by Rik Stone
He’d been at the camp for three months, although, he hadn’t been aware of the first two. He’d spent them in a coma as a result of his previous task, and up to that point had been known as Jez Kornfeld. Fit enough now to tag along with Anna on her Turkish mission, he was sure, but General Michel Petrichova had other ideas. “It’s too soon,” he told him. “You would be detrimental to the operation. Go out into the cold long enough to prove yourself robust, return in good shape and I will consider reestablishing you as an active agent.”
Jez sighed, the unit was no longer part of the mainstream military, and should its existence become known to the Kremlin’s main assembly it would be viewed subversive, those within considered traitors. On that basis, he was no longer under anyone’s control; he could go where he wanted, when he wanted. No one could stop him … but that wasn’t really true. He had tied his lot in with the general and his orders were to go out in the Arctic waste and prove himself, so that would be what he would do.
Finishing with his kit, he was about to gently snuggle up next to Anna and catch a few hours’ shuteye before leaving, but a groan was followed by a single snore that snapped her head up off the pillow as if she’d been slapped. “Uh, oh, must have been dreaming,” she said, sitting up, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “You all packed?”
“Yes, time for a couple of hours head down and I’ll be off.” He slipped out of his trousers and got under the heavy woolen blankets. She lay back beside him and he wrapped an arm around her; she felt like she’d been toasted over the fire. “Hmm,” he said, “maybe we could cuddle up a bit first?”
She laughed, took his face between her hands and kissed him passionately; she tasted of sleep and his excitement hastened.
*
As Anna prepared what she needed for her mission in Turkey, Jez said, “Might as well get going,” hoisted up the backpack, hooked the snow paddles to it, and shouldered his canvas-sleeved rifle.
Anna stopped what she was doing and kissed him. “I love you,” she said.
“Me too. Be careful in Turkey,” he answered, worried for her, but at the same time annoyed he couldn’t feel the firm contours of her body through his thick, padded gloves. “Can’t hang around in here or I’ll lose the benefit of this clothing … With luck I’ll catch you up after this is done.”
She smiled and shook her head. “One thing at a time,” she said and gently steered him out into the cold.
As he headed for the mountains his mind chewed over what Anna had to do. He had no idea when she would leave. The later the better, he thought. Maybe he could still go with her.
It was still early morning and the whiteness around him was stark, the day yet to rouse color. His mind turned to the task at hand; he hadn’t been told how long to stay out, but if he returned too soon he would fail. He would have to play it by ear.
He trudged on for several hours over the flat wasteland, still only noon but daylight was moving towards twilight. The going was tough, but he stayed on his feet for another couple of hours. Now, barely halfway up the first mountain slope, fatigue rushed him; he had to rest up. Giving in to it, he dug a small cave, settled into the icy confines, polar-bear style, and thought things over. He had to admit, Michel had been right and the training in the compound hadn’t been enough to get him back to the kind of fitness required for combat. So, to the task; he had enough rations to get to higher ground. He would dig in near one of the frozen mountain lakes, live off fish and keep a low profile. And he couldn’t allow thoughts of Anna to sidetrack him; she could look after herself. He had to remain positive; a large part of surviving survival training was keeping the spirits high.
He took a torch lantern and map from his kitbag’s side pocket, steadied the light, and ran a finger over the chart’s contours, looking for a safe haven. The finger stopped at an abandoned goldmine. The mine overlooked a lake confined high up between several mountain peaks and, like the Gulag, it was far from civilization. If he billeted there, he could build fires without drawing attention, and fish from the lake. He would use the mine as a base and the mountain slopes and harsh conditions as his training ground. Tomorrow he would increase the effort, begin the new day with a new mindset. But before he could sleep he needed to follow procedure: sweating dampens clothing, the body cools, the core temperature drops, and before you know it hyperthermia steps up. He checked armpits and other crevices. Dry, but he wiped his neck snood in those places anyway. After cleaning as best he could, he loosened and bagged out his clothing, nestled into an open sleeping bag and fell into an exhausted sleep.
*
The sun hadn’t yet risen when Jez left the security of his mini cave. The snow on the slopes lay thick and his paddles dragged too much of the stuff along with him. With the rifle slung over his shoulder and the weight of a bulging backpack, progress was painfully slow. But that was why he was out here. He plodded on for several more hours and memories kicked in. He realized he was making life difficult for himself, that he should be easing the footwear up and down the slopes, not digging in to hold balance. Thoughts of how it should be done flooded back and he glissaded, slid down the inclines into the hollows of the mountain ravines, spread his weight as he walked and tread lightly to keep atop the snowfall; the pace picked up.
Several days of whiteout brought him to the goldmine and he crept towards it like a soldier at war, stopping twenty paces from the entrance and scanning the area for a presence – clear. The day had aged over the final leg, a waxing moon had risen halfway up from the horizon, and green and gold curtains billowed, shimmering over the night sky as the atmospheric gases of Aurora Borealis cast their magic. Bitter cold nipped after he had dropped his face guard to gaze around in awe of the beauty that surrounded him. Snow suddenly fell like autumnal leaves reluctant to reach the ground, but it would get heavier. He should go in.
Slipping out of the snow paddles, he hoisted them over his shoulder, hooked them onto the backpack, and took the last couple of steps to the entrance, crunching the crisp snow underfoot as he went. Inside, hoarfrost decorated the roof and walls with crystallized ice. While the tracks up to the entrance of the cave wouldn’t be a problem, the snowfall would soon enough cover them, the ice sculpts were another matter; he shouldn’t disturb them. He edged in, made sure not to touch the walls or scrape his boots on the floor. As he got deeper inside, the main tunnel narrowed and split off into many smaller shafts. The cold draft from the main entrance was dragged off along one of them, so he found a suitable spot to one side of it and bedded down to a good night’s sleep, but the freezing temperatures burnt inside his nostrils and shooting pains through his eyes woke him early. He cleaned up, packed the half packet of dried food he hadn’t eaten and crept slowly back towards the entrance. Feeling refreshed and ready for the day ahead, he met with a surprise; someone had shared the cave with him. A tiny piece of ice had been brushed from the wall and crushed underfoot. He considered; this was survival training so he should act as if in hostile territory. And that thought had him sighing; the cover of the cave was blown. If he were to play the game properly then he couldn’t stay there another night and that would make life that much harder.
He made his way down to the lakeside. Vapors that had risen during the previous summer had wet the trees through and now they stood as solid ice. Jez used his wire saw to weaken the two large, straight branches on a larch and finished the job by using his weight to snap them off. He stripped away the offshoots, whittled the ends to a point, took them to the center of the lake and used one to break through the thick layers of ice to create an open fishing hole. He drove the other into the lake’s crust and anchored a fishing line to it, then baited several hooks from his dried rations and dropped the weighted line into the hole. Being out in the open might have drawn the mysterious cave dweller to him, but to worry over such possibilities wasn’t realistic. The interloper would have been a hunter from one of the distant towns that had happened upon the place. It was common knowledge that Siberian
huntsmen stayed out for days on end and travelled great distances to find prey. He gathered his belongings, worked his way around the mountain, dug out a new cave, and then began the training routines he’d planned on the way here. Hours passed, sweat poured down his face and his inner clothing stuck to his body. Still only noon, but the sun had taken a step back and left a grey-blue sky blending with the terrain; it would snow again before this day was out. For now he would return to the dugout, come back sun-up and, hopefully, pull in the fish.
Careless, he overslept, and to add to his woes he’d been so tired the previous afternoon he’d fell asleep before loosening his clothing. Annoyed with himself, he pushed the snow from the entrance of the dugout; he had to take a snow bath and then get the moisture from his clothing. All well and good, but another morning had gone before they were dry enough that he could leave the snow hole. The sun was slipping away and it was with irritation that he came back around the slopes towards the fishing hole.
The snow glistened silver and gold on the gradient, but by the time he got to the bottom and was standing by the ice lake, the golden orb had dipped behind the mountain. Colder air took command and in a snap, everything became shrouded in bluish grey. A light wind blew up, snowflakes lifted from the mountaintops, hugged the slopes, snaked down onto the lake, and swirled across the open expanse. The view brought memories of walking through the city of Minsk with Anna on his arm. There, autumn leaves rather than snow had danced on the sidewalks like mischievous Elves. The thought warmed him and he held onto it as he crossed the ice like a wisp.
At the hole, he dropped the rifle and backpack, and used a pole to hack into a new covering of ice that had formed overnight. Eventually freeing the line, he pulled in three decent-size fish alongside a tiny little thing. Still alive, it flapped despairingly on the ice. Jez cut it free and cast it back into the depths. But as he bent over to gather the rest of the fish up, something whizzed through the air. His heart banged within the confines of his chest when the swish was followed by cracking recoil. He was under attack!
He scurried over to the weapon still in its canvas sleeve, but another bullet sizzled into the ice next to the gun and another crack resounded. Jez reasoned the sound difference meant it was at least five hundred meters away. With that sort of accuracy, if the shooter had wanted him dead, he would be dead. He eased his hand from the canvas sleeve, stood up, and raised his arms in surrender.
Chapter 2
A quiet time passed before a figure emerged from midway up the mountainside. His snowshoes stomped deep into the white drifts as he slowly worked his way down the slope, keeping his rifle balanced in the crook of his arm and aimed at Jez’s center mass. He was a soldier for sure. More, he had to be part of a special unit. His face became clearer as he neared or at least his frost-encrusted eyebrows. He had clearly been waiting unmoving on that mountain for some time. A sniper. His snowsuit was military, same as Jez’s. In a demonstration of confidence, stupidity, or just plain arrogance, the man pulled the chin bar away from the bottom half of his face and let the gun point to the ground. But then he sniggered and said, “You were okay for the first ten days or so. And then you let your resolve slip. I’d left tell-tale signs for you in the cave, so setting up the fishing hole was casual to say the least. You’re fit no doubt, I had trouble keeping up with you, but as far as your thinking in enemy territory goes … you have a way to go yet.”
Dragging words from a dazed mind, Jez mumbled. “Who–?”
“Pavel,” he replied through a grin.
“Pavel? You seem to have me at more than one disadvantage.”
Pavel laughed, but the movement made the ice particles on his face rattle. He seemed suddenly aware of the cold and pulled up the chin bar. “Don’t worry, we’re on the same side,” he mumbled through the cover. “You don’t know me because I was returning from a task as you left. Unfortunately, having the most Arctic experience in the team made me the obvious choice to track you.”
The skin around Pavel’s eyes crinkled, but Jez wasn’t amused, not after his clumsy handling of the situation. “They didn’t need to send you. A conscript could’ve probably taken me down.”
Pavel snorted. “No, your skills were flooding back with each hour that passed. You just failed to respect that you were supposed to be in hostile territory. Maybe too desperate to go to Turkey.” He laughed again before turning and heading for the slope. “I’ve got to get my stuff,” he said. “You collect up the fish and we’ll go to the goldmine. My mouth has salivated for two days thinking about that catch.”
Jez heard laughter rumbling as Pavel walked away, dabbing his snowshoes gently on the white-top as he went, no easy task for such a big man.
*
Illumination flared from the candles and golden shadows licked over the iced walls. Pavel warmed his hands by wrapping them around a tin cup filled with lukewarm coffee while Jez turned a fish over the meager flames. Unable to collect much kindling in the dimming light, his flint fire starter had failed and he had to use Pavel’s. But even then, the fire they ended up with was barely fierce enough to simmer the combi-tin full of water. The yellow flames were quick to weaken and only a scattering of pathetic red embers remained; it was clear the fish was as cooked as it was going to be.
Pavel sighed. “This is barely warmed through. It’s still raw.”
“I’ve had worse,” Jez replied, fighting to scrape the cold meat from the bones.
“Yes, me too, but I spent an extra day in the wilderness on the promise of this. And we should have gutted it first.”
After making the best of the meal, Jez blew out the candles and sat quietly until the embers collapsed. Last chance flames licked out from the ashes, shadows grew long and flickered on the walls then blended back into the darkness. “I have to clean up and then it’s head down for me,” he said, involuntarily shuddering at the thought of the upcoming ice bath.
*
They spent the following day looking for kindling and, come evening, were able to cook the fish thoroughly. Pavel was a much happier man because of it. Heat from the fire increased and the iced walls sweated. “Hmm, now this was worth the wait,” he said through a mouthful of fish. Oil from the catch left an undisturbed, shiny circle around his mouth and a piece of scale stuck to the hair under his nose.
Jez felt a smile fill his chest and wondered if Pavel had ever been introduced to any kind of etiquette. “How long have you been in the army?” he asked.
“Forever,” Pavel answered. “Or that’s what it feels like. My previous life was spent in an orphanage run by NKVD; the army was the obvious next step, mainly because I’ve been a Soviet activist for as long as I can remember – same as the others in the homes.”
“What, everyone?” Jez asked. This was one part of Russian life that Jez knew nothing of and he was surprised by the statement.
“Of course, yes, a lot of the orphans were there because, according to Stalin, their parents had been ‘enemies of the people’. The older kids who had more idea of what had really gone on became even more loyal to the state than the rest of us, to deflect suspicion from themselves in case the authorities thought they followed in their parent’s footsteps.”
“Were you the son of one of these so-called enemies of the State?”
“Who knows? I have no idea how I got there. The first institution I have recollection of was in Saratov. Before that I have no memories – not of parents … or anything much.”
“Then why did you become one of the activists?”
“At first you go along with it like everyone else and then you genuinely become absorbed. The internal affairs people were forever drumming it into us. They believed we would be more rigid, indoctrinated into the good of the State, because we didn’t have any loyalty towards parents to get in the way.”
Jez felt his chest wrench. His mamma and poppa had been kind and giving – the perfect Jewish family unit. But he had sneaked away from his hillside home to join up when he was only fifteen and
never returned. “Hmm, I suppose,” he said, guiltily.
Pavel said, “Anyway, enough of that, it’s more than ten days since you set out from the Gulag and it will take almost that to get back. I think that should satisfy the medics.” He somehow continued chewing while shoveling fish meat into his face. “We’ll start back first light.”
“Satisfy the medics? But I thought you said I hadn’t met the requirement.”
“You only had a problem with attitude. If you think I’d let you down because you were sloppy at the fishing hole – well, you need to know me better.”
Jez sat silently in thought until Pavel blew out the candles and said, “Lights out, heads down.”
They left the mineshaft first light, gently padded around the lake, and went further down the mountain to the next tier. The sun was up, but it looked cold and silvery above the gleaming spine of a frozen river that snaked around the base of the mountains to the east. Maybe it was because he was no longer alone, but Jez’s spirits had lifted. He played silly games with Pavel, racing to see who could get to a nominated point first. He hadn’t so quickly befriended anyone since his first tour of duty when he met Viktor Sharansky. But Viktor was dead, murdered by Captain Otto Mitrokhin, the man Jez assassinated on the steps of Lubyanka.
Noon came on the ninth day out from the cave; the sun aged prematurely, the mountain shadows deepened, and they stopped to eat the last of the fish from the fishing hole. The layers of snow were crisp and when Pavel dropped his great weight heavily into it, it squeaked under the burden of his butt. Jez laughed raucously as he squatted a little more gingerly. In a long suffering manner, Pavel shook his head and turned his attention to studying a map. “Child!” he said, and then twisted his body to point out a plateau between the two peaks directly behind him. “That ridge, when we get to the other side of it, the camp is just beyond.”