Chapter One: A Very Long Night
Ivar woke with a start, his blue eyes flew open and he pushed himself up from his pillows. He rolled from his bed and crawled beneath the wooden bedposts as he heard bombs exploding in a nearby railyard. Even as he curled in a ball with his ears covered, he smiled broadly, pride swelling in his chest as he realized what the time explosions must mean. His father's men were at their work once again.
After a few hours the explosions, shots, and shouts of the Gestapo died down. Ivar sighed and stretched, the grey sky, which he could only just see through the window had a soft glow. He rubbed the side of his leg, the muscle was aching and sticky blood had dried where his knee had hit the floor. He knew he wouldn't be able to get back into bed on his own, so he waited on the floor as the sun rose, watching the morning light slowly creep over him. It was some time later, after he had heard his mother call upstairs for them to come for their breakfasts that Ivar slowly began to drag himself across the floor. He didn't want to have to call his elder brother to help him up, but he didn't see a way for him to get dressed or even get to his crutches from his current position. For Ivar was paralyzed, and had been for as long as he could remember. The insidious polio virus had taken the use of his legs when he was less than three years old.
On the ground he could crawl as fast as any man could walk, and he could fight as well as any of his brothers, but that didn't help him now. Once he was down, he couldn't get up without assistance, unless a chair was low enough for him to hoist himself up with his arms. Eventually he decided to bite the bullet and call for help. He dragged himself across the floor to the opposite wall, only a handful of feet really, and knocked on the wall of Ubbe's room.
"Ubbe, I need a little help in here." Ivar heard Ubbe roll out of his bed and shuffle to Ivar's door, pushing it open quietly.
"What happened? Did you fall?" Ubbe was still a little bleary eyed and looked humorously young in his too short pajamas. All four young men had grown since the war began, and with shortages of fabric some of their things had grown quite short.
"I woke up to the explosions, I thought it was an air raid at first so I got under my bed." Air raids were uncommon in Denmark, but everyone in Copenhagen was still on high alert, particularly since the Allies landed in Sicily two weeks ago. Ubbe nodded and knelt down next to Ivar who used his brother's shoulders to balance as Ubbe lifted him, grunting as they made their way toward the bed.
"There," grunted Ubbe as he set Ivar down on the bed.
"Thanks Ubbe, I hate having to wake you for this." Whispered Ivar looking down, he hated having to be helped, having to be pitied.
"It's nothing Ivar, there is no shame in this." Ivar huffed, he pulled himself to the foot of his bed and grabbed his clothes and braces from the chair where he kept them.
"If there is no shame in it Ubbe, then how about you try it for a while." Ubbe just shook his head slightly, he knew not to cross his brother about this. As Ivar dressed, Ubbe stood, stretched and turned to leave.
"Let me know when you need to get downstairs, I can smell mother making coffee and I heard father come in just before you called me." Ivar nodded curtly, buttoning his shirt and pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. Slowly, he lifted his right leg and began forcing his stockinged foot into his boot, bracing his back against the bedpost as he strapped the brace around his leg.
"I can make it myself thanks." Ubbe nodded in assent, ignoring his brother's curt tone.
Ragnar sat at the kitchen table, a cup of imitation coffee in his hands, the bitter hot beverage was the only thing most people could get since the war began. His face was awfully grim. Their mother bustled about the kitchen, her blonde hair still hanging behind her in a braid from the night before, rather than curled and pinned up as it usually was, her face too looked old and drawn.
"Don't bother your father boys, he's had a very long night."
The young men ate their herring and buttered black bread in silence, even Sigurd knew not to cross his father this morning. Eventually their father broke the silence.
"Sigurd, go with Hvitserk to the harbor and do something, fish, bring a few girls out there, I don't care just act as though last night meant nothing more than any other night of bombing. Ubbe and Ivar, go to the smithy just as you did yesterday. Nothing can seem to have changed, you may not look concerned, you may not look afraid. You will act as though last night never happened. You are to be invisible. If soldiers stop you and ask questions you are to be silly young boys, you are not to talk back, you will answer their questions simply and directly. You are not to give them any reason to remember you." the young men looked at each other furtively, this behavior was strange, even from Ragnar. It was Ivar who spoke first,
"If we are to obey your orders, will you at least tell us what happened last night Father?" His father looked up from his coffee, anger behind his eyes, but to Ivar's surprise he actually answered.
"We lost men in the raid last night, at least half a dozen were captured, another five were killed. Your half brother was among the captured." Aslaug turned from her cooking to embrace her husband. She didn't speak, only softly kissed her husband's head. Ragnar's had married young and his first wife, Lagertha had died shortly after the birth of their son Bjorn. He had met Aslaug a few years later and they had been married within a year, their first son, Ubbe being born within a year of their marriage. Like his father, Bjorn was fatally attracted to rebellion, he had fought first in Spain in 1936, then in Finland against the Soviets, then in Norway. But it was only back home in Denmark that he had landed in a Gestapo prison.
Ivar spoke softly, in a manner most unlike his normally gruff demeanor.
"I'm sorry Father, we'll get along with our chores now." He took a last gulp of coffee and pushed himself up from the table with the aid of his crutches. As he left, his father reached out and grabbed his arm, causing Ivar's balance to waver. His father looked hard at him and whispered so that only Ivar could hear.
"Be careful, Ivar, your legs make you stick out and it makes you a target. I know you can handle yourself in a fight, but promise me, you will do nothing to provoke such an encounter." A look of disgust passed over Ivar's face, his lip curling in anger, he quickly dismissed the disgust but couldn't hide the anger in his eyes. He leaned down, his strong arms balanced on the table, had it been anyone other than Ragnar saying this he would have been furious, instead, his anger was dampened by rejection and self hatred, but also by his immense respect for his father.
"You underestimate me father, the Germans underestimate me at their peril." Ragnar shook his head.
"You are young Ivar, though you are smart, smarter than most men twice your age. But you let your anger run away with you. We can no longer afford such things. Promise me, for God's sake, keep your head down." Ivar pursed his lips, silently, he turned and left, dragging himself from the room on his crutches.