by Kris Tualla
“That’s not uncommon,” the man next to him said. “Shouldn’t last more than a couple days.”
Well that’s just great news.
Something—or rather, someone—appeared in Tor’s peripheral vision. He turned his head to see a man of his own height standing nearby, but dressed in the leathers and fur of the Viking era.
Tor looked away and rubbed his eyes, then looked back.
The Viking was still there and staring at him.
Tor looked around him. No one else seemed to notice the man.
I’m hallucinating. I need food.
Tor kept walking and ignored the vision.
*****
Torger and Tor went out to supper together, along with three other soldiers from their respective platoons. It was so good to sit in a restaurant and eat food that wasn’t colorless, tasteless, and made in mass quantities.
“Another?” Torger asked the waiter and pointed at their empty wine bottle.
“Two!” one of the men barked and held up two fingers.
The opened bottles appeared immediately. The Americans who had arrived to fight the Germans were obviously welcome.
Tor pushed his plate away, the thin pasta and fresh fish in a creamy tomato sauce completely gone. “That was the best meal I ever ate.”
“Agreed,” Torger said with his mouth full of bread.
Tor stood and dropped some money on the table. “I’m going to take a walk and see if I can find a post office.”
He winked at Torger. “Gotta write to the little ball-and-chain, don’t I?”
The four men waved him off and Tor started walking. The Viking was soon beside him.
“What are you, my guardian angel?” Tor muttered.
“Something like that.”
Tor stopped and stared at the man. “Am I going crazy?”
“No. I am definitely here.” He shrugged. “But only you can see and hear me.”
Tor looked up and down the nearly empty street. He waited while a man walked by him—in between Tor and the Viking—and didn’t acknowledge the other man.
Tor looked him in the eye. “Are you going to follow me everywhere?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I do not know.”
Tor rested his hands on his hips, disbelieving this conversation, and sighed.
“Well… I guess I could use an angel.”
He turned toward their accommodations for the night and walked in companionable silence with the Viking by his side.
Chapter
Thirty Eight
February 7, 1945
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Tor’s second letter was dated January 9th, the same day Kyle moved to Minneapolis. Her mother forwarded it to her tiny new home.
Kyle made the six-hour drive from Viking, checked in to a motel directly across the Mississippi River from the University of Minnesota campus, and drove across the bridge to meet with the university’s veteran’s services people.
After a flurry of letters and phone calls with the veteran’s services office throughout December, Kyle had been accepted as a freshman, her tuition was covered, and furnished housing was found for her near the campus.
Classes started the next week.
Because she was married and pregnant, she had to rent an apartment off campus, but that was fine. It wasn’t a terrible walk and she still had her sturdy army boots and warm wool coat. Kyle had enough money in savings to get her started, and her first veteran’s check for living expenses arrived last week.
Kyle set her textbooks on her little kitchen table and heated water for tea while she held Tor’s letter against her cheek. The strong ink strokes on the front of the envelope made her so happy when she opened her mailbox. Now she wanted to savor the reading.
Once her tea was made, she carried the cup to the sleeper sofa where she sat, tucked her legs under her, and rested a hand on the shifting surface of her abdomen.
“Calm down, Thor,” she said softly. “We have a letter from your daddy.”
As if the babe understood, his movements stilled while Kyle read the necessarily cryptic letter out loud.
My dearest wife,
We finally made it to our destination yesterday afternoon after walking every day since my last letter to you. It was tiring, but the scenery here is beautiful. That helped.
Can you imagine this many men straggling in to an average sized village over the course of a day? The people here rushed to take care of us and told us they were glad we had come. Judging by the conditions here, these people have not had an easy time.
In fact, nowhere that I have seen in this country is unscathed. Torched and abandoned buildings litter the beautiful countryside. It’s heartbreaking.
We have already started preparing for our battle. After five days here, we’ll spend one day walking to the site of the offensive. We’ll be making use of our training, that’s for certain.
I wish I could hear from you. I want to know what your days are like. How much you are growing with my son. What the weather is like. When we are back together I will never spend a night away from you again.
I’m sending you and the babe all of my love. And please keep praying for me. I believe it’s working.
Your loving husband.
Kyle read the letter out loud three times while she rubbed her stomach. Then she set it down and picked up her tea. She prayed silently while she sipped it in the silence of her cozy apartment.
Her decision to move and start college at this stage of her life was gutsy and she knew it. Not only was she seven years older than the average college freshman, but she was expecting a child. Kyle knew she would face opposition and she showed up ready for it.
She was a Second Lieutenant in the Army, after all.
Kyle started by making appointments to meet with each of her professors. Sitting across from their desks in their typically academic offices, she told them where she had been, what she had done, and why she was in their classes.
“If it’s all right with you,” she said, “I’d like to work ahead so when I miss a couple weeks with the baby I can still finish on time.”
Three of her teachers were clearly impressed and offered to do what they could to help her complete her class load by the first of June.
Two weren’t so eager.
“I understand that you can work on a degree…” Her stuffy English Literature professor spoke down his uplifted nose. “I just don’t understand why you’d want to.”
“That’s a simple answer, sir.” Kyle smiled sweetly. “Because someday you’ll retire. And I expect you’d want your replacement to be well educated.”
The man blinked. “Oh. Yes. Quite.”
After their interview he wasn’t overly helpful, but he did accept all of Kyle’s extra papers for credit. She’d currently earned one-hundred-and-forty percent out of a possible one hundred in his class.
Her psychology professor’s suggestions, however, were actually offensive. “Go home, Mrs. Hansen. Take care of your home and raise your baby. You’re an embarrassment to your gender.”
Kyle didn’t answer right away. This pompous ass deserved a dressing down and she wanted to do it right.
“Thank you for your opinion, sir, but there are factors you have not taken into consideration.”
“Oh, really?” he drawled. “Such as?”
“For starters, I think I want to be a psychologist.”
He lifted a brow. “Why?”
“Because the science of the mind fascinates me.” She offered a mirthless smile. “And because there will be multiple thousands of men—and women—who will return from this war with something called shell shock.”
She looked pointedly around the smallish office. “Can you treat them all by yourself?”
“That’s not the—”
“Not only that,” Kyle interrupted, not believing what she was about to say. “But many multiple thousands of men won’t come home at all, will they
?”
“Now see here—”
“No sir. You see here.” She kept her tone calm and civil. “My husband, my child’s father, is currently fighting in Europe. Can you guarantee he’ll come home?”
“Don’t be absurd,” he scoffed.
“I’m not. I’m being the opposite of absurd.” Kyle fought the fraught emotions erupting in her chest and lifted her chin. “I am assuring that I can take care of our child, by myself, in case he doesn’t.”
That shut the man up.
He glared at her. “I won’t grade you on a different scale than any of my other students. And attendance is part of that grade.”
“In that case, I’ll excel in all of my assignments and tests,” Kyle countered. “Then even if you fail me in attendance, according to your syllabus I’ll still receive a B.”
She stood and extended her hand across the desk. “Thank you for your time.”
The offer of a handshake seemed to confuse him. He rose slowly and accepted. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Hansen.”
Kyle walked to the office door, opened it and turned back to smile at the still standing professor.
“I believe I’ve just successfully completed assignment number fifteen: Deflecting Aggression Without Engaging, don’t you? Have a great afternoon!”
February 18-19, 1945
Northern Italy
On the nearly vertical face of Riva Ridge near Mount Belvedere in northern Italy, Tor used his pick to test a crack before he pounded a steel piton into it and attached a snap link. Then he fastened the coiled rope he carried over his shoulder to the link and let it unwind down the mountain. Those who followed would use the rope to pull themselves up the face of the ridge.
The wind was wet and bitterly cold and Tor was constantly showered with ice crystals from above. With his skis and poles strapped to his back he felt like a bird with clipped wings.
The Tenth Mountain Division had launched their attack on the ridge after sunset under the cover of darkness, intending to surprise their German enemy. Their uniquely trained corps was the spearhead for twenty coordinated allied divisions who were pushing the enemy irrevocably north.
Climbing silently in the dark on either side and below him were dozens of men from the Eighty-sixth Infantry Regiment, creating a path for the rest. Along with the advance team, Tor reached the top of the Ridge just before midnight.
He and the others signaled to the units below that the remainder of the nine hundred men could begin their ascent in force, then started preparing the area for their coordinated attack.
Fortunately a haze hung over the lower elevations of the ridge and helped conceal the ascending mountaineers, though searchlights behind the combat area scanned the low-hanging clouds.
According to Tor’s watch, by four o’clock in the morning all the members of the Eighty-sixth had reached their objective. Their counterparts in the First Battalion and Company F of the Second Battalion had also reached their separate objectives on nearby parts of the ridge.
None of them had been detected.
The Eighty-sixth soldiers gathered in their units and donned their skis. When daylight was near and Tor received the signal, he sent his men forward, armed with grenades and rifles with bayonets in place.
The German 1044th Infantry Regiment was taken completely by surprise, but that didn’t make the battle any less bloody. With the sunrise the Germans launched counterattack after counterattack, accompanied by heavy artillery fire on the ridge.
When the Allies’ counter-artillery repulsed a failed attack, the Germans came forward with their hands up in surrender.
“They are tricking you.”
Tor heard the Viking’s voice and carefully looked to his side. “What?”
“They plan to get close and attack you,” the angel said. “Be ready to fight back.”
“Be ready, men!” Tor shouted. “Don’t trust the bastards!”
The Viking was right.
When the ‘surrendering’ soldiers dropped to their knees and started shooting, Tor’s men responded with artillery fire and grenades and drove the Germans back, killing many.
At battle’s end, Tor’s platoon confirmed twenty-six Germans killed, seven captured, and more Nazis bleeding all over the snow than Tor could tally.
It was a good day.
February 20, 1945
Riva Ridge, Italy
Gaining control of Riva Ridge was a vital link to the campaign through Italy, and last night the Germans were taken completely by surprise as the Americans secured the ridge above their camp for today’s battle.
How I wish I could tell you about this.
Kyle was never far from Tor’s thoughts. He asked the Viking how she was doing, but apparently his guardian angel’s powers only extended to Tor and his immediate vicinity.
What good was that?
The Tenth Mountain Division’s Eighty-fifth and Eighty-seventh Infantry had arrived in Italy on January thirteenth, and were now in position to attack the Germans on Mount della Torraccia.
Thanks to last night’s victory, the Six-hundred-fiftieth Artillery was setting up on Riva Ridge. The plan was for them to fire on Mount Belvedere and back up the Tenth in their assault of the German stronghold, while the Eighty-sixth launched a downhill attack on the Germans camp below the ridge.
“Come on, you ridge-running, stump-jumping, sons of bitches!” Tor shouted. “Strap on your skis and let’s kill some more Germans today!”
Almost nine hundred members of the Eighty-sixth Infantry launched themselves down the hill, descending on their enemy like a flying plague of well-armed locusts. Dressed in white camouflage and gliding on white skis they achieved a modicum of surprise on the cloudy day.
Torger shot past Tor shouting, “Die du drittsekkene!” Die you sons of bitches!
Tor’s competitive spirit prompted him to catch up with the ski-jumper but the thought of his wife tempered that urge.
Instead he shouted after his friend, “Spar litt for meg!” Save some for me!
The Germans knew the Allies were waiting at the top of the ridge and they were better prepared than the night before.
“To your right!” the Viking shouted.
Tor swung his rifle to the side and shot, taking down the German. “Thanks!”
“Watch for grenades.”
“And you watch for everything else!” Tor countered.
He slid to a stop and shot into the forest before pulling the pin from a grenade and throwing it in that direction.
As he skied forward again Tor kept to the forest—for cover as much as to search for enemy soldiers. He dropped over a ridge and found himself on the edge of a blast hole. He skidded to a stop when he saw the white uniforms.
“Who are they?” he asked the angel.
The angel bent over the bodies and looked at the dead men, then he straightened and faced Tor sadly. “One of them is your friend.”
“Torger?” Tor side-stepped forward on his skis until he could see the man’s face. “Oh, no. Not you, Torger. You were too fearless, I think.”
“Someone is behind you!”
Tor whirled around and shot the brown-uniformed soldier in the face.
He hesitated, then mentally shook himself. “Let’s go.”
I’ll think about Torger later.
He never heard the explosion.
*****
Tor looked down at his shattered chest. There was no way he could survive such a devastating wound. He squinted at the Viking as he struggled to draw breath past broken bone.
“I thought you were my guardian angel.” His voice was no more than a rasped whisper.
The angel looked as shattered as Tor’s chest. “I could not save you this time. I am sorry.”
A light began to glow in Tor’s peripheral vision: bright, warm, and inviting. He glanced at it, torn by the need to remain here on the snowy mountain and fight the impossible battle to survive, and the desire to go forward and discover what awaited him on the other si
de.
He looked back at the Viking. Everything around the angel was growing darker, though the angel remained clear. “What am I supposed to do now?”
He smiled sadly. “Go to the light, Tor. You have fought valiantly and your reward is waiting.”
“Am I dead then?”
“You are dying.”
Tears filled Tor’s eyes. “What will happen to Kyle? And our baby?”
The Viking’s expression shifted. “I cannot see the future, Tor. But I do believe that she and your child will have a fine life.”
Tor tried to grab the angel and surprisingly felt the man’s hand. “Will you watch over them?”
If an angel could cry, Tor believed the Viking would be sobbing.
“I swear this to you: if there is any possible way for me to do so, I will.”
Tor nodded, said one last prayer for Kyle and the babe, and then left his broken body on the mountain.
Chapter
Thirty Nine
February 27, 1945
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Kyle opened the door to her apartment in response to an unexpected knock. She glanced at the clock. It was two in the afternoon.
A pair of somber men in army uniforms stood facing her. “Mrs. Tor Hansen?”
“No—please no—tell me he’s not…”
“The army offers its condolences, ma’am.”
Kyle moaned and sank to her knees. Sobs shook her shoulders and tears gushed from her eyes. This was every soldier’s wife’s worst nightmare.
No no no no no nooo…
She felt herself being lifted and led to the one upholstered chair in her home. Someone shut the door. Someone handed her a handkerchief.
“I’ll make tea,” a male voice said.
Tor is dead.
My husband is dead.
She lifted her head and stared at the officer sitting on her couch.
“How?”
“He was hit by a grenade on February twentieth in a battle below Riva Ridge in Italy.”
