“That’s no problem.” Poulsson shrugged. The flimsy exterior of the hut wouldn’t provide much protection against a hail of bullets, and with three submachine guns trained on them, anyone who managed to make it out wouldn’t get far.
Once inside, Nordstrum and Stromsheim calculated, it would take around fifteen minutes to get to the target and set the charges. It would be early Sunday morning and Tronstad and Brun estimated the crew inside would be light, maybe only a single guard. That left only two minutes to make their way back out of the building since the fuses couldn’t be any longer; the last thing they could accept was to allow a German or watchman to stumble on the charges after they’d been set and disengage the wires. They reasoned that the explosion from the blast would be loud; Stromsheim, who among them knew most about explosives, thought it was possible that the entire building would go up. Who knew what chemicals were stored inside? Which left no doubt in anyone’s mind that the soldiers in the guard hut would be alerted right away. At best then, they’d have to fight their way out and back down the mountain. And at worst, in minutes every German in the valley would be on them.
Which made the choice of their escape route all the more crucial. Otherwise, it would just be a one-way mission. Poulsson and Ronneberg, the two senior men, made the case for fighting it out back across the bridge.
“Getting past the guards won’t be the problem,” Poulsson argued, “but climbing back down the cliff to the river will be slow. And we’d be sitting ducks for the searchlights over the river and the valley. We’ll never be able to retrace our steps to here. Therefore, it makes sense to go back up via the cliffs.”
“So then we don’t come back here,” Nordstrum said. “But climbing three thousand feet in the dark, with heavy packs on our backs and weapons, is no easy feat. We’ll get separated and we’ll be easy to pick off. I think it’s far better to have the darkness and the rugged terrain in the gorge working for us and go back up the way we came. Do you know if the Ryes Road is mined?” he asked Helberg.
“I’m told it’s not,” he said. “So yes, we can cross and go back up the cliffs that way, underneath the tram. It’s steep. One advantage, of course, is they’ll never think it possible we went that way. Once on top, we could make our way back to the cabin. What do you all say?”
So they voted: straight up the cliffs or back across the river and up the Ryes Road?
Most sided for the Ryes Road.
One who sounded a differing voice was Olf Pedersen. He was the weakest climber in the group, and had always been unsure of the trek up and down the mountain. “To be honest, I never expected to see Sweden anyway,” he said. “I knew that when I volunteered. So I’m for whatever is agreed to.”
“If we make it out of that plant, I’ll make sure you make it back to your skis,” Nordstrum said to him. “That’s a promise.”
“And I’ll be there as well,” Gutterson said. “We’re one in this all the way.”
“Thanks, boys.”
“Okay, then it’s settled. We’ll go back down the way we came.” Ronneberg spoke for the group. “And pray the Germans don’t shine their lights on us.”
Also on their minds was the risk of reprisal in case any of them were captured and were found out to be Norwegian. That’s why they would all wear British uniforms and had their suicide pills. Helberg, Poulsson, Jens, and Nordstrum all came from the area and still had family there, who would certainly be among the first lined up against a wall if their identities were discovered.
On that subject, each knew that not everyone would make it back out alive. It was likely a few might be trapped inside the plant, or shot on their way out, or surrounded on their escape back across the valley. They had a frank and lengthy conversation, including a bet on just how many would make it out.
No one seemed particularly optimistic.
It might not be a suicide mission, each man knew, but it surely was the next closest thing.
32
The morning of the raid Ronneberg asked Claus Helberg, who still had contacts in town, to go into Vemork on a final reconnaissance trip to scout out the best route into the gorge and up the rock face on the other side.
Dressed in everyday clothes, he skied off bravely with a wave, leaving a trail of powdery snow as he took off down the mountain.
It took only about an hour for him to get there. Setting eyes at last on the giant Norsk Hydro factory they’d talked so much about was both exhilarating and terrifying. Not to mention the sight of Germans all over his home village. That he hadn’t seen before, and it made his chest tighten with resentment and anger.
Posing as a factory worker, he walked in plain view down the main road that wound from the suspension bridge down to Rjukan, past traffic headed up to the factory and German troop trucks rumbling down the hill. From a side construction road on the less steep side of the gorge, he found what he thought was a manageable route down into the valley.
Looking further, he hid his skis in the snow and followed the steep terrain all the way down to the river, sliding on some icy spots, grabbing on to bushes to break his fall, sometimes stepping all the way up to his waist in softer, sunlit snow. On the valley floor he found the Mann to be little more than a trickling, frozen stream—which answered one of their big concerns, whether they’d be able to cross it. He then kept on going all the way over to the other side, to the rock face at the back of the factory, which loomed above him like an impregnable fortress six hundred feet up. He searched around for some way to navigate up the slope, and in spite of its steepness, he spotted something that made his heart rise happily.
To mark the spot he pulled out a handful of berries.
Six hours later he returned to the hut with a grin on his face.
“The good news is there is a way down,” he said. “By the wide bend on the Rjukan road. It will be dark and slippery, but it’s definitely doable. Even at night. I made the trip myself. And the light from the searchlights on the bridge won’t reach there, but should illuminate the way.”
“And the river?” Ronneberg asked. “Can it easily be crossed near Vaer?”
“Even better,” Helberg said. “Closer to town, the river is completely iced over. It won’t be a problem at all. Unless it warms, its flows are no more than a trickle. On the other side, it’s steep back up the cliffs, I admit, underneath the factory. But there’s a route up that I found. Leading straight up to the railway tracks.”
“You’re certain it can be climbed?” Nordstrum pressed. He had grown up in the region, but he had never been in the gorge that deep. None had. “Even with heavy packs on our backs, and weapons?”
“Look.” Helberg dug into his pocket. He held out his hand. “What do you see?”
Nordstrum looked with interest. “Juniper berries.”
“Where juniper bushes can go, so can man,” Helberg said with a sage grin. “I even went a third of the way up to be sure of it myself.”
*