Battles Abroad: The Norsemen's War: Book Two - Tor & Kyle (The Hansen Series 2)

by Kris Tualla

  “Except for mine.” Marguerite glared at her friend. “I’m marrying Gerry.”

  “Leave her alone, Fran,” Flo stepped into the fray. “Gerry can certainly be serious about Marguerite, even if you and Fred aren’t at that point yet.”

  “Let’s just go. I need a drink.” A somewhat placated Marguerite stood and looked down at Kyle. “So—are you coming?”

  Kyle shook her head. “Thanks for the invitation, really, but I think I’ll stay behind and write the hick a letter.”

  Marguerite shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  The three nurses, all dressed to the nines, single-filed their way out of the room and shut the door behind them.

  Kyle blew a sigh.

  Now what do I say to Erik?

  January 5, 1944

  Kyle had never been so cold in her life. Turns out there was something very different about the cold here in the mountains from the cold in Minnesota. Maybe because Minnesota trees and lakes didn’t radiate the same frigid conditions that the granite did.

  Once that stone absorbed the chill, no amount of winter sun could coax all that cold back out. It was like living in a natural refrigerator at times.

  But the sunny days in camp were miserable in their own way.

  While the sun melted the thinner patches of snow and ice, its rays also reflected off the Camp Hale valley’s white-covered walls, redoubling its efforts. The valley warmed surprisingly, but the heated air was trapped from above by the heavier frigid air that surrounded it.

  And because the camp relied on burning coal for its primary source of energy, these winter air inversions held all the smoke and ash right over the camp, fouling the air.

  That was decidedly not the case this morning. A nasty wind was blowing down the length of the valley from north to south. Kyle heard it buffeting her barracks as she dressed.

  Her roommate Marguerite, who drew duty in the hospital last night, snuggled in her bed and pulled the blankets over her head. A mumbled see you later emanated from their depths.

  Kyle’s WAC-issued uniform matched the men’s, down to her optional wool trousers. Someone somewhere realized that requiring the WACs to wear skirts in the camp’s winter freezing temperatures—which dipped below zero degrees at night—wasn’t the best idea.

  Kyle zipped her trousers and sat on the edge of her bed to don her sturdy leather boots, glad for the heavy rubber tread on the soles which kept her from falling on the camp’s icy paths. She pulled her knit cap down over her ears, grabbed her calf-length double-breasted wool coat from the hanger, and clomped out of the room.

  At the door to her barracks she pulled on her gloves and wondered if she should brave the growing wind-sculpted snow drifts, or go back upstairs and get her bearpaws. Deciding she didn’t really need the wood-and-mesh snow shoes quite yet, she wrapped her scarf around her face and stepped into the blast.

  The world was still dark at seven in the morning as she trudged toward the motor pool, her first destination every day. When she reached her assigned jeep the first thing she did was start the engine. Once it turned over and hummed steadily, she lifted the hood and removed the heating kit that kept the engine from freezing during the night.

  “You good to go this morning. Lieutenant?”

  Kyle faced the chapped-faced private rubbing his hands together. “Yes, soldier. Thank you.”

  He gave her a casual salute and moved down the aisle to check on others.

  There was a heater in the jeep, but it would only blow cold air at this point. Kyle sat inside the vehicle for a few minutes to allow the jeep’s engine to wake up and settle in. Then she backed out of the assigned space and headed toward Tor’s barracks.

  Snow, which was riding the wind when she was walking to the motor pool, began to fall in earnest. Thick white flakes danced across her headlight beams in a frenzied horizontal formation.

  It was still too dark to see the sky, but if the tops of the mountains were hidden by clouds there would be no skiing today. Weather like this made skiing so dangerous that even if similar conditions were met in the Italian Alps an attack would be delayed until visibility was restored.

  Instead, the troops would probably practice cold-weather survival today, or maybe hold weapons practice. Or both.

  Kyle drove the sturdy little jeep through the drifts that were shifting and settling across the camp’s roads and slid to a stop in front of Tor’s barracks door.

  Moments later, the captain pulled the door open and ran down the four steps as if this was a delightful spring day.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” he practically chirped. “Isn’t this a beautiful day?”

  *****

  Kyle glared at him. “Really?”

  Tor laughed at her reaction. “I can’t help it. I love snow.”

  “And mornings,” she grumbled, slipping the jeep into gear.

  “And mornings.”

  Tor always awoke before he needed to rise. He didn’t mean to, it was just how his body functioned. He felt most alive in the morning. Ready to take on the world.

  Kyle parked the jeep in front of the mess hall. The clouds above them were just beginning to lighten to a steely gray.

  Tor stepped out of the jeep, ignoring the wind that whipped the hem of his coat around his legs and the snow that stung his eyes. He squinted at the mountains. He couldn’t see their tops yet.

  Kyle was already at the mess door. “You coming?”

  Tor took big, leg-stretching strides toward her. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what the day brings us.”

  Kyle pulled the door open and Tor grabbed the edge, holding it while she entered in front of him.

  The hall was slowly filling with sullen-looking soldiers. They knew that the snowstorm meant they would be training in dreadful conditions and none of them looked happy about it.

  “You know what the troops call this place?” Tor asked Kyle.

  She looked up at him. “The mess hall or the camp?”

  He chuckled. “The camp.”

  “Tell me.”

  Tor grinned. “Camp Hell.”

  Kyle huffed a laugh. “How’d you learn that?”

  Uh, oh.

  “Torger told me.”

  “Oh. That’s funny.” Kyle smiled and walked to the food line. “And true, I guess. The training here is pretty intense.”

  Tor took a seat across the table from his platoon’s co-leader, First Lieutenant Frank Collins. He nodded his greeting, saying god morgen which sounded like good morn in English.

  Frank nodded back. “Morning, Captain.”

  He waited for Kyle to get settled then said, “Would you ask Collins if he thinks we could take a couple of M29 Weasels out today?”

  Collin’s head snapped up. “The Weasel?”

  “Yes,” Kyle confirmed. “Captain Hansen wonders if your platoon could use them for training today.”

  “And do some cross-country skiing and hiking with the bearpaws,” Tor added.

  Kyle translated.

  Collins’ cheeks split into a wide grin. “That’s a great idea. I’ll talk to the motor pool as soon as I’m done.”

  “Takk du!” Tor’s mood brightened even further.

  “Did you understand him?” Kyle sounded suspicious.

  “I understood his smile and his enthusiasm, of course,” Tor deflected. “Did I respond incorrectly?”

  “No. That was fine.” She returned her attention to her breakfast.

  I need to be more careful.

  Chapter

  Eight

  The soldiers in their platoon actually cheered when the three Weasels pulled up. The tank-bottomed vehicles were designed for snow operation, and though they only had three passenger seats each, Tor figured they could squeeze at least six soldiers onto the open-topped transports.

  Lieutenant Collins gave the instructions for the men to report back immediately with skis, poles, and bearpaws. The plan, as Kyle translated to Lieutenant Collins, was to drive Tor’s half of t
he platoon two miles from the center of the camp and drop them off.

  Collins’ half would ski and hike to the drop-off point, following the Weasels’ tracks.

  Tor’s men would then ski and hike back to camp, and Collins’ men would ride back in the Weasels.

  The snowstorm had not let up at all, so the layer beneath their skis was dry and powdery in the freezing air. When Collins quizzed the men, they correctly answered that the blue wax was needed and set to waxing the bottoms of their steel-edged skis.

  “This will be a good change of pace for our men, I think,” Lieutenant Collins stated. “Tell Hansen I’m glad he thought of it.”

  Kyle did, then asked Tor, “What should I do?”

  Tor considered that for a moment, but he didn’t see a reason for her to do anything.

  “Again, it’s showing, not talking. I don’t need you to be there.”

  Her relief was clearly evident. “Do you want me to wait here for you?”

  Tor nodded. “That would be good. And still keep your radio on, just in case. It won’t be as dangerous as downhill skiing, but you never know what trouble some fool like Kossin will find himself in.”

  Tor really liked the novice—who claimed he could ski so he’d be assigned to the Tenth—but the man had never touched a ski in his life before arriving here.

  Kyle flashed a crooked smile. “You have to admire his determination.”

  Tor chuckled. “Well, you have to admire something, I guess.”

  *****

  Kyle watched Tor pile his men precariously onto the three Weasels and drive away.

  When Collins’ men were ready and lined up by twos, their bearpaws strapped to their heavy boots and their white skis and white poles resting on their shoulders, they began their march along the Weasels’ tracks.

  Kyle turned up her radio. “Testing. Testing.”

  Tor’s voice crackled back. “Roger, Lieutenant.”

  “Ten-four.”

  And now I wait.

  *****

  Tor’s group reappeared an hour and a half later. Covered head-to-toe in white from the unending blizzard, Tor dismissed them for the day before climbing into the jeep with Kyle.

  He tugged off his gloves and the liners underneath, dropping them into his lap and blowing on his hands to warm them.

  “That was brutal. We were headed into the wind the whole way.”

  Kyle handed him a thermos of hot coffee and a cup. “I figured you’d need this when you got back.”

  God bless you. “Thanks.”

  “Do you want to wait for Collins to get back?”

  “Yes.” Tor held the coffee cup with both hands. The heat stung his fingers at first. “Has he been on the radio?”

  As if in answer to his query, Kyle’s radio came to life.

  “Collins here.”

  Kyle pressed the button on her transmitter. “Go ahead.”

  “On our way.”

  “Roger that.” She hung the transmitter back on the jeep’s radio. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

  Tor winked at her. “Did you bring him coffee, too?”

  “Only if you don’t drink it all.” She winked back.

  When the Weasels pulled into view, Tor heaved himself out of the jeep to talk to Collins with Kyle in tow. His men looked as done in as Tor’s were.

  “Tell him I dismissed mine for the rest of the day,” he instructed Kyle.

  She did.

  “Good idea.” Collins spat the words against the stubborn snow-laden wind. He barked the order to his relieved men before facing Tor again. “Can I hitch a ride?”

  “Sure!” Kyle answered for him.

  The three piled inside the snug little vehicle. Tor handed Collins the remaining coffee and the second cup Kyle brought with it. Kyle headed toward Collins’ barracks.

  The First Lieutenant leaned forward.

  “Ask him if he wants to meet and discuss the last two weeks of training.”

  “Over a drink,” Tor replied. “Officer’s club after lunch?”

  Collins nodded as Kyle eased to a stop in front of his barracks. “Great. See you at two.”

  When the officer exited, Kyle turned to Tor. “How’d Kossin do?”

  “Amazingly well, actually. He’s definitely better on the level than the slope.”

  As Kyle drove to the next building, she asked, “What’s it like to ski?”

  Tor stared at her. “You’ve never skied?”

  She shrugged a little. “No.”

  “Not even on the level?” he clarified. “Cross country?”

  Her gray-green eyes met his. “Nope.”

  He was shocked. When the jeep stopped at the front door to his barracks he turned to face her.

  “I need to understand this,” he began. “So let me back up.”

  “Okay.” Kyle put the jeep in neutral but kept the engine, and consequently the heater, running.

  “First of all, you speak Norwegian like a native.”

  Her cheeks pinkened, but not from the cold. “It was my first language. My grandparents insisted on it.”

  “Did they come from Norway?”

  She nodded. “From Solbergelva. About thirty miles west of Oslo. They took Solberg as their surname because it was easier for Americans to say and spell than Schjelderup.”

  True. “So your parents spoke both Norsk and English.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your grandparents bring Norse traditions with them?”

  Kyle rolled her eyes. “Sure they did. Food, holiday traditions, bunads, and rosemåling.”

  “But not skiing.”

  Kyle’s brow wrinkled apologetically. “I guess they saw all types of skiing as just methods of transportation that they no longer needed.”

  Tor leaned back in his seat.

  Just a method of transportation?

  Skiing was life. There was nothing in the world as exhilarating as racing down the side of a mountain, being one with the creature on whose back he rode.

  Nothing.

  He watched Kyle’s reaction carefully as he spoke. “I guess we’ll need to find a way to remedy that.”

  January 9, 1944

  That very next Sunday—on the soldiers’ day off—Tor tied two pair of skis and poles to the top of Kyle’s jeep.

  “I’ll train you the way I train the men,” he said once they were on their way to the bottom of Cooper Hill. “Start with the basics and move you ahead as you learn.”

  Kyle grinned as she maneuvered the jeep over the plowed-but-slippery camp roads. “I’m excited to learn.”

  Once parked, Tor hefted the two pair of skis over one shoulder. “Will you bring the poles?”

  “Sure.” Kyle pulled them off the jeep’s roof.

  He led her to the benches at the bottom of the hill. They sat side-by-side while he showed her how to strap the skis to her dual-purpose Army boots.

  “How does that feel?” he asked once she was on her feet. He handed her a pair of white poles.

  “Okay, I guess.” She slipped the straps over her hands and looked down at the seven-foot-long pieces of flat, steel-edged hickory strapped to her boots. “I never realized they were so long.”

  Tor stood next to her on his skis, poles at the ready. “Everyone gets the same size, no matter how tall they are.”

  Kyle squinted up at his six-and-a-half feet. “Not too long for you, though.”

  Tor chuckled. “True.” He grabbed his goggles. “Goggles on.”

  Kyle settled her standard-issue goggles—green-tinted glass lenses for ultraviolet, infrared, and glare protection—over her eyes.

  She looks adorable.

  Tor smiled at her. “They suit you.”

  She grinned back. “I feel like a soldier.”

  “You look like one. Now let’s see if you can ski like one. Watch me and do what I do. First we walk.”

  Tor strode forward, lifting his skis slightly off the snow. Then he turned to watch Kyle.

  She was having tr
ouble lifting the skis—which were sixteen inches longer than she was tall. After trying to take six steps and only moving forward about three feet, Tor decided to skip that skill.

  “Never mind,” he said. “Can you slide forward? Use the poles for leverage.”

  She was next to him in a blink. “Gosh, that’s so much easier.”

  He nodded. “Let’s do that then. Try to keep up with me.”

  They skied the length of the bottom of the hill together before Tor showed her how to do the about face maneuver.

  Kyle imitated his effortless movements and promptly tumbled to the ground in a tangle of skis and poles.

  Tor helped her up and she tried again.

  “Damn!” she blurted as she fell backwards. “The skis are too long…”

  Tor helped her up and eventually got her turned around. “There you are.”

  “So much for my fifth position comment,” she groused. “It’s harder than it looks.”

  “You got the gliding part without falling down,” he reminded her. “That’s better than many of my men.”

  She heaved a frosty, resolute breath. “Okay. What’s next?”

  Tor was impressed. “Next? We start climbing.”

  He immediately decided that the herringbone was too hard for her with the seven-foot skis, and he decided to try the one climb that did not require her to turn around.

  “Do this.”

  He put his right ski a shoulder length higher on the side of the slope than his left ski. “Bring the other ski alongside it.”

  Kyle imitated his motion.

  “It’s easier to lift the skis sideways than forward,” she stated, taking a second step.

  “Good! Keep going.”

  Tor stayed downhill from Kyle and followed her upward path—in case she slipped he could halt her unintended descent.

  “How far?” she asked.

  Tor considered the slope. From the point they had reached, Kyle could ski a ten-yard diagonal to the bottom.

  “Let’s stop here. Now you watch me, and then do what I do.”

  Tor planted his poles. “Aim this direction.” He angled his skis down forty-five degrees from the slope. “Keep your skis about shoulder’s width apart and parallel to each other.”