by Kris Tualla
By Kris Tualla:
Loving the Norseman
Loving the Knight
In the Norseman’s House
A Nordic Knight in Henry’s Court
A Nordic Knight of the Golden Fleece
A Nordic Knight and his Spanish Wife
A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery
A Discreet Gentleman of Matrimony
A Discreet Gentleman of Consequence
A Discreet Gentleman of Intrigue
A Discreet Gentleman of Mystery
Leaving Norway
Finding Sovereignty
Kirsten’s Journal
A Woman of Choice
A Prince of Norway
A Matter of Principle
The Norsemen’s War: Enemies and Traitors
The Norsemen’s War: Battles Abroad
The Norsemen’s War: Finding Norway
An Unexpected Viking
A Restored Viking
A Modern Viking
*****
A Primer for Beginning Authors
Becoming an Authorpreneur
Battles
Abroad
The Norsemen’s War
Book 2:
Tor & Kyle
Kris Tualla
Battles Abroad: The Norsemen’s War is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
© 2016 by Kris Tualla
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the
Publisher, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1541380745
ISBN-10: 1541380746
This book is dedicated to the competitive skiers
from America and Europe
whose careers were derailed by World War II,
and who responded by enlisting
in the United States Army
to teach our soldiers how to ski.
To the newly formed Tenth Mountain Division
which trained in Camp Hale, Colorado,
and the Women’s Army Corp members
who served in rugged conditions alongside them.
Thank you for your service.
And to the readers who might be discovering this bit
of American history for the first time:
all the events in this story did happen,
but not everything that happened
is in this book.
Chapter
One
November 18, 1943
Denver, Colorado
Captain Tor Hansen of the Norwegian Army had been delayed in getting to America and he was as tense and fidgety as a man standing on the edge of a cracking glacier. After eight months of red tape and passports and military negotiations he was finally about to land in Denver, Colorado and take up his commission as an adjunct to the United States Army.
Seems that the American soldiers need to learn how to ski.
And after being denied the chance to compete in the cancelled nineteen-forty Winter Olympic Games—thanks to that bastard Adolf Hitler starting this war—Tor was itching to get back on the slopes and show off his skills.
But as he stared out the window of the airplane from the cramped, far-too-small-for-his-frame seat, the prospect of finding those slopes seemed unlikely. Since leaving Chicago on this third and final leg of his long and exhausting journey from London, Tor saw nothing below him except miles and miles of flat ground.
Sure, a hill rose up now and then. And the farmland was occasionally relieved by clusters of denuded trees or small grayish-green lakes. But the further west they flew, the farms gave way to vast expanses of yellow-grassed prairie land. Not a mountain in sight.
Where in hell are we supposed to ski?
His travel-weary body must have succumbed to a light sleep because he was jerked awake by the sudden and plane-jolting rise and drop of the aircraft. He grabbed the arms of his seat and looked around to see if anyone else seemed concerned as their path became increasingly turbulent.
His head grew dizzy from the constant motion. His belly, so disrupted by the last twenty-four hours’ time-of-day shifts, sporadic sleep, and unfamiliar food, threatened to empty whatever it still held onto Tor’s lap. He reached into the seat pocket in front of him and fumbled for the little waxed sack.
“It’s always like this coming into Denver,” his seatmate assured him. “It’s because the airport is so close to the mountains.”
Mountains?
Tor turned back to the window. All he could see was the unending roll of the prairie.
He faced the man beside him again. “What mountains?”
“The Rocky Mountains.” The man smiled knowingly. “Wait until we turn around to land. You’ll see them then.”
In Tor’s experience, a landscape never just shifted from vast plains to tall mountains without many miles of gradually increasing foothills. He saw no sign of the sort of foothills that would lead to mountains high enough to require his expertise.
His view disappeared as the two-propeller wing lifted and the plane dipped to its left. Looking across to the windows on the other side, all he could see was brown, snow-dusted ground.
And then, the aircraft leveled out.
Tor’s jaw dropped. Rising suddenly from the plains as if all the land had been scraped from the east to form them, the majestic Rockies stretched north, south, and west as far as he could see.
Jagged peaks were crowned in glorious white—the kind that never melts completely away. They both dwarfed and protected the city that knelt at their feet. As the plane continued its bone-shaking bounces and violent swerves on its downward path, Tor smiled in spite of his discomfort.
This was what he expected to see. This was the sort of landscape he was familiar with.
I’m home.
He hurriedly opened the wax sack and completely emptied his stomach into it.
*****
Tor straightened his drab-green Norwegian Army captain’s uniform with its three-starred collars and King Haakon the Seventh’s crest on his arm, and checked once more for any stray flecks of vomit that might have missed the sack. It wouldn’t do to give his hosts a bad impression at first glance.
Satisfied that he looked presentable, he settled his cap on his head and stepped into the aisle to gratefully exit the airplane. Bitterly cold wind slapped his bare face as he carefully descended the steps to the frosted tarmac and followed the other passengers into the terminal. His scarf was in his duffel bag. He didn’t care; it was a short walk.
Thank God my feet are on the ground.
Once inside, he swept a gaze over the crowd which was waiting for the deplaning passengers. He was supposed to be met by an American soldier from his destination, Camp Hale—a Lieutenant Kyle Solberg. Tor had no idea what the man looked like but figured that, as the only Norwegian soldier on the flight, he stood out enough for the man to find him.
When he saw no one who fit the bill, he turned to follow the baggage collection signs, assuming the lieutenant was waiting there for him.
“Unnskyld meg, sir,” The feminine voice at his shoulder addressed him in Norsk. “Er du Kaptein Hansen?”
Tor stopped and looked down at the blonde woman in what he believed was
a lieutenant’s uniform based on the information he was given during his cross-cultural training.
“Yes, I am,” he answered in the same language. “And you are?”
She flashed a relieved smile and saluted him before continuing their conversation in Norsk. “I’m Lieutenant Kyle Solberg. I’ll be your translator while you’re stationed at Camp Hale.”
Translator?
And Kyle Solberg is a woman?
Under different circumstances, Tor might have admitted that he spoke English fairly well after training in England for a cumulative fourteen months over the last three years. But at the moment he was far from his best.
His head pounded and he was still woozy from motion sickness. His empty stomach simultaneously begged for food while promising to reject anything that might appear. He was so tired from lack of sleep he was ready to topple over. And every muscle in his tall frame was cramped and aching.
So instead, all he said was, “I’m glad to meet you, Lieutenant.”
She extended one hand in the direction of the baggage claim. “Shall we collect your bags?”
*****
Once his heavily stuffed duffel bag was retrieved and crammed into the trunk of the lieutenant’s little black sedan, Tor folded himself into the passenger seat.
Lieutenant Solberg noticed. “There’s room to slide the seat back,” she offered. “How tall are you, exactly?”
“Six feet and six inches. Just like my younger brother.”
Now why did I mention him?
That was only going to lead to small talk. Tor pressed his lips together and pulled the door closed to shut off the windy blast that swept over the parking lot. Clouds scudded across the sky as if undecided whether to gather or move on.
Solberg started the engine. Cold air blew from the car’s vents; he found it refreshing.
“It should warm up soon.”
Relieved that she was going to ignore the comment about his brother, Tor said truthfully, “It’s fine. I like it cold.”
She reached down and turned a knob. “It’s a three hour drive to the camp. Are you hungry?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Okay. Then I guess we’re on our way.” She backed out of the parking space and turned the car toward the exit. “We should get there before supper is served at six, but if you want to stop along the road just let me know.”
“Thank you.” Tor shifted his weight, trying to straighten his legs without success.
“So is your brother in the Norwegian Army, too?”
Damn.
He looked at the lieutenant. Her profile was classically Norse: high brow, high cheekbones, straight nose. She was actually very attractive. In another setting…
Stop.
“No. But he’s a sergeant in Milorg. That’s short for Military Organization.”
“The Resistance?” she clarified.
“Yes.”
“Does he look like you, too?”
Tor blinked heavily. The motion of the car was already making him sleepy. “The truth is we’ve often been mistaken for twins. The most obvious difference in our appearance is that he has green eyes and mine are blue.”
Solberg briefly glanced at him. “I always wanted blue eyes.”
He couldn’t see the color of her eyes when she faced the road, but he thought he saw they were gray. Maybe greenish gray. He yawned.
She noticed that, too. “It’s okay if you want to grab a nap. The seat leans pretty far back.”
“If you don’t mind…” Tor felt for the lever. “I’ve been traveling since sometime yesterday.”
“Not at all, sir.”
He found the lever and pulled it. The back of his seat fell backwards to a forty-five-degree angle. He resettled and closed his eyes.
What should he do about Lieutenant Kyle Solberg?
The idea that he would be provided a translator surprised him initially, but as he thought about it the accommodation made sense. He didn’t mean to puff himself up, but he held a significant military rank and he was an exceptional skier. For him to come to America and teach others to ski as well as he did was sort of a big deal.
And of course no one would assume he knew English; he hailed from a proud but small and internationally unimportant kingdom.
Hell, Hitler walked in and claimed the entire country in just a five hour siege.
There was resistance now, sure, but no battles. No actual war. Most of the world probably had no idea what was going on in Norway for that matter.
So—here he was with a translator. A woman. An attractive woman. He’d be a fool to put a stop to this before he got a chance to know her.
She spoke Norsk like a native. He’d have to ask her about that. In the meantime, a lot could be gained by not admitting he understood the conversations that took place around him.
Tor smiled inwardly.
This could be fun.
Thus resolved to continue the ruse and speak nothing but Norsk for as long as it suited him, he shifted his position in the car once again before allowing the steady hum of the engine and the gentle motion of the vehicle to lull him into a much-needed nap.
*****
Kyle listened to the captain’s soft snores as she drove into the shadows of the Rocky Mountains. Night came swiftly here, the sun hidden long before it fell level with the valleys. The fact that he slept, trusting her with his life, warmed her heart in a stupid, silly way.
He’s just exhausted, she told herself. Who wouldn’t be?
She looked over at him again, before the interior of the car grew too dark for her to see his face.
Damn, he’s handsome.
Kyle never swore out loud—it wasn’t acceptable for women in her mind, even in the military. But since joining the Women’s Army Corps as a translator and being stationed at Camp Hale she’d certainly heard an abundance of colorful language.
The fact that Captain Tor Hansen was an exceptionally good looking individual wasn’t going to be helpful in her situation. She couldn’t allow herself to become infatuated with the Norseman because she was engaged to be married. Hopefully he’d turn out to annoying enough to keep any unwanted attraction from forming.
When the war ended Kyle would return home to Viking, the tiny town in northern Minnesota where she was born, and marry Erik Olsen. She would live on his farm and together they’d eke out a decent living. They’d grow a variety of grains during the fleeting summer months and tend cows and pigs indoors when the sub-arctic winds froze everything solid.
That was what was expected from her.
When she saw the ad in the paper asking for a translator for a Norwegian officer, Kyle answered on a whim, not expecting anything to come from the interview. And then the notice arrived instructing her to go to Minneapolis and accept her commission.
Four weeks of basic training was easy for a farm girl.
And the weather in the Colorado mountains wasn’t any worse than Minnesota so far.
She slid into the role with intriguing ease.
Captain Hansen sat up, halting her musings. “Where are we?”
“We have about half an hour to go.” She looked at him in the dusk. He was frowning a little and seemed uneasy. “Do you need something?”
“I need to piss.”
Kyle blushed, glad that he couldn’t see it in the car’s dim interior. “I’ll pull over.”
She stopped the car well on the shoulder. Tor opened the passenger door and exited in a blast of frigid air sprinkled with tiny dancing snow pellets. She watched in the car’s mirrors as he moved to the back of the sedan, fidgeted with his clothes, and then stood still.
He didn’t move for at least half a minute.
When he did, he put himself back together before squatting and scooping up a double handful of snow which he scrubbed against his face and rubbed between his hands.
Then he dragged his fingers over his cropped military haircut before he turned around and came back inside the car to reclaim his seat.
<
br /> His cheeks were damp and reddened and he looked more awake than he had in the airport. “Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” Kyle shifted and pressed on the gas. “Did the nap help?”
“Yes.” He smiled at her. “At least my face won’t fall in my soup.”
“After you taste Cooky’s soup, you might regret that,” Kyle teased, surprised at her sudden temerity. “Let’s hope for the best.”
Captain Tor Hansen’s head fell back and he loosed a deep, delighted laugh.
Damn, he’s handsome.
Chapter
Two
“Do you have any questions about the camp?” Kyle asked as she resumed their drive.
Tor chuckled. “Yes. But more than half an hour’s worth, I think.”
Kyle smiled, her eyes still fixed on the winding wintry road ahead. “Start with one. Let’s see how far we get.”
Basic information, then.
Tor twisted in his seat so he could look at her. “How big is the camp?”
“In area? About two-hundred-thousand acres.”
That was surprising. But, “I was thinking about men.”
“Men?” Now Kyle chuckled. “There are over eight thousand.”
Tor tilted his head. “Why do you laugh?”
“I’m not a man.”
“Well, that’s pleasantly obvious,” he complimented. “Are you saying there are women at the camp as well?’
Kyle’s jaw clenched a little before she answered. “There are two-hundred-and-fifty-three members of the Woman’s Army Corps stationed at Camp Hale.”
“Really?” Tor was impressed. “I didn’t know that.”
“We’re responsible for a variety of non-combat functions within the Army. But we are full military.” She glanced at him. By the light of the headlights her eyes were colorless.
I’m curious what color these non-blue eyes actually are.
