by Kris Tualla
One brave recruit raised his hand. “Shouldn’t we say that in German?”
Tor smiled. “Ja.”
He turned to Kyle. “Tell them to say this: mach ein Geräusch und ich werde dich töten.”
Kyle did her best. Tor had the men repeat the phrase several times until many of them got it, but assured them all that for today’s exercises the English equivalent would be fine.
“As for speaking German,” Tor continued. “When we get to Italy, the men who are fluent in German will be assigned to enter the Germans’ tents and take the officers prisoner. They’ll also be the ones who’ll have to read over enemy files and retrieve any essential documents.”
When Kyle was done translating, Tor asked. “Any questions?”
No one raised a hand.
“Good.” Tor looked at Kyle. “Would you like to come with us?”
*****
Kyle looked up at Tor in shock. “Me?”
“Sure. You’ve kept up your required physical training, haven’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t have any skis.”
“There are three extra pair right over there.” Tor pointed to a rack of skis and poles. “And this will be easier to master than going downhill.”
Kyle was warming to the idea but, “Then I’ll have to ski back too, won’t I?”
“If you want to,” Tor said. “But a Weasel will be bringing lunch to the training camp. You could ride back with them.”
Kyle looked at the skis. “Maybe.”
“Or.” Tor leaned closer. His smile was trouble. “I could carry you back.”
Kyle tried to keep her expression appropriate in front of the eighteen soldiers who were watching their Norsk exchange with curiosity. “That won’t be necessary. But, yes. I think I’d like to try.”
Tor faced his men, grinned, and said in broken English, “Lieutenant Solberg comes with us.”
The soldiers found that amusing, judging by the looks they exchanged.
Tor obviously noticed because, still grinning, he scolded them. “Do not have her come in front of you.”
The idea that she might startled many of them and the teasing stopped.
Kyle walked to the rack of skis and laid a pair on the snow. She fastened the bindings to her Army boots the way Tor had just shown the trainees.
“I don’t have snow shoes,” she reminded Tor.
“You don’t need them. You’re not going into combat,” he replied. “When we get to that point, you’ll wait behind until the exercise is completed.”
Kyle wrapped the straps of her ski poles around her wrists.
“Ready?” Tor asked.
“Yep.”
He faced his troops.
“Follow me!” he said in English.
Kyle’s worries about keeping up were quickly proven unnecessary. She had been at Camp Hale for over six months and had become accustomed to the ninety-two-hundred-foot altitude.
The new trainees, however, were still adjusting.
As she skied behind Tor, the eighteen men trailed out behind her, many falling far behind.
“The conditions in the mountains don’t discriminate between men and women,” Tor observed when he stopped to allow the stragglers to catch up. “I think they’ll have more respect for you and the other WACs now that they’ve seen that for themselves.”
Kyle shot him a skeptical look. “Is that why you asked me to come along?”
“In part, yes.”
“And in the other part?”
“I wanted you to see what I do all day.”
That was not the answer she expected. It must have shown on her face because Tor chuckled softly.
“I also enjoy your company,” he confessed. “And this pack of clueless chumps is driving me crazy.”
Kyle laughed. Hearing that he enjoyed her company meant a lot to her, because she enjoyed his. Tor had become a special friend over the months and she felt comfortable and safe when he was around. He’d also kept to his word and had not tried to trip her up with inappropriate statements for her to soften and translate.
“I’m glad you asked. And I’m glad I came. This is actually fun.”
“Fun for you.” Tor’s gaze rose over her head and his smile disappeared.
“Come on!” he shouted in English. “The lieutenant wants to go!”
*****
When they reached the point where the enemy camp was visible, everyone except Kyle took off their skis and strapped their bearpaws to their boots. Tor hefted his skis to his shoulder and the men followed his example. Then in single file they made their silent approach.
Tor told her that she could follow on her skis if she stayed fifty yards back.
“We aren’t taking them by surprise,” he pointed out. “They know we’re coming at some point. So as long as you’re out of the way you can get closer and watch.”
As she did, it was soon obvious which of the men had hunting experience and which ones had only hunted for food in a grocery store aisle. That gave her an idea.
She unstrapped one ski and sank her boot into the snow to test its depth.
Nope. Can’t do that.
She refastened the binding and settled her skis into the single line of tracks left by the nineteen pair of bearpaws that went before her. The snow there was already broken up and made no sound as she glided forward on her skis.
Kyle watched the men dressed in German uniforms as they were taken by the recruits. Some seemed to be giving up far too easily. True, it was cold and miserable out here and the play-actors had been here for weeks while various platoons took their turns at the training.
But these men needed to be adequately prepared. No Nazi was going to give up that quickly or easily.
Kyle spotted one brown-clad soldier sneaking around the edge of a tent. His clear aim was to grab an American from behind and turn the tables on him.
Good for you.
Kyle slid forward with slow smooth movements. She wasn’t dressed in the head-to-toe white snow camouflage because she hadn’t known she’d be here, so she paused behind trees and watched for opportunities.
The first man jumped a recruit but another took his place. Kyle continued to stalk him like she would prey in the woods of northern Minnesota.
When she skied up behind him and grabbed him she shouted, “Mach ein Geräusch und ich werde dich töten!”
He spun out of her grasp so quickly he fell on his rear, gaping up at her like she was an apparition.
“What the hell?” he bellowed.
Tor ran around the far edge of the tent, stopping when he saw her standing over her prisoner on her skis.
“I got one!” She pointed at the fallen man with a ski pole. “I didn’t have a bayonet, but he is on the ground. Does that count?”
*****
Tor recounted Kyle’s victory to Torger at supper that evening wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
“I wish you could have seen it!” he managed between guffaws. “That guy was furious. Couldn’t believe he didn’t see her coming!”
Torger was suitably amused. “I would have loved to see that! But I bet your men weren’t happy about being beat.”
“None of them were, to be honest.” Tor hooked a thumb in Kyle’s direction. “To be shown up by a woman? Grated on their egos, that’s for sure.”
“They started grumbling about women in combat,” Kyle added. “Tor simply said that the best soldiers would win the day. So—be the best soldiers.”
“This group needed a kick in the ass, to be honest.” Tor’s admiring gaze moved to Kyle’s. “Never occurred to me to let a woman teach the lesson.”
“Did you ski back?” Torger asked.
“No, I rode in the Weasel.” Kyle gave a little shrug. “It seemed best.”
“Probably was,” the Norseman agreed. “Men with bruised egos can be rough.”
“You’re going to the Pikes Peak tournament, aren’t you?” Tor asked him. Kyle suspected he was changing the subject and wondered why. �
��I didn’t see your name on the first list.”
Torger shook his head. “There aren’t any jumps.”
“Come for the fun of it,” Tor urged. “Take a downhill run at least.”
“I might. When’s the deadline to sign up?”
“Two days before. April twenty-first.”
Torger gave a non-committal nod. “I’ll think about it.”
“Do.” Tor pushed away from the table and looked at Kyle. “Ready?”
“Sure.” She stood and lifted her tray. “Let’s go.”
*****
When Kyle stopped the jeep in front of Tor’s barracks, he didn’t get out right away.
“Is something on your mind?” she asked.
“Yes.” Tor looked like he was scanning his thoughts for the right words. “First of all, you showed some impressive skill today, sneaking up on the man and surprising him.”
Kyle smiled. “Thank you.”
“And if you were in battle with a bayonet, you would’ve had him.” He paused. “The thing is…”
Kyle’s smile faded. “What?”
Tor twisted in his seat to face her. “You’re a woman. You won’t ever have a bayonet or be in battle.”
She frowned a little. “Why does that matter?”
“It matters because it made the men angry.” Tor put up a hand to halt her retort. “But they needed to be made angry. They haven’t been putting in the effort they should be. These guys are nothing like my first group.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“A lot of men think the WACs are unnatural. Women shouldn’t be in the army. They wonder about some of you.”
Kyle was confused about what he meant by that. “Wonder? About what?”
“If you even… like… men.”
It took a moment for Tor’s meaning to become clear before Kyle’s cheeks flamed.
“Aren’t there enough camp romances around to answer that question?” she snapped.
Tor looked apologetic. “And that’s the other side. That the WACs are here to pleasure the men.”
Kyle wanted to hit something but Tor was her only—and thoroughly undeserving—target.
“UGGHHH!” she shouted instead.
“Today you showed them that maybe you deserved to be here under your own merit, and that will take time for them to accept.”
“Maybe?” she yelped.
Tor threw his hands up. “Don’t shoot me. Remember Norway has women in the Milorg working alongside the men.”
Kyle crossed her arms angrily. “So what now?”
“There’s nothing for you to do. Except don’t do it again.”
Kyle clenched her jaw. “Fine.”
Tor’s expression softened. “And now that I’ve said that, I can tell you the truth. I was so proud of you today.”
Kyle looked sideways at him. “You were?”
“Completely. You did exactly the right thing.”
Kyle’s body relaxed some. “I’ve gone hunting with my father.”
“It showed.” Tor grabbed the jeep’s door handle. “And to be honest, I’d be glad to have you by my side anytime. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
Kyle flushed with pleasure. “That means a lot to me, Tor.”
He smiled softly. “Good night, Kyle.”
When he got out of the jeep and walked away she felt like her heart was trailing along the ground after him.
Chapter
Twenty Four
April 2, 1944
Tor had his men back on the slopes again after a week of combat training. Their moods had settled with regards to Lieutenant Solberg and some even joked about it, though not everyone laughed.
Today they were halfway up the slope and off to one side to work on turns.
“Look!” Tor barked as he demonstrated where to put their weight on the skis to change direction. “Here.”
He pointed to the uphill and inside edges, then swung his skis in the opposite direction. “And then here.”
He had begun using very simple English with this group to ensure they understood him.
“Now I do.” Tor side-stepped up the slope several yards and slalomed down, making four quick turns.
“Yes?” He pointed at the men. “You do. Down.”
The men lined up and started their downhill runs one at a time, practicing the maneuvers. Tor watched from his vantage point, overall not too disappointed. He followed the last man down and led the group back to the T-bar.
“Again.”
He rode the T-bar up first, deciding how far to go. There was a point where a clearing in the trees would let the men ski down without blocking the main run and that’s where he headed now.
He sent the men down as they arrived at the spot. Before they pushed off he gestured with a horizontal circle and said, “Go again.”
Kossin stood next to him, clearly nervous. “Should I try it?”
Tor shook his head and motioned a straight line.
Kossin was relieved. “Okay.”
The men were on their fourth cycle. Kossin was beside him in the trees again, working up the nerve to take another easy run. A man named Hackles was walking to his starting spot on the slope.
Tor heard a soft crack from higher on the slope. Adrenaline flooded his body.
No!
“Hackles!”
The soldier turned to look at him, and then he was gone. There was nothing in his place but a mound of snow.
“Oh, God…” Kossin moaned.
Tor cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted down the mountain. “AVALANCHE! AVALANCHE!”
Then he smacked Kossin’s arm hard and reached up to pull a dead branch from a pine tree. “Help me!”
Kossin yanked another branch down and followed Tor who was already poking the branch deep into the snow. “Find Hackles!”
Poke. Nothing.
Poke again. Nothing.
Poke yet again.
Nothing.
Kossin was frantically poking the snow downhill of where Hackles had been standing.
“I can’t find him.” he cried.
“Do not stop!” Tor barked.
Men started arriving with shovels, jumping off the T-bar in pairs.
“How many?” the first one asked.
“One.” Tor pointed. “He was there.”
Men swarmed around him and Kossin, digging like a life depended on it. Because it did.
Tor hit something. He poked his branch in again and hit it again. It was too soft to be a rock.
“HERE!”
The rescue crew moved to his side and dug. Their wide, lightweight shovels sent sun-reflecting snow crystals flying in all directions—an incongruently beautiful sight in the life-and-death situation.
If Hackles hadn’t been wearing his snow camouflage the task would be easier; as it was no flashes of color under the white layer would guide the men.
Suddenly an arm jutted up from the snow.
Three men dropped their shovels and grabbed it. They pulled upward until Hackles’ face appeared.
The man sucked a loud, raw breath. And then another.
“Where are your feet?” one of the rescuers asked.
Hackles pointed up the slope.
Working more carefully now that Hackles could breathe, the men shoveled snow away until the private was completely uncovered.
One of his skis had been knocked off his boot, but the other one was still in place. Hackles’ foot was twisted outward and away from his body.
“Is your leg broken?” a man with a red cross on his sleeve asked.
“I don’t think so.”
Tor laid belly-down on the snow at the edge of the hole and reached down to unfasten the binding on the remaining ski. The three men who started the job pulled Hackles free of the snow.
A toboggan appeared, having been dragged up by another man with a red cross embellished armband.
Hackles was helped onto the toboggan and the medics strapped him on in preparat
ion to ride him down.
He looked up at Tor. “You saved my life, Captain. You poked an air hole for me. I don’t know if you can understand me, but I thank you.”
Tor nodded but didn’t say anything. The private saluted him, and Tor saluted back.
Thank you, God.
*****
Kyle’s jaw dropped. “An avalanche?”
“Not a big one, but tell that to the man who almost died.” Tor slumped in the passenger seat of the jeep. The rush of adrenaline and subsequent physical exertion of the rescue had left him drained.
Kyle’s expression as she drove toward his barracks showed her confusion. “I thought avalanches were big loud things with massive amounts of snow falling down the mountain.”
“They can be. But more often they’re smaller slips.” Tor heaved a deep breath. “Snow builds up in some spot but it’s not stable. A shift in temperature can be enough to make part of it melt and then the whole chunk slides down.”
Kyle glanced sideways at him. “Did you hear it coming?”
“I heard the crack. It wasn’t very loud but I knew what it was.” Tor took off his hat and scratched his head. “I shouted to Hackles, but it hit him before he could move.”
“What did you do?”
“Shouted a warning down the slope. Grabbed a branch. Started poking the snow to find him.”
Kyle looked at him like he was some sort of wizard. “I never would have thought of that.”
“Norway has plenty of mountains and plenty of snow. You know we invented skiing, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
“So we had to figure out what to do when the snow fights back.”
“So poking around with a stick so you know where to dig?”
Tor smiled at her naïveté. “Ramming a branch into the snow hoping to find him—or at least open an air hole in the meantime.”
“You’ve saved two lives now.” Her tone sounded awestruck.
Tor didn’t say anything. He’d only acted in the same way that was expected in his home country. Just because Kyle had no experience with such things didn’t elevate his actions to heroic, whatever the Ski-Zette said.
“I’m exhausted.”