‘OK, you can take Clarence, Remember, avoid contact if it’s humanly possible, and if it isn’t be gentle. If we get bagged and interned simply for being here, that’s one thing; getting hanged for what the Swedes would call murder is another.’
‘They don’t have a death penalty in Sweden.’ Hogg didn’t look up from the radar display. He was noting the precise location ‘at which the trace of the boat suddenly merged with the island’s, north-eastern coastline and ceased to exist as a separate entity on the screen.
‘I bet they’d make an exception for us.’ Passing through, a pick and shovel over his shoulder, Dooley was no longer smiling.
‘What the hell are they doing?’ Through the lens of the pocket image intensifier, Lieutenant Hogg kept constant watch on the comings and goings of the four men, as they moved among the broken walls of the old castle.
Using the night-scope on his rifle, Clarence had been watching as well. ‘They’ve taken all the packs into the tower, but the sledge hasn’t been unloaded yet, it’s close by the arch leading in. It’s a bit cold for a picnic’
‘Maybe it’s an orgy. I heard the Swedes were big on that sort of thing. Hell, I wish we could use a radio, I know it doesn’t look like these guys are going to roam about and stumble on our set-up, but my gut tells me there’s something funny going on, and I sure would like to chew it over with the major.’
‘I think one of them is a woman. The figure taking the box off the sledge…there…you see.’
‘Either that’s a man with a full pack stuffed down the front of his ski-suit, or like you say, it’s female. That helps my orgy theory.’
‘Not necessarily, Lieutenant.’ Panning over the ruins, Clarence sought the other people from the boat. ‘I’ve seen a few of the Swedish magazines Dooley buys: four men, four women, one woman and three monkeys, they’ll do it with anything. That’s nothing to go by.’
‘There’s one on the roof of the tower.’ Hogg had to be careful not to breathe too heavily and to exhale towards the ground on which they lay among the leafless copse. Any other way would have fogged the lens, and produced a white cloud that might have betrayed their position. ‘Is that an aerial he’s rigging?’
‘Could be, but we’d need to get closer to be certain’. ‘Major Revell ought to know about this. You get word to him. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on them.’ Wiping his nose on the back of his mitten, Hogg winced at the pain it brought, but was pleased to see the flow of blood did at last seem to be slowing. The thick fabric of his glove was stiff with it, and he could feel where runs of blood had turned to ice on his face. Any fresh trickle either had to be wiped away immediately, or he needed to move his head from side to side in a gentle motion that prevented it from welding his face to his hood when it dripped sluggishly from his chin.
Pushing himself up on to his hands and knees, Clarence paused. ‘You had better move around now and again, Lieutenant. The bottom must have dropped out of the thermometer. Cold has a way of creeping up on you.’
‘I’m not about to let myself be turned into a popsicle when the best slice of action so far in the whole war is in the offing. Get word to the major, then we can get this sideshow sorted out and get down to the main business.’
Clarence didn’t offer further argument or advice. Crouched low, and moving quietly through the powder-like snow, he started back to the house. The combination of snow on the ground and brilliantly sharp starlight provided sufficient illumination to light his way, but the absence of shadows made it impossible to see the prints they had made on the way out, and twice within a hundred yards, he missed his way. The cold was a very physical thing, plucking at him with needle-covered hands. Unable to measure it, he could only speculate on how far the temperature had now plunged. Recalling something he had read long ago, he made to spit. If his memory served, it would crackle when it touched the ground once the temperature had dropped below fifty degrees, but was it Fahrenheit or Centigrade? He couldn’t be sure. The skin of his face was taut, his cheeks ached and he gave up the attempt to make spittle. For once he envied Hyde his ghastly face, at least the sergeant had no feeling in it. His eyes blinked hot tears that turned to ice droplets, and wiping them away added more discomfort, as in parting from his face the flakes and droplets seared his skin like freeze-branding irons.
The house was ahead, he could see movement close by it. Clarence felt relief, another hundred yards and then he’d be able to enjoy a cup of the disgusting, stomach-’ rotting coffee that York brewed. Strange, it wasn’t getting any closer. Making the effort to bend in his bulky clothing he looked down. His legs weren’t moving. That was silly, why had he stopped? It was only a little further, a hundred steps, but he couldn’t get his legs to make one. There was a numbness in them that was spreading to the rest of his body. An overwhelming tiredness washed over him.
He was locking solid, his strength had gone, sapped by the cold that crept through him, leeching his will. Just a few more paces, just a few. Why? Why a few more steps, where was he going? Silly to go on, why not just lie down, have a rest, sleep for a while. When he woke up he’d feel better, remember where… or was it what? It didn’t matter, nothing mattered…
SEVEN
‘Solid as a bloody rock.’ Burke jabbed the stick into the fuel tank. ‘Petrol’s frozen. What do I do now, light a fire under it?’
‘You do and the major will light one under you, if you don’t blow yourself up first.’ Dooley stopped work and looked up from his chest-deep excavation. ‘The first three feet it’s like going down through concrete, keeps you warm though.’
‘But what the fuck do I do with this?’ Not wishing to add to his work load, Burke resisted the strong temptation to kick the generator.
‘You’ll have to shift it inside, won’t you?’ Using pile-driver force Dooley drove his pick into the bottom of the trench, twisted it and then reached in to haul out a lump of half-frozen earth that must have weighed fifty pounds.
‘You’re joking. It took four of us to get the bloody thing here, and now the runners are welded to the shitty ground.’
‘Why aren’t you working, Burke?’ Hood thrown back, his artificially precise hairline accentuating the featureless expanse of his face Hyde looked unreal, like a watery painting of a portrait by a child too immature to put in any but the simplest of details.
‘Can’t do any more outside, Sarge. It’ll have to go inside if we’re to have a chance of keeping it in action.’
‘Alright, you heard him, Dooley, up out of your pit and give a hand here.’
‘The major said I was to finish this before I did anything else.’
‘You should have done already. Now if you’d pretended you were digging up one of the old women you like poking you’d have been down six feet already.’
‘Heads I lose, tails I can’t win.’ Using the pick as a grappling iron, Dooley hauled himself from the hole.
‘Give the runners a clout first, to break them free. A clout I said,’ Hyde had only just ducked in time as the wildly swung pick whistled back between him and Burke, ‘not an attempt at bloody wrecking it. Alright, we’ll pull, you push.’
Ripper and Libby appeared and added their efforts. The heavy piece of equipment began to move, thrusting a wall of snow before it that constantly had to be shovelled aside.
‘This weather is really something.’ Almost sprawling as his foot slipped, Ripper prevented himself from going over by grabbing at Dooley.
‘Gives you the urge to pull Dooley’s pants down, does it?’ The enjoyment Burke got from the scene was of short duration as he almost fell himself.
‘Aw shut it. No, I mean the cold, it really gets to you. I reckon I’d have been a solid lump of ice by now, if I hadn’t been too busy sweating, trying to get that foxhole dug.’