Dark Full of Enemies(50)

He had taken three immediate actions. He exercised them. He had them carry all their supplies overland from the railhead or up from the dock. He had them work on the new E-boat crew barracks in shifts continuously until it was finished. He sent squads to the headquarters by the railhead for even the slightest needs. It was time-consuming and tedious. It gave them something to do instead of mope, and it kept them fit. He also increased the frequency of their trips into Narvik. Garrison duty was shit, every soldier knew it, and the cheap nude cartoons of Der Stürmer pinned to barrackroom walls could only do so much for a man. There were plenty of real women in the cities—the sturdy blondes of Norway, no less.

He had finished his inspection, and realized that he had spent most of it—both trips across the dam and the brief look into the ladder well—daydreaming. He worried that his own discipline had slipped, was slipping, and after so much work on his men in such a bleak place that would be a shame. He reordered his thoughts as he came to his command post.

Pfaff came to attention again, and this time Fass returned a proper salute before entering the building.

He looked at his desk but did not sit down. He stood a moment, unsure of what to do. He had inspected the dam twice in close succession. He had not slept in some time. He did not want to read.

He opened the door at the back of his office and entered his quarters, a small, narrow room with a single bed. He found himself standing motionless again. He opened the lid of his phonograph, selected the first platter of Das Rheingold, and set the needle. He walked back into his office, switched on the outdoor loudspeakers, and returned to his room. The music filled the room and, outside, he could hear the prelude ring tinny and distant off the dam, the ice, the lake, the mountainsides. He lowered himself fully clothed to his bed and stared at the bulb in the ceiling.

That had been his final order in his effort to bring the garrison’s morale to the level of its discipline—he ordered that all the lights on the dam burn, constantly. Months of dwindling daylight and finally weeks of total black had to have a terrible effect on a man who was already alone in a cold and strange land. And so he ordered the dam lights on as well as the few perimeter lights, and then the lights on the barracks—some of them brand new—and finally, though he did not order this for the enlisted men, he began leaving his own office and bedroom lights on.

The darkness had begun to bother even him.





McKay said nothing for some time. He had forgotten his sodden clothes, aching eyes, and exhaustion. Petersen spoke quietly as J?rgen piloted them toward the village. McKay listened.

“We collected Keener and his men in the same fashion we collected you, the rendezvous with the submarine. There were more of them than of you. He brought a squad of six, half American and half English, I think. They did not—” Petersen paused. McKay waited. “They did not wear uniforms,” Petersen said. He took a breath. “They brought explosives and weapons, machine pistols like yours. This Keener, he was eager to begin. We brought them to their hiding place and secreted them there. We gave them time to plan and prepare. Keener asked me to bring him to the dam, for a reconnaissance, like now. I could not, but… another fisherman did. He went to the dam three times as he prepared, and planned along with us.

“At last the day came. He had his six, and he had ten more of our men—good men—to help him. They planned to sneak in the way we did tonight. Keener and his men would attack the dam, and our ten would stand watch in the hills. If the Germans came from the lower camp, by the railway, we would fight them off. If Keener was discovered, we would fire on the dam from above and so help Keener to escape.”

McKay did not like that. He had thought of a plan along similar lines—the geography itself seemed to suggest it.

“We loaded into the boat and sailed up the fjord,” Petersen said. “We landed and did exactly—exactly as we had planned. I was with them. I led our men, you see. In the hills.”

“Yes,” McKay said.

Petersen ran his hand over his head and rubbed his eyes. He sighed and pulled at his beard, as if in growing frustration. McKay knew something about bad memories. “What happened?” he said.

Petersen raised his hands. “I don’t know. We did not see it, but suddenly there was shooting all around the dam. I was watching the lower camp when it happened, and when I crossed over the ridge to look at the dam I saw two dead men near the dam and more running away from it, toward the path up the mountain. The Germans chased them, and shot at them. When they shot one man, he exploded. It must have been the explosive he carried, but it astonished us. We opened fire, but it was dark and we could not tell who the Germans were and who our allies were. We fired at the men along the top of the dam, but that accomplished…” Petersen waved a hand and looked away. “The Germans began to shoot at us as well. We were in little danger—there were few of them, and they had only rifles and were shooting into the dark. But more left the lower camp immediately and rushed up the path toward us. I tried to see if Keener or any of his men were near, if any of them had made it, but I could see nothing. All I could see in the dark were the dam and the Germans and the two bodies in the snow, which I saw the Germans dragging away.

“I told the men to fall back to the boat. We had to save ourselves. The mission had failed, you see? It was clear to me.”

“I agree.”

Petersen nodded. “We left in the—the nick of time.” J?rgen nodded at the wheel and McKay assumed this was an idiom the elder had learnt from the younger. “The Germans from the camp had almost reached us, they were very swift. I have thought that perhaps they were already on the path when they heard the shooting. I do not know.