September 26, 1944 - Morning
As soon as the Canadians were out of sight into the woods, they stashed their coats, flying helmets and goggles in the underbrush and turned their battle-dress jackets inside out so that the “Canada” patch on the shoulder faced in. Despite these efforts they realized that the Germans and anyone else who might see them would immediately recognize them for what they were – six Allied aircrew members trying to evade capture.
The Canadians continued on in the direction that Askvik had pointed, being careful when they came to a road or a clearing, watching to make sure no one was in sight before crossing. They tried to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the landing site, but it was slow growing in the juniper and heather bushes over difficult terrain. When they stopped to catch their breath, they looked back to see if anyone was following. They more crawled than walked up a hillside because everyone thought it would be safer in the underbrush.
They crossed several creeks, stopping to rinse off at one of them. They waded along the largest stream for a while, hoping that any tracking dogs would lose their scent. When they turned out of the stream and onto dry land, they heard a dog bark. [19]
They climbed to the top of a hill where they saw power lines and a “Danger – High Voltage” sign in Norwegian and German. They were no longer sure where they were going, so they tried to orient themselves using a map that Biddle had taken from an inside pocket. The map was a jumble of islands and peninsulas and nothing on the map resembled the coastline they could see.
As they continued, they came across a clearing from which they could see the fjord. They went along the edge of the clearing towards a bay. Suddenly two submarines surfaced and camouflaged gunboats appeared [A]. The Canadians flung themselves flat and hid in the heather. One of the gunboats came within a stone's throw of where the Canadians were hiding but did not stop and disappeared behind a headland. With the enemy so close, it was clear to Biddle and his crew that while they may have managed to land safely, they were not out of danger yet.
The crept deeper into the woods and kept a lookout for boats and rested their sore and wet feet. For the first time since the crash-landing, the crew members talked about what had happened. They hoped that the plane had been burned beyond recognition and that they had not overlooked anything that could be of use to the Germans. They also discussed what they needed to do next, trying to remember the training courses in survival in enemy territory. The first three steps they had been taught were to burn the plane, get as far away as fast as possible, and try to disguise their uniforms. So far, they had followed their training to the letter.
They wondered if they should divide themselves into three pairs or whether they should stay together for a while. They decided to stay together and to hide in the woods, when they would try to get in touch with the people the English-speaking man had told them about.
They continued on to another hilltop, where they got a good view of the entire wide fjord. It was the same one they had flown over. They saw naval vessels far away near the islands on the south side of the fjord. One, a destroyer, was speeding east. That was in addition to the patrol boats that scoured the fjord. On the way from the wreck, they had talked about stealing a rowboat at night and heading west, but the level of German activity on the fjord made it clear that they would have to try another approach.
Eventually they saw a small house nestled down by a bay. Everything seemed so peaceful. Maurice Neil, the navigator, lit a cigarette, his first since midnight, and never had one tasted better. He thought about what he knew about Norway, which was not much. He could come up with the name of Quisling, the self-appointed local Nazi, and knew that it was a country of mountains and fjords. But how to stay alive in occupied Norway was something else altogether.
Neil suggested to the others that they should seek help now – the faster they could contact the locals the better. He offered to go and try to make contact with people at the house down by the bay. The others agreed, and Neil set off, while the others remained behind our of sight. The others quietly waited several long minutes. For all they knew, there could be Germans down there.
The only signs of life Neil saw when he approached the house was a cat in the yard staring at him. He looked the place over for a few minutes, and then went up to the front door and knocked. He heard a few sounds from inside, and then a middle-aged woman opened the door, with a younger woman standing behind her, perhaps her daughter. The women did not appear to be worried or afraid, but seemed friendly and curious.
Neil began to talk to them, but the two women could not speak English. The younger woman, Marta Bruarøy, beckoned him to go with her, and they went to a neighbouring house where them met Ingeborg Bjørnen, who spoke English well and had worked as a nurse in the United States.
Ingeborg Bjørnen did not immediately realize that the man she met was a real live member of an Allied bomb crew. As soon as she figured things out, she told him that they needed to stay hidden for a while and that there was a cave up on the hill that would make a good temporary hiding place. Marta Bruarøy could show them the way.
Ingeborg Bjørnen explained that even though she wanted to help them, there was little that she could do because she knew nothing of the underground movement. She knew that it was active in the area, but she did not know any of the men in the organization, which was made up only of men. She would talk to an acquaintance who lived nearby to see if he knew any way of contacting the underground or if there was any other way to find a means of escape.
After a long wait, the others crew members saw Neil again, with a woman. He waved his arm, motioning them to come down. They did so, and Biddle showed Ingeborg Bjørnen the map in the hope that she could point out where they were. She was unable to do that, but said that they were on a fairly small peninsula. Marta Bruarøy came over and motioned them to follow her. Ingeborg Bjørnen wished them good luck, promising to contact them later if she had a chance.
They set off back up the hill. Marta Bruarøy managed the rough terrain so easily that they had to struggle to keep up with her. Finally they reached the cave, which was more like a small depression in the terrain. Marta Bruarøy left them and returned down the hill.
It has stopped raining for a while, but now it began to drizzle again, and soon they were wet to the skin. Their feet were still soaking wet from walking through the streams. They started shivering and freezing. They talked about the German camp that Askvik had mentioned. One said they had no chance, but another replied with the old saying that while there is life, there is hope.
Biddle had severe chills, perhaps because he had had a fever before they started their flight and perhaps as a reaction to the stress of the landing that had been his responsibility alone. He lay down in the cave with chattering teeth. In order to shield him against the rain and to give him a little warmth, the others held him. The best thing for their chills would be a fire, but that was not an option. Biddle slept for about half an hour around noon, and felt considerably better when he woke up.
They remained quiet as time passed. While their immediate future did not seem bright, they were pleased that the forced landing had gone so well. They ignored their cuts and bruises, know that they could have all lost their lives. They praised Biddle, who had managed to land the machine in the unfamiliar and unforgiving terrain. He didn't say much and seemed a little embarrassed by what the others said.
A soldier in the field needs to sleep whenever a safe opportunity presents itself. They sat with their backs to tree trunks and tried to get some sleep, but with the exception of Biddle's short nap, did not succeed.
They discussed the last few hours, and each brought out different details about the crash-landing. One could not forget that George Grandy had stuck to his post to send a final message just before they hit ground. Another recalled how the Captain had barely avoided hitting a corner of a house with one wing. A third was sure he would have to swim for shore before it finally dawned on him that they had landed on solid ground.
But there was one thing that was not very pleasant to think about. Even if they were able to beat the odds and return to England, it would be impossible to get back before telegrams were sent out to their relatives back home in Canada reporting them as missing in action.