Phantoms in the Snow (7 page)

T
he next morning, Noah’s uncle shook him awake.

“Where were you last night, boy?” he asked. “I looked high and low for you.”

Noah rolled over. He’d fallen asleep in the barn, surrounded by the warmth of the mules and the soft pawing of hooves. He’d woken in the middle of the night and stumbled back to the barracks to find his uncle snoring loudly enough to cause an avalanche. There was no sign of the woman, Dana, anywhere.

“Seemed like you were busy,” Noah said curtly.

The boys in the barracks all laughed. James Shelley flushed, and Noah was glad to have embarrassed him somewhat.

“What do you think this is? A vacation?” his uncle barked. “Get up. Olaf will be here any minute to take you out today.”

Noah went to the showers and found Wiley there, already finished and almost dressed.

“Hey,” Wiley said. “Where were you last night?”

Was everyone going to ask him the same thing?

“I just went for a walk,” Noah said. “I needed some fresh air.”

“Must have been a long walk,” Wiley joked.

Noah didn’t answer. He stripped and turned the water on.

“Hey,” Wiley said, coming toward him, “you okay?”

Noah stepped into the shower, wincing as the water hit the welts on his shoulders he’d gotten skiing with Daniel. “Yeah. It was just a long day yesterday.”

“But you’re done, right?” Wiley said. “Dour Dan is back on maneuvers from what I hear.”

Noah nodded. “Yeah, I’m out with someone named Olaf today.”

Wiley grinned as he threw on a ski jacket and brushed back his hair. “Great! Now, you’re on to the important part.”

“The important part?” Noah called after him as Wiley headed for the door.

“Yeah.” Wiley stopped and turned. “Olaf conducts combat training. In a few weeks, you’ll be ready to go out with us big boys and won’t that be some fun, eh, Noah?”

Noah’s heart sank at Wiley’s words. His uncle was sending him out today to train for combat?

“See you at dinner, soldier,” Wiley called as he headed out into the cold.

Olaf was Norwegian, short and blond with piercing blue eyes and a heavy accent. He didn’t hurry Noah while he packed his rucksack nor when it took Noah several attempts to attach sealskins to his skis in anticipation of what Olaf called “our little
climb.” But once Noah was outfitted, Olaf had him skiing out of camp at breakneck speed.

An hour into the hike up the mountain, Noah was weak with fatigue. Snow had started to fall, coming down so fast and hard, Noah could barely see in front of him. The pack on his back felt as if it weighed three hundred pounds, not eighty. Already, Noah could feel the welts from yesterday beginning to reopen. He shifted his shoulders to settle the rucksack on less sore skin, but it didn’t help. And just as it had when Noah first arrived, the air itself was making it difficult to breathe.

At last, they came to a kind of camp, high in the hills, with military tanks, shooting ranges, and tents. Olaf came to a halt, and Noah skied up beside him, wearily letting his rucksack fall to the ground.

The snow had stopped. Olaf took off his skis and walked over to a large equipment building. He unlocked a padlock and disappeared inside, returning in a few minutes with a gun.

“Can you shoot?” he asked.

Noah looked at the rifle. He had used a similar one in Texas. “Yes, I used to hunt with my dad.”

“Follow along, then. Take off your skis and come vith me,” Olaf said, walking toward the shooting range.

When they were several hundred feet from the targets, Olaf stopped. “Let us see vhat you can do.”

Noah took the gun from Olaf. He raised the gun to his shoulder, aimed at the red center of the target, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

Olaf’s laughter rang out in the quiet of that snow-covered mountain camp. “Perhaps it vould be best if you vould check for ammunition first?” He took a box of bullets from the pocket of his ski parka and grinned wickedly at Noah.

Noah snatched up the bullets and loaded eight of them into the gun, shoving each one into the chamber until he heard it make a satisfying click.

“Oh, the boys vill have a good laugh over this tonight.” Olaf chuckled, as Noah raised the rifle to his shoulder again.

Noah felt his face grow hot. First Daniel Stultz and now this!

Concentrating carefully on the target, Noah squinted down the barrel. He shot off five rounds, hitting the bull’s-eye every time. Then he turned toward Olaf, swinging the gun with him until he was looking down the shaft at a spot very near Olaf himself. The threat he posed was unmistakable.

“Were you saying something before I shot?” Noah asked, his tone sharp and bitter.

Olaf didn’t flinch. Taking two fingers and lightly turning the barrel of the rifle back toward the target, he grinned at Noah. “I vas just saying that it vas too bad that the boys vill hear
nothing
about this little incident, eh?”

Noah relaxed. Then, to be sure Olaf would keep his silence, he turned quickly and shot off three more rounds, emptying the rifle directly into the center of the target.

“And so you can shoot,” Olaf said, as Noah lowered the rifle and looked at him.

“And so I can shoot,” Noah agreed.

From now on, anyone who trained him would understand that Noah wasn’t to be fooled around with. He’d show them just how tough he could be. Round one of
this
contest was his.

“The gun is yours now,” Olaf said, taking the rifle from Noah, walking back to Noah’s rucksack, and tying the rifle to it. “And ve can move on to the next part of your training.”

He handed Noah his skis and poles again, picking up his own in the process. “You must now learn to crawl along the ground vhen the shots are being fired above your head. You must learn to pull your skis and poles along vith you, as you vill need them vhen you reach your destination. Vatch now.”

Olaf marched to an empty field with barbed wire in the center of the flat area. He dropped to the ground, tying his skis and poles close to his side with some rope. Then he began to use his elbows to crawl, keeping his head low and his skiing equipment sliding along beside him. When he reached the barbed wire, he lifted it as carefully as possible and scooted beneath it, the poles and skis moving along with him until he disappeared into a ditch on the other side. Finally, he stood.

“Any questions?” he called out to Noah.

Noah shook his head. Questions? What wouldn’t he understand? This was easy.

Olaf walked back toward Noah and motioned him toward the field.

“Your turn, then,” he said, sitting down.

Noah took his skis and poles and walked out into the open field. He dropped to the ground in the wet snow at the same point where Olaf had begun the exercise and tied his skis and
poles to his waist. Slowly, he began crawling toward the barbed wire. Suddenly, shots rang out over his head. Noah jerked around to look behind him when another shot whizzed past his ear. Olaf was pointing a gun toward Noah’s head! Noah watched as Olaf yawned and then fired a few more rounds over Noah.

“What are you trying to do?” Noah cried out. “Kill me?”

The firing stopped. Olaf grinned. “No,
I
vill not kill you, but the
Germans
may if you don’t crawl a little faster.” He fired again.

That was all Noah needed. As quickly as he could, he scooted toward the barbed wire and pulled himself and his skis and poles under it until he was safely in the ditch on the other side. His heart was racing, and his breath came in quick, frozen gulps. The man was crazy! They were all crazy!

“Come out now.” Olaf’s voice floated across the snow.

Noah hesitated. What if Olaf shot at him when he stood up?

“Noah!” Olaf barked for the first time that day. “I have vaited for you patiently, but ve do not have all day. Stand up now!”

Uneasily, Noah rose from the ditch.

Olaf grinned. “All right then, my little shooter. Let us try again. But perhaps this time, you vill move a little
quicker
, no?” He threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing across the empty field.

Noah scowled. The insane Norwegian had just won round two!

F
or the rest of the day, Noah crawled along the wet, snowy ground, pulling his skis beside him, praying that the bullets zinging past his head wouldn’t hit him. They stopped only once, for a quick bite of lunch, and then Olaf commanded Noah to begin again. Finally, the light began to fade a little, and Olaf stood up. He stretched and yawned. “That is it for the day. Ve should head back now to be sure ve get to camp before the light has gone.”

Noah picked up his rucksack and prepared to ski home. Already, he could feel his shoulders bleeding from the workout he’d had yesterday, but now they were also shaky from crawling about on his elbows for hours across that field.

The addition of the rifle didn’t help. The pack wasn’t any heavier, at least not in any way that Noah could determine, but the gun was unwieldy, jutting out in a vertical line from the
rucksack. Three times, Noah was tripped up by it as he skied down the mountain, and not once did Olaf help him up.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Noah cried out in frustration the second time he landed headfirst in the snow. He’d come up with a mouthful of icy crystals and a cramp in his leg.

Olaf shrugged. “It is just something you vill have to get used to, Noah. The rifle makes it awkward. But you must carry it there. If you move it somevhere else, you vill not be able to reach it should you need it quickly. You vill always have to think about it a little as you ski. Even I have to remember it is there, and ski so that it does not get in the vay. And you must especially remember it vhen ve are at var. You must know vhere your rifle is and ski so that it does not interfere vith your moving about.”

War was the one instance Noah knew he
wouldn’t
have to remember the stupid rifle. He wasn’t going. Ever!

At the bottom of the mountain, Olaf gave him a nod. “Tomorrow, then.” He skied off. Wearily, Noah skied back to his barracks and opened the door to a welcome bit of warmth.

“You look done in,” Noah’s uncle said.

“Olaf put you through your paces, eh?” Wiley asked, grinning.

“He shot at me!” Noah said indignantly.

Wiley burst out laughing. “At least he only shot
at
you. Roger over there truly did get shot!”

Noah stared in disbelief as Roger pulled down the neck of his shirt to show him a scar on the top part of his arm.

“How can Olaf do that and get away with it?” Noah cried.

“We’re training for war, Noah,” James Shelley said. “This is not a game. This is serious business. It’s important that you follow the rules. Not doing as your commander tells you can get you killed when you go into battle. Roger’s lucky Olaf has such good reflexes. Otherwise he’d have lost his head and not just been hit in the arm! If it had been the Germans, Roger would have been dead.”

“But Olaf wounded his own man!” Noah protested.

“Roger shouldn’t have gotten up,” James Shelley responded tersely.

Roger grinned. “Yeah, I won’t be doing that again anytime soon when there’s shots going off around me. Hurt like the blazes, and I don’t mean to repeat the experience.”

“And that’s exactly what an officer wants to hear his men say,” James Shelley agreed. “In war, there isn’t time to argue. You’ve got to do as you’re told and not think about it.”

“Thinking on your own can get you in trouble,” Bill offered. “In war, it’s a team effort, Noah.”

Noah looked at them in shock. They seemed to think it was perfectly all right to be shot by your commanding officer! Did the men in charge in Washington realize the insanity of this group? What if these crazies were sent to war? For once, Noah was truly aware that these boys were nothing but a bunch of insane skiers. They’d never be called into action. They’d never be sent overseas. The pilots on that train to Denver had been right, and Noah was grateful for it. Only an idiot would send these men to war.

The next morning, Noah was back at the mountain camp. Olaf handed him a shovel.

“Today,” he said, “ve vill dig the foxhole, no? It is good to have the deep foxhole vhen the rifle is being fired above your head.”

Noah took the shovel and followed Olaf to a spot several feet away.

“Dig,” Olaf commanded.

Noah struck the snowy ground with the shovel. It was rock hard. He struck over and over. Olaf went and sat in the snow again. Noah watched him uneasily. Would he shoot at him as he dug?

Olaf lit up a cigarette and gazed off at the mountains. Relaxing a bit, Noah went back to digging. It was impossible. The ground was almost solid. Noah managed only a small chunk of dirt with each dig of the shovel. His shoulders began to ache again, and his body shook with the tension of hitting frozen ground.

An hour went by. And then another. The hole was still tiny. As time passed, Noah grew more exhausted and angrier. He felt like throwing down the shovel. Why was he spending his day like this? What was he doing? He was
never
going to war. He
wouldn’t.
There was
nothing
that could
ever
make him go! His uncle knew he was underage. All this practicing for war was a waste of his time — and Olaf’s! He would tell his uncle this tonight.

The sun began to drop, and the temperature with it. Noah kept on digging. Finally, he had a hole large enough that he could fit down inside.

He stood up, groaning with pain. “It’s done.”

Olaf looked at the hole. “
Ja
, but can you hide in it? Vill it protect you?”

“Sure,” Noah said, “good enough. I mean, how deep am I supposed to build one of these things with the ground so hard?”

“Get into the hole,” Olaf commanded.

Noah did as Olaf said, curling up in a ball so Olaf could see how well he fit into the hole he had dug. Noah waited. Olaf would probably shoot a few rounds over his head, and he would see that the hole was big enough for Noah to avoid getting hit.

Then Noah heard the sound of a motor starting up. The ground gave a groan and then a rumble. What the heck?

He raised his head just in time to see a huge tank coming his way. Noah turned to look behind him. There was nowhere to run quickly enough to get out of the way. Noah ducked down into his hole, making himself as small as possible.

With a roar and groan, the tank sped over the foxhole, stopping just a few yards beyond. Noah waited. The sound of the engine died away. Cautiously, Noah raised himself up.

Olaf was standing in the hatch of the tank.

“What was that for?” Noah shouted in anger.

“The Germans,” Olaf said, “they do not care if they hurt or kill you. In fact, that is vhat they vant. So you dig a deep foxhole. You have made one that is sufficient. You vould have survived.”

Noah stared at Olaf, trembling from anger and the fright of the big tank passing over him. He watched Olaf casually light up another cigarette and stare off into space again.

They’re nuts. They’re
all
nuts
, he thought. He would never see a German or a Japanese in his life. He wasn’t going into battle. He couldn’t kill anyone. Just like his parents, he didn’t believe in it. All this stomping around in the snow was craziness. He was getting out of here, today, tomorrow, as soon as he could.

Then Noah remembered his uncle’s conversation with Skeeter. He felt a sudden shiver down his spine. What if he couldn’t make arrangements fast enough? Even if their special skills would prove useless in the Pacific or Africa, with more men being lost every day, the army had every right to deploy the Phantoms anywhere, at any time, and use them in any way they saw fit. If military officials in Washington suddenly called the Phantoms into action, would James Shelley be crazy enough to make Noah go with him? And since they had all lied, Noah to his uncle, his uncle to the general, would the general think he was really sixteen and send him? Noah had to get himself out of this situation. And fast.