They were finishing off what they could manage of breakfast when one of Olsen’s men knocked on the trailer door.
“The captain wishes to inform you that Doctor Larsen has started his experiments.”
- 17 -
All four of them made their way quickly through the garage and down into the bunker. Banks felt twitchy, his gut instinct telling him that there was trouble ahead and he felt almost naked without the rifle over his shoulder. The fact that the Norwegian soldiers around the main chamber appeared to be armed to the teeth didn’t do much to reassure him.
Then the sight of Larsen bent over the troll’s body drove all other worries from his mind. The doctor held something that looked like a heavy-duty ice-fishing auger and was preparing to drill.
Banks strode over.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking samples,” Larsen replied calmly. “It is standard procedure.”
“Standard procedure, my arse. That drill bit’s as thick as my thumb.”
As he closed on the prone body, he saw that its eyes were open and that it was straining at its chains, the individual links creaking as pressure was brought to bear. Larsen didn’t show any sign of stopping and had the auger lowered, touching the stony skin. Banks knocked it out of his hand. The drill clattered away across the floor. Banks’ gaze was fixed on Larsen but he was aware that several of the Norwegian guards had raised their weapons, taking aim at him.
He laughed at the shock on Larsen’s face.
“I told you,” he said. “I won’t allow you to harm a British soldier.”
“But I need samples,” Larsen said, reverting to bluster again.
“Find another way; a more humane way. Or is doctor just another word to you?”
By this time, Captain Olsen had come over to Banks’ side.
“Captain, perhaps you should let the doctor get on with his work.”
“I’m not stopping him,” Banks replied. “But if he tries to use yon implement of torture again, I’ll just knock it out of his hand again. Then, if you want to shoot me, you can shoot me, but I don’t think either of us wants to make an international incident out of this. It can be settled easily by the doctor here realizing he’s working with a patient, not a sample.”
“There is nothing of the man left in him,” Larsen spluttered.
“And I’m telling you I know differently.”
The chained figure struggled harder in its chains, the rattling and creaking echoing loudly around the chamber.
“Private McCallum, be still. That’s an order,” Banks said, putting his authority into it. McCallum became still and the chamber fell quiet. Larsen looked, wide-eyed, from Banks to the troll and back again.
“Good man,” Banks said and turned to Larsen.
“You can take small samples now, Doctor. Your patient is calm.”
Larsen looked to Olsen for support but the Norwegian captain had already nodded to Banks and walked back towards the door. Larsen moved towards where the auger lay on the floor but Banks stopped him.
“Nope, it’s not going to happen so don’t even think about it. Besides, here’s something I made earlier,” he said, taking the nub of tissue from his pocket and handing it to the man. It was even rougher to the touch than before now and felt more like cold stone than flesh; Banks was glad to be rid of it. “This should be enough of a ‘sample’ for you to be getting on with, don’t you think?”
The remainder of the morning passed quietly. The squad stood around while centrifuges spun, chromatograms ran tests, and computer screens flickered. Mid-morning, Banks let Hynd and Wiggins return to the trailer for a coffee and a smoke while Davies went to check on the chained figure.
“He’s going to be coming ‘round soon, Cap,” the private said. “I should give him another shot.”
“You will do no such thing,” Larsen bellowed from where he sat at a computer. “You outsiders have tried to usurp my authority since you got here but this is far enough. You have made it clear that I am to treat this… thing… as my patient. Very well, I accept. He is a patient… my patient… and I shall be the one to make decisions on his medication.”
“I cannot be responsible for what happens if he comes around fully,” Davies said.
“The responsibility is mine,” Larsen said. The statement was punctuated by a restart of the straining against the chains and the creaks and squeals echoed around the chamber, whiles Banks’ guts seethed and roiled. It might have been the hangover but he didn’t think so. Old soldiers knew instinctively when things were about to turn hinky.
There was trouble in the air.
That trouble came while the squad, having returned to the trailer for a lunch of pizza and coffee, were enjoying a smoke. Their relative calm was punctured by the wailing howl, like a clashing of rocks, and Banks’ immediately knew, just knew, that Larsen had made a bad decision in their absence. The noise was all too familiar; they’d last heard it out on the hill in the snowstorm — the patient was awake and he wasn’t happy.
They arrived at a run in the central compound in time to see Larsen withdraw a bloodied auger from the prone figure’s belly. The troll writhed and strained against its chains, its pained howling echoing and setting the whole chamber ringing like a bell.
“Larsen, what the fuck are you playing at?” Banks shouted and made directly for the doctor. The man dropped the auger and stepped back in the face of Banks’ obvious anger and was spluttering as he backed off.
“I’m doing my job,” he said. “He’s my patient now.”
“You’re no kind of doctor at all, are you?” Banks said. “Well, I promised you a beating and I’m a man of my word.”
He didn’t get to throw a punch. McCallum let out one final yell, louder than the rest, then the chamber fell quiet and still… but only for the space of two heartbeats. Then the call was answered, from the sealed rooms around the perimeter.
Thumping, like the pounding of great drums, set the place vibrating; Banks felt the beat through the soles of his feet and in his gut, like standing too close to a bass loudspeaker. He happened to be looking at the nearest of the cells as the viewing window split with a crack as loud as a gunshot. Farther ‘round the circle, one of the circular doors threatened to dislodge from the wall as it was hit with great force from the other side.
Larsen ran past Banks, heading for the main exit. Several of the Norwegian guards were also heading in that direction, while a handful still stood their ground, weapons raised pointing towards the cells, where the pounding was louder now, more insistent.
Up on the flatbed, McCallum howled and with a great roar strained and split the twin chains around his chest, sending the iron skittering and clattering across the floor.
“Marines, we are leaving,” Banks shouted and, making sure the rest of the squad were following, headed for the main entrance.
They were halfway there when the first of the cell doors collapsed inwards and a troll forced its way out into the chamber. This one was similar in size to McCallum but its skin, if the word even applied, was rough moss- and lichen-encrusted rock and it was squat, almost barrel-shaped. It came across the chamber fast on legs as thick as tree trunks. One of the guards made the mistake of trying to get in its path. He managed to let off three rounds but the troll didn’t even register the blows. A fist as big as a basketball caved in the guard’s chest, sending a gout of blood, too red against the white walls and sending the man sprawling thirty yards away to come up in a crumpled heap against one of the computers.