“Go!” Nordstrum tapped Eric on the back. The American darted across the dock in a low crouch and deftly hurtled the fence. “Okay, Ox, you’re next.”
The commotion by the dock was covering any sound, so Ox lumbered across while the pacing guard watched the large switch engine being put into position. He waited by the fence, and Nordstrum, realizing the covering distraction was still in place, sprinted after him.
They still had twenty minutes to make their way back to Larsen in the car.
“Give me a hand over the fence,” Ox said. “Never my sport, I’m afraid.” The big man put his boot on a link halfway up the six-foot chain-link fence and tried to drag the other leg over.
Then, from his fur jacket pocket, a beer bottle tumbled out. It rolled around a bit, making a conspicuous rattling sound on the dock.
Just as the switch engine went silent.
“Shit.” Ox exhaled under his breath, one leg straddling the fence.
The bottle rattled for a while and then came to a stop in plain view.
The guard turned around.
“Come on!” Nordstrum said under his breath. “Let’s go!” He hurtled the fence and waited to lend Ox a hand. It was a steep embankment through the bushes back up the hill, and if they ran, they would certainly be heard. And anyway, his friend was in trouble.
“My jacket’s caught,” said Ox. It was snagged on the top link.
“Rip the fucking thing off,” Nordstrum said. “Come quick. We have to hide. Let me help.”
The guard came toward them. They stood still. He stood over the beer bottle, kneeled and picked it up, then quickly looked toward the woods. “Wer ist da,” he yelled, his gun extended.
Who is there?
Ox remained as still as a church mouse in the range of a cat, concealed by the brush. But that would only aid him so long. He didn’t want to jump. He couldn’t. He’d be heard. He just remained still, holding his breath, praying the guard would grow disinterested and go away.
“Wer ist da, sage ich? Raus, raus!” The German raised his weapon. “Come out, or I’ll shoot.”
Caught on the fence, Ox looked at Nordstrum. His face displayed a sinking look of resignation. I’m afraid it’s up for me. If the guard came any further, they could all be caught. Go on, go … He motioned to Nordstrum with his chin. Get out of here. He gave him a helpless smile. “Damn, and I was really looking forward to that beer.…”
“Whoever’s there, come out now!” the German shouted.
We could kill him. Nordstrum ran through the wisdom in his head. They could wait for the guard to appear and do it silently with a knife. But any shout or gunfire would alert the rest. That would signal immediately that something was up and they would surely ask the crew and search the boat. Ox’s expression as he hung there seemed to contain all that. Nordstrum met his friend’s eyes.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Ox called out with resignation. “Don’t shoot.”
He extricated his coat and jumped down from the fence with his hands up and stepped out from the bushes.
“Why do you get so all excited for a fucking bottle of beer,” he said to his captor in Norwegian with his hands in the air.
“Unten! Unten!” The guard screamed at him in German, and forced him down to his knees.
“Kurt, we have to get out of here.” Gutterson tugged on Nordstrum’s collar.
Nordstrum went through the ways he could possibly save his friend. One man, they might just believe him, that he snuck onboard to steal some beer. To save his own skin, the watchman might even vouch for him as a friend. Any more of them, the Germans would surely suspect something. And to shoot now would only bring a dozen guards on their tails.
If Ox could do one thing for sure he could talk himself out of a mess, maybe even this one.
“Kurt, now!” Gutterson said in a sharp whisper. “There’s only fifteen minutes, or we’ll all be left here. Ox is a capable man. He’ll find a way out. We all faced that chance. We have to go!”
Reluctantly, Nordstrum let Gutterson pull him by the jacket back up the slope.
It ached in every bone and took every bit of restraint Nordstrum had to leave Ox. But to save him was to risk the whole mission. He would certainly be interrogated. But he could stand up to that with the best. He could play as innocent as an altar boy when he had to. An altar boy who had merely snuck aboard the ferry to pilfer a few beers. The two of them quietly climbed up the embankment, treading silently over the ice. They could hear Ox trying to talk his way out of it, the guard commanding him to move, pushing him along with his rifle. It was now only fifteen minutes until a quarter of two, when they’d told Larsen to leave. They hurried back along the road, quickly putting as much distance between themselves and the ferry as they could, jogging the last quarter mile.
Finally they came through the brush and saw their car.
Larsen looked at them with an expression of utter relief when they came out of the woods and opened the doors. “It’s a quarter of,” he said. “I was sure something had gone wrong. I was just about to leave. How did it go?”
“It went fine. Perfectly according to plan.” Nordstrum climbed in the front.
“So where’s Ox?” The engineer looked around, expecting him to climb into the backseat.
“Ox won’t be coming.”
“Won’t be coming…?” Larsen stared, not comprehending.
“No. Start the engine. It’s just us now.”
73
The rest of the night they spent watching the clock back at Diseth’s. Gutterson and Larsen dozed. Nordstrum just sat with his eyes open. He went over who he was.
A soldier. A saboteur.
A killer—for however he had tried to limit the number of those he had hurt, through his actions many innocent people had died. Still, it was all in service of the king. Of that he had remained constant. After the charges blew on the ferry, he would head to Sweden. Perhaps the war would be over for him for a while. Perhaps he would be back. As the night ticked slowly away, he went through the faces of the losses he had borne. Anna-Lisette. Hella. His father. Maybe Ox now. Tomorrow, possibly Natalie and her grandfather too. He knew everyone had such lists. All compiled in the name of doing the right things. Still, they were dead and he went on, and each, in their own manner, he’d had the chance to save. “I know you, Kurt, you won’t be there. You’ll stay and fight,” Anna-Lisette had told him. And he had.
How many more would be on that list tomorrow?
One day, he told himself, all anyone would remember was what they did—those who fought. Not the costs.
He was a saboteur.
He drifted in his half-awake state to the last conversation he’d had with Natalie. He was glad he was able to say the things he had to her. Tomorrow she would know exactly what he meant. “In war, we all do things for which we have no choice,” she’d said.