Agnes had already put the soup and a coffee pot on the range. 'Nils, go and get the fuel from the shed and put it into the truck.'
Nils hurried out and Stig ushered the men to sit down. As they did so, Colonel Gulbrand said, 'I think you were intending to use the truck yourself.'
'I had thought about it, but no,' said Stig. 'I decided we must stay.'
Colonel Gulbrand smiled. 'Even so, I appreciate what you're doing. It's a big sacrifice.'
'Not as big as the one you're making,' said Stig. 'We must all do what we can.' He turned to his cousin. 'Where're Else and little Helena? Are they safe?'
Larsen nodded. 'In Oslo still. I hope so. You can imagine, it's been difficult. . .'
The soup had barely been set on the table when Nils rushed breathlessly into the kitchen, his eyes wide. 'The Germans are coming!' he exclaimed, pointing wildly towards the road.
The men scraped back their chairs and stood up. 'How far?' Gulbrand asked him.
'Half a kilometre,' Nils replied, 'maybe a little more. Two trucks full of men and a car out front.'
'Quick,' said Gulbrand, 'to the truck.' The men grabbed their packs and rifles, but at the door Stig said, 'I don't think you'll make it. They're too close. Let me hide you. Perhaps they'll go on through the village. Then you can head back to the bridge.'
Gulbrand peered through the window, glanced at his men and nodded at Stig. 'All right. Quick.'
Stig led them through the house and out of the back, away from the road, across a patch of packed snow to the ground floor of the barn, where the cows still sheltered. The animals shuffled and snorted nervously at the sudden intrusion, but the men made their way through the heavy, warm bodies and up a dusty ladder to the floor above. The upper deck of the barn was filled at one end with a stack of hay. 'Get under that,' Stig told them. 'I'll smooth it over afterwards.' The men did as they were bidden just as the sound of the trucks reached the barn from the road. As Stig covered the men and looked anxiously around him for any sign of their presence, he heard muffled shouts in German and felt his heart quicken. He hurried down the ladder, pushed through the cows and stepped out into the yard once more. Not more than forty metres away, by the road, several German troops were clambering out of a grey-painted Opel truck and running over to an officer who stood a little way from his staff car. The remainder - some thirty troops in all, Stig guessed - waited in the two lorries, the tips of their rifles pointed menacingly skyward. Stig felt his heart lurch, then froze as he heard the officer call out to him.
'You!' shouted the German. 'Come here!'
Stig walked towards him, praying Agnes and the boys had cleared away the bowls and mugs and any sign of the five men. The officer stared at him, watching his every step until Stig stopped a few yards away.
'Who lives here?' the German asked, in fluent Norwegian.
'Myself and my family. My wife and two boys.' Stig looked at the implacable face. The man had a pistol by his side and behind him six men were armed with rifles. The officer's pistol was pointed directly at Stig's stomach. 'We're looking for soldiers,' said the officer. 'Have you seen any Norwegian troops?'
Stig shook his head. He felt a bead of sweat run down his back.
'We've had reports that troops were seen heading this way. You can show me around. If you're telling the truth you have nothing to fear. The house first, I think.'
Stig led the way, his heart thumping, to the back. He felt his hand close round the metal latch, briefly closed his eyes, then opened the door. The officer brushed past him, glanced around, then ordered his men to start their search.
'Where are your family?' he asked.
'Probably in the kitchen. It's where I left them.'
'What do you mean?'
'After lunch,' Stig said quickly.
The officer studied him, eyes boring into him. 'You seem nervous,' the German said to him.
'We're not used to having troops here. You're the first Germans I've seen. All these weapons...' He let the sentence trail.
The officer eyed him again. 'Continue the guided tour.'
Stig led him to the kitchen where Agnes and the two boys stood anxiously at the far side of the table. Glancing around quickly to see that they had removed all evidence of their guests, Stig walked over and stood beside his family, waiting. The officer peered into a tall cupboard, then found the door to the cellar. He shouted to his men, who were evidently checking upstairs, the sound of heavy feet and the moving of furniture clunking loudly through the timber boards. Two appeared soon after, ducking their helmeted heads as they entered the low- beamed kitchen, then disappeared into the cellar. They found nothing.
'Outside now,' the officer said, and Stig looked anxiously at his wife and sons, then followed.
'I've a couple of sheds and a main barn,' said Stig. 'Nothing more.'
'You have a truck,' said the German. 'A Ford truck. We might need that.'
Stig's heart sank, but the officer was now looking at the barn. A stone and earth ramp led from the yard to the height of the first floor, and a wooden bridge linked the ramp to two large doors at the front. Underneath the bridge stood an old cart.
'Can you open those doors?' the officer asked him.
'Only from the inside at the moment,' Stig explained. 'There's a wooden bolt across them.' Instead he led them to the door at the side on the ground floor.
Above, Henrik Larsen had his face pressed to the floorboards. There was the tiniest crack and through it he could see Stig leading the German troops into the barn.
He, too, could feel his heart pounding, so hard that he feared its movement would disturb some of the dry dust and give away their position. A cow bellowed, then another, as the soldiers roughly pushed them aside.
'And what have you got up there?' the German officer was asking Stig.
'A few stores. The remnants of last year's hay,' Stig replied.
Larsen watched as the officer pushed his way through the cows and stared up at the floorboards above, so that it seemed to him that the German was staring straight at him from under his peaked field cap with its curious flower embroidered on the side. Dark eyes, square face and thin lips. Larsen tensed as he watched the officer carefully unfasten his holster cover and remove his pistol. And by God he felt hot under the hay, still in his shirt, thick tunic and greatcoat. He could feel the sweat running down either side of his face and he worried suddenly that a bead of it, rather than the dust, would drip through the rafters. Fighting off a desperate urge to wipe his brow, he remained still, hardly daring to blink or even breathe. Stig, he could see, was terrified: his eyes were darting from one man to another, and he swallowed repeatedly. Come on, Stig, he thought, don't go and get yourself killed. As a boy, Larsen had always looked up to his older cousin. And now this.
The other soldiers were also looking upwards, their rifles at the ready, as the officer began slowly, purposefully, climbing the rungs on the ladder. Larsen watched him, until all he could see were the German's boots and then, moments later, he heard the man clamber out onto the floorboards beside them. His footsteps trod carefully towards the two doors at the end. There was a clatter as he moved something out of his way, and then he was walking back again towards the pile of hay Larsen froze once more, then heard movement in the hay to his left. Closing his eyes, he heard the German cock his pistol. An earth-shattering crack jolted him as a shot rang out. But instead of feeling any searing pain or hearing the cry of a comrade, he was aware of the German officer laughing. 'You have one less rat in your barn,' the German called out to Stig.
After that the Germans left, but it was not until the trucks and the car had moved on towards the main part of the village and Stig had crept back up the ladder that any of them dared speak.