Уильям Мейкл - Operation - Norway

“Not going to happen, lad,” Banks said. “I gave you an order. It would be best for you to obey it.”

Banks was watching the troll closely and now he saw it, the first hint that the drugs might be working as McCallum’s huge chin dropped to his chest and jerked back up again.

“Last chance, Private McCallum. Stand down or I’ll have you up on a charge.”

But instead of compliance, Banks got another shout of rage in reply. The walls shivered and great cracks appeared in the stone. The trolls were waking again.

In one swift movement, Banks drew his service pistol, stepped inside an arm that was already swinging in his direction, and put three shots into McCallum’s left eye.

The troll swayed, left then right, lifted the pressure on Wiggins’ chest enough for the corporal to roll away, then it collapsed like a falling tree, with a crash that shook the whole chamber, laying the body out flat, face down on the floor of the cave.

The walls settled, the last echo of the pistol shots faded and the only sound was Wiggins, fumbling hastily to light a cigarette.

“Fuck me, Cap,” he said once his smoke was lit. “Cutting it a bit fine there, weren’t you?”

Banks wasn’t listening. He looked down at the prone figure.

“I’m sorry, lad,” he said.

“No worries, Cap,” Wiggins replied.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Wiggo,” Banks replied, retrieved his rifle, and went outside in search of clearer air.

They watched the end of it from the supply vessel that brought them ‘round from the harbor. Larsen had campaigned, long and hard, for access to the “specimens,” but Banks’ and Olsen’s testimony had persuaded the authorities that much of the blame for the debacle should be laid on the doctor’s shoulders and all the man’s pleas were refused. When Olsen offered a chance to the squad to oversee the final act before heading home, Banks knew he couldn’t refuse.

Three F-16s roared overhead, six AIM-120 missiles went into the cave mouth, and seconds later, the whole cliff face disappeared in a rumbling roar of debris. When the smoke and dust settled, the cliff face was thirty yards farther inland and there was a new pile of rubble on the shore.

“I’d keep an eye on that if I were you,” Banks said.

“It shall be carefully transported, every stone and pebble of it, to one of our high arctic island outposts, into a remote valley where the sun never shines,” Olsen said. “And I have been given authority for the site to be treated as a war grave. Your man, or what is left of him at least, shall not be disturbed again.”

Banks turned away, lest the captain see the tears in his eyes.