The Long Road Back

(Source)

Private Oskar Olson had a death grip on his Sten gun as he boarded the small boat from the back of the British submarine which lay just off the coast of his homeland.

The submarine's hull was slippery, the sea was up, and the boat was small to begin with, getting into it took all of his concentration. Once aboard, he slung his weapon and picked up an oar. A motor would have been nice, but any German occupiers ashore might have heard it above the roar of the surf on the rocks outside the harbor.

When the team was loaded up, Captain Agnar Eriksen hissed, "Let's get ashore lads."

Eriksen, once a pilot in the Royal Norwegian Air Force, nodded as the small boat moved to a spot south of the harbor which was their objective. He had turned down a flying spot in the RAF because, as he'd told a rather angry man representing King Haakon VII, "I want to go home and kill Germans, I want to soak Norway with their blood."

That man had shaken his head and stormed off. He had returned the next day, apologetic and somewhat sheepish. "His Majesty has approved your request to join the commandos. He said that he wished he could join you. As do I."

So the former pilot was now leading a raid on a small village not far from where he grew up. He was nervous, this was the first raid which he was commanding, the earlier ones he had been second in command.

As he watched the coast get closer, he turned to check on his men, young Olson had such an intense look on his face that Eriksen had to smile. It was the young man's first trip back to Norway since he had escaped from the Germans the year before.

He reached out and touched Olson on the knee, the young man looked up, startled. "Sir?"

"Don't worry Ole, we're in and out, no fighting."

Eriksen was somewhat surprised when Olson looked disappointed.

Olson felt a thrill shoot up his spine as he stepped ashore. He was home, not permanently but this was the first step to regaining his homeland. Quickly, he remembered the seriousness and the danger of what he was about and he took up his position, watching the left flank of the team as they got ashore.

He heard Sergeant Tollefson hiss at the team to get the boat ashore and under cover. Fortunately they had landed near some scrub pine which came nearly down to the rough shingle of the beach.

As Tollefson moved forward, he slapped Olson on the shoulder. Olson moved up, his Sten at the ready and his eyes looking for anything out of the ordinary. The Germans were not supposed to have a garrison nearby, but random patrols were known to rest in the smaller villages at night before moving on.

Olson marveled that his comrades were so quiet, they moved like ghosts through the Norwegian night. No loose equipment, no clatter of extra kit to betray their presence. Their British instructors had been harsh and unforgiving during training, but that was paying dividends now.

Bjørn Magnussen grunted as he stood up, the outhouse was cold and dank, but when nature called, one must answer. As he pushed the door open he found himself staring down the muzzle of a gun. It didn't look like a German gun.

"Engelsk?¹"

"Nei bestefar, vi er norske.²"

"About time you lot came home, but those are English uniforms."

Eriksen turned his shoulder to the older man so that he could see the small Norwegian flag they all wore sewn under their Royal Commando flash.

"Harrumph, I suppose that will do."

"Any Germans around, bestefar?"

"Not now, a patrol comes through every other day, they don't stay here though, town's too small for the like of them. Nothing to drink, no women to chase."

"No women?"

"All the young ones went to the cities, only the old ones remain."

Eriksen nodded, then asked, "Do you know Per Oskarsen?"

"Ah sure, the professor from Oslo. He's here, hiding from the Germans and the Quislings."

"Take us to him, now." The look on Eriksen's face made Magnussen grunt in agreement, this young fellow looked very serious indeed. He began to have hope for his country again.

The submarine surfaced just when Eriksen expected it, though either his navigation was off, or the submarine's, because they had a hard pull to regain the boat's side. It had surfaced some three hundred meters from their position.

Once aboard, their cargo delivered and their equipment stored, the submarine again slipped beneath the waves and set a course back to northern Scotland.

Olson looked at his captain and asked, "All that for an old professor?"

Eriksen smiled and said, "Apparently they want him in London, even more than the Germans who want him as well."

"What does he teach?"

"Something called nuclear physics."

Olson thought for a moment, "Is that different from regular physics, Sir?"

"I have no idea, lad, no idea."

¹ English?

² No grandfather, we're Norwegian.