CARRIER 5: MAELSTROM By Keith Douglass

necessary. He was surprised to learn that thousands of men and women were

living and working in this forest base, coordinating the activities of all of

Norway’s defense forces.

General Nils Lindstrom was blond and blue-eyed, three inches taller than

Tombstone’s six-foot-plus height, with the rawboned power in his hands of a

farmer rather than a general. The only rank he wore was the three white stars

of a full general on his collar. “Velkommen, Commander,” he said as he

stepped out of his tent, smiling broadly. “Welcome to Norway. The weather

you bring is good, yar? It hampers our enemy more than ourselves.”

His accent was thicker than Bondevik’s, but easily understandable.

Tombstone hoped that his hastily memorized Norwegian was half as good. “Goo

darg, Generaal, he said, saluting. “Day gayderr may aw trehffer dehm.”

“Nay, Commander,” Lindstrom said grinning. “It is we who glad to meet

you are. And I suggest, to protect your throat, that English we speak, yar?”

“With pleasure, General.” Tombstone hefted the briefcase he was carrying

in his left hand. “I have here the codes and frequencies we’ll need to

coordinate our operations. Would you care to discuss them now?”

The general consulted his watch. “Have you supper yet, Commander?”

“No, sir.”

“Then come, dine with me, please. And with another new-come guest.”

Turning, he pulled back the flap to his tent. “Your countryman has come, my

dear.”

Tombstone’s jaw dropped. The pounding in his chest was surely loud

enough for Lindstrom to hear. Pamela Drake stood in the entrance to the tent,

wearing muddy army fatigues and a Finnmark cap with the earflaps snapped up.

A stray wisp of blond hair danced beside a smudge on her cheek, and she

impatiently shoved it aside. “Hello, Commander,” she said, extending a slim

hand. She seemed amused by his surprise. “First Thai, now Norwegian. I’m

impressed.”

She was referring to when they’d first met two years before, during

Jefferson’s deployment to Thailand. They’d toured the floating khlong markets

of Thonburi where he’d made a local girl laugh with his clumsy attempt to

speak her language.

“Don’t be,” Tombstone said, shaking her hand. He could barely find his

voice. “I doubt that the general understood a word I was saying. But what

the h-” He stopped himself with a sideways glance at Lindstrom. “I mean,

what are you doing here?”

“My job.” One eyebrow arched slightly. “I am a news reporter,

remember?”

“Miss Drake has come to tell our story to your people,” Lindstrom said

gravely. “Glad we were that your aircraft carrier is come. But much more

help is needed.”

“These people have been holding off the Soviet juggernaut by themselves

for three weeks now, Matt,” Pamela said. “Their story needs to be told.”

“Miss Drake tells me you know one another.” Lindstrom’s eyes twinkled.

“You could say that, sir.” Tombstone didn’t know how to react to

Pamela’s presence. It had been months since he’d last seen her in Washington.

He’d not even bothered to look her up and tell her about his reassignment to

sea duty, so sure had he been that their affair was over. Looking at her now,

her face dirty, her figure hidden by the bulky ODs, he wondered why he’d been

fool enough to let her get away.

“We were engaged, General,” Pamela put in. “But it turned out that the

commander was already married. To his career.”

Lindstrom’s face clouded, as though he was uncertain how to reply.

“These are difficult times,” he said. “But friends make them less so.

Please, come inside, before we all are soaking.”

They ate at a folding table set up inside the general’s tent as the

stiffening rain drummed against the canvas overhead, the surroundings

surprisingly elegant despite the camping-out atmosphere. When Tombstone

commented on the strange combination of silver tableware and canvas floor,

Lindstrom laughed and pointed out that theirs was, after all, a defense of

civilization. “You must forgive me if I put on the show for my American

guests,” he said. “Normally, I eat with men. In any case, nothing is hot.

Cooking fires are too easily seen by the enemy’s infrared devices.”

That, Tombstone decided, didn’t matter in the least. In the rush of

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