by Greg Hunt
Adjacent to the leather clad seats, a wonderful wood-burning stove took centre stage with a large flue leading to the wooden roof rafters. The heat that the stove radiated was more than enough to warm the entire ground floor. When combined with the standard under-floor heating and radiators in each of the five bedrooms, it meant for a very cosy and hospitable chalet.
A discreet part of the chalet had been adopted for the Woodcutter’s specific use.
Having arrived back at the chalet in double-quick time he had removed his jacket and deerstalker hat and walked up the main stairs to the first floor.
The second bedroom on the right-hand-side of the landing had no visible keyhole, no door-handle and no obvious seal or join. The Woodcutter had been proud of his work in setting up the alterations required and, after all, it was imperative that privacy was maintained if he wanted to continue to make a living.
He pointed an electronic fob at the reinforced steel opening. The steel was encased in wood to ensure an exact likeness of the overall effect of the chalet. It was important to his employers that everything continued to look ‘just so’.
The door swung softly open, revealing an electronic paradise of computer gadgetry. All of the Woodcutter’s work and his sole purpose in life lay within this communication equipment and the knowledge that it gave his employers.
His pager had indicated to go to Code White and he had been concerned by the news.
He had remotely turned on the main computer, prior to entering the chalet. By tapping in the relevant passwords and double checking that there were no other frequencies or nearby communications being used, he was able to send his message. It was a simple message, but in sensitive code to ensure that no authorities would understand the name of the vessel. If it had been deciphered, the Alana Princess would have been in trouble.
Chapter 11
Below La Plagne in the heart of the French Alps lies a pristine small hamlet.
The height of the winter season was yet to pass in the small collection of chalets nestled together and hugged by the fresh, soft snow, lying a couple of feet deep.
Due to the newness of the snow, few tracks or indentations of any kind interrupted the white covering. The beautiful smoothness lay like a white, pristine duvet cover across this natural bowl, halfway down the mountainside.
The hamlet had retained its natural character, a couple of the mountain properties, originally farm out-buildings and summer mountain retreats, had been converted into sought-after mountain restaurants and expensive chalets. However, there were limited new buildings that straddled the snow covered, winding track that led to the centre of La Plagne.
Originally, the women of the Savoyarde region had been given those areas of land that were less productive, but where sheep could graze in the summer months. The men had always farmed the fertile land of the valleys. These lands remained snow free for most of the year.
The women had been the ones sitting on the potential goldmine. The mountainsides had proven themselves snow-sure, and with good gradients and travel links for tourists to come and carry out all manner of winter sports. Not only were skiing and boarding popular favourites, but this area was also a destination for parapenting. Aerial dare-devils would use the rising warm air currents to glide, dangling beneath a large aerial sail and gently manoeuvre themselves down to the valley floor. A sometimes hazardous activity as the air currents would frequently change, especially when close to the higher rock faces of the taller peaks.
The Olympic bobsleigh had also been constructed just below the hamlet and provided a destination for all different types of sleighs to rocket down the course, the ice bends twisting and turning to enable the sleighs to pick up enormous speeds.
There were also the alternative winter sports enthusiasts, who having skiied or boarded for years, trying their luck at cross country skiing, or husky dog sledging or at bombing around the slopes on the mechanical skidoos, used by the pisteurs to secure the safety of the pistes.
Others tended to admire the wildlife and stunning scenery, by using guides to go on snow shoe trails, and the general public could always just buy a pedestrian ticket to take one of the many gondolas up to the mountaintops, to admire the views whilst sipping a vin chaud from a perfectly placed summit restaurant.
Within the hamlet was one beautiful chalet named Chalet Marguerite and it had prime position within the small collection of wooden buildings. From its balconies, its residents could see all the way to the bottom of the valley. More practically, they could also check to see when the only chairlift leading out of the hamlet had opened, as the chairlift was situated opposite.
The chalet had one English family staying there this winter week and they were all accomplished skiers. They also knew the area and the resort well, having been coming to the region for a number of years.
The chalet was run by a South African couple who provided the meals and ensured that their guests were enjoying their holiday.
After a delicious breakfast of cereal, fresh baguette and boiled eggs, the family soon prepared to go out and enjoy the fresh snow. They applied their sunscreen and ensured they had enough warm layers, before donning their ski-boots. Whilst the ski boot warmers had partially worked in drying out the boots, the family were experienced enough to ensure they did not breathe in whilst anywhere near the boot locker area of the chalet.
Heading for the chalet front door, the South African couple had already helped give out all of the lift passes and specific directions to the best slopes in the current conditions. All of the family were excited and their eagerness to hit the slopes was infectious. The South African couple were envious that the family were out for the first lifts and to enjoy the beautiful fresh snow, the first perfectly fresh snow that had fallen in the last week.
As the family were leaving, the chalet hosts asked to be reminded of their names and the parents confirmed theirs, the young men confirmed theirs and Emma, the Portsmouth University student, confirmed hers.
Chapter 12
The family crammed into the Grande Rochette gondola, which was busy as the fresh snow had also been spotted by many of the locals. As the lift pulled away, there was an air of expectation amongst all of the winter sports enthusiasts.
There were hushed whispers in a couple of different languages as the lift gradually ascended into the dizzying heights, seemingly unsupported, above the rock couloirs and gullies of the Grande Rochette.
It was an impressive set up, with the lift rapidly ascending over six hundred metres from Plagne Centre to the top of the rock massif.
In less than a couple of minutes, the whole family squeezed themselves out of the gondola car as it finally slowed down and gradually rotated at a slow, walking pace within the top lift station.
The young lads, each in their early twenties, were out first and went over to examine the piste map opposite the lift station. The view was impressive. A guide to the next group was pointing out Les Trois Vallées, which was clearly visible opposite, although a number of kilometres away, as the crow flies. On this perfect blue sky day all three of Courchevel’s villages were distinct. The heliport was situated close by, increasingly being utilised by rich Russians as the resort had become a Russian favourite.
Emma’s parents were tightening up their ski boots as Emma was warming up by jumping up and down on the spot. Fully prepared in her ski boots and skis, she was now sliding back and forwards. She really could not wait to ski down the inviting pistes and it had felt like an eternity since she had skied last year.
The family’s warm up run, down a glorious red leading off the side of the top of the Grande Rochette and then onto a blue run towards Plagne Centre, had the whole family buzzing. The cool fresh air had blown through them all, awakening their senses and allowing their skis to move as one. The boys were out in front with Emma’s mother trying to keep up with Emma’s father, and her father was attempting to follow Emma just as she had started to shus to catch her younger brothe
rs.
A couple of further ascents and descents and the whole family was ready for lunch. The exercise and cool air had meant that they were all ravishing, ready for some good food, and, in order to ensure that they were not dehydrated, both parents and the young adults were also looking for a fair amount of soft drink.
They found a corner table in the restaurant, next to a roaring log fire. The fire looked as though it had always been there, whatever time of day. It crackled as the family started to order in their limited French. The waiter appreciated the attempt, but soon the broken French requests for different, colourful, menu dishes took place in English. In no time at all the plates of Savoyarde specialities, featuring mainly cheese and potato based recipes, had been served and were being gobbled up by the hungry family of skiers.
All was well for Emma and her family and she was pleased to have such a wonderful break from her student studies. Her parents had enabled this to happen and she felt indebted to them.
Emma stood up. “If you have all had enough food, let’s hit the slopes for some more fantastic piste action, the snow is too good to let it lie…”
Chapter 13
Whilst Emma and her family were munching through a hearty lunch in the French Alps, Archie Malcolm had co-ordinated his team and resources. He had a number of people reporting to him directly and, as Commander Edgar Bennett had confirmed, if he could justify it, then he could use the full force of the fleet and land forces.
The sniper hit the very centre of the target that was located over one hundred and ten metres from where he lay. A slight wisp of smoke blew across the range as the men took aim on the individual enemy targets. This test was important to them. Their Lieutenant Malcolm, respected and known as a strong team player, had confirmed that only full scores would be good enough. By this he meant ten perfect strikes on the centre bull and nothing less.
The look of concentration on each individual face said it all. The phrase ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ is so often true and, just by looking at this team of crack professionals, you could tell that they wanted to be winners, to be a part of whatever mission lay in store.
Archie had not been able to tell any of his colleagues what they were competing for, where they would be going, or who they might be up against. It was just another perfect unknown for these soldiers and this was, after all, what most of them lived and breathed for.
The original sniper was onto his seventh perfect shot and the pressure was on. A tear slowly peeled out of the corner of his eye as there was a slight wind and, despite being close to the end of the summer, it was a little cool at six thirty in the morning.
The range was located just off Portsea Island, where access could be controlled through the double sentry manned gates and the one tarmac entry and exit road. Up to eighty snipers could be firing at the same time, using a variety of targets over different distances. Archie’s eight hopefuls were firing their ten rounds over the longest distance with the smallest targets and Archie was enjoying it. He was willing them on. He wanted them all to be perfect and expected nothing less. His pacing up and down just behind their outstretched bodies was probably not helping his team to concentrate, but they were professionals and needed to deal with it.
As the marksman aimed carefully on his tenth and final shot, the cool air, which had allowed the single tear to roll down the bottom half of his cheek, started to make further progress downwards. It was one of those minor distractions, that is enough to irritate and put off the subject. The sniper blinked again and the single tear fell onto the top of the breach.
The pressure of the event meant that the sniper’s hands were slightly clammy. By now he ached from having lain prone, partially supporting the weight of the rifle, with the barrel of the weapon nestled on the sandbags. The tear put him off. His shot went millimetres away from where it should have been.
He was angry, he knew that he was as good, if not better than the rest of this group and yet he had failed. A soldier with years of experience and combat and yet he could no longer put together ten perfect scores on the rifle range. An off day, a very off day. Not happy. Who to blame? Not himself, no. Who was the up and coming young officer who thought he knew it all? Archie Malcolm. Well, Archie Malcolm, you cannot have it your way all the time. You have to have some downs as well as ups and Petty Officer Stuart Betts will make sure that for once in your perfect life, Archie Malcolm, you will have a down.
Chapter 14
Emma’s brothers were also keen to enjoy more of the fresh snow. They had recently purchased some of the new twin tip skis, which allowed you to land jumps backward without the skis digging in and, as a result, had become all the rage within the pro-riding skiing fraternity. Twin tips were also the standard ski seen in the board-parks, which were frequently being overrun by skiers who could perform all the tricks that boarders could and who were developing a couple more. The flying mid-air crossover trick performed using skis was a classic that the boys were perfecting.
Emma was not aiming to be a pro-rider, unlike her brothers, but she won on style. She could easily keep up with all their moves and could perform a trick or two herself. She was an experienced off-piste skier and, whilst she always tried to hire a guide when after new routes, she was very familiar with all the off-piste areas within the Les Arcs and La Plagne area.
Equipped with a shovel, expandable ranger pole and transceiver, as were her brothers, the three of them decided to head off the back of the top glacier in La Plagne – the Glacier de Bellacote. This would provide them with an exhilarating afternoon, and as the weather was fine with relatively low avalanche risk, the route would still be safe enough in the afternoon, being early in the season, with cooler temperatures.
The three students stepped out of the warm air of the restaurant into the fresh alpine day. All of the lifts in Plagne Centre were whirring away. A large queue was waiting for the Grande Rochette gondola as the lunchtime period was coming to an end. The refuelled skiers and boarders were making plans for the afternoon, and there was some jostling by the local ski school groups, who were already as competent skiers as most of the tourists.
Emma and her brothers bypassed the Grande Rochette queue and quickly hit their ski boots with their poles to remove any excess snow. Once the boots were clean, they were standing into their skis, front binding first and then slamming their weight down on their rear ski booted heels producing a reassuring click from the binding, once secure.
Clicked in, they schussed down to the chair-lift that would take them from Plagne Centre to Bellecote. Sam, Emma’s youngest brother, did not schuss hard enough and as Emma and her brother waited to go onto the chair-lift, Sam had worked up quite a sweat by having to skate up the slight rise prior to the chair-lift queue. The lift operator appeared bemused and, in-between the chairs lifting off to float in mid-air, he was shovelling fresh snow across the ground of the chair-lift take-off point.
Nestled onto their chair, the lift machine allowed their piece of metal and seat cover to whoosh upwards with their feet dangling, momentarily, until Emma and her brothers wiggled their skis and robot-like boots onto the foot rests for the long chair ride up to the ridge overlooking Bellecote.
Chapter 15
It had been an exceptional season in the Alps, with a deep base in the snow levels being secured prior to the Christmas holiday season. The upper slopes had nearly three metres of snow and whilst the lower pistes were tracked, all of the runs within the Les Arcs and La Plagne Paradiski area were in good condition. The high level runs and surrounding areas lay untouched due to the relentless snow of the previous weeks.
Emma and her brothers were well aware of the conditions which meant that, now the sun was shining, there was a steady trickle of skiers all headed for the upper slopes, to make a mark on the untouched powder fields. The group headed past the entrance to the Olympic standard half-pipe on their approach to the resort town of Bellecote.
Emma’s purple scarf caught the light
breeze and fluttered out behind her, whilst her new atomic skis carved well through the fresh snow. Her skis were designed to be used fifty percent of the time on the piste and with the remainder away from the prepared snow ploughed areas.
Her brothers were attempting to outdo each other by skiing backwards at speed. Due to the nature of their twin tip skis a thin plume of snow was being emitted from the back end of the skis in a similar fashion to the arc of snow that is projected by snow cannon. The plume from each set of skis flew past the two students into the path of the snaking ski schools. These groups were slowly and carefully traversing across the steepness of the piste to make their descents for a late lunch or an afternoon tea in Bellecote.
As Emma reached the lower level of the piste near the exit of the half-pipe, she gracefully executed a three sixty degree spin which slowed her down and brought her to a sliding stop, with a view directly upwards. The moguled piste rose to her left and she had an impressive view into the man-made, snow-built, aerial structure directly in front of her.
What had also caught her eye was the ability of the two skiers currently within the half-pipe, who had both performed two small aerial jumps. One of the jumps had been off the upper side wall with another completed by landing themselves onto the flat top of one of the sides of the pipe with a flourish of a one eighty degree spin.
Both of the skiers appeared to be of a similar age to Emma. Whilst she could not clearly see their faces, due to their goggles and helmets, they were athletically built and it was evident that both of the skiiers had been skiing since walking age as they were so talented.
Emma could have watched and gawped for a while longer, she had felt an unfamiliar stir of emotion inside her, but pushed off quickly with her jet black, sleek, ski poles and descended down to the Bellecote Gondola, which would take her and her brothers directly to the summit of the Roche de Mio. At 2600m the Roche de Mio was second only to the Glacier de Bellecote within the La Plagne region.