“Over by the ridge to the left, take cover.” Something wasn’t right.
His men skiied over and got down behind the ridge. They landed and started to put on their Bergens and took out their assault rifles. He heard voices, and the paratrooper commander shouted out instructions to his men in Russian.
He didn’t like it but knew he’d no option but to make contact. He knew some Russian; they’d taken lessons. He raised his head and shoulders above the ridgeline.
“Ya Mayor Tandberg Jegerkommando, kto ty?” Who are you?
There was the sound of gunfire as bullets hit the ridge. Tandberg took cover and his men returned fire.
“Over to the right, keep down. Get on the radio and report in.”
Gunfire had turned into a full firefight. He heard one of the Russians scream, another shouted. Fire poured into the ridge. As they moved to the right, he heard a cry from one of his men.
“Medic, medic.” A soldier ran over and attended to the man.
They moved further to the right in the direction of their cabin, and the house where their two charges were. The Russians could only be here for the pair of them, or maybe just the Danish scientist. More paratroopers landed to their left and opened fire on them. He heard more gunfire in the distance, from near the runway. He called over the radio operator.
“Call Lieutenant Ellasson, get him to reinforce the runway.”
“Sir.”
He knew there was no realistic option but to pull back and take up a defensive position; the Russians outnumbered them.
Tandberg pulled his men back towards the cabin refuge. His men pulled back by section and laid down covering fire. The Russians sensed that the Norwegians were withdrawing and pressed home the attack.
“Let them come forward,” ordered Tandberg.
“Now, grenades and covering fire.”
His troops launched underslung grenades from their rifles. Two heavy machine guns spit intense fire at the oncoming VDV airborne invaders. They halted the attack under the intense fire. Men screamed as grenades blew limbs off and shredded bodies. He knew there was a natural defensive ridge above the building they’d need to protect. Men were pulled back to take up the position.
“Satellite radio. Sergeant, patch me through to Soreissa control.”
After two minutes, the Sergeant established contact.
“Svalbard command actual, come in Soreissa.”
“Soreissa control here.”
“Major Tandberg, a large Russian airborne force parachuted in. We are greatly outnumbered, over.”
“Copy Tandberg. Reported your situation to Brigade Nord command Bardufoss and Jorstadmoen. Hold your position, over.”
“Copy Soreissa.”
He knew it would be many hours until they could be reinforced, so they’d just do their best. The Jegerkommando took up defensive positions behind the ridge. The VDV came on and took heavy casualties from grenades, heavy machine guns and sniper fire.
Marjan looked out of the house window, then took up her H&K 416 and all the spare rounds she could. She donned her white combat clothing and headed for the door.
“Let the Norwegian army defend us, stay back,” said Nils, his concern obvious.
“No chance. I’m here to protect you and that’s what I’ll do. I’m first and foremost IDF. We don’t hide from the enemy; we take the fight to him.” Marjan left and made her way up through the blowing snow to the ridge.
She saw Major Tandberg.
“Sir, where do you want me?”
Rounds flew by overhead; the Russians were laying down heavy fire. One of his men was hit in the neck, he slumped bleeding. She knew he was dying.
He looked at her and briefly considered sending her back but knew he needed all the help he could get.
“Get Nils Sondergaard and get the both of you down to the runway, report to Lieutenant Ellasson.”
“Sir.” She rushed back down the slope and into the house.
“Nils, get your heavy gear on and come with me.”
“Where?”
“We’re going to make our stand at the runway. Move, now.”
He knew there was no trying to talk her out of it. Nils put on his cold weather gear and left the house. He stopped outside and collected the skis.
“We don’t need those,” said Marjan.
“You never know, I’m taking them.”
They got down to the runway and reported in.
Lieutenant Ellasson saw that Nils had no weapon. “See the Corporal at the north end, he’ll get you a rifle.”
Nils started to object but knew it made sense. The Corporal provided him with a H&K 416 and ran through its operation with him.
Some ten minutes later, the men by the runway started taking fire from the north. The VDV had outflanked the house and the main force of Jegerkommando and come in from behind. The men at the runway put up defensive fire. Marjan returned their fire, Nils reluctantly joined in too.
The Norwegians took up positions behind two snow clearing vehicles. Russian fire poured into their position. The men returned fire, holding the attackers back. Nils aimed at the muzzle flashes, hoping some rounds hit home. Here I am, a soldier, what the hell am I doing?
The Norwegian soldier next to him fell back, and Nils turned and looked at him. There was a hole below his right eye and the snow seemingly sucked out blood from the red grey mush at the back of his head. Nils felt sickened and angered. He held up his rifle behind his cover and fired at the Russians who seemed to be advancing.
The VDV outnumbered them and pressed home the attack. Bullets flew in and struck the vehicles, rounds zipped as they struck, spinning off.
Marjan hit the side of the truck as she fell against it.
“Nils, come on withdraw, fall back.”
“I can get the bastards, they’re getting nearer.”
“Come on, get away, there’s a reason for that, we’re being overrun. They’re taking casualties but there’s too many of them. Come on, damn you.”
She pulled him away from the vehicle. He followed her to the rear and they dropped into a hollow as a grenade exploded 20 yards away.
“They’re going to come through here. The Jegerkommando are giving them hell, but there’s too few. We have to get away.” She saw him looking back towards the fight. “Now, Nils. We’re in deep shit.”
They ran back towards the town. She could make a stand there or melt off into the hills, probably the hills, she knew.
“Look Marjan.” He pointed at a small aircraft on the runway. “It’s a Piper PA-46, similar to the type I learned in.”
“So what?”
“You say we’re being overrun, yes?”
She nodded. “Nils, we have to get away; it’s not the time to go aircraft spotting.”
“Marjan, if it’s got fuel,” he swallowed, “I can fly us out of here.”
“What?”
He ran for the aircraft, she followed.
“Yes, it’s fully fuelled, get in.”
Marjan stopped. “Where to? How far can this thing fly?”
Nils grinned. “Over 1,000 miles, one way.” He looked down. “There’s Canadian Forces Base CFB Alert, Ellesmere Island. Canada. We might just make Thule, a USAF base in Northern Greenland. The Russian Air Force will be buzzing around the north of Norway. Come on, Marjan.”
She knew the situation was desperate, but that desperate? They loaded all they had: weapons and the skis still slung over Nils back.
The turbocharged T10 Lycoming burst into life. Nils gunned the throttle and watched the engine temperature rise. He went through the checklist: 2,500 RPM, amps and volts check, fuel and oil pressures, mixture best power.
The Russians were at the far end of the runway and he knew it’d be best to gain altitude fast. He released the brakes and turned her around. Nils lined up on the centreline, opened the throttle to full and pulled away. No one was listening, but he looked at the aircraft ID code written on the control panel, LN-WVT, and hit the radio transmit.