Homeward Bound

Source

Jan Kołodziej groaned and gripped his belly as the train hit another rough section of track. He had been hit, tended to by a Sani then hauled back to an aid station in very short order. He had no idea how lucky he was. His lower intestine had been perforated by metal fragments from his equipment, driven into his body by a Soviet rifle bullet. Had he not been carrying the spare barrel for his squad's MG-34, he would probably have bled out on the battlefield.

The bullet, fired from very close range, had been deflected by the spare barrel, but it had driven metal fragments into his body. The surgeons at the field hospital had patched him up and sent him back to the Reich. The medical staff had given him no more than a 75% chance of surviving.

Infection had been their biggest worry, but so far, Kołodziej's body was successfully fighting to stay alive. But the surgery had required the surgeons to cut into his abdominal muscles and Kołodziej had had no idea how much a man used those muscles.

Just sitting up required assistance. Sleep was nearly impossible as the German military was in the midst of a shortage of medicines. Pain killers were in short supply, morphine was used only on those in such pain as they would scream all night.

Though Kołodziej wanted to scream, he forced himself to bear the pain. One of the orderlies had asked him why.

"If I scream, the army might leave me out here to die. By bearing the pain, I show them I'm a fighter, worth saving."

But the real reason was a letter he'd received, dated August of 1941, it had been from his Elżbieta. The woman he loved more than anything in this world.

The last time he had seen her was in Warsaw, he had been wearing the uniform of the hated Germans. She had recognized him and turned away in shame.

Now, she had written, since that day she had learned much. Poles were survivors, pretend to bend a knee to the conquerors but use the time to prepare to rise up and throw them out. Her own brother had been conscripted into the German Army. Upon that occasion her father had talked long into the night with her.

Elżbieta Chlebek's father had fought in the Austrian Army in the Great War, when their portion of Poland was ruled by the Hapsburgs. As he had put it, "Better to wear an Austrian uniform and fight the Russians, your Jan is doing the same. He is fighting the Russians as well. It's all we can do for now."

Kołodziej had been told that he was being sent back to a hospital in Poland. The Army hadn't decided which one, he was hoping for Warsaw, that's where his Elżbieta was working. She was a nurse there. If only ...

Oskar Olson stepped ashore. He wasn't familiar with this part of Norway, it was much farther north than his home. But the smell of the mountains, the hiss of waves on the shore of the fjord, and the very air itself spoke to him of home.

He had left the country a disoriented conscript. Swept up in the defeat of the Norwegian Army, trapped behind enemy lines with a hodgepodge of British, French, and Norwegian stragglers, he had made it to England where he'd joined the Commandos. Now he was home.

According to the briefing, there was only a small garrison of Germans in the region. They were not frontline troops, but reservists, sent to Norway to free up the more fit troops for the cauldron of the Eastern Front. Perhaps forty men, a platoon, but the Commandos had brought far fewer than that.

Their mission was terror, pure and simple. Slip ashore, kill as many Germans as they could, then leave the way they had arrived, small boats. Head back out to sea and meet up with the Royal Navy destroyer that had launched them.

Olson was an explosives expert now. His job was to booby trap anything which the Germans used. The goal was to have German soldiers dying long after the Commandos had left.

"We might be killing Norwegians as well, Oskar. Do you have a problem with that?"

The Scottish officer had taken him aside to ask that question, he was young, but a good man, he cared about his men.

"Leftenant, I'd rather not kill my own people, but if the Germans hold the country, many more Norwegians might die. We've heard stories of hostages being taken, and killed, for every misfortune the Germans suffer. It's hard to kill one's own, but if we kill more Germans, I can live with myself."

Lieutenant Seamus MacDonald nodded and clapped Olson on the back, "Keep that in your heart all the time laddie, the mission is to make the Germans uncomfortable. Maybe even draw more of them in. If they're occupying Norway, they can't be fighting in Russia or North Africa, might also draw down the forces they have occupying France and Italy. Places we might have a mind to take back one of these days."

Olson nodded as the Lieutenant had directed the men to start loading the boats. They'd be on Norwegian soil within the hour.

Olson watched as the rest of the men came ashore then hid the boats. The night was quiet and bitter cold. Sound would carry a long ways and he had no doubts that the Germans would be indoors next to their fires. Though there might be a sentry or two, they would probably be more concerned with staying warm than watching for attackers.

The first sentry had died under Olson's knife less than 15 minutes later.

Olson had spotted him, pacing back and forth along the town's single, small pier. The man had stopped to piss into the harbor, then moved back to the shelter of the small shed at the foot of the pier. Where he had fallen to Olson's knife.

Lieutenant MacDonald joined the small group shortly thereafter, "Sarn't Magnussen, put out a perimeter, Ollie, get those explosives planted. I want the pier to go up about four hours from now, everything else is a booby trap, someone touches it, they die. Along with everyone around them. Go."

They rendezvoused with their destroyer just before sunrise. In the distance they heard the explosives go off which would destroy the pier. That was meant to draw the Germans to the harbor where they would trip the booby traps Olson had left behind.

The Norwegians were back in the fight.