“Olf nodded grimly. ‘Germans.’
“He took his rifle off his back, knelt, and aimed at the first one in line. And fired. The German went down. The other three still bore down on us. Olf had his skis fastened, I was lugging some of the gear, and he took off up the slope, yelling, ‘Eric, leave it all. Come on!’ So as quickly as I could I affixed my skis and pulled out my Colt, the only weapon I had on me. I took a shot toward our pursuers, who were now only about a hundred yards away and closing fast. I saw I had no time to make it up to Olf, who was already halfway up the ridge and had now turned with his gun to cover me. ‘C’mon,’ he was yelling. ‘Quick. I’ve got you covered.’ I had to make a call. I decided my chances were better to put some distance between me and the people bearing down on us. I waved to Olf and took off down the slope in the other direction.
“Behind me, the Germans yelled, ‘Halt. Halt!’ and I heard the crack of three quick rifle shots and tensed. At my feet, bullets thudded into the snow. I raced down the slope in a tuck as fast as my skis could take me.
“So the Germans decided to let Olf go and come after yours truly. To my surprise, they could all ski pretty damn well. I thought I’d quickly be done with them and find my way back to the boys, but they kept up the pace. I was fortunate we’d had those six months of heavy training, otherwise, Kurt, I swear they would have caught me. We pushed up ridges with everything we had and glided across long flats, I was giving it everything I had, glancing behind me every few strides. Still, the fucking Germans stayed within a hundred yards or so. They weren’t giving up.
“After about an hour of going at it full out, I’d finally put a little distance between us. Two of the Germans started to fall behind and, exhausted, seemed to give up. But this one guy continued on. He was tall and athletic and clearly as powerful on his skis as any of us. I’d been on the run for two days by then and my skis weren’t waxed for shit. Plus, I had my rucksack on my back, all of which slowed me down.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nordstrum shook his head. “And I thought we had taught you how to ski.”
“I know how to ski, Kurt. But this guy … Anyway, the German was almost in range, and gaining … I hurried up a slope, digging my poles in with everything I had, my lungs on the edge of giving out. It became clear that while the German seemed to gain on the straightaways with fresh skis, on the hills, I was in better condition than him and built my lead back up. For another hour we continued the same way—gaining, falling back; it would almost have been a game, if I knew the outcome wasn’t life or death—until each new slope became excruciating and on each flat, gliding and working my poles at full speed, my legs began tire. Still, the fucking German seemed unwilling to give up. He had a Luger, and once or twice as he closed on me he got into a firing position and took a shot.
“Each time I could hear the bullet whistle wide.
“Finally, at the crest of a long and particularly brutal climb, my thighs were about to give out. My lungs could barely draw in the next breath. I knew I was done. As we went down the next ridge, the German would gain on me, enough that he would likely come into range. His next shot might not miss. So I just said, the hell with it, and pulled up. Fifty yards behind me, the German stopped as well. For a moment, we both just looked at each other, both of us too exhausted to even move. The fading light was flat and uneven and the distance between us was hard to gauge. Maybe fifty yards. Neither of us seemed like we wanted to take another step. Maybe it was better to just let it play out here, I thought. So I took out my Colt. Like the OK Corral.”
“What is that?” Nordstrum asked.
“A Western. Never mind. Anyway, the German shouted, ‘Hande hoch.’ Hands up. And aimed his Luger.
“I didn’t comply, knowing the guy had already shot four times, and that whoever emptied his gun first would be the loser, as from this distance and in the uneven light, you’d have to be a marksman to strike home.
“He took his shot, his hand shaking from exhaustion. I heard four more cracks. I crouched, waiting for one of the bullets to strike. And prayed.
“But they all whined harmlessly by.
“When there was nothing left in his chamber but empty clicks, the German turned to take flight.
“Now it was my turn. My hands were steady. I aimed and squeezed the trigger, just like we learned. The German arched upright and stopped dead in his tracks. He slumped over his poles. For a while, he didn’t move an inch. I wasn’t sure if I’d killed him or not. Part of me wanted to go find out, out of respect for the man’s pursuit. Instead I decided to get the hell out of there.”
“A good choice. Well done, Eric.” Nordstrum slapped him on the arm.
“I’m not done. By now, I was way too far away to simply retrace my steps and rejoin the group. And I had no fucking idea where I was. And no guarantee, of course, I wouldn’t run straight into a larger party of this guy’s bunkmates. So I continued down the vidda—southward. The plan was for us all to head east in the direction of Vegli, so I thought they might wait up for me there. Gradually it became dark. At some point, I was unable to see more than a few feet in front of me. I skied over what I thought was a rise but what turned out to be a sheer drop. I tumbled, it must have been fifty, sixty feet, coming to rest on my shoulder in a hard snow bank. I could barely move; I tried to lift my arm. I’ve never felt that kind of pain.
“My left shoulder was broken.
“Luckily, my skis were still intact, so I continued on, shaken and in pain, and took cover at a farm I finally came upon. And using my vast command of your mother tongue,” the Yank winked, “I found out from the sympathetic owner that a Hirden patrol was literally at the next farm, only a few hundred meters away. I was so beat and shaken I couldn’t take another step. I thought maybe the best plan was to head to Oslo now. We had resistance contacts there. But first I had to get my shoulder repaired. They let me stay a couple of days; I was far too exhausted to ski. After a few days I changed into civilian garb and continued on, ending up in Rauland, where the farmer said there might be help.”
“I’ve been in Rauland many times,” Nordstrum said. “What a shame.”