“Besides, what…?” Nordstrum took another sip of beer.
“Besides,” Einar gave him a smile, “I already took my full vacation allotment to do this. Twelve days. If I can make it back by then, they’ll never even know I was gone.”
“Twelve days…” Nordstrum shook his head. “Even if you do make it, I can promise it won’t be much of a vacation. Does Marte know?”
Nordstrum knew her from back in school. Pretty and no pushover. His friend had chosen well in that department.
“The country needs this, Kurt. Maybe the world needs this. So yes, I am prepared. But I’d be a damn sight happier if I had you along with me. And, of course, you too, Jens, if you’re game?”
Jens shrugged. “I’m game for whatever the sergeant here says.…” He took a swig of beer, leaving a foam mustache on his lip.
“Sergeant?” Einar widened his eyes. “I’m not surprised.”
“All it means is that I can point a rifle and pull the trigger.” Nordstrum waved it off.
“Still, I’m sure you’ve seen some things.” Einar’s eyes grew serious and Nordstrum knew exactly what he meant.
“We’ve all seen some things, Einar.” He nodded grimly. “But getting across the vidda is no easy feat. You know the difficulties. Storms, German patrols. It surely won’t be twelve days, no matter how we ski.”
The weather on the vidda could change in an instant. There would be days when travel would be next to impossible. They’d have to arrange food, clothing. “And even if we get to Sweden,” Nordstrum took a sip of beer, “what do we do, just put out a hand and hail a taxi to England?”
“Brun felt certain he could arrange transport for us through the British embassy in Stockholm,” Einar said.
“He felt certain, did he? You know if you’re caught by the militia there they just ship you right back. And there are Germans waiting with big smiles and their hands out on the other side of the border to pick you up. It’s what almost happened to me.”
“I know all that,” Einar said. “But I’m still going. With you or not.”
Nordstrum shook his head and sniffed, as if it were folly. He knew his name was on a list of fighters in the resistance. Lately, it was getting far too dangerous here. It was only a matter of time before he and Jens ended up shot or handed over to the wrong side. And Tronstad … A true hero. A man the whole country admired. And it would be good to join up with the Free Norwegian Army there and one day return to take his country back for good. As part of a real fighting force. That was the true new front in this war, the way to make a real difference.
“The fastest way, you said…,” said Nordstrum, thinking.
Einar smiled, his hope rising. “Yes.”
Nordstrum tapped his index finger against the table. “And you’re one hundred percent willing to put your life at risk and take this on? Who knows when you’ll be able to make it back?”
“In my view, the importance far outweighs the risk,” the engineer said. “So, yes.”
“And you’re in as well, I assume?” Nordstrum turned to Jens. “Though in your case, I know I hardly need to ask.”
“I don’t exactly have a vacation to devote to it,” Jens said. “But my dance card is surprisingly free.”
“All right then … In that case, the fastest way to England would be by ship,” Nordstrum said, turning to Einar.
“Ship…? Across the North Sea? That’s crazier than the vidda.” Then, as he ran the thought in his head, his eyes grew brighter. “It would certainly have to be a large one.” He seemed to be warming to the idea.
“So what did you tell them at your job that you’d be doing while on vacation?” Nordstrum drained the last of his beer.
“A few days of skiing … Helping out a bit with the kids…”
“Maybe instead you should have told them you were thinking of going on a cruise.
“Three more!” Nordstrum called to the proprietor with a friendly wave toward the table of Germans, who raised their mugs back to him. “We’re Vikings, aren’t we?” His gaze drifted to the wharf. “For Vikings there are always ships.”
3
The road out of Rjukan toward Vigne was usually quiet after dark. Nordstrum huddled in the shadow of the stone wall that ran from the church to the border of his father’s farm. The old stabbur wooden farmhouse, situated on four hectares, that Nordstrum grew up in was built in the traditional Norwegian style: a narrow first floor suitable for storing grain and hanging meat, and larger living quarters situated on top. Tonight, the house was dark. The room Nordstrum had as a boy was over the front door and faced the street. His father still kept a couple of Telemark cows on the property and a few hens, which his mother had tended when she was alive. After she died, when Nordstrum was only twelve, his father took his pension from the railway company and retired to the farm. In his tastes, Alois Nordstrum was a simple man, but in action, he was as large as anyone Nordstrum knew. A man who could sustain himself for weeks alone on the vidda in winter with only his hands and his wits. He taught Nordstrum how to shoot, how to make a shelter, how to make a fire with only dried vegetation in all that snow, how to melt water. When Nordstrum was eleven, his father took him into the mountains in the dead of winter to a hut above Mosvatn, fifteen kilometers from town. “If you are to be a man you must find your way back,” his father said to him. “Otherwise, you are still a boy.” Then, leaving only a rifle and a few liters of water, his father skied away.