Уильям Мейкл - Operation - Norway

At first, it seemed the Norwegian captain was right, for a grim quiet fell over the facility, the only sound the wailing of the siren until Olsen stepped forward and cut it off using the keypad. They stood there under the red throbbing light, the adrenaline rush of their flight starting to dwindle.

“It is done,” Larsen said.

As if in answer, the vault door shook in its, frame sending dust falling from the roof. The drums pounded again on the other side and Banks imagined the basketball-sized fists of stone, many of them, battering away in unison.

“That’s not possible,” Larsen whispered.

“Not probable, more likely,” Banks replied. He ignored Larsen and spoke directly to Olsen.

“I hope you have a plan B. This door’s not going to stay shut for long.”

More rubble fell from the roof above them. One of the red lightbulbs blew out with a fizz and burst of smoke, and the huge door moved almost an inch in the frame as the pounding on the far side rose to a frenzy.

The Norwegian officer looked at the door then at Banks.

“We yield them this ground; I don’t think we have a choice. I need to call in some backup but first, we need to evacuate.”

“You heard the man, lads,” Banks said. “Let’s get our kit and get the flock out of here before this goes completely south on us.”

“What about this one?” Wiggins asked, pointing at where Larsen stood, white-faced, staring at the door that was now rattling loosely in its frame as the pounding intensified.

“He’s on his own,” Banks said and turned to lead the squad back up to the garage.

The bunker door gave as they were leaving the trailer; they heard the clang, followed immediately by the roar like clashing rocks. Larsen came out of the corridor at a flat run. Judging by the noise coming up from below, the trolls — a throng of them by the sound of it — were not far behind.

Banks had all the squad retrieve their rifles and spare ammo from their kit bags; if Olsen wanted to make an official complaint, he could do so later, but in the meantime, Banks’ men needed the firepower now.

“Outside,” Banks shouted, “double-time. Maybe the daylight will slow them down a bit.”

Wiggins took a last look at the trailer.

“All that pizza and booze. What a bloody waste.”

They ran for the garage exit and were almost there when the first of the trolls appeared in the garage. If it had been McCallum, Banks might have attempted an order but the first one out of the underground facility was the squat, barrel-like one he’d seen down below and it did not look to be in the mood to take commands. It came out of the corridor running at full speed, heading for them.

The squad backed out into the parking space, squinting at the sudden exposure to full daylight. They stood in a line, all four aiming back at the doorway. Olsen and six of his men joined them.

“Backup is on its way,” Olsen said. “I’ve asked for heavy artillery.”

“Looks like we’re going to need it,” Banks replied, then there was no time to talk.

Two more trolls joined the squat one in the main entrance to the garage. Olsen didn’t wait for them to advance.

“Rapid fire,” he shouted and the S-Squad joined with the Norwegians in laying down a field of fire. The parking area rang with gunfire. Pieces of the trolls flew, stone chips clattering against the roof and walls inside the garage, but although they were hit by tens of rounds each, none of the three fell.

Banks saw a larger, darker shape loom in the doorway, coming on fast, accelerating. The trolls stepped aside to let it past.

“Incoming!” Banks shouted, as their long trailer came out of the doorway, doing sixty miles an hour and careering right at them. It was almost flying across the ground, not propelled by any engine, for it didn’t have one.

The sneaky bastards chucked it out the door.

The soldiers, both Norwegians and S-Squad, scattered in the face of the approaching missile. One of Olsen’s men wasn’t fast enough; he seemed transfixed by the sight of the vehicle barreling towards him, sending sparks flying as it fell on one side and kept coming, slower now but still several tons of killing machine. The man tried to flee at the last instant but stumbled over his own feet and fell directly in the trailer’s path. It went over him without a pause, leaving little more than a red streak and a bundle of rags in its wake before coming to a crashing halt in a tangle of wreckage as it hit three parked cars at the edge of the parking area.

Banks had already turned back towards the garage entrance, expecting an attack under the cover of the diversion. Although the doorway was now filled with a dozen trolls — the tall figure of McCallum in the middle, his cleaner rock making him easy to spot among the others — they showed no sign of wanting to venture outside.

“It’s the sunlight. They don’t like it,” Banks shouted then joined Olsen and his team in sending another volley into the gathered things in the doorway.

McCallum let out a roar and at first Banks thought they might, finally, have tempted an attack but the trolls as one stepped back out of the doorway and were quickly lost in the shadows.

Olsen called for a cease-fire.

“Now what?” Hynd asked as quiet fell again.

Wiggins looked towards the wreck of the trailer.

“I’ll tell you what — we’re out of booze and pizza and I’m fucking starving.”

Before Banks got a chance to tell the corporal to stow it, the parking area echoed with the screech of tearing metal and the crash and tumble of falling rubble. Thin dust and smoke wafted out of the garage exit. A metal cabinet, double-fronted and the size of two men, came out of a high window, arced through the air, and landed with a crash just yards from Banks’ feet.

“They’re tearing the place apart,” the doctor, Larsen said, from where he stood, a safe distance away, behind Olsen’s men. “You’ve got to stop them.”

“We’re open to ideas,” Banks said. “They’re your patients after all.”

“Tranquilizer guns, maybe,” Larsen said. “Or we could gas them out.”

“Aye, because that worked so well down in the bunker. I don’t think these wankers worry much about what they’re breathing.”

Olsen stepped over to Banks’ side.

“We’ve got tanks incoming. In the meantime, if we can keep them inside, we can at least contain the damage.”

“That’s a big if,” Banks said, looking up at the sky, where a dark front of heavy clouds was approaching from the north.

The dark front arrived at almost the same time as backup arrived. A score of armed men preceded two tanks that lumbered into the parking area. Banks recognized them — they were originally German, the Leopard 2A4NL model; he guessed the Norwegians, like many other countries, had taken advantage when the Germans sold off old stock during an upgrade. They might indeed be old stock but Banks knew from experience that they packed a punch in their 120mm cannons that could penetrate two feet of steel and as backup to that, they each had twin-mounted 7.62mm machine guns with almost five thousand rounds of ammo.

“Now we’re talking,” Wiggins said as the two tanks lined up at Olsen’s directive to aim at the garage doors.

“Wait,” Larsen shouted. “You’ll bring the whole building down. All my research…”

“You should have thought of that earlier,” Olsen replied, “and saved us all a lot of trouble.”

Before Larsen could make any further protest, Olsen gave the order to fire.

The twin booms of the big guns almost deafened the soldiers. The shells went straight and true into the gaping maw of the garage entrance and a second later, a blast of heat and concussion almost knocked them off their feet. Every window above them blew out at once, glass shattering in a wave all across the parking lot. The garage doorway fell in on itself with a muffled thump and another blast of heat and debris. The main building above the underground garage slumped alarmingly to the north side then decided to stay up.