Nice. A request, he calls it. Something easy to say no to.
“Ahem.” Cosgrove cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. He stroked his mustache and licked his lips before starting. A nervous tell.
“Your Highness. Thank you for receiving me on this matter. As you know, for the past two years we have worked with your government to strengthen the Norwegian forces in Great Britain and within Norway. We have built up the Norwegian Brigade, a Norwegian commando unit, RAF squadrons, and extensive naval forces.”
“We are eager for these forces to enter the fight against Germany and liberate our homeland,” the king intoned. “We are grateful to you for the aid and assistance you have given us, as allies.”
“Yes, well…” Cosgrove seemed a little flustered and worked to get his train of thought back. Nice move, king. “We will get to that topic in due course. Today, we must discuss the potential usefulness of the Underground Army. Through our joint efforts, there are now hundreds of small groups of men in nearly every town and village from Oslo to Narvik. The purpose of forming this army was to strike back at the Germans, to fight the occupiers of your nation. However, if the underground is not used, or is kept for some future purpose, that effort will have been for naught.”
“Major Cosgrove,” Birkeland said, “the Norwegian government and people are grateful. However, we do not propose to order British troops into combat, and do not feel you should order our troops either.” Birkeland looked at Cosgrove directly, his voice casual yet firm.
“We do not plan to issue orders to units under your direct control,” Cosgrove answered stiffly. “However, it is the policy of His Majesty’s government to carry the fight to the enemy with all our power, as soon as possible. To that end, we respectfully request-request, not order-that you bring the Underground Army into action now. If that is not possible, then we will not hesitate to bring the fight against Nazi Germany to Norway via air attacks and increased commando raids along the coast.” He sat back in his chair, evidently relieved at having delivered the message. There was no relief anywhere else in the room.
“What exactly do you mean, Major?” Skak asked. “What kind of attacks?”
“We must hinder the enemy’s ability to fight,” Cosgrove said, gesturing with an open hand, as if astounded that his request was even being questioned. “Whether we do so through actions of the Underground Army or by bomber attacks or commando raids, it must be done! By you or by other Allied forces. It must.” With that, the open hand slammed down on the table.
“Are you aware, Major, of what happened after our previous attempts to activate Underground Army units?” Birkeland asked.
“Civilian losses are regrettable-”
“They are preventable!” Birkeland shouted. “But not if we order the underground to take action. The Germans have promised to continue reprisals against civilians wherever there is an uprising. Every time we blow up a bridge, innocent men, women, and children will be shot!”
“In wartime,” Cosgrove lectured, “we cannot be responsible for the atrocities committed by our enemies. We cannot allow them to dictate the terms of battle. Norway is strategically located, and its economy cannot be allowed to work for the benefit of the Nazis.”
“So the decision before us,” King Haakon stated, “is how to conduct the fight against the Germans. Either use the Underground Army and accept reprisals against civilians or…?”
“Or we will bomb factories and other industrial targets. At night, to minimize civilian casualties. The commando raids we have begun will increase in intensity. We have already hurt the Germans’ ability to produce glycerin for explosives through the destruction of fish-oil-processing plants in Nordland.”
“Your Highness,” Skak broke in, “what will the Norwegian people think when the war is over if we let the British fight our battles for us? We have to use the weapon we have created! The Underground Army is ready to fight. Let them do so.”
“No, no,” Birkeland protested, shaking his head. “You are too concerned with factories, Skak. What about people? No room in that bookeeper’s heart for them?”
Skak pointed a bony finger at Birkeland, his face reddening. “You are the king’s economic adviser, you should be concerned about the destruction of our economy, especially if there is an alternative! We will need to govern Norway when the war is over, and that means taxes. No factories, no taxes.”
“The people will not accept a government that allowed them to be put up against a wall and shot!” Birkeland started to rise from his seat, thought better of it, and settled his bulk back down.
“What of the British people and all their losses from the bombing?” asked Skak, opening his arms to all of us, seeking an answer. “They have not cried to their king to surrender, that it is too much. Do you expect less of the Norwegian people?”
King Haakon held up his hand for silence. In the midst of the enraged men in the room, he was quiet, calm, and dignified. He looked at Skak and Birkeland and stared them into submission. He turned to Harding.
“Major Harding, is this the opinion of the American government as well?”
“Your Highness, I only represent General Eisenhower, and we have no opinion in this matter, other than to wish to work with all parties to defeat Germany in this war.”
I marveled at Harding’s ability to say nothing and make it sound nice. It was definitely a more refined skill than poking folks with a stick.
“I will consult with other members of the government and our military staff. This is a difficult and demanding decision,” the king concluded. “The final recommendation shall be made by my senior adviser. I will announce who will be appointed to that post when our meetings this week are concluded.”
He stood, folded his hands behind his back, and silently, but very effectively, dismissed us. I watched Skak and Birkeland stand and stare at each other. If there hadn’t been a big wooden table between them, they would’ve been at each other’s throats. I’d bet on Birkeland in a hand-to-hand fight. But I’d bet on Skak in a dirty fight, and this was politics, as dirty as it got.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Beardsley Hall was swarming with Norwegian officials and all sorts of soldiers, sailors, and probably a few doctors and lawyers. Indian chiefs I wasn’t so sure about. Events were moving kind of fast, and I wanted to slow down and think things through. I went out a rear entrance, crossed a patio, and walked into the gardens. I knew I was no Einstein, but I did know how to think about things. Slowly. Thoroughly. Quietly.
“Billy! Billy!” Kaz jogged to catch up with me, or at least jogged a few steps. He wasn’t the most athletic guy around. He puffed like he had just run a mile, and pushed up the heavy glasses that had slid down his nose. I could tell by the look on his face that quiet was not going to be in the cards.
“Billy, this has been most exhilarating, yes?”
“Did you expect something else?”
“Ah! A question. That is exactly what I mean. You are full of questions, why is that?”
I thought about that for a minute as we walked along a garden path, framed by red roses on both sides. Red petals carpeted the ground, like velvet drops of blood. I did like asking questions. Asking questions meant that there might be an answer, and that gave me hope. When you ran out of questions, the case was hopeless, and you just plain ran out of everything.
“Questions are a dime a dozen, Kaz. Answers are what interest me. What’s so exhilarating for you?”
“You. Your approach to things. Very direct. Even more American than any other American I’ve met. You are unafraid to go to the heart of the matter, no matter how, how… inappropriate it may be. Very un-European. I think it puts people off balance.”
“Good way to get a reaction.”
“If you can tell the difference between shock and guilt, Billy.”