Operation Norway

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“Well, this is fucking great, isn’t it? What wanker told the brass that we’re pining for the fjords?”

Corporal Wiggins wasn’t taking the S-Squad’s latest assignment well. Captain Banks couldn’t really blame him; they’d all been promised an extended period of leave after the double-whammy of losing men on their last two missions on Loch Ness and in Syria.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Captain. I know you’re due some respite. But this is a matter of national security,” the colonel had said that morning when he called Banks in to his office. The room was too warm despite the chill and damp in the air outside. The colonel had done several tours of duty in far hotter climes and liked to be reminded of the fact now that he was working a desk in the North of Scotland. Two electric heaters, four bars each, ran full time and Banks was hot under his heavy sweater and already starting to sweat. The colonel, in shirtsleeves, looked like a man about to go for a summer stroll.

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