THE LOST VIKING SAGA

The Second Act was much the same as the first with its braying singers and pounding, ear assaulting music. As the curtain lowered at the end, Olaf inhaled deeply and prepared himself for what was about to come. He glanced to his right and was pleased to see the Hitler’s box empty the bulk of its occupants to stretch their legs, seek refreshment, or relief. His eyes focused in on the man himself who stared blankly at the curtain, ignoring the adulations of the two Nazi officers who opted out of intermission and remained behind. Desiring to waste no time, the Norseman stood, and as he had done so many days ago in the training exercise, arched his back. He stretched his right arm and then his left over his head. Anyone watching from outside the box would simply see the movements as a man promoting blood flow after a lengthy time of sitting. What the casual observer could not see were the events and actions that were almost immediately set into motion by his alleged calisthenics. Further developments were spurred forward as Olaf sat down and went through the same series of interactions with the other men in his booth that had worked so well in the mockup of the mission.

Olaf did not wait to see if his men initiated their responsibilities on the floor below. He instinctively knew that as soon as they had received his signal, the strategy was progressing at a rapid pace. A loud commotion from behind the stage curtain indicated that Olaf’s confidence was rightly placed. Turning to Ebbn, Thorfinn, and Kalf, Olaf nodded, parting the curtain, as he said, “It is time to put our faith into action.” The hall outside was temporarily empty as they exited their box. Screams and shouts from the stage seemed to be increasing in volume. Olaf walked the few paces to the curtain screening Hitler’s box. Through the gap he could see the unconscious forms of the Nazi officers and the lone guard left behind to protect the Fuhrer on his own. As Olaf moved to pull the curtain aside, Hitler’s other bodyguards; having been stirred to action by the commotion from the stage area, pushed passed him roughly. Able to now see the entire box with the curtain fully open, Olaf spied a Hitler cowered behind a chair. Which one it was, Olaf could not say with certainty until the man caught his eye and winked just slightly, a signal they had devised during the voyage across the channel.

“May I assist at all Hauptmann?” said Olaf with authority. “Is the Fuhrer in distress?”

“Nein, Oberst. Es ist unter Kontrolle,” the body guard replied closing the curtain to prevent further view of the occupants, most especially the cowardly looking leader of the Fatherland.

“I am pleased you have the situation at hand, Hauptmann.”

Olaf heard nothing from behind the closed curtain but a choleric, muffled, “Ja. Ja.”

Smiling, he and his men hurried down the hallway toward the stairway that would lead them to the less public hallways, and eventually to the backstage domain that was home to the myriad of opera denizens during a performance. As they moved within proximity to those areas, the cries and shouts grew louder. Stage hands rushed to and fro. Actors wandered in confusion, half dressed and in some cases with bloodied faces or favoring injured limbs. From the backstage wings, Olaf observed three actors and a handful of other personnel lying prone on the stage itself. It looked suspiciously like a battlefield after a Berserker attack. There was evidence of Canute’s handiwork in the way there appeared to be little or no resistance to whatever had plowed through this area. This, paired with the numerous injuries they had seen in their transit from the opera box, added to the evident impact of Canute and the men who were assigned with him to clear the way for the next stage of Olaf’s strategy.

Near the back wall of the stage area was a heavy curtain that hung from ceiling to the floor. According to the floor plans Olaf had studied there was a trap door set in the state floor that opened up on a flight of stairs leading into the bowels of theatre. The space beneath the stage was designated as the area in which they were to prepare Hitler for the next phase of Olaf’s plan. Descending the stairs they came out into a vast open basement, filled with scenery, lifts for raising elements to the stage level, piles of curtain fabric, and the basic detritus associated with theatre production. He saw half of his men surrounding one of these jumbles of material. Drawing closer, he viewed Hitler, lying on top of the fabric pile, sporting a nasty bruise at his temple, and clearly insensate. Thorfinn and Eovind were just finishing up dressing the prone form of the Fuhrer in a plain, rumpled suit. His signature moustache had been shaved and his hair slicked back so that it no longer hung across his forehead in a defiant swoop. An adhesive was brushed upon his upper lip and jaw line as David made ready to adhere a ragged looking fake beard to alter the man’s face completely.

“Olaf,” said Canute breathlessly. “The advance group has already set off for the lorries. They will have them made ready for us while we finish here. I believe the rest of the men will on their way there soon. I do not see what we are doing here taking much longer.”

“Thank you, Canute. I saw much evidence of your movements as we passed through various halls and stairways that led us to the basement. Your work certainly exhibited no spare amount of enthusiasm.”

“I apologize, Olaf. My rage was in danger of exploding. I made every effort to keep it from getting away from me. These Germans and their play acting are appreciably frustrating. I fear I may have struck out at some of them with a level of over exuberance in reaction to their audacity.”

“All is well, Canute. My reaction to their attempts at pageantry was much the same. Let us not waste any more time discussing it. I am depending upon you now to make certain our way out of here is clear. Try to exert some level of mercy on those who get in your way.”

“I will, Olaf.” Canute called out to five warriors standing near him. Together, they ascended the stairs and disappeared.

Olaf turned his attention to the men transforming Hitler’s appearance.

“Are you ready to move our cargo?”

“Yes, Olaf. We will need to support him between two of us I am afraid. He was slightly unruly and we found it necessary to subdue him. I regret that he may not awaken any time soon,” David informed him.

“If all he receives from us is a bruised temple and a small headache, I am sure it is infinitely less than he truly deserves, my friend. I need you upstairs with Canute and his men. Your ability to speak the Frenchmen’s language may be needed.” Addressing Eovind and Einar, Olaf continued to direct the mission’s action, “Einar and Eovind, do what you can to appear as natural as possible with our package here. Try to make it seem like you are merely helping a wounded unfortunate to medical assistance.”

“Yes, Olaf,” returned Einar. The two Norsemen lifted Hitler and supported the comatose German dictator between them.

“Come,” said Olaf to the remnant of his men, “We must take to the street and get to the lorries as soon as possible. It will only be so long before the Nazis collect themselves from the wake of the chaos we unleashed. Our window for moving freely may soon be limited and it would do well for us to be on our way before it begins to close. Bjorn, lead the way up the stairs in case there are stragglers that need to be dealt with that Canute may have missed.”

The hulking Norseman climbed the stairs, knocking aside one Nazi soldier who happened to be wandering by looking for some of his comrades. They emerged from the trapdoor and made contact with the others near the backstage door. Keeping the duo with their critical load in the middle of the group, the Norsemen quickly headed through the exit that opened onto the back alley. As the door swung closed, Olaf heard the tramp of perhaps half a dozen booted feet running onto the main stage in the auditorium.

“Hurry,” Olaf ordered. I fear the Germans may already suspect something is amiss though I doubt they truly know the nature of what has transpired.”

Their pace was quickened and in less than two minutes they rounded the corner of the adjoining alleyway, relieved to see the lorries with the motors running.

“Get everyone loaded, Olaf. I will cover us until we are ready to move out,” said David.

Hitler was deposited into the bed of the lead lorry, and half of the men had boarded, when Olaf heard a shout from alleyway.

“Halt! Wir brauchen, um Ihre Papiere sehen!”

Olaf looked up to see David start to move into the alley.

“David, what is it?”

“Don’t worry, Olaf,” David replied. “It’s just two Nazi soldiers. They want to see my papers. I will take care of it and be right there.”

Before Olaf could protest, David disappeared. The Norse leader waited anxiously. The rest of the men were safely loaded on the lorries and Olaf was in transition with one foot on the street and the other on the step leading up to the cab of the lead vehicle. Three shots rang out loudly in quick succession. With both feet on the pavement and ready to run to his aid, Olaf was relieved to see David come running around the corner out of breath and sweating heavily.

“Go, Olaf. Get into the lorry. They were asking a few too many questions so I had to make sure they asked no more,” David called out as he grabbed for a handhold and swung himself into the back of the third transport.

Olaf followed his lead, hastily seating himself in the cab as he called to Major Penbrooke, “Drive!”

With a roar of the engines and three black clouds of exhaust, the trucks accelerated down Rue St. Lazare. At Rue de Clichy they turned left, continuing without slowing down at intersections. The drivers instead sounded their horns shrilly as they threaded through the other vehicles and pedestrians that bustled along the busy Paris streets. Parisians and Nazis both dove for cover to avoid the fast moving vehicles. Crossing the bridge over the Seine, they drove rapidly through the tiny village of Asnieres, before executing a series of turns and switchbacks that brought them in and out of Paris proper numerous times until, convinced they were not being pursued, they navigated out into the French countryside and toward the coast where the Sea Prowler awaited them in concealment.

After two hours of driving, Olaf directed Penbrooke to find a place to park the vehicles away from watchful eyes. Before long, Penbrooke glimpsed a heavily wooded area a short distance down the road. He turned the lorry onto a narrow track leading into the wood, driving a half mile into the cover of the forest before pulling onto an even smaller lane that looked like it had seen very little use over the past months. With a squeal of brakes from all three lorries, the convoy came to a stop. Olaf climbed down from the cab to check on his men, and on the status of their package.

Hitler was still unconscious, although he was beginning to show signs of rousing from his stupor. He sat between Einar and Eovald. Each man held a firm grip on one of the German’s arms ready to bring him under control expeditiously if he gave them trouble when he fully awoke. A strip of cloth had been tied across his mouth to keep him quiet should he cry out. Satisfied all was well, Olaf checked the second truck. The men seated there were light-hearted and still highly charged from the rush of battle. Olaf was on his way to check the third lorry when he nearly ran into a grim faced Ebbn.

“What is it, Ebbn? You appear troubled.”

Ebbn nodded his head gravely. “It is David, Olaf. I suspected something was amiss when he boarded the lorry, but now he is unable to conceal it.”

“Conceal what?”

“It is evident he received a grave injury when he confronted the Nazis in the alleyway prior to our departure.”

“What sort of injury?”

“One of the gunshots we heard was not his own. It was fired from by one of the Nazi soldiers.”

“Take me to him, Ebbn.”

Olaf followed his friend to the rear of the lorry. In the bed of the vehicle, David lay on his back, his breathing very shallow. The young man’s coat was opened, and his tunic was unbuttoned. Both garments were stained a deep crimson. The lower right side of his stomach was pumping blood from a small, ragged hole. As Olaf climbed into the bed to kneel at his side, Thorfinn, bare chested, was applying a fresh compress made from strips of his own shirt. At least four blood soaked pieces already lay on the floor boards by Thorfinn’s feet.

David’s eyes fluttered open, his mouth turned up into a pained smile when he saw Olaf kneeling over him.

“Are we safely out of Paris?” the young man whispered.

“Yes, David. We will likely be making the ship ready to sail by nightfall.”

“Good, good,” David repeated. “Is the cargo secured?”

“It is, my young friend. If not for you, we may not have gotten away in time.”

David smiled yet again, but suddenly convulsed with a deep racking cough that rattled wetly in his throat. Kalf reached out and held David’s shoulders to keep him from thrashing about, while Thorfinn pressed the compress more firmly to the soldier’s abdomen, and Olaf held his legs.

“Rest easy, David. Do not struggle,” Olaf said softly.

They sat in strained silence while they waited for the young man’s coughing and convulsions to subside. Wheezing, David seemed to finally stabilize somewhat.

“Olaf,” David replied weakly. “Will you do something for me?”

“What is it, my friend?”

“Will you recite the Psalm for me?”

“The Psalm?”

“The one you recited at Harald’s burial. I was surprised at the time that you spoke it in Latin, but I still recognized it for what it was. I was deeply moved by it. Will you recite it to me now?”

“Gladly, David,” answered Olaf gently and began to recite to him the 34th Psalm of David.

The young soldier began to breathe a little easier, his body relaxing slightly, as his eyes closed. The holy words had a calming effect upon him. As the Norseman neared the end of his recitation, David’s eyes shots open.

“Olaf?” he called out sharply.

“I am right here, David. Do you wish me to finish the Psalm?”

“In a moment, but will you grant me one more thing?”

What it is?”

“Will you see that I am laid to rest next to Harald on the beach?”

Olaf started. His eyes darted toward Ebbn. His friend’s expression was unreadable.

“What of your own family, David? Will they not desire to lay you where you are near to them?”

David coughed again, when the fit had died down, he spoke. “I have no family. My mother and father died in the first Nazi bombing of London. They had no other children but me. Their parents all died years before I was born. Please, Olaf. I would wish to be laid next to the man I wrongly denied a chance to join you on this mission. Perhaps in death we may meet as equals.”

Olaf looked to Ebbn. His friend’s eyes were moist, admiration for the young English soldier showing in his features.

“What say you, Ebbn?”

“I have no issue with his request, Olaf. That my brother and this brave man should lie next to one another in death is fitting. Harald’s memory would be aptly enhanced by David’s presence near him. I have come to appreciate his honorable heart and brave spirit,” Ebbn declared taking up a place next to the young man. “I will see to it myself, David. The two of you will be brother warriors united in death where you could not be in life.”

David smiled, his eyes closing peacefully.

“Thank you, Ebbn. Can you say the rest of the Psalm, Olaf? I would have it be the last thing my ears hear before I surrender to death.”

Tenderly and with emotion, Olaf continued. When the last words of the Psalm had left his lips, his eyes looked down. David’s chest no longer drew breath. His features were at peace and serene. Olaf directed Thorfinn to wrap the body in some of the canvas lying under one of the lorry’s benches. He then ordered the men to take a few moments to stretch their legs and refresh their lungs from the engine exhaust by breathing in the earthy scents of the forest. Searching for and finding his son near the lead lorry, Olaf pulled him aside, bidding him to walk with him. Together, father and son shared their hearts with each other. More than once, Olaf stopped to embrace Kalf tightly. Shortly, Penbrooke found them and indicated to Olaf that they had better be setting out for the coast if they were to set sail once the sun had gone down. Nodding his assent, Olaf signaled one last time to his son who answered with tears in his eyes.

Before taking his place in the lead vehicle, Olaf collected the papers that had gained them the ingress into Paris and the Palais Garnier. This chore complete, he produced an envelope from a concealed pocket inside his uniform coat. Inside were the papers Olaf hoped they would not need to gain safe passage back to the beach and their ultimate escape in the Sea Prowler. The papers shook slightly in his hands as the Norseman remembered how peacefully the Englander had passed from this life to the next. He could only cling to the faith that his own departure would be as honorable and true. Olaf distributed the new papers to each man. The overall counterfeit orders proclaiming their bogus mission and explaining their departure from France were secured in a safe, easily accessible place. Producing a book of matches, Olaf set fire to the papers he had just collected and watched as they were hungrily consumed by the flames. Not until they were reduced to ash did Olaf take his position in the cab once again and order the convoy to proceed toward the coast and freedom.