For twenty minutes they waited. The surface of the water rippled and Bimbo struck. Jerking out his spear he produced a fair-sized perch wriggling upon it. His little, black, boot-button eyes flashing with eagerness, he tore the fish from the harpoon and, having knocked its head on the ice to stun it, proceed to tear great mouthfuls of the flesh out of its body, gobbling them down with huge enjoyment; upon which his companions realised what had happened to the tail end of the pike.
They remained there for two hours, during which they bagged a trout, another perch and three fish that Freddie thought might be fresh-water herrings. It was now night and Freddie was worried that they might not be able to find their way home; but his anxiety was quite needless. Bimbo led them back through the seemingly impenetrable darkness with an unerring sense of direction and they all enjoyed an excellent fish supper.
The news over the wireless contained no events of startling importance. During the first week after the Lapps’ arrival Russia had been formally expelled from the League of Nations and Italy also ceased to be a member, leaving Britain and France as the only Great Powers remaining in it. So it had come openly at last to what, in fact, it had been for a long time past; not a League of Nations at all, but an association of states under the leadership of the Western Powers.
It was on December the 15th that the exiles first learned of the Battle of the River Plate, although it had taken place two days before. On the face of it the British appeared to have put up an excellent show, but the full significance of the action was not brought home to them until it had been explained to Gregory what sort of ships the Graf Spee and the cruisers Ajax, Achilles and Exeter were when, quite suddenly, his memory about naval matters, gun calibres, speeds and weight of shells flooded back.
“But don’t you understand?” he cried, his eyes glowing. “It’s magnificent! An epic fight that will go down to history beside the exploits of Drake and Frobisher, and Sir Richard Grenville taking on the seven great Spanish galleons in the Revenge. Just think of it! Those little cruisers, out-gunned, out-ranged, and infinitely more vulnerable with their much lighter armour, going straight in against the pocket battleship instead of waiting for one of their own big ships to come up. Why, one salvo apiece from the Graf Spee’s eleven-inch guns might have sunk the lot of them before they could even get into range. It’s the real Nelson touch, and it makes one incredibly proud to think one’s of the same race as those splendid sailor-men.”
Freddie and Angela caught his enthusiasm and they had all momentarily forgotten that Erika was a German, until she said: “Hans Langsdorf, who commands the Graf Spee, is an old friend of mine. He’s a fine fellow, I can’t bear to think of him sitting there with his crippled ship in Montevideo Harbour. But he’ll come out and fight, of course, even if one of your big ships with fifteen-inch guns arrives on the scene. When he has completed his repairs he’ll show you that German sailors are every bit as brave as the British. I’m going for a walk on my own, I think.”
They waited anxiously for further news and two days later learned that at Hitler’s orders Captain Langsdorf had scuttled the pride of the German Navy.
At first Erika refused to believe it but when she was fully convinced that the news was true she burst into a storm of bitter weeping. “The humiliation of it!” she cried. “How dare that swine, Hitler, give such an order and make us appear cowards before the whole world. If anything could make all decent Germans loathe him more than they do at present, this thing will. It’s enough to start a mutiny.”
It was all the others could do to comfort her, but as by this time Gregory had got back a few of his memories about the last war he was able to persuade her that Hitler alone would be regarded with contempt as a result of the scuttling; since everybody knew that innumerable gallant actions had been performed by German soldiers and sailors in the past. There was one particular example which he wished to give her but, rack his brain as he would, he could not recall it until he had made Freddie tell him the names of the principal battles in the Great War. When Cambrai was mentioned it unlocked the closed door that he sought and brought back to him a whole series of events.
“That’s it!” he cried, “Cambrai; the great Tank battle. Previous to that, before each big attack we used to do a seven-days’ preparatory bombardment. Our Generals had so little imagination that the drill was always just the same and, naturally, the Germans got quite used to it. When the strafing started in earnest they used to say to one another: ‘There are the British giving us seven days’ notice that they mean to attack in this sector’, and they all went down to play vingt-et-un in their dug-outs for the next week, until the bombardment was over; then they popped up fresh as daisies to receive our men when at last the assault took place.
“But Cambrai was planned by Fuller. He was only a Major then, and Heaven knows how he got his plan passed by the Generals; but he did, and this was his idea. On the morning of November the 50th, 1917, at the same moment as the guns opened fire every man in the British Third Army was to move forward, from the Infantry in the front-line trenches to the last A.S.C. waggon miles away in the rear. Our tanks, which were then a new weapon and had only been tried out in one or two side-shows, advanced with the Infantry, and the chap who commanded them sat on the top of one as it went over, with a miniature flag-staff flying the signal: ‘England expects that every man this day will do his damnedest.’
“Directly the balloon went up the Germans all went down into their dug-outs anticipating the usual seven days’ rest. Before they even had any idea that an attack was in progress our men were bombing them out. The tanks went slap through the front-line, second-line, and reserve trenches. When they did encounter a few Germans the poor chaps simply ran for their lives at the sight of those iron monsters spitting fire and machine-gun bullets; because, you must remember, none of them had even seen a tank before, and there were no such things as anti-tank guns or anti-tank rifles in those days.
“The tanks began to penetrate the German artillery positions and directly the German gunners saw them approaching they just abandoned their guns and fled as though all the devils in Hell were after them. There was one German field-battery outside a village called Flequiers and all the gunners there took to their heels, just like the rest, officers as well as men—but with one exception—the Major.
“When his men started to run he ordered and implored them to stay; but as they ignored his pleas and commands he remained there alone. All by himself he loaded, sighted and fired one of his guns at the nearest tank, blowing it to Jericho. Would you believe it, that German Major took nine tanks to his own gun, single-handed, and held up our attack in that sector for over two hours, which delayed the whole British advance.
“Eventually our tank people had to throw their hand in. They simply could not get past him. So the attack was called off while a couple of tanks were sent on a long detour to take him in the rear; and only then did he surrender. Nine tanks to his own gun—I reckon that’s the biggest bag in history, and how’s that for a hero?”
“Thank you, darling.” Erika placed her hand over his. “It was sweet of you to tell me that, and how wonderfully your memory is improving. You see, I’ve heard the story before, and you’re right in every detail.”
He laughed. “Oh, details don’t bother me once I can get the lead to any subject. It’s just that there are so many subjects on which I’m still completely blank; but I suppose they’ll all come back in time.”
But such bursts of coherence were rare, and although he was not mentally apathetic the effort to connect facts tired his brain, so that he was often silent for long periods. His headaches had ceased but his eyes still bothered him a little. In many ways he remained simple, almost like a child, but his affliction did not seem to worry him and from having been incurably lazy, to his friends’ surprise, he appeared to enjoy physical exertion. The horses had to be rubbed down three times a day to keep their circulation going, even in the temperate stable, and he was happy at such work if Er
ika would sit watching him at it. He picked up ski-ing in a remarkably short time and was the only one among them who, during the first days, did not feel an awful craving for cigarettes; which drove the others nearly crazy.
On December the 20th, Captain Hans Langsdorf shot himself; a sad and futile end to one whom all the prisoners he had taken in the South Atlantic during the early months of war agreed to be a brave and gallant gentleman; and one more death to be laid at Hitler’s door, for which he must answer in time to come.
Erika heard the news with mingled feelings; sorrow for the loss of an old friend, but pride that having carried out the orders of the blackguard who ruled Germany, as was his duty, he had by this personal act saved the honour of the German Navy.
In the meantime the news of the Finnish War was excellent. For three weeks of ceaseless battle the Russians had hurled division after division against the Mannerheim Line but had failed to make the least impression upon it; and the attack on the narrow waist-line of Middle Finland had ended in a major defeat. The Finns had not only checked it but had surrounded and destroyed two whole Russion divisions numbering 36,000 men.
During all the time they had been in their refuge they had seen movement on the road less than half a dozen times. Perhaps that was partly because the winter days were so brief that most of the infrequent traffic upon it passed either before the sun was up in the morning or after sunset in the afternoon. Having taken Petsamo in the first days of the war there were no other strategic points of value to tempt the Russians in the extreme north of Finland; and it was so unbelievably cold up there that, to begin with at all events, they probably considered the objectives to be gained in that sector by any major thrust insufficient to justify the difficulties of maintaining an army of any size in such adverse climatic conditions.
Two detachments of Soviet cavalry had passed north-westwards along the road, doubtless to support a line of pickets further west which was presumably carrying on a guerilla warfare with similar bodies of Finnish pickets in that area. They had also seen one column of light tanks, a company of infantry on skis and a civilian driving a sleigh.
Each time they saw anyone passing they immediately concealed themselves and at night they kept the single window of the house heavily curtained so that it should not attract unwelcome callers. For twenty out of each twenty-four hours the house was hidden from the road by darkness and as it stood well back among the trees it was not easily noticeable even in daylight. They attributed their escape from unwelcome visitors to passers-by either not having noticed the house or being too anxious to get to their destinations to waste time by going a quarter of a mile out of their way to see if the place was occupied.
They had gradually come to regard themselves as reasonably immune from any likelihood of trouble, until they woke on the shortest day of the year to hear sounds of singing. It was eight o’clock in the morning and still dark; since the moon, which was now in its first quarter, had set hours before. While the girls heated the coffee for breakfast Freddie and Gregory went out to investigate. They were now so used to finding their way through the trees in the murky half-light when there was neither sun nor moon, but only the faint reflection of the snow, that they had no difficulty in keeping away from the open track and cutting through the woods direct to the road. On reaching a snow-bank from which they could overlook it they saw, as they expected, that the plaintive soulful singing came from Russian soldiers on the march towards Petsamo.
Crouching there in the semi-darkness the two watchers could vaguely make out the bulk of tanks, numbers of horse-drawn waggons and heavy, lumbering guns. They remained there for three-quarters of an hour and although the column was still passing when they retired to the house they felt reasonably confident that the whole contingent of troops would have gone by before daylight; so they sat down to breakfast with unusual relish, after their exposure to the keen frosty air.
At ten o’clock they went out again and found to their dismay that the Russians were still passing. It looked as though, having failed to break the Finnish front on the Karelian Isthmus or cut through Finland’s waist-line, it had now been decided to send heavy reinforcements north with a view to attempting a break-through there.
As it was the shortest day in the year the sun was not due to rise until nearly eleven o’clock and would set again shortly after one; but if troops were still marching by during those two hours it seemed that there was real danger that when the column made one of its periodical halts to give the men and horses a breather some of the troops would see the house and come over to it in the hope of a free meal. They might be content with a meal but, on the other hand, they might not; and Freddie had very vivid memories of the fate that had overtaken the unfortunate Finnish family, probably in very similar circumstances, on the first day of the war; so he decided to evacuate.
Putting out the fire, they harnessed the horses and dogs to the sleighs, filled them with their most treasured possessions, including all their furs and a supply of food, and drove half a mile further from the road, deep in the obscurity of the surrounding woods. Freddie then returned to within a hundred yards of the house to see if any of the troops paid it a visit.
By the time he had taken up his position daylight was filtering through the snow-covered larches. After waiting there for half an hour he moved nearer to the road so that he could get another look at the passing column. The soldiers were all clad in the ordinary Soviet uniform greatcoats and the pointed caps; only a few of the officers were wearing furs; so it looked as if the men were in for a pretty tough time of it with nothing but indifferent quality cloth to protect them from the Arctic cold. Freddie noted too that they were not even wearing white overalls so, unless they had them in their kit, they would present a very easy target against the snow for the Finnish sharp-shooters.
As he studied the passing faces more intently, however, he saw that the men were not European Russians but, apparently, all Asiatics; so it seemed that the Soviet Generals were bringing divisions from their far-eastern provinces to fight upon this northern front where they would be no more handicapped by the rigours of the climate than the local inhabitants, as the villages from which these Asiatic Russians came must lie under snow for half the year.
It was about twelve o’clock when his fears of a visitation materialised; and it did not prove to be just a few soldiers casually taking advantage of a halt to go to the house in the hope of a warm by the fire and a hot drink. Leaving the road where the track joined it an officer led the way towards the clearing, followed by about half a company of troops and six heavily loaded wagons, as though by arrangement. While the officer and some of his men went into the house the waggons drew up outside it and the rest of the party began to unload them. Some of them contained machines which Freddie made out to be petrol engines and large circular saws. In considerable dismay he returned to the others to report what he had seen.
“I’m afraid I’ve got bad news,” he said. “They’re in the house—and it’s no casual visit. About eighty of them have deliberately taken the place over. It may have been marked on their maps or noted down by somebody who’s been along the road on a reconnaissance. Anyhow, it looks as if they mean to use the clearing as a lumber camp for cutting pit-props to use in their dug-outs and gun-emplacements on this new front they’re forming.”
“That sounds pretty bad,” said Angela. “It means that we won’t be able to get back into the house tonight, as we’d planned.”
“If Freddie’s right we won’t be able to go back at all,” said Erika gloomily. “It means we’re orphans of the storm once more.”
“Let’s all go and have a look what they’re up to,” Angela suggested. “Perhaps Freddie’s wrong, and when they’ve cut enough fuel to supply their regiment for the night they’ll move on again.”
Returning like ghosts flitting through the silent trees they soon reached a position where they could observe the Russians and, as they lay there watching, their spirits sank to zero. Eight tents ha
d now been erected in the clearing; the fire in the house had been got going again, as they could see by the smoke coming from its chimney. Four petrol engines had been hauled into position and the big circular saws were adjusted to them. Three squads of men with axes were already at work chopping down the nearest trees; and while some hacked away at the branches with machetes others hauled the tree-trunks towards the saws for cutting into suitable lengths.
When darkness fell the little party was still gloomily watching, although all of them had realised that there was no hope of the Russians moving on that night. They were once more homeless and fireless in the great frozen north. They had the sleigh and their furs, but to sleep in the open meant risking frost-bite; and if they moved on, where in those grim endless forests could they hope to find shelter?
Chapter XXIII
The Women’s War
Erika was already shivering with cold. “Come on,” she said despondently, “let’s get back to the sleigh.”
Without a word the others followed her through the gathering darkness in miserable dejection.
Among the things which they had brought with them was a hay-box containing a big stoppered can full of hot coffee. It was still warm when they broached it and after a drink they all felt a little more physical well-being but no less depressed. During the three weeks they had lived in the house they had made many expeditions with Bimbo, which had given them an opportunity to explore the surrounding country, but on none of them had they found any sign of human habitation. They were faced once more with the same horrible dilemma that they had come up against a few hours before they had first found their refuge. Should they drive back towards Petsamo, where they would now be quite certain to fall into the hands of the Soviet troops? Or should they follow the road south-east which would take them into Russia, where they would just as certainly be arrested and thrown into the local jail when they reached the first Russian village?
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