Ronneberg motioned him forward to the gate. “Be careful. And watch out for any guards. Good luck.”
In a crouch, Arne followed the railway tracks directly up to the rear gate. The moonless night hid his approach. With the precision of an expert plumber, which was what he was before the war, he examined the wire mesh for a weak spot and found the perfect point, where he executed a single, well-placed snip. He pulled the wire back and stretched it wide, making a gap. Then he turned back and waved everyone forward.
One by one, the covering team headed off in the darkness to meet him, their footsteps muffled by the constant whoosh from the factory’s dynamos and the steady westerly wind. Nordstrum and the demolition team followed closely behind. At the gate, there was barely a moment’s hesitation. Ronneberg held it wide for the rest and one by one they scurried through. Poulsson and Gutterson continued straight to the front of the building where the high-concentration tanks were located, taking cover behind a group of storage drums, not twenty yards from the guard hut. With its flimsy wooden walls, the structure would offer only scant protection against the hail of automatic weapons should they have to open fire. Kjelstrup continued farther down to a thatch of bushes to keep watch over the two guards on the bridge. Storhaug and Pederson slipped around to the north side of the building to keep an eye out for the sentry patrolling the penstocks. Helberg remained at the gate, covering the escape route for when they all had to beat a hasty retreat.
It appeared that not a single guard, German or Norwegian, patrolled the upper grounds.
The Norsk Hydro factory, which looked like a brightly lit, impregnable fortress at every point of their approach, now loomed even larger directly in front of them. Its massive, humming turbines, swallowing an endless flow of water from the vidda, gave off a sensation of awe and dread for what they were tasked with pulling off.
“Jens, Kurt.” Ronneberg waved his fellow team members forward. “This way.”
The four-man demolition team split into two pairs—Nordstrum and Stromsheim, and Ronneberg and Jens—each team with enough explosives to accomplish the job in the case that the other unit didn’t make it in.
They both scrambled silently across the grounds to the steel door that led to the basement, the fastest and most direct point of access.
So far, it was all working like clockwork.
At the door, Ronneberg tried the handle, pushing his shoulder against it.
It didn’t budge.
“Shit,” he whispered, and tried again.
It was locked.
That left the other door on the north side of the building that led to the first floor. Much faster than the duct Tronstad had spoken of, with an opening only wide enough for a single person at a time.
“Kurt, Jens and I will go around the side and check out the other door,” Ronneberg whispered, pointing to the other side of the building. “You and Birger search for that pipe duct.”
Three minutes had gone by. Now it was all about the time.
Hugging the exterior, Ronneberg and Jens disappeared around the side into the darkness.
“Let’s go.” Nordstrum waved to Stromsheim. They ran off the other way, the giant factory whooshing and belching so loudly the building seemed to vibrate.
Next to a closed, corrugated metal service door, Nordstrum spotted a small wooden ladder, only three rungs tall. It was perched in the snow under some kind of opening covered over by a wooden door fastened with a cheap lock.
“This has to be it.” Nordstrum pried the doors open, busting the flimsy latch, the sound covered by the building’s noises.
It led to a long, dark chasm, narrow as a cave. “This is it!” The passage was narrow and unlit, and seemed to have various things blocking the way: hoses, cables, pipes.
“Should we wait for Joachim and Jens?” Stromsheim asked. He removed the pack from his back.
“You heard him.” Nordstrum shook his head. “We’re each on our own. There’s no time to find them now. We go right in.” He handed Stromsheim his gun, then hoisted himself up into the narrow opening and wedged himself inside. It was barely wide enough for him to fit. Ronneberg, who was even taller, would have even greater difficulty, if he had to enter this way.
“C’mon, let’s go.”
Nordstrum went forward on his hands and knees. He had to remove his explosives pack, as the passage wasn’t large enough for it to fit through on his back, so he put it in front of him and nudged it forward with his knees. Stromsheim climbed in after him.
The passage was dark and they had to push hoses and heating cables out of their way as they crept along. The only light in there was a small flashlight that Nordstrum trained ahead of him, while feeling for metal pipes, ducking, pushing along their equipment and weapons. The duct gave off of a musty, metallic smell. Like the blind leading the blind, they crawled slowly along, doing their best not to make any noise.
According to Tronstad, the duct took a direct route over the basement to the heavy water processing room, the very place they were trying to reach. He had told them it was about fifty yards long, but in the dark, inches at a time, the distance was hard to gauge. It took a lot of time, and they had no idea where Ronneberg and Jens were; there was no sign of them behind them. Nordstrum kept his ear pitched for the sound of gunfire, knowing, if he heard it, he would likely never leave the building alive.
“Look.” He pointed up ahead. He saw a light. There was a small opening, no more than six inches wide, where some pipes passed through into the basement. As he reached it, he stopped, his heart picking up with nerves for the first time, and put his face through the small opening to take a look.
They were over a corridor. Ahead, he spotted a locked door with the sign NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON BUSINESS. That had to be it.
The high-concentration room.
“We’re in luck. It’s just ahead.” Nordstrum pointed forward. “Just a few meters more. Watch out for all these pipes.” He went on, having to duck and twist himself around to get past them.
They were only a few yards away.
Suddenly he heard a loud, metallic clang on the floor.
Behind him, Stromsheim dropped his head and groaned. “Shit.”
In trying to avoid the pipes, his knee had sent his Colt through the opening in the duct. It was now sitting in the open for anyone to see. The sound of it landing seemed to reverberate down the entire floor. Nordstrum and Stromsheim had no choice but to remain precisely where they were, not daring to move a muscle, fearing that the door below them would open any second and a guard would peek outside, spot the gun there on the floor, and look upward.
Remaining perfectly still, Nordstrum reached for his tommy and quietly drew back the bolt.