Ineke's Mitten

INEKE’S MITTEN

Tragedy and Triumph in World War II

BY CHARLES MCNAMARA

Copyright 2017 by Charles McNamara

SHOW&TELL, Publishers

Littleton, Colorado

Thank you for downloading Ineke’s Mitten. For background on the development of this story visit the Ineke’s Mitten Daybook on the publisher’s website.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BY CHARLES MCNAMARA

INVASION

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ESCAPE TO VERMONT

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THE GREEN MOUNTAINS

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NEW HOPE

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ESCAPE TO COLORADO

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CAMP HALE

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TABOR OPERA HOUSE

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MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS

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REVENGE

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RIVA RIDGE AND BEYOND

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OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

INVASION

March 1940 -- The winter dawn rose over the large meadow at Sørkedalen like an overture Nels Torkle’s soul could hear, but his ears could not. A new day had come to preside over the race that would determine the next Nordic champion.

Hundreds of Norwegian and Swedish national flags waved in the cold air, waiting for the ski racers and the crowds.

Nels knelt down and scooped up a glove full of snow. Through a small magnifying glass he peered at the shape of the crystals thinking about his wax selection, imagining the start of the race and breathing deeply to suppress his anxiety.

Twenty pairs of parallel ski tracks were packed into the snow running the length of the meadow then disappearing into the trees.

At the edge of the meadow, a herd of reindeer shuffled back into the forest.

Nels looked at his father, Arne, who helped him wax his skis as he had done before every race since Nels was twelve years old. Nothing was said between them.

He and his family had traveled overnight on the Ofoten Railroad Line from Narvik, one hundred miles above the Arctic Circle, south to Oslo, for the start of the fifty-kilometer Holmenkollen Ski Festival, the world’s greatest ski race.

Then Arne interrupted the silence.

You’ve skied the length of Norway many times over in your training. You never gave in. I’m proud of you.

I had you with me all the way.

Arne smiled and put his arm around his son’s broad shoulders.

As Nels smoothed the wax on his skis with his bare hand, Arne watched where the competition was lining up for the race.

I see him. Jernberg, the Swede. Over there. When you’re ready, we will get you in the tracks closer to him.

Nels had lost many times to Jernberg. But today he would not lose. He looked in the direction his father was pointing to see the number on his racing bib.

Number 53.

Nels rubbed the wax harder and faster, determined to be ready.

Within two hours, more than six thousand racers lined up in the meadow and triple that number of spectators. As the start time neared, the Norwegians began singing their national song declaring their love of their homeland and the national sport of Scandinavia.

Ja, vi elsker dette landet,

(Yes, we love this country)

som det stiger frem,

(as it rises forth)

furet, værbitt over vannet,

(rugged, weathered, over the water,)

The Swedes responded with their national anthem pointing at the Norwegians around them trying to drown out their singing.

Du gamla, Du fria, Du fjällhöga nord

(Thou ancient, Thou free, Thou mountainous north)

Du tysta, Du glädjerika sköna!

(Thou quiet, Thou joyful [and] fair!)

Don’t lose contact with the Swede, Arne shouted above the singing. I think he’s the one to beat. If he gets too far ahead of you, you’ll never catch him.

He won’t.

Nels hugged his father.

Your mother and the Holters and I will be inside Holmenkollen Arena for the finish. See you in three hours.

Nels felt his courage leave him as he watched his father walk away.

He slid closer to the starting line, gritting his teeth to banish his anxiety.

The shot from the starting gun released a rush of adrenaline transforming him into a Viking warrior -- unstoppable, fearless. No pain could hold him back now.

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As the pack spread out, Nels struggled to match Jernberg’s pace. At every uphill slope, the Swede broke into a run. Nels responded each time, running when his adversary ran and tucking when he tucked. They moved stride for stride in the same tracks mile after mile.

Halfway through the race, Nels glided along with the leading pack of one hundred of the world’s best skiers. The remaining racers were strung out behind them, like long ribbons through the forest and open meadows.

His heartbeat pounded in his neck. He ignored the pain in his shoulders, shutting out the scenery and the raucous flag-waving spectators that streaked past him in a never-ending blur. Snow began to fall, cooling his face and giving him a boost of energy. He felt unstoppable.

Three hours later, the tracks left the trees and turned beneath the towering Holmenkollen ski jump into the stadium. Nels was now one of eight racers striding side by side in four tracks. None of them gave in to the others. His legs and lungs burned.

Jernberg broke from the pack, double poling as fast as he could in his sprint to the finish. He ran up a steep incline pulling farther ahead. Nels knew this was the time to find a new source of strength. Ineke he gasped. Arms pounding, legs flying, his chest heaving and his eyes full of sweat, he closed on the Swede. With all his remaining strength, Nels vaulted between his poles, launching himself over the crest then tucking his chest to his knees cutting the wind resistance.

The Swede skated and poled as fast as he could, but it was too late. Nels leapt across the red finish line and dropped to his knees – the winner at last.

He lay in the snow, his chest heaving. Sweat stung his eyes and the oncoming group of cheering fans was only a smudge of color. He didn’t even recognize his fiancé, Ineke Holter, until she dropped next to him in the snow and yelled in his ear, You’re Norway’s new champion, cradling his head in her arms. You did it.

Nels kissed her pink cheek then steadied her against the pressing throng. The crowd was jubilant, thumping his back and hugging him. They sang songs of victory and waved red and blue flags, punctuating the winter chill with whoops and hollers.

~

Bright shafts of noonday sun shone through the living room windows at Nels’s house illuminating the smorgasbord of cold meats, cheeses, shrimp, smoked and pickled codfish, salads, jams, and various breads spread before him on the long wooden table that extended from the dining room into the living room.

The aromas made his mouth water and beckoned him to lean closer to the open-face sandwiches. Which one? Smoked salmon and egg or, the cheese and cucumber?

Someone’s arm slipped under his and he stood upright, embarrassed at sticking his nose so close to the food.

Let’s see. Which one you will choose? Ineke whispered in his ear. Her soft breath and the aroma of her long, flowing golden hair was tantalizing. A true Norse goddess. He wanted to bury his face in her neck but hesitated, afraid to show his affection in front of all the guests.

"I think I will have the geitost (yay-toast) and cucumber," he said looking into her eyes, partly for approval, partly to express his enjoyment of having her close.

"I knew you would. Geitost is your favorite." She squeezed his arm and, letting go, put a smoked salmon and egg sandwich on her plate and sat at a small table. The guests kept shaking his hand and patting him on his back.

Ineke smiled. You spent the winter away from me training and racing. Now I must share you with everyone in Narvik. Will we ever have time to ourselves? What will you do now that you are the champion?

Take a week off, but then I will have to start running and lifting weights.

And avoiding me.

He realized he would have to adjust, now that they were engaged to be married. But how?

I don’t like sharing you with everyone else who idolizes you.

But it’s our national sport.

She bit her lip and lowered her head. Never mind. I must have been naïve to believe you’d ever be as devoted to me as you are to racing.

Nels saw the pain in her face and wished he could retract his comment.

~

Ineke took Nels’s younger sister Ebbe with her for her weekly visit to the nursing home, part of her college assignments. They sat down next to a frail woman named Karin who stared out a large window etched with patterns of frost.

Hi, Karin, Ebbe said cuddling up to Karin's arm resting on her chair. Karin put her withered hand on Ebbe’s head, stroking it as if she were a kitten.

Ineke looked into Karin’s eyes, which were not focused and moved randomly. She smoothed Karin’s wispy hair and asked, What are you watching out your window, Karin?

Those ships, Karin replied. They are up to no good. What are all the Huns doing on the street outside my window? They aren’t tourists.

No, they’ve come for the Swedish iron ore on our docks.

They had spies everywhere.

Spies? When?

The Great War, my dear. The Great War.

The Germans spied on us here in Norway back then? Ineke asked.

Karin nodded, her gaze fixed across the harbor.

War with Fritz soon, Karin said. Mark my words, my dear.

The British will keep the Germans in check, Ineke said.

Jerrys won’t stay, Karin said.

Where will they go?

They don’t want this war.

I hope neither side wants a fight.

Ebbe looked at Ineke, puzzled by Karin’s comments.

It’s okay, Ineke said. Karin struggles sometimes.

Karin turned toward Ineke asking for something without speaking.

Everything will be fine, Ineke said.

Not with the Boche here.

Is it time for your tea?

Karin smiled. Yes, please. Oh, I’d like that.

Look what Nels gave me for my birthday, Ineke said showing Karin her new red mittens.

How old are you, my dear?

Twenty-one.

Twenty-one, Karin said, adjusting her gaze to somewhere long ago.

By mid-afternoon, Karin was ready for bed. Ineke pushed her wheelchair down the hall to her room. Karin held her fingers out and dragged them along the wall feeling the bumps and dips. Ineke helped her stand next to her bed and lowered her. Leaning back into her pillows, she drifted off to sleep, slowly, then all at once. Ineke smiled and let go of her hand.

As she left, she looked out Karin’s window at the ships in the harbor realizing for the first time that an invasion might be imminent. Her breathing became shallow as she tried to release the tension. 

~

Several days later, Nels skied along the Ofotfjord, watching British and German warships anchored at opposite ends of the harbor.

Above him, ribbons of green light from the Aurora Borealis snaked across the sky. The blue-green polar twilight was all the illumination the heavens provided during the long arctic winters.

German launches, with bright blinking lights, shuttled crew and soldiers to the docks, sending chills down Nels's spine. He feared they wanted more than the Swedish iron ore on the docks.

No sign of spring was visible. No flowers poked through the late winter snow. None of the trees had buds. A gloomy overcast of ice crystals, smoke, and gloom shrouded the harbor. Morketiden, The Dark Time.

He skied back through town to his house where his mother, Julia, and Ineke's mother, Sigrid, stood in the street, putting on their skis. The distant wail of the ore train whistle let Nels know his father had returned from the Kiruna iron mines just across the border in Sweden.

"God morgen, Nels said. So many battleships in the harbor. Makes me crazy, he said catching his breath. What if they attack each other? Or us?"

Julia gripped the opening of her coat. The Germans control the iron ore already.

They brought an armada and soldiers just to load more ore? Nels was surprised that his mother didn’t see the danger. Where are the freighters?

Don't worry, son, Julia said. The British are just trying to make a deal for their share. They know we are a neutral country and won't fight them for the ore.

Nels’s insides quivered and he shifted from side to side unable to get comfortable. What if the British are here to stop the Germans and take the ore for the Allies? What if the Germans are infiltrating with no intention of ever leaving?

We’ll have to wait and see, she called over her shoulder and pushed off down the frozen street toward the elementary school where she and Sigrid taught.

~

For most of the night, Nels rolled back and forth in bed, twisting and pulling on the covers, anticipating the alarm clock signaling the start of his daily workout. A booming explosion startled him. He jumped out of bed and looked out his window toward the harbor. The warships were firing at each other.

Moments later, a shell landed near them rattling the house and the lampshade on his dresser. He held his hands over his ears and ran into his parents' bedroom where his mother sat in bed, clutching his father's arm.

Arne, she said, What's going on?

Worry lines creased his father's face.

Came from the harbor. It’s not dynamite.

More thundering explosions drew all three to the window.

Oh my God, his mother whispered as red tracers sailed across the sky.

The muscles in Nels's legs tightened, ready to run for cover.

His ten-year-old sister Ebbe ran into the room. Don't let them kill us, Mother. Julia pulled her close.

They watched salvos from both sides streak through the dark sky. A shell screamed overhead exploding just beyond the nearby railroad tracks, rattling the windows. Books crashed to the floor.

I'm going to check on Ineke, Nels said.

Wait, Arne said as he pulled on this pants. I'll get her father and go to the train. Be packed and ready to leave. We may need to evacuate.

Nels held his breath, worried his father would not come back, just as he had as a child watching him leave on the ore train into the snow-covered mountains. He remembered that Arne always returned bringing small gifts and captivating stories of mountain scenery. Nels’s thoughts returned to the present as his mother pleaded, Arne, be careful. She began to sob.

Nels followed his father to the front door but his father stopped him. Take care of the women.

Another shell landed, slamming into the roof of the house across the street collapsing the front façade. A fist of orange flame reached toward the two men and a deadly rain of glass and brick splattered in front of them.

Nels held his forearm over his face to divert the heat as his father, and Ineke’s father, disappeared into the orange glow.

Father, he screamed.

Stay where you are, Arne called from the smoke. I'm okay.

What about Ineke? He ran next door to the Holter's.

Ineke, he screamed. She and her mother stood trembling, holding each other in the flickering shadows. He hugged them both.

The men are okay, Nels said. The last explosion missed them. We may need to evacuate the town, he said. Pack food and clothing and wait 'til I come get you.

~

Nels stared at the kaleidoscope of lights swirling on the ceiling, unable to sleep as the battle raged throughout the night.

The next morning the gunfire was silent. Nels walked through the house peering through each window, waiting for the next explosion. Could the battle be over?

He got dressed and left the house to find out. Silent and unseen, Nels skied along the line of smoldering German ships moored in single file along the docks. Smoke, mixed with the smell of oil and gunpowder, lingered in the freezing air. Burning debris, floating bodies, and half-sunken ships littered the harbor.

From the shadows, he watched an endless ant trail of gray-clad, yakking, clanking German infantry troops flow down the gangplanks, along the docks, past the large piles of iron ore, over the railroad tracks, and into the narrow streets of Narvik.

Nels gripped his ski poles and jabbed them into the snow. If he could somehow frighten the invaders away, he would. He shifted back and forth on his skis, unable to relax.

He skied along the frozen streets of town to the railroad office where his father and Torvald Holter watched iron ore being unloaded.

We were worried about you, Nels said. I skied past the harbor a few minutes ago. The Germans are unloading hundreds of soldiers.

They are also getting off the ore train. They’re everywhere. Shouts in German drew Nels's attention to the station window. Germans standing on the freight cars were supervising the unloading of the ore.

Shocked, he turned to his father, "How did those