by Kris Tualla
Kyle laughed at that. “I suppose that is what counts.”
The men boarded the buses that would return them to Camp Hale after they had a chance to grab a quick supper at the Winter Festival. With his belly full and his body alive with the exertion, Tor was in a very good mood.
“So—did you enjoy the day?” he asked Kyle as the bus rolled onto the south-bound highway.
In the dark bus only the light from oncoming headlights showed him her expression. It was jubilant.
“More than I even imagined,” she said. “It was thrilling.”
Tor reached into his shirt and pulled out the embroidered handkerchief. “Even though I’m not disappointed with my places today, I think maybe the plain one was a better favor.”
Kyle held out her hand. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time.”
Tor laid the folded linen on her palm. “Athletes do tend to be superstitious creatures. Winning isn’t always under our control, so we grab onto anything else that might influence our outcomes.”
“And here I thought it was because we were friends.”
In the quick light of a passing car, Tor saw a hint of sadness in Kyle’s expression. “It is because we’re friends that I asked for your favor to begin with.”
Kyle didn’t say anything.
Though it killed him to mention it, Tor offered, “Maybe when we get back, there’ll be a letter from Erik.”
Kyle still didn’t say anything and he couldn’t see her face at the moment.
Tor didn’t know what to do. Should he continue to try and make conversation? Or should he leave her to her thoughts, whatever they were.
Pfeifer came up the aisle and sat next to the man in front of Tor and Kyle. “Well done today, Hansen!” he said in German.
“Well done all of us,” Tor answered, taking his attention from Kyle. “We beat Carlson like they weren’t even there.”
He thought Pfeifer was smiling, although with him facing backward no light shown directly on his face. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?”
“Torger did all right, didn’t he?”
He could see Pfeifer nodding. “That jump was spectacular.”
“Of course. He’s Norwegian,” Tor teased.
Pfeifer patted Tor’s shoulder and moved to another seat to talk to Cremer.
“What did he say?” Kyle asked.
“Just congratulating the men on their places.”
“Oh.” Kyle yawned.
“You’re tired. Rest your head on my shoulder.”
She turned to face him. “I don’t think I should.”
“It means nothing, Kyle. I offer because my shoulder is more comfortable than a cold, hard metal window frame.”
She glanced at the rattling window in question and then turned back to him. “What will the men think?”
“Do you care? Because I don’t. Come on.” Tor put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Relax, Kyle. Sleep if you want.”
He felt her slump against him, her shoulder tucked under his arm and her head against the side of his shoulder.
Tor rested his cheek on top of her head and inhaled the scents of the day that were trapped in her hair: snow and wood smoke. He was content.
This is where she belongs.
February 16, 1944
“Major General Jones wants to see the two of you immediately.”
Kyle looked up from her breakfast and glanced across the table at Tor before she answered. “What’s wrong?”
The corporal looked flustered. “I’m not at liberty to say any more.”
Kyle pointed at her and Tor’s trays. “Are we allowed to finish our breakfast first?”
Now the corporal looked embarrassed. “He didn’t say.”
“What’s going on?” Tor asked.
“Jones wants to see us right away,” she said in Norsk.
The captain lifted a forkful of eggs. “Can we finish first?”
“He didn’t say, apparently.” Kyle saw the look in Tor’s eyes so she added, “It doesn’t matter how much you dislike him. He is the camp’s commander.”
“I never said I didn’t like him,” Tor objected. “I just don’t like the way he mistrusts me for no reason.”
“Lieutenant Solberg?” the corporal interrupted. “Is there a problem?”
Kyle decided to take control of the situation. “Yes, Corporal, a small one. You see, Captain Hansen and I returned rather late last night from a skiing competition in Steamboat Springs, and had only a light supper before boarding the bus for our three-hour ride back to camp.”
“Oh.” The man glanced nervously from Kyle to Tor and back. “What should I tell the Major General?”
“Tell him we’ll be on our way shortly and will get there as soon as we can.”
The corporal looked relieved. “Yes, Lieutenant.” He saluted and Kyle saluted back, then he hurried out of the mess hall.
Kyle translated her response for Tor and lifted a spoonful of oatmeal. “I am curious. I wonder what happened while we were gone.”
Tor shrugged with one shoulder. “One can only imagine.”
*****
Tor sat, stunned to his core, as Major General Lloyd Jones told him and Kyle what transpired the night before.
“Two German prisoners escaped from Camp Hale last night with Private Dale Maple.”
Tor wanted to shout I told you so, but managed to restrain himself and look no more than concerned until Kyle translated the general’s words.
After that, however, he showed his anger. “I did tell you something was going on.”
Kyle translated hesitantly.
“Yes, Captain Hansen, you did.”
That was it?
Irritated, Tor looked at Kyle. “So what does he want from us now?”
The general looked pained. “Tell me more about the nurses.”
Chapter
Twenty One
Tor repeated his story of seeing the three nurses whom he recognized chattering with three German POWs called Fred, Gerry, and Luddy.
He ended his retelling with, “What were the names of the escaped prisoners?”
“I already thought of that,” the general replied. “But their names were Heinrich Kikillus and Erhard Schwichtenberg, and apparently Maple picked them up from a work detail without anyone noticing.”
Tor agreed that they were probably not the same men. “Besides, there we
re three of them with the nurses.”
Jones looked at Kyle. “Have you heard or seen anything since we first discussed this?’
Kyle’s expression was somber and she nodded. “Private Franklin was writing a letter to Gerry when I returned to my barracks last night.”
The general reached for a paper on his desk. “I now have a list of every German prisoner in the camp. Would you please mark any who you believe might be Gerry?”
Kyle translated while she looked at Tor adding, “You know German. Would you recognize German nicknames?”
“Sure,” he answered. “As long as they’re using their real names.”
“Then help me.” Kyle put the paper between them. “Tell me which ones to mark.”
Tor and Kyle bent over the list.
“Gerhard. Friedrich. Georg. Ludwig. Fritz. Franz. Lutz. Ferdinand. Friedhelm.” Tor looked at Jones. “There are some first names used by more than one man.”
Kyle translated.
Tor handed the paper to the general. “But there’s a start.”
The general looked over the list. “Can you make any guesses as to the ages of the men? Or what they look like?”
“No. I’m sorry. It was dark and I was behind a rock.”
His brow twitched. “Understood.”
“What are you going to do?”
Kyle translated Tor’s question.
Jones looked at him as if deciding whether or not to answer before offering, “First we’ll search all of these men’s bunks. If we find anything, the path is clear.”
It was Ky
le who asked, “And if you don’t?”
“We’ll search the nurses’ quarters.” The general laid the list on his desk and considered Kyle with a stern expression. “I’m sure I don’t need to reiterate my order, Lieutenant, that you are to say absolutely nothing to the women involved.”
“No, sir.” Kyle heaved a jagged sigh. “Considering last night’s events, the severity of the situation can’t be overstated.”
“There’s one other thing.”
Kyle looked worried. “Yes, sir?”
“We are not letting the civilians know what’s happened until Maple and the Germans are caught. There’s no need to alarm them unnecessarily in the meantime, because they will be caught.” Jones straightened in his chair. “Our conversation here is classified. Do you both understand?”
Kyle translated, and Tor answered as she did.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You are dismissed.”
Tor rose slowly and stared at the general, waiting until the man met his eyes.
When he did, Tor lifted one brow.
The general looked puzzled for a moment until understanding dawned. “Oh. And, uh, thank you for your help.”
Tor saluted him.
*****
Kyle didn’t want to go back to her barracks in case Marguerite was there, so she spent a good part of the day in the valley’s flat fields watching Tor work with his novice skiers. Her own lessons had been inconsistent due to his competitions and her five days of leave, but she was learning more just watching him.
It really is about showing, not talking.
Their English lessons had suffered from the odd schedule as well, but they had moved on to simple phrases. She just hadn’t been successful at getting Tor to try any of them in public. One thing that he began doing, however, was asking her, did he just say…?
His skill at connecting words and their meanings was impressive even if he refused to speak them.
He does have Norsk and German, she realized. And if he knows any Latin from school, he should be advancing soon.
He’s holding back so I’m not reassigned.
Again she felt an unwelcome surge of affection for the Norseman.
Damn it.
Kyle started the jeep, determined to go to the postal building and see if anything had come for her.
*****
When Kyle picked up Tor at the end of training, she was snorting fire.
“I didn’t do it,” he said.
She frowned at him. “Do what?”
“Whatever it is that’s making you so fierce.”
Kyle made a disgusted face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“About what?” Tor ventured.
She turned to look at him, her expression incredulous. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s fine.” Tor shrugged and one corner of his mouth lifted. “I just want to know what you don’t want to talk about so I don’t bring it up.”
“Don’t bring anything up!” she snapped. She drove the jeep toward his barracks, her jaw clenched.
Tor poked the bear. “Have you seen Marguerite today?”
“No.” she shot him an irritated glance. “Didn’t you see me? I was watching your training.”
“Is that what you don’t want to talk about?”
“What? Marguerite?” she squeaked.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Then is it the training you don’t want to talk about?” Tor shifted in his seat to see her better. “Or maybe you have questions.”
“Neither,” she growled. “Just stop. Please.”
Tor drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “The weather was nice today.”
Kyle said nothing.
“I wonder if we’ll have meatloaf again tonight.”
She grunted.
“You know what meatloaf is, don’t you?” Tor snickered. “It’s like Swedish meatballs that are the size of a shoe.”
Kyle’s lips pressed together like she was killing a smile.
“Do you like Swedish meatballs?” Tor continued his inane conversation. “Because I think the only thing that makes them better…”
Tor held curved hands in front of him about a foot-and-a-half apart. “…is making them as big as an Army boot.”
Kyle snorted and then sniffed to camouflage it.
Encouraged, Tor sat back in his seat. “Yes, indeed. A huge Swedish meatball as big as my head. That’s just the thing.”
“Well I have a Norwegian meatball the size of a captain in my vehicle right now,” Kyle barked.
“Welcome back, Lieutenant.” Tor laughed. “Do you want to talk about meatballs, too?”
“Will you please shut up?” Her words were sharp, but she displayed the hint of a reluctant smile.
“Absolutely, Lieutenant. I would be happy to shut up. You won’t hear another word out of me. I promise, cross my heart.”
He did so with exaggerated movements. “I’ll be shutting up right now.”
Kyle grunted again.
“Unless…”
Her arm shot sideways and she thumped him hard in the middle of his chest with a tight fist. Tor flinched out of reflex, but she didn’t hurt him.
He rubbed his chest. “Feel better?”
“Yes.” She pulled the jeep to a stop in front of his barracks and turned to glare at him. “Can I hit you again?”
“Yes.” Tor spread his arms and offered her a target. “Go ahead.”
Kyle recoiled. “What? No.”
“You can’t hurt me,” he said wondering if she actually might. “And if it helps you get over whatever has set you on fire, then do it.”
Her eyes narrowed and filled with tears. She punched him again, but not as hard.
“Keep going.” The reason for her anger suddenly thumped him as hard as she did. “Hit me until you forgive Erik.”
Kyle’s face crumpled and a raw sob burst from her. She pummeled Tor’s chest with her right fist—the only one that could reach him when she was behind the steering wheel. He let her hit him a dozen times before she tired.
Then he grabbed her arm. “Better?”
She slumped in her seat. “No. But yes. And no.”
“Perfect answer.” Tor opened his door and stepped out of the jeep. “I’ll walk to supper. See you there.”
He strode into his barracks wondering if staying just friends with the lieutenant was going to be possible.
*****
Kyle drove away from Tor’s barracks so confused that she couldn’t think straight. Nothing had arrived from Erik yet, and that upset her deeply. He was her fiancé after all. Why wasn’t he acting like one?
And then the captain provoked her so ridiculously until he made her laugh—at least on the inside. But when she lost her temper, he offered himself up as a sacrifice.
Hit him until she forgave Erik? What sort of man does something like that?
How he figured it out in the first place was obvious—after she told him nothing had arrived from Minnesota on Valentine’s Day, he’d asked her to go with him to the competition in Steamboat Springs. She knew he did that just to distract her. But she was so glad that he did.
Now Erik’s apparent disregard of her was standing in direct contrast to the Norwegian’s kind considerations. That was not helping her hold to the only resolve that made any sense.
Kyle stopped the jeep in front of her own barracks and wondered if she had the strength to go inside and face Marguerite, knowing what she now knew beyond a doubt.
Nope.
Kyle reengaged the jeep and drove toward the POW enclosure, curious if any hint of a search was evident. As she drew closer and parked, she saw the prisoners standing rank and file in the exercise area under flood lights. All of the single-story housing units were lit from the inside and she could see movement in the rooms.
She sighed, glad on one hand to see the activity and wondering what might be found. On the other hand, she felt like she was waiting fo
r something big and horrible to fall from the sky. Being around Marguerite and Flo and Frances was wearing her down.
After a few minutes, Kyle drove away. She’d know what she could know when it was knowable. Until then, she needed to focus on her job.
She left the jeep in its regular spot outside the mess hall and went inside to get a pre-supper cup of coffee. She was surprised to see Tor was already there, talking amiably with Torger and Frank Collins.
When his eyes met hers, he rubbed his chest and winked.
Kyle knew she blushed. She went to get her coffee and added cream before joining the trio.
“Tell them what you thought of the competition,” Tor said without preamble.
Kyle had to smile at that. “It was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She turned to Torger. “I can’t believe what you do—aren’t you afraid to jump like that?”
He shook his head. “No. My Norwegian skull is too hard for thoughts like that.”
After a few more minutes of pleasantries, Kyle addressed Tor in Norsk. “Can I have a minute before supper?”
“Sure.” He turned to his friends and said in English, “Excuse me.”
Torger grinned and answered in that same language. “Of course.”
Once there was enough distance between the two pairs of soldiers, Kyle stopped and faced Tor. “I drove by the POWs.”
She clearly caught his attention. “And?”
“And they’re searching every unit. All the prisoners were standing at attention in the exercise field. There were lights everywhere.”
Tor nodded. “After last night’s escape, I’d do the same thing.”
“Then why ask about the names this morning?” Kyle asked. “Just to search those parts extra carefully?”
“And more specifically,” he clarified. “They’ll be looking for anything suspicious in the general search, but for signed love notes in those cases.”
Kyle shuddered. “I hope this is over soon.”
Tor’s smile was grim. “It’s bound to be.”
February 17, 1944
Kyle was sleeping, dreaming of skiers who were flying away with German POWs on their backs when a knock at the door woke her.
