Nothing you could do. Except throw another life away.
Confirmation came immediately: from down the hill, a short burst of automatic fire, half a dozen rounds in one heart-stopping ripple of destruction; and no doubt at all whose heart would have stopped. Only the wind’s noise then. In his mind Ollie had an image of that brown, tough-skinned face, eyes like blue sparks in narrow slits, and snow patching his furs as it might an old wolf’s pelt.
Thinly against the wind, a single shot. Head-shot at close range, and goodbye, Juffu. Only this morning, drinking tea and chewing reindeer meat, waiting for daylight and the old guy rambling on with stories about trapping and hunting; he’d mentioned that a bear would nearly always double back and lie in wait beside its own tracks if it came to realise that it was being followed. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him that a Ruoša-Tsuder might have a brain as good as a bear’s.
He headed back through the trees. finding it difficult to accept that what had just happened had happened. But there was nothing to be done about it — except to get on with it now, alone. He’d been alone before, he was on his own again now, and thanks to Juffu he knew something, had an objective. The big Russian wouldn’t climb back up here, he guessed. He’d wait in cover near Juffu’s body for a while, in the faint hope that where you’d found one idiot you might get another. But not for long… He might come back up. You couldn’t take much for granted, not knowing his priorities or how his mind worked. He must have come here to check the trap — their trap — and obviously he’d have a strong interest in eliminating survivors of the Sutherland expedition. But now instinct suggested he’d have other fish to fry, that he’d be weighing those priorities. He’d have been unwilling to get pinned down here because of such other commitments. Maybe it felt like this not only because of the way he’d pulled out of the action, but also Juffu’s story of tracked vehicles coming and going from the dump. Suggesting that action might well be imminent.
What might the Finns be doing meanwhile? Turning blind eyes?
People — Sami people — were scared to talk, Juffu had said. None of them knowing who was behind it, which fellow Samis might be involved. And if you opposed the movement and it won, you might wish you hadn’t. On that sort of basis and in this vast emptiness the Spetsnazi would only have to bribe or frighten a few herdsmen into either cooperation or silence and non-interference, he guessed.
At dawn, less than an hour ago, he and Juffu had climbed out of the reindeer pit, returning here not only to see whether the trap had claimed a victim — it hadn’t until about the moment of his arrival, and this wasn’t necessarily all that much of a coincidence if the Spetsnazi had also been waiting for daylight — but also, if he’d found the trap still set, to disarm it. He’d had visions of some innocent Lapp herdsman passing by, seeing a tourist with his head and shoulders in a snow-hole, trying to pull him out… Juffu had argued no, it’s a good trap, leave it, if the Ruoša-Tsuders didn’t come today they’d come tomorrow, and no herdsman would be endangered meanwhile because where the only growth was birch there’d be no reindeer moss, therefore no grazing herds.
But there might have been some individual passing. This was a wilderness but life did exist in it and pass through it. Even tourists, ski-trekkers, and even in the depths of winter although it seemed there were none this winter.
Proof of the trap’s effectiveness was now snow-covered except on its lee side. Humped, with the snow building up on it, and the orange stains fading under that deepening white shroud. There was no need to touch it. No doubt there’d be a couple of spare MKS magazines in the pockets, but he had enough. He’d take one off the gun, and refill his spares with the loose rounds salvaged from that other firefight. He’d bring the gun itself along too, also the AYA and its boxes of cartridges from the snow-hole, as far as Juffu’s pit. Might strip the Swedish gun and take along some of its parts for spares.
He cut the string from the shotgun’s triggers, and the strings binding it to Carl‘s hard-frozen leg, pulled it out of the scorched trouser leg and ejected the two empty cases. Safe as houses for the time being, he thought; the one who’d killed Juffu couldn’t get back up here in less than forty minutes — minimum — even if he had any intention of returning. Which seemed unlikely. But in any case he didn’t want to hang around here longer than necessary, only long enough to attend to a few essentials. Like hauling Carl back in through the tunnel, then getting him and Gus back up on to their platforms. Working as fast as he could, actually, panting with the effort — knowing that guy could be back up here and maybe sooner than one thought. He was conscious of being alone again: having got used to that strange creature’s company.
He took three cans of beans which for some reason he’d left behind yesterday. The taste of baked beans reminded him now of Sophie.
Forget her. She’s for later. Right now, mind on the job…
First, back to the reindeer pit. For some more hot tea — the last for quite a while, maybe — and food. Repack the bergen and refill magazines. Study the maps, work out — from as much as one could remember of Juffu’s talk this morning — where to start looking for his ‘secret place’. Weather conditions weren’t ideal for ski-trekking, except for the advantage of tracks not lasting long. The crossbow expert knew he still had one enemy on the loose.
*
Lieutenant-Colonel Jimmy Boyers, the Commando CO, jumped down from the Gazelle helicopter that was his personal transport and hurried towards his hutte, a timber bungalow containing both living quarters and office space. He’d been at a meeting at Bardufoss; his brigadier had been there, and senior Norwegians, the CO of the other Commando — they’d moved up from the south now, were in tents at Evenes — and representatives of a US Marine brigade and of the ACE Mobile Force — ACE standing for Allied Command Europe and the brigade including Canadians, Italian Alpinis and the British 1 Para. Those units were on immediate standby, ready to be flown in on call, but intelligence advice now was that actual deployment might not be necessary, that there was reason to believe the Soviets would abort their invasion plan when confronted. Against this background it had been decided that if the new deployments could be avoided, ‘provocation’ would be minimised and risks of escalation thus considerably reduced. So meanwhile the weight was to be taken by 3 Commando Brigade RM, with the Dutch marines attached to them, an the Norwegians themselves, and for this Commando it meant one of two alternative redeployments on which a decision was to be signalled very shortly.
Tam Ellworthy, HQ Company Commander, was waiting in the entrance to the hutte, in company with several others including Jack Hillyard, Boyers’ second-in-command. Ellworthy, whom the others were permitting to have first go at him, wanted to talk about Ollie Lyle, for God’s sake… Boyers was aware of Lyle’s recent activities, but couldn’t see how it was any part of his business, especially at this of all times… ‘I know, by all accounts he’s done a fantastic job. But what we have to concern ourselves with here and now—’
He stopped, mouth still open, in the doorway of his own sitting-room, astonished to find a girl here, a civilian. Rather striking-looking too, his second glance told him; and he guessed who she might be, but he didn’t want this, didn’t have time for whatever involvement or potential involvement was about to be insinuated on him, or attempted.
The girl had with her a Norwegian officer he’d met a few times before, one of the liaison team. Boyers nodded to him: and the check to what he’d been saying was only temporary. He continued, turning back to Ellworthy, ‘Immediate concern is this.’ Handing him a file of paperwork, but his glance took in the second-in-command as well. ‘Much as we expected, but it still could be one or t’other.’ He turned to the girl. ‘This is a pleasant surprise, but—’
‘Excuse me.’ The Norwegian told Sophie, ‘I should introduce Colonel Boyers.’ He ushered her forward. ‘Miss Eriksen, sir. This is the lady who was with Captain Lyle in Finland. She brought out the information on which — well, all this which is happening no
w—’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Boyers clasped her hand. She was looking at a man in his early forties, an easy, friendly smile temporarily camouflaging urgency, impatience… ‘If I may say so, Miss Eriksen, you don’t look anything like an Arctic warrior. But most sincere congratulations on your remarkable achievements.’
He hadn’t been given all that much detail — there wasn’t time for gossip — but he knew that in company with Lyle she’d made an impressively fast yomp out of Finland and not only survived an attempt on her life but personally killed the Spetsnaz thug who’d attacked her. She said, getting her hand back from him, ‘Thank you, but — well…’
She’d glanced at Ellworthy. He put in quickly, ‘She’s very deeply concerned for Lyle, sir. They were being hunted by Spetsnazi when she came out, they were on his tail when she left him — on his insistence, so one of them would get out to us — and he was going back in there to try to evacuate some Americans.’
‘So I heard.’
‘She reckons he could be badly up against it. One Yank lame, and—’
‘Please sit down, Miss Eriksen.’
The fast way to get rid of this was to take it head-on, have done with it. Boyers waved the Norwegian towards another seat… Sophie seeing clearly that he didn’t have time for her, that he was about to listen to whatever she had to say, then murmur a few reassurances and push her out, quick. She jumped in, therefore, with a ploy aimed at short-circuiting that kind of brush-off routine… ‘Ollie told me that the Royal Marines always look after their own people. Is that so?’
‘Well.’ A glance, notable for its lack of expression, at his 2 i/c. Both of them thinking it was most unlikely that Lyle would have said anything of the sort. It was the sort of thing you saw trotted out in crap about the Foreign Legion. On the other hand it wouldn’t be easy to answer No, we don’t give a shit. It wouldn’t be true, either, but either way she’d have you.
He told her, ‘We’re in a somewhat special situation at this moment, as I’m sure you realise. After all, you sparked it all off. And we owe you a lot, Miss Eriksen, don’t imagine I’m not aware of it. But any minute now we’ll be moving out, and — well, this Commando consists of forty officers and seven hundred NCOs and Marines, and every one of them has at least as much as he can cope with at this moment. Much as I wish I could help—’
‘You cannot, and — and that’s all there is to it. It’s also too bad for Ollie.’
He frowned.
‘Why me, Miss Eriksen?’ He looked at the liaison officer. ‘Why this Commando?’
The Norwegian gestured rather helplessly, glancing at her, and she said, ‘You were Ollie’s company commander when he was a young lieutenant, he told me. He said Captain Ellworthy was also an old friend. We had many hours for talking, in our snow-hole which I helped him dig. He said if I needed help, I should — well…’ She’d sighed, spreading her hands, the gesture indicating So much for old friends… She added, ‘Didn’t he visit with you here when he arrived in Norway?’
Ollie hadn’t mentioned either of these characters. The Norwegian liaison officer had given her all that stuff. He’d known it all because a fortnight ago Ellworthy, begging a lift for Ollie Lyle in Norwegian Army transport from here up to Alta, had stressed how much of a favour the liaison officer could do for himself and for Lieutenant-Colonel Boyers.
Boyers was now pointing out to Sophie that for serving NATO personnel to cross into Finland would be out of the question. Even if there’d been a single man to spare — which there was not. If there’d been any way he could have helped, he’d have bust a gut to do so: but unfortunately, in the circumstances…
‘All right.’ She accepted defeat. ‘I know all you say is true. I’m sorry to have wasted so much of your time. I’ll — go and try some place else, I—’
‘For chaps to be sent into Finland?’ He shook his head. He was on his feet, not wanting to detain her. ‘It couldn’t be done, you know. Really, it’s inconceivable, particularly right now. But — he’ll come out of it, I’m sure he will…’
This was the bullshit coming, and she didn’t want it, she’d had enough of it already from her own people. She held out her hand. ‘Thank you for listening to me.’
Alone with his second-in-command, Boyers murmured, ‘Lucky old Ollie Lyle.’
‘Absolutely. If he does get out. It sounds like rather a sticky wicket down there, though, wouldn’t you say?
‘And a bloody shame, there’s damn-all we can do about it.’ Boyers pointed at the chair Sophie had used. ‘Sit, Jack, we have a few points to finalise and this is the best time for it.’
‘There is one possibility. If you’d consider it.’
Boyers glanced at him, frowning: interrupting a fresh line of thought, surprised to find they were still discussing Lyle‘s predicament.
‘Well?’
‘The Special Boat demo team, Mike Brabant’s lot. Their job’s finished, they’ve been dumped here and we were supposed to deliver them to Evenes to fly home on tomorrow’s Charlie one-three-zero.’ Tomorrow’s RAF Hercules to Lyneham, Wiltshire, that meant. ‘But the flight schedules are shot to hell now, and what’s more we probably won’t be here. I was going to try persuading the Cloggies to look after them, with accommodation and transport.’ By ‘Cloggies’, he meant the Royal Netherlands Marine Corps’ commando unit that was currently billeted down the road at Trollhogda Camp. ‘But you see, there’s no employment for Brabant and his boys. The bigger SBS detachment who were at Ramsund have gone north — to whatever skulduggery they were earmarked for, anyway they’ve gone—’
‘Are Brabant and his team AW trained?’
‘Not Mike himself, he missed it, but—’
‘Who’s his number two?’
‘WO2 Beale. Tony Beale. The demo team comprised Brabant, Beale, and six others. Some of them have done AW training, some haven’t.’
‘You’ve been working on this, evidently.’ Boyers glanced at him sharply. ‘Did you say anything about it to that girl?’
‘No, sir.’
Frowning, thinking about it…
‘They’d have to volunteer. And I’d have to get an OK from Brigade. They’d need to wear civvy Arctic gear, I suppose — as much as shows on the outside.’
‘I think the Norwegians might help with that.’
‘Then transport — preferably helo. If there’s anything to be achieved at all…’ He nodded. ‘Right. Get Brabant and Beale over here, let’s talk to them.’
13
A couple of times it had stopped snowing altogether, and conditions were better generally because the wind had eased off quite a bit. He was skiing straight into it, though, and he was still masked and goggled, with the headover pulled up over the lower half of his face, and his hat’s earflaps fastened down. He thought he had about two hours of daylight left, and he intended to keep going for as long as possible, then not waste time digging in, just find some sheltered place and make the best of it.
Studying the map — ‘Graphic (Ground)’ — in Juffu’s reindeer pit, and putting together such clues as he’d let drop about his so-called ‘secret place’, accepting what seemed to make sense and discarding whatever didn’t, also combining what was then left with his own ideas, where for instance he’d have sited a supply dump for a fast move up towards Karasjok, he’d settled on an area about fifty-five kilometres NNE of the snow-hole and ten to twenty east of the border. This still left an area of roughly eighty square miles; but some of it was high, bare ground, and it was only forest that counted, obviously. There were other clues as well — for instance the proximity of mountain slopes had to be relevant, since Juffu’s informant had been a reindeer herdsman, one of a siida wintering their herd somewhere close by.
He had an image in mind of Lapps in the postures of the three wise monkeys — seeing, hearing and speaking no evil. Except that one had spoken. Maybe he’d felt safe enough gossiping to Juffu, who for months on end probably didn’t converse with any other human being, sharing mor
e of his life with foxes, hares and ptarmigan than with people.
Had done. The past and pluperfect tenses applied now.
Ought to have gone down the hill after him, backed him up?
He knew for certain he should not have. But the old hunter was dead — as were the Americans. And in Juffu’s case, he himself had stood waiting for it, expecting it, then hearing it. Natural enough to think now that there should have been some damn thing he could have done.
Survivor’s guilt complex. But you could recognise that, and still feel it. It was a fact that the old Lapp had acted like an idiot, had thrown his own life away and there’d been no way to stop it happening: but you could still feel you should have tried to save him.
Crazy. And a crazy old character, too. Some of his yarns had been bizarre in the extreme, but he’d talked as if he’d believed in them. For instance, a wolf grabbed a hunter by the wrist before he could stab it: the hunter, knowing a thing or two about wolves, didn’t try to pull his hand away, he cleverly thrust it down the wolf’s throat and strangled the animal from inside… And then the talk of bears, bear talk seemingly for ever. It had included an assertion that the male bear was extremely chivalrous. If ‘Uncle Woolly’ met a Lapp girl in the forest she had only to lift her skirts by way of proof and he wouldn’t lay a paw on her.
Willows grew among the birch here. He’d come down some way, to stay in cover while it lasted, although a more distant view had shown him that before long he’d either have to go right down into the forest — which would make progress slower — or risk a long transit of bare, open snowfields.
The snowing amounted to no more than occasional flurries on the wind now. Maybe an hour and a half in hand. By nightfall he hoped to have covered about two thirds of the distance, which wouldn’t have been bad, in these conditions; not good enough, but not bad.
The wound in his side hurt quite a lot now. It was the lunging action, the unavoidable exertions of ski-trekking, and probably no more than bruising or torn muscle, but it was still irksome. The wound was clean enough, he’d washed it and the other one with disinfectant again and taped clean dressings on, before he’d left the reindeer pit. Those had been the last of the dressings, incidentally.
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