The Age Of Odin

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."