The drills grew even more intensive. Nighttime jumps in the mountains, traversing with eighty pounds of equipment strapped to their backs, climbing and rappelling down cliffs in the dark. Infiltrating the target; setting the explosives. Speed was essential. Everything had to be done at a quicker pace. Fifteen minutes in and out. Their route was mapped out to the smallest detail: They would land in the mountains, and after hooking up with Grouse at Lake Maure, they would proceed to the target, rappel down the cliff side near the hamlet of Vaer, cross the Mann, which was low now and blocked with ice, making it fordable, and then follow the railway lines up the slope to the Norsk Hydro factory, where they assumed there would be fifteen to twenty soldiers on guard. Once the mission was completed, if possible they were to leave by the same route, back up to the vidda, and ski their way to Sweden.
Nordstrum was named to head the four-man explosive team that would enter the building. The rest, under Poulsson, would act as cover outside and engage the enemy if it became necessary. What mattered most, it was beat into them over and over, was that the stocks of this mystery liquid stored in metal canisters, “juice,” as they called it, be destroyed.
*
Near the end of their training Nordstrum found Tronstad at his desk in the room at STS 17 that the planners used as a makeshift office. It was the thirteenth of January; there were only two days remaining before they were set to go. “This heavy water…” He came in and sat opposite the scientist’s desk. “It’s already cost a lot of lives. Just what is it, Professor?”
The scientist turned intelligence leader pushed back his chair. He rubbed his mustache, deliberating how to respond. This time, his fellow Norwegian seemed to trust him. “Have you ever heard of splitting the atom, Kurt?”
“Somewhere. Is that what this is all about? The atom?”
“It’s a lot of science.” From a briefcase under his desk Tronstad removed a black folder marked STRICTLY SECRET. FOR THE PRIVATE ATTENTION OF THE ALLIED MILITARY COMMAND. He pushed it across to Nordstrum. “I promise you won’t understand a whole lot. Even as an engineer. It’s just a lot of complex equations. But let’s just say, if the Germans get there first, it will lead to some of the nastiest business that can ever be imagined. Not to mention it’ll win them the war.”
“And are we up to the same?” Nordstrum leafed through the report. Pages and pages of formulas, opinions. U-235. U-238. He looked up. “Trying to split the atom?”
Tronstad tapped out his pipe. Likely something he shouldn’t be answering, Nordstrum could see, but the scientist slowly nodded. “Of course.”
“And if we get there first…?”
“Then we’ll win the war.” Tronstad shrugged with a smile.
“I see.” Nordstrum got up. “Seems a lot of trouble everyone’s going to,” he sniffed, “for something so small.”
“Aye.” Tronstad put the black folder back in his case and locked the clasp. “That it does.”
Now it was only to wait for the weather to clear.
*
The skies along the North Sea remained perpetually leaden that winter. The January 15 date came and went. February came. All the while, the heavy water production in Vemork continued and the Grouse team, so essential to the execution of Gunnerside’s mission, stayed huddled in the barren, frozen wilderness without supplies.
One day they were all brought into a briefing room.
“We’re at the very last part of your training,” Colonel Wilson said. He leaned on the edge of the table. “By this time you all know what you have to do. But we’d better be honest here. The Germans have a strict policy when it comes to saboteurs, in or out of uniform. And it’s not pretty. So you’ll all be handed one of these.”
One of his lieutenants passed around two blue pills in a small, clear container. Everyone stared at them, knowing without directly hearing it precisely what they were. To Nordstrum the capsules looked as harmless as what you would take to cure a headache from too much alcohol. The sight of them only reinforced just how much was riding on what they were set to do.
“You have to assume, if you’re caught, you’ll be executed,” Tronstad said, going eye to eye as they passed the little vial around. “But not before they try and get you to give up what you know. Which I promise won’t be fun at all. I’m told these are painless. But don’t hold me to that. I haven’t had the pleasure.”
A few chuckled lightly, staring at the capsules.
“And quick. Like a light switch going off.” Wilson snapped his fingers.
“Quick as a German peeing in a Norwegian snowstorm,” Jens called out. A trickle of laughter filtered through the room.
“Yes,” Wilson said with a restrained smile, “that quick. Anyway, the last thing any of you would want to do, I know you’d all agree, is give up your own mates under interrogation.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Ronneberg spoke up. “Except maybe Jens there.” He turned around. “Can’t get him to shut his mouth even when he’s taking a shit.”
“Yes, it will be a relief to put a gag on him at last,” Nordstrum said. “I’ve had him with me for two years.”
“All right, all right, maybe I can go on a bit,” Jens said. “But giving up my friends … I’d rather die first.” He looked around the room, and everyone backed him up with an “Aye!”
“Anyway, pass them back, if you don’t mind,” the colonel said. “Don’t want anyone confusing them for aspirin before you go, if you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”
There were a few more good-natured laughs, then everyone settled down as the pills were handed back.
“We’ll be at it soon then,” the colonel said. “I’m told the weather is in for a change. There’s a lot riding on you boys, but I know you’re up to it. All we need now is a break in the clouds.”
22
February 15 Communiqué from Combined Operations, Weather Services, in Sussex. To SOE. Mission Planners. STS 61:
Latest weather forecasts for the eastern North Sea and southern Norway for the nights of February 16–17:
Expected break in cloud cover. Three-quarters moon. High visibility anticipated for this narrow window only. Low winds. The following days have a higher level of unpredictability. Front forming in the northern Atlantic.
“So, there you have it,” Wilson said to his adjunct, Commander Welsh. “We have our date. The sixteenth.”
“Tomorrow night, then.” Welsh nodded back. “I’ll tell Ronneberg to get them prepared.”
“No, let them blow off a little steam tonight. We’ll brief them tomorrow. But alert Colonel Maxwell, if you would.” The RAF commander at the base. “Tell him to get his crew prepared.”
“Yes, sir.” Welsh went to leave.
“And Commander…”
He looked back.
“Get word to Grouse on the ground to get that Eureka machine warmed up. They’ve got company on the way.”
23
On the morning they were to leave, Nordstrum awoke to a high pitch of activity on the base. He went to the window and looked outside. An RAF Halifax was on the tarmac, its propellers revving. Maintenance crews were getting it prepared. In one of the hangars, metal containers were being assembled and bolted shut.
“Something’s going on,” Nordstrum said.
Birger Stromsheim ran over and looked out with a gleam of anticipation. “Jesus, Kurt, I think we’re on.”
Before breakfast, Ronneberg went around to the bunks and assembled the team. “Boys, the colonel just informed me. We’re going tonight.”
“Tonight we’ll be sleeping in Norway,” Hans Storhaug said, hopping out of bed.
“Tonight! How’s that, Yank.” Nordstrum slapped Gutterson on the shoulder. “You’ll finally be able to use some of that Norwegian you’ve been practicing.”
“Jeg ur klar,” the American said, grinning. I’m ready.