Greetings

[Porpoise]

Looks like my account still hasn't been locked, which I can only assume is an oversight on the part of the mods, so here's part three.

After arranging storage for my sad little collection of boxes I took the AMTRAK to New York, a cab to JFK and boarded a commercial flight to Norway, all courtesy of Uncle Sam, by which I mean I was booked into the cheapest class available. Even so, you could get a drink on a flight in those days without being asked for your credit card. So having had a couple of enjoyable gin and tonics and a good sleep, you would expect me to be in a reasonable mood after arriving in Oslo. First of all, I've visited Oslo since and absolutely love the place, clean and friendly, a really beautiful city, but my first impression on arriving was not so good. Oslo was cold and raining and everything was gray and damp. It wasn't even a good, hard rain, it was just a sort of persistent drizzle that worked its way under your umbrella and slowly drenched you from the inside out. A car was waiting for me at Oslo airport to take me to Kolsas and as we drove through the city I was really not looking forward living in Norway. Everything building seemed to be made of wet concrete and there were far too many long haired teenagers in black t-shirts for my liking. On the plus side, none of them were on skateboards.
It took around an hour to get from the airport to Kolsas, where the regional headquarters were situated for NATO forces in the north. The mountain itself loomed over the village below like a big gray lump of mashed potatoes slapped on to from a giants serving tray. Again, I've visited the place since and I could not picture a prettier Norwegian village, so I assume I was in a particularly grumpy mood when I first saw my assignment for the next two years. The headquarters were built partially around and literally underneath a mountain. The car dropped me off at the security office where my security pass was waiting for me and I was directed to the address typed at the top of my orders. It took me a few attempts, by when I found the office, I was surprised to find McHenry waiting for me.
"He got you too, huh?"
"You son of a bitch. What the hell are you doing here?" I asked him.
"Same as you, Bud, I'm a Scandinavian speed bump", he greeted me with his Texan drawl. McHenry had been in the cadet marching band at Texas A&M. He told me that was the easiest way of getting close to cheerleaders without being an athlete. I told him it was because he was a fat sack of shit who would not run to save his own life. He agreed that was part of it.
"You're a Scandinavian what?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's all Norway is, a speed bump to slow the Roos-skies down before they roll right over the top of us." McHenry liked to talk as if he had part of his brain removed, but I knew he had a masters in systems analysis, so he couldn't be as dumb as he pretended. I suspect he laid the accent on thick as a substitute for charm. Of course, his penis seemed to do most of his thinking for him.
"What makes you think the Russians would be interested in a dump like this?" I said. Can I say that I think Norway is one of the most beautiful places on earth, but McHenry swears I actually said this.
He lowered his voice before continuing.
"I think you should take a look at this."
"If it's porn, I'm not really in the mood."
McHenry took me into his private office, closed the door and showed me some intelligence reports. Although the Russians were making a great show of strength militarily, the domestic economy was faltering. Russians in smaller regional cities had been protesting inflation and the response from the Kremlin was brutal. It seemed as if the whole Soviet Union might collapse any day.
"Well this is good,", I said to McHenry, "looks like Communism might fizzle out completely."
"Then you and me would be out of a job. Look, stupid, when there's instability, everyone gets nervous. When people get nervous they make rash decisions. Like taking their tanks out for a Sunday drive over Western Europe." McHenry looked up from the papers and smiled at me. "Speed bump."
"Go blow it out your trombone, McHenry", I said.
"My trombone is pretty rusty at the moment." I wasn't sure what he meant by that.
"What's my boss like?" I asked.
"The J3? Norwegian called Hagen. Crazy motherfucker. Real hard ass."
"Just my luck, McHenry. This is all your damn fault."
"How is this my fault?" McHenry looked genuinely affronted when I accused him.
"If you hadn't dragged me to that god damn whorehouse..."
"Swingers club."
"...I wouldn't have been sent to this refrigerator in nowheresville to freeze my ass off."
"Relax, bud. It's a cushy posting."
McHenry could not have known just how wrong he was.