Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  Jacobsen flicked his cigarette out of the window and returned to his chair. He took a deep breath and then examined various papers in his file again. ‘Oberleutnant Braun said that at the time of your arrest, you insisted it was a set-up. The Oberleutnant thought you’d mentioned a name but he didn’t catch it.’ He looked at me expectantly. ‘Well?’

  Anders Jacobsen was changing direction faster than a slalom skier. Ned Grimmo! I suppose few would blame me if I spilled the beans on Ned after all the grief he’d given me. But, of course, I couldn’t. It was out of the question. Ned was one of us, a Norwegian, and one who, it seemed, was willing to do his bit, willing to risk everything. I could not betray him, no matter what I thought about him, and no matter what the consequences were for me. I tried my best to look thoughtful and a little confused. ‘I certainly shouted out that I’d been set up,’ I replied finally, ‘but Dieter must’ve misheard if he thought I said a name. I have no idea who gave me the satchel.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Jacobsen. He sighed. ‘OK. Let’s go back a while. Where were you on the day before your arrest?’

  ‘At my uncle’s house.’

  He flipped through his papers. ‘No mention of an uncle here,’ he said.

  ‘He’s not a real uncle. Just a good friend of the family.’

  ‘And where does this “uncle” live?’

  ‘Across the fjord. I rowed over there to visit him.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Heimar Haukelid.’

  He wrote it down. That was worrying enough but, worse, I didn’t like the way Heimar’s name seemed to register with him. Although I was sure he was trying to conceal his thoughts, the slight upward curl to his lips betrayed him. He sat back in his chair and chewed the end of his pen. ‘Saturday,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Wasn’t it too foggy to be out on the water?’

  ‘Yes, not ideal, but my trip was important.’

  He leaned forward. ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘I had to pick up my birthday present.’

  ‘I see. And what present was that then?’

  ‘A dog. His name’s Oslo.’

  ‘Did you go alone?’ he continued.

  I realized only too well what he was up to. My interrogation was quickly drawing a picture for him, a snapshot of who knew who. Knowledge like that could lead the Gestapo and SS to your front door. If anything terrible happened, like if Heimar or Freya got caught using their transmitter, or if Jack got apprehended as a foreign spy, a documented trail would lead them to me – guilty by association. I thought it was best to leave Loki out of it. ‘Yes. Alone.’

  ‘Do you visit this uncle often?’

  ‘When I can. It all depends.’

  ‘And does the rest of your family visit him too?’

  ‘Sometimes. He was very close to my father.’

  ‘And has Oberleutnant Braun ever gone with you?’

  ‘Dieter! No. Why would he?’

  ‘I see.’ Jacobsen put his pen back in his pocket and flipped the cover of his file closed. He got up from his chair and straightened the collar of his tunic. ‘That’s all for now,’ he said.

  ‘You mean I’m free to go?’

  ‘No. My investigations aren’t complete yet. And even if your version of events is the truth, there is still the small matter of your resisting arrest and assaulting a soldier of the Wehrmacht.’

  ‘Self-defence!’ I protested.

  ‘Perhaps. Wait here until the guards come to collect you.’ Jacobsen headed for the door but turned before reaching it. ‘Like I said, wait here.’

  Plucking up some courage, I had a question for him. ‘Now we’re done, can I ask you something?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Very well. But make it quick.’

  ‘Why? Why are you in that uniform?’

  He thought for a moment and glanced at the sentry before replying, ‘This is the future. Germany is the future. And we all have to make a choice. I have chosen to be part of it; part of history in the making. You would do well to think about that.’ He paused again. ‘Oh, one final thing,’ he added, his hand resting on the door handle. ‘Don’t suppose the word “Penguin” means anything special to you, does it?’

  I thought back to what Father Amundsen had said. Did I have any messages for the Penguin or the Telescope? ‘“Penguin”? No,’ I replied. ‘That’s a strange question. Why?’

  He ignored me and left the room, the guard following hard on his heels.

  I sat and waited. I felt exhausted and sick. Would I ever be released? And if the SS and Gestapo decided I was guilty, what then? With the window still open, I heard voices outside. I went and looked out. In the yard below, I caught sight of three men being frogmarched along a path. At the end of it they were lined up about two feet in front of a wall. They looked in a pretty awful state, their clothes torn and filthy, their faces bruised and unshaven, and their hands tied behind their backs. I looked hard at each in turn, and suddenly realized I recognized one of them. It was Mr Naerog, the baker from our village. All three of them stood perfectly still. One had his eyes shut. Another stared straight ahead, like blind men do – sort of a vacant look. However, Mr Naerog’s eyes darted frantically about him, as if he was scared of something. He looked up and caught sight of me. A deep frown grew across his forehead.

  ‘Zielen!’

  The shout came from below my window. I leaned further out and peered down. A line of soldiers stood with their rifles raised. ‘No!’ I screamed.

  ‘Feuer!’

  A deafening volley of rifle fire filled the air. Mr Naerog and the two other men slumped first to their knees and then onto their backs. The officer who’d bellowed the orders then marched across to where they lay, drew out his revolver and shot each of them in the head.

  What on earth had Mr Naerog done? He was a simple, likable man who’d never harmed a flea. He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t the sort of man to take part in acts of sabotage against the Germans. Or was he? Were looks deceptive?

  I turned away, leaned my back against the wall for support, and then slid down onto the floor. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. It was as if a huge lump of rock was wedged in my throat. I shook uncontrollably. The door crashed open and guards marched in.

  ‘Get up! … Up, I said. Now.’

  Chapter Seven

  The Best Present Ever

  THROWN BACK IN my cell, I heard the steel door slam shut, then laughter in the corridor. How dare they? My legs gave way beneath me and, feeling numb, I slumped down onto the edge of my bed. When the light in my cell went out, it snapped me from my stupor. I’d not moved for hours. I just couldn’t. But in my head I was running flat out, through the fortress gates, beyond the city and into the wilderness where I’d feel safe. I felt a sudden gripping twinge in my belly. I got up and ran to the bucket in the corner of my cell. I leaned forward and vomited. My guts locked in spasm. I felt dizzy and faint. Was it my turn next? Was that soldier with thick glasses, forms and official stamps sitting at his desk drawing up the next roster, the next list of people to die? And was my name on it? I decided that if they came for me, I wouldn’t go quietly. I’d punch, kick, bite, scream, yell, spit and swear all the way. And I’d refuse to stand still while they took aim, and their fingers danced on the triggers. If I got the chance, I’d run for it. For sure I’d get a bullet in my back, but I decided it was better to try and fail – to defy them until my last breath.

  It was another three days before Anders Jacobsen arrived outside my cell. I’d been locked up exactly one week. He stood in the doorway and stared at me. ‘You’ll be glad to hear that my enquiries are complete,’ he said.

  I said nothing.

  ‘I have decided to give you the benefit of the doubt,’ he added, smiling at me as if he expected me to be grateful or something. ‘I spoke again with Oberleutnant Braun and his navigator, Hans Tauber, and they assured me that it was simply a case of you being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ He took a step back and pointed up the corridor. ‘Well? What
are you waiting for? Do you want to go home or not?’

  I rose from the edge of my bed. I felt giddy and sick, and weak from lack of food. Was I dreaming? I stepped out into the corridor. It was empty. There were no guards. I took another step forward. ‘D-d-did you find the other boy?’ I asked.

  ‘Unfortunately, no. Not yet.’ Jacobsen seized my shoulder, gripping it tightly. He drew me towards him and leaned forward slightly so he could whisper into my ear. ‘Some words of advice. Watch that tongue of yours, and stay out of trouble. Next time you may not be so lucky. I hope your time here in the fortress has taught you a lesson. Or – let me put it another way – I don’t want to see you in here again.’

  ‘The feeling’s mutual,’ I hissed in reply from behind clenched teeth.

  Mother was waiting for me outside the fortress gate. Close up, she appeared to have aged a decade from worry. She was smartly dressed, in her best long winter coat, hat and gloves, and had taken the trouble to brush her hair and apply a little lipstick. I wondered if all the effort had been because she’d gone to church that morning to pray for me, or because she wanted to make a good impression on the SS and Gestapo. Mr Larson had driven her in his clapped-out old car, and while she hugged me and sobbed dreadfully into my shoulder, he leaned up against the bonnet, taking long, nervous drags on his cigarette. He was keen to get away from there and he wasn’t the only one.

  We drove home in silence. I gazed out of the window. I’d often thought our country was the most beautiful place on earth. But the glorious vista of snow-covered mountains had no effect on me. I felt oddly detached. All I could see was Mr Naerog’s face and that look of terror in his eyes.

  Once home, I peeled off my stinking clothes and took a bath in a tub placed close to the roaring fire in our living room. Mother and Anna ferried pots and pans of hot water from the kitchen stove as I scrubbed myself until my skin was raw and sore. All clean, I then sat at the kitchen table and slowly ate my dinner. Neither Mother nor Anna said much. At least, not to me. They made small talk with one another, all trivial nonsense. I think they wanted to create a sense of normality, of life going on as usual. But I detected an undercurrent. The atmosphere was strange: strained like a coiled-up spring. Suddenly I found it all unbearable. I put down my spoon and got up.

  ‘Sit down and eat your dinner,’ said Mother.

  I picked up my anorak and began to put it on.

  ‘Sit down and eat!’ she snapped. ‘You can see that bloody dog later. And what on earth were you thinking, Finn? It’s the last thing we needed. We can barely manage as it is. How are we going to feed him? Answer me that! Those tins of food won’t last for ever, you know. I can’t believe Heimar let you bring him home. I’ve got a few sharp things to say to that man next time he shows his face in town.’

  I’d never been afraid of Mother before. But as I looked at her, a wave of anxiety welled up inside me. It was the expression on her face. And, fists clenched, she shook from head to toe with pent-up rage. I dropped my anorak onto the floor and sat back down. I stared into my half-empty bowl of soup. What the hell’s going on in the world? I wondered. Everyone and everything seemed insane. Mother suddenly began to cry. Anna guided her into the living room and then came and sat next to me.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ she said softly. ‘It’s just that—’

  I looked up at her.

  ‘Well, it’s been hard, Finn. Not knowing whether they’d release you. And we’ve heard that some pretty awful things have gone on at the fortress lately.’

  I wanted to tell Anna that unspeakable things had gone on there. That I’d seen them with my very own eyes. But somehow I couldn’t speak. The words just wouldn’t come out.

  ‘Mother went up to the fortress every day and waited for news. But they kept telling her to go home. It’s taken its toll on her. In fact, we all expected a visit from the SS or Gestapo. We thought they’d come and search the house, maybe arrest us all. But they didn’t.’

  I thought that was odd too. Why hadn’t Anders Jacobsen seized the moment? He’d struck me as the thorough sort. I couldn’t work it out.

  Anna changed the subject. ‘Loki told us about your eventful trip to Heimar’s, and all about Oslo. He’s been round every morning and taken him for a long walk. He’s fed him too. But it was a bad idea to keep him, Finn. He’ll have to go back. You do realize that, don’t you?’

  I wanted to say, ‘No way,’ but still couldn’t speak.

  ‘Was it really awful?’ Anna asked. She took my hand and squeezed it.

  I couldn’t look her in the eye. It was the weirdest thing. I felt guilty. For sure, my week had been a horrid experience, but it was nothing compared to that suffered by Mr Naerog. And here I was, not only alive but also fit to fight another day.

  I struggled to finish my soup.

  ‘You don’t look at all well,’ said Anna, feeling my brow. ‘So it’s bed for you, and no arguments. Unless you’ve got more colour in your cheeks by tomorrow morning, we’ll send for the doctor.’

  I lay on my back for an hour but couldn’t sleep. Anna had pulled the curtains but my room wasn’t completely dark. In fact, it felt just like my prison cell. I couldn’t take it. I leaped up, pulled on a sweater and put on my spare boots. I seized a ball of string from a drawer, yanked the curtains back and, gently, quietly, lifted the window open. I climbed out, grabbed hold of the drainpipe and slid down.

  On all fours, I crawled through the snow to the woodshed, praying that neither Mother nor Anna would see me from the kitchen window. I untied the string on the latch and reached inside. I felt my hand being nuzzled and licked excitedly by a warm, wet tongue. A tail flicked and banged against the side of the shed. I slipped inside and gave Oslo a hug. Fashioning a collar with the string, I slipped it over his head, then, peeking outside to make sure no one was looking, made a dash for it. Halfway down our street, I slowed and took a deep breath. At last I began to feel alive again.

  We headed for the fjord and ambled some distance along the shore. Oslo possessed boundless energy. Maybe Mother and Anna were right, I thought. How on earth was I going to feed him? Eventually I stopped and picked up a round, flat pebble. Father always said they made the best skimmers. I wrapped my thumb and first finger about its edge and threw it as hard as I could out over the water. It bounced five times before sinking without trace. Father once managed ten. Oslo was all for diving in to retrieve it.

  ‘Stupid dog,’ I said, yanking him back. Those were the first words I’d spoken since leaving the fortress. I sat down on top of a large rock and gazed out across the grey water. For the first time in my life I wanted to cry but couldn’t. I was dried up inside. I heard footsteps crunching on the stones and gravel behind me but I didn’t even bother to look round.

  Mother arrived clutching a bag and sat down beside me. She took off her purple bobble hat, loosened her scarf and shook her head so her grey-brown curls tumbled down. She peered briefly into my face but said nothing. Instead, she just put her arm round me, and we sat there for what seemed like an age, Oslo settling the other side of me.

  ‘I saw some awful things,’ I said finally. ‘It made me realize who our true enemy is. I now understand why Father left to go to England to fight. I mean, really, really understand.’ A solitary tear ran down my cheek. ‘They’ve executed Mr Naerog. I saw it with my own eyes.’

  ‘Oh, dear God!’ Mother’s shoulders sank in despair and she pressed her eyes tightly shut. When she opened them, she added in a whisper, ‘I’m scared, Finn. Loki told me about everything that happened during your trip to see Heimar and Freya. Heimar had no right to get you two involved.’

  ‘Why?’ I replied. ‘We both wanted to help. And we did a good job. They couldn’t have managed alone, not when the British agent crash-landed and we had to rescue him.’

  Mother cursed under her breath. ‘One day our luck’s going to run out. I’m frightened for all of us, Finn. It’s risky enough that I have to listen in on conversations at the bar. Sometimes I fe
el sure that the Germans are watching me; that they know I’m up to no good. It makes me nervous and I spill their drinks.’ She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. ‘And then there’s Anna and Dieter. I don’t trust him.’

  ‘Well, he is a German pilot,’ I said sarcastically.

  ‘No, Finn. It’s more than that. Anna seems to get too much information out of him. Too much information too easily.’

  ‘Maybe she’s just very good at it.’

  Mother shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know, Finn. And I worry myself sick over her. I think that despite her game, she might actually be falling for him. We’ve had words, but I don’t think she’ll listen to me.’

  Words between Mother and Anna often deteriorated into a shouting match, sometimes ending with stuff being thrown, doors slamming and tears. ‘I have Dieter to thank for my release,’ I said, trying to cheer her up. Mother’s eyes widened. ‘I think it was his efforts that got me off the hook. Without them I might still be locked up,’ I added.

  She let out a huge sigh. ‘Perhaps I’m wrong,’ she said.

  ‘And another thing,’ I continued: ‘when the SS questioned me, they seemed very interested in him. It was as if they were fishing for information. Perhaps they think he’s a traitor.’

  Mother suddenly looked fearful. ‘Anna is going to have to be extra careful from now on then. What else did the SS question you about? Do you feel up to talking about it?’

  I nodded. ‘The SS officer who interrogated me was a Norwegian.’

  Mother gaped.

  ‘Really! His name’s Anders Jacobsen. He asked me about the newsletters, then moved on to Dieter, and ended by asking whether I’d ever heard of Bald Eagle or the Penguin.’