Keeping the pistol levelled at him, Sybilla circled him. The back of his head was pulp—it had been a through and through. Herwig Weber would never move again.
Moving quickly to Tiny, Sybilla eased him onto his back. He groaned loudly and his eyes flickered open. He lay for a moment before looking up into Sybilla’s beautiful but deeply concerned face.
Giving his best effort at a smile, he quipped, “Jesus! I thought for a moment I had died and gone to heaven.”
Sybilla made a wry face. “You phoney!” she said, but was nevertheless genuinely concerned at the blood seeping from his leg.
Moving to the first aid cabinet, she found two army-style ‘first field’ dressings. Thick wads with a bandage attached. Easing Tiny’s injured leg up—not without some pain—she applied the wad to the underside on top of his trousers. The fabric of the trousers would help soak up the blood. She waited for a minute then, as the first wad started to discolour, she applied the second dressing on top of the first. Her training with OES hadn’t been completely wasted.
Examining Tiny’s shoulder, Sybilla found that it was another through and through. The bullet had entered just below his left shoulder and exited through the shoulder blade. She didn’t know what sort of mess it had made of the shoulder blade on its way through but imagined it wouldn’t be good. Worse, Tiny seemed to have lost the use of his left arm. However, it didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly, and Sybilla patched it up by making pads from a couple of crepe bandages.
Between the two of them, and helped in no small part by Tiny’s grit and determination—he must have been in great pain—they managed to manoeuvre him onto the lower bunk. Once he was as comfortable as Sybilla could make him, she set about sorting things out.
First priority was to remove the body. She dragged Weber’s corpse to the door and stared out at the woods. It was over a hundred yards away; strong as she was, she doubted her ability to drag the body that far. The sled! That was the answer. The sleds were left in the cabins as a means of transporting injured skiers and climbers to safety. It was perfect for the job in hand. She manoeuvred it next to Weber’s dead body and heaved him onto it. By the time it was loaded she was exhausted and had found out the hard way the meaning of a ‘dead weight’.
Sybilla hauled the body well into the woods before tipping it off the sled. She put a thin covering of snow over it and, without a further thought, set off back to the cabin. She felt no remorse for the Nazi she had killed, nor did she worry about the tracks she was leaving. The next fall of snow would cover all that. In all likelihood, Herwig Weber would remain undisturbed in his snowy grave until the spring of next year. On a positive note, using the sled to transport his body had given her the germ of an idea.
Returning to the cabin, she set about cleaning it up as best she could. Rummaging in her bergen she pulled out a light jumper and, using this in combination with snow, she was all but able to obliterate the bloodstains. Raiding Tiny’s bergen she found his burner and billycan and soon had some coffee brewing. Then, breaking out the rolls and cold meat along with some powdered soups she had hurriedly packed, she soon had a banquet prepared.
As they ate, Sybilla chatted cheerfully in an attempt to keep Tiny’s spirits up, but it was clear that he was in pain. He looked dreadful. Sybilla checked the bandages again; the bleeding from his leg wound seemed to have stopped. Sybilla breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the artery—nor, it would appear, was it a main vein. Small mercies!
“Billa,” said Tiny, staring at her intently, “you need to go. I can’t make it but you can. The border is only a few hundred yards from here.”
“Well, it’s an interesting suggestion, Valentino,” said Sybilla, looking at the ceiling as if considering it, “but what was it you said only a few hours ago? If I was in trouble, you wouldn’t leave me to my own devices, was that it? Well, what makes you think I would leave you? Works both ways, buddy!”
Sybilla stood up from the side of the bed where she had been sitting by Tiny and thrust her hands onto her hips. Looking stern, she wagged a finger at him.
“I remember something that’s been sticking in my craw. When I was on the plane coming down here you said you would have to look after me because I was a Norwegian, right? Ha! Well listen, buster, I thought at the time it was more likely that this little Norwegian lady would end up having to help her big American friend. Seems I was right!”
Despite his pain, Tiny managed to chuckle. “You got me there, pal! I take it you have a plan, though I can’t think what.”
Sybilla was serious once more, and sat back down. “It all hinges on how you feel tomorrow. That’s why I need you to rest today and take on as much liquid as I can get into you. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Sybilla wasn’t sure if her physiological logic actually made sense, but she was clutching at straws. “I can help you with everything you need, so don’t worry about anything. I’m not a blushing teenager. I’ll tell you the plan tomorrow morning, depending on how you feel,” she said with finality.
“Okay, boss, you’re in charge.”
“You better believe it, fella!”
That night, Sybilla helped Tiny into his sleeping back, taking care not to disturb his leg or the bandaging around it. She then lay down beside him and placed her own sleeping bag over the two of them, to ensure that Tiny remained warm
