Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  I tried to make myself comfortable. It’s not so bad, I kept telling myself. In fact, it was positively luxurious in comparison to the woodshed at home. Of course, there was one big difference. Even when I was little, I always knew that if I got really scared, Father would let me out. Failing that, the latch was so flimsy I could’ve kicked out the door and made my escape. But none of those options was available in the Kristiansten Fortress.

  When the light suddenly went out, I felt truly frightened for the first time. It’s an odd thing, but when you can’t see anything, your other senses pick up on the slightest smell or noise, and amplify them in your head. I thought I heard footsteps, crying, distant moaning. Or was it just air in the water pipes running through the corridor? Were my ears playing cruel tricks on me? I tried to get some sleep but I dozed fitfully. Though desperately tired, I couldn’t get comfortable or settle. I tossed and turned and felt frozen to the bone. The blanket they’d provided itched my skin and offered little warmth. ‘Bastards!’ I shouted, but I doubt anyone heard me.

  Breakfast consisted of bread and water and was delivered at seven on the dot. At eight, the tray was collected and my bucket replaced. It was the only time the door to my cell was opened. I spent the next couple of days pacing back and forth and lying on my bunk. A growing anger simmered away inside me. My jaw and belly were bruised and hurt like hell. If only Ned had known that us Gunnersens were good Norwegians like him, he’d not have landed me in it.

  Damn you, Ned, I cursed. It’s all your fault. Just wait until I get out of here.

  Now he really owed me one – for all the trouble I was in, not to mention stealing my flying jacket. If only he’d not stolen my blasted jacket, none of this would’ve happened. I was desperate to get out of my cell. Of course, I dreamed of a thousand ways to escape, none of which were practical. I couldn’t jump the guard. And even if I could, there were probably others in the corridor. I wouldn’t make it twenty paces. But I assumed it was only a question of time before I was released. After all, the soldiers had not been chasing me. And Dieter and Hans had seen Ned dump the satchel on me. The truth would surely come out in the end. Wouldn’t it? The longer I was locked up, the more the seeds of doubt began germinating in my brain. I thought of Mother and Anna. Both would be distraught and feeling helpless.

  In the middle of my third night of imprisonment, I awoke with a jolt. I’d heard something. A scream? A yell? I raised myself up onto my elbows and listened. There was scuffling outside, and raised German voices too. Then someone let out an agonized cry. More shouting. A loud, pitiful sob. Then silence. It was the abruptness of the silence that turned me ice-cold. I wasn’t alone in this hell. There were other prisoners, and they were suffering unspeakable things. Was it my turn next? I slipped beneath my blanket, pressed my eyes tightly shut and placed my hands over my ears. I wanted to leave this place. I imagined myself far, far away. I was with Father. We were flying above a frayed rug of cloud pierced by flint-sharp mountaintops and ragged ridges. The roar of the engines filled my ears. Thousands of feet below, our beloved Norway stretched out before us. It reached as far as the horizon, the lakes and fjords glistening and sparkling like jewels. A few bits of wood and aluminium were all that separated us from an incredible fall. But I didn’t feel even a bit scared. Father filled me with confidence. It was as if he had wings, as if he was born to fly. ‘Why did you have to go?’ I said angrily. ‘You should have taken us all with you. Or you should have stayed. We need you. I need you.’

  Eventually I fell back to sleep. In my fitful dreams Father joined me in my cell. He sat close to me on my bunk and spoke softly, just like he used to when I was small and he read stories to me. ‘One day you’ll understand, Finn. One day you’ll forgive me.’ He said it over and over again. Be strong, Finn. Hold your head up high and don’t be afraid. I just knew he wanted me to be like him. He had never been afraid of anything. His image faded. I woke up and he was gone. I was left with a thumping headache and a strange emptiness far more intense than mere hunger. I felt abandoned. Would I ever be released? Was I going to rot in this hell? For the first time I began to cry.

  The following night I worried about falling asleep. I kept pinching myself to stay awake. I tried singing. I tried remembering happier days, our holidays – hiking through summer pastures and swimming in the cool, clear lakes and fjords. We had photographs at home of some of our trips, all neatly pasted into an album. I tried recalling them all, and the exact moments they were taken: what people were saying; how Anna always complained if the wind messed up her hair; how Mother kept closing her eyes the moment Father pressed the shutter. Their voices filled my head. I heard the cries again. Real cries. They were close by. The sounds snatched me from the safety of my imagination. Lying in the darkness, wide-awake, a curious thought struck me. Nightmarish though it all was, my life might take a seriously hideous turn for the worse if the door to my cell was opened. So as long as it remained shut, I was safe. I held onto that thought tightly and dreaded hearing the bolt being slid undone.

  At ten o’clock the following morning they came for me.

  Chapter Six

  Unspeakable Things

  TAKEN TO A room on the third floor of the fortress, I was told to sit on a chair and wait. The guards left me there. The whitewashed room was large but furnished with only a table and two chairs. Daylight flooded in through a small window. There was an unusual whiteness to the light. At first I thought it was simply that my eyes had grown used to the yellowish tint of the electric light bulb in my cell. I got up and walked over to the window. It was lightly misted over so I undid the latch and pushed it open. I poked my head out and took my first breath of fresh air in days. The air was wonderfully clean and crisp. I drank it in. While I’d been locked away, winter had arrived. It had been snowing. Now I understood the brilliance to the natural light.

  The view was fantastic. The city stretched out below me, the cathedral’s towers clearly visible. Beyond were the fjord and the mountains. The steep slopes were white, and blinding in the sunlight. I thought of Heimar’s dogs – they would be pleased their season had finally arrived. I looked down at the ground, which was covered in at least a foot of snow. Deep boot prints led away from the fortress. I thought of escaping, but how? I racked my brain. I was too high up to jump. Then an idea struck me, and I peered left and right, leaning out as far as I dared. Even tall, ancient buildings needed drainpipes. But I was out of luck. Hearing the door bang open behind me, I swiftly turned round.

  A young man in SS uniform had entered the room. An armed guard followed him in, closed the door and stood in front of it. Under one arm the SS officer held a thick file of papers.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Gunnersen,’ he barked. His words and accent were unmistakably Norwegian. It took my breath away. I did as I was told. He made his way to the opposite side of the table, banged down his file and dropped heavily onto his chair. ‘You’re in a lot of trouble,’ he declared.

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘What?’ His stare was piercing.

  ‘How can I be in trouble when I haven’t done anything wrong? You’re Norwegian, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. From Bergen originally. Moved to Hamburg when I was nine. My name’s Anders Jacobsen.’

  I shook my head in disgust. He flipped open his file, picked up a piece of paper and showed it to me. ‘Possession of enemy propaganda, resisting arrest, and assault,’ he said. ‘That sounds like trouble to me.’

  ‘It’s all lies,’ I snapped. I decided to give him my version of events. ‘I was minding my own business. I was cycling behind those prisoners being marched to the station when some kid broke through the crowd, ran past me and thrust that satchel into my hands. Next thing I know I’m being arrested.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘I think you were involved. Heavily involved, in fact.’

  ‘I wasn’t!’

  ‘Yes you were! I think you were working with that other boy. Passing the satchel to you was deliberate. T
o throw the soldiers off the scent. So if they caught up with him, he’d have nothing incriminating in his possession. Luckily, however, our men spotted the handover.’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘The facts say otherwise, I’m afraid.’

  I realized that Anders Jacobsen was an unreasonable man who’d decided I was guilty before even entering the room. I looked him in the eye and repeated my innocence. I don’t think it made the slightest difference.

  ‘So, Finn Gunnersen, who was your accomplice?’

  ‘I didn’t have an accomplice,’ I said defiantly.

  ‘Come now, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. You will tell me eventually, one way or another.’

  I didn’t like the way he said that, but I was also struck with a thought. The very fact that he was asking me meant that Ned had escaped. ‘So,’ I said hesitantly, ‘your men didn’t capture the other boy then?’

  ‘Not on this occasion, no, but we are still looking. A description has been circulated.’ He leaned forward in his chair and smiled at me. ‘It is only a question of time. Now, the charges against you are serious. About as serious as they can get, in fact. Men have been shot for less.’

  I swallowed hard.

  ‘However,’ he continued, leaning back in his chair and resting his boots on the desk, ‘if you help us, I can make sure you’re treated leniently.’

  ‘Seeing as I’m innocent, I very much doubt I can help you at all,’ I replied, sticking to my story.

  Thumbing through his file, he seized a piece of paper and handed it to me. ‘Recognize this? Tell me about it.’

  My hand was shaking. He’d given me a copy of the underground newsletter. I pretended to read it slowly. I knew men like Anders Jacobsen spent a lot of time trying to discover the location of the printing presses, and when they did, they raided the houses, smashed the machinery, burned the copies and arrested everyone involved. I shook my head and handed it back. ‘It makes interesting reading,’ I said, ‘but I can’t tell you anything about it.’

  He removed his boots from the desk. Then he unfastened his holster and drew out his pistol, placing it on the table in front of him. ‘Where are they printing these newsletters?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  He picked up the pistol and toyed with it. Then he pointed it at me and asked me again.

  Staring down the barrel of his gun, I felt choked. ‘Honestly, I-I-I have no idea.’

  His mood darkened to thunder. Hammering a fist down onto the table, he gritted his teeth so tightly the muscles of his face and neck rippled. I sank further into my chair. He cocked the trigger. ‘Answer me!’ he yelled. ‘Where was this printed? Who is involved? Who was your accomplice? Who do you deliver them to?’ His questions flew at me like bullets in a short burst of machine-gun fire.

  I shook uncontrollably. I couldn’t speak. Had I been a couple of years younger, I’d have wet myself.

  His creased brow softened and his shoulders relaxed. He returned his pistol to his holster. ‘I can take as long as you like, Finn Gunnersen. I could easily have you thrown back into that cell and then forget all about you. Or I could hand you over to the Gestapo. They’re not usually as patient as me. Well, Finn? What’s it to be?’

  I slowly regained my composure – well, almost. I couldn’t quite stop my left knee from trembling, but otherwise I was sort of OK. ‘Has it occurred to you th-th-that I might be t-t-telling the truth?’ I stammered.

  Jacobsen snorted and shook his head.

  ‘What about Oberleutnant Braun?’ I blurted. ‘He said he’d put in a good word for me.’

  ‘Ah, Oberleutnant Braun.’ He thumbed through his file for another piece of paper. ‘Yes, here we are. He gave a statement in your defence. Says that he was talking to you and his navigator, Hans Tauber, before your arrest, that he saw the other boy give you the satchel, that he knows your family and believes you’d never get involved in such things.’

  ‘Well, there you are then,’ I said. I leaned back in my chair, folded my arms and crossed my legs. ‘Proof that I’m innocent.’ I suddenly felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Good old Dieter, I thought. ‘Can I go home now?’

  He burst out laughing. ‘That’s not how things work, young man.’ To my shock, he then set about folding Dieter’s statement in half before tearing it up into shreds.

  I rose abruptly to my feet. ‘What are you doing? You can’t do that!’

  ‘Sit back down. Sit!’

  I fell back down into my chair in despair. It seemed as if Anders Jacobsen had just destroyed my one and only hope of freedom and salvation.

  ‘Oberleutnant Braun’s statement proves nothing other than confirming that you were in town, and that you received the satchel containing the papers from the other boy on the run. So, in fact, apart from a few kind words, his statement equally supports your guilt.’

  I slowly shook my head. I was done for, surely.

  ‘Tell me, Finn, how long have you known Oberleutnant Braun?’

  ‘Not long. He’s friendly with Anna, my sister. Only spoken to him a few times.’

  ‘And what does your sister do?’

  ‘She works part time in a canning factory.’

  ‘Do they go out together often?’

  ‘What’s often?’

  ‘Once a week? Every night? Tell me.’

  I thought carefully – I didn’t want to get Anna in trouble too. ‘It varies,’ I replied.

  ‘I see. And what about Hans Tauber.’

  ‘Oh, I’d never met him before. Not until I stopped to talk to Dieter in the street. Anyway, why are you interested in Dieter and my sister?’

  ‘Never mind that. How would you describe Oberleutnant Braun?’

  ‘Describe him?’ It was an odd question.

  ‘Yes. I mean, is he friendly towards you? Does he bring your family gifts? Does he talk about the war much?’

  ‘Like I said, I barely know him.’

  ‘Surely you must have formed an impression of him.’

  ‘Well, I suppose he seems OK,’ I said. ‘He’s a pilot. My father was too. So I suppose we have some common interests.’

  He rose from his chair and walked to the window. With his back to me, he said, ‘Yes, about your father – I understand he left the country. When was that exactly?’

  ‘About a year ago.’

  ‘Before we arrived then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘To England,’ I said. It just slipped out. I suppose I should have said Sweden or something. Then I remembered the yarn we’d concocted for Dieter, and knew I’d have to tell the SS the same story. Quickly I added, ‘That was his job. Flying passengers and freight. He was killed on a flight to Scotland. His plane crashed.’

  ‘Why did it crash?’

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Bad weather. Engine failure. Why does it matter? He’s dead and that’s all I care about.’

  He didn’t react. I just hoped I sounded convincing. He sparked up a cigarette, sucked on the tip and blew smoke out of the window. ‘You must all miss him,’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’

  He turned and looked at me. ‘Just supposing, for the sake of argument, I was minded to believe your innocence. You’d need to explain what you were doing in town so early last Sunday morning.’

  I shrugged again. ‘Just went for a bike ride.’

  ‘But why into town? Why not along the shore of the fjord?’

  ‘Just felt like it. Thought I might catch a bit of the parade,’ I lied.

  ‘I see. And did you stop to speak to anyone?’

  ‘Only to Oberleutnant Braun and his friend, Hans Tauber.’

  He tutted loudly. ‘You see, Finn, it is that kind of answer which gives me great difficulty in believing your innocence. Enough lies.’ His tone hardened. ‘Tell me, why did you visit the Hospitalskirken?’

  How on earth did he know that? I cleared my throat. ‘What do you mean?’

  �
��You were seen. But’– he turned and stared out of the window again – ‘you didn’t attend morning prayers. I find that rather odd.’

  My mind went blank. I had no sensible answer so I said nothing.

  ‘Come now, it’s a simple enough question. Perhaps you wanted to speak to Father Amundsen. You know him, I presume?’ He glanced round at me again.

  ‘No,’ I said. I shook my head. ‘I just wanted to do some praying – for my father. I passed the church and decided to go in before morning service started. It’s quieter then. So I wasn’t lying just now.’

  I was glad I was sitting down because my left leg had developed a life of its own again. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t stop it shaking. The SS and Gestapo had been watching the church. Was it routine? Or were they hoping to catch members of the Resistance? And if they were, what did they know? Who did they know? I recalled the cries that had woken me during the night. Many men and women had been arrested over the previous few months. I guessed it was inevitable that some would talk. But the Resistance was fragmented. Surely there was little to connect one small group with another. Or was there? I wondered. I pictured the family I’d seen in the church and feared the worst for them. My head was spinning.

  ‘Do you like birds?’ he asked.

  ‘Birds?’

  ‘Yes. Eagles, for example. What do you know of them?’

  My lips trembled. ‘Well, erm, they’re birds of prey. They nest high up in the mountains, I, erm—’

  He interrupted me. ‘Ever seen a bald eagle?’

  I bit my lip. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Least, I don’t think I have.’

  My right leg was wobbling now as well. Jacobsen was playing a dangerous game with me. What did he know? Had Jack been caught? Heimar and Freya too? God, what a nightmare that would be. I felt sweat trickling down my back and a growing heat in my cheeks. I remembered hearing the noises in the church, and recalled that I thought someone had been skulking in the shadows. Perhaps someone else had been there. Perhaps someone else had been listening in. A crushing thought hit me. Had I inadvertently betrayed everyone? After all, I’d told Father Amundsen about Bald Eagle. Thankfully I’d not mentioned Heimar to him, though. At the very least I might have bought them some time. But what about Idur Svalbad? I’d mentioned his name. Had I led soldiers to his door? Would he betray Heimar and Freya under torture? I shuddered at the thought.