Alien Evil on the Dark Mountain: The Norway Mission

By Will Forster Gordon

Take a unit of assorted feckless squaddies hoping to see out the war in a safe posting in the wilds of Scotland; put them in the mountains of Norway in the Arctic Circle on what is allegedly a simple recon mission.
Mix in a powerful Shaman driven mad by some malevolent presence in these mountains, hard bitten SS troops, a crack Russian commando unit and the mission becomes much more dangerous as the squad quickly discover.
Throw into the pot strange magic, other dimensional entities and a thing of nightmares that wants to destroy the world and the challenge for this bunch of misfits becomes a near impossible task.
Will they succeed against the odds? Delve inside and see for yourself!
Set in WW2 in the harsh Norwegian Winter the success or failure of the mission could decide the fate of the war and even the future of mankind itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667818788

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Memorandum to Sir Montague Stammers (Major)Head of W Branch Special Executive Operations

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

Sir Montague

The following information has been obtained and I feel that your specialised department will be best suited to investigate further:-

1. The Nazis are believed to be carrying out research on the further development of an atomic bomb in a remote, mountainous area of Norway. This may well be what is happening in this area but the nature of the activity makes this seem very dubious.

2. Of more relevance to your department are the activities of the Thule branch of the Nazi Archaeological Organisation who, as you are aware, have been travelling to all corners of the globe searching for artefacts to either use for war purposes or to validate the presence of the Germanic Aryan nation in other parts of the world, not just Europe. I am aware that they and your department believe that some of these artefacts have esoteric, spiritual or supernatural powers which can be used to further the aims of the Third Reich. In particular, it appears that they have been showing a great deal of interest in a specific remote area of northern Norway.

3. These two events may or may not be connected but nevertheless need to be investigated. To that end I am seconding a unit to you from one of the new Arctic training units established at the instigation of the Prime Minister. I understand that there is an experienced archaeologist who has very good scientific knowledge based in your London office, a Lieutenant Jessica Barnes, she may be a good choice to lead this unit behind enemy lines in Norway. This should be a quick reconnaissance mission only and if there is indeed something of major importance occurring in this area then Lieutenant Barnes should relay her findings back to your office and we will then escalate to a more robust means to neutralise any major threat.

From:-Major James Watson SOE

Chapter One

An Awful Lot of Germans

The faint, distant rumble of heavy artillery could be heard carried by the strong wind blowing from the east. Captain O’Malley, the master of the cargo vessel, was feeling a little more relaxed as he listened to it and thought to himself that the Russians were giving the Nazis hell tonight. He was navigating his way along the Norwegian fjord towards his destination the small port of Kirkenes.

It was 20 October 1944, and whilst the Irish Republic was declared by President De-Valera to be neutral in the war, it did not stop the Nazi forces from sinking ships flying the tri-colour. Indeed, the bold tri-colour flags painted on the sides of the Irish merchant fleet seemed to encourage the U-boats and surface raiders to attack and sink them and anyone else who appeared to be helping the allied war efforts. So Captain O’Malley, erring on the side of caution, was also flying the Swedish flag on his vessel.

Despite the bad relations between the Irish and the English, and given that there was no love lost between their respective governments, the Irish people themselves probably felt they had more to lose if Germany were to win the war and therefore did a lot more than was officially recognised to assist the allies in their war efforts. With the bombing of Dublin by Germany on the 31st of May 1941 and the further bombing of Dundalk on the 4th of July 1941 (although the Germans apologised, claiming it to be an accident), there were many within the Irish government who thought otherwise and suspected it was a warning shot across their bows.

Captain O’Malley was doing his bit during the war in much the same way that thousands of other ordinary Irish people were at this time, although his contribution was of a more covert nature and it was also quite a good money earner because of the high risks involved. The ship manifest would show, if perused, that he was chartered to a Swedish company carrying coal for the local populace, plus food and medical supplies for the German forces.

Of course Sweden also was neutral, but there were strong pro German factions within that country at this time and they were more than happy to supply the Germans. In addition he had a secret cargo in the form of what he thought was a crack covert operations team for a mission inside occupied Norway.

Leading this mission was Lieutenant Jessica Barnes, who it must be said, was more than a little surprised to be assigned this task. Jessica had spent most of the war in the Intelligence Department doing what can only be described as very tedious, laborious work, sifting through masses of transcripts from intercepted radio messages, mainly from the Middle and Far East.

Her expertise came from her academic background of an Oxbridge education resulting in two Masters Degrees, one in archaeology and the other in a hybrid science course of her own devising. Always an avid reader, as a young girl she found an old battered book in a second hand junk shop which contained a lot of conjecture regarding ancient science and technology.

The author had put together some very convincing arguments about numerous artefacts languishing in the basements and back rooms of many museums which, clearly of a precise scientific and technological nature, had been mislabelled through either ignorance or fear. Ignorance because most archaeologists of this time had no scientific training, fear because any who might have promulgated such heretical views would have found the established hierarchal order condemning them with ridicule and ostracism.

What started as curiosity became an obsession as her efforts to find out more continuously came up against a brick wall with the various museums and institutes of learning rebuffing her attempts to access these objects. She was told that either they did not exist or she would see them tantalisingly just out of reach in displays of religious relics, primitive tools or some other facile category when it was manifestly obvious that this was exactly what they were not.

She became, in her own terms, a scientific archaeologist or an archaeological scientist. She did not really care what description was given to her, as long as she was able to follow her obsession or, in her own mind, her dream. She had spent her post academic and pre war years working on ancient sites throughout the world in all extremes of climate from the Antarctic to the Sahara desert, and from the deepest, most remote jungles to the heart of the busiest cities.

The quest to validate her beliefs had been frustrating to say the least. Strong evidence in the form of hieroglyphs, petroglyphs, aboriginal art, worm-eaten scrolls, alchemical history, oral tradition and a great variety of other prehistoric and recent historical knowledge was there. Hard evidence in the form of solid, hold in the hand artefacts somehow continued to elude her. There were occasions when she had been following leads to items only to find that they either did not exist or, even worse, someone had beaten her to it.

Her questing had been brought to a halt by the war; a sense of duty caused her to return to England where she joined up to serve her country in whatever capacity she could. She was happy to be drafted into the Intelligence Department of the War Office where she was sure her strong background knowledge of various countries plus her scientific abilities could be of real use, only to find that for the next few years she was stuck in a dingy little office toiling away at what she felt were fairly useless tasks.

It was quite a shock when she was called into the office of Sir Montague Stammers who was the head of some obscure branch of Intelligence. She had seen and heard his name mentioned but had no idea what his branch did. He, however, seemed to know quite a lot about her and apologised for her wasted time and effort at the War Office. Had he been more aware of her and her abilities he would most assuredly have found much better outlets for her talents. Nevertheless an opportunity had arisen which might be just right for her.

There was, he explained, a branch of the Nazi hierarchy, the SS Thule unit, which his department had been keeping an eye on for many years who appeared to be up to something which he felt needed investigating. Something was going on in a remote northern part of Norway; the more conventional branch of intelligence thought that it might be connected with the Nazi’s efforts to develop an atomic bomb and they might well be correct.

However, the rumours that this special Nazi unit might be involved, and it was just a vague rumour, made him think there might be more going on than the senior intelligence bods thought. There was a tenuous suspicion that they might have found something buried which could swing the balance of power very much back in their favour, something even more powerful and devastating than the atom bomb. He had convinced the other Intelligence units that his would be the best to look into this situation and he wanted Jessica to lead a team to go and investigate.

Just like that! thought Jessica. One moment I’m sorting through paperwork in a dead end job, the next I’m in charge of a crack covert unit somewhere near the Arctic Circle!

Hey Jessy, didn’t they say there wad be nen o those Nazis here like? The voice of Private Sam Tompkins broke into her quiet moment of thought. It took her a few moments to comprehend what he was saying as she had still not quite got used to his broad Geordie accent. They were standing on the darkened bridge of the vessel looking towards the port quay.

Standing with them was Sergeant Albert Calhoun, a dour Scot and apparently the head training instructor at the winter survival school from where the unit had been recruited. Now, now, bonny lad, he said, we might not be using ranks, but let’s keep a wee bit of respect for the senior officer.

Sorry Sarge, err Albert, err Ma’am. muttered Private Tompkins, turning away with a slight smile on his face. Obviously not in the slightest bit repentant as Sergeant Calhoun glared at him in exasperation.

He’s reet though, continued Sgt. Calhoun, the Nazis are supposed to be retreating south because of the Russkis. This port is supposed to be clear o’ them which is the reason we were sent here. Jessica felt a small frisson of fear as she stared at the quay, for tied alongside it was a merchant ship and a large German warship, possibly a light cruiser, bustling with activity as goods and men were being offloaded onto the quayside. She had expected some Germans as part of the cargo was for the German forces still in the region, but this influx was way beyond expectations.

Well, we are going to have to carry on. interjected Captain O’Malley. It would look just a little suspicious if we turned around and headed back out to sea. Your cover story is legitimate; you speak passable German and with the right clothing can pass as a man. I think you will be okay and any other accent to them will sound like Irish, begging your pardon. he added with a smile, as both Tompkins and Calhoun glared at him. Privately he thought to himself I don’t know which bright spark dreamed this one up. I just hope they’ve got the luck of the Irish with them.

Yes, of course you are right Captain. agreed Jessica. Yes he is right. she thought ruefully to herself. She knew she was no beauty; she was a well-built woman to whom the term handsome could just about be applied. If she was to make a real effort then she was sure that someone would find her attractive but still no beauty. Passing as a man would not be a problem!

Speaking aloud she continued, We’ll go ashore as soon as you dock. Our contact should be awaiting our arrival and we will get away from the docks as quickly as possible. Turning to the other two she continued, Right Mr Calhoun, you had better make sure that the rest of the squad is ready to disembark. Please tell Mr Nedwhether to make sure my things are packed. I will stay up here and keep an eye on things.

As they walked away she could hear Private Tompkins' voice, he only had one volume and that was loud. Not only will Randi have her stuff packed, it’ll be aal nicely ironed and itemised and packed in just the reet order man! he scoffed.

Corporal Randi Nedwhether was her batman, valet, odd job man, personal assistant, cook, secretary and general factotum. She often wondered how she had managed to muddle through life before she had somehow acquired him at some point in India. Tompkins would, she thought be correct. Corporal Nedwhether amongst other things was extremely meticulous and correct when it came to her welfare and belongings. It was, it must be said, a master-servant relationship although there were times when she wondered who was in charge.

Below decks in the cramped cabin used by Jessica, the man in question, Corporal Randi Nedwhether, not only had her kit bag packed with the small amount of typical seaman’s gear, all civilian, that they were permitted to take but the cabin was in a state of such pristine cleanliness that that would in itself create great suspicion should a German inspection team come aboard. There was also a pot of freshly brewed tea and some chocolate biscuits, the latter item impossible for anyone else to obtain, should Jessica need refreshments.

Randi was something of an enigma both to Jessica and the rest of the squad. Always polite, friendly and affable but with a dry sense of humour that most of the time the squad just did not get and Jessica often failed to fully appreciate as she was often too wrapped up in her own thoughts. His features were unmistakably Indian hailing as he did from Calcutta. He was very light skinned which gave a strong hint to his mixed racial background. He never knew his father but his mother, who died when he was six years old, often talked about this mysterious English nobleman to whom she would send him for a good education when he was older. She never actually said that this person was his father but something in her voice and attitude made him certain he must be.

Things changed with her sudden death; they had been living a comfortable lifestyle but her demise cut off an unknown source of funds and he found himself scavenging on the streets of Calcutta for a living. As it turned out he proved to be remarkably good at it and was able to fend for himself very well. People soon found out that this small child was able to find things otherwise unobtainable, at a reasonable price, no questions asked! Also older children found he could also look after himself on a physical level and he earned the nickname Little Hawk having a keen eye and being very nimble and fierce when the need arose. He also had this knack of being able to blend into the background so that people just would not see him even in the most conspicuous of places. His diminutive size and lightly built physique assisted in this respect.

This talent actually helped him obtain the education that his mother said he would have had under different circumstances. He had managed to get a basic education by various means, mainly through his bartering skills, and being a quick learner was soon able to read and write in all the local languages including English. By chance one day he was walking through the University in Calcutta and found himself following a lot of young people into a lecture hall.

No one noticed him so he sat down with them and as he listened in fascination to the lecturer soon realised how little he knew and was eager to learn even more. He began attending as many lectures as he could, and even though he never formally enrolled as a student he was able get access to the tutors and knowledge sources as if he was and no one ever questioned his right to do so. As a result he obtained a good academic education in a very eclectic range of subjects; what he did not get were formal qualifications despite coming out top of the class on many occasions.

During his university stint he found himself on an archaeological dig as part of one the courses and it was there he met Jessica, or Professor Barnes, as he first knew her. She had by this time found herself very much on the fringe of the archaeological world and was slowly being frozen out by the academic establishment. She had been relatively successful until she published a paper relating to a Hopi Indian site in the south west of America which was over ten thousand years old. On a huge canyon wall were thousands of petroglyphs all relating to Hopi traditions over the same period of time. The earliest showed humanoid figures with rounded heads that the Hopi elders stated were people from the stars.

A lot of academics whilst quite sceptical were prepared to look rationally at her theories, but one in particular, Sir Patrick Muir, would not tolerate such academic heresy and was so scathing and vitriolic in his criticism it prompted a modern witch hunt which to all intent ruined her career. One of his comments was to the effect that anyone who believed in little green men and alien space craft visiting the Earth must be a crackpot lunatic! She referred to him as that fat, arrogant, pompous buffoon! which did not help her cause in any way. With no proper funding she had to take other work and consequently found herself doing some freelance work for Calcutta University.

Randi found her theories fascinating and something within him felt that she was right. It was in a way confirmation of something that a local fortune teller had said to him several weeks earlier; that his destiny was inextricably bound up with a strange woman who was looking for the star people, that he must follow and care for her as her path was a very dangerous one. That she needed looking after there was no doubt, she often forgot to eat, she would lose stuff all the time and whilst she would look after her personal hygiene she would wear the same scruffy clothing for weeks at a time.

Slowly Randi began to assimilate himself into her life by making sure that all of these things were taken care of. In many ways he saw her as a slightly batty mother/sister figure, she for her part somehow just accepted that he was her servant/assistant as if he had always been there. From then on he accompanied her wherever she went, even joining the British army as her batman with the rank of Corporal.

He had never doubted the fortune teller’s words, but the past few years had been devoid of the dangers hinted at. Is this the beginning of the memsahib’s trials? he wondered to himself as he waited patiently for her to come back to the cabin. Certainly operating behind enemy lines would be dangerous but somehow he felt the fortune teller had seen more than this. He had been very frightened by what he saw and would not explain further. In fact he would not even take any payment, shooing Randi out and rushing off to the nearest temple.

A loud bang on the cabin door startled him, it opened before he could respond and Sam entered noisily. Come on Randi! Get your kit together and get up on deck. We’re ganning ashore noo. Are they chocolate digestives? helping himself to a handful as he spoke. Randi looked ruefully at the now empty plate.

Yes, would you like one? he asked.

Not hearing or comprehending the slight tone of irony in Randi’s voice Sam replied, Thanks Randi. Hi yeh knaa yeh are aal reet you, aal tek some for the rest of the lads if that’s okay. picking up the rest of the packet from the table and sweeping out before Randi could object. As he contemplated the plate he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or amused or if he had just received a compliment.

He chuckled to himself and thought, Oh well, the biter bit! remembering some tricks he had pulled himself. I’d better go and see what’s happening on deck. After a last look around the cabin to make sure he had not left anything behind, he made his way up to the bridge. My goodness Miss Barnes, what an awful lot of Germans! he exclaimed, as he stood beside her and looked out over the quayside.

What’s a lot of Germans? Oh bloody hell! You mean those Germans? echoed a voice in a broad Welsh lilt as Alec Jones, another member of the party, joined them. As they stared down at the quay which was brightly lit by an array of lighting from the ships and docks, they could see about a dozen vehicles being loaded up with supplies and personnel. There were six large half-tracked troop carriers each with a full complement of twelve men and four cargo carrying half-tracks one of which appeared to be fitted out as a mobile canteen. The remaining two vehicles were a small four-wheeled kubelwagen, presumably for the officers, and another half track fitted out as a light armoured car. There were about a hundred German troops in total.

The rest of the party arrived on the bridge carrying their kit bags; Sergeant Calhoun, Private Tompkins and the final member, Private Julian McCarthy. Well I hope yeh have been saying a few prayers for us Julian. I think we’re ganna need them.

Julian smiled and replied, Sam, I say a lot of prayers especially for you. If anyone is in need of redemption then it’s you! Oh! he said, as after a brief pause his eyes followed the slight nod of Sam towards the dockside. I see what you mean. In his hand he carried a rather dog-eared bible which had obviously seen a lot of use. Julian McCarthy was a late convert to religious fanaticism. He was born into a Christian family but was never really a devout believer.

Hailing from Romford in Essex with a middle class background, he did well enough at school to get into University with the aim of becoming a medical doctor. Things were going well for several years until he discovered the rather dubious pleasure of drugs from which point everything started to go downhill. The death of a patient caused by his carelessness whilst in a drug induced state, led to his addiction being discovered and also a whole catalogue of minor crimes committed by him to feed his habit.

As a consequence his studies were ignominiously halted as he was thrown off the course in disgrace barely avoiding criminal charges in the process. His parents refused to have anything more to do with him and he ended up living rough on the streets of London, feeding his addiction by any means possible in particular by the criminal use of his medical skills. He almost certainly would have died from his addiction but for his own personal epiphany.

He was resting up having just taken a huge hit of opium in an old derelict church when he had a miraculous vision. It may have been the drugs or some bizarre light effect or some other natural phenomenon but in his mind he was visited by an angel who commanded him to reform his ways and fight against the forces of evil. Although this simple sentence in no way captures the full rapturous experience that he felt and heard that night, whatever the provenance of the vision he took it to heart and from that moment on foreswore the use of drugs and dedicated himself to God.

With the current force of evil being the Nazis, he decided joining the army would be a logical way to serve God. He was able to join the Medical Corps at a basic level without having to reveal too much of his previous life as, given the need for personnel, not too many questions were asked.

The full party of six people were now crowded together on the bridge along with Captain O’Malley and his First Mate, Matt Schellenberg, who had just eased his way in through the congestion. He said something in Swedish to the Captain who nodded in agreement then turned to Jessica and said, He wants to know why you are all getting in the way up here and what right you have to be blocking our bridge the way you are.

Then in a lower voice he said, Follow me, I am going to shout and rant at you. I’m not sure if he understands English. Better to be careful though. In a louder, angrier voice he continued, What the hell are you lot standing around up here for? Get down to the deck off my bloody bridge so I can get you load of wasters off my ship! Unseen by the mate, he gave Jessica a big wink as he began pushing them out of the bridge door. There was a chorus of moans and protests as the squad were shepherded from the warm, stuffy bridge down onto the bitterly cold deck. What had been a clear, crisp night had quickly changed, and from heavy banks of clouds overhead, snow was falling in light, brisk flurries.

As Sergeant Calhoun took charge in doing the shepherding, he glanced back towards the Mate and was feeling more than a little anxious at the close scrutiny the Swede was giving the squad. In truth he did not like the Mate, something about him made him feel very uneasy. He tried to be too friendly and although he claimed, via the Captain, to speak no English, he was often hanging around seemingly listening or trying to listen to conversations between the squad members. The squad were under strict instructions to stay in their cabins for the week-long voyage, but sheer boredom made the confinement hard to endure so they would go on deck despite the mainly bad weather for some respite. The Mate tended to turn up a little too often for Calhoun’s peace of mind on these occasions.

His attention was drawn to a sudden kerfuffle on the deck amongst the squad. What bloody biscuits? Alec was asking, looking at Sam in an accusing way with more than a hint of aggression in his stance.

Aal reet! Aal reet! I was going to share them out. Aah was just waiting for the right chance like! He was looking reproachfully at Randi who had just, in an innocent tone, asked if everyone had enjoyed the chocolate biscuits that Lieutenant Barnes had given to Mr Tompkins to share round.

Did I? said Jessica in a perplexed voice.

Very decent of you Ma’am. said Calhoun turning to Sam and holding out his hand. I like a choccy biscuit with my tea. Reluctantly Sam passed the remains of the packet over to Calhoun. Right there are ten biscuits. That makes two each. He then gave each member of the squad, excluding Tompkins, two biscuits. I can see from the remains around your mouth that you have had your share, Mr. Tompkins! There weren’t any remains, but Sam instinctively and guiltily put his hand up to his mouth to wipe them off, and seeing the Sergeant’s little smile as he did so realised that he had been caught out.

Yeh knaa, aahve done that hundreds of times. It’s easy man. Sam said, thinking he had better change the subject pointing down to the rapidly closing gap between the ship and the quayside as the docking procedure began.

What? Nicked all the biscuits? asked Julian, pretending to misunderstand his meaning. Naah, ye daft Cockney git! replied Sam. (To him, everyone south of Teeside was a Cockney.) Ye just happen to be looking at an experienced sailor. I used to waark on boats as a civvy. Although he was prone to exaggeration at times, Sam was telling the truth on this occasion.

Born and raised in the little town of Dunston on the south bank of the river Tyne, his father was a miner and it was assumed that Sam would follow him down the pit. He did go down the mines on leaving school at fourteen but discovered to his own and his father’s dismay and shame that he suffered from an extreme form of claustrophobia.

He screamed in a hysterical panic all the way down in the pit cage as he went underground for the first time, collapsing into a foetal ball at the bottom of the shaft and wetting his trousers in fear in the process. He was a gibbering, crying wreck when they brought him up again to the top. Needless to say, that ended his coal mining career. He had never liked being in an enclosed environment as it made him nervous but never anything on a scale to indicate such an extreme phobia. The thought of being buried beneath the earth thousands of feet underground had apparently triggered this reaction. It took several months in a psychiatric hospital for him to recover from this traumatic event after which he tried a variety of jobs into none of which he could settle.

He did love to watch the ships as they came and went from the Tyne and would often go fishing from the fish docks in the river mouth at North Shields. Any fish he caught were an incidental bonus. It never crossed his mind to try and get a job on a boat as the thought of being away for weeks at a time would mean him missing his real love which was watching Newcastle United playing in the second division at St. James Park.

Perhaps yeh ought teh get a job on one of them things. a friend commented one day as they sat contemplating their lines and the river. They were watching a large motor barge which regularly ploughed its way up and down the river taking spoil from the many power stations along the way to be dumped at sea.

Naa. nee chance! Sam had replied, but a seed was sown and one day on a whim he had found his way to the dockside at a major power station near Blaydon in County Durham where one of these boats, the ‘Bobby Shaftoe’, was moored. Plucking up courage he asked a person who he thought was the Captain if there were any jobs going.

This man was indeed the Captain and he gave Sam a long, steady stare of appraisal before saying Tell yeh what; we are a little short handed at the moment. I’ll give yeh a trial run to see how yeh get on. If yeh’re suited then the job’s yours. The money isn’t that good but yeh’ll get food and work clothes and yeh can even bunk on board if yeh want to. Do yeh want to give it a go? By the way, it can be hard and dangerous work. he added, before Sam could reply.

Sam was dumbfounded as he wasn’t expecting it to be that straightforward and it was several moments before he managed to stutter Err, aye! When do aah start?

Be here by six in the morning. replied the captain, We work by the tides. If yeh miss the boat then I won’t give yeh a second chance. Sam was there by four in the morning and fell asleep at the foot of the gang plank.

He was woken about five am by one of the other crew member saying Are yeh the new lad? Right, grab that lot and bring it to the galley. Yeh can start in there. He didn’t wait for a reply but pointed to a few boxes of provisions on the dockside and made his way onto the boat.

Sam clearly remembered that morning. There was an inky, black sky with a myriad of stars glittering in a vast swathe across the heavens, and as he stood on the deck with the boxes in his hands a huge, bright shooting star flashed across the sky following the route of the river to the sea. That’s a sign of good luck! said the other crew member with a smile as he waited on deck for him. I think yeh’re ganna de just fine!