by Kris Tualla
“Him? He’s here?” Tor looked around the mess hall as if the man might stand up and wave. “I’ve never met him, but I’ve certainly heard of him.”
Tor returned his attention to Tokle. “He was the first Austrian to win the Arlberg-Kandahar championship.”
“Yep. And you probably never met him because he left Austria in thirty-eight to come here and compete. He’s an American citizen now.” Torger finally ate the eggs off the fork he had been waving for emphasis.
Tor understood the man’s leaving Austria the minute he had the chance—Hitler had that country in his sights from the beginning. But he still had a problem with Tokle bolting from the neutral Norway.
Not now.
“So he organized the ski team once he joined the Tenth,” Tor clarified. “How can I get on it?”
“I’ll talk to him,” Torger offered.
“Can I compete in Salt Lake City, do you think?”
Torger chuckled. “That’s less than two weeks away.”
“Twelve days.” Now Tor leaned forward. “I’m serious. I need to go.”
The other man raised one brow. “Need?”
“You know what it’s like,” Tor prodded. “Flying down the mountain. The wind. The snow. The challenge of the competition. There’s nothing else in the world like it.”
Torger’s expression shifted from bemused to understanding. “I do. Yes.”
“I haven’t had that for four years, Torger. Four years.” Tor was surprised at his surging emotions; if he couldn’t join the team he thought he might go mad. “Not since Norway was occupied. So yes, I need to go.”
Torger nodded. “I get it, Hansen. Let me see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” Tor held out his hand. “You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
Tokle shook his hand firmly. “What about your translator?”
Tor took a chance. “I won’t need her. If there’s anything I can’t figure out, you can explain it.”
Torger looked unsure. “I guess.”
“And I speak German,” Tor continued to press his case. “So I can talk to Pfeifer without a problem.”
That seemed to ease Torger’s mind. “All right, then.”
“A ski race is a ski race,” Tor stated as he stood. “I just need to know how and when to get to the top. I can handle things from there.”
*****
Kyle watched Tor make his way back to his own breakfast, now cold and looking pathetic on his abandoned plate.
“What was that about?” she asked when he reclaimed his chair.
“The Camp Hale Ski Team.” Tor shoveled a forkful of cold scrambled eggs into his mouth. “I saw it in the Ski-Zette last night.”
“And you could read the article?”
How?
Tor looked up from his plate. “I read the headline. Camp Hale Ski Team is Camp Hale Ski-Teamet. Not at all hard to figure out, Lieutenant.”
True.
While Tor continued to wolf down his unappetizing food, Kyle tried to remember seeing the article but without success. Apparently the headline made no impression on her.
“What did Sergeant Tokle say?”
Tor spoke with his mouth full. “He’s going to talk to Corporal Friedl Pfeifer and see if I can join. Do you know him?”
Kyle shook her head. “There are over eight thousand soldiers here, remember.”
“But this guy’s famous.” Tor swallowed and washed it down with cold coffee. “He joined the staff of Hannes Schneider’s Austrian ski school when he was only fourteen.”
Kyle shook her head. “I never skied before you showed me how, and I’ve never lived in Europe—or even visited, for that matter. How could I have heard of him?”
Tor’s movement stilled. “You need to go to Norway.”
That will never happen.
“Maybe.”
Tor waved his empty fork over his head. “When all of this is over, you need to go, Kyle.”
“When all of this is over…” Kyle mimicked his gesture with her empty hand. “I’m going back to Minnesota to be married.”
Tor looked stricken. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Kyle felt punched in the gut. “I’m not you, Tor. I can’t just pick up and run halfway around the world on a whim.”
The captain’s gaze fell to his plate and he ate the last of his eggs in silence.
“How can you eat that?” Kyle asked, changing the subject.
“When you live in a country occupied by greedy German bastards, you get used to eating what you can, when you can.” Tor looked at her again. “Eggs are a luxury.”
Chastised, Kyle pointed at her unfinished breakfast. “Do you want mine?”
Tor laughed. “No. But thank you.”
Glad to see his mood shift, Kyle asked, “What happens if you do get to join the ski team?”
“I hope I get to compete in Salt Lake City in twelve days.”
Kyle startled. “Would I go with you?”
Tor shook his head. “I’d have Tokle to translate if needed. And I can speak to the Austrian corporal in German.”
Kyle was a little disappointed, and surprised that she was. Was it the prospect of traveling to another place that pulled her? Or the fact that the captain would be gone for a length of time?
It can’t be that. It just can’t.
She tried to look unconcerned. “If you think that will work.”
“I do.” Tor pushed his empty plate away. “But it makes me think of something else.”
“What?” she asked warily.
He smiled at her. “I think I should learn English.”
Kyle felt another gut-punch. “Why?”
His brow twitched. “Why?”
“No. No. You’re right,” Kyle back-pedaled. “It would be helpful for you.”
Tor looked at her and his expression had gone soft. “Should it be our secret, then?”
“Secret?” The word sent a frightening little thrill through her belly. Tor was already her secret.
“So you can stay on as my translator, of course.”
Of course.
“If you want.” She tried to sound noncommittal. “Sure.”
“Then that’s that. Because I do want you to continue being my own personal Lieutenant.” His smile lit up his eyes in a mesmerizing way. “I like being with you.”
Don’t say it back. Say something else.
“Well, I guess I find you tolerable.”
Tor laughed and pushed his chair from the table. “Time to hit the slopes. Let’s talk about the lessons while you drive me.”
*****
Tor was a wreck all day, wondering how soon Torger would talk to Pfeifer and what the Austrian’s answer would be.
He tried to soothe his nerves by taking several high-speed runs down the mountain on his own, but the resultant heart-pounding adrenaline surging through his veins only made him more determined. If Torger didn’t have an answer for him at supper, Tor would find the corporal’s barracks and talk to the man himself.
He and Kyle agreed to hold his first English lesson tonight, but the question of where was a problem. If the fact that he was “learning” English got out, it could risk Kyle’s assignment—and that was the last thing he wanted to do. They needed to find someplace public but private at the same time.
And because of the frigid winter weather, it needed to be indoors.
“We could sit in the jeep like we were just having a conversation,” Kyle suggested. “Though we couldn’t keep the engine running and use up the gas. So no heat.”
“If we dressed warmly, I think we’d be fine.” He looked at how she was dressed now. Her military-issue wool coat and trousers seemed up to the task. “Do you have another idea?”
Her brows pulled together. “I thought of the chapel, but the chaplains are usually on duty.”
“Does the library have private reading rooms?”
Kyle wrinkled her nose. “Yes, but they aren’t soundproof. We’d
definitely be seen and probably overheard.”
Tor spread his hands as Kyle stopped at the base of the mountain. “Let’s try the jeep tonight and see how it goes,” he suggested. “And in the meantime, could you look around the camp for another option?”
“Sure.”
Tor came off his final run after he’d dismissed his men with the reminder that their test was in three days. He always hated reaching the bottom of the slope because that meant the ride was finished.
Heaven must consist of eternal mountains, he decided. And unending snow to fly over.
I’d rather have that than angel wings.
He stowed his skis and poles, and opened the door of the jeep, dropping into the passenger seat.
“How was your day, Dear?” Kyle teased.
“Traffic was terrible,” he teased back, then, “Was your search successful?”
She shook her head and hit the gas. “This camp is too darn full of people. Turns out they’re everywhere.”
Tor sighed. “So the jeep it is.”
“Yep.” She glanced sideways at him. “Your place or mine?”
*****
Torger was talking to a tall dark-haired man with prominent eyebrows. When he saw Tor, he beckoned him from across the mess hall. Tor waved back and looked down at Kyle.
“Go on—you don’t need me to talk to them.” She grinned and winked at him. “Good luck!”
Tor nearly sprinted through the maze of tables, chairs, and bodies. Obviously, Torger had already told Pfeifer about Tor because when he reached the pair, the man who must be Pfeifer laughed and addressed him in German.
“If you can slalom on snow as well as you navigate the mess, then I think you’ll be great on the team.” He saluted Tor, who saluted back, then stuck out his hand. “Corporal Friedl Pfeifer, sir.”
Tor shook it vigorously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you. Until I saw the article in the Ski-Zette yesterday I had no idea you were in the camp.”
Tor was taken aback. “You know of me?”
Pfeifer nodded. “Sure. You made the Norwegian Olympic team for the cancelled games four years ago. Downhill and slalom, if I’m not mistaken.”
Tor couldn’t hold back his smile. “That’s right.”
He wanted to ask the question of the hour right away, but told himself to be patient. So far, the interview was going better than expected and he didn’t want to jinx it.
“I may be an American now but I still keep a close eye on all of the Alpine races,” Pfeifer explained. “I was very curious to see how you would do.”
Now.
“Then let me show you in Salt Lake City.”
Pfeifer laughed again and turned to Torger. “I like him,” he said in English.
“He’s a good man,” Torger responded. “Straight arrow, you know? And skis like the devil is on his tail.”
Tor had to pretend he didn’t understand their exchange but he could feel a revealing blush heating his cheeks.
Pfeifer winced a little. “But he doesn’t have English…”
“I can translate for him when you aren’t around to speak in German,” Torger offered. “But as he told me, all he really needs to know is how and when to get to the top of the mountain. Said he’d take from there.”
Pfeifer laughed yet again. The man had a good sense of humor.
I like that.
The corporal turned back to Tor and spoke in German once again. “Captain Hansen, would you be interested in joining the Camp Hale Ski Team for our upcoming competition?”
Tor beamed. “Yes, I would. Very much so.”
“Do you have your own equipment?”
Uh, oh.
“No. My skis wouldn’t fit in my duffel,” Tor joked, hoping that Pfeifer’s sense of humor held strong. “All I have are the Army-issued skis and poles.”
Pfeifer frowned. “Of course you can use those. This is an official camp team, so there’s no problem with that. I’m just worried about speed.”
“I did some downhill runs today,” Tor offered. “And I timed myself.”
Pfeifer straightened. “What were your times?”
When Tor told him, the Austrian-born corporal and captain of the Camp Hale Ski Team clapped his hands and then shook Tor’s shoulder.
“That will do, Sir,” he effused. “That will do very nicely indeed.”
Torger smacked him on the back. “Welcome to the team!”
Tor punched the air and let out a whoop that made everyone in a thirty-foot radius jump. He didn’t care.
He was going to race again.
Chapter
Fifteen
Giddy.
That was the only word that accurately described Tor’s mood that night. Kyle couldn’t help but smile at his childish enthusiasm. And aside from being absolutely engaging, it took her mind off the chill inside the jeep.
They were parked outside Tor’s barracks, dressed warmly in their reversible Army issue ski parkas and white snow pants. The plan was to spend one hour a night working on Tor’s English.
“He was worried about using the Army skis, thinking they might not be fast enough,” Tor said. “But when I told him my times he was astounded!”
“I’m happy for you, Tor. And I’m glad you get to go to the competition.” Kyle jabbed a stiff finger, hidden by her mitten, on top of the dashboard. “But we’re here for English.”
“Yes. Okay.” Tor bounced a nod. “English.”
“I assume you’ve picked up some words just by being here,” Kyle began. “Can you tell me what you already know?”
“Sure.” Tor listed the words in English. “Please, thank you, hello, goodbye, good morning, good night, come, go… Army, Mess Hall, barracks, jeep… Ski, poles, boots…”
“That’s a great start,” Kyle complimented. “And here, I made these.”
She handed him a thick stack of three-by-five note cards. “Each one has the Norsk word on one side and the English word on the other side. I want you to attach them to the items in your room so you can learn the words.”
Tor looked through the cards. “I’ll say the English and you tell me if I’m saying it right.”
She grinned. “Good idea.”
Tor went through the cards, saying the words out loud. “Bed, mattress, pillow case—”
“That’s pronounced case, not cahsuh.”
Tor repeated the word and continued through the stack. Kyle corrected the words he pronounced like they were Norsk and was pleased to see him apply what he learned from one word to another with similar spelling.
“The next step is just memorizing them,” she said. “And then start listening for English words that sound like Norsk.”
“Like good morning,” he offered.
“Exactly.”
“But I can’t use them,” he sounded like he was reminding himself, “because my learning English is a secret.”
“At least for now…” Kyle chewed her lip in thought. “Maybe once the snow starts to melt and the instruction switches to mountain climbing and ordnance training I could officially ask to teach you instead of just translate for you.”
Tor looked hopeful. “I would like that. Then I could practice openly.”
Kyle pulled back the cuff of her parka and looked at her watch. “It’s getting late and I can’t feel my toes.”
Tor tucked the note cards inside his coat. “Before I go, how do I say I’m going to kiss you now?”
Kyle’s heart skipped. She said in English, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
Tor leaned toward her until his lips met and claimed hers. She welcomed the kiss and allowed herself to sink into it completely. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless and could hardly open her eyes.
He rested his forehead against hers.
“Good night, Lieutenant,” he said in English. “Thank you for the English.”
“You’re welcome, Captain,” she answered in kind. “Sov godt. Sleep
well.”
January 20, 1944
Testing day for the soldiers who began their ski training eight weeks ago started at first light. Each platoon was assigned a time to take the T-bar to the top and begin their staggered descents to the valley. The qualifying time for making the mile-and-a-quarter downhill run was four minutes.
Tor expected eleven of his fifteen remaining skiers to qualify, including the entire band of five who were keeping his secret. Four of the novices were still struggling, and of course Kossin was still in the hospital.
Tor went to the top of the mountain with his and First Lieutenant Frank Collins’ men. Collins’ crew went first as they were expected to be the faster skiers, and Tor sent his men three at a time when it was their turn.
When the last three skied out of his sight, Tor started his stopwatch and pushed off.
Now that he had an opportunity to compete again, this run wasn’t just for fun. He pushed himself hard, slaloming from side to side, crouching low over the skis, keeping his elbows tucked close to his body and his eyes focused on the slope in front of him.
God, I love this.
The same exhilaration that he always felt when he was flying over the snow suffused his frame, making him feel invincible. He caught up with his last three trainees and shot past them, their whoops of encouragement following after him like the vapor trail of a jet plane.
When he reached the bottom, he cut a quick half circle sending a spray of snow over the men waiting for the T-bar and shut off his stopwatch.
“What’s the time?” someone shouted.
Tor lifted his goggles and looked for the voice. It was Freidl Pfeifer, waiting at the end of the line with the next platoon.
“Wie schnell bist du gegangen?” he shouted in German. How fast did you go?
Tor grinned. “Zwei Minuten, zweiundvierzig Sekunden.” Two minutes and forty-two seconds. “Slalom.”
Pfiefer gave him two thumbs up.
*****
In the end, two of Collins’ men didn’t qualify, both because they fell. One sprained his ankle, the other only his dignity.
With Kyle at his side, First Lieutenant Collins and Tor agreed that Tor would only work with the seven men who didn’t qualify—including, surprisingly, the radio tech from his band of five—until they made the qualifying time and moved up with the rest of the platoon.