It was amazing, she supposed, what being high as fuck and losing your appetite could do for your appearance. There was only one obvious place the drugs had taken their toll—her teeth. Carl Pedersen, though, had fixed them. Or more appropriately, he had paid to get them fixed. A private dentist in Bergen—someplace far away from anyone she may have known or bumped into from Oslo. That was also where he had gotten her into a private drug treatment program. Quite simply, he had rescued her.
When everyone else had given up on her, when she was at her absolute lowest, rock-bottom moment, and most needed saving, that’s when he had appeared.
Gathering her up, he had taken her away to some safe house—halfway between Oslo and Bergen—a place she doubted even the NIS knew about.
It was a gorgeous ski lodge in the town of Geilo and obviously belonged to someone with a lot of money. Who, though, he never said.
That was just like him. Carl Pedersen knew people everywhere. Not just in Norway, but around the world. He was either the best friend or the worst enemy a person could ever have. She couldn’t believe he was gone.
The pain caused by his death felt like someone had shoved a glowing fireplace poker through her chest. He had not only saved her, but he had also helped her sober up and had gotten her reinstated. If not for him, she didn’t know where she’d be right now.
Scratch that. She knew where she’d be—if she would have still been alive—and it wouldn’t have been pretty. She owed him everything, including her life. He had been her second chance.
And unlike other men she had known, he had never asked for or had expected anything in return—only that she do her absolute best. That was why he had brought her into NIS in the first place. He had seen the potential in her. And she had delivered on that potential. Big-time.
Sølvi worked harder than anyone at NIS. She understood the threats Norway was facing. The real threats.
While governments and their pet political initiatives came and went, she saw the bigger picture. Because Norway was so wealthy, it could afford to be both high-minded and kind. Those were noble attributes, but only if the nation was prepared to be narrow-minded and tough when it had to be.
For instance, calling out China for their human rights violations and awarding the Nobel Prize to a dissident critical of Beijing was all well and good, as long as you were ready to punch back twice as hard once Chinese hacking of Norwegian banks, businesses, hospitals, and critical infrastructure went into overdrive.
That was one of the most important things Carl Pedersen had taught her. As the Soviet Union had begun to dissolve, Norwegian politicians had cheered. While it was indeed worth cheering, Pedersen urged the powers-that-be in Oslo to consider what was coming next.
Stripped of its global superpower status, Russia was going to become even more dangerous. Its belligerence would increase and Norway, as a member of NATO, and as an immediate neighbor, would be a target.
Everything Pedersen had predicted had come true. Cross-border incursions, increased espionage, political and cultural influence operations, interference with Norwegian military exercises, indiscriminate and nonattributable sabotage operations—all of it. His warning had been chillingly prophetic.
But, where Norway hadn’t taken Pedersen as seriously as it probably should have, Sølvi had. Having grown up in a military family, she had long been exposed to dinner table conversations about Norway not taking its freedom for granted. As a young girl, talk about Norwegians remaining “ever vigilant” was all around her. Nevertheless, the moment the chance to spread her wings and leave Norway had arrived, she had taken it.
What started as a semester abroad in Paris, led to a summer job as an au pair, which led to being scouted by the owner of a modeling agency who lived in the building. She didn’t go back to school, or to Norway, for the next two years.
The money had been fantastic. The travel and the places she saw were even better. But it was during this time that her penchant for choosing bad men and making other, even worse decisions began to show itself.
At first, the attention was intoxicating. Handsome photographers, ad execs, and fellow models. She got invited to the hottest clubs and was introduced to even more men, as well as even more opportunities to get herself into trouble. Her mistake of choice—cocaine.
All of the models were doing it. It gave you lots of energy, helped you stay super thin, and was always available. She was having too much fun to notice how tightly the addiction was taking hold.
In the end, her father had flown to Paris and rescued her. Bringing her home, he had gotten her cleaned up and had given her an ultimatum—go back to school or join the military.
School had seemed like the easiest choice, but she chose the military instead. No one could believe it. Sølvi the fashion model in the Norwegian Army? It had shocked everyone—especially the friends who had jokingly egged her on in that direction.
She had felt guilty about how she had let her family down and, most importantly, her father. She had been embarrassed that he had to come and bring her back home. He had been disappointed in her. She had seen it every time he had looked at her. The shame had been impossible to bear. She wanted him to be proud of her. She still did. The military would make him proud. It would also provide her a means to be proud of herself.
In all honesty, it had been one of the best things to ever happen to her. She had needed the military’s structure and its discipline. Had she returned to university in Oslo, she was convinced that she would have only been dragged back into the suffocating world of drugs.
Instead, she had gone through basic training and then set her sights on a new unit she had heard the army was toying with codenamed Tundra. It was rumored to be an all-female Special Forces pilot program. Very little was known about it and because it was so highly classified, very little was being said.
She had applied and had been rejected three times. Each time they had given her a different excuse. Too tall Too skinny Too weak.
While there was nothing she could do about her height, she could improve her body and overall physical fitness, which was exactly what she did.
She lengthened her runs, added in sprints and cross-training, began lifting heavier weights, and completely changed her diet.
When she applied a fourth time and they tried to reject her, she was pissed. And she gave it to the panel with both barrels—telling them to start thinking up new excuses now because she was going to apply again and again. She wasn’t a quitter. It was precisely what they wanted to hear. She was given a slot to try out for what would be known as Jeger Troop—the Norwegian word for huntress.
The ten-month program was grueling, but she relished it. The more they threw at her, the better she did. No matter how hard they tried to break her, they couldn’t.
From the eighty-eight female soldiers initially invited, only twenty were able to complete the training, and from there just thirteen went on to form the first unit.
Sølvi was proud of herself. And just as important, so was her father. She had been made for Jeger Troop. Or so it had seemed.
Despite being deployed multiple times, she had never fired her weapon. None of their operations had gone kinetic. It seemed that Jeger Troop spent the majority of its time either conducting surveillance or interacting with Muslim women in Afghanistan—hoping to develop actionable intelligence.
Shit assignments came with the territory—even for Special Operations forces. Sølvi, though, had been led to believe that they’d be undertaking the kinds of missions similar to the male commandos’. The fact that Jeger had been regulated to “safer,” second-tier operations didn’t sit well with her. That wasn’t what she had signed up for. And so, she had started looking around for other opportunities.