(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
4. September 1965
That is some years ago Professor Nesse and I entered NATO. When I have not published the company before, it is because a publication at that time could have had unpleasant consequences for the subordinates involved in the case. Today, however, several years later, one must expect that no one will be harmed by it.
It started so harmlessly which is conceivable: Arne Næs and I had planned a week-end at his cabin at Kolsås. We provisioned independently of each other, and met on the Kolsås railway, where it turned out that one of us had purchased a box of Russian crab as well as a box of caviar from the same excellent country.
"Now we just eat between the the meals! 'said Ness.
After a while he thought:
"Do you have white wine?" He said.
It turned out that I had not thought about it; I might have assumed he had included it. Both had expected the other to think of it. I mention this because it shows how innocent we both are, but also because the lack of a glass of wine for the caviar was the reason for what happened next.
"They probably have wine in NATO," Næs argued: "We go there and borrow a bottle. Where there are Americans, there are also strong drinks. "
"They probably have wine in NATO," Næs argued, "We go there and borrow a bottle. Where there are Americans, there are also strong drinks. "
We got off the track at Kolsås and walked up the wide path leading to NATO. The driveway was impressive: it glistened in steel, in helmets and bayonets. Machine Guns. Barbed wire. Huge headlights.
Behind the closed grating gate stood the caretaker.
"I don't think they like us," I said. "We'll never let in."
"You can do whatever you want!" Næs replied, "You get to talk to them first."
I swallowed and went all the way to the cage. I put on my very strict officer face – manly, but friendly and gentle. I chose the first English-sounding name that struck me. Banana company Fyffes (pronounced "faifs").
"Evening boys!" I said. "I was going to have a conference with Mr. Fyffes."
At the same time, I made a slight distracted gesture toward the closed gate. The door opened, and Arne Næs and I walked in while the guards saluted. We nodded kindly (but with disgust!) And saluted each other with our index fingers.
"The phone is in the waiting room," said one of the caretakers, and we went there.
Inside the waiting room put most of the armed crew. Næs patted a couple of them fatherly and with military tenderness on their shoulders. He kindly commented:
"Now guys!" How's the meal then? Do you enjoy it here? ”
With the fundamentalist's reasonableness, he initiated a conversation about the technical side of bayonet attacks. They had an awful lot of guns on them.
I even went to the phone and dialed the switchboard, which I asked to connect directly with Mr. Fyffes. At the switchboard no one knew where the old boy Fyffes was at the moment. There was even doubt as to whether anyone had seen him for a while. I asked them not to give it up, but looked for him, as it was an important conversation. They couldn't find him. I said in a loud voice, that I should probably look after myself, – on which I put the microphone on.
We said goodbye to the armed forces and moved on – towards the next bastion. Næss spoke. It was a new, armed blockade with new and fearsome sentries. Næss took off his backpack and held it out: "What do you take in wardrobe fees here then, boys?" He handed them the sack, smiling, but with dignity. It struck me to what extent he actually resembled a senior civilian officer.
The guards smiled happily at the fact that we spoke so bramelessly and democratically to them. I stressed the fraternity by taking off my bag too. The steel gate was opened under bayonet flashing. During tight and trusting giveaway, we strolled strangely between them. We put the bags away from the inside.
"Take good care of them!" Continues Næs: "Nobody knows who's here!"
The guards smiled and straightened their backs even tighter. It was dark all around us, except for the places lit by bright spotlights. We moved on. It was just to follow the road, then we came to the third and final barrier. It was less impressive than the previous ones. It was my turn now.
I randomly chose something that I thought fit the situation.
"I'm sorry guys, but I forgot the passports. You can get them since. "
I smiled broadly, but reluctantly, for the sake of it, there were no such things as passports. In that case, the notes could go for some kind of collegiate soldier joke. There were no problems. The janitors were kind and opened politely to us. They greeted nicely. And it may be appropriate in this context to add that one cannot complain about the young NATO staff in Norway. It was only in the hotel staff that we encountered distrust and resistance.
We were close by now the main building and it was dark and cozy. We could have put a dozen bombs along the walls, lighted carefully on their halves, and then gone our way again. But we didn't think of that. Instead, we went to the main entrance, opened the door and entered the vestibule. There was a porter to receive uniform coats and other things. He was a civilian. He looked at us and something was going on in him. He thought.
"Excuse me," he said. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"We just er here, "I said. But he did not smile again. He looked cool on us. There was no doubt about what had happened: we were discovered and revealed. We had forced quantities of armed forces and guard posts, we had outnumbered an ingenious alarm and guard system, but now we stood here in front of a uniformed porter. What machine guns and barbed wire couldn't do, this miserable civilian from the hotel industry managed. He had thought on their own.
"We should only have a bottle of wine," Professor Næs said, "please pick up the commander in the place! The commander. Il commander!
The man was picked up and things went really fast. Like a bayonet attack, the commandant came storming down the stairs. "How did you get in here?" He shouted.
"Peder pedes," Næs replied, "On foot."
I do not know who or what il commandante was, but something over sergeant it certainly was. The uniform was rough, and on his sleeve or chest he wore a beautiful badge that represented a Viking ship. Maybe he was a general or something like that.
"How did you get in ?!" he repeated, rather loudly.
"We just walked in," I replied. But Næs interrupted me:
"Excuse me," he said, pointing his finger at the Viking ship: "It's possible we went wrong. We were going to NATO, but this might be the Navy. I mean, of course, the navy, not the merchant navy. ”
"I do not think they like us," I said. "We never let in." "You know what you want!" answered Næss.
For a while, the two gentlemen stood and looked at each other. It was a vision of great dignity: the military power over the professorial authority.
"Do they mean that you simply walked in through the gates?" The General said doubtfully.
"Of course!" Replied Ness.
"How else would we have come here? Have you seen all the barbed wire out there? Not to mention machine guns and bayonets. ”
"What's your name?" Said the Major General.
"Arne Næs, professor of philosophy at the University of Oslo."
Generalissimus now turned to me:
"And yours?"
'Jens Bjørneboe. I write a little in the newspapers every once in a while. "
There was a kind of transformation with il generalissimo. He smiled, but the smile was crooked and pale.
"And why did you come here? What's the point of this? "
"We're carrying a nuclear bomb," I said; "But it's not the big type, just the tactical kind. It doesn't hurt much. "
Næs interrupted me again:
"Don't listen to him!" He said. "He's just joking. We have come to get a bottle of wine. That's it. "
"Wine?" Said the general. "Wine?"
"Yes," continued Næs, "we have bought caviar, and then we have no wine. And it would be a pity for the delicious caviar if it were eaten without wine. Don't you think so too, General? "
"How do you think you can get wine here? At NATO headquarters? Wine?"
"Of course, we can take liquor, too," Næs said. "But we thought we would be too clean. And don't you have vodka here? We could of course take whiskey, but in that case not rye, just Scottish. ”
No longer did we come. Presumably an alarm was sounded and the reception was filled with armed forces. Then we were put to death, guided by a dozen people with guns and the Lord knows what in the belt.
A few minutes later, we stood outside the barbed wire, and that night we took our caviar to a strong and tasty cup of tea. By the way, we drank it by the glass, to make it a little more Russian.
Afterwards, Næs caught a living mouse with his hands, a sight I had never witnessed before. And he did it with a dexterity that could only be due to years of training in logical empiricism and climbing in the Himalayas. But that's another story.
The above is the full and complete truth about how Professor Arne Næs and I jointly conquered NATO. The distance at a time may have resulted in some details being forgotten or omitted, but in broad terms it was exactly the way our campaign was going. With horror, I have since thought of what it might have done if the conquerors had not been as peaceful and harmless as we both are. A solitary and biting anarcho-syndicalist could have sown a whole bouquet of bombs in the middle of the flower beds, or for that matter anywhere. And the first officer who went to pick his morning tulip would have come to touch the trigger.
It should have been a great story for the press!
The column is edited by Line Fausko.
Orientering became involved in Ny Tid in 1975.
