Kromer wasn’t surprised to learn that it had been the Norsemen who made the first mention of this isolated archipelago back in 1194 A.D. Four centuries later, while looking for the fabled shortcut to
China, two boats under the command of Willem Barents sighted a land of snowcapped mountain peaks which they called Spitsbergen. Today this collection of frozen islands was known as Svalbard, with Spitsbergen being the name of its largest island.
Situated in the Arctic Ocean, Svalbard was only 10 degrees and four hundred nautical miles from the North Pole. With a total landmass of 23,958 square miles, it was one-fifth the size of Norway, its mother country.
Because of its strategic location, it had been a jumping off place for many hopeful Arctic explorers.
This long list included Salomon Andree, a Swede who in 1897 tried to get to the North Pole by means of a balloon, and died on one of Svalbard’s frozen fjords. Twelve years later, the American Walter Wellman attempted to fly to the Pole from Svalbard. He too crashed on the way to his elusive goal, but was rescued by a group of Norwegians from Tromso.
Svalbard was covered by immense glaciers and towering mountain peaks. It had no indigenous population, and was instead permanently settled by a handful of hearty Norwegians and Russians, who worked its many coal mines. Other Europeans also had a small stake in the hunt for this valuable fuel, as did the German consortium with whom Charles Kromer was currently affiliated. Still undiscovered by tourists, Svalbard was a relatively pristine wilderness, much of which was still uncharted.
Anxious to see such a place with his own eyes, Kromer closed his book and peeked out the window as the plane lowered its landing gear and began its final approach. Only a few years ago, this landing would have been on the frozen tundra itself. The asphalt runway was a recent addition, as was the terminal building that they were next bound for.
There were only a handful of passengers on the plane, and Kromer exited quickly via the rear stairway. As he climbed down onto the tarmac, briefly halting at the bottom of the ramp, he looked out to survey the surrounding landscape. A range of black, snowcapped mountains met his eyes. They had a stark, foreboding quality to them, and Kromer knew without a doubt that this was the most unique place that he had ever visited. Feeling as if he had just arrived on an alien planet, he made his way to the nearby terminal.
A stern-faced Norwegian policeman stood immediately outside the modern terminal structure, carefully scrutinizing each of the new arrivals. There were no formal customs’ personnel on the island, and it was up to this individual to spot any potential troublemakers. Kromer looked him right in the eye and passed inside without incident.
Next to the baggage claim area the former German naval officer spotted a young, blond-haired man dressed in blue coveralls, holding a sign that read, Rio de la Plata Coal Co. Kromer went up to him and spoke casually.
“There’ll be one going to North Cape.”
“Very good, sir,” returned the young man politely.
“If you’ll give me your claim check, I’ll take care of the bags. The van is just outside, in the holding area.”
Kromer handed over his claim check and gratefully left the assemblage of noisy passengers who had gathered here. He zipped up the collar of his parka, put on his mittens and woolen cap, and headed out the exit way The quiet was immediate as he stepped outdoors, the air brisk and fresh.
He stretched deeply, and turned around when he heard voices behind him. The other passengers were leaving the terminal, the majority of whom got into a large, yellow bus that took up much of the holding area. Behind this crowd followed his driver. He pushed a large push cart in front of him that was packed with an assortment of cardboard cases and wooden crates. On the very top of this heap was Kromer’s battered seabag. By the time the veteran climbed into the van’s front passenger seat, his driver had neatly stacked this baggage inside, and soon they were on their way.
A narrow asphalt roadway led from the airport.
To the right were the mournful mountains, to the left the gray waters of Advent Bay. Several piers jutted out into this broad expanse of water. Massive piles of coal were heaped up beside these piers, along with the equipment needed to load it into a ship’s hold. Assorted clapboard buildings and steel warehouses did little to distract from the area’s remoteness.
“Do you get into Longyearben often, young man?” questioned Kromer in an effort to get a conversation going.
“Approximately once a week, sir,” replied his driver.
“And that’s usually just to pick up our mail and basic foodstuffs.”
“Well, it sure doesn’t look like much of a settlement,” observed Kromer.
“Don’t let this portion of town fool you, sir. Up in Longyear valley there are some very nice accommodations.
Over a thousand people live there all year round, and they have a really nice community center with a cinema, a restaurant, school, church, and several large meeting rooms for community functions.”
“Will we be passing this facility?” asked Kromer.
“I’m afraid not. We’re headed straight for the central wharf.”
Established originally as a coal town, Longyearben was founded in 1905 by John Longyear of Boston.
In 1916 Norway bought the mines from him, and had since produced over 14 million tons of coal.
“I understand that you were formerly the commanding officer of the Emden” remarked the driver a bit shyly.
“You wouldn’t happen to know my brother, Hans Schmidt, would you, sir?”
“Ensign Schmidt was my weapons officer for over a half dozen patrols,” revealed Kromer, who half grinned.
“You wouldn’t happen to be that kid brother of his who went off and joined the merchant marine at the age of seventeen?”
“That’s me all right,” the driver admitted proudly.
“But I’ve settled down since then. I’ve been with Rio de la Plata for over a year now.”
“Your brother always spoke very highly of you, lad.”
“That’s nice to hear, sir,” said the driver as he turned off the roadway and guided the van into a complex filled with various warehouses.
“It’s because of Hans that I ran off to sea. How’s he doing, anyway?”
“The last I heard was that he’ll be a duly qualified submariner by the years end, lad. He’s a hard worker, and if he continues to do as well, he’ll have a full career just like I had.”
“Was it tough leaving the fleet, sir?” dared the driver.
Kromer shook his head.
“I put in my twenty years and then some, lad. It was time for a change of scenery.”
“Well, you’ll have plenty of that, sir. Wait till you see these mountains in the daylight. It’s like nothing you’ve ever dreamed of before.”
A narrow alleyway led to a spacious wharf area.
Several large ships were docked there, including a good-sized modern warship.
“Is that a frigate?” asked the naval veteran from the passenger seat.
“That’s the Norwegian Coast Guard cutter Nordkapp, sir. It just pulled in this afternoon. From what I hear, the ship is here on a routine patrol.”
Kromer knew such cutters to be extremely well equipped. Along with the various fishery, law enforcement, and rescue functions, the Norwegian Coast Guard also provided coastal defense in times of war. Much like a frigate, such cutters could also be used to track down submarines, and were armed with a full assortment of depth charges and torpedoes to finish off the job.