The Valkyrie Directive

by Peter MacAlan

  Sweeny examined Branting’s map carefully. There was no other path marked on it.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ Sweeny said as he turned to the others. ‘Follow where I go. Professor, you come next; Trina and Kristine will follow. Inge and Doctor Arendt will come next and Woods … you form the rear guard.’

  He hesitated and looked round.

  ‘Any questions?’ No one spoke. ‘Right, the sooner we start out the sooner we shall arrive.’

  He began to ascend carefully, feeling his way cautiously up through the frozen undergrowth. Several times he slipped and felt his leg go through the rotting wood into dangerous holes, but each time he managed to save himself from injury. The wooded slope rose for about five hundred feet before he finally emerged onto a narrow cleft. To one side of the cleft a small edge ran upwards to a sharp bend which seemed appallingly far above. There was no rest now. Sweeny cursed himself for not being farsighted enough to rope everyone together. Branting would probably have done so. Nonetheless, they had to press on now. He had thought that once they had made it through the shrubs they would have emerged onto a broader pathway. He moved ahead slowly along the ledge and came around the bend.

  His heart lurched. He nearly cried aloud in frustration. The way was suddenly obstructed by a frozen waterfall. The ice hung down across the ledge in a translucent curtain. There was no hope of going on, no hope of turning back. He bit his lip and stared in disgust at the obstruction.

  Something caught his eye. He bent forward on the ledge and pushed at the snow in front of him. It gave. The water had frozen as it gushed over the ledge, and he found that there was space within the angle created by the waterflow. It was a small space true enough; about forty by sixty centimetres. He drew out his knife and scraped away the ice and snow which obstructed the aperture. It would take a man.

  ‘We can crawl through here,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Wait until I call to you from the far side of the waterfall before you attempt to come through.’

  He knelt down and began to push himself into the ice tunnel, trying to fight the terrible feeling of claustrophobia which the encasement produced. It seemed that he had crawled for miles, but it was only about fifteen feet when he emerged through a small blockage of snow at the far end. The ledge here was much broader. He stood up and stamped his feet to regain the circulation. Then he bent to the hole and called back, ‘Come through now, one at a time. Don’t hurry. Go slowly. It’s fairly easy.’

  It took some time before they were all through.

  Sweeny allowed them ten minutes to recover and then forced them to press on. Ahead, the sun sparkled on the gleaming expanse of the glacier. At this altitude the cold snow was intermixed with hard ice crystals, and this caused their movement to be actually easier because it compacted firmly under their weight. The ledge still climbed a little further before passing over a spur. To Sweeny’s surprise it opened onto a windswept plateau. It was protected at one end by a little cirque or bowl of snow-covered rocks, while toward the other end it rose in a series of small hillocks to even greater heights where forbidding peaks towered menacingly. The path seemed to run under the peaks and suddenly open out to one side across the very top of the glacier — an unprotected path whose side dropped for hundreds of metres down towards a sprawl of dark conifers that looked like grass from this height.

  Sweeny turned to his companions and, for the first time, relaxed his features in a smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Once across there,’ he indicated the glacier, ‘we are in Sweden, according to the map. From then on it will be downhill all the way, both literally and figuratively.’

  ‘Roll on the British Embassy, a hot bath and a warm bed,’ grinned Woods.

  Professor Stenersen glanced towards the glacier and shook his head sadly.

  ‘I would not have embarked on this trip had I known it was going to cost so many lives. It should not have cost so much just to get an old man out of Oslo.’

  Inge reached forward and squeezed her uncle’s arm.

  ‘It is what happens when that old man reaches London that counts, Uncle Didrik,’ she smiled firmly. ‘Don’t forget that there is much work for you to do there.’

  Stenersen sighed softly. ‘Well, at least it will be good to rest from the tension of the last few days before that work starts.’

  Trina Lanstrad nodded agreement.

  ‘Surely we could rest here for an hour or two? I doubt whether the Germans will catch up with us now. They wouldn’t be able to make it beyond that last waterfall with their equipment.’

  Sweeny shook his head. His eyes were sweeping the plateau and noting the threatening atmosphere of desolation which oppresses people entering places of such barren loneliness. He was aware of the featurelessness of the wilderness, the unimaginable number of silent, ice-bound hills and deserted snow-filled valleys. It was a dead world; a world in which the affairs of the human race were of no account.

  ‘I believe we should move on,’ he said finally, turning to the others. ‘As well as the Nazis, we mustn’t forget that there are Swedish border patrols to be avoided until we are well inside Swedish territory and have made contact with the embassy. And I wouldn’t like to be caught up here if a storm blew up. I say, let’s move across the border now.’

  It was the taciturn Doctor Arendt who first voiced agreement, raising a hand to point across the plateau.

  ‘I don’t think we have a choice in the matter,’ he said softly.

  At the far end of the plateau, from the direction of the cirque of rocks, several figures were moving. They were hard to see in their white coveralls but they could just be made out, moving swiftly on skis.

  ‘Germans! They must have found another way up!’ said Sweeny.

  Without anyone giving the order, they began to stumble along the path to the point where it opened onto the glacier.

  ‘Inge,’ yelled Sweeny as they shuffled forward in a stumbling run, ‘you take them across. Woods, you stay with me. We must give the others time to cross.’

  Sweeny halted and glanced behind. The tiny figures on skis were moving swiftly across the plateau towards them. They moved professionally. They were well trained, these German Gebirgsjäger. Woods had halted, gazing expectantly at Sweeny.

  ‘What do you intend?’ he asked.

  Sweeny looked to where Inge was leading her uncle and the others onto the glacier path and tried to estimate how long it would be before they wereacross and in the shelter of the snow-covered rocks on the far side. He said, ‘Delay them as long as we can.’

  He turned back towards the oncoming Germans and unslung his Schmeisser, giving a swift raking burst. He knew they were not in range but he hoped the sound of the weapon would make them cautious and halt their fast forward motion. He heard a harsh shout. The skiing figures, almost as one man, came to a halt in a flurry of snow.

  Woods grinned lopsidedly.

  ‘Ah well,’ he sighed, ‘I can’t say that it was fun while it lasted.’ He unslung his own Schmeisser. ‘Even if we hold them back for a while, Sweeny, those bastards aren’t going to halt at some invisible border line. They’ll move across the border after us as far as they can.’

  The skiers were moving forward again. Inge and the others had reached the far side of the glacier path and were running towards the cover of the rocks.

  Sweeny looked at Woods. He grinned tightly.

  ‘Do you think that you can fire that thing without killing yourself or me?’

  Woods grimaced. ‘As Commander Wallace said, it’s a matter of pointing it and pulling the trigger, isn’t it?’

  ‘The important thing is to make sure the barrel is aimed in the right direction,’ Sweeny agreed. ‘Wait until they get near enough and give one long burst. Then when I yell, start running across the glacier path.’

  Woods frowned. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be so hard on your heels you’ll feel my breath on your neck.’

  The leading skiers were fairly close now. Sweeny could se
e them unslinging their rifles even as they moved forward. He raised his Schmeisser.

  ‘Fire!’

  He and Woods both opened up with a long arcing burst and several of the Gebirgsjäger tumbled headlong into the snow. The others halted and took up firing positions.

  ‘Get going, Woods!’ cried Sweeny, still firing.

  Woods hesitated a moment, then turned and began to run, feeling the wind from bullets whistling past him. The snow in front of him seemed to erupt in a shower of icy particles. He ran on, turning his gaze to avoid the vast open expanse to his right where the glacier fell away hundreds of metres down the slope of the mountain towards the distant valley.

  The next moment he was hit in the left shoulder and the powerful, searing impact sent him staggering. He could not recover his footing and sprawled face forward onto the ground. He lay gasping for a moment, feeling his shoulder growing numb. Then a strong arm was heaving him upwards. He could hear Sweeny swearing at him, telling him to get up and move. Automatically he began to do so. Something warm and sticky was oozing down his arm. He lurched forward, Sweeny guiding him.

  The sound of gunfire and hoarse cries echoed in their ears.

  Then they were across. By some miracle the hail of bullets whined past them on all sides but they weren’t hit. Sweeny dragged Woods towards the cover of some boulders and they sprawled behind them in the snow.

  Sweeny poked his head up. A soldier was already on the glacier path. He reached forward and sighted his machine-pistol. There was a click. With a curse he wrenched out the empty ammunition clip and inserted another. The delay was fatal. The burst from Sweeny’s Schmeisser took the man across the chest, spinning him round and throwing him off the path. His body went sliding and bumping head over heels down the icy glacier and was lost to sight.

  Woods was trying to sit up, clutching at his shoulder and wincing from the pain.

  Sweeny cast him a sardonic smile.

  ‘It may be some consolation to know that we have just crossed into Sweden.’

  Woods forced a grin.

  ‘Do you think we should tell the Germans?’

  Sweeny looked at the doctor a moment and smiled.

  ‘You’re not such a bad guy, after all.’

  Woods grimaced.

  ‘This is a hell of a time and place to reach that conclusion. You’re still an overbearing, egocentric, pig-headed … Okay, what do we do now?’

  Several Germans were making their hesitant way onto the glacier path.

  ‘Can you get across to those rocks and catch up with Inge and the others?’ Sweeny asked.

  ‘Let me stay here,’ Woods said. ‘We can pick them off as they come over and buy more time.’

  Sweeny shook his head.

  ‘They have the advantage of the high ground,’ he said, nodding toward some outcrops on the other side of the glacier. ‘Once their officer realizes that, he can send snipers up there to pick us off like clay pigeons in a shooting gallery.’

  ‘Then why don’t you get going and leave me here?’

  The Germans were giving covering fire to some of their comrades who had started to cross. Sweeny frowned suddenly. The ground seemed to tremble momentarily. He heard a soft rumble and peered around. There appeared to be a speck of dust some way up on the glacier above them. His lips formed a thin determined line as he realized what it meant.

  ‘Woods, can you still fire that thing?’

  ‘One-handed Woods they call me, the terror of the West,’ quipped the wounded man.

  ‘When I say fire, fire up there, towards the top of the glacier.’

  Woods’s jaw dropped.

  ‘I don’t like to say so, old horse,’ he drawled, ‘but we don’t have much ammunition left to play games with.’

  ‘It’s no game,’ Sweeny replied grimly, sighting his Schmeisser. ‘Now!’

  They both fired long bursts towards the glacier. The faint rumble Sweeny had heard began to increase. Now Woods saw what his companion had seen. High up on the peak it seemed that a large cloud was billowing and spreading.

  ‘Jesus! Avalanche!’

  He turned and fired again until his ammunition ran out.

  The Germans had taken cover, thinking that the gunfire was meant for them. Now they were pushing across the glacier again, apparently unaware of the rolling cloud of white above their heads. They were moving rapidly, but not so rapidly as the rushing mass of snow and rock. It hurtled down with the speed and power of an express train. The soldiers on the path seemed to have no warning of the avalanche before it struck them, sweeping them aside as if they were so many ants. Woods and Sweeny watched in curious fascination as the great white roaring mass of snow came hurtling over the helpless Germans and totally obliterated the path.

  It seemed an eternity before silence returned to the mountains, before the cloud of snow finally settled. Sweeny rose slowly to his knees and brushed the white powder from his clothes. He gazed at the desolate expanse before him. There was no trace of the Germans nor of the glacier path. He turned and hauled Woods to his feet.

  ‘Can you make it?’ he asked.

  Woods gave him a quick grin.

  ‘Indestructible, that’s me. There’s nothing wrong with me that a good team of surgeons and nurses can’t cure,’ he grunted.

  Sweeny glanced back at the massive snow pile. ‘The sound of the gunfire must have triggered it off. I’m just glad we were on this side of the path when it happened.’

  ‘Poor bastards!’ muttered Woods.

  ‘Just bastards,’ Sweeny corrected.

  Woods stared at him for a moment.

  ‘You’re certainly not one for the “forget and forgive” ethic.’

  ‘I believe in the Old Testament, Woods. An eye for an eye.’

  Woods’s eyes were focused beyond Sweeny, across the glacier. Sweeny saw them widen perceptibly.

  ‘If I were to offer some advice this minute,’ Woods said quietly, ‘I’d say, start running. You might just make it.’

  ‘What?’ Sweeny stared stupidly at him. Then he turned slowly. Across the chasm, about fifty feet above them with a clear field of fire, stood two figures in field grey. One of them was already sighting with a rifle.

  *

  Hauptmann Eschig stood on a small outcrop of rock about one hundred and fifty metres from the red-haired man and his companion. Beside him Feldwebel Weiss was sighting with a Mauser rifle. Eschig had watched Oberleutnant Gerhardt lead his men onto the glacier path; had heard the rumble and noise of the avalanche and had seen the best part of an entire company of the Wurttembergische Gebirgsbataillon swept to their deaths — Gerbirgsjäger, the best mountain troops in Germany. Sweeny had beaten him. He stared down with a grim smile on his face as he examined the tall, well-built red-haired man for the first time. They had never met, never seen each other before, but he felt that he knew this man Lars Sweeny, knew him intimately. Eschig had played the game and he had lost. Sweeny and his comrades had crossed into Sweden and the only path after them was blocked. Eschig sighed deeply. He could not help but admire Sweeny. He was a worthy opponent. And yet — and yet he felt sorry for the man, knowing what he knew now.

  Weiss had sighted his Mauser and looked towards his superior.

  ‘I could bring them both down, Herr Hauptmann,’ he said quietly.

  Eschig shrugged.

  ‘What purpose would it serve, Weiss? You would kill two brave men, that is for sure. But for what purpose? They have already won this game. They have Stenersen and the remnants of his surgical team safely across the frontier, and with or without Sweeny, they’ll be in London within a few days.’

  ‘You don’t want me to shoot, Herr Hauptmann?’

  ‘Have you ever read Schiller, Weiss?’

  The Feldwebel shook his head. He was not even sure who Schiller was.

  ‘No, Herr Hauptmann.’

  ‘Schiller says that in taking revenge a man is but even with his enemy, but in forgoing vengeance he is superior.’

  ‘I do
n’t understand, Herr Hauptmann.’

  Eschig nodded to where several of the Gebirgsjäger, who had been wounded before the crossing, sat or lay.

  ‘Let’s see if we can pick up the pieces.’

  Weiss shrugged and shouldered his rifle. At this, one of the men on the far side of the glacier, the one clutching at a wound in his shoulder, began to move away out of range. Only the tall, red-haired man still stood gazing up to the rock where Eschig stood. Eschig smiled thinly, wondering what was passing through the man’s mind.

  ‘Glückliche Reise, Herr Sweeny!’ Eschig suddenly yelled. ‘Viel Glück! Auf Wiedersehen!’

  Then he lifted his hand to the peak of his cap in a punctilious military salute, paused in this position for a moment and then turned to follow Weiss.

  On the other side of the chasm Woods had paused when he saw that Sweeny wasn’t following him. He turned back in time to catch the action of the German’s farewell. Then Sweeny had turned and was coming towards him.

  ‘What the hell was that about?’ demanded Woods. ‘What did he say?’

  Sweeny shrugged and glanced back momentarily at the two retreating grey figures.

  ‘The bastard wished us a pleasant journey and good luck.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was evening when they reached a group of hytte overlooking a lake among the pine forests of Sweden. They had managed to descend below the snowline into the lush green of spring vegetation. It was still cold but the hytte, a collection of some half-a-dozen single room timber structures built for tourists and climbers, were equipped with wood-burning stoves and some paraffin for cooking. In the cupboards were plenty of blankets.

  Inge saw to the allocation of the huts. It was agreed that Sweeny would push on to the nearest hamlet, Rottnedal, first thing in the morning, to make contact with the British Embassy in Stockholm by telephone. He reckoned the place to be a leisurely ten-mile walk away. But he was exhausted. Indeed, everyone was near to the point of collapsing, especially Woods. The bullet had seared across his shoulder, luckily without touching any muscle or bone. But he had lost a lot of blood. Stenersen had personally attended to the wound, and as soon as they reached the hytte Trina Lanstrad had given him a new dressing. The party had partaken of a frugal meal and gone immediately to bed.