Special Dynamic

by Special Dynamic (retail) (epub)

  ‘I know.’ She had been, in the shock of the moment, but she’d have needed to be unattractively hard-boiled not to have reacted in some such way. He began, ‘Don’t think about it. The fact is, it was him or me. Or us. And it could happen again, so—’

  ‘Trees end here!’

  Stenberg — higher, out to the left. Ollie slanted left too, to the same edge but lower, and the others joined him. Crouching, facing out northwards, with an open slope falling away in front, a steepish drop to yet another frozen stream. Or the same one, if there was a bend in it below the cabin. Looking down to his right, his eyes followed the streak of ice down to a confluence, another stream joining from the wood’s other side. So you had one each side, enclosing this lower apex of the wood like the arms of an inverted ‘Y’, and combining there to form a river which continued northward through a widening valley.

  Too wide. You might cross it in the dark, but he knew he’d be crazy to try it now. Trees were dotted around, but much too sparsely to be any use as cover.

  The only way out, therefore, would be eastward. Far enough east, then turn north along the far side of that valley. Considering it, visualising the map in his memory, concluding OK… So immediately, begging a few questions such as whether the east side of this wood might be under surveillance, cross over there, out that way… He glanced round, told Sophie, ‘That way…’ Then turning back, with a lull in the blizzard in that moment so that visibility cleared, he saw with a shock of alarm, a solid bang in place of a heartbeat, just how right that decision had been — if it could be acted on.

  He was staring across this steep, narrow gulch at a tent — at the top of the opposite slope, up against the facing wall of trees. Then a movement had attracted his eyes to the left where a man was standing fifteen or twenty metres from the tent with binoculars at his eyes, watching up the line of ice towards whatever he could see of the higher slopes.

  Watching for anyone who might try to cross. Maybe with binos he could see to where the stream must have made a dogleg change of direction. While the other guy — who was now deceased — would have been watching the upper part.

  This one might have heard the shooting, would be taking an interest in the scenery for that reason?

  Not unlikely. But extremely lucky one hadn’t fired the AYA. He’d know the difference between submachine gun fire and a shotgun blast, all right. That could be another Swedish MKS on his back, incidentally.

  The snow-curtain thickened again, and the tent and man were almost invisible. If one hadn’t known now where to look. He muttered, backing into the trees, ‘Out the other side…’ If there wasn’t a lookout there too. They’d pitched their tent where it had shelter, there might well be more than one of them using it, like another watching the other side. If so, you’d be stuck here…

  But from the other edge, ten minutes later, he couldn’t see anyone… The thought that he hadn’t seen a bloody great tent either, at first glance, made him spend more time on it, try harder.

  ‘Can’t see any…’

  He wished he had binoculars.

  Snow, ice, trees. Below, to the left, it was a shifting, impenetrable whiteness, he couldn’t see the bottom of the stream.

  ‘Hang on a minute. Well — few minutes.‘ Genius being an infinite capacity for taking pains, the price being survival or non-survival, and a possibility there could be a watcher on this side, in these trees… With the gun slung on his back he ski-crawled — moving on his hands and knees, with one hand and one knee to each ski. Three-quarters buried in snow by the time he was far enough out to squirm around — bedded in its deep, wet softness, unslinging the submachine gun as he faced back towards the trees he’d just left, to examine them yard by yard, uphill and downhill, watching for movement or for shapes that might not be rooted in the shallow soil. He could see Gus — then Sophie — just as a Soviet would have if there’d been one here. Otherwise Mother Nature seemed to have the place to herself.

  He crawled back, a mound of snow travelling slowly on two planks.

  ‘Looks good.’ Standing, beating snow off himself, then taking his ski-poles from Sutherland. ‘Let’s get over there now, while we have a chance.’ And luck, sheer luck, to have it, just when they needed it and the whole area obviously staked out by Spetsnazi. He’d suppressed an urge to say Let’s get over there double-quick, for Christ’s sake… Because he didn’t want Sutherland to feel there was pressure on him and consequently mess it up. Another instant thought as he contemplated this new appearance in the open was that the first one out was the person most likely to get shot. As had been shown with Isak, whose escape attempt had saved at least one other life: someone would have started over, before that guy showed himself. So he didn’t want Sophie taking the lead now. ‘Gus, you first. Then you, Carl. Take it easy… Then Sophie. And last but not least, yours truly.’

  The iced-up stream was an awkward thing to cross, but Stenberg made a good job of it. Sutherland was clumsier but he got over all right. Then as he set off on the other side in Stenberg’s tracks he made the mistake of trying to look back to see Sophie following. Ollie saw him in trouble — about to fall backward, then wild, all over the place, struggling to recover but finally over-balancing forward, slamming down in a forward dive. Muffled cry as he hit the snow. Sophie was across the stream and heading for him, Ollie still this side.

  When he got to them she said, ‘His right leg…’

  Sutherland tried to get up, with help, but folded again on that leg. Swearing through clenched teeth, desperate. The safety binding on the right ski hadn’t released, although in a forward fall it should have. Ollie was already guessing what might have happened to the leg. He hoped he was wrong, that the tendons had not been torn… But out here in the open was no place to hang around, with at least one Spetsnaz within a few hundred metres and by the looks of it this whole area infested by them… ‘Get his pack off, would you.’ He dumped his own bergen, released Sutherland’s other ski and slung him up in a fireman’s lift. He told Sophie to bring what she could carry, he’d come back for the rest. Sutherland stifling groans and muttering apologies as he ski’d with him across his shoulders to the trees, well into cover. Stenberg helped lower him to the ground. But in a matter of seconds the picture had changed enormously for the worse. You could forget any idea of getting to Angeli or any of those other Finnish settlements now. In fact as a group, there wasn’t a hope of getting anywhere.

  9

  South, he’d decided, was the best bet. Then hole up. He hadn’t told the others yet. But it was a reasonable guess that the Spetsnazi would concentrate on barring the way back into Norway and to the nearer Finnish settlements — in which, guessing at the way they’d have set this thing up, they’d very likely have agents in residence, anyway. Small Finnish settlements in this area were therefore places to steer clear of. By now, he reckoned, they’d have a good idea that there were no corpses in the pass: they might also have found a couple near that cabin. And when they found those, it really would hit the fan.

  Sutherland murmured, ‘You’re doing me proud, Ollie.’ He was obviously in pain. Ollie crouching, making a ski-stretcher. He promised, ‘When we stop for the night I’ll strap that leg up for you. Meanwhile I’m afraid you won’t find it’s exactly first-class travel.’

  He hadn’t any morphine in the field-dressing pack he’d put together at the apotek shop in Karasjok. Stenberg had some painkiller tablets of US origin though, and Carl had taken some. For now, the only other thing you could do was move on as fast as possible.

  When the stretcher was as sound as it ever would be, Stenberg helped him lift the patient into place and strap him there. In AW training, making emergency ski-stretchers for evacuating casualties had been routine, but you’d had a canvas kit which he did not have here, so this was improvisation, very rough-and-ready. The runners were Sutherland’s skis, with the poles and some straight branches lashed across them for a basic framework, and brushwood on that, topped with a sleeping-mat. He’d used
string to bind all the joints, and now a minimal length of nylon tow-rope to hold Carl in place on top of the contraption.

  ‘Still going to make Angeli, are we?’

  ‘Afraid not.’ He explained, ‘They’ll be expecting us to go that way, Carl. Or back into Norway. If we could have got through quickly we’d have had a good chance of making it, but — well, apart from anything else — I should think they’ll be deploying more guys from the pass by this time.’

  Also, rapid movement or fast reaction had become less easy.

  ‘So where now?’

  ‘That way.’ A movement of the head, southward. ‘As far as we can travel in roughly two hours — because we’ll have to stop in time to dig-in, and we’ll need some daylight in hand for that.’

  ‘But — going south?’

  ‘That’s it, Sophie.’ He snapped his skis’ bindings shut. ‘To get clear of this area and in a direction I hope they won’t think we would have taken. Just as it doesn’t make a lot of sense to you, right? Then tomorrow west and northwest, through the nature reserves and into Norway, towards Kautokeino.’

  She was frowning. ‘That is a long way, you realise how far?’

  She hadn’t asked him who’d be making the trip. It obviously hadn’t occurred to her yet that Sutherland wouldn’t be able to, so that some division of forces was going to be unavoidable. He told her, ‘With any luck we won’t have to trek as far as Kauto.’

  ‘You mean get to a telephone before. But Ollie, I know the vidda, I do not believe on that route there can be any place—’

  ‘Let’s talk about it tonight? I do have some ideas, but right now there isn’t time, and that—’ he pointed ‘— is the only way to go that isn’t suicidal. OK?‘ He looked down at Sutherland. ‘It’ll be bumpy, Carl. Just have to grin and bear it.’

  ‘Why grin?’

  ‘OK. Just fucking bear it.’

  Cheap laughs, from people with taut nerves…

  He thought he was going to have to send Sophie through on her own. From the skiing point of view she’d have no problems, and she knew the country — at least, once she got over into Finnmark she’d know it, to some extent. The idea didn’t exactly fill him with joy or enthusiasm, but he didn’t see how he could leave the other two on their own.

  ‘Right then, we’re off. I’ll lead, you two right and left, same routine as with the pulk.‘

  Stenberg bent to pat the sleeping-bag. ‘Good luck, pulk.’

  Sutherland had been calling himself a Jonah, blaming himself for everything. Which was silly, Ollie had pointed out, while he’d been making the stretcher. OK, so Isak had stabbed them in the back, or tried to, but without him they wouldn’t have known anything, they’d have drawn blank and gone home, and in eight weeks’ time — cataclysm… But also, Isak had saved their lives, as it had turned out, if he hadn’t made his escape attempt they’d have been caught in that blast of automatic fire. Ollie had assured Carl he had no reason to blame himself. ‘Thanks to you we have this knowledge, and what’s more we’ll get it out — and get ourselves out — no matter how things look at this moment. And, incidentally, anyone can take a fall, you didn’t try to, did you? You take it easy now, OK?’

  ‘You’re a good guy, Ollie.’

  The damage was to the tendons at the back of the leg. It was an injury of a kind he’d seen before, not in the Marines but in Alpine skiing, a similar forward fall in soft snow and a so-called ‘safety’ binding failing to release. Sutherland should have been getting expert medical attention, and the leg should have been in plaster now and for several weeks: he’d know it, too, Ollie guessed. When they stopped for the night, he’d improvise some kind of splint. Sutherland, of course, would be under the impression that he’d be out of this wilderness in a day or two, so he wouldn’t be worrying as much as he might have otherwise.

  Fat chance of that, though.

  Trekking south, the forest around them was sometimes sparse but always good enough for cover, with slight detours here and there. One major one — skirting a high valley that was full of reindeer. He led them round it widely, not wanting to meet or be seen by Sami herdsmen. The reindeer grazed mostly in small groups — like family parties — bunched together and preoccupied in feeding, their faces thrust deep in snow to reach the moss they lived on all winter.

  It had stopped snowing twice, but the third time it didn’t start again. Visibility expanded quickly, alarmingly; he guessed that back where they’d come from the Spetsnazi would be making the most of it, knowing there wasn’t much daylight left now, scouring open areas and scanning distances from high vantage points. Ski-tracks from earlier in the day would have been filled by this time, but from where they’d started most recently, where Sutherland had had his accident, they’d still be visible.

  You could only hope and pray there’d be no one there to spot them before it snowed again.

  Snow tonight, please? Before they start searching on this side?

  Not much to ask for — considering it could make the difference between life and death, also the difference between getting the news out via Grayling and the sneak invasion achieving complete surprise. In which case Finnmark would fall into Soviet hands before anyone in the West knew such a move was even being contemplated.

  For all that, just a few hours of snowfall?

  But in about one hour, now, it would be dark. While anxious to get as far south as possible, he’d also been keeping a look out for suitable locations for bedding down, and this place looked about as good as you could hope for. They were high up, close to the tree-line — birch here, straggling weakly upward as if individual trees had dared to face the mountainside alone, then found they couldn’t make it, stuck there in isolation to be ravaged by the wind. Above them a great dome of white glistened, bleakly empty.

  He called to the others to slow down, stop — Sophie and Gus having to drop back to slow the stretcher gradually and together, not put a sudden brake on that might tip it over. He’d seen a ridge down on the left, inside the wood, a spine that would be bare rock in summer, he guessed, slanting up through the trees and continuing above them. Snow had banked deeply all along it, would be metres deep and by now tight-packed, and there was surrounding cover from the trees. Also the approach to it from above was from the windward side, so that if more snow did fall it would drive in from this direction to fill the tracks they were making now and would make in the approach. Third, you could leave in the morning before daylight — through trees all the way down into the valley, then northwest through forest with no more open ground to cross.

  He led them down to it on a dogleg track, traversing down into denser cover and then doubling back, a reverse traverse down to the ridge. Thinking of the early-morning departure: he’d made up his mind during the past hour or so, the decision forming more or less of its own accord, just growing in his general thinking, that he could not send Sophie off on her own… Stopping again. Puzzling them — Stenberg making a gesture of exasperation — but needing to make certain of picking the best spot. It was going to be home for the Americans for several days, not just a hole-up for the night.

  He was gazing back over their higher ski-tracks, back into hazy distance, mountainside with a dark stubble of fir and birch, a smearing of black and grey with more open areas here and there and the great rolling emptiness of the tops above. No movement, no indication of anyone following, yet. But he’d send one of the others — it would have to be Sophie — up to this position, in a minute, to keep a watch until darkness came.

  *

  ‘Right. Snow-hole for four… Look here, Gus.’

  He sketched it in the snow with the point of a ski-pole. Gus was going to help build it — or rather excavate it — so he might as well understand what was wanted.

  ‘Entrance — actually a crawl-hole, tunnel. Just wide enough for one at a time to wriggle in. Like a big rabbit-hole, OK? We’ll haul Carl in, in his sleeping bag, but we’ll collapse the stretcher, we don’t want the tunnel to be that wide.
We bring all gear inside, you see… So — entrance hole and tunnel, and the tunnel has to be lower than the chamber — the bed-sitter, you might call it. We’ll dig in here, downward-sloping entrance, tunnel levels out after about two metres and slopes up again, and we make the floor of the chamber at a higher level than the entrance. Follow?’

  ‘I can see it’s a lot of labour.’

  He nodded. ‘Tunnel rises to this point, entering the chamber, which will be about fifteen feet by ten. It’ll have platforms of hard snow to sleep on, and alcoves cut into the sides for (a) storing our gear and (b) the stove… Reason the tunnel has to be lower than the chamber is that air rises as it warms — getting warmed by our body-heat, the stove when we’re cooking, and minutely from a candle which has to be kept burning all the time. That’s why we had to lump so many candles along, it’s to ensure there’s enough oxygen inside. If the flame goes out, there isn’t — so you do something before you suffocate. Like clearing the vent-hole — hole in the roof, we keep a ski-pole in it. We’ll have to watch the ventilation problem while we’re digging, too — making the tunnel, for instance, when it’s a dead-end with no throughput of air. We’ll work in shifts, you and I, changing places, one digging and the other shifting snow out. Use a sleeping-mat for that, shovel the stuff on to it and the other guy drags it out — banking it out here. There, say.’ He added, ‘Maybe we’ll get some help later from Sophie. It’s a good four hours’ work, usually, for guys who know what they’re doing. But we might make it a little smaller than standard, this one.’ He saw that Sophie had the stove going and a kettle of snow on it, close to Carl’s stretcher so he could tend it. Someone would have to feed the snow in, but he’d do the rest… ‘Sophie, that‘s great. Now I’d like you to go back up there — where we last stopped, right? To keep a look-out, just while the light lasts. Then you could help us with the hole, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  He wanted a look-out kept until dark in case the opposition had been very quick off the mark. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible.