The 12th Man

by Astrid Karlsen Scott

  The war had taught Nils to be extremely resourceful. Quickly he removed his knapsack and the transport pail and buried them in a snow heap. He owned a small section of the forest and he started searching for a nice size willow tree. Finding one, he chopped it down, tied it to the rope he always carried with him, and dragged it behind him erasing his own ski tracks. Then he set his path straight in the direction of the Germans.

  They saw him coming and the lieutenant raised his arm and signaled him to stop.

  “What is your errand here in the woods?” he questioned in broken Norwegian.

  Nils smiled with questioning eyes as he studied them. He turned and looked at the tree then turned back and looked at them. Pointing to the tree, and acting somewhat amazed at the question, Nils said, “Surely, you can see for yourselves? I am bringing some nourishment to my sheep. They love the willow bark.”

  The Germans huddled together in conversation. Nils grew concerned. He could see they were suspicious. A thought hit him like a lightning bolt.

  “Follow me to my farm if you have doubts. It is close by. Then you may see for yourself.”

  The Germans joined him as he moved further down in the valley, away from Jan’s cave and toward the Brustrøm farm. Nils gloated inside, thinking what a curious sight they made – him dragging a willow tree and behind him following seven German soldiers on skis with their rifles hung loosely over their shoulders.

  Once back at the farm, Nils removed the rope and cut some of the branches off the tree. Luckily for him the sheep gathered quickly as he spread the limbs out on the ground. They wasted no time before they nibbled at the boughs.

  “Sehr gut, sehr gut!” Very good, Very good!

  The Germans’ suspicions had been laid to rest.

  UP IN the cave Jan made the final plans for his self-operation. What he had started at Hotel Savoy he was about to finish here in the cave in Skaidijonni. As he laid in the open in Avzevaggi, he realized from the feelings in his feet and the stench that the rest of his toes were rotting away. At that time though, Jan was too ill to do anything. He had neither the physical strength nor the unswerving mental resolve needed for such a task.

  Over the last few days, though, Jan had been well nursed and fed, and his friends came up from the valley at regular intervals. He was comfortable in his dry bed, and he gained courage and strength from his caring friends. To feel the joy of life return was a source of great encouragement to him. As a result, Jan’s basic human character traits also returned.

  He clearly understood that the rotten tissue could infect his toes, and this could spread to his lymph glands and cause blood poisoning. He was also fully aware that if blood poisoning set in while he lay here in the cave far away from a doctor’s care, he would die.

  He knew exactly what to do. Jan had had plenty of time to plan the amputation during the long hours of solitude. He picked up the sharp knife Nils left and started his self-operation anew.

  He removed seven toes down by the main joint. The eighth he cut off at the middle joint. The rotten, dead tissue was loosely attached to the knucklebones and just fell off as Jan touched the toes. He was relieved to see the bleeding was not as heavy this time.

  Through his ordeals, Jan had become like tempered steel. His conviction that his operation had saved his life strengthened him and left him at peace with himself.

  He wrapped his foot in the old rags the men had already brought to the cave and which they used when they changed the bandages on his foot.

  Exhausted, Jan lay back on his bed of birch branches. He covered himself up with the wool covering Helene had woven for him. It comforted him.

  During the quiet moments that followed, his mind wandered backward in time, which it so often did at these times of solitude. The saboteurs’ mission to stop the German bombing of the convoys to the Soviet Union had failed. Jan sorrowed over the many additional crews who by now had probably lost their lives because of it. When he contemplated the failed mission, his fallen comrades always came to mind. Remembering them, his whole being mourned.

  It was unavoidable for Jan to think of his comrades without his thoughts drifting homeward to his family and friends in Oslo. What he would not give to just have one word from them, just to know that they were safe. Missing them, his brother Nils and his sister Bitten, made his solitude especially agonizing.

  As he lay distressing, he earnestly sought to cope with his physical pain, sorrow and isolation. As so often before, Jan became aware of the wind rustling the trees on the mountainside near to the cave and the murmuring river at the valley bottom – and his spirit calmed.

  THE GERMANS IN PURSUIT

  NEARLY TWO weeks had passed since Hjalmar and Nils’ unsuccessful attempt to find Jan.

  One evening, Petter Pettersen, an employee at the Bjørns’ store, came to Hjalmar with another urgent message for him to meet the brothers at their store. He learned that Jan had been moved to the east side of lower Manndalen Valley, and he was still awaiting transport.

  “Will you be willing to take on the assignment one more time?”

  “Of course I will.” Hjalmar was not a man to say no when he was needed.

  That same night he was on his way up Ankerlia Mountain, staying hidden in the forest behind the German hut. On his last trip he had concealed his skis above the tree line. The snow on the mountainside was wet and heavy, but on the upland the ski conditions were good. He needed to reach the Siri brothers before sun-up, and he only stopped once to rest.

  Per and Nils Siri greeted him with the usual Sami friendliness. Nils expressed concern about taking on the assignment to transport Jan this late in the season. The ice on the river bordering Sweden was no longer safe and the road above Kilpis in Finland lay wide open for long stretches. Several German military movements had been seen from time to time.

  “I recently crossed over to Sweden with seven fugitives,” Hjalmar explained. “We were told the Germans military movements usually come in convoys, and far between.”

  “Well, let’s get a map out and see how we can do this then,” Nils ventured.

  They mapped the route across occupied Norway and Finland and on into neutral Sweden. Out of necessity they sometimes had to cross the wide-open spaces, but whenever possible, they mapped the way through thickets and shrubs.

  Nothing but the strongest and fastest reindeer would do. Their trained eyes picked out two of the best among the many.

  Early in the morning they harnessed the reindeer to the pulk, and each man crawled into his canoe-shaped sled. With good snow conditions holding, they made excellent time and were ahead of schedule. They even had time to eat and relax a little while the reindeer grazed along the way. As they neared the plateau above Manndalen, a flock of about thirty reindeer and some men came into view in the distance. They hurried onward to see who it might be.

  Coming closer, they noticed two Sami sleds. The men were running back and forth into the tent. One man in one of the sleds seemed to be getting all the attention. Hjalmar stopped a little ways off while Nils continued on so he could talk with the men. The sled with the man who had drawn all the attention was put in the center of the reindeer flock. Another Sami climbed into the pulk with him. Then the entourage of sleds, reindeer and barking dogs began to move.

  Somewhat bewildered, Nils returned to Hjalmar to explain.

  “One of the men in those sleds is Jan Baalsrud. Aslak and Per Thomas Baal are bringing him to Sweden.”

  Nils and Hjalmar were astounded. Extremely disappointed, after their best efforts, their many hours of struggles came to naught. Yet in the midst of their discontent they were gratified that Jan had been taken care of and was on his way to Sweden.

  The friends shook hands and said farewell to one another. Nils took the reindeer and the sleds and headed east, and Hjalmar noticed the early morning glow of the sun as he attached his skis and headed for home.

  Before reaching Kåfjordalen Valley he hid his skis among the trees in Ankerlia Mountain and tr
udged the rest of the way home. His mother awoke as he entered. By the time he had cleaned up and changed into clean clothes, his mother had breakfast ready for him. He shared the happenings of the last few hours with her and then went to bed in his room in the attic.

  Hjalmar had no sooner pulled the covers up when he heard the sound of a motorcycle. It puzzled him. There were connecting roads between Kåfjorddalen to Birtavärre, but none to Olderdalen. Whoever the visitor was, he must have come by boat and motorcycled from the docks up to his home. Hjalmar jumped out of bed and ran to the window. He stiffened as he saw a motorcycle with a sidecar. Two German soldiers walked toward the house and another stood watch by the motorcycle.

  Hjalmar jumped into his clothes, grabbed the inner works of the Tandberg battery-super-radio and stuffed it in his jacket. Downstairs loud German voices mingled with his mother’s calm voice. Concerned the old floor would creak, he stood as if nailed to the floor for a few seconds. Like a prowling cat, he moved quietly down the steps toward the first floor. His mother and the Germans were now in the living room and he snuck out the front door where the third soldier still held his gun ready by the motorcycle. Though Hjalmar’s body felt like a tightrope, he nonchalantly walked toward the barn, hid the radio works in the corner of one of the horse stalls and kicked some hay over it. He came back out and again moved unhurriedly toward the summer barn that lay 120 feet closer to the edge of the forest. While walking this distance, he was within open view of the German guard. He continued in the direction of the forest and sprinted toward the trees as fast as he was able. In the outlying fields there was a hay barn well hidden by the trees. He prepared himself a bed in the hay. Lying there he finally began to relax and fell asleep.

  After many hours of sleep he awoke in the middle of the night. His thoughts wandered and he realized what peril he had been in. Had he been arrested and brought in for interrogation and torture, the whole Baalsrud affair might have unraveled. He shuddered at the ghastly circumstances that would have followed, and how many people might have suffered.

  His concern grew as he thought of his mother. Had the Germans arrested her? He left the hay barn and carefully moved from the forest toward the farmyard staying extremely alert to his surroundings. He crawled through a window in the back of the house and found his mother still in bed.

  The Germans had ransacked every room in the house including the attic. They had opened every closet and searched through every drawer.

  “Who else lives here?” the Germans asked.

  “I have a husband and a son, but both have been called to work for the Germans in the district of Finnmark (the neighboring district). They very seldom get leave to come home,” Hjalmar’s mother had told them.

  Hjalmar shared the experience of his escape and how he had slept in the summer barn. His mother had only one comment, “The one God wants to preserve is without danger.”

  Hjalmar knew the only way the Germans had been able to come to Kåfjord with the motorcycle was by boat. He also realized there must have been rumors about Jan Baalsrud and that someone had revealed that Hjalmar had a part in the affair. It was obvious that they had come to pick him up. For now he had been able to escape, and Jan Baalsrud was on his way toward safety in Sweden. Once again, Jan’s benefactors were a step ahead of the Gestapo.

  EN ROUTE TO FREEDOM

  JAN HAD been in the Skaidijonni cave for seventeen days. In Avzevaggi his life had hung by a fragile thread. The intent of the people of Manndalen had been to nurture him back to a better physical condition. They never wavered in their purpose, but they gave so much more. Daily the men trudged the five miles through the rugged snow-covered terrain to bring him nourishing food prepared lovingly by their women, dry clothes, medical supplies, and reading material. More importantly, they brought him the commodity he needed most of all, the comfort and warmth of their own spirits. They nurtured him back to life by giving him of their time, friendship and their selfless love.

  It was now the end of May, and time was running out. The warmth of the midnight sun was melting the snow cover. Jan had to be moved before the good snow conditions disappeared.

  Manndalen, Thursday, May 28, 1943: Without notice, a man appeared in the lower Kjerringdal Valley in Manndalen. He was Aslak Baal, one of the two Sami brothers whom Nigo had contacted on his 80 mile round trip to Sweden on May 5.

  Aslak’s brother, Per Thomas, had remained up on the plateau making ready to bring the soldier across the border. They believed they had found a way to fool the German border guards and were now willing to take the risk to bring Jan to Sweden.

  Sami Aslak Baal

  Five men, Aslak Fossvoll, Nigo Nilsen, Hans Nilsen, Isak Solvang and Nils Brustrøm made their way up to Jan’s cave during the night of May 28. They carried long ropes to help them with the steep climb to take Jan up to the plateau to meet the Baal brothers. Jan had little desire to leave the safety of the cave and the comfort of his friends’ love to face another horrendous climb and uncertainty up on the plateau.

  “Is it possible to postpone the leaving a day or two?” he asked.

  “Jan this is your chance for freedom. We have to grab it.”

  Jan knew his friends were right, and he mustered his courage. “I’m ready.”

  They carried him out to the waiting sled, and again he was securely strapped down.

  The memory of the prior suffering he had endured on the sled was still vivid. Jan did his best not to let the others know the fear that abruptly gripped him and nearly overwhelmed him.

  The exhausting climb took several hours and morning had dawned when they reached the plateau. Three of the Manndalen men felt the need to leave right away, because all were concerned that someone would start to ask too many questions. The emotional farewell was difficult for all of them.

  “The day we hear you are safely in Sweden will be a special day for all of us here in Manndalen, Jan.”

  “Thank you. I am looking forward to it, but I will miss all of you good people.”

  They tried to be jovial. “All the women wanted to come up to the plateau to see you off. But we felt someone needed to mind our homes and the youngsters.” Everyone laughed.

  “Take care, Jan. We’re going to miss you dreadfully.”

  Sami Per Thomas Baal

  “After this atrocious war is over, you’ve got to come back to Troms. We’ll throw a party out in the open!”

  “I look forward to that. How do I thank all of you? Please take care and be safe,” said Jan. His voice trembled with emotion. As he said farewell to his rescuers, his eyes grew moist. These people had given so much to him, a stranger. They had given him shelter and food. And they’d given him friendship and hope.

  “You too, dear friend. Have a safe journey.” They all shook his hand. Jan was unable to do anything but whisper, “Tusen, tusen…tusen takk,” Thousands and thousands and thousands of thanks.

  The men started down toward Manndalen.

  May 29, 1943: Jan remained in the mountains with Aslak Baal, Nils Brustrøm and Nigo Nilsen.

  Per Thomas went to gather the reindeer flock. The reindeer would follow Jan all the way to the border. Jan would be hidden in the midst of them and the animals would be his shield and erase the tracks from his pulk.

  During the night, Jan was brought into the Baal’s laavo, their Sami tent, to get some good sleep before the final journey.

  Saturday, May 30, 1943: In the early morning hours, Aslak and Per Thomas Baal dressed Jan in the traditional Sami fur winter clothing with its bright colorful trimmings of red, yellow, white and cornflower blue. They placed a Sami hat on his head; typical of the Finnish and Norwegian Sami, with four floppy points, it was known as the “hat of the four winds.”

  The vast white tundra stretched out before them. Jan was tense and fearful that the German patrols would discover them.

  “Don’t you worry, Jan. We will get you safely to Sweden this time.”

  Aslak and Per Thomas had their carbine rifles hidden at
the bottom of their pulks.

  “If the Germans should approach us, would you use that gun, Aslak?”

  “Absolutely! I will not only shoot, but I will hit my mark as well. Remember, I have been shooting reindeer for years.”

  “If you should have to kill some Germans and you returned safely to Norway, are you not afraid they will come chasing you?”

  “Maybe so, but don’t forget Jan, we live in the mountains a lot.”

  Around 2 a.m. on May 31, the men placed Jan, too ill to manage a pulk by himself, with Per Thomas. The men left their encampment and headed south. At this time of the night the snow was at its firmest and they could make better time. The midnight sun had returned to northern Norway on May 21 and would not set again until July. There was no darkness.

  Sitting low in his pulk, with Per Thomas, Jan was surrounded by reindeer nostrils snorting hot breath at top speed. The reindeer spread their sure feet wide. Close to Jan’s head, their pounding hooves whipped the snow into a small blizzard. Above the snow Jan saw nothing but bouncing reindeer horns, which resembled thick bare tree branches enduring a snowstorm.

  The first stretch of their journey brought them to Didnojarvi Lake, about midway between the Manndalen plateau and the Swedish border. They rested here and gathered a few roots to build a fire for their black coffee pot. They also heated up some broth that they enjoyed with some heavy rye bread. The entourage had been able to maintain a nice speed, making good time and they decided to rest out the day in the higher elevation.

  Up on the highest plateau, the snow conditions were best and they had a good overview of their surroundings. The reindeer would have a chance to rest and eat before the final push across the border. They expected to cross into Sweden under good conditions in the early morning hours. The men reasoned they had about another four hours or so to travel before they reached the border.