3. A Love Story..
I had flown halfway across the world to carry out a task I
believed was honourable. It had taken nine different
aircraft to finally reach the tiny, isolated mountain runway.
On the last three hops I was joined by four friendly, very
noisy American technicians. They seemed all the more loud and
boisterous because I was tired, hungry and stressed.
For the final hour of the flight we seemed to be flying
endlessly along narrow valleys, first one wingtip then the
other almost slicing into the mountainsides. We touched down
in near darkness, gliding the last few kilometres silently with
engines cut and props feathered. The tiny flares that guided
us in were doused as soon as our wheels skidded onto the
ground. We were all glad to emerge from the roomy but very
uncomfortable twin engine Hudson Mk VI. It was a relic from
World War II, that the Americans had somehow kept in service in
Europe. The pilot stayed with his plane, intending to fly out
some hours later. We were met by a swarthy, taciturn European
dressed in the rough clothes of a farmer. He gestured toward
a battered covered truck and helped us load our bags on board.
We climbed in and with rather more gearbox noise than I would
have thought possible, we laboured up a winding track lightly
etched on the mountain slopes. It was the end of winter, but
here and there snow drifts, lit only by the light from the
stars shining between the trees, clung to the undergrowth and
lay beside the track. The man drove without lights, his
radar-like sense of direction the envy of any bat. The roof
and walls of the truck were draped over steel pipes and,
feeling stiff and sore from the endless plane rides, we were
now also bruised as we were flung against one pipe and then
another lurching on our way. In an hour we felt the truck
slowing, and it ground to a halt. Not a sound issued from the
forest about us. All we could hear was the noise of various
grateful fluids returning to base inside the old engine. Our
driver signalled us to be still and he stumbled off into the
blackness. I learnt later that he was checking our destina-
tion for intruders.
Presently he returned and we drove a further kilometre or
so to pull up beside a huge hut built into the mountainside,
it's dark mass noticeable only because of the sharp edges of
its steep roof against the softer outline of the mountain and
the surrounding trees. The hut had been built after the war
when resistance groups were forced into the hills for their
very survival. We disembarked and carried our gear into the
hut. Oil lanterns were lit and I could see that there were ten
small bedrooms off the main room. The Americans, who had been
here before, immediately commandeered the four largest of
these. Their gear lay strewn about as they rummaged for
bottles of Johnny Walker and proceeded to become even noisier.
I chose the bedroom furthest from the Americans and the
driver showed me the cupboards of food and coffee and utensils.
He helped me light the well-proportioned stove in the centre
of the huge main room. I shook his hand. He shrugged his
shoulders at my companions, grinned at me, and left. I put a
small amount of water in the large kettle on the stove and when
it boiled I made myself a welcome cup of steaming coffee. I
looked around the room. It was about twenty-five metres long
and ten metres wide, the lanterns leaving pockets of shadow
here and there. I later learned that up to forty men and
women of the Hungarian resistance had lived here just after the
war. Along the back wall were ten doors each leading to a
windowless bedroom, nestling back into the mountain. At one
end was a simple bathroom area, at the other was a kitchen.
The front of the building was curved like an oversized bay
window. It gave the room the appearance of a ship's bridge with
a dozen or so small windows looking out over the forest which
seemed to tumble down the gentle slopes outside. The walls
were of brick covered in the layer of dull grey mortar, common
to this country, and were lined with scattered groups of
shelves, seemingly thrown against them at random. At the
kitchen end was a huge oak table and twelve chairs. There was
no ceiling as such and the underside of the high, steeply-
pitched roof was lined in a honey-coloured, slightly blackened
timber, probably the local oak. The ridge of the roof was
embedded in the mountain above the back of the hut and hung way
out in front of the building to keep falling snow from the
doorway and the windows.
As I stood at the stove, the door burst open and three
young men in large coats and huge boots stormed into the hut.
They saw the Americans and the Scotch bottles and began
renewing old friendships as young men will. They didn't seem
to notice me standing beside the stove. I felt alone and out
of place after only two hours in this country. I stood there,
coffee mug to my cheek, until the door opened again. A dark-
haired woman of medium height entered, closed the door and
stood at the doorway, carefully taking in the entire scene
until her eyes met mine. I held her gaze.
"...and I think we were in love at that moment."
I know that I couldn't take my eyes from that engaging,
confident, young woman as she stood in her large furry coat
framed in the doorway of the hut. The coat glistened with
specks of snow. She must have walked through the forest and
brushed the trees. She was not beautiful as a model might be,
but very attractive, with large, thoughtful eyes that did not
look away. Her face glowed with the colour of an outdoors
person. It was a face that gave away little, until you
reached deep into her eyes. She had the bearing of a person
who knew herself well enough to be able to care about others.
I later discovered she was only my age, twenty-two, but she
looked older. As she came to me at the stove a fourth man
entered the hut, but I hardly noticed him. The woman nodded to
him and then returned her gaze to me. "You must be the new
one." she said in English but with a pleasantly soft European
accent.
"I could be anyone for you," I replied in a voice I hardly
recognised.
She laughed, "Then I will be Freya and you will be Tony. You
see I know you already."
I soon discovered that Freya always did her homework very
well.
I had been tired and emotional, with no-one to turn to,
until out of the night came this very real woman. This woman
whose eyes held mine. She was the team leader and was clearly
held in respect by her men, but as we talked and I explored her
strangely smoky eyes I could see the hidden pain of some deeply
felt sorrow.
We stood there at the stove and talked for more than an
hour about philosophy, religion, the world, the universe. We
ate the cold chicken she had brought, and drank coffee with a
dash of vodka.
Once she was warm, Freya removed her coat. She was wearing
loose, corduroy trousers and a thick, close-fitting jumper
which showed that she had a trim, shapely figure. As the night
wore on, our talk turned to sad things, not personal things,
just sad things, and I reached out to her. She came to my arms
readily and I held her close.
Silently we held each other listening to the crackling and
hissing of the fire in the stove. A symphony for our personal
sorrows and our friendship. I kissed her then as she tilted
her head to speak to me and our lips met gently but with a
passion incongruous with a first kiss. We both felt it and
when the kiss ended after a polite interval, we looked a little
shyly at each other: two children surprised by a new-found
delight. Inevitably, I took her to bed where we very slowly
and carefully loved each other gently, but with a desperation
neither of us could hide.
I called her "Frey", at which she laughed and said in her
pretty English, "This Frey, is it a beautiful Australian
thing?" I had to tell her it meant nothing but that I did
indeed find her beautiful. We did not talk much during our
first short night together in bed. Exhausted, I fell into a
deep, untroubled sleep and all too soon Freya kissed me awake
and then rose and woke everyone else. Through the small front
windows I could just see the sun's weak light, reflecting from
the clouds, lighting the mist between the trees.
Freya frowned at the groans from the Americans and barked
a short tirade in German to her own men. They grinned at her
shamefully, but obeyed quickly, putting out hot coffee and a
porridge-looking mixture which was surprisingly edible.
We sat around the table and introduced ourselves. I was
the only person new to the hut and Freya introduced me to her
men. Three were in their early twenties and had soft German
features, probably Austrian. They struck me as very fit and
quick and intelligent, quietly noticing everything. The fourth
was older, maybe twenty-six and of indistinguishable back-
ground. His face was almost weather beaten but he could have
slipped easily into high society as well. His eyes seemed to
look past you and yet take in all he needed to know. Freya
called him Charlie and though he was obviously not under her
command, he respected her position.
I introduced myself to the Americans, whose leaders' name
was Todd. They were somewhat subdued but very friendly and
walked around the table shaking hands. I almost envied their
hang-overs. The trouble with drinking moderately was that you
woke up feeling about as good as you were going to feel all
day. One big guy, Jake, bent to kiss Freya on the cheek and
she elbowed him, very hard in the solar plexus. He doubled
over and she patted him gently on the cheek. "Oh, I am very
sorry," she said, "I am so clumsy." She turned to one of her
men, "P l tell this man I am always so clumsy as this!" She
allowed Jake to take her hand and he kissed it slowly and
carefully. Freya lowered her eyes in mock deference. She
looked at me, "You see Tony, this man is such a gentleman after
all!"
Over breakfast I studied Freya and her men. They had an
air of easy professionalism, softened by a childlike frivolity.
Young people doing grown-ups' work. They joked and laughed,
but wasted no time. They all noticed the rapport between
Freya and me, but their respect for her prevented comment.
However, Charlie winked and shook his head when he caught me
watching Freya. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. He
nodded.
After breakfast, as three of Freya's men cleaned up, Freya
motioned the rest of us over to a desk set in one wall. She
indicated a large cupboard and suggested Todd have his men
install their radio gear there. On the desk were several
large maps, and as we crowded around, Freya showed us the
location of the hut, the Czech border, the Russian border and a
number of trails leading around the mountain. She traced the
one we were to use that morning. It wound down the mountain
and past what appeared to be large quarries. There were four
of these and it was to the second that we were to go that day.
"It is two or three kilometres, but an easy path. My men
will leave now. We will follow. Leave your men here please
Todd and bring with you the photographs of this man that you
wish us to interview. It will go like this. My men will
bring to us a man. He will sit. We will sit in front of him
and I will question him. Tony and Todd will please tell me
your questions when I ask. I will translate the answers and
if all is not well please wait and be sure before giving this
signal because if you have to do it my men must act very
quickly to remove the man from this place. Do you understand?"
She glanced at me and then at Todd. We nodded. I was
perspiring slightly. This was not exactly the same as our
training times. "Bloody hell!", I thought. "This is getting
seriously like the real thing."
Todd and I were here with a list of questions from our own
agencies. The questions were designed to verify the legitimacy
of everyone using the pipeline out of the USSR. Todd and his
team were here because the USA was financing Freya's team and
because the people being liberated were usually chosen by the
USA for their own purposes. I was here simply because the
Americans were keen to continue their use of Australia's
strategic location and other facilities and so allowed us to
participate in some of their overseas projects.
Freya continued, "Todd, you know to take no action while
we are in the mine. My men have done this thing many times and
will know what I wish of them. Tony and Todd, please make your
signal to Charlie very slight if you have to do this. We do
not wish to alarm the person if he is not as he should be."
Charlie was nonchalantly oiling a particularly nasty
looking Czech Skorpion, submachine gun. The fat stubby barrel
was that of the later, more lethal, 9mm model. The safest
place was obviously going to be right behind this man.
"Please dress for the very cold. We go in ten minutes," Freya
concluded. I glanced at her. She smiled. A wave of
intimacy swept over me and I touched her hand. "Come. We
dress." She lead me to the room I had chosen. It was now our
room.
Charlie led the way through the dim, moist forest,
casually holding the vicious little Skorpion at his waist.
Todd followed and Freya and I brought up the rear. Freya's men
had gone on ahead. Freya was business-like, her eyes
constantly roving from side to side. I soon fell into the
swing of things and kept a sharp lookout as well. We did not
talk except when I tried to carry Freya up a steep stretch only
to drop her, complaining that she was too heavy! The path
near the hut was hard to follow with many low outcrops of
limestone, but as we got nearer to the mine it became quite
well defined, snaking between the forest trees. The forest was
patchy and in the thicker areas it was quite damp and foggy
still. It took us nearly an hour of brisk walking and then
Charlie stopped while we all caught up to him. Freya held me
back. "Go carefully Tony. We are here." We had reached the
edge of the forest above the large open mine. Below we could
just make out Freya's men. It was still quite dull, the early
morning light fighting a losing battle with the tall forest.
We made our way down and found the men chatting to a stranger.
He was small and wizened, but looked quite young. I could not
see his features because he wore a woollen hood down to his
eyes and a black woollen jumper with a high neck. The ground
was strewn with large boulders and Freya chose one of these to
sit on. She motioned to her men and they helped the little man
to sit in front of her before they moved a little away and
behind him. Todd stood behind Freya while I sat on the ground
beside her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Charlie standing
with his weapon pointing at the strangers head. The man was
seated and appeared extremely nervous as he glanced from side
to side never looking at Charlie. And so began the interroga-
tion.
It was strange to hear Freya begin speaking tersely in
fluent Russian. It was such a different sound from her pretty
English. He answered her haltingly, nervously. She spoke more
demandingly and he began to answer more confidently. The
conversation continued for about forty minutes, Freya becoming
gentler and more friendly towards the man as he talked more and
more freely. Todd and I asked our questions when directed by
Freya and the answers seemed in line with what we expected. I
closed my eyes and listened intently, letting my mind drift
with the rise and fall of the voices. I felt calm and relaxed
and sensed nothing wrong. Only once, when the man stumbled
over his answers, did Freya glance at me.
Eventually Freya, glancing quickly at me and then Todd,
reached out and shook the man's hand, and he looked quite
relieved. She stood, and taking Todd to one side, she said
something quietly to him. He nodded and she signalled to her
men. She spoke briefly in Russian to the stranger and he rose
and was escorted by her men out of the mine area onto a path
leading down the mountainside and back into the forest.
As they departed Charlie took a small flask from his
pocket and saluting Freya, passed it to her with a comment in
Czech or Hungarian. I was never sure which was which. She
nodded and took a swig before passing it around. It was vodka
and I gasped as I swallowed, but it was somehow warming. I was
beginning to notice how cold I had become, just sitting on the
frozen ground. The flask was returned to Charlie and he
motioned to Todd to follow him back the way we had come. As
they climbed out of the mine, Freya took my hand and pulled me
into the shadows of the rocky cliff face. The sun had risen
far enough to light the treetops as it shone from above and
behind us. She pulled me to her as she leant back against the
moss-covered rock and I kissed her hard on the lips. She felt
warm and soft and very, very desirable. I'm not sure how
long we held each other in that cosy, safe retreat among the
rocks. Eventually, our lips bruised and with lock-jaw setting
in, she pushed me away. "Come, Tony. Your first job is
finished." she said. "I think now I will take you home by a
very long way. We might be very lost together in this
forest." She took my hand and we strode away from the site of
our first real job together, the first of many.
It took us most of the day to find our way back to the
hut. It was a day of laughter and joy and relief. We had
both been mourning the sudden death of a lover and now we had
unexpectedly found in each other new hope for the future.
Back at the hut we ate ravenously and established our own
comfortable territory by the side of the stove, out of view of
the others whose revelry was thankfully at the far end of the
room.
We visited the mine twice more during the next three
weeks. The remainder of the time we had to ourselves except
for one day when Freya left very early and was not back until
after midnight. I learnt nothing of her work and very little
of her background during my stay, although we talked often and
long, late into each night. It took me many more visits to
Hungary to piece together her story. I did know very soon that
she was carrying a great burden, a load so heavy that only her
work enabled her to survive. I think I knew, even then, that
we would not live happily ever after with two cars, a swimming
pool and three children.
We went to bed early on the last night of my first visit.
We made love slowly and gently over many hours. By midnight
Freya was asleep in my arms and I sat in our bed reflecting on
how my life had changed.
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