The running figures flung themselves at the car. Two of them tackled von Ziegler, a third thrust an old-fashioned revolver into Gregory’s face and the fourth dragged him out into the roadway. The light from the dashboard and the shaded headlamps was sufficient to show that they were Norwegian police.
The man who seized Gregory was a huge fellow with hairy hands and he did not use them lightly. Wrenching Gregory’s wrists behind his back he clapped a pair of handcuffs on to them, then lifting his great boot he gave him a kick on the behind that sent him flying head first into the ditch under the rock wall. His yowl of pain was cut short as the fall drove the breath out of his body and, since his hands were secured behind him, he went down flat on his face, cutting his cheek badly on a stone. For the next minute he was practically out and when he got back his wits he found that he had been lugged to his feet.
Von Ziegler had evidently fared no better, as between gasps of pain he was cursing fluently in German. The two of them were thrown into the back of the airman’s car and the big fellow sprawled on the seat, planting his huge feet on top of them, while another policeman took the wheel. The car started with a jolt and began to run down the road towards Hamar.
‘Here’s a pretty kettle of fish!’ thought Gregory. ‘To be pinched while operating as a British agent against the Germans is the fortune of war, but to be caught and shot as a German spy is a bit too thick! What the devil do I do now?’
He realised that there was nothing to stop him producing his British passport and disclosing to the Norwegians the real reason for his being with von Ziegler; but at the back of his mind persisted the nasty, worrying thought that they might not believe him. Von Ziegler was carrying a pass to which he obviously had no right, so Gregory felt sure that when they were searched the Norwegians would also regard his passport as a forgery.
In ordinary times he would at least have been allowed to get in touch with the British Consul and would have been assured of a proper trial at which steps could have been taken to prove his true identity, but from that morning of Tuesday, April the 9th, the times in Norway had become extraordinary. After a hundred years of peace the people had suddenly woken to the unbelievable—they were at war—a full-scale invasion of their country was taking place. Under cover of darkness, foreign troops had entered all their principal cities. Screaming shells, hurtling bombs and spates of machine-gun bullets were exploding and spattering amongst them. They had been taken entirely off their guard, and were now fighting for their very existence. With such an upheaval in progress all normal judicial procedure would have been thrown overboard and they were living from minute to minute while they took such steps as they could for their protection. Two enemy spies, caught red-handed, would almost certainly be shot after the barest formalities. Gregory did not at all like the look of things.
The cars pulled up in the main street of Hamar and the two captives were lugged into the police-station. For the time being they were allowed to sit on a worn pitch-pine bench while the German-speaking police sergeant who was in charge of the party that had caught them held a long telephone conversation. The other policemen stood round eyeing them malevolently, and only waiting for a chance to give them another beating-up should they show the least signs of any attempt to rush the door which led to a short passage and the street.
Gregory’s bottom hurt him abominably where the big fellow’s boot had landed, and he had to sit sideways on the hard bench, which was extremely uncomfortable, but the cut on his cheek was not deep and the blood had already dried. Von Ziegler, he noticed, had a lovely black eye which was beginning to colour up, and his white collar had been torn away from its stud where somebody had grabbed him at the back of the neck.
After about twenty minutes the dumb-looking, walrus-moustached inspector arrived whom they had seen outside the house occupied by King Haakon. The sergeant made his report and the inspector stared grimly at the prisoners, after which he gave some order and the other men moved towards them.
Von Ziegler stood up and, squaring his shoulders, began to talk quickly but firmly. He went on for about five minutes, while the men scowled angrily at him, but the old inspector seemed considerably troubled by what he said and, when he had finished, gave another order; upon which his men led both the prisoners away and locked them up in a fairly roomy cell with two beds and a wash-place.
‘Well?’ asked Gregory, who had not understood a single word of all that had been said.
‘They were going to shoot us out of hand,’ said von Ziegler, ‘but I managed to get the old boy rattled. He’s just a country policeman and I imagine he’s reached the rank of inspector only by doing his job conscientiously for the best part of forty years, and avoided any responsibility unless his little book of rules has given him chapter and verse for taking it.’
‘How did you manage to get him scared?’ asked Gregory curiously.
‘I admitted quite frankly that we were German officers in civilian clothes. I also admitted that we were communicating with the enemy—there was no sense in denying that, seeing that we were actually caught on the job—and that as we were not in uniform the penalty for our offence was death; but I told him that the police had no power to pass or to carry out such a sentence. I insisted that, however brief our trial, it must be held by the military and that sentence and execution must be carried out by them.’
Sitting down gingerly on one of the beds Gregory lit a cigarette. ‘That was a damned clever line. I take it that you were gambling on the fact of there not being any troops in the town? I wonder, though, that he believed you.’
Von Ziegler grinned. ‘He didn’t at first—I could see that in his rheumy old eyes—but I told him that it was quite definitely a piece of international law. I pointed out that at four o’clock this afternoon Oslo had surrendered to General Count von Falkenhorst and that our troops were also in possession of Stavanger, Bergen, Trondheim and Narvik; that his people, therefore, hadn’t a hope in hell of holding the rest of the country and that we should be in full possession of it inside a week. I reminded him that immediately afterwards an investigation into events in every town would be carried out with our usual German thoroughness and that we had plenty of sympathisers in Hamar as well as in other places; that if he liked, therefore, he could have us taken out into the back yard and shot, but that he would never be able to cover it up; it would be reported directly German troops arrived here and perfectly legal reprisals would be carried out against him. Our Gauleiter would have him shot, with the whole of his firing-squad that shot us, and all their families would be sent to a concentration-camp in Germany. After all, that’s perfectly true, you know—except the part about its not being legal for police to shoot enemy spies. These Norwegians can’t go shooting German officers like you and me and not expect to pay for it; so really I’ve done the old boy a good turn by scaring the wits out of him.’
Gregory nodded. ‘Yes; our comrades would inflict pretty sweeping penalties for the loss of an Air Attaché and a Staff-Colonel. I think you handled the situation magnificently. Unfortunately, though, the bluff you put up has only saved us temporarily. Our lives are still banging by a hair; the moment any troops turn up we shall be handed over to them and promptly executed.’
‘Maybe,’ said von Ziegler, by no means happily, ‘maybe; but things will start to happen long before any Norwegian troops come on the scene,.’
‘What sort of things?’ asked Gregory. ‘Have you got some Fifth Column people among those ferocious-looking policemen who will come and let us out later on, when the excitement has quietened down?’
‘No; unfortunately I haven’t. These country folk are much more difficult to get at than the Norwegians in the towns. The thing I’m thinking of may give us an opportunity to escape, but on the other hand it may settle our problem for good and all.’ The airman began to pace a little nervously up and down the narrow cell, as he added: ‘Have you got that Will, Baron?’
‘Eh?’ Gregory almost said: ‘What Will?’ but he checked himself in time and replied instead: ‘Why d’you ask?’
‘Only that you may need it, unless it goes up in smoke with you. This place is going to be bombed to blazes in less than half an hour.’
‘Hell’s bells!’ Swinging round, Gregory stared at him. ‘So that is what you were signalling about?’
‘Yes. I ordered three squadrons to come up at twelve-thirty and blow Hamar off the face of the earth.’
‘Phew!’ Gregory whistled. ‘The devil you did! But why, in God’s name? I thought you wanted to get the King alive?’
‘I did—this morning. But we couldn’t go into that château on the lake and carry the old man off now he’s surrounded by a lot of friends and loyal police—we wouldn’t have stood a chance—and from the policy point of view it doesn’t very much matter which we do—secure his person or kill him. The essential thing is that since he’s decided to fight we must render him powerless to inspire his people. It would have been fun to fly him to Germany, but once that became impossible, it was up to us to bring about his death in any way we could.’
Gregory drew heavily on his cigarette. ‘I suppose the idea was that we should sit up there in safety on the mountainside while Hamar was blown to bits, then come down and inspect the ruins to make certain that he hadn’t escaped?’
‘That was the scheme; but, unfortunately, things have panned out rather differently. I told them to begin on the château, then to go for the road-junction and the railway station in case he escaped the first salvo and tried to get away; and lastly, to plaster the whole town in case he had taken refuge anywhere after leaving the château. I suppose this police-station is as solid a building as anything hereabouts, but if our Flieger do their stuff properly it’s not going to be a very jolly party for you and me now. Still, there’s a chance that part of the building will be damaged and that we may be able to escape in the ensuing confusion.’
Gregory’s brain was working overtime again. The first thing was to get a warning to the King before the German planes came over, and that should not be difficult. He had only to bang on the cell door and start creating a fuss, upon which the German-speaking sergeant would be brought along; he could then tell the man what was intended, and it was quite certain that the police would not waste time inquiring why Gregory had chosen to give the warning, but would take immediate steps to see that the King removed himself to a place of safety.
Such a course meant giving himself away to von Ziegler, but that was immaterial now that the German had done his worst and was a captive. They would both be removed to a place outside the town until after the air-raid, and von Ziegler would definitely be shot immediately troops arrived in that area, but Gregory might get off through having given the warning which had saved the King.
On the other hand, he might not. It would probably be reasoned that he had given the warning only out of sheer funk for his own life, which did not affect the fact that he had communicated with the enemy for the purpose of bringing about the King’s death, and jointly with von Ziegler he would still be held responsible for the destruction of the town and for the deaths of any Norwegians who were killed in the air-raid. On further consideration he did not think that there was much chance of the Norwegians reprieving him because he had given away the fact that the raid was to take place. It was much more likely that he and von Ziegler would be torn to death by an infuriated mob in the light of the blazing ruins.
Time was passing with horrifying swiftness and he knew that he had got to think mighty quickly if he was to get both the King and himself—not to mention the wretched inhabitants of Hamar—out of this ghastly mess, and for about ten agonising minutes he could think of no way out at all.
Suddenly the idea came to him that it might be possible to use the information he possessed as a bargaining counter, and he said quickly to von Ziegler: ‘This isn’t good enough. Our boys may get the King but they’ll probably get us too; and if they don’t, it’s a hundred to one that we’ll be lynched afterwards by a howling mob. I’m perfectly prepared to die for the Führer, but we can be much more useful to him alive.’
The airman was a brave man, but the last ten minutes had done him no good at all. Little beads of perspiration were standing out on his forehead and he had gone quite pale about the gills. He knew, just as well as Gregory did, what an extraordinarily slender chance they stood of getting out of that police-station alive, and he said after a moment:
‘Yes. It was one thing to take a sporting chance of being wounded or killed in an attempt to get the King, but it’s another to have to sit here waiting for almost certain death—as we now have to. I wasn’t reckoning upon being trapped like this. What d’you suggest?’
‘You’d better leave this to me,’ replied Gregory. ‘Just get me that police sergeant who speaks German.’
Von Ziegler hammered on the door and when it was opened spoke to the warder, who shut it again and a moment later returned with the sergeant.
‘Look here,’ said Gregory, ‘my friend and I have been thinking things over. We fully realise that we shall be shot directly some of your troops turn up, and we’ve been wondering if we couldn’t save our lives by doing a deal with you. We are in possession of very important information; something which may change the whole fate of Norway. As a German officer and nobleman I give my word for that. My proposal is that we should give you this piece of information and that, in exchange, you should allow us to walk out of here immediately afterwards as free men. If you don’t agree—all right, we’re not talking; we’ll go to our deaths with our mouths shut—but you’ll regret it as long as you live.’
‘I must send for the inspector,’ said the sergeant cautiously.
Gregory shook his head. ‘Sorry, there’s no time for that. This matter is of the utmost urgency, so you must make the decision yourself. My friend and I have excellent reasons for wanting to be outside this station as soon as possible, and the information will be no good to you unless you act on it at once. If you haven’t made up your mind in two minutes the deal is off.’
The sergeant was a much more intelligent-looking man than the old inspector and he did not waste further time beating about the bush. Instead, he said quietly: ‘in that case you must give me your information and leave yourself in my hands. If I consider that the information is really worth it I’ll let the two of you go.’
The man had an open, honest face and Gregory knew that the only thing that he could do was to trust him, so he said: ‘All right; I’ll take your word for that. We were signalling, as you saw, to one of our planes. It went back to Oslo with the information that King Haakon has taken refuge in the château here and with orders for three squadrons of bombers to come up and blow the place to hell. There is no means of cancelling the order, so you’ve got about twelve minutes left to warn the King and get the inhabitants out of the town.’
‘Right,’ said the sergeant. ‘You’re free. Out you go—both of you!’ Then he yelled an order in Norwegian to the astonished warder and raced for the telephone. A moment later Gregory and von Ziegler stood out in the street mopping the perspiration from their brows—but free men.
‘Mein Gott! You handled that well,’ sighed von Ziegler. ‘And you were right; we should have been crazy to stay there and let ourselves be blown to bits. Now we’re free again we’ll get the King tomorrow and still live to wear Iron Crosses of the First Class for the job.’
His car was still standing outside the station and he ran towards it. As he started it up and swung round the wheel Gregory jumped in beside him, yelling: ‘Hi! Not that way—back to the hotel! I want to collect my car.’
‘We haven’t much time,’ muttered the airman.
‘Time enough for that,’ replied Gregory, ‘and it may prove useful.’
‘Schön!’ Von Ziegler put his foot on the accelerator and the car sped down the street. Realising that at that time of night the garage would be locked, they drove straight to the hotel entrance. When Gregory raced up the steps he heard a fire-alarm ringing loudly; a warning had just been telephoned to the hotel and the night-porter had had the sense to set the alarm going as the quickest way of rousing the guests.
The bedless crowd who had settled down in the lounge to get what sleep they could were already hurrying to the cellars and other people in their night-attire were running down into the lounge from the rooms above. After one hasty glance round, Gregory saw the night-porter and grabbing him by the arm demanded the key of the garage. The man took it off its hook and thrust it into his hand. Without losing an instant he ran out of the hotel again and jumped on to the footboard of von Ziegler’s car, so that the airman could run him round to the garage gates.
The open space outside it was blocked with the cars of refugees who had selected the hotel as a temporary shelter for the night, and when Gregory got the door open he found that the garage also was jammed to capacity with cars; so he did not bother to look for his own, as it might have taken him a quarter of an hour or more to get it out. Instead, he ran his eye swiftly down the front line and selected a car of the same make, which his ignition key would fit. Thrusting it in, he turned on the engine, then glanced at his watch; there was still about five minutes to go. Getting into the car, he sat back and lit a cigarette.
He waited there, keeping an eye upon the minute-hand of his watch and listening with all his ears for the sound of aeroplane engines. Three minutes passed, then von Ziegler came dashing in.
‘Come on!’ he yelled. ‘Come on! What the hell are you waiting for?’
‘A11 right,’ Gregory called back. ‘I’ve been trying to find my own car but it must be somewhere at the back, and it’s only just occurred to me to take this one instead.’ As he spoke he drove slowly out of the garage, but directly he got the car on to the road he stopped again and, getting out, lifted the bonnet to examine the engine.
‘Come on!’ shouted von Ziegler. ‘They’ll be over in a minute!’
‘Right,’ yelled Gregory. ‘Let me just fix this,’ and he pretended to tinker with the carburettor. He had been at it for about a minute when he caught the faint hum of aeroplanes, ‘There they come,’ he thought. ‘Just like the old Boche—punctual as a clock.’ And slamming down the bonnet he jumped back into the car.
Von Ziegler’s car was already in motion and he was cursing furiously. He had meant to drive north out of the town immediately they left the police-station, and so get ahead of the Royal party, as it was a hundred to one that the King would renew his flight in that direction. But Gregory’s insistence on collecting his car had necessitated their going to the southern end of Hamar, and now it was too late to drive back through the town. Unless he was prepared to risk being caught in the open street he had to take the road south: which was just as the crafty Gregory had intended that it should be.
They were hardly outside the town when the planes roared over. Three parachute flares dropped; a second later the first stick of bombs landed with a frightful crash in the grounds of the château. The speeding cars felt the impact but they were now far enough away to be out of danger from a direct hit, though there was still a chance that they might be caught by a flying piece of metal. Realising this, both of them pulled up and, jumping out, scrambled down into a ditch.
The earth shook and quivered as flight after flight of planes came over and salvo after salvo of bombs hurtled down half a mile to north of them. A number of people who had fled immediately on receiving the warning were out there on the roadside near by, but others who had lingered had been caught, and from where they were they could hear the screaming of the wounded.
Very soon the flames from the burning buildings lit the surrounding countryside almost as brightly as daylight, and as Gregory crouched beside the author of this havoc he watched the drawn, bitter and terrified faces of the people about him. One man was muttering to himself unceasingly, and although Gregory could not understand what he said he knew that the poor fellow was solemnly and persistently, from the bottom of his heart, cursing Hitler and all his workers, while near him lay a woman who was sobbing quietly.
At first the bombing had been down on the lake-shore, then it had shifted to the railway station, Which was on higher ground, and along the road to the north, over a mile away from them; but soon the German airmen, having thoroughly plastered their first targets, began to attack any buildings that they could see by the fight of the flames, and some of the bombs fell very much nearer.
The noise was positively deafening as out of the night sky the planes shrieked down, practically on to the roof-tops, before letting go their bombs. Hamar was totally undefended and the raiders had nothing whatever to fear from diving right on to their objectives. A large bomb caught the last house to the south of the village and the whole building seemed to dissolve in a sheet of flame and smoke while brickbats and pieces of metal hurtled hundreds of yards through the air in all directions. One lump of rubble caught a woman who had injudiciously raised her head above the level of the ditch and she let out a piercing scream as she slumped sideways.
At last the pandemonium subsided and, locking their cars, Gregory and von Ziegler walked back among the crowd to the entrance of the town. The havoc that had been created was absolutely frightful. Hardly a building was left standing, and those that remained were in flames. Burning beams, steel girders and masses of rubble choked the roadway, and it was some small consolation to Gregory to see that the bombers had done their work so thoroughly that it was now impossible for von Ziegler and himself to get through the town in their cars until the road was cleared. He could only hope that the King and the Crown Prince had managed to get away to the north before the air-raid started.
As everybody was speculating on what had happened to the King it was not difficult to get news of him, and von Ziegler soon learnt from people in the crowd that he had succeeded in getting clear of the château but had been caught at the railway station. It seemed that he had gone there believing that a train, for which he had given orders to take him farther north first thing in the morning, was already in the siding. The station was almost a total wreck but the building in which the Royal party took shelter had escaped the first attack, and immediately afterwards they had been bundled into a car that had managed to get away before the Germans bombed the road to the north.
Gregory hid his satisfaction while condoling with von Ziegler, who was furious; not so much at the King’s having got away, for he had more or less reckoned that the warning of the raid would give him time to do so, but at the fact that with the road blocked he would be unable to follow him, perhaps for many hours.
When they had confirmed these rumours Gregory remarked: ‘Don’t you think it would be wise for us to get out of the town again? It’s true that the sergeant gave us our freedom but we might find ourselves in a nasty mess if we were recognised by one of those ferocious policemen. Now that they know we’re German officers it’s quite on the cards that they might turn the mob on us, and if that happens we’ll never see Berlin again.’
‘You’re right,’ von Ziegler agreed. ‘Come on; let’s get out of this.’ And they began to pick their way south again over the heaps of rubble, among which the inhabitants of Hamar were already searching for their belongings and endeavouring to cope with the innumerable fires that were destroying the remnants of their property.
‘I think the best thing is for us to sleep in the cars until morning,’ the German added. ‘With refugees still streaming north from Oslo they’ll have to clear the main street, as there is no way of getting round the town except by a long detour through the mountains, so with luck the road may be passable again soon after dawn.’
Even down there in the valley it was very cold, once they were away from the area of the burning houses, but they had thick overcoats and, fortunately, there were rugs in both cars, so when they reached them they curled themselves up on the back seats and settled down to get some sleep.
Gregory was pretty tired after his twenty-two-hour day but before he dropped off he reviewed the situation. The war had now started in deadly earnest by the German invasion of Norway that morning; and he had a fine little private war on his hands into the bargain. So far he had kept his end up. Twice in fifteen hours he had saved King Haakon from capture or death and secured him another clear start; but von Ziegler was no mean opponent, and Gregory wondered for just how long he would be able to continue to outwit him.