Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  ‘Is it true?’

  I almost leaped out of my skin. I turned and saw Mother’s silhouette behind the kitchen table. ‘What on earth are you doing sitting in the dark?’

  ‘Tell me it isn’t true, Finn,’ she asked again, ignoring my question.

  ‘OK, it isn’t true.’ My voice betrayed my guilt.

  ‘The truth, Finn. No lies. Sit down and tell me everything.’

  I sighed. There was no point lying to her, so it all came pouring out. ‘Ned’s an evil pig,’ I said, completing my story. ‘Just like his stepfather. I had to send him a message – give me back my jacket and leave me alone.’

  ‘Oh, why didn’t you tell me, Finn?’ said Mother.

  ‘I thought you’d be angry,’ I explained.

  ‘I am. My blood’s boiling. If I’d known, I’d have had a few choice things to say to that Mr Grimmo. Still, first thing tomorrow morning I’ll pay them a visit and get your jacket back.’

  ‘No!’ I said, leaping to my feet. ‘I’ll deal with it. I’m not a child. I don’t need you to sort out my problems.’

  She frowned. ‘Really? Well, from where I’m sitting it looks to me as though you do. Now, tell me exactly what happened. When did he take your jacket?’

  ‘Never mind. Anyway, it’s no good. He’s already sold it.’

  Mother gasped. ‘Who to?’

  ‘Nobody we know. Now forget it,’ I said. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘Not by causing more trouble, you won’t,’ she said sternly.

  ‘How else?’ I snapped. ‘And Loki agrees. We’ve both vowed to do everything in our power to teach him a lesson.’

  Mother ordered me to sit back down. She reached across the table and took my hand. Her grip was strong. ‘Times are hard, Finn,’ she began. ‘Life’s difficult and dangerous for everyone. Our world has changed and we all have to stand united. We can’t be fighting among ourselves. The Nazis are our enemy, not the Grimmos.’

  I pulled away, sat back in my chair and folded my arms. I didn’t like what I was hearing.

  ‘You know,’ she said, rubbing her cheeks wearily, ‘the best thing you can do is rise above it all. Stop all this nonsense. The worst thing you can do is let this develop into a feud.’

  ‘It already is one,’ I muttered under my breath.

  Mother knew about some of the bullying. Anna had told her after seeing me being chased down the street in town by Ned. But they didn’t know the half of it. I knew I should speak out about it, but what could she do? And, against the horrors of the Nazi occupation, I didn’t think anyone would take our little spat seriously.

  Mother lost her patience. ‘This has to stop, Finn. Stop now! It’s gone beyond a joke. You do realize they arrested Ned? The consequences could have been terrible.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I replied with venom. ‘Anyway, I’m fed up with Ned calling me a collaborator and worse.’

  ‘They’re just words, Finn.’

  ‘Is that right? Well, mud sticks. I’m fed up with people thinking I’m a traitor. It’s Ned who should be the one on the receiving end.’ I was fuming – now it seemed like even Mother was on Ned’s side.

  ‘On this occasion we should be grateful Ned’s stepfather has connections with the Wehrmacht,’ Mother said.

  I gave her a puzzled look.

  ‘You do realize,’ she added, ‘Ned might have been sent to prison. Or worse!’

  The thought had crossed my mind, although not for one minute did I think anything really horrible would happen to him.

  ‘But thankfully his stepfather’s sorted it out,’ Mother continued. ‘Smoothed things over. This time. But it better not happen again. You hear me, Finn? You’ve got to promise me. This ends here and now.’

  ‘I can’t promise,’ I said.

  Mother slammed a hand angrily onto the table. ‘Promise me, Finn.’

  I shook my head.

  Mother cursed. ‘God, if your father was here now, he’d not hesitate to take his belt off to you! He’d make you understand.’

  ‘Well, he’s not here, is he?’ I shouted. As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I shouldn’t have said them. The effect on Mother was crushing and I felt terrible. I couldn’t bear to see her upset like that. The awful news about Father had only reached us a couple of months ago. It was as if someone had ripped out our hearts and left a gaping hole inside us. Worse still, we had to grieve in private, behind closed doors. Our lives depended on it. Only our closest friends and family knew the whole truth. Others simply knew that Father had left us a year ago, before the invasion. If the Germans ever found out that Father had flown with the RAF, we’d all be arrested and sent to the camps. So we didn’t talk about him much in case an informer overheard us. Mr Larson reckoned that there were a good few among us willing to betray their neighbour to gain favour with the Germans. I desperately wanted to, though, so at least Ned would be silenced by the truth.

  Eventually Mother wiped her eyes with a cotton hankie, blew her nose and took a deep breath. In a quiet voice she said, ‘Promise me, Finn. Please. Do it for me.’

  I crumbled and gave in. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I promise.’ I didn’t really believe it, but it dealt with the here and now. It gave me a way out. I got up, wanting to make my escape, but then something pinged inside my head. ‘What did you mean when you said Ned’s stepfather had sorted it?’

  ‘He persuaded Hauptmann that it was just a prank. Said he’d deal with it himself. He swore to the colonel it would never happen again. That’s why he came to see us. He wanted to hear you promise him face to face. But I made the promise for you.’

  Cogs whirred inside my head, and the reality struck me like a big wet snowball in the face. ‘You … you … mean Ned’s already been released?’

  ‘Yes, thank God. He’s safely at home.’

  ‘Oh no.’ My guts sank to the floor. I slumped back down onto my chair and buried my head in my hands. All I’d gone through, all I’d risked – I’d even been shot at – had done little more than inconvenience Ned Grimmo for a couple of hours. Now he was back on the street, and soon he’d come looking for me. I felt very glad that Loki had arranged the trip to Heimar’s, and that we were leaving first thing in the morning.

  Chapter Three

  A Painful Lesson in Basic Physics

  AT EIGHT FIFTY the next morning I left home clutching an envelope Anna had pressed into my hand the previous evening just as I was heading for bed. I told her that I was visiting Heimar with Loki and she asked me to act as a courier. I grabbed an apple on the way out, the bowl of fruit miraculously appearing on Anna’s return from her date with Dieter. As I gently pulled the front door shut, the window above slid open, and Anna’s sleepy head poked out. Her hair was a mess and there was a big pillow crease down one side of her face. ‘Pssst, Finn,’ she whispered all bleary-eyed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you got that envelope?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She leaned out and peered down at me. I waved it in the air. ‘Good.’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Never you mind. Just make sure you give it to Heimar. It’s important.’ She disappeared inside and slammed the window shut. I slipped the envelope into my pocket.

  Our village lay about five miles east of Trondheim, and was home to a few hundred families, most of whom scraped a living fishing the fjords and the Norwegian Sea. In a good year, some made a little profit and could afford to paint the outside of their wooden houses and carry out essential repairs. Mostly, though, people just barely managed to get by. There used to be a sense of community, of looking out for one another, probably because deep-sea fishing was the most hazardous job in the world. Every year terrible storms claimed the lives of men and their boats – all that sacrifice just to put cod on our plates. That’s how Ned Grimmo’s real father died – drowned somewhere in the Norwegian Sea.

  Things had changed since Fritz parachuted in. Most people hated the Nazis but remained silent, heads down – stuc
k in the sand – determined to make the best of a bad situation. A few, however, embraced the change. People like Mr Grimmo, for instance. I think he saw occupation as an opportunity. Unprincipled, he went with the flow, siding with those he believed would win. There was even a rumour that a few men had volunteered to join the German army, and some were keen to wear the uniform of the Waffen SS. I couldn’t fathom it, except to believe that such men weren’t true Norwegians. Finally there was us lot – men and women – who refused to give in. Sometimes Mother would return home carrying underground newsletters printed in secret by the emerging Home Front. They contained real news, not the Nazi propaganda that filled the official newspapers. Stories of resistance kept us true Norwegians going, in the belief that one day we’d drive the enemy from our shores.

  It had stopped raining but a heavy mist hung in the air, as if the clouds had crash-landed. Visibility was reduced to about ten yards. I hoped Loki had remembered his compass, which would be essential to navigate across the fjord. On the bright side, German patrol boats weren’t likely to spot our little rowing boat, and so wouldn’t give us any hassle. About halfway down our street I saw the familiar sight of old Mr Naerog on his bicycle. Puffing and panting, he emerged from the mist like a ghost, his face ruddy from exertion. He squeaked past me. We nodded to each other, but said nothing. He struck me as oddly nervous-looking. Mr Naerog was the village baker. Was he out making deliveries? I turned and watched him disappear into a billowing cloak of moisture. Strange, I thought. With rationing in place, people had to queue for everything. Just who, exactly, was getting preferential treatment? Mrs Johannsen? She was sick and had taken to her bed. Or had someone struck a bargain with him – some fresh bread for an extra pound of cheese? Secret deals like that were rife.

  A five-minute walk took me from my front door to the stony shore, the long wooden jetties and the half-dozen or so timber huts. Brightly painted, mostly red, the huts offered a splash of colour. Visiting fishermen used some of them for sleepovers; others were used to store spare nets and gear. The drifting waves of mist proved so thick I couldn’t see the large fishing boats moored offshore.

  I had just crossed the main road hugging the fjord when I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I glanced round but couldn’t see anyone, so I headed on down a well-trodden path onto the rocky foreshore and waited patiently. Twenty minutes later there was still no sign of Loki. I wasn’t surprised. He was never on time for anything, especially first thing in the morning. I began to regret not collecting him on the way, and half thought about going back and hammering on his front door to wake him. I shivered and looked around. Tied up in its usual spot, Loki’s rowing boat sat low in the water beneath the jetty. I guessed the heavy overnight rain had collected in it and it would need baling out, so I decided to make a start.

  I hadn’t taken more than half a dozen steps when I felt a heavy thump in the small of my back. It took me utterly by surprise and winded me. Bent double, hands on knees, I gasped for air and glanced behind me. A leather football bounced, spun and eventually came to rest by the water’s edge. ‘What the—?’ I shouted.

  A tall, skinny figure emerged from the mist. I gulped. It was Ned Grimmo.

  ‘Well, well, well, if it ain’t little Finn Gunnersen, the Nazi boot-licker,’ Ned snorted. There was a truly awful, sick smirk on his face. ‘Got a bone to pick with you, Finn.’ He scooped up the ball.

  I shot glances in all directions, praying I’d catch sight of Loki. Despite my bravado about fighting back myself, right then I needed my best friend. Ned came close – too close, towering over me. I stood up to him. He gave my shoulder a shove and I took a few unsteady steps back towards the water.

  Although skinny, Ned was strong, and he walked with a confident swagger. A long unruly tuft of black hair dangled over his forehead. He flicked it to one side and declared, ‘You’re gonna pay for what you did, Finn.’

  ‘For what?’ I shouted.

  His eyes narrowed and he sneered at me. ‘You know full well.’

  ‘Well, give me back my flying jacket then,’ I blurted.

  He grinned. ‘So it was you! I was right. I told my stepfather to tell Hauptmann’s men that you were to blame. They should have come for you, Finn. But Father refused to split on you. Said it was better we sorted it out ourselves. I reckon he’s gone soft in the head. He told me we had to call a truce. To hell with that. They’ve confiscated my bike, Finn, all thanks to you. And it took me years to save up for it. So I’m gonna sort you out, here and now, permanently.’

  I desperately tried to figure out a way to escape but knew Ned could run faster than me. He toyed with the football, spinning it in his hands in front of him. ‘You remember what they taught us in school about momentum, Finn?’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Forgotten? Well, let me remind you. If I kick this ball, I give it momentum. The harder I kick it, the more momentum it has, and the further it goes. The energy from my boot gets transferred to the ball. Like this …’

  He flipped the ball into the air, and as it dropped, belted it into the water with his right foot. It went so far it disappeared into the mist. I heard it splash. ‘Go and fetch it, Finn,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be crazy. The water’s freezing. It’ll kill me.’

  ‘Fetch it, Finn. Now.’ The tone of his voice was mocking, like he knew I was scared.

  ‘Fetch it yourself,’ I said defiantly.

  Ned sighed heavily and shook his head. ‘Of course, the principle of momentum applies to everything,’ he added, ‘including my fist and your face.’ He swung a vicious punch towards my chin but I ducked just in time. I wasn’t so lucky the second time round. His other fist sank into my guts and I crumpled to the ground. I covered my face with my hands and drew my knees up to make myself as small as I could, then closed my eyes and waited for him to start kicking me. He duly obliged, each kick accompanied by curses and a torrent of abuse.

  ‘Stop!’ I shouted, then, ‘Traitor!’ and, ‘Fascist pig,’ hoping he’d pause to deny it. But my jibes just riled him even more.

  Loki arrived out of nowhere and at speed. He bundled into Ned and they ended up in a heap. They both struggled to their feet and Loki planted a punch to Ned’s nose that arrived with a hideous crack. Ned’s head shot back and he swayed as if about to fall. Loki raised his fists again. ‘Come on then, Ned,’ he spat. ‘Not so tough now, are you? It’s just you and me, Ned. Well, what are you waiting for?’

  Blood was streaming from Ned’s nose. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, sniffed hard and spat at the ground. He lifted his head and glared at Loki. If looks could kill, Loki was a dead man. I got to my feet and stood beside my best friend.

  ‘Don’t fancy your chances, Ned,’ I said; ‘not against the two of us.’

  Ned cursed and shook his head. ‘You win this time, Finn Gunnersen. But just you wait. Next time—’

  ‘Next time what?’ interrupted Loki. ‘There isn’t going to be a next time, Ned. This ends here and now. Understand? Get Finn’s flying jacket back for him. Get it back from whoever you sold it to.’

  Ned backed away. ‘No way.’ He was still shaking his head. ‘Anyway, I’ll need the cash I’ve got to put towards a new bike.’ Laughing, he turned and ran, pausing halfway up the path to have the last word. ‘We’re not finished yet, you and me, Finn Gunnersen!’ he shouted. ‘There will be a next time.’ He slowly raised a finger and pointed at me. ‘You’re a dead man, Finn. A dead man. You hear me?’ He turned again and ran.

  ‘Creep,’ Loki muttered. ‘Are you OK, Finn?’

  I nodded, despite hurting all over. It was as if I could feel the imprint of Ned’s massive boots in my ribs. His words were still ringing in my ears and I felt rage surge inside me. I was all for running after him but Loki held me back, gripping my shoulder tightly. ‘No, Finn. Another time.’ He brushed the mud, sand and grit from my anorak. ‘Looks like I got here just in time,’ he added, wincing when I rubbed my side. ‘Anything broken?’

&
nbsp; I shook my head. ‘No, I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘I could’ve handled it by myself, you know.’

  ‘Of course you could, Finn.’

  * * *

  We baled out the boat and set off. Loki insisted on rowing first. He kept asking if I was OK, as I had to keep rubbing my sore ribs. But I insisted I was fine. What hurt more than my bruising was the thought of Ned profiting from the sale of my flying jacket. How dare he? Father gave it to me, damn it. It was the best present I’d ever had. I wondered how I could find out who he sold it to. Could I buy it back? Then again, where would I get that sort of money?

  As Loki heaved on the oars, I held his compass steady and made sure we kept heading north-northeast. The fjord was about twelve miles wide at this point and it would take hours to cross. The slate-grey water was strangely calm, almost like a millpond. It could get rough when the tide turned or a wind blew up. The mist was so thick we couldn’t see a thing. Where were the mountains and the villages? It was if someone had wiped the world away, like cleaning the chalk from a blackboard.

  After an hour, Loki stopped rowing and drew in the oars to take a breather.

  ‘Can I have a look at the messages for Uncle Heimar?’ I asked.

  Delving into his anorak pocket, he drew out an envelope and handed it to me. It was unsealed, and inside was a wad of paper, each page with handwriting on it. They looked like ordinary letters, unremarkable. I read one. It was from a Lotti Hilfingborg to Heimar Haukelid, and spoke of how lovely it had been to see Heimar last Christmas, and so on. ‘This is just rubbish,’ I said.

  Loki laughed. ‘That’s what Fritz would think if he read them. The messages are hidden.’

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘No idea. Probably for the best. That sort of knowledge can get you killed. Even so, we mustn’t let them fall into the enemy’s hands. Father said if we got intercepted by a German patrol, I had to stuff them into my mouth and swallow them.’

  ‘What?’