was four and a half years old at the time. She remembers how she sat close by her father’s chair while he was reading the newspaper by the kerosene lamp. He looked up and said to her mother, “The war is coming closer.”

  “We had better gather as much food as we can then,” answered her mother.