by Kris Tualla
And there it was. He walked forward and watched as two men at a time sat on the inverted metal Ts and slid on their skis up the slope and out of sight.
Tor faced Kyle, excited. “How high?”
“It goes to eleven thousand feet. Almost two thousand above where we are now. This particular lift is one of the most powerful and efficient in the world.” Kyle’s voice held unmistakable pride. “As soon as we get you kitted out, you can come back and try it.”
Tor whirled around. “Then let’s go!”
He started jogging back to the jeep, assuming Kyle would catch up. He didn’t expect her to run past him.
“Altitude training,” she said when he reached the jeep after her, panting heavily. “You’ll get used to it.”
Tor nodded, scooping deep breaths of the thin air. “I was delayed—too long in—coming here. Out—of condition.”
Kyle drove him past more buildings: bakery, cold storage, post office, and surprisingly a stable and blacksmith with grain and hay storage nearby.
“We use mules to carry supplies up the mountain.” She patted the dashboard of the jeep. “These guys are great down here but they’d never make it up.”
Tor pointed to a group of low buildings at the outer edge of the camp. They were surrounded by tall fences topped with thick spirals of barbed wire. “What’s over there?”
Kyle steered the jeep closer and slowed to a stop. “Those are our German prisoners of war.”
“Here?” Tor faced Kyle, gobsmacked. “You send the Nazis this far?”
“I guess.” Her expression darkened as the men on the other side of the fence glared at her. “It’s pretty secure here. If they tried to escape, they’d probably die in the mountains before getting anywhere.”
True.
Unless someone broke them out.
One of the men shouted something very crude. Several others laughed before adding their own comments and gestures.
Tor’s anger swelled and his fists clenched.
Filthy Nazi bastards.
He considered Kyle carefully. “Do you speak German?”
“No. But it’s just as well.” She shifted the jeep’s gears and started moving again. “I can tell by their expressions and the tone of their voices that they aren’t exactly complimenting my job or my parentage.”
Tor looked back over his shoulder as they drove away, shocked at his strong reaction to the prisoners’ taunts and insults.
Harm her and you’ll answer to me.
*****
Tor rode the T-bar to the top of the mountain. His heart raced with anticipation. Even the seven miles an hour seemed too slow.
It took two hours for him to collect all the clothing and paraphernalia that made up his kit and now there was only sunlight enough for one downhill run. He carried the seven-foot skis and four-and-a-half foot poles on his shoulder as he hurried from his barracks to the mountain.
At the bottom of the lift, he strapped and buckled the toes of his new hiking boots in place on the white-topped skis. Next he slid their heavy heels against the coiled-spring catch and clamped them snugly.
And then he impatiently joined the line of men waiting their turn to ride to the top.
There was no skiing in England while he waited for his delayed deployment. Since arriving in this freezing, snowy camp the urge to fly down a mountain grew stronger by the minute. Almost like an addiction. Tor smiled.
I am addicted.
The soldier sharing his seat tried to start a conversation on the way up, but Tor shrugged and concentrated on quashing his British accent.
“I don’t speak English.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
When they reached the top of the lift, Tor slid off the bar just as the men in front of him had. He wondered if they were expected to wait and ski down in the same order as they came up.
When some of the men showed no sign of starting their descent, Tor moved to the head of the swath of open snow and pushed off.
Heaven.
Crouching on bent and flexing knees he quickly picked up glorious speed. His adrenalin surged as his body remembered what it loved to do.
Snow flew as he slalomed from right to left and back again. Around trees. Between trees. Taking small jumps over moguls.
God, how I’ve missed this!
The sting of snow on his cheeks. The cold wind in his face. The feel of the ground below as he flew over its icy coating. He never wanted the feeling to end.
It was always like this for him. A beautiful mix of power and skill, of control and freedom, so compelling that for the several minutes it took him to reach the bottom, nothing else in the world existed.
Only him and the mountain and the snow.
*****
Kyle waited for Tor at one of the officers’ tables. “I was afraid you were going to miss another meal. Were you able to take a ski run?”
She asked even though his face had changed so startlingly that she knew the answer. Tor Hansen looked alive. Exhilarated. Satisfied.
“Yes. And it was spectacular.” He claimed the chair opposite hers. “God, how I’ve missed that.”
That was an odd comment; the man lived in Norway. “How long has it been since you skied?”
Tor blinked at her. “What?”
“When did you ski last?”
“Last winter.” He looked around. “What’s for dinner tonight?”
“Meatloaf.” Kyle was still confused. “You mean there wasn’t any snow in Norway from September through November this year?”
Now Tor looked confused. “What is meatloaf?”
“It’s like a Swedish meatball that’s the size of a loaf of bread,” she answered impatiently. “Why haven’t you skied this season?”
“Is it good?”
Good Lord, the man was annoying at the moment. “Do you like Swedish meatballs?”
He wagged his head undecidedly. “They’re all right.”
“Same with meatloaf.” Kyle leaned forward. “Why haven’t you been skiing?”
Tor’s shoulders slumped and he seemed frustrated. “My deployment was delayed. I was stuck where there were no mountains.”
Something about that explanation didn’t ring true.
Let it go for now.
“Let’s get our food.”
When they returned to the table, Tor put a bite of meatloaf into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Then he nodded.
“I like this.”
“Notify the press everyone,” Kyle mumbled. She hadn’t known the man for long, but his moods and actions were proving a bit unpredictable.
Tor frowned at her. “What did you say?”
Kyle realized she grumbled in English. “Nothing important. Just English slang. How are the potatoes?”
“Mushy.”
“They’re mashed potatoes.”
He shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “I like potatoes which require teeth.”
Kyle burst into laughter. Tor’s reaction was—perfect. “Oh, gosh. Tor. That’s hilarious.”
He grinned at her. “Thank you.”
Two WAC nurses, officers who oversaw shifts in the hospital, approached their table. Both of them were staring at the tall, handsome, and occasionally charming Norwegian captain.
“Excuse us,” one said. “May we interrupt?”
Tor rose to his feet and turned toward the woman, smiling.
Both nurses stared up at Tor in awe. “I’m Sergeant Delores Brown, and this is Sergeant Helen Johnston.”
Helen Johnston blushed and her eyelids fluttered.
Kyle groaned inwardly.
Is she having a seizure?
“He doesn’t speak English,” Kyle interrupted the dual assault. “So that’s about as far as your conversation can go without me.”
That was obviously disheartening news to Sergeant Brown, but apparently Sergeant Johnston was up to the challenge.
“Oh, I’m sure an officer of Captain Hansen’s—stature,” more eyelash works ensued, “can co
mmunicate just fine when he needs to.”
Helen rested her hand against Tor’s chest and cooed, “Isn’t that right? Sir?”
Kyle switched to Norsk. “Watch yourself, Captain. This one’s got a reputation.”
Tor’s expression didn’t give away his words. “And very well-earned, I’ll wager.”
“What do you want me to say to them?”
He shifted his smile to her. “Tell them I’m not a whore.”
Kyle literally choked on her swallowed guffaw and started to cough.
Tor handed her his glass of water. “Are you all right?”
“No,” she squawked when she could manage any sound at all. “I’m going to kill you.”
Tor cocked one amused eyebrow. “You shouldn’t threaten an officer.”
Kyle turned to the befuddled sergeants. “He says he’s flattered, but needs time to adjust to his position before he can consider any social engagements.”
She set the glass down hard. “You’re on your own now. Sir.”
Chapter
Four
December 18, 1943
During the past month, Tor slid into the rhythm of the camp. He and an American First Lieutenant named Frank Collins shared a platoon of thirty-eight men who had skills of various levels. After the first two days, they split the men into two groups with Tor volunteering to take the novices.
“Learn the basics well from the start and you’ve got a solid foundation to build on,” he told Kyle. “Collins can take it from there.”
Teaching sixteen beginning skiers was a challenge, there was no doubt about it. The skiers would train for eight weeks at time, six hours a day, for six days a week. If they were fit to move on, then they did. If not, they started over.
Tor started with simply walking on the skis. After that came gliding—the simple two-step movement of his countrymen’s cross-country skiing. Eventually the men would be coordinated enough to move like they were skating over the snow.
And there would be no T-bar in the Italian Alps, so the ability to climb up the side of a mountain without sliding backwards into your fellows was extremely important.
Tor started with the herringbone, making a V with his skis spread at the tips and almost touching in the back as the men walked straight up the slope. Next was the traverse, walking at an upward angle across the mountain’s face. Last came the side step—which was exactly what it sounded like.
“How do we know which one to use?” one of the men asked.
Another punched his arm. “He doesn’t speak English, moron.”
And here’s the glitch in my plan.
A man in the back called out, “Do the one that works.”
Problem solved.
For the moment.
Tor motioned to the men to practice, holding up three fingers and attaching one to each method he had demonstrated. As they did, he watched, stepping in when he was needed.
Which was sadly more often than he expected.
When he told Kyle about the about-face maneuvers, he laughed so hard he nearly wet himself.
“You are supposed to move like this.” Tor lifted one leg straight out in front of him. “Once the back of the ski is resting on the ground beside you, you rotate it outwards, like this.”
Kyle started to giggle. “I can see where this is going.”
Tor started laughing again. “Once that ski is on the ground, parallel to the other, you just step over it and there you are.”
“And you’re training men!” Kyle laughed and clapped her hands. “I bet they fell all over themselves—like pins in bowling!”
So many parts of that sentence confused him. “What pins in bowling?”
“Bowling.” Kyle wiped her eyes and kept chuckling. “You know—those lanes in the Rec Center where people throw balls to knock over those… well, pins. At the ends.”
The presence of a huge recreational center at one end of the camp was Tor’s biggest surprise since arriving. Sure, the idyllic setting and wealth of services was offset by long and grueling training sessions in bitter cold for six days out of the week. But America was at war.
A war not being fought on her land.
And that made all the difference.
“Why men?” he asked.
Kyle immediately put her feet alongside each other, heel to toe and grinned up at him. “Fifth position. Any little girl who’s had a ballet class knows this.”
Huh.
Today was the last Saturday before Christmas. The soldiers in camp were offered three-day passes, staggered so they’d leave on the twenty-third, twenty-fourth, and twenty-fifth, and return to camp on the twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth.
Any soldier who could make it home and back in that timeframe accepted the pass and their resultant distraction was driving Tor to the brink of his patience.
He’d shout at them if he could. Cussing them out in Norwegian would have to do.
“Such language, Captain.” Kyle chided when he climbed into the jeep waiting near the bottom of the lift.
“They’re lucky I didn’t strangle their scrawny necks,” Tor grumbled. “How do you get worse after four weeks of training?”
Kyle slipped the jeep into reverse and backed up. “They’ll be better when they get back.”
Tor considered the lieutenant. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Well…” Kyle shifted into first and drove toward Tor’s barracks. “A few of the nurses and I are going into Leadville. Why?”
Tor pulled off his gloves. “I feel the need for a distraction of my own.”
“Do you want to come with us?” she offered without looking at him. “There’s a camp bus that goes back and forth.”
“I know.” For some reason he didn’t feel like sharing her company with anyone else.
But her invitation was so completely unexpected he thought he should accept before she retracted it.
Lately, Kyle had been a bit cool towards him. When he asked her what was bothering her, her response caught him off his guard.
“You flirt with every woman who shows an interest in you, and it means nothing. You’re playing games. It’s so ridiculous. It’s beneath you, Captain.”
“Beneath me?” Tor scoffed. “They are games, Lieutenant. Just a diversion to pass the time. Why does that bother you?”
“It shows a lack of… depth,” she said haughtily. “A depth of character.”
Tor stared at her hard. “Are you accusing me of being shallow?”
Kyle didn’t answer at first. Then she said, “No. I know you’re not. But it’s so darn irritating.”
Tor had let the subject drop, but her comments remained in his head. That made up his mind.
“Yeah. I guess I’ll go along tonight.”
*****
Oh, no. Why did I invite him?
Over and over again for the last month Kyle had seen how women responded to the six-foot-six, sandy blond Norwegian with the bright blue eyes. Every single female who crossed Tor’s path seemed to stop and stare at him, like he was some sort of Norse god or something.
Sure, he was gorgeous. Probably the handsomest man Kyle had ever seen. But he was also painfully human. And their constant fawning over him grated on her nerves.
Kyle glanced over at him. “Gee. Don’t get too excited, soldier.”
Tor grunted. “Where are you going?”
“To a bar that caters to servicemen. And women.” She paused, trying to decide whether to play it up or down. Which would discourage him? “Nothing fancy. It’s just drinks and dancing.”
His head snapped around. “Dancing?”
Was he happy about that? “Do you dance?”
“Not much. But I saw some wild moves when I was in London.” He made a dismissive gesture. “I was there, uh, for a few days. Waiting for my flight to New York.”
His curious gaze pinned hers. “Do you dance?”
Kyle tried to sound modest. “I’ve picked up the basics of the jitterbug. But I’m n
o expert.”
Kyle pulled up in front of Tor’s barracks and waited for him to get out of the jeep.
He sat still for a minute, staring at his gloves. “I think it will be good for me to go.”
Kyle told herself the evening was still going to be fine even with the captain in tow. “All right, then. We’ll leave at seven-thirty.”
Tor nodded slowly. “A last chance to cut loose before you go home for Christmas.”
Kyle’s heart lurched. “I’m not going home.”
Tor’s eyes lifted to hers and his brows pulled together. “Why not?”
Tell him the truth.
“Because I’ve already spent one lifetime in Viking and when the war ends I’ll be going back for another. This is my only chance to spend Christmas somewhere else.”
Tor blinked. “Viking?”
“That’s the name of my hometown.”
Now his brows shot up in disbelief. “Viking? They call a town Viking?”
Kyle rolled her eyes. “I know—it’s a verb. It’s like calling a town Raiding or Pillaging.”
Tor laughed. “So you are avoiding Viking this year. I understand.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Would you go home if you could?”
Tor’s demeanor sobered. “I haven’t spent Christmas with my parents since nineteen-thirty-nine. Not since the occupation.”
“So you haven’t been home at all?” Even in her desire to break free, at least for a while, Kyle thought that was tragic.
“I’ve been home a few times. I’ve seen them,” he corrected. “Just not at Christmas.”
Kyle relaxed. “Understood.”
Tor opened the jeep door. “I’ll see you at supper, Lieutenant.”
She smiled a little. “Yes, Sir.”
*****
The Pastime Bar was dark and crowded, filled with men and women dressed in civilian clothes. It was impossible to tell who was from Camp Hale and who was local.
“Do you want a beer?” Tor asked Kyle.
She looked up at him. “I’ll get it myself. We’re not on a date.”
Kyle’s friends Frances and Florence—“Call me Flo.”—were all over him in the bus. Even though he was conscious of Kyle’s constant and disapproving attention, Tor played along as best he could without displaying any English understanding. He knew without any doubt that if he wanted to bed either woman tonight that opportunity was going to present itself.