THE LOST VIKING SAGA

The training area was laid out to resemble a series of fields, each separated by fences constructed with field stones. Some of the fields were empty. Still others were populated with small herds of sheep or goats, while one contained a single, lonely cow, absent-mindedly chewing its cud. At the far end of this collection of meadows sat a small, rundown cottage. Inside, a group of soldiers posing as Nazis, waited upon the attack they were told would most certainly come. Olaf watched amused as from time to time a soldier would look out of the window or do a quick walk around the structure, attempting to catch a glimpse of their attackers. What they could not see from their vantage point, Olaf was able to observe clearly from his. His carefully trained eye spotted all seven of the attacking soldiers spread across the various fields and cleverly camouflaged to blend in with the grass and features of the landscape. Two of them had already made it to the field adjoining the cottage and were waiting patiently for their comrades to join up with them prior to mounting their attack.

Just as he had trained them, they were taking their time, being very careful to move only when they were absolutely certain their movements would not betray them. It was nearly half an hour before all seven were together and ready to make their move. The men inside the cottage were clearly worn down by waiting, making Olaf believe they would be quickly subdued. He watched with renewed interest as he saw the attackers rise from hiding and cautiously surround the cottage. Their offensive was just getting underway, when Olaf heard someone call his name.

“Olaf! Over here!”

The Norseman located the direction of the voice and pivoted to see Major Penbrooke, now Lieutenant Colonel Penbrooke, running across the training area toward him. The observance of his trainee’s assault was forgotten as he turned his attention toward Penbrooke. When the man reached him he was decidedly out of breath.

“What is it Penbrooke? Have the Nazis surrendered?”

“No, Olaf, though that could happen any day now. Our doppelganger is doing a bang up job of bringing Germany to its knees. You need to come with me, immediately. I have already sent several men to round up the others.”

“Come out with it, man. What is so urgent?”

Penbrooke smiled. He looked at Olaf with a glint in his eye. “It’s the fog, Olaf. One of our planes spotted a heavy bank of mist moving toward the exact same place where your ship lost its way and landed here. You need to move quickly, my friend. There is no time to lose.”

Olaf shouted a word of instruction to his trainees, who now stood confused and uncertain. Without another word he followed Penbrooke at a jog toward the command bunker. Outside, three idling lorries already sat waiting. The other Norsemen were loading their armor and weapons. Colonel Brundige casually leaned against the wall of the bunker, watching the frenzied activity.

“Ah, Olaf,” he said when he saw him approach, “It may be possible we will be losing you today, eh? I will be sorry to see you go, but happy for you if it truly is your opportunity to return home.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Is there any word of how long the fog may last?”

“No one seems to know, Olaf. It is prudent to take advantage while you can. I believe Ebbn and Kalf have already seen to loading your belongings. Get your men on the lorries and get down to the beach. You will want to have that ship of yours in the sea as quickly as you can.”

“Thank you for everything, Colonel. Please see to it that John knows I said goodbye.”

“I will see to it. If you put to sea and it turns out to be nothing but a fog, we will all be here awaiting your return. I, for one, hope that is not the case. God speed, Olaf.”

“Hail to you, Colonel.”

They boarded the trucks with haste and were joined by Penbrooke who rode with them to the beach. The Sea Prowler was moved from its resting place and in a short time was in the water awaiting her occupants.

“England will never be able to thank you enough, Olaf. God bless you,” said Penbrooke in parting as Olaf pushed the ship with a handful of men further into the surf.

With practiced ease, they boarded and soon the oarsmen were turning the ship toward the open sea and the waiting fog bank. Olaf took his place at the prow, straining his eyes for sign of the telltale mist. Kalf came to stand by his side, signing hopefully to his father.

“Have you faith that this will work, father?”

“Faith is all we can have, my son. If this is the work of the Christ we shall soon discover the truth of it.”

Father and son scanned the horizon together. The coast of England was already a distant, hazy shadow when Kalf caught his father’s arm and pointed excitedly to the southwest. A towering bank of fog hung suspended on the horizon almost inviting them to enter its embrace.

“Head the ship to the southwest!” shouted Olaf.

The men immediately adjusted their course. An enthusiastic flood of conversation erupted the entire length of the Sea Prowler as each man became aware of what they were heading toward. As they drew closer it began to become difficult to discern where the separation between fog and sky began. The bank itself was strangely tall and seemed to move with an inner life of its own. At one point, as its first wispy fingers reached out to stroke the sides of the ship, it almost seemed to be breathing in and out, inhaling and exhaling its cloudy essence into the air around them. It was not long before the ship was completely surrounded by the mist. Olaf ordered the men to continue rowing and for the steersman to concentrate on maintaining the same course.

As they moved deeper into the fog, the sea gradually flattened out until there were no waves at all. The water was like glass and an eerie silence enveloped them. No one spoke it for fear of it not being so, but the conditions were almost identical to their first exposure to the mist that had deposited them outside of their own time. In time, Olaf called to the oarsmen to rest. The ship glided to a stop and sat unmoving in the middle of the thick cloud. There was no way to discern how much time had gone by for certain, but Olaf guessed that they had now been inside the fog bank for at least two hours. His mind raced, trying to decide whether they should sit idle or row until they either came out of the mist or wait until it dissipated.

When the thick, milky haze around them began to become murkier and dark, the Norsemen knew that the sun was more than likely setting. To occupy the minds of the men, Olaf ordered that the ship get underway once again; directing the oarsmen to keep a slow, steady pace. They rowed through the darkening gloom, Olaf watching carefully at the prow for obstacles. His mind wandered often toward his memories of Harald in the same position, anxiously worrying himself with thoughts of gods and monsters. It did not seem possible that this was not the same divine instrument that had brought them to England’s aid in their time of need. Everything that they were experiencing now was so very similar that it had to be the doorway home. Throughout the night, Olaf called for times of rest so that the men would not fall from exhaustion in their effort to navigate through the fog to their home. Even during the periods of idleness the Norsemen remained alert and anticipatory in spite of their tiredness. Not one of them was willing to close his eyes for fear of waking and finding themselves still separated from their own time. It was a long, anxious night, broken only by the physical activity of propelling the ship forward through the mysterious mist.

Olaf reckoned it to be near dawn once the cloudiness surrounding them began to lighten. This inspired a revived energy toward rowing out of the fog. The Norsemen spied occasional thin strips of blue sky overhead, evidence that the mist was beginning to lift. As the morning hours slowly passed toward noon, the fog was still clinging tenaciously to them. In some ways it seemed that instead of moving through it, the cloud was moving with them. Spirits began to dampen a degree as they started to grow more and more tired from their sleepless night cloaked in the ghostly vapor. From his vantage point at the prow, Olaf thought he saw movement. He could not be certain his eyes were not deceiving him after the long stretch of straining into a veil his vision could not penetrate. The Norseman called hoarsely to Ebbn, bringing his friend to the front.

“I can trust my tired eyes no longer, Ebbn. Look ahead of us and tell me what you see.”

Olaf traded places with his friend so that Ebbn could have a slightly higher vantage from which to observe. He watched as Ebbn peered into the lightening gloom and waited for his assessment.

“I think I see a shadow moving ahead of us, Olaf. I am not certain but it might be moving in the same direction as we are as it appears we are keeping pace.”

“Can you tell what it is?”

“It could be another ship perhaps. It is difficult to tell. Odin’s Beard, if only this wretched fog would melt away as it did before,” said Ebbn.

His friend’s gaze remained fixed as he tried to will the mist to lift. Olaf added his eyes back to the cause, feeling that between the two of them they might be able to discern what lie ahead. He felt his eyes watering from the strain. They burned from lack of sleep and he was starting to feel the pressure of a head ache behind them as he squinted into the greyness. When he could stare no longer, Olaf raised his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes vigorously. It was at that precise moment that things changed.

“Wait,” exclaimed Ebbn. “The fog is finally thinning, Olaf. I do believe it is a ship ahead of us. I can see its outline. Perhaps in another moment or two it will clear enough to know for certain.”

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Olaf was about to shout to the heavens, when suddenly the sun was shining brightly all around them, the fog burning away like a bad memory. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the increased light, he looked again and together with Ebbn saw a beautiful sight. A Norse ship drifted several boat lengths in front of them. In the brilliant sunshine they could make out the crew beginning to raise her sail.

“Raise the sail, brothers!” Olaf cried excitedly. “Oarsmen, row for all you can! We need to catch that ship!”

A roar of exaltation rose from among the men as they all set to closing the gap between theirs and the ship ahead.