James Lovegrove - The Age Of Odin (41 page)

"So stop bitching, start behaving like you were born with some balls, all of you," I finished off, "or else!"

We continued on our way in silence. I'd asserted my authority and felt I'd made my point, but I was still fuming inside. We shouldn't be in-fighting and falling to pieces. That was exactly what Loki wanted.

And once more, suspicion was flitting through my mind. We had an infiltrator, an
agent
-fucking-
provocateur
in our midst. And I was growing more and more certain that I knew who it was.

One good thing came of the incident. When the enemy emerged from the mists of Niflheim, we were all so keyed up that we didn't hesitate. We gave them what-for, venting our frustrations in a hail of bullets. Bastards didn't know what hit them. We roared like lions as we fired, and I was roaring loudest of all.

Fifty-One

A lull.

The raids ceased.

A hush settled along Asgard's borders.

We caught up on lost sleep, scoffed plenty of scran to replenish our strength, and enjoyed the downtime while it lasted. Because we knew it wouldn't last long.

The calm before the shitstorm.

Freya and I were out on one of our, ahem, "hunting expeditions." These we fitted in as and when we could, always at her instigation. With her tracking skills she'd find me wherever I was, hand me a rifle, and off we'd trot. Sometimes, once the fun and games were over, we'd even go and bag a token deer or rabbit to bring back, just so's no one would suspect we were up to anything other than what we said we were up to.

She was the fiercest sexual partner I'd ever had. Silent and intense while we did the deed. Hardly ever crying out in pleasure, but bucking and shuddering so violently when the moment came that I was never in any doubt I'd hit the spot. She'd claw me, often bite. It was fighting as much as fornication, each of us wrestling for dominance, demanding a submission from the other.

Something in me responded well to this. I'd lose myself while shagging Freya much as I'd lose myself during combat. It was primal and animal, us out in the woods, in the snow. None of your candlelit lovemaking with rose petals on the bed and Barry White grunting in the background. Just body thrusting and grinding savagely against body. Bare skin getting smeared with a mush of snow, soil, flakes of bark and fallen pine needles. Very few words exchanged beyond "turn over" or "try this" or "there."

It was how people fucked when there was a war on and a world was at stake and lives could end tomorrow. Urgently, no grace or ritual to it. Raw, raw, raw.

On this particular occasion we were on our second go-round, or maybe third. It was easy to lose track. One bout of rampant shaggery shaded into another, with little recovery time in between. Then all at once Freya said, "Stop."

I said, "Stop as in we're changing position, or...?"

"Just stop. And be quiet."

I froze. We listened. Me on my knees, her on all fours.

"I don't -"

"Hssst!"

Then I detected it. Sensed it through my legs rather than my ears.

Vibration.

Rumbling.

The earth moving, but not in
that
way.

"What
is
that?"

"I don't know. We need to go and see."

Abrupt withdrawal. Clothes flung back on. Charging through the woods towards the sound.

It was being made by an engine of some sort - a massively horsepowered motor that propelled something wheeled and huge. The closer we got, the more resonant and ground-shaking the sound became. The snow on the forest floor danced. The trees themselves shivered.

We began to hear crashing noises and splintering creaks. Pines falling, being shoved over.

Finally we caught our first glimpse of the machine. It was a wall of grey metal moving among the tree trunks ahead. There were caterpillar tracks as thick as my thigh, wheels several feet in diameter. Whatever this was, it barged the trees aside as though they were nothing. Old-growth pines shattered into toothpicks in front of it, toppled over like ninepins either side of it.

A tank.

But the biggest ruddy tank ever. Like twelve double-decker buses bolted together, three abreast, in two tiers of six. Just steamrollering through the forest, butting aside anything that got in its way.

As it passed us by and trundled off, leaving a cloud of black fumes, I looked at Freya. "How do we stop that?"

"No idea. We just do. Someone has to. It's heading for the castle. It mustn't get there."

"We need to raise the alarm."

"I'd be surprised if Heimdall hasn't already."

She had a point. The mega-tank might have caught the two of us with our pants down, but Heimdall napping? Not a chance. Especially not when it was setting up such an unholy row. Heimdall, who could hear an ant breaking wind in the Brazilian rainforest, knew full well this monster was on its way.

"Odin will already be mounting a defence," Freya went on. "We should get back there and join in. That's where we can be the most useful."

So we belted off in the direction of the castle. Freya led the way unerringly, and we soon overtook the mega-tank, which was going at little better than walking pace. It must have weighed several hundred tons, and no engine, however large, could move that much bulk at any decent speed. On foot we outstripped it easily, and we were back at the castle well before it got anywhere near.

As Freya had predicted, preparations were under way to meet it. Everyone was out, and armed. The Valkyries were gunning their snowmobiles. Skadi was on her skis, fully recovered now and looking as sprightly and agile as she'd ever done. Odin was marshalling the troops to form a defensive perimeter, with secondary and tertiary lines behind.

Freya and I went straight up to him and told him that men and guns alone weren't going to cut the mustard.

"Have you seen this thing?" I asked.

"Not yet. Huginn and Muninn are aloft, but..."

"Trust me, it's not going to be bothered by bullets. Not even an RPG'll pierce its armour, I don't think. It's just... mammoth. I don't know if it's got firepower. Didn't see. It probably has. But even without, it could roll right over us and we'd be nothing but roadkill."

"What, then? What do you suggest?"

"There's only one possibility. Is
Sleipnir
prepped?"

"It can be."

"Shit. Then we'll need a delaying tactic as well. Can you spare some trolls?"

"Of course. How many?"

"Let 'em loose. As many as possible. While they're, hopefully, holding that machine up, we get a small unit to tackle it from the only direction no one'll be expecting."

"Which is?" asked Odin.

"Above."

Fifty-Two

Thor begged to come with us.

"Gid - friend Gid - you need me."

Sleipnir'
s pilots had been scrambled. We were expecting the Wokka to arrive at any moment to pick us up. In the background there was a low, ominous growl. The mega-tank was now no more than a mile from the castle, according to Odin's ravens, who'd just returned from their scouting mission.

"No, you belong here on the ground," I told Thor. "Best place for you."

"But I can help."

"Help by being the backup, the Plan B if Plan A fails, which it might well. You're one of our heaviest hitters, mate, if not
the
heaviest. Together with your brothers you can hold the line, if necessary pick up where we leave off."

"Surely -"

"You just can't be spared," I insisted. "A few mortal troops, on the other hand... Well, if we fuck up we won't be missed, will we?"

"Besides," said Odin, "someone has to wrangle the trolls."

"Is that not your job, father?"

"It's now yours, Thor. I shall be accompanying Gid and his men."

This was news to me, but I took it in my stride. He was the All-Father, after all. The guv'nor. What he said, went.

"I may be old," Odin continued, "but I remain a warrior. My heart still beats to the drum of battle."

"Father, no," said Thor. "If I can't be spared, then you certainly can't."

"My son." Odin laid a hand on his shoulder. He had to reach up to do it. "I must go. I have no choice. What Gid calls a 'mega-tank' is, I believe, an ancient enemy of ours brought to life in another form. In which case, it is incumbent upon me to fight it and defeat it, not you. This is what I am fated to do. It is written. So be it."

Thor puffed himself up, then deflated. The look in Odin's eye said argument was futile. His mind was made up.

"If this is really your wish, father, it cannot be gainsaid. I am your loyal, obedient son and have submitted to your will at all times."

Odin laughed, shaking his head. "No, you haven't. You have been the most wayward and headstrong of all my children, Thor."

Thor laughed too. "That is true."

"But you have also," Odin said, "been one of my proudest accomplishments. Every inch the fighter. Courageous to a fault, and a staunch protector of Asgard. Look after the place in my absence, Thor. Keep defending it to the last breath in your body. That is all I can ever ask from you."

"Father..."

"You have loved our home as I do. Continue showing it that love."

They looked at each other, and I saw a bond between them, a mutual respect, as strong as any I'd ever seen. They weren't just father and son. Not even just clan chief and heir. They were brothers in arms too. And this was their hour, their shining time, when they would prove themselves against the severest odds they had ever faced.

"I shall," said Thor. "And so, always, will you."

In reply, Odin smiled - somewhat sadly, it seemed to me - and then the Chinook came racketing in over the treetops.

We were aboard, a five-strong squad plus Odin, and ascending. We checked our weapons as
Sleipnir
humped us into the sky. We also checked the abseiling equipment I'd sourced from Skadi's stock of outdoor gear. Anything skiing- or mountaineering-related, you name it, Skadi had it. By the bucketload. I loved that little minx. Not only had she taken a shot meant for me, she was just so insanely fucking focused.

"This is going to be a walk in the park," I reassured everyone. "We lower ourselves down onto the top of the tank, find an access hatch, blow it, get in, plant some high-ex, bundle out, bish-bosh, the job's a good 'un."

Paddy rolled his eyes. "'Walk in the park,' the man says. Suppose it is, if by 'walk' you mean 'suicide mission' and 'park' you mean 'two-hundred-ton armour-plated enemy transport.'"

"You chicken, mick?" Backdoor sneered. "Me, I live for this shit."

"Can the backchat, both of you." I tilted my head towards Odin.
Top brass on deck.

They clammed up.

Sleipnir
circled, gaining altitude. I'd asked the pilots for a fly-past first so we could all get a squint at the mega-tank and assess the feasibility of my plan, if it had any. The Wokka came over it at five hundred feet, and Flight Lieutenant Jensen banked to starboard. We lined the portholes on that side, peering down.

The mega-tank had left a tremendous swathe of devastation behind it, a clear-felled path through the forest as wide as an A-road. This led the eye straight to the tank itself. Moonlight and its own running lights outlined it amid the trees. In shape, it was basically a rectangle with outcurving flanks. There were projecting structures at each corner - gun turrets, swivel-mounted and fitted with multiple-barrelled rotary cannons. I'd not been able to see those from ground level when Freya and I first encountered the tank. There was also a pod perched at the front like a head on a neck, shape of a flattened sphere. The control cab, if I didn't miss my guess.

A pair of searchlights beamed forward from the cab. On top of it rose a pair of triangular fins. I couldn't figure out what those were there for.

"Are they, like, ears?" Cy wondered.

That was how they looked to me. "Some kind of radar array?" I suggested.

Backdoor agreed. "They're curved. Could well be parabolic antennae."

"No," said Odin. "Purely decorative. Ears."

"How do you know?"

"I know, Gid, because this mechanical beast is a representation of a real, living beast. In much the same way that those so-called tanksuits purported to be jotuns and fire demons, here we have a man-made mimicry of a creature known to all in Asgard. My blood brother has been having fun. What we are looking at is Fenrir."

"Fenrir?"

"Those 'ears' confirm it. It's meant to be Fenrir. The giant wolf. The devourer. One-time scourge of the Aesir. We captured and muzzled him a long time ago. My son Tyr permanently wedged his maw open with a sword - and lost a hand in the process. As far as I know, the real Fenrir is still chained to a rock in far Muspelheim."

"And Loki's come up with his own version."