Уильям Мейкл - Operation - Norway

Banks took a step forward and spoke just loud enough that he knew he would be heard.

“Private McCallum?”

The response was immediate. The thing dropped its gaze from the stars and looked straight at him, its eyes lost in shadows under heavy rugged brows. It broke into a lumbering run, coming fast.

The rest of the squad was still coming through the door and the troll was already almost on top of them when Banks raised his voice, shouting now, putting all of his authority into it. He was playing a hunch here, aware that he was risking his life on it but to back off in the face of this rush would be equally as fatal.

“McCallum, stand down. That’s an order, Private.”

As before, the response was immediate although it took a while for the thing to come to a halt for it had worked up quite a head of steam. It stopped only six feet in front of Banks and once again cocked its head to one side in an all-too-human gesture that showed it was listening.

“I’m Captain Banks,” Banks said, clipped and official in manner, “and I’m here to help you.”

Then he made the mistake that could have cost him his life; he raised the syringe, showed it to the beast.

The troll moved first, letting out a roar of rage that echoed all around the walls of the fjord then swiping at the syringe as if to knock it away. Banks didn’t have time to avoid the blow and his left hand was struck by what felt like a lump of cold stone, sending the syringe flying into the night to clatter off rocks on the shore. His whole arm went numb at the weight of the hit and he tumbled off balance, just having enough presence of mind to let himself fall and not get entangled with the rest of the men.

As he rolled to one side, he saw Wiggins jump up onto the troll’s back, getting it in a half nelson. The beast, enraged at this affront, moved to grab for the corporal. At the same time, Davies stepped inside its reach and plunged his syringe down on its chest — he missed his mark and the needle — and the glass itself shattered against the hard skin. The private couldn’t get out the way in time and a huge arm brushed him away with a swatting blow that threw Davies across the quayside to land heavily, sliding for ten feet in the fresh snowfall and coming to a halt just above the drop into the icy waters of the fjord.

Banks was still trying to get to his feet and Wiggins was still hanging grimly to the beast’s neck when Hynd, calm as you like, ducked, rolled forward in a wrestler’s move, and came up between the thing’s legs. He took his time, looking for the right place to strike and slid the syringe into a crack in the skin at the thing’s groin, pushing the plunger in quickly before rolling again, through the thing’s legs and free.

“Ha, got you in the bollocks, you bastard,” Wiggins shouted and finally had enough of a grip to be able to swing his other hand ‘round and plunge the syringe into the troll’s neck. “This is for Wilkins,” he said and pushed the plunger before dropping away and tumbling out of the thing’s reach.

It took a while to go down and it went down hard. First its legs went weak, sending it rolling like a drunk to one side then the other. It hit the hut wall, leaving a massive dent. It tried to reach for Wiggins, who dodged it easily. The corporal danced like a boxer, fists up, taunting the thing.

“Come on then, big man. Have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”

Wiggins threw a punch at the thing’s belly then danced away holding his fist.

“Fuck me, it’s like punching a wall.”

“Don’t try kicking it in the nuts then,” Hynd said, laughing grimly.

The sergeant stepped forward and, using the outside of his heavy boot, kicked the troll hard on the inside of its left knee. The beast tottered and finally fell, even while it roared in rage, reaching for Hynd with huge grasping hands. It hit the quay with a crash, another echo ringing around the cliffs then finally lay still.

“That went well,” Wiggins said with a smile and went to help Davies up. The young private was shaken and stiff.

“Nothing broken except my dignity,” he said.

“Good lad,” Banks replied. “Fetch as much of that sedative as you’ve found,” he said. “I think we’re going to need it.”

Hynd lit two smokes and passed one to Banks while they both stood over the prone figure of the troll.

“What now, Cap?” Hynd asked.

“I don’t have a fucking clue, Sarge,”

The troll had fallen, face down, full length along the quay. The resemblance to a gorilla was even more marked close up and Banks was reminded of Kong, after his fall from the Empire State building. Hynd seemed to pick up the same thought.

“It wasn’t beauty that felled the beast… but a big needle in its bollocks. Should we try to move him, get him somewhere warm?”

“Given where he’s spent the last seventy years, I don’t think he gives a fuck about the cold, Sarge. And besides, it will take a fucking crane. All I can think of is keeping him under with the dope and hoping the skipper of that supply vessel has a bright idea.”

“Speaking of which,” Hynd replied. “I’ve been thinking too. We don’t have a phone but maybe we could get a beacon going? We’ve got enough crap to burn here and at least it would let anybody passing know we were here?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Get Wiggo to help you. I’ll need Davies to keep an eye both on Wilkins and this big galoot here.”

Hynd had one last question before he turned away.

“You really think this can be reversed? I mean, I get it, he’s a soldier and we all saw how he reacted to your order. But how can anybody come back from something like this?”

Banks didn’t reply but the same answer he’d already given came immediately to mind.

I don’t have a fucking clue.

He let Hynd and Wiggins get on with the job of building a beacon fire on the quayside and went into the hut to find Davies checking on Wilkins.

“The lad’s still out cold, Cap,” Davies said. “He slept through the whole bloody thing.”

“Let’s hope we can keep yon big bugger out there in the same condition.”

“I’m not sure how to go about that, Cap,” the private said. “There’s a formula for sedatives based on body weight, blood pressure, several other factors. But I’m not even sure how yon thing’s alive. There’s no discernible pulse, no sound of a heartbeat, and he’s only just breathing. For all I know, all we’re doing is killing him slowly.”

“Just do your best, lad,” Banks said. “We’ll get an expert onto him as soon as we can.”

“There’s experts in this shit?”

“Well, there used to be. All we can do is hope there’s still some bugger back home that knows how to deal with him.”

Banks didn’t say it but he was already second-guessing his own decision; he could hear the colonel’s admonition even now.

“I said bloody sanitize, not babysit.”

The only comeback he’d have at his disposal is that he didn’t have a clue how to sanitize the thing out on the quay; dumping a cave load of rock on it hadn’t done the trick, nor had a volley of rapid fire from five guns. If the troll woke up, Banks might get a chance to try something else, maybe Wiggins’ idea of using a load of C4 to blow it to buggery. As he walked back out to help with the building of the beacon fire, he was hoping that decision might be taken out of his hands.

They built a huge pyre at the end of the small jetty, piling on anything that looked like it would burn; chairs, tables, bedding, cots, and cupboards, and used what little paper they could salvage from the old filing cabinets to get the fire started. The only thing they kept back was a hospital-style folding bed that they had Wilkins — still unconscious — laid out on by the fire inside.