Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  ‘I’ve saved you some bread and cheese,’ I said, pointing to the plate.

  Anna peered at the pathetic scraps and scrunched up her nose. ‘No thanks,’ she said. Then, with a snooty air, she added, ‘Dieter’s taking me out to dinner. At the Officers’ Club! He said they’ve got stacks of fresh meat. Said I could have a steak cooked any way I like. And they have the finest wines too.’

  ‘Great,’ I said sarcastically.

  She got the message. ‘Don’t worry, Finn, I’ll bring home a doggy bag for you. And I’ll ask Dieter if he can get us some fresh fruit.’ She paused and looked at Mother. ‘Anything else we need?’

  Mother’s face lit up in the same way it always used to when Father brought her flowers from the market. ‘Some soap. Butter and sugar would be nice. Almost out of salt too.’

  Anna took hold of Mother’s hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Mother hugged her.

  The truth was stark and we all knew it. Although Mother had only been able to find work in a bar since the occupation, money wasn’t the problem. The Nazis had imposed rationing almost immediately after they arrived. As if that wasn’t bad enough, many of the soldiers quickly began buying up everything from the shops. Loki’s father, Mr Larson, said he reckoned they were printing our currency, the krone, in Germany, and that the soldiers were spending it like there was no tomorrow. It was just another reason to hate them. If it hadn’t been for Anna working her magic on Dieter, a few contacts on the black market, and Loki and me going fishing on the fjord every weekend, we’d probably be on the road to starvation.

  Mr Larson never did make it to England. In the weeks and months after Father left, a string of excuses delayed his departure until, in April, the Nazis came and made his trip impossible. There were rumours of men and women escaping to England by boat, of course, but Mr Larson said this was tantamount to suicide. He believed he could be of more use staying put. Mrs Larson was delighted at his decision to remain here, especially after the news of Father’s death reached us.

  Mother’s expression clouded over. ‘Do you have to go, Anna?’ she whispered. ‘Is there really no other way?’ If Mother had a kroner for every time she worried about Anna, we’d be rich beyond our wildest dreams.

  ‘No. I’ve told you before. This is the only way,’ Anna replied sharply. ‘Anyway, you’ve heard the rumours. The Germans are up to something. Word on the street is that they are going to impose new restrictions, that within a fortnight much of the fjord is going to be out of bounds. We need to know if it’s true. We have to find out what’s going on. That’s my mission for the evening, to somehow get Dieter to talk.’

  Mother turned and looked away.

  It was Anna’s job. She had to smile at the enemy, laugh at their jokes and act the dumb blonde. All with one hidden purpose – to extract information. And wow, was she good at it. So good, in fact, that most of our neighbours had been taken in too. They thought badly of her. Fraternizing with the enemy drew disapproving frowns and black looks in the street. Mrs Ingersol even spat at her and called her a good-for-nothing whore in front of everyone at the bus stop. I knew it hurt Anna deeply but she didn’t let it show. She was fighting back in the only way she knew how.

  I grabbed a glass of milk and headed upstairs to the sanctuary of my bedroom. To keep Mother and Anna out, I’d placed a sign on my door – EINTRITT VERBOTEN – no admittance. I’d nicked it off the fence surrounding the German seaplane base on the shore of the fjord. I often went there to get a close-up view of the planes taking off and landing. At first the guards patrolling the perimeter told me to shove off and never come back. They waved their arms and gestured with their rifles. But I ignored them and kept on returning like an unwelcome rash. Eventually they gave up harassing me.

  My room was its usual mess, looking as if it had been decimated by the blast from a howitzer shell. Books, mostly to do with aviation, lay strewn everywhere. I was slowly teaching myself navigation, all about weather systems, and digesting everything I could lay my hands on regarding the technical side of flying. Loki and I had formed a pact. Somehow, someday, we were both going to become pilots. And we’d both solemnly sworn on the Bible that we’d do our best to get to Britain and join the RAF, although we hadn’t quite figured out exactly how we’d bring about our escape. My balsa-wood model of a Sopwith Camel sat on a shelf waiting to be mended. She’d crash-landed on her maiden flight from my bedroom window. Newspaper cuttings of aircraft were glued to my walls beside my prized framed photograph of Father standing beside his pet hog the day he and Mr Larson took ownership of her. A dart-board hung on the back of my door. On it I’d stuck a picture of Mr Hitler. If Loki or I managed to hit his ridiculous little toothbrush moustache, we awarded ourselves a bull’s-eye. I grabbed my homework and lay on my bed. The sums we’d been given were easy and I rattled them off in half an hour. Job done, I lay on my back and relived the day in full. Everything had gone like clockwork.

  It began raining outside, the faint pitter-patter soon giving way to a deluge that hammered on the roof and windows. When the gushing sound began, I knew the gutters had overrun. I thought of the missing tiles and guessed water would soon be dripping through the ceiling. I looked up at the cracked and peeling plaster. That needed fixing too. I wished I’d remembered to call on Mr Olsen.

  My otherwise perfect day began to disintegrate with the impatient and persistent banging of a fist on our front door. It was eleven o’clock. For someone to risk being out on the streets at that time of night meant it had to be important. I rolled off my bed and crept to my bedroom door. I opened it an inch and pressed an ear to the gap. Mother called out angrily from our kitchen, ‘All right, keep your hair on, I’m just coming,’ and then I detected her footsteps in the hall, the clop clop clop of her wooden soles against the floor. I heard the metallic clunk of bolts being slid undone, then a deep and muffled man’s voice. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I could only hear Mother, only half the conversation, the less interesting half.

  ‘You’re joking?’ she said with what sounded like genuine surprise. More muffled talk. ‘Is he OK? Where is he now?’

  I wondered who on earth they were talking about. Had something terrible happened?

  ‘And you’re certain it was him?’ she said bluntly. There followed a distinct pause, as if Mother was trying to take it all in. ‘I really don’t know what’s got into him.’ She sounded exasperated. ‘Well, it’s late, but I suppose you’d better come in. I’ll call him down and you can watch me wring the little bugger’s neck.’

  My heart leaped into my mouth. Everything clicked into place and I panicked. Somehow, unfathomably, Mr Grimmo, Ned’s stepfather, had found his way to my front door. This was not good news. Ned’s stepfather was extremely scary. He was a tall, strong, overbearing man of little humour. Worse, he was a fascist, a Nazi sympathizer, and had connections to all the wrong sort of people. The secret to a happy life was to avoid him. But, terrifyingly, he was on my doorstep.

  ‘Finn, get down here this instant!’ Mother’s voice was ear-splitting.

  The options flashed through my head. There weren’t many. Of course, I could act the innocent, pretend to be as shocked as Mother, and vehemently deny any involvement. But would I be convincing, or would I crack under pressure? Then again, I could be strong and upright, sneer at Mr Grimmo and tell him what I thought of Ned, that Ned had it coming to him, and that there’d be plenty more trouble heading their way unless Ned gave me back my flying jacket. Although I couldn’t prove it, I knew he’d stolen it. He’d taunted me about it. Said he’d sold it to someone and wouldn’t reveal who. But, naturally, when stood accused before the headmaster, he denied everything. Swore blind he’d not gone anywhere near the locker room that lunch time.

  There was no time to think. I decided on a third option, the one with my self-preservation at heart. Hastily I dived into my favourite thick black sweater and reached into a cupboard for my spare pair of boots.

  ‘You hear
me, Finn? Come down right now or I’ll come up and drag you down by the ear!’

  I did up my laces and grabbed the small torch I kept next to my bed in case of emergencies, and for nocturnal trips to the outside toilet. I made for the window, slid it open and placed one foot on the slippery wet sill. I hesitated. This was crazy. Surely it proved my guilt. I heard Mother’s heavy footsteps on the stairs, clop clop clop.

  I was out through the window in a flash. Reaching to my left, I seized the cast-iron drainpipe and slid down. It was an escape route I’d used before. Once in our back yard, I quickly glanced around. The slanting rain beat down heavily on me and I was already soaked. Where to hide? The outdoor toilet? No, it would be the first place anyone would look. Anyway, it stank like hell. Instead, I made for the woodshed, hastily lifting the latch on the small door. I squeezed inside.

  The shed was only about three-feet tall. Everyone in our street had one, although most others had sides open to the elements, the stacked logs usually left exposed to the drying crosswind. But years ago Father had had a bright idea and decided to enclose ours and give it a door. He did it with me in mind. Afterwards, on occasions I’d done something particularly bad, come rain, snow or shine he’d frogmarch me into the yard, order me inside and padlock the door with the words, ‘That’ll teach you!’ I think four hours was the longest jail term I’d served. But that was years ago. I was smaller then and the padlock had long since been mislaid. I pulled the door shut and sat with my knees up against my chin, listening and waiting.

  Inside, it was pitch-black and water dripped through cracks in the roof. The air smelled sharp and sweet from the sticky pine resin bleeding from the sawn ends of the neatly piled logs. Our back door crashed open.

  ‘Finn!’ Mother hollered. ‘Where are you? You’re in big trouble. Just wait till I get hold of you.’

  Oh, great. Now the whole neighbourhood knew. I drew up my knees even more tightly, held my breath and closed my eyes. Go away. Leave me alone. I figured Mother would not venture outside in this weather. In any event, she probably thought I’d scrambled over the fence and headed for Loki’s house a couple of doors up the street.

  When, eventually, our back door closed, I blew a huge sigh of relief. I knew it wouldn’t be safe to return until they’d cooled off, so I tried to make myself comfortable. I expected Mr Grimmo would eventually head off home, no doubt vowing to return in the morning. I switched on my torch and moved its narrow beam about the shed. The remains of an old grey blanket lay in the corner. I’d used it once to keep warm. Now it had almost rotted through and was home to creepy-crawlies. I pointed the torch towards the under-side of the roof. The shed was constructed of thick pine planks, the roof sloping and waterproofed by a layer of felt and tar. I saw signs of my previous visits, when I’d used my hunting knife to scratch lines in parallel rows, each an imaginary year of incarceration. I’d carved my name too – Finn Gunnersen was here.

  The rain kept on falling and the earth beneath my bum grew damp. I seized the rotten remains of the blanket and wedged it beneath me.

  ‘Fiiiiiiiinn!’

  What on earth was that? I thought I heard a ghost-like whisper.

  ‘Fiiiiiiiiinn!’

  There it was again. ‘Finn!’ It was louder this time and I recognized Loki’s voice. He was on the other side of the fence. He must have heard Mother shouting.

  ‘What do you want, Loki? I’m hiding,’ I said.

  ‘I know. Is there room inside there for me?’ he hissed.

  ‘Just about.’ I shuffled to one side as he clambered over the fence and squeezed in. Since he was much bigger than me, we ended up packed like tinned sardines. He shook my hand to congratulate me, and then began sniggering. ‘Have you heard?’ he said gleefully. ‘The Germans arrested Ned earlier this evening. Bundled him and his bike into a truck and drove off. By all accounts he looked terrified.’

  ‘Really? No wonder Mr Grimmo came hammering on our front door.’

  ‘He’s here?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Crikey, Finn.’

  ‘You don’t think we went too far this time, do you?’ I asked.

  ‘Too far?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, it all seemed such a great idea. Revenge is supposed to taste sweet, so why doesn’t it? They won’t do anything really horrible to Ned, will they? I mean, it was all just a prank, Loki. Surely the Germans will realize that, won’t they? We’re just kids.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine, Finn. At worst, they’ll probably just keep him locked up for a while. Still, anyway, he had it coming. He’s made your life hell for too long. So tell me all about the raid on Colonel Hauptmann.’

  I did. ‘The fat Nazi even shot at me!’ I said bitterly. ‘Missed by an inch. You never told me that might happen.’

  ‘Guess luck was on your side then,’ he replied, clasping his hands behind his head and sighing contentedly. ‘Well done, Finn. I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it.’

  ‘Thanks. In truth, I wasn’t sure either until the last minute. What I’d like to know is how Mr Grimmo ended up at my front door so quickly. How come he figured it out? We’re the only two who knew about it.’

  Loki sniffed and then sneezed loudly as he always did when dust got up his nose. And the shed was full of dust. ‘Don’t know, Finn,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Mind you, everyone knows you and Ned don’t get along.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said. In fact I wondered whether someone had recognized me in town, despite my disguise, and told Mr Grimmo. ‘How did you know I’d be hiding in here?’ I added.

  ‘Figured as much. The loo was too obvious.’

  We sat in silence for a few minutes and then Loki said, ‘Listen, Finn, you’re going to have to lie low for a while. Let things cool down.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, shining the torch into Loki’s face.

  He raised his eyebrows as if to state the obvious. ‘Think about it. Ned will be out for revenge. And he won’t stop until he gets you.’

  ‘He can’t prove it was me. Nobody can,’ I said defiantly.

  ‘Since when has Ned Grimmo ever needed proof?’

  I gulped. Loki was right. Until today, I’d never fought back. Not properly. I’d done my best to ignore Ned’s bullying. Shoving me about on the way to and from school, flicking the back of my head with a ruler during geography lessons, and insisting I handed over the contents of my pockets – these were almost daily occurrences, each evil act accompanied with words like ‘Nazi lover’ or ‘Collaborator’. It all started after the invasion, after Mother got a job in a bar frequented by German officers, after Anna was seen in the street with Dieter. I hadn’t done anything to deserve Ned’s attention. Of course, I denied it but he wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t explain the truth – that both Mother and Anna were doing their bit to resist the occupation – as that had to remain secret. The oddest thing about it, though, was that it all seemed the wrong way round. After all, it was Ned’s stepfather who was the fascist, a Nazi sympathizer and an active and prominent member of the Nasjonal Samling political party, the NS. Most of the time I could brush off Ned’s acts of hatred, but stealing my flying jacket was the last straw. ‘You know, Loki, I wish there was some way I could prove Ned took my jacket.’

  He smirked. ‘Well, maybe a few hours in the company of the Gestapo will get him to see reason.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ I replied.

  Loki was my protector. He was bullish enough to more than match Ned, but he wasn’t always there to protect me. I knew that only too well. I also figured that there comes a time when you have to fend for yourself and be prepared to hit back. My day had come, or so I’d thought, though I was now racked by doubt. Had we gone a step too far? My confidence was draining away and the resulting space in my head was rapidly filling with alarm. ‘What am I going to do, Loki? We haven’t thought this through properly, have we? You never said anything to me about lying low.’

  ‘I didn’t realize it would be taken so seriously,’ he admitted. ‘But don�
��t worry, Finn, I’ve got a plan.’

  I groaned. ‘Oh, great. I hope it’s better than your last one.’

  ‘It is. Father’s got a load of messages that need taking to Uncle Heimar. They have to be sent to London without delay. Things are hotting up. I volunteered to take them across the fjord tomorrow morning, and I figured with it being the weekend, I’d stay the night. I think it might be best if you came along for the ride. We can share the rowing.’

  I liked his idea. Uncle Heimar and Loki’s father were active in the emerging Resistance movement. It was all hush-hush, of course, and we had to be extremely careful not to mention it within earshot of anyone we didn’t trust. Loki’s father was always telling us that loose tongues cost lives. Mother too was slowly being drawn into this murky world of secrets. Her job was one few wanted. The bar she worked in was a firm favourite of the Wehrmacht and SS. To say she hated the job was an understatement. But she swallowed her pride and did what she was told, serving the Germans with the best smile she could muster, and putting up with the wandering, groping hands of drunken men stationed too far from home. Mr Larson, however, was delighted with the snippets of information Mother overheard.

  Loki began fidgeting. ‘I’m getting a soggy bum out here. And it’s turning cold. I’m off. Meet you down by the boat at nine o’clock. Don’t be late.’ He punched open the door and disappeared into the night.

  I slipped quietly back indoors. Our kitchen was in darkness, the fire having gone out in the hearth. The air was tinged with dampness from my drying shirts, and there wasn’t a sound except for the friendly, reassuring slow tick of the mantel clock. I assumed Mother had finally turned in, having decided confrontation could wait until the morning. I slipped off my boots and soggy sweater.