control of the timing of battle. They know we would not dare venture into the mist, so the upper hand is theirs — the leisure to decide when to commence the attack.'
'And in the meantime we lie here with our ball sacks turning to icepacks.'
'Would you rather go down there into that impenetrable mist, where you can't even see the hand in front of your face, and try to root them out? I think not.'
He had a point. Not that I wasn't tempted. I didn't much enjoy hanging around twiddling my thumbs before a contact. I wanted to get in there, mix things up. The black rage inside me wanted that too. This was what it lived for: moments of bloodshed and personal danger. What it craved, like a vampire craved blood or a zombie craved flesh. I was an addict, that was what it came down to. Violence was my drug, and for too long I'd gone without. It had been cold turkey for me ever since I left prison. I'd been straight for two years — straight and miserable. But I was well off the wagon now, and all the happier and healthier for it.
I glanced across at Cy, his eyes met mine, and I saw it in him too. Paddy likewise, and Baz. All of them. The same eagerness, the same unquenchable thirst. We feared it so much, yet at the same time needed it. We could die today. This could be our final few minutes, our last hurrah. We were shit-scared, skating along the edge of the screaming abdabs, and loving it.
Baz had the walkie-talkie for our unit, and now it squawked in his hand.
'This is Odin, to all.'
'Here we go,' I said. 'Big pre-match pep talk from the coach.'
'Hush!' snapped Thor. 'My father speaks.'
'Our foe's desire is to unsettle us,' Odin said over the airwaves. 'Stand firm. It will not be long. Night is falling fast, and they will not want to fight in the dark. We have but minutes to go before battle is joined. Today is the culmination of all your work hitherto, your training, your dedication. The enemy intends to essay our strengths and vulnerabilities. Let us demonstrate our abundance of the former and absence of the latter. They have made this move earlier than anticipated, in hopes of catching us unawares, unprepared. Do not worry. We are ready.'
The sun kept sinking, getting fainter and fainter, dusk deepening around it. Evening, and I'd had no lunch, and breakfast had been measly. I should have felt famished, but fear quelled the pangs. What a day it had been. What a twenty-four hours. From frost giants to trolls to the Norns to Mrs Keener — talk about having your world turned upside down.
'Any clue what's lurking out there?' I asked Baz.
He shrugged. 'Intel hasn't been superb on this one. But then, what else is new?'
'Good point. Back in the army, I don't think I was in a single engagement where we didn't go in half-cocked, knowing next to nothing of what we should have known. Different situation, same old shit.'
'American black ops guys, that's what I heard,' said Backdoor. 'With some kind of high-tech equipment. Who'd have thought we'd be going up against the septics, eh? So much for the Special Relationship.'
'I think, seeing as who Mrs Keener really is, the Special Relationship's more like a Special Needs Relationship,' said Chopsticks. 'And we're the one in the wheelchair, being pushed around.'
'Sure and that was a shocker, wasn't it?' said Paddy. 'Ultra-conservative president turns out to be Norse god in disguise. Hands up who saw that one coming.'
'And a male god and all,' said Backdoor. 'Makes me a bit sick to think I might have knocked one out over her a couple of times.'
'Holy Mother of God, you didn't!'
'I only said might have, Pads. Never said I did.'
'Oh, you did,' I said. 'You big divine-gender-bender fancier you.' I turned to Cy. 'While we're here male- bonding with insults, and just in case I don't get another chance to ask — 'Coco Pops'?'
A grimace. 'If I told you it was my favourite brand of cereal and that's all, would you leave it at that?'
'Nope.'
'Thought not.'
'Lad has certain tastes,' said Baz, with glee.
'For…?' I said.
'Likes the white women, so he does,' said Paddy. 'By his own admission, prefers them to ladies of his own colour.'
'And…?' I said. We were all grinning, even Thor. It was fun watching the youngster squirm. Helped take our minds off what was coming.
'Well, you remember the adverts, don't you?'
'This is so offensive,' Cy muttered.
''Turns the milk chocolatey.''
I guffawed. Couldn't help it.
'Come on, seriously,' Cy said. 'It's borderline racist.'
'Mate, you're blushing,' I said to him.
'Am not. How can you tell?'
'I can tell. Is it true? White birds do it for you?'
'Nothing wrong with white birds, is there?'
'Nothing at all.'
'You wouldn't believe how keen they are for a bit of brother, actually, Gid. Gagging for it. You lot obviously aren't measuring up. That's why they come to me, and man, are they grateful. I give 'em something they won't forget. You know the saying. 'Once you've had black…''
'Hsst!' said Thor. 'Enough. Look.'
We looked, and there were figures in the fog. Dim, hulking outlines. Grey shadows that moved ponderously, purposefully. Coming towards us. Resolving. Getting sharper and clearer. Emerging. Revealing themselves.
I held my breath.
Mrs Keener and the Pentagon had, it seemed, been busy bees.
Very busy bees indeed.
Thirty-One
I counted nine of them.
Not many.
But they were big. Each basically human-shaped but twice the size. They strode in a V formation, clomping cumbersomely over the snow. Five were dark blue, the other four jet black. Their sleek, rounded contours, backlit by the fading sun, gleamed dully. Giant mechanised suits of armour.
Each had an operator inside. I could see faces peering out through tinted plexiglass faceplates. Each moved a little stiffly, but with obvious strength and power. Servomotors in the legs swayed them along, and their arms swung, providing counterbalance. In place of hands the arms ended in flared nozzles which were connected by flexible metallic tubes to pod-like tanks on their backs. Vents, cowls and farings jutted out here and there from the bodywork, some obviously functional but the majority, as far as I could tell, for show.
Across their chests were strips of lettering. The blue suits of armour had JOTUN, the black ones SURT.
'JOTUN,' I said. 'The US army's built its own jotuns.'
'No shit,' said Cy.
'But what's a SURT when it's at home?'
'Surt is a fire demon,' said Chopsticks. 'King of Muspelheim, the World of Fire. Scary fellow, by all accounts.'
'Oh yes,' said Thor. 'Very much so.'
We watched them plod closer, those metal replica frost giants and fire demons, and if my own feelings were anything to go by, we were perturbed but also sneakingly impressed.
'What are we supposed to call 'em, that's what I want to know,' said Backdoor.
'Robo-infantry?' Chopsticks suggested.
'Bit of a mouthful.'
