Early the next morning, they were off again at first light. Nordstrum thought the lake was still a two-hour trek, but much of it downhill. And the morning was clear.
They skied in a line, each gliding in each other’s tracks at five-yard intervals when a buzzing was heard overhead. “Everyone get down!” Ronneberg yelled. “The sleds.”
Pedersen and Jens scrambled to drape a white tarp over all the cargo, then they dove headfirst into the snow.
Coming into view from over a peak was a Storch Fokker, a German reconnaissance plane. It came in and circled the valley, its twin propellers buzzing. Only three or four hundred feet above them, they could clearly see the black cross on the fuselage and the machine guns on its wings. They pressed themselves into the snow. If they were spotted, the Germans could tear them to shreds with those guns, or at a minimum, alert the enemy to their presence. After a quick circle, finding nothing of interest, the plane seemed to move on. They all stood up and watched it disappear.
“There’s always the chance they saw our tracks,” Nordstrum said. The good news was that they’d all been careful to ski in the leader’s tracks, so even if they were spotted, it would only appear to be a single skier, not a party of them.
They took turns dragging the sleds, which now weighed a couple of hundred pounds each, with the additional supplies. Nordstrum didn’t know the exact location of the cabin where the Grouse party was holed up, only the general region. They didn’t even know for certain that their friends would even be there, or how they had managed in the storm. Only that that had been the site of SOE’s last communication with them. Things had a way of changing rapidly out here. The day became bright and crisp, and progress was good. Along the way, they spotted animal tracks and droppings, signs that reindeer were in the area.
Kristian Kristiansen had followed his nose in the wrong direction and it had cost him his life.
Nordstrum now had a feel for where he was and took the lead. Who knew what condition they would find their countrymen in? Or what sort of food they’d been able to find? The sight of reindeer near was a positive sign, but four months … Four months was a long time, even for the hardiest of men. You never knew what sort of—
Suddenly he spotted something far out in the snow. Ronneberg skied up. “What is it, Kurt?”
Nordstrum pointed out toward the valley. “We have more company.”
Several hundred yards ahead a figure on skis was coming up a frozen lake. Twenty yards behind was another skier. From this distance, even with their binoculars, they were no more than moving specks.
“You think there’s a chance it’s a German patrol?” Ronneberg asked.
“There’s always a chance. What if that plane spotted our tracks?”
“Better not take a chance. Everyone, take cover!” Ronneberg waved to the men. They all crouched down and scanned over the valley from behind some boulders.
“They might also be our guys,” Nordstrum said. “We can’t be that far away.”
“You know them best, Kurt. I don’t want them to see the rest of us. Why don’t you go ahead and check. And take a gun. Eric, you and Storhaug take a position near those rocks down there. If you’re in any trouble, Kurt, remove your hood as a sign. You won’t have to worry about them after that.”
Nordstrum slid out of his pack and grabbed a Colt pistol, which he put inside his suit.
“Remember, lose the hood and we’ll open fire on them,” Ronneberg said. “And don’t take any risks.”
“Don’t worry,” Nordstrum said.
He skied down a ways and focused in on the two men through his binoculars. They were still about three hundred yards away—with no idea anyone had spotted them. They were not even skiing toward him but actually away from him across the lake.
As they came in range, Nordstrum focused on the figure in front. He had a long beard and wore a flat cap on his head. But he wore no uniform Nordstrum could see. Hunters, most likely. Like Kristiansen. The proximity of deer would bring more hunters out, which wasn’t good for maintaining their secrecy. Or … He peered in more closely. Could it be Arne Kjelstrup? Or Claus Helberg? It didn’t look like it to him. But there was simply no way to tell.
Nordstrum thought it best to take no chances and come up on them from behind. Who knew how someone confronted might react? He maneuvered himself to a spot where the sun was behind him as they trekked across the lake. By now, the second man had caught up with his partner. But they looked so haggard and unkempt, with their long, straggly hair coming out of their hats and beards, they appeared more like beggars than anyone he knew.
Yet he saw they carried rifles.
Finally Nordstrum maneuvered himself into position. If they wanted to take a shot at him, they’d have to do so directly into the sun. He took a final glance up the slope, at Gutterson and Storhaug. Then he silently began to ski up to the two, who still had no idea he was there. He got within thirty yards and put his hand around the Colt in his suit. He knew that Storhaug and the Yank had their rifles trained on them in case there was the slightest trouble, awaiting his signal.
“Arne? Claus…?” Nordstrum called.
The two turned around, their hands instinctively reaching for their guns as well.
Nordstrum was about to go to his knees and pull out his. Then he couldn’t believe what he saw. Underneath the straggly beard and the gaunt, sunken cheekbones was a face he had known for ten years. “Jesus, Claus? It’s Kurt.”
He threw his arms in the air and waved to his men up on the hill. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! It’s Kurt!” he yelled again to his two countrymen.
“Nordstrum?” Helberg finally lowered his rifle and uttered in disbelief, “My God, Kurt, you’re alive!” They each took off and skied toward each other, jubilantly, and hurled their arms around each other.
“Jesus,” Arne Kjelstrup looked at him, “where the hell have you been? We were sure you hadn’t survived the storm.”
“Storm…?” Nordstrum said deadpan. “What storm? Did you have weather here?” Then he broke into a wide grin. “That was the mother of all storms, wasn’t it? We were lucky to have found a hut. But look at you both! God, it’s good to see you.”
The rest of the Gunnerside contingent left their packs and skied down to the lake, whooping with joy.
“You folks didn’t happen to bring along any food, did you?” Kjelstrup asked. It looked like he hadn’t had a good meal in weeks.
“Food?” Nordstrum shrugged. “Hmm, no, no one mentioned. Are you short?” Then he laughed. “Of course we have food. A sled full of it! Jesus, what the hell have you been surviving on?”
“We’ll tell you, but you won’t believe it,” Claus Helberg said. “We’re just happy you’re here.”
The rest of the team arrived. Everyone hugged and cheered, slapping each other on the back. They’d found them. Amid the Germans and the worst storm any had ever seen, they’d found their friends. Alive.
Now it was time to get on with why they were all here.