Chapter Three

Arne and I were called earlier than usual the next morning. The sailor advised us we were now heading westward again, but nobody knew why. There was near pandemonium in the galley, seemingly the whole world wanting coffee, and the cook ever so obliging as always. I proceeded to the bridge with all the coffee I could carry at one time. The news, fragmentary at best, fairly exploded in my mind: -the Germans are on their way to attack Norway! -why? - what in the world do they want with Norway? -just questions, questions... I wondered vaguely about the third mate, if he was in the radio room, but there were no answers.

Dawn breaking several additional escort ships were in evidence including another light cruiser. It was already rumored a couple of ships had tried to break for the Norwegian coast and had been brought back. The Ringulv seemed to be but one in a flock, of ships being herded westward, now under guard as well as escort... We wondered how the ‘news’ and/or rumors reached our ship. I picked up some information bringing more coffee to the bridge; the sailors being relieved on the bridge added to this as they came by the galley, now becoming a common meeting place. The galley boy and I depended on the older cook for advice. We seemed to go through conditions of light, heavy, and sinking heart, at the same time wondering how to accept the excitement of the added activity. It was as if war really had not reached us there in the galley. The old Steward parried our questions as he came by to prepare the Captain’s lunch; we figured he would know more being so close to the Captain. At the same time he seemed caught up in a contagion of this group, likely the lowest ranking group of the ship. Perhaps the Steward recognized the desperation over the unknown hidden by their concerted reaction. But the question kept coming back: -Norway possibly at war?

The routine of the ship in a convoy was at hand; right now all anyone knew was we were headed back to Kirkwall. The Officers could not supply any new information as they arrived in my domain, the Officers’ mess. I was careful to stay out of any discussion, unless the Chief Mate included me. I mentioned I had been due to enter the Army come summer; the Chief Engineer noted, almost smiling: -"you are in ‘service’ now anyway".

The Chief Engineer was friendly where the Second Engineer was standing on rank. I had enjoyed the company of the Chief with the Chief Mate. It was an unlikely group ashore, the messboy with the two Chiefs while at Le Havre. At 20, always sober and dressed with suit and tie, I apparently represented a change from someone who more had sought the sea because he couldn’t find work ashore; perhaps someone sent to sea to become "corrigible", if possible.

The third engineer liked his booze. "Don’t know if my wife wants me at home", he allowed, he was in his fifties. He didn’t know if he would like a shore job anyway... I was surprised he would confide in me, even if it was during a slight hangover at Le Havre. This was just after his "sore back" incident. Conditional remorse likely was a remote concept for me at that time. He was hard of hearing, blamed on a long life in the engine room. At times he would continue talking, looking away; one would almost have to touch his sleeve to interrupt. Thinking about his condition, before drifting off to sleep, as if affirmed to me that the life at sea must be largely for people who like to be alone, a lot. Were I now to become a part of this life?...

Some prior German rhetoric was remembered, almost with distaste: "Kraft duch Freude", "lebensraum". The boasts about a thousand year "Reich". I was keeping these thoughts to myself, as if they were unpatriotic; it was as if I also wished to forget the German I had learned, including one Heinz Bars, a sailor on a visiting German small type destroyer ‘Die Bremse’ to Odda...

Looking back, it was not too difficult to surmise why Hitler had invaded Norway, besides his plans for Europe generally. The deep fjords of Norway offered a distinct advantage from which to launch his war at sea against England. The obvious plan was to attempt to deny England and France access to supplies from America. But this reflection also borders on a concept I was to learn years later: "Monday morning arm chair quarterbacking"...