'That's it, gentlemen. It's no use griping: we just haven't got the anti-air, the tactical air or the coastal amphibious lift. Your job is to stop the Russians by using what you're carrying, by fighting delaying actions and by using the terrain to the best of its advantage until ACE'S Mobile Force and Whisky company arrive.'
He jumped from the stage and the assembly broke up. During the melee of climbing back into their arctic clothing, Dick was taken aside by the staff officer, Captain Throwleigh.
'I've got it all in writing for you,' Throwleigh said, whisking through Stoddart's field orders. '42 will be in its defensive positions north of you by tonight. You are to divide your detachment into two sections, the first, Zulu, under your command to establish ambush positions at Skibotn. From the mountains there, you can command the junction, where the only road from the north meets the £71 from the Finnish Wedge. Don't blow the bridges until you're ordered. Your second section, Sierra, with an NCO in command, is to take up its ambush position, here, above Helligskogen on the E78 near the Finnish frontier post. Here,' — he marked the ambush position with his pencil — ' nine men can close this pass by the lake for a hell of a long time. We've dumped ammo, and food for Zulu at Skibotn. That's okay for your section, but I haven't been able to scrounge transport to get the stuff up to Sierra. I've scrounged a shaky Land-Rover for your detachment, complete with driver. It's waiting for you at Sorkjosen airstrip, at the head of Reisafjord. It's carrying spare arctic gear, in case Icarus' pusser hasn't been up to scratch — and you've enough juice to keep you going for a couple of days. There's a good military ski and snow-shoe depot at Sorkjosen.'
'Communications?' Dick asked. ' Local frequencies once Icarus' Lynx has rejoined the ship?'
'Roger — but reception is bloody awful around here in these mountains. Try the local pigeon.' Throwleigh held out his hand. 'Good luck, Dick,' he said. 'They're waiting for you at Asegarden — one of our Kangaw Flight, so you're in good hands. Tony will have to refuel at Bardufoss before taking you on. If the weather doesn't shut down, you ought to be touching down at Sorkjosen by 2100 at the latest. Your driver's expecting you.'
'Thanks.' Dick was grateful to the staffie who was helping with his pack and gear. ' What's Icarus' ETA, Kagsund?'
'0500. I'll signal if she's delayed, but she'll be in a hurry. She's rejoining STANAVFORLANT off North Cape to forestall any Russian amphibious attempts.'
'I reckon the enemy heavy units will back up his amphibious forces,' Dick said as he pulled on his mitt. ' It'll be warming up a bit off North Cape.'
As he strode across the crackling snow, he turned to wave at the figure framed in the doorway of the hut. Stoddan wondered when again he would be enjoying the comforts of civilization.
HMS Icarus, 30 December. 'Grimsholm lighthouse 237°. Noted the time, Pilot?' Captain Trevellion sang out from the bearing repeater to Brian Neame. Trevellion's eyes ached from the long search for the landfall off the island of Vannoy. The entrance to the fjord was difficult to identify in this jagged coast; even in this calmer weather the long swell which followed the gales was pounding against the lee shore to catapult huge tapestries of spume hundreds of feet into the air. In this darkness, the breakers seemed an endless army of spectres whose shrouds twined and leaped ceaselessly.
'0425, sir. Radar range, four decimal three miles. We're just south of our line, sir: suggest course, 154°.'
'Steer 154°. How far to our heave-to position?'
'Twenty-four miles.'
They had picked up Fulgloykalven's white group occulting light at fifteen miles, but Grimsholm, only five miles off in this darkness, barely showed, shaped as it was like a trimmed-down nuclear submarine. Neame had never sighted the Gasan shoal, which, even at high water, was supposed to break white: it was dangerous here, because the lethal tip of these seaward shoals remained in the white isophase sector of Fugloykalven light.
Captain Trevellion turned as the helicopter observer and pilot clambered on to the bridge.
'Ready to take off, sir,' Hob reported, saluting. ' Corporal Burns and his detachment are standing by.'
'Right.' Trevellion turned to Daglish. 'Happy about your orders?'
'Yes, sir: take off as we approach The Leads. You'll be using Lyngskjer light beacon, on the reef at the head of Lyngcnfjord as your datum. You'll be anchoring just clear of the channel in Kagsund, between Kaagen Island and Arnoy, to be in the lee: the wind normally blows up or down Lyngenfjord, apparently.'
'Right — visibility acceptable?'
'Yes, sir, but I can use the air strip's radio beacon,' Rollo said.' We'll keep to the water, following the coastline.'
'Roger. I'll send in the boats with the heavy gear when I heave-to under Arnoy. If I have to get out in a hurry, I'll show my emergency recognition lights and wait for you in Vannoyfjord. I assume you'll land ashore.'
They saluted and left the bridge. Pascoe leaned with his elbows on the ledge of the starboard window. He sighed with relief at entering the sheltered waters of The Leads after these few days. Rough it had been, but the discomfort and tension of these past thirty-six hours, instead of producing the expected bloody-mindedness, had in a mysterious way welded his ship's company together. Hacking ice from the superstructures, officers and men together in those appalling conditions might have had something to do with it… even the Sick Berth Tiffy, Morgan, had come into his own: there were queues of suspected frost-nip cases outside the Sick Bay during those early days.
Number One, too, was turning up trumps at last. The tauter discipline, where each man knew where he stood, had shaken them all up, officers and men. Gradually they were growing proud of their ship and themselves….
The captain took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair: he would fly off Perdix in ten minutes and then Neame could take the ship up the fjord and into The Leads. By the time Icarus reached the head of Lyngenfjord, to turn up into Kaagsund, Trevellion could have washed and shaved; the ship could go to breakfast while the Royals were flown ashore. Perdix would make four trips to Sorkjosen airstrip: she would lift five booties, plus rifles, arctic clothing and packs, per trip. Ammunition and food stores would be landed by the motor-boat and the three-in-one at the fishing haven of Hamneidet on the Reisanfjord peninsular.
The message had already been passed to Dick Stoddart, who had been at Sorkjosen airstrip all night, waiting for his detachment. (Trevellion was looking forward to meeting his Royal Marine captain one day…) As he waited for the Lynx to fly off, he flicked through the first lieutenant's daily orders. Jewkes had found the right touch now, keeping the ship's company up-to-date with events: the prospect of a mail delivery today had sent morale rocketing. At 0900 he would be seeing requestmen: there were no defaulters, and this hour's break provided an opportunity to catch up with the important details in men's lives — two advancements; one good conduct medal; and a request from L/RO Osgood to see the captain privately. Lochead, the divisional officer, had passed on the request directly to his captain, so presumably Osgood needed help with his private affairs. Campbell, the Master-at-Arms, had hinted as much in Trevellion's cabin yesterday: Osgood had taken an emotional hammering.