Through Thick and Thin

Carlos, who had remained silent throughout the entire discussion, spoke up then: "Gunny Sir, y’all know ol’ Vlad will do anything it takes to win this contest . . . And my gut feeling is; that this is a contest to him. . . . . Why else would he stay on the Idaho side? Logic would have them going into Montana, when y’all think about it."

"Your right, Carlos. This will be just as tough when Vladimir is the only one of them left! And furthermore, I am positive he will be the last man standing!" the Gunny concluded.

The code-decoder radio interrupted the discussion the two were having with the Marines. It was the stealth squad:

"SIERRA calling ALFA, come in ALFA," the mike squawked out.

"Go ahead SIERRA, this is ALFA," the Gunny answered back.

"ALFA, we have located the sniper’s nest!" the radio squawked again.

"SIERRA, have you located their route of escape?" the Gunny spit into the keyed mike.

. . . There was a pause before the radio again came back to the Gunny and his small group: "ALFA, this is SIERRA, . . . Gunny Sir, . . . you are not going to believe where they have gone . . . You need to get over here Sir!"

The Gunny and his five Marines stood on the wind blown talus. Carlos and Pete stood with them. They all looked at the backside of the large boulder. Shinning objects sparkled in the sun, both on the boulder and the surrounding talus, empty remnants of the deadly force launched earlier that day. The trail led east and across a band of snow 75 feet wide. The talus continued with no more snow to disturb it’s ever increasing pitch. One hundred yards past the band of snow, the talus rock was sloped to the natural angle that would still cling to the face. It could not get any steeper pitch. . . . The rocks just slid to the bottom, almost a half-mile away.

"No way! No damn way he went across that talus!" The Gunny hollered in boiling frustration.

"No way!" . . . the rocky horror echoed back.

The Gunny and his men were about 200 yards past where the stealth Marines had turned around. The sun was behind the upper ridges, and had the Marines in the shadows. It was getting late. The Marines hopped from one rock to the next, appearing more like an advancing swarm of grasshoppers than the winter trained Marines they were. It was treacherous. Vladimir had found a maze-like pattern to go through the area, and had even drawn out a crude map of it for his squad. It was still bad, but at least with the rocks chosen, there was a little area on top to land on.

The Marines pressed straight forward. Driven by the small amount of daylight that remained, they overlooked that a maze-like pattern might be a better and safer approach. The stealth Corporal finally jumped to a pointed rock and slipped from the small landing spot. He went down and sliced his right thigh open before he caught himself with his hands. It would take ten stitches to close up the wound at the hospital later that evening. The Gunny called off the advance, and was now sure that Vladimir had not turned west either.

Never, never, be sure of what Vladimir did, did not, . . . or would do. The Marines and the four friends would have to learn that lesson over, and over, and over.