Evelyn swallowed and looked across the street, then took a deep breath and crossed to the checkpoint. As she approached, silence fell among the soldiers and she felt dozens of eyes staring at her in astonishment. Ignoring the almost overwhelming feeling of embarrassed discomfort, she kept her eyes on the guard closest to her. As she drew closer, he caught sight of the rifle at her side and shifted his own gun into his hands, frowning and stepping forward warningly.
“The wharf is off limits, miss,” he said in English, glancing behind him. Another soldier moved forward to join him, repeating the same thing in Norwegian.
Evelyn smiled and came to a stop in front of them, setting her cases down in the snow.
“I’m a British subject,” she said, speaking English for the first time in over two weeks. It seemed strange to hear her crisp, upper-crust accent after so long.
The two men facing her looked startled, and the one who had spoken first slowly released his rifle, his brows furrowing.
“I’ll need to see your papers,” he said. “Do you have them?”
“Yes. They’re in my small case. Just a moment.”
Evelyn bent to open her toiletries case. She lifted out the top tray that held her hairbrush, hair pins and other personal items to pull out her English passport. Looking up, she passed it to him with one hand as she replaced the tray and closed the case with the other.
Both men peered down at her passport, studying it before looking back at her in astonishment.
“Thank you, Miss,” the one said, handing it back to her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for Lieutenant Commander Wheeler, actually,” she said with a smile. “I do hope I haven’t missed him. The infuriating thing is that I have absolutely no idea which ship he’s on!”
Both men stared at her, clearly unsure how to react to the obviously aristocratic tone and inflections that were coming from a woman dressed in the clothes of a farmer and carrying a rifle. Just when she was sure that she would have to try someone else, a tall officer approached from behind them.
“How do you know Lieutenant Commander Wheeler?” he asked, his blue eyes sweeping over her. “What is your business with him?”
“I don’t know him. I was told to ask for him, and my business is my own,” she said, returning his gaze evenly.
“And who told you to ask for him?”
“Sir William Buckley, in London.”
The officer didn’t show any reaction to the name but he reached out his hand for her passport. She handed it over, watching as he examined it.
“Why do you carry a Norwegian Defense Force rifle?” he asked, not lifting his eyes from her identification.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but there appear to be an awful lot of Germans with guns running about,” Evelyn said dryly.
Her response got his attention and he raised his eyes to hers swiftly, a laugh lurking in their depths.
“I was fortunate enough to have a Norwegian Lieutenant escort me here from Trondheim. He gave me the rifle for protection after seeing that I could handle it.”
“You can fire that rifle?”
“Yes, of course I can. I’ve been hunting since I could walk,” she said briskly.
A faint smile crossed his stern face and he closed her passport, handing it back to her.
“You will have to unload it and surrender it to the corporal here before you can come through,” he told her. “It will be returned when you leave. I’m sure you understand.”
Evelyn nodded and lifted the strap over her head, opening the side chamber and extracting the rounds that had fed in from the cartridge. Once the rifle was empty, she held it out to the corporal.
“Please do be careful with it,” she said. “I’ve grown rather attached to it.”
The corporal couldn’t stop the grin that crossed his face as he took the gun.
“Yes, miss.”
“If you would come with me?” the officer offered, holding out his hand politely to motion her forward. “I’m Lieutenant Barker. I’ll be happy to assist you in locating the Lt. Commander.”
Evelyn picked up her cases and joined him beyond the barrier, walking with him towards a small hut near the quayside.
“Thank you. I’m afraid I have no idea which ship he’s on, or even if he’s arrived yet,” she confessed.
Lt. Barker glanced at her. “No? How is that?”
“I’m afraid I was caught in Oslo when this all began and in the ensuing chaos, I lost communication with Sir Buckley before he could give me all the information. The only thing I was told was to present myself here today and ask for the Lt. Commander.”
“You’ve come all the way from Oslo?” he demanded, shocked. “How on earth did you make it?”
“Not without challenge,” she replied tiredly. “Thankfully, I was ahead of the advancing troops for most of the journey.”
“Good Lord, how extraordinary,” he murmured, opening the door to the hut and holding it for her. “Now the rifle is making much more sense.”
Evelyn stepped into the small hut to find a desk on one side and two folding chairs on the other. He motioned her into one of the chairs, leaning against the desk once she was seated.
“When did you leave Oslo?”
“In the early hours Tuesday morning, before the Germans launched their attack.”
“You’ve been traveling since Tuesday?”
“Fleeing would be a more appropriate term,” she said dryly. “I didn’t think I would make it, but here I am.”
He shook his head, clearly amazed and stood up.
“If you wouldn’t mind waiting here, I’ll go and try to hunt down the Lt. Commander. He’s on the HMS Cardiff, and she’s still in the harbor.” He turned to the door. “I’ll be as quick as
