Kirsten shifted to a more comfortable position. “I was forced out of my studies, too, when the Germans closed down Oslo University. I was already sympathetic with the resistance, and then, being arrested with so many other students for nothing pushed me over the edge. I was studying chemistry, so after the war, I suppose I’ll look for work as a chemist. Science runs in the family.”
“But no husband or children?”
“Not in the cards for me. If I’d been married, I would never have volunteered for the mission I was on, which brought me to the Sami. I’d be somewhere in Britain, maybe working as a fire warden, waiting for my hubby to come back from the war.”
Maarit half smiled. “Instead you got me.”
“Yes. And that very nice oversized Sami coat that will serve very well as a pillow.” She folded up her gakti, placed it at the top of the deerskin, and lay down on it.
Maarit did the same, then slid down back-to-back with her. She lay that way for an awkward moment, until she turned on her other side and threw her arm over Kirsten’s waist. “Like we slept under the snow, up on the plateau. I liked that,” she murmured.
Kirsten relaxed against her. The warmth and contentment of close contact was familiar, but something new emerged. Perhaps it was the pride of achievement and return to duty, of the growth from invalid to fighter, that brought the new sensation. For now, unmistakably, what coursed through her was arousal.
“Yes. Me, too.”
* * *
A banging on the door awakened them, and Birgit’s head appeared in the opening. “The stove in the public room is lit, and I’ve just made coffee. The café’s still closed, so come in, when you’re ready.”
They both clambered up from their deerskin bed into the icy air of the storeroom where their fire had long gone out. Hurredly, they pulled on their gaktis, tied up their boots, and shuffled into the café.
Birgit handed them their cups. “Our radio man took your message and will send it today to his own contact with instructions to pass it on to Leif Tronstad. With any luck, you’ll have a reply tomorrow.”
Kirsten held her coffee against her chest, the aroma and steam underscoring the pleasure of the news. “That’s fine. After two months in the wilderness, I can wait one more day.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t spend it here in the café.” She slid a plate toward them that held the hard bread from the previous evening. “Germans come in all the time, and I’d have trouble explaining your presence here a second day.”
Kirsten dipped a slice of bread into the coffee and found the taste combination agreeable. “No. Of course not. Anyhow, we’ve got a job to do outside that will take most of the day. But I need to know. How do people get up to the plant at Vemork these days? Do they still have the rail line?”
“The one that runs directly from Rjukan? Yes. The workers ride up on it every day and use it to transport materials. There’s also a footpath that leads to a suspension bridge across the gorge.”
“Those routes have been there for decades. Is there any other way up?”
“Not that I know of, short of climbing down one side of the gorge and then up the other side, which no one would be crazy enough to do.” She rose from the counter and turned back toward the cooking stove. “The café got a ration of goat meat that will go into a stew today. I’ll save some for you.”
“We can pay,” Kirsten said. “We actually have some money.”
“Good to hear. The café is rationed the same as individuals are, and I have to account for everything. The beer and the overnight are on the house.”
“We’re very grateful. The British government will be, too.”
Birgit shrugged indifference. “Just get the damned Germans out of Norway, and we’ll call it even.”
* * *
Maarit and Kirsten skied westward along the Måna River in the murky, sunless light of the Rjukan morning.
“Do you think Tronstad and the SOE are still interested in the hydro plant?”
“Since they were willing to risk the lives of thirty-four of us to attack it, it’s obviously valuable. If I’m wrong, and they’re onto something altogether different, that’s fine. But I’m guessing they’re still planning an attack, and a good description of alternative routes will be valuable.”
Keeping as much as possible out of sight, they pushed on along the road that ran parallel to the gorge and the Måna River below. After leaving Rjukan, it snaked in a wide, half-mile-long curve down the mountain to a village.
“That must be Vaer,” Kirsten said over her shoulder. “We should take a shortcut down this way to avoid getting near it.” They left the road and removed their skis, hiding them in the snow behind some bushes. Then they began the steep descent, anchoring each step on the slippery snow by kicking holes in the crust. At the bottom of the gorge, near the frozen Måna River, they stared upward, scrutinizing the brush that grew between the rocks. It had furnished enough handholds to permit them to descend safely. It could hold others as well.
“There’s the suspension bridge.” Maarit pointed toward the bridge that swung across the gorge about a quarter of a mile away. “Now we just need to cross the river and find the same kind of route up to the plant.”
They hiked along the water’s edge for a short distance, until Maarit pointed toward a slope slightly less steep than the one they’d come down on the other side. “Plenty of growth, too. I think we have our route.”
Kirsten noted the distances and landmarks before they crossed the river again and hiked back to the location of their descent. At the top, as they latched on their skis, Maarit glanced back at the trail they had left behind them in the snow.
“You’re not worried that this might all be wasted effort? You could have simply reported in again before undertaking all this.”
“But if the Vemork mission was so important back in November, I’m guessing it’s still on. When I report in again for duty, I’d like to have something to offer.”
Maarit nodded understanding, and in the growing darkness, they began to ski back to Birgit’s café.
Chapter Eight
Once again in Birgit’s storeroom, Kirsten was too nervous to relax. What would London’s response be, and would they consider her derelict for the time she was absent?
But at the end of the day, after Birgit had locked up the café, she entered the storeroom with a comrade. “This is Arne,” she said, nodding toward the stocky man who’d followed her in. “Not his real name, but he doesn’t know yours either.” She turned toward the man. “Tell them what London said, Arne.”
He tugged off his knit cap, revealing a thick head of black hair. That, together with his square head and bushy eyebrows, made him look vaguely troll-like. But his message, which he’d memorized, was altogether welcome.
“Two radio reports came. One from Tronstad said, ‘Glad you’re alive. JB is here. Have notified local team head, who will contact you for ongoing operation.’”
“I’m assuming you know who JB is,” Birgit remarked coolly.
“Yes. That would be my father,” Kirsten said. “He talked about heading to Sweden when I left. What’s the second message?”
“It was from the local Milorg head that said, ‘Someone will meet you Saturday at Center.’”
“Very good, but where is ‘Center’?”
Birgit frowned. She seemed to always frown before speaking, as if reluctant to reveal information. “This is Center. Right here.” Then she laid a hand on Arne’s back and led him toward the storeroom door.
Kirsten turned to Maarit, smiling. “Looks like, starting tomorrow, we’re back on duty.”
* * *
As promised, Saturday night, after the café shut down, someone appeared at the storeroom door.
“Einar Skinnarland,” he said, holding out his hand first to Kirsten, then to Maarit. At Kirsten’s puzzled expression, he added, “I’m Torstein’s brother. Let’s sit down, because you have a lot to catch up on.”
She was
struck both by his good looks and the shape of his face. The impression started at his hair. Long, thick, and combed straight back from a high forehead, it flattened out at the sides, creating corners to his head. But his wide lips, straight eyebrows, and square chin also added horizontal lines, culminating in an almost perfect square. It gave him an aura of superficial masculine glamor.
Birgit went back to brew coffee for everyone, and Einar began. “Tronstad knows about the Freshman disaster, but SOE is still targeting the Vemork plant. The new operation is called Gunnerside and involves much the same sabotage strategy, but with an all-Norwegian team trained in Scotland.”
“Is Jomar Brun involved?”
“Yes. He was one of those in charge of training the men, since he knows what the place looks like inside and out. London has sent five men in by parachute: Poulsson, Helberg, Kjelstrup, Haugland, and Strømheim.”
Birgit had returned with mugs of coffee and passed them around. “Are you allowed to tell me what they want to sabotage?”
Skinnarland blew over the top of his scalding cup, looking very boyish. “Last month, word got around that the Americans had made some kind of breakthrough in their atomic research. In Chicago, I think. Anyhow, the Germans put their own atomic program into high speed. Part of what they need is up at the Vemork plant. When they learned about the gliders headed toward the plant, they put two and two together.”
“They learned about the sabotage by capturing the men who didn’t die in the crash. Do we know what happened to them?”
“We think they were all shot eventually. But they must have given some information, and the Germans found explosive material on the gliders, so they know Vemork was a target. Reichskommissar Terboven drove up personally to Vemork to inspect the factory. Right away, they strengthened the garrison of soldiers in Rjukan and laid mines around the plant.”
“How is Operation Gunnerside going to deal with that?” Birgit asked.
“By demolishing the research facilities, just as we’d planned during Operation Freshman, only this time with a smaller team and no gliders.” He glanced with apparent disapproval at Kirsten. “London has ordered me to put you on the team, but I have to tell you, the men didn’t like the idea of adding a woman.” Suddenly his boyishness wasn’t so charming.
“Women,” Maarit interjected coolly. “There are two of us.”
“Women,” Skinnarland echoed. “Even worse. In any case, their objections were overruled since, according to Jomar Brun, you’ve been inside the plant and know the layout. That makes you indispensable.”
“So we’ll be eight altogether,” Maarit concluded, refusing to respond to his annoyance. “And where will we meet the others? Will they be coming here?”
“No. Too dangerous. The others are in a cabin at the northwest part of the Hardanger, about eighteen miles northwest of Rjukan, near the lake. Torstein was in charge of bringing them food, but he’s been arrested, so they must be pretty hungry by now. I’m taking the food in his place, and now you as well. The supplies are ready, so we can leave right away.”
Kirsten stood up. “All right, then. Let’s get to it.”
* * *
Climbing from Rjukan up onto the plateau hauling a fully loaded sled took over two hours of hard labor. But once they reached the top, they made good progress on their skis, drawing the sled behind them.
Several hours later, Skinnarland pointed with his pole toward a black dot on the side of a distant hill. “There it is.”
Thank God, Kirsten thought. For the second time, she’d pushed herself to her limit. But, having cajoled her way into both the original and the new mission, she could not admit weakness.
When they reached the cabin and one of the men opened up, Skinnarland greeted him with, “Hello, Jens.” Kirsten was shocked. The haggard man in front of them wasn’t the Jens Poulsson she’d met in training three months earlier. His long, unkempt beard did little to hide an emaciated face, and his bloodshot eyes were ringed in dark circles.
“I hope you brought food,” he said as they filed into the hut.
“Don’t worry. We’re loaded. You can already set water on to boil.”
“Thank God. We’ve been living on oatmeal and lichen for weeks.” He finally seemed to notice her and Maarit. “And Jomar’s daughter. Kirsten, is it?”
“That’s me, sir. And this is Maarit. She knows the terrain better than anyone.” She spoke all in one breath, to ensure acceptance at the outset. The last thing she, or the team needed, was resentment.
“Fine,” Poulsson said indifferently. “This is Knut Haugland, Kaspar Idland, Birger Strømsheim, Fredrik Kayser, Arne Kjelstrup, Joachim Rønneberg, and Claus Helberg. You might remember Claus from training in Scotland.” He reeled off the names too quickly for her to remember any of them, but all showed the effects of hunger and exposure. Names, for the moment, didn’t seem important.
After unloading the desperately needed food, the men sat or squatted where they could in the crowded cabin and filled their stomachs. At the end of the meal, Poulsson cleared away the table and laid out a map and diagram. “This is where we are,” he said, pointing to a spot northwest of Rjukan. “And the hydro plant is over here on the other side of the river. We need to find a way to get there without being detected. That leaves out crossing the suspension bridge, at least on the way in.”
“We could cross it,” one of the men said. “With Skinnarland staying back as radio operator, we’re nine people, and they never post more than four guards. We could storm them. I don’t mind being right in front. They might get one or two of us, but the rest would make it in to do the job.”
Poulsson shook his head. “Thank you for your zeal. I think most of us share it. But the people of Rjukan don’t. If any Germans are killed, reprisals will follow immediately.”
Haugland scratched his hairy neck. “The only alternative is going down into the gorge and climbing back up again on the other side. That will cost us a couple of days to look for a route down and up through the rocks that won’t kill us. We’ll be carrying heavy loads, and none of us are rock climbers.”
Kirsten glanced around at the haggard faces and took a breath. “We found a way.”
All heads turned. “While we were waiting for our message to go through to London, Maarit and I explored along the river. We discovered a place where you can get down into the gorge pretty safely. It’s steep, but we found enough handholds between the rocks to break any fall. Better still, we located another route, farther along the river, where we could climb up toward the plant. Not with skis, of course. Only by foot.”
Haugland shook his head. “That’s fine going in, but not for the retreat. We’ll be exhausted, with the Germans on our heels, and it will take far too long to climb down and then back up to where we’ve left our skis. We’ll be trapped in the gorge.”
Poulsson lit his pipe and took a long pull on it, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth. It quickly filled the cabin, though no one seemed to mind. “So we’re agreed that Kirsten’s route works for going in. Now all we have to worry about is getting out. Once we set off our explosives, the whole detachment will be after us, not to mention the forces stationed in Rjukan itself.”
Poulsson thought for a moment. “It might not be as bad as that.” He raised a finger. “Hear me out. According to Jomar’s diagrams, the heavy-water extraction is limited to the basement laboratory. Our best entry point, according to him, will be the cable conduit. Once we’re inside the laboratory, it won’t take a massive explosion to demolish it, but only a series of small connected explosions.”
Kirsten nodded. “That’s true. When I was there, I saw a long row of canisters, all in a single hall. With all the noise from the turbines and the water flow, small explosions won’t be heard very far.”
“Yes. That’s my point,” Poulsson said. “If the reaction is restricted to a handful of confused guards inside the plant, we have a good chance to get down without interference and then start back up the gorge on the
north side. If we leave our skis close to the road, we can manage after maybe two hours of climbing. And remember, darkness and the bushes will hide us.”
Idland spoke for the first time. “You know, they’ll be expecting us to head westward. If we head east, back toward Rjukan, we could use the construction path under the old cable-car lift. The lift’s been shut down for years, and the abandoned path will be covered with growth, but it’s still there.”
Poulsson tapped the ashes out of his pipe into a can. “All right, then. I think we have our approach and escape strategy. Now we just need to agree on how to handle the demolition.”
Kayser raised his hand as if in school. “I propose Idland, Strømsheim, Rønneberg, and myself for the demolition party. We’re all good with explosives.”
“I should be part of it, too,” Kirsten interjected. “I know the layout of the plant better than anyone here.”
“Agreed,” Poulsson said. “And the rest of us will be the covering party. And Maarit,” he added, as if just noticing her. “But we’ll all carry explosive material, so if anything happens to the demolition group, the covering group will go in and do the job. We’ll try for no fatalities, neither ours nor theirs,” Poulsson elaborated. “But if they attack before the job’s done, every man…and woman…has the task of completing the mission. And if you’re caught or wounded, you have to take the bullet yourself. We know the Germans torture, so we can’t have anyone fall into their hands. Are we all in agreement?”
All murmured consent without hesitation.
“Any questions?”
“The explosive material,” Kirsten said. “It came in by parachute?”
To Sleep With Reindeer Page 11