CHAPTER THREE: THE KING THAT SAID "NO" and A QUISLING AMONG US

Dec 24th Morning.

The smell of roasting pork filled the house. Lisbet had put the pork rib in the oven at 8am and the smell started to fill the house shortly after. The recipe was so easy and it only took about 3 hours.

She would let it cool down before cutting it up in serving pieces; then reheat the servings when it was time for dinner. That was the way her mother had always done it and it just made the rib taste better.

She had started preparing for the holiday meal a week ago at the local butcher not far down the street.

She always made a special order for pork ribs and he would prepare it for her the way she wanted it. She always wanted a large piece, at least 6 lbs, a good midrib with the chine still attached. She liked the spare ribs best, but Michael was always so fond of the chine. She made sure the butcher scored the rind and sawed through the bones so she would be able to cut them up for serving.

She didn't used to have any problems with that procedure; this year though she had almost had to leave the store to hurl. Watching the large piece of pork being handled and cut made her think of the things her boys saw in the morgue at work. She didn't like the thought of that. Actually she hated it. She hated thinking about her son doing that dangerous job and she wanted to yell at him for doing it. She would like to wrap him in cotton and keep him safe for eternity, but he had made up his mind and done what he wanted. Michael had told her to accept that and she was doing her best to work on it.

Two days ago she had let the meat defrost and rubbed it with plenty of salt and pepper. She had massaged it to make sure the seasoning got into the cuts in the rind. She was just about finished and had put the rib into the fridge to settle for a couple of days when her father walked into the room. He had been coughing violently ash grey to his skin. Greg had hurried in after him worried his grandpa was ill and might fall.

To make a long story short, Greg had wanted to take her father to the doctor; her father had refused. They were both stubborn men and neither was willing to give in to the other. When she told her son to let her father go, he was 87 years old, clear headed and old enough to make his own decisions, her son snapped back at her, "I'm old enough too" and left the room in anger.

And he is. He is old enough to make his own decisions and she has to respect it even though she's afraid every day she will get the phone call telling her that she has lost her son.

Nick walked in just as she was about to pull the foil off the rib to stop the steaming process and let the roasting begin.

"Let me help you with that pan, ma'am" he said always so polite.

"Thank you," she said giving him the oven mittens. He lifted the pan to the countertop, let her remove the foil and turn the rib so the rind faced up and would get crunchy. She placed a small plate under the rib to elevate the middle part for a more even roasting.

Nick put the pan pack in the oven and she turned down the heat for the remainder of the cooking time.

"It sure smells good," Nick said with a hungry undertone in his voice.

"Let me find you breakfast," she said, wanting to wait on the guest.

"No worries, I can find something myself. You have enough to do already."

"It's no problem, I like having my family home for Christmas. And I'm glad you could join us this year."

"Happy to be here. Do you mind if I take some of that müsli?" Nick asked pointing at a box standing on a shelf.

"Help yourself," she answered, "not exactly the kind of breakfast I'm used to feeding the kids in this house."

Nick laughed at being referred to as a 'kid'. He was nearing forty and started feeling it. He was having more difficulties keeping his flat stomach, especially with the hours he worked and the food Greg was feeding him. He had once thought Greg didn't know squat about cooking. He was wrong. Greg wasn't a chef, far from, but he had a handful of dishes he made really well. Nick especially loved his spaghetti carbonara and chicken filets with mushrooms in cream sauce. The thought of all the great food and the smell that filled the room reminded him that he hadn't worked out in a while. He and Greg had a healthy sex life, but it wasn't enough to burn off the extra calories he had added to his daily diet since hooking up with the cookie monster.

"I think I'll have a run before Greg wakes up. Any time I need to be back?" Nick put the used bowl into the empty dishwasher and directed the question to Lisbet.

"There's rice porridge at noon, and a fair chance your boyfriend sleeps until then. Enjoy the morning in peace, and do whatever you like sweetheart."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you," she answered him.

"What do you mean?" Nick came to a halt at the door.

"Thank you for loving Greg."

"That's the easiest thing in the world." Nick smiled at her meaning every word he was saying.

"I know. I love him too, and I know you know I'm too overprotective of him."

Nick wouldn't deny it but didn't see any reason to confirm it either. They both knew it was the truth.

"I am working on it," she assured him, "I really am. I don't know if you know about Greg's brother?"

Nick walked back into the room. "Brother?" He didn't remember hearing anything of a brother.

"Still born. Two years before we had Greg." She hid a tear in the palm if her hand.

"I'm sorry." Nick took her hands between his own.

"It was a long time ago. I had three miscarriages, one still born and finally a beautiful, live boy that I just wanted, no needed, to protect from everything that could harm him. I was so scared to lose him too. I realize I've been too much for him and that he protects me from the truth now and then. He shouldn't. And even though I hated the way I found out he's working in the field, I am glad I found out. I need to accept that I can't keep him safe forever."

Nick took her in her arms and let her shed a tear on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she pulled away from him and apologized. "What I meant to say is, I am so glad he has you to take care of him. Look after him for me, please?"

"I will."

"I know you will. And you have to look after yourself as well. I have finally gotten another son and I'm not losing you either."

Swallowing down the lump in his throat Nick nodded. "I will."

"Now, go out on your run. Don't be stuck in the kitchen with an old weeping woman."

Dec 24th, Noon

Greg walked into the kitchen in his boxers and t-shirt to take part of, for him, the first meal of the day.

"Get dressed," his mother and boyfriend both yelled at him in unison as he was about to sit down.

"Jeeez," he said looking at them wide eyed, but he turned around and got dressed before returning to the table. They were all gathered to eat the traditional rice porridge meal and for most people, except Greg, this would have been a warm lunch.

"So, grandpa, why don't you continue your story?"

"Ja, I was talking about Anders, wasn't I? Let's see…. It was winter when Anders one day again sat in our back room…."

More than a year and a half had passed since the invasion and though our military fought back, after sixty one days they surrendered.. The struggle was too hard, the men were too few, and the gear was too old. Norway was officially under German occupation.

Things weren't done the conventional way during wartime though, and the radio that had been our national form of communication was used to make an unexpected announcement.

On the evening of April 9th 1940, Vidgun Quisling, the leader of the Norwegian Nazi party Nasjonal samling, broke into the NRK radio studio to declare himself prime minister

He wasn't always the Quisling, the Nazi Leader, though. He was born Vidkun Abraham Lauritz Jonssøn Quisling and had a past in the Norwegian government. For two periods he had the position as minister and head of the defence department during the bondeparti-government. It wasn't until after the bondeparti lost the election in 1933 that he founded the national-romantic fascist party NS, and started having ambitions of being Hitler's man in Norway.

Hitler however, had no intention of putting Quisling in as prime minister in Norway. Hitler had planned a "friendly takeover" where the elected government remained in power but accepted and supported the invasion. They had not expected the "no" given at Vika Terasse the morning of April 9th.

Quisling's career as a prime minister was short lived as he had no support in the people. The English language gained a new word for traitor.

With one prime minister less and a government that wouldn't follow his lead, Hitler sent reichskommisar Joseph Terboven to Norway to win the Norwegians over to the German side and to found a German led government containing 13 Norwegian ministers.

The King, though Danish born but elected as a king after the dissolution of the personal union with Sweden in 1905, was true to his motto "Alt for Norge" (Everything for Norway). He wouldn't surrender his country to the occupying party and had refused to acknowledge the new government. This was the start of the King and his family's five years of exile, in England and the USA.

Instead of the usual small talk, Anders asked me to accompany him to the student lodge. I certainly didn't mind.

I had been there quite a few times before. The lodge was located in a quiet clearing less than an hour's walk into the forest from the honorable Frognersæteren Hotel and behind the boundaries of the North Forest. We went on foot because no motorized vehicles were allowed in the forest.

It was a haven in the winter surrounded by long ski paths stretching from Frognersæteren and Tryvann, to Kikut and Ullevållsæter.

It wasn't bad during summer as well, when the small lakes were warmed up by the sun during the long light days.

I won't deny the students were fond of their liquor and the looks of fine women as well. The women were described in vivid colors, and usually more so as the content of the bottles grew lighter.

I was lucky to be included even though I was not part of the student union, I wasn't even a student, but I was a familiar face. And when Anders brought me the first time, no one argued and none had argued ever since.

I hadn't been there more than twice since that April morning and I had found it to be quite a jøssingreir ; a recruiting place for the many works of resistance.

The students were all eager to put up a fight and most of them had already fought in the battles taking place in the forest surrounding the capital.

The man leading the commando's in those battles was Hans Hermanssen, an Inspector for the Creditkassen bank. He was lieutenant in the commando troop in Oslo. On the panic day of April 11th, he started to encourage friends and relatives to go through the North Forest and meet at his cabin late next day. I'd spoken to Anders about it and we had decided that there was only one thing we could do, we had to fight.

A thousand men in all were sent to the front. Trained skiers were assigned to dedicated ski-companies, directly under Hermanssen's leadership. I was placed in troop number four, under the leadership of Hermanssen's brother, Jan, a promising medicine student and a wonderful athlete.

Our job was to observe hostile movements in the North Forest and also make sure none from our area could return to Oslo and reveal the troops positions.

I was mostly located in the area surrounding Kikut and didn't come in close contact with any live fire. I could hear shots in the distance and repeated reverberations of flight alarms going off. German bomb flights were passing low on the sky above our heads, but they didn't drop their load until they reached Kjeller and Lillestrøm. Two Norwegian planes were destroyed in the bombing of the military airport of Kjeller, but no people were harmed.

I wish I could say the same of the people on foot in the woods. Many people lost their lives on both sides of the conflict. Unfortunately, Jan Hermanssen was one of them and he was the first, but not the last, man I knew that would lose his life before this war was over.

Eight weeks of fighting came to an end without us gaining the freedom we had hoped for.

June 10th General Otto Ruge signed the papers that ended democracy in Norway.

The King accompanied by the elected government had left the country 3 days prior; the S/S "Devonshire" had brought them to London to continue the fight in exile. 870 Norwegian ships were on the allies' side and 25.000 Norwegian sailors were on board. The war might have been officially over, the occupation began but the fight was still on.

In the next couple of months, the students kept meeting and I, as I said, had been there only twice. We lived high on the war experiences, both our own and on others. We spent the time discussing the London news, which of course everyone had heard.

Some were spending more time than others to reflect on the war and the fact that it was still going on out there; the war we had to give up in our own forests. After the 61 days of fighting had ended, the Norwegians concealed their weapons by digging holes in the forest and burying them. The willingness to fight, mixed with the means to do so was the seed to ideas of uniting our resistance. It was time to join forces.Anders and I had agreed on meeting at closing time to walk the 7 kilometers from Frognersæteren to the lodge. If we went straight from the store, with only a short stop by home to change clothes and fill up the food sack, we would reach the cabin by sunset. Since it was Friday and I started work an hour later at Saturdays, I would be able to sleep at the cabin, wake up early and walk back to the city in time for opening the next morning.

The ride on the tram was rather quiet. It was quite full and people stood in the aisle even though there were empty seats next to a few young German soldiers. We would rather stand than sit next to them and though I now can sympathize with their uncomfortable faces, at that time I felt nothing but repulsion.

Climbing the steep hills up to the North-Forest I wondered more and more what was going on. I was carefully not to ask, sensing that he didn't want strange ears listening in on our conversation. To say that less than 10 words were exchanged wouldn't be an understatement.

Finally leaving the tram and beginning the walk into the forest, we started being more at ease. After about 15 minutes of walk and seeing that we were completely alone, we finally brought up the subject.

"What's going on?" I asked as carefully as I could.

"We need someone that knows the terrain and knows how to navigate in the woods" he said.

"I do know these forests," I confirmed, not knowing why they needed that skill.

"We need someone to carry messages through to Sweden. There are people sitting in Stockholm working for Special Operations Executive (SOE), and it's important that MILORG start cooperating with SOE. The leader of Norwegian Independence Company No. 1 (Nor.I.C 1), Martin Linge, can be contacted at his office in Stockholm and we need someone to carry the messages back and forth. Basically we need someone who can cross the borders un-noticed. Someone who can navigate on his own and is of good physical strength, someone like you.

"I can do that," I said without hesitation.

"You know you risk arrest or even your life."

"I know," I confirmed a third time. There was never a doubt in my heart. "It's my land too."

TBC

Jøssing was a name on people working in the resistance in Norwegians during WWII. The name comes from the case against Altman in the Jøssing fjordFebruary 16th 1940. The name was originally used as an insult by the NS (the nazi party) newspaper Fritt Folk,but was soon adopted as a honorary title.

Jøssingreir (a jøssing nest) was used for any community where there was a large group of jøssing's that were recruited for resistance work