Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  ‘People will be coming to pick up copies from the back door. There’s no time to warn them all off,’ said Mother.

  Mr Larson raked his fingers through his hair and cursed in irritation. ‘I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers, Frieda. It’s up to them.’

  Mother threw on her coat and ran to catch her bus. Mr Larson questioned me further about what I’d seen and heard in the fortress.

  ‘Any news about Bald Eagle?’ I asked.

  ‘The doctor says that he was lucky. He only suffered concussion on landing. No lasting damage. He’s fully recovered and has left Heimar’s to do whatever it is he was sent here for.’

  ‘Did he want Oslo back?’ I asked.

  Loki shook his head. ‘No. Freya said at the moment he prefers to work alone and travel light.’

  I suddenly remembered that Freya had agreed to go to the pictures with Loki. It had completely slipped my mind. ‘How was your date? See a good film yesterday?’

  ‘Uh-huh. It was OK.’

  His reply didn’t ooze enthusiasm, so I held off questioning him further in case it was a sore subject, except to ask whether Freya had explained how both she and Heimar knew who ‘Jack’ was.

  Loki shrugged. ‘She didn’t say.’

  With clandestine meetings planned for later that evening, Mr Larson bid us goodnight. And with Anna out dancing with Dieter, Loki and I had the house to ourselves. I put on one of Anna’s gramophone records and began reading a book about navigation. Loki, meanwhile, lay sprawled belly-down on the floor, attempting to write a letter to Freya. His date at the cinema had not gone quite as he’d planned. ‘I couldn’t summon the courage to tell her how I feel about her,’ he declared. ‘So I’ve decided to write it all down, Finn.’

  Half an hour later the rug was littered with screwed-up pieces of paper. Suddenly Oslo sprang to his feet. He’d been asleep close to the fireplace, snoring and twitching as if dreaming of an adventure. Instantly he was awake and alert. He stared towards the window, ears pricked, and I heard a deep growl in his throat.

  ‘What’s up with you, Oslo?’ I asked. He lifted his head and barked once. ‘Quieten down.’

  ‘Probably just someone in the street,’ said Loki. ‘Maybe he heard a car start up somewhere.’

  ‘I can’t hear anything.’

  There was a knock on our front door. It startled us both despite Oslo’s warning. It had the sound of urgency about it too, and so I ran into the hall. Pulling the door open, I was greeted by a tall, smartly dressed woman on the step. She looked vaguely familiar. Then I realized. Mrs Grimmo! ‘Is Mr Larson here?’ she asked breathlessly.

  I shook my head. Loki appeared at my left shoulder and Oslo shoved his head between my legs and snarled at our visitor.

  ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, dear Lord.’ Her shoulders sagged and she leaned heavily against the door frame. ‘What about your mother? Is she here?’

  ‘At work,’ I replied. She looked even more anxious. ‘Can we help? What’s it about?’

  She burst into tears. ‘He’s in such trouble,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Who is?’ asked Loki. I saw a worried look on his face. I guess he feared for his father.

  Mrs Grimmo offered no reply.

  ‘It’s Ned, isn’t it?’ I said.

  She lifted her head and looked at me.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

  Reckoning she was about to faint, I grabbed her arm, guided her inside and sat her down on a chair in our hallway. ‘Loki, go and grab a glass of brandy,’ I said. While he fetched it, I tried coaxing Mrs Grimmo into talking, but to no avail. Loki returned with the drink. Questions were circling inside my head. Why had she come here? Something really terrible must’ve happened, I thought. She looked desperate.

  I recalled my conversation with Mother, and specifically that the Grimmo family’s loyalty was divided. ‘Mr Grimmo doesn’t know you’re here, does he?’ I said.

  She slowly shook her head. ‘He’d kill me if he knew,’ she muttered under her breath. Taking a sip of brandy, she then said, ‘Can I trust you?’ The way she spoke, it was as if she feared uttering each and every word.

  ‘Yes. You can trust us,’ I replied.

  She cleared her throat and spoke softly. ‘Ned’s stepfather has been tipped off that the Germans are going to search the old town tonight – house by house, bar by bar. They’re looking for printing presses.’

  Her lips were quivering as she tried to hold back her tears.

  ‘I see. And Ned’s gone into town to pick up his “allocation”?’ I said. ‘You know what he gets up to, don’t you?’

  Her face brightened slightly as she realized we understood each other. ‘Yes. He delivers to the back streets close to the fish market. If they stop him in the street and search him, he’ll be arrested and taken to the fortress.’

  ‘I know – from bitter personal experience,’ I said harshly.

  She grabbed my hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she wept. ‘Ned owes you his life. Can you ever forgive us?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said.

  ‘If Ned’s in town, why don’t you go and look for him?’ said Loki.

  ‘I’m going to. But first I wanted to see your father. I’ve been told he knows who can be trusted and who can’t, and I thought he might have time to warn everyone. I was also hoping he might help me look for Ned.’

  My mind was racing. In my brain, thoughts of Mother, the Lofoten, newsletters and danger were all joining together. They sent a hideous wave of panic through me. ‘We knew the Germans were closing in on the printing presses,’ I said, ‘but we had no idea they’d act so soon. You’re right – we have to warn them.’

  Loki clenched his fists. ‘What a disaster.’

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Ned may be OK. They might have abandoned the print run. Ned might be walking the streets empty-handed.’

  Mrs Grimmo wasn’t cheered by that idea.

  ‘Look, we’re going to have to go to the Lofoten to warn Mother anyway, so we can help you find Ned,’ I offered. ‘Three pairs of eyes have got to be better than one.’

  Mrs Grimmo stiffened. ‘You’d be willing to help me? Both of you? After all that’s …?’

  I looked at Loki and he nodded back. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Despite our differences, we’re all on the same side. We’ll drive with you into town.’

  We sped towards town, our tyres spinning for grip on the snow and ice. Mrs Grimmo was a good driver. Approaching the Bakke Bru bridge, we slowed and got out our identity papers. The checkpoint was heavily manned with soldiers. Mrs Grimmo stopped the car about a hundred yards from the bridge.

  ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Act normal. We’ve got nothing to hide. We’re just heading into town for the evening. But if they give us any hassle, I’ll impress upon them that my husband is an important political figure with all the right connections to the senior German officers around here. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ we replied.

  ‘By the way, where is Mr Grimmo?’ asked Loki.

  ‘At a political rally at the town hall. He’s giving a speech,’ she said.

  ‘Good. No chance of bumping into him then.’

  Gripping the steering wheel, Mrs Grimmo flexed her fingers nervously. Then she crunched into first gear and lifted the clutch. We headed for the bridge and checkpoint. ‘Time to say a quick prayer,’ I muttered.

  A soldier, machine gun poised, stepped in front of us and held up a hand. Once we’d stopped, he walked round the side and peered into the car. Mrs Grimmo wound down the window and handed him her identity card. The soldier leaned down and said something in German to her. I didn’t quite catch it but it didn’t sound promising.

  ‘He won’t let us pass,’ she said. ‘No one’s allowed in or out.’

  ‘Explain who you are.’

  She did but it made no difference. The soldier made circling gestures with his hand. He wanted us to turn round. She pleaded with him. She said it was important
– she had an urgent message to deliver to the town hall. He was unimpressed. She demanded to speak to his commanding officer, which annoyed him. I sank back into my seat and cursed. It was hopeless. We were getting nowhere.

  To my astonishment, Mrs Grimmo persevered. I’d never seen anyone argue with the Germans so strenuously before. Soon half a dozen soldiers had joined in a conversation spoken half in German, half in Norwegian. A queue of vehicles was forming behind us. Tempers were getting frayed. Then an officer’s staff car caught at the back of the queue pulled out and drove up beside us. The rear window wound down and an officer’s head poked out. ‘Ah, Frau Grimmo! Wie geht’s?’

  Flushed with relief, Mrs Grimmo replied, ‘Gut, danke, Herr Gruber. Aber wir haben ein kleines Problem. Können Sie mir helfen?’

  The officer listened to Mrs Grimmo and then bellowed orders at the soldiers to let us pass. They sprang into action and lifted the barrier without delay.

  ‘Vielen Dank, Herr Gruber.’ Mrs Grimmo revved the car and we shot forward across the bridge, waving a thank you to our uniformed saviour. ‘Thank God he recognized me,’ she said. Loki and I blew huge sighs of relief.

  Once over the bridge, Mrs Grimmo was all for putting her foot down, but I managed to persuade her to drive cautiously and not draw attention to ourselves. The streets appeared quite deserted. Only a few men and women trudged along the icy pavements, and those who did hurried. Were the Germans really about to bring mayhem to our streets? Was this the lull before the storm? I had just begun to wonder if Mr Grimmo’s tip-off had been wrong when we rounded a corner near to the medieval part of town and were confronted by a roadblock. Striped wooden barriers encased in spirals of barbed wire barred our way. Soldiers with dogs stood to either side. Others clutching machine guns looked on menacingly, and beyond the barbed wire I saw a long line of trucks parked at the kerbside. Soldiers were piling out of the back and forming orderly rows in the middle of the road.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Mrs Grimmo exclaimed. ‘We’ll have to try another way.’ She slammed the car into reverse, and the engine whined bitterly as we sped backwards, completing the manoeuvre with a sliding half-turn on the ice. I turned and saw soldiers eyeing us suspiciously as we shot off, our wheels spinning. But when we reached another way in, we were greeted by more barriers and more soldiers. Mrs Grimmo stopped abruptly. Her face paled. ‘It’s no use. There’s no way in. The whole area’s closed off.’

  Using the sleeve of my anorak, I rubbed the condensation off the inside of the windscreen. I leaned forward and peered left and right. I realized we weren’t far from the fish market, the back streets and the Lofoten. I remembered my escape from Colonel Hauptmann and drew a mental map of the surrounding streets and alleyways. Loki slid to the edge of the car’s back seat and reached forward, pointing straight ahead. ‘Look, it’s started.’

  In horror, we watched as a dozen soldiers hammered down a door to a block of apartments and hurriedly filed inside. ‘Any ideas, Finn?’ Loki added.

  ‘No. Maybe Ned saw what was happening. Maybe he’s miles away by now.’ I tried to sound hopeful.

  Mrs Grimmo turned in her seat and just stared at me.

  ‘OK. Maybe he isn’t!’ I added quickly.

  Soldiers stormed into the next building down the street. ‘At this rate it’ll take them all night,’ said Loki. ‘I reckon they’re starting at the edge and working their way towards the fjord.’

  ‘If you’re right,’ I said, ‘we might be able to reach the Lofoten if we can get past the barriers. There might still be time to destroy any incriminating evidence.’

  ‘Yeah, but how, Finn?’

  I scanned the street, looking for inspiration. The buildings were all two or three storeys tall, many containing residential apartments. I looked up. Several inches of pristine snow covered the tiled roofs. They reminded me of steep ski slopes. Lights glowed from the dormer windows of attic rooms and I could just make out the grids of taut wires and wooden slats, used to prevent all the snow from suddenly sliding off the roofs. Over the rooftops? The idea just sprang into my head from nowhere. If we could get into a building this side of the barrier, I thought, we could climb out through an attic window and make our way across the roofs. I was about to explain my audacious plan when our presence attracted some unwanted attention. A soldier, rifle poised, headed towards us. Mrs Grimmo grabbed her door handle, pushed the door open and got out. ‘Stay here,’ she said. She marched towards the approaching soldier.

  ‘What the hell does she think she’s doing?’ said Loki.

  ‘Damned if I know,’ I replied. ‘Maybe she’s going to use the same trick as before. Maybe she wants to speak to whoever’s in charge of this operation.’

  The soldier and Mrs Grimmo met midway between our car and the barricade. Loki and I watched as they spoke. The soldier shook his head. Mrs Grimmo pointed to beyond the barriers and barbed wire. I think she was shouting at him. He shook his head again and gestured for her to go away. She refused. ‘I don’t like the look of this, Finn,’ said Loki.

  ‘Neither do I,’ I replied.

  Without warning the soldier seized Mrs Grimmo’s arm. He yelled something to his comrades.

  ‘Jesus, Loki, they’re arresting her.’

  I held my breath. I could see she was resisting, then she tore herself free and began running towards the barrier. Soldiers blocked her way and grabbed her again. Twisting her arm, they threw her to the ground. I heard her scream.

  ‘Let’s get out of here, Loki.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go and help her?’ he asked.

  ‘And what? Get arrested as well? No, let’s make a run for it before they notice us too.’

  ‘Run where, Finn?’

  ‘I have a plan. There’s no time to explain. We’ll get out of the car on their blind side. OK?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘No buts, Loki, it’s now or never. And keep your head down.’ I leaped from the car and headed for the shadows hugging the side of the street. I arrived, smacking hard against the wall, my heart thumping. Loki shuffled up beside me, breathless. We glanced back to where Mrs Grimmo was being dragged roughly towards a truck.

  ‘Jesus, Finn, what now?’ he whispered.

  ‘This way.’ In the darkness we scurried along the pavement until we reached the entrance to an apartment building. I hurriedly scanned the list of names, worked out who lived on the third floor at the top, then pressed their bell button. I pressed it again and again, and then finally kept my finger on it. ‘Come on. Please be in. Please answer.’

  ‘Finn, tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,’ pleaded Loki.

  ‘Be quiet, Loki,’ I hissed.

  There was a crackle and then a feeble voice emerged from the intercom. ‘Hello?’ It was a woman’s voice and sounded distant and distorted.

  ‘Mrs Andersson?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Special delivery.’

  Loki prodded me in the shoulder, and when I glanced round at him, he mouthed the words special delivery with a perplexed and confused look on his face.

  ‘What? Who is this?’ the voice crackled from the speaker.

  ‘Special delivery – flowers.’

  There was a moment’s silence. I looked up and said a quick prayer. I heard a click and pressed my shoulder against the door. It swung open. ‘Let’s go,’ I said.

  Loki followed on my heels, hurrying up the staircase three steps at a time. ‘I don’t get it, Finn. What are we doing here? This is madness.’

  He was right. It probably was madness. And if I’d told my friend just how we were going to get past the blockade, I think he would’ve turned and fled. Reaching the top floor, I hammered on the door to Mrs Andersson’s apartment. It opened almost immediately. An elderly women’s wrinkled face peered out at us. At a guess I’d have said she was one of the oldest residents of Trondheim. Her thin silver-grey hair was pulled back tightly from her face and tied in a bun. A heavy black knitted shawl draped from her shoulders. She f
rowned. ‘Flowers?’ she said.

  ‘Please forgive us,’ I said. ‘But we need to use your window.’

  ‘Window!’ Loki shouted.

  Suddenly fearful of us, Mrs Andersson shrank back behind her door and tried to close it. I placed my foot in the gap to prevent her and then pushed my way inside. Mrs Andersson let out a cry of fright. ‘Please, Mrs Andersson,’ I said. ‘We mean you no harm. We just need to get onto your roof.’

  ‘Roof!’ cried Loki in horror.

  ‘The Germans are doing house-to-house searches,’ I explained. ‘We’ve got to get word to friends and family. We have to get past the soldiers by going over the rooftops. Lives depend on us, Mrs Andersson, so once we’re gone you won’t raise the alarm, will you? Because if you do, many good Norwegians will end up at the Kristiansten Fortress tonight.’

  Her frightened eyes were wide and piercing.

  ‘Will you?’ I repeated.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Good.’ I grabbed her hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Andersson.’ I hurried through the hall and into her living room. I switched off the lights, made for the dormer window and pulled back the curtains. Opening the window, I leaned out to assess the best way forward. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  Loki grabbed hold of me roughly. ‘This is crazy, Finn. We can’t go out there. We’ll slip and it’s a long way to fall.’

  Ignoring him, I grabbed hold of each side of the window frame and placed one foot on the sill.

  ‘Finn, you know me and heights don’t mix. I can’t go out there,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Then stay here,’ I said sharply. ‘There’s no other way.’

  Climbing out, I stood on the sill, turned and looked out across the roof. Up close it all looked ten times harder than it had from the ground. There were two options, I figured. One, a difficult scramble up to the ridge, after which it would be easy to crawl along. The only other way I could see was to lie flat against the roof and hope that the grid of wires and slats would bear my weight. No, I decided, the ridge would be better in the long run. I felt for some sort of decent handhold and then swung out and clambered up onto the top of the protruding roof of the dormer. Everything felt wet, icy and slippery, and the pitch of the roof was steep.