“Yes, but this was in the days right after the raid and the town was overflowing with Germans. One patrol stopped me on the street, and demanded to see my ID. Using the papers I was given in England and my Norwegian—you would have been proud of me—I told them I was a hunter and had witnessed a chase in the mountains. The soldiers brought over their captain and I pointed up to the hills, all the while my shoulder exploding with pain. The soldiers organized a patrol to make a sweep.
“At some point, though, my luck ran out. I was checking out this local hospital, knowing I had to have my shoulder attended to, when I gave out a few squares of my chocolate to a group of children who had gathered around. That was dumb. Minutes later, a German sergeant demanded to know where they had gotten it. Chocolate was clearly in low supply around there. ‘The man over there gave it to us,’ they pointed.
“So I was questioned again, but this time I was told to come along. My shoulder hung limply in my jacket and I had a Colt tucked into my belt, which, if they discovered it, would have given me away. I also had my cyanide pill. Still have it. A sergeant questioned me about the chocolate. I said I had met someone up in the hills who gave it to me; ‘Someone in a white ski suit.’ I just played dumb. They checked my rucksack and found only food and extra clothes, and this whole time, my pistol was here.…” He patted his belt. “Totally undetected.
“So they put me in a cell for a day—I wasn’t sure what was going to happen—then I was placed in a line of locals and loaded onto this bus filled with other civilians who had been rounded up as well. I figure the Germans clearly had to show some results from their sweeps. We were told we were all being sent to be interrogated at the concentration camp at Grini.”
“Grini!” Nordstrum glanced at Einar. “That’s where my father was.”
“Well, I knew it would be death for me to even get near the place. The bus was an old-fashioned school bus with only one door, which the driver operated with a handle. Like we have in the States. There was one heavyset SS sergeant on the bus and three more on motorcycles that followed behind. Everyone was told that anyone who tried to escape would be shot.
“I realized I wouldn’t last a minute under a real interrogation. My only options were to escape. Or take my pill.
“I figured since it was all the same, I chose escape.
“As the bus sped along on narrow, winding roads, I sucked in the pain in my shoulder, which was killing me, and looked for the proper moment: a steep drop of woods on the right side, where I could avoid the aim of the motorcycle guards, who were only a few yards behind. I honestly said to myself, what would Kurt Nordstrum do? The guard in the front of the bus was an obstacle. I figured I’d have to shoot him and run. I put myself next to this gal. She was prettier than pretty, Kurt, and I started talking to her. At some point I shared that I couldn’t make it to Grini and needed to get off the bus. She played along, and called the guard back, kind of a jovial fellow who immediately started to flirt with her, and at some point I asked if he wanted to swap seats. Happily, the guard agreed, cautioning me no monkey business or else.… So I took his place in the front.
The bus motored on, winding on the narrow road, the cyclists forming a tight triangle a few yards behind. I kept my eyes peeled for just the right moment. Then, coming up on the right-hand side, there was a sweeping turn on the side of a dense wood that fell sharply from the road. I knew this had to be it. The bus driver downshifted into the turn. I waited until the vehicle was halfway into the curve and saw a break in the trees. With a glance back to the SS guard, who seemed happily diverted, I leaped forward and yanked on the door handle and hurled myself out of the bus.
“I landed heavily,” the Yank said, “my shoulder crippling me with pain. I rolled off the road into the trees. The bus and motorcycles screeched to a stop. ‘Stop. Now! Halt,’ the guards yelled. I threw myself into the woods as shots rang out from behind me. I felt a sharp pain in my ribs, but tumbled down the slope in the thick snow and rolled to a stop. I didn’t even breathe. The Germans chased me about twenty yards in, then lobbed grenades toward me. One landed about five yards away. I hurled myself behind a tree as the grenade detonated, shrapnel tearing through my leg. See…” Gutterson pulled up his pant leg and showed off a line of ugly red scars. “I’m lucky to still have it. Two more grenades were thrown at me, exploding harmlessly not too far away. I dragged myself deeper into the woods. The Germans went in a few more steps and sprayed bullets my way, but the dense trees shielded me. At some point they were only ten yards behind me. I lay there, exhaling, bleeding, not moving an inch. This is it, I thought. I actually reached inside my jacket for my pill. They fired another volley toward me, then I overheard one say that I was probably dead. Either that or I’d surely freeze in the night.
“‘The major will have our asses,’ I heard one say.
“‘Just tell him we shot the bastard,’ his cohort replied. ‘Who’ll know?’ They gave up the chase and went back to their cycles and the bus. I heard the convoy go on. One day I’d like to find that major and show him I’m alive!
“Anyway, completely bloody now and my leg a mess, I stumbled around for a day through the woods until I came upon the grounds of a hospital in the town of Lier. Turned out it was a mental hospital. A doctor on staff took one look at me and said I likely wouldn’t make it through the night. The next day, barely breathing, I was driven to a hospital in Drammen, where I was shielded from the Nazis by a sympathetic doctor and spent the next eighteen days recovering. The doctor had some friends in the resistance and contacted them. I was taken in a meat truck all the way to Oslo. When I had fully recovered, instead of finding my way back I joined a Milorg unit there. I’ve had chances to make my way to Sweden, but SOE said they could use every man they had in Oslo, now that the manhunt for the Norsk Hydro saboteurs was over, and put me to work. That part’s another story. Nine months later a tall, bald man in a gray coat from Milorg met me at a café in St. Olaf’s Square in Oslo and told me I was needed in Rjukan.
“‘You’ll find a man named Nordstrum there,’ he said. That was all I had to hear.”
*
“That’s quite a tale,” Nordstrum said with amazement. “Though I would have thought you’d be back in England by now. With a medal.”
“Who needs a medal?” the Yank said. “Besides, why waste all the training when there’s still work to do?”
“Spoken like a true Norwegian. And speaking of which, I see your Norwegian has dramatically improved. Einar, when I met this boy, he didn’t know how to say ur from er.”
“When you’re being questioned by SS, you learn the difference fast,” he said. “And you, Kurt, what have you been up to?”
“Me? Just the same. You know me.”
“‘The same’ means he should have been captured a dozen times himself,” Einar said, “but here he is.”
“It’s true. I’ve had my share of run-ins as well. But now we’re here. You said there was more work to do. Have they told you why you’re here?”
“All I was told was to show up. When they mentioned your name I knew it was worthwhile.”