(AN: Well, here we are again. I was going to have this done sooner. I was even prepared to dislocate my shoulder patting myself on the back for having it done in time before Thanksgiving or Christmas 2019...and then life happened. Bad news hit right before and after Christmas, which put a stop to the writing. And I'm not talking about the 'disease that should not be named', just personal stuff that created a huge writer's block. At one point I was even going to straight up abandon the fic, which I swore I would never do. Then, slowly but surely I pulled myself out of my funk and got back in the saddle.
And, here we are in May, a completely different world from last November when we last left off. Never did I think that an impending nuclear Armageddon would seem quaint in comparison to living through a pandemic. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't think it'll be super serious, but life's definitely going to be different once the dust settles. I'll never take going to the cinema for granted again. Also, what is up with my American friends hoarding toilet paper? I saw a meme on social media about the toilet paper hoarding and couldn't believe my eyes.
Regarding the story, I'll try to stick to my once a month update, hopefully there won't be any more interruptions. I still haven't seen Frozen 2 so most of this early act is going to follow the first Frozen movie. Hopefully by the time we get to the second act I'll have seen Frozen 2 and can mesh it into this story more or less seamlessly. Now then, on with the show!)
(Castle Akershus, Mission T+3 hours, 1438 hours local time)
As the royal coronation ball progressed and dancers flocked to the floor the battle lines, such as they were, were drawn. On one end of the ballroom all of the ladies and teen-aged debutantes were lined up, tittering behind their fans and whispering among themselves. The women had, of course, chosen the side of the ballroom where the chocolate was being displayed. On the other side of the room were the men, both young and old. They too, were talking amongst themselves, the old men were shamelessly ogling the young ladies dancing, wistfully wishing they were younger. Every now and then one of the men or women would pluck up courage, and cross the no man's land that was the dance floor and ask someone for the next dance. But, for the most part, the men, both young and old, stood on their side.
There was one of the men that stood out. All the way on the end was a grim-faced man, wearing an austere dark blue military uniform with many ribbons on his chest, his expression clearing signalling that he did not want to be at this ball. SGM Wolfe stood at a position of parade rest earnestly wishing he was anywhere, even Dubai was starting to look enticing compared to this dog and pony show. To be honest Wolfe wanted to leave ten minutes ago, but couldn't, the reason he couldn't leave contributed to his foul mood. Vaguely the sergeant major was aware of a bubbly redheaded girl that was chatting away about some charming prince she just met, but Wolfe paid her no heed. His thoughts were interrupted when another voice spoke up.
"Excuse me, good sir!"
The sergeant major didn't respond, but glanced towards where the voice originated. An older woman stood beside him, wearing a gaudy pink ballgown and a long wrinkly neck that was weighed down by at least several kilograms of jewelry. By her demeanor Wolfe knew what she wanted, but didn't feel sociable.
"Yes?" He responded tersely.
The lady gave a curtsy.
"I am Lady Maugritte, Duchess of Aquitaine..."
She paused, as if the title would mean something to Wolfe, which it didn't. When he didn't respond the lady continued.
"I would be honored if you would have this dance, sir, er?"
She paused, clearly wanting Wolfe to introduce himself. He, on the other hand, was in no mood for such fuckery. He finally swiveled his gaze from the dance floor to her, and for a moment the duchess felt pinned to the spot by his glare.
"No thank-you, ma'am."
He then directed his attention back to the dance floor. The lady, flustered by the old soldier's brusque manners, fanned herself as she slunk back to ladies' side.
"You know, that wasn't very nice! Lady Maugritte came all the way from France to see Elsa get crowned. She's very influential, you know."
SGM Wolfe didn't respond to the redhead's prattling. Instead, his gimlet gaze seemed to cut a hole through the dancers in the ballroom, zeroing in on two figures dancing. When the waltz had first started they were both awkwardly trying to match the other dancers, but now were moving more freely and naturally. It just so happened that one of them was the newly crowned queen of Arendelle, which was causing a bit of a stir among the guests, but that wasn't the reason for Wolfe staring. The object of the old sergeant major's ire was the queen's dance partner, a young man wearing dark blue Class A's with a deprecating grin on his clueless face. 2nd Lt. Bradley had managed to get himself into this, Wolfe thought, and there's gonna be hell to pay for it.
The music slowly came to an end, and the dance partners dispersed from the ballroom floor, including the Queen and the boot. SGM Wolfe was only vaguely aware of the fact that the redhead who had been bothering him for the last half hour had finally disengaged and ran over to the Queen, probably for more sister talk, he thought. Wolfe directed his glare to the approaching lieutenant, whose flushed face a big stupid grin.
Lt. Bradley was riding high, he'd only danced once in his life and that was at the ROTC dress ball, but something about that girl made his heart skip a beat. After the dance Elsa excused herself saying she wanted to chat with her sister, and the lieutenant obliged her. Honestly he thought they both felt embarrassed by the dance after the fact, and he was happy for the distraction. He discretely keyed the mic on his radio.
"Misfit Two, Misfit Three, this is Misfit One, 'port in."
There was a crackle of static, then PVT. Davis' voice came through.
"Misfit One this is Misfit Three, status unchanged. No sign of hostiles on the ground."
Then PFC Mayfield's voice spoke up.
"This is Misfit Two, no sign of baddies from up here...maybe ol' Whiskers was sending us on another goat rodeo."
Bradley chuckled as he responded.
"Misfit Two, Misfit Three, acknowledged. Charlie Mike, keep your eyes peeled. Usually it's at the end when things decide to go sideways."
He heard a squawk, then he heard Mayfield chuckle.
"Never pegged you for a dancer, sir. You were cuttin' quite a rug there with the queen."
The lieutenant shook his head.
"Focus on the mission, Misfit Two. Keep your eyes out for hostiles and don't let Elsa out of your sight."
"Oh, it's Elsa now, is it? Did you get her number?"
"That's enough, Mayfield. Charlie Mike."
He could still hear Mayfield laughing as the private responded with a "Lickey Chickey" and the radio went silent again. As he approached SGM Wolfe he noticed the older NCO's dour expression was even more grim than usual. He was also glaring at Bradley as if he were walking on the sergeant major's grass, or gallivanting around base with his hands in his pockets. Nervously Bradley tried some small talk.
"Er, anything to report, sergeant major?"
Wolfe continued to glare at the lieutenant.
"As your radio conversation stated, nothing to report, sir."
Bradley's high spirits sank, he realized that the reason of Wolfe's glare was because of his dancing.
"Ah, sergeant major if this is about the dancing bit, the Queen commanded me to dance with her, as an envoy of Albion I really didn't have much say so in it..."
The older NCO snorted.
"Yeah, I saw that part, an' by the look of it you fought her very hard and tried to refuse before she threatened to burn you at the stake..."
The young officer chuckled.
"Well, you got me there, sarge. I-it just happened, and seemed like the thing to do at the time."
Wolfe rolled his eyes at the lieutenant.
"You finished, sir? Because we have to report back, the colonel's checked in and wants a sitrep."
He paused for a moment and saw that the queen was having a heated discussion with her younger sister. She was probably objecting to Ana's new boyfriend, Wolfe thought. He shook his head.
"An' I'm gonna let you explain to Long why you saw it fit to flirt with the queen."
(5 minutes later...)
Lt. Bradley was relieved to be back in his ACU's, and he'd never thought to complain about his combat boots being uncomfortable after dancing in CORFAMs again. He stood at the position of parade rest in front of his CO, LTC Long.
"So, no sign of bad guys, or assassins or anyone suspicious?"
The leader of the Exiles was seating at a long table in the guest quarters of the castle. It was ornate and probably supposed to be used for dining, but the Exiles were using it as their debriefing table. Long was also wearing his ACUs, as was SGM Wolfe and PVT Davis. The sergeant major and the private were flanking Long on either side of him. PFC Gobbi was in the background cleaning his weapon. SPC Mayfield had volunteered to remain in his hiding spot to keep any eye on the queen.
Bradley shook his head.
"No sir, nothing."
Davis spoke up.
"Could be a trap, or they might wait until after the coronation and festivities are over to try something."
"I sure as hell hope not," Wolfe grunted, "I don't want to be stuck in this Disneyland version of Sweden any longer than we have to..."
The lieutenant grinned.
"C'mon sarge, the weather's nice, the food's good, what's not to like?"
"Says the dumbass boot who was flirtin' with the queen, with all due respect, sir."
Bradley held up his hands defensively.
"Hey, it was not like I planned on dancing with her, like I said, she commanded it."
Davis snickered at Bradley.
"Yeah, right, sir. You danced like three sets with her, didn't look like you were fighting him all that much."
SGM Wolfe turned his attention to the young medic.
"Pri'at, as senior NCO of the Damned 33rd only I get to give the loot shit about his taste in women. You get back to your post as backup for Mayfield, any shit goes down we're gonna be caught off guard."
PVT Davis smirked as he saluted and grabbed his weapon.
"Roger that, sarge."
Long watched the private leave, then when the door shut he turned to Bradley.
"Lieutenant, I'd have expected more...restraint from you, especially since this this is your op."
Bradley shook his head.
"I've got my head in the game, sir. It won't be a distraction, I promise."
Wolfe nodded in assent to what the colonel had said, and grunted.
"Ain't you ever hear of the expression that only a damned fool shits where he eats, sir?"
Bradley opened his mouth for a clever retort when his radio crackled to life.
"Misfit One this is Misfit Two Radio check..."
The lieutenant keyed the mic on his radio.
"This is Misfit One, go ahead."
"Sir, still no indication of baddies, an' it's probably nothing but I wanted to report something. The queen and her sis are really getting into it, apparently it's causing a scene."
"Trouble?"
"Negative, but if it degenerates into a catfight y'might have Davis on hand with his med-kit."
Bradley heard laughter come through the static, and was still laughing when he heard Mayfield's voice curse.
"Holy Shit, she shot ice!"
Bradley froze, and keyed his mic trying to fight down the panic in his voice.
"Ah, Misfit Two say again, did not copy your last."
"I said the queen shot ice from her hands, sir! She fuckin' held up her hands and buncha ice conjured up in front of her! Then she bolted...looked like she was heading north."
Wolfe shrugged.
"Yeah, well it is in the story, I dunno why the specialist is gettin' his tits in a ringer about."
He stopped at the sound of the door being yanked open, and both Long and Wolfe stared just as Lt. Bradley disappeared around a corner. Wolfe grabbed his radio and snarled into the mic.
"Lieutenant, with all due respect, what in the actual fuck are you doing?"
Then Bradley's voice chimed in through the static.
"Sar'ent Major, I'm in the process of attempting to intercept the HVP."
Wolfe shook his head and keyed the mic again.
"Negative, Bradley do not pursue! With respect, hold position and wait for backup, it's too dangerous!"
But Lt. Bradley didn't hear or ignored the sergeant major, as his response indicated.
"Dammit there she is, Hey wait up!"
Sergeant Major Wolfe cursed to himself.
"Fuck and shit-biscuits! I knew this was going to turn into a clusterfuck."
He switched channels on his radio.
"Mayfield, Davis, this is Sergeant Major Wolfe! Bradley is attempting to exit the premise to chase after the queen, do not let him leave!"
The specialist's voice came through the static first.
"Ah, that's a negative sarge, Elvis has already left the building."
Wolfe cursed.
"Fuck!"
Gobbi looked up from his rifle, as if just taking notice of the goings-on.
"What do we do now?"
Long sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Well, we go after Lt. Bradley, of course."
He turned his attention to Gobbi.
"Private, you go with Davis and Mayfield in the HUMVEE and try to intercept Bradley before he gets too far up in the mountains. Torrez will take Wolfe and myself up into the mountains and head him off at the pass, so to speak."
He looked up.
"Tell Davis and Mayfield to fall back to the HUMVEE, get it fired up."
The leader of the Exiles glanced out the window.
"The Sea Hawk's on the other side of the harbor out of sight, it's going to take us at least a half an hour to get to it and I don't want a repeat of Agabrah by spooking the natives with our 'flying dragon'."
He turned his attention back to Gobbi.
"That means time's of the essence, private..."
SGM Wolfe stepped forward.
"Sir, with respect, I'd like to lead the search and rescue for Bradley."
He paused.
"Although he'd better pray that he's frozen to death by the time I get to him, otherwise I'm gonna kill him myself."
Long shrugged.
"Fine by me, sergeant major, just maintain radio contact. Dismissed!"
Wolfe saluted, then turned to his locker and grabbed his vest and gear. Gobbi had already radioed to Mayfield and in less than two minutes they were both running down the back stairs of the castle that led down to the courtyard, making a racket with their boots and gear clattering and echoing off the stone hallway. They were halfway down when Gobbi's radio crackled to life.
"Ah, Gobbi, be advised, we are at the HUMVEE and it's ready to go. I've already notified the palace guards that we need a quick exit, so they're opening all the doors for us."
"Roger that, me n' the sarge are almost there!"
He heard Davis chuckle over the radio.
"Hey sarge! Don't go too hard on the loot, I know what he's gonna say when we find him..."
There was a pause as he mimicked Bradley's voice.
"Instructions unclear, got my dick stuck in the toaster oven and chased a snow witch up a mountain with no compass in the middle of a blizzard."
Wolfe keyed the mic on his radio.
"Cut the comedy, pria't, or I'm gonna be burying two idiots on the mountainside when this mission is over!"
(30 minutes later...)
LTC Long hopped off the horse cart just as it left the outskirts of Arendelle's capital city. The officer gave a friendly wave to the farmer, who returned the gesture and cracked the whip, clearly eager to get home. Long knew why the farmer was in such a hurry, he turned the collar of his ACU blouse up and shivered as he looked up. Snow had been falling ever since the queen had fled for the mountains, and it was already starting to accumulate on the ground. The leader of the Exiles took a detour from the main road down a graveled alleyway, which was fenced in on either side by a high, bristly hedgerow.
Long took a note of several bundled sticks and a design carved into the ground, which was by a small opening in the hedge. He pushed through it, and on the other side was a grey Sea Hawk military helicopter. Two soldiers, one in ACU's like him the other wearing Marine desert MARPAT were busy doing pre-flight checks, while a third soldier was in the pilot's seat. SSG Connors looked up from his work and gave Long a salute.
"Good to see you, sir."
Long returned the salute and nodded over to the chopper.
"Likewise, Connors. What's our ETA until wheels-up?"
Sgt. Jackson spoke this time, unplugging the headset he was using to communicate with Torrez.
"'bout another 15 mikes, sir. Torrez is using the de-icing element on the APU to make sure she's snow-worthy. Oh-"
He paused and opened up a crate by the improvised helipad, and pulled out a snow-camo parka.
"-You might need this, sir. It's getting pretty cold out."
Long accepted the jacket and pulled it on.
"I don't suppose either of you thought to make some hot coffee?"
Connors grinned and gestured into the Sea Hawk's passenger compartment.
"Got a fresh thermos in there sir! Why don't you get comfy, then we can rescue the loot from being lost on his Land Nav course!"
(At that moment...)
Captain Pilton took a drag from his cigarette as he regarded the group of armed men that were part of Prince Hans' cadre. He then turned to his own men, the Damned.
"Gentlemen, Operation Icebreaker is a go. Lt. Perkins, you are to take Barrigan and Cooper and accompany Prince Hans here in retrieving the HVT. Remember your orders."
He got a chorus of "Roger that" from his men, then he turned to the sergeant.
"An' Barrigan?"
The dark-skinned NCO shouldered his combat shotgun and adjusted his parka.
"Sir?"
"Even though Perkins is technically the ranking officer, this is your op. You will obey any orders he gives you, unless those orders countermand the mission."
He glanced over to Perkins.
"Is that understood, Lieutenant?"
Perkins nodded enthusiastically holding up his FN2000.
"Yes, sir! Can't wait to try this puppy out!"
Pilton spared a glance at the audience, then continued addressing the sergeant.
"And Barrigan? Kabul Protocol is in effect. Use your own judgement."
Barrigan gave an evil grin.
"Roger that, sir!'
Captain Pilton watched as his men filed out of their hiding place, then turned to the audience.
"Just in case you were wondering, back in late 2011 in those dark last days before Kabul fell I left orders with all my men in Kilo Company that the Afghan National Army soldiers were to be kept a close eye on."
The captain took another drag from his cigarette.
"Y'see, by that point, any of the sensible people had already deserted the ranks of the ANA, because they knew it was a lost cause. Which meant the only ones still in the fight were either idiots, or ones who turned insurgent and waiting for the right opportunity to strike at the evil American infidels. Anyways, under the Kabul Protocol my men had orders that the ANA forces were to be summarily executed without warning at the first sign of turning against us. Even the slightest suspicion."
He paused.
"Harsh? Perhaps. Barbaric? Most certainly. But, the way we looked at it, those Pashtuns and hadjis all put together weren't worth one of my men, so I believe that killing all of them was worth it if it saved one American soldier's life."
The captain pulled out a cigarette.
"Well, things are certainly gonna heat up now, aren't they? Might as well grab some popcorn and enjoy the show."
(3 hour later, undisclosed location near the Mountain-Pass of Haukelifjell, 16:23 hours local time)
The swirling storm of snow that blanketed the trees, and the wind howled through the pass as if alive itself. A distant voice could be barely heard through it all.
"Elsa! ELSA!"
Lt. Bradley felt like he had been chasing after the queen of Arendelle for hours. The rocky terrain had given way to dense forest, and the weather conditions were rapidly degenerating into blizzard conditions. The lieutenant mentally went back to his training, when he was at OTS it had been winter so he had opted to train with the 10th Mountain division and recalled the list of things needed to survive in the winter wilderness. He shivered and pulled the massive fur coat closer about him, at the base of the mountain he had traded his G-Shock watch to a passing farmer for some felt boots, heavy furs and goggles. The man had even volunteered to throw in a reindeer, but Bradley had declined.
Now, he was regretting his decision, the lieutenant knew that he wasn't going to survive on the mountainside out in the open. It would mean he would have to hunker down and ride the storm out, then go after Elsa when the weather cleared up. Bradley paused as his thoughts went back to the queen, her beautiful eyes, her smile, and her gentle, almost shy manners. Bradley hoped she was alright, he didn't know what went down between her and her sister but it couldn't be so bad that she had to flee her kingdom. He reached into the folds of his fur coat to pull out his radio, his oversized deerskin mittens fumbling awkwardly with it. Pulling off the glove with his teeth Bradley tried keying the mic on his radio.
"To anyone member of Misfit cadre this is Misfit One, anyone copy?"
Static greeted the soldier again, it had been that way since the snowstorm worsened. He had picked up odd bits of chatter earlier on, but the static was so bad he couldn't make out who was who. The military side of him recalled that he had disobeyed orders and knew that there would be hell to pay once the dust settled.
He stopped in front of a large tree with a snowdrift almost as tall has he was, and decided to set up an improvised shelter. Bradley got down on his hands and knees and starting burrowing through the snow like a dog, he had almost reached the bottom of the tree when he felt an odd sensation. It felt like his boot had caught on something, and when he tried to tug free, it felt like the grip tightened. Suddenly without warning the lieutenant felt himself being pulled bodily out of the snow shelter. Bradley felt the brief sensation of being upside down, when he was unceremoniously flung to the ground.
After the soldier brushed the snow from his face and sat up he was greeted by something that caused his jaw to drop. Looming over Bradley was a large creature that appeared to be made out of snow, complete with a spiked spine and talons fashioned out of what looked like ice. The abominable snowman or whatever was staring at the lieutenant as if he were something the dog left on the lawn.
Bradley gave a sheepish grin to the creature as he help up his hands.
"Er, howdy there, Frosty! Nice weather we're having, isn't it?"
The snow-creature continued to stare at Bradley, so the soldier continued stammering on nervously.
Say, I don't suppose you could help me...I'm a bit lost and I'm looking for someone...a pretty blonde gal who can conjure up ice out of thin air..."
He looked the snowman up and down.
"...matter of fact, you kinda look like something she'd make...scratch that you're too ugly and-Hey!"
The large snow monster glared down at Bradley as he spoke, then grabbed him by his fur hood.
"Hey! Put me down! Not that I don't appreciate the personalized service but you're not my type!"
But the snow monster paid the lieutenant's protests no heed, but spirited him further into the blizzard and up the mountain, to a fate unknown.
(AN: Uh-oh...we all know where Lt. Bradley is being taken to...he just keeps going deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. I ended the chapter here because I wanted a nice cliffhanger, the next bit was going to shift perspectives to Wolfe and Co. as well as the Damned, but it didn't pace well. Not to worry, hilarity will ensue but remember, this is a SO:TL crossover so there's going to be some cruel plot twists ahead. Next chapter should be up some time either later this month or next month. It's about 40% written, it just depends on how things go for me at the new job. Until then, don't forget to follow/fav and comment away!)