Chapter 11Vermok, February 27, 1943
Track Two
Knut Haukelid felt the repetitive thud of the turbine as a dull throb in his breastbone. At first it had been hard to distinguish the sound over the swirl of the wind and the roar of the waterfall, but now it filled the air, overwhelming, inescapable, signaling the journey’s end.
Coming smoothly to a stop with barely a whisper of ski against snow, he turned to look back at his comrades. Eight bulky silhouettes on skis stretched out in a line under the light of the quarter-moon, bending their heads against the wind of the frigid Norwegian night. Haukelid was in front, serving as an advance scout. He was always the man in front.
He and his fellow saboteurs had grown closer than brothers in the three horrific years since the Nazi conquest of N
