The Age Of Odin

Fifty-Six

I had about a fifth of a second to digest the fact that the All-Father was no more. Then two things happened.

First, Fenrir reverberated to an immense explosion, rocking back on its caterpillar tracks.

Second, Cy and Paddy came haring in from the engine room.

"Fucker's started bombarding," Cy yelled, over the ringing in my head.

"And we've ten seconds to get clear before the charges blow," Paddy added.

I was still holding Odin — couldn't move. Paddy took stock of my situation. His face fell. Then, barely missing a beat, he grabbed me by the arm and wrenched me upright. Together he and Cy hauled me through the carnage that Odin and I had created in the hold. There was an exit at the rear, as I'd guessed. Cy punched a release lever, and a segmented garage-door type of affair rolled upwards in front of us. We scuttled out under it on all fours and sprinted away from Fenrir.

The tank was now perched on the brow of the rise overlooking the castle, with the scattered corpses of trolls around it and behind. It sent a second shell scudding through the air towards the building. I heard the whizz-shriek of the projectile coming in to land, followed by the chunky wallop of masonry shattering.

Then Fenrir itself was the one to suffer. The C-4 in the engine room did its stuff. The tank lurched upwards and bulged outwards at the same time, slumping straight back down onto the snow. It came to rest at an angle, both tracks askew, wheels out of alignment like bad teeth. Its armour stayed largely intact, but many of the rivets had popped and the steel plates didn't mesh as neatly as before.

A second, louder explosion, this one external, saw Fenrir's head shear sideways off its neck. The control cab came to rest canted at a forward angle, like a sleeping drunk's.

All four gun turrets were still operational but the mega-tank itself was driverless and going nowhere. Its artillery barrels were fully extended, but without anyone to fire them they were as useful as a eunuch's dick.

Thor appeared moments later, leading Skadi, Freya, and his brothers. Between them they mopped up the gunners, whose fighting spirit had pretty much deserted them now that they were stuck defending a dead duck. Mjolnir cracked the turrets open like steel pinatas, and Freya mercilessly despatched the men inside.

A cry of victory went up, begun by the Aesir and echoed by the mortal troops over by the castle.

Knowing something they didn't yet, I was in no mood for celebrating.

I felt even less like it when Backdoor emerged from the woods.

Alone.