trail, any manhunt would be forced to spread its resources in all directions, leaving more gaps for him to slip through. But Harvath hoped to be long gone before any search even started.
To do that, first he needed to find a road. Then he needed to find a vehicle. From there, everything else would work itself out. All he had to do was get to the border. Goals, he reminded himself. Stay alive. Stay ahead of the Russians. Don’t freeze. Make it to Finland.
Being careful not to drop it in the snow, he checked his heading on the survival compass and pressed on.
Snowshoeing had one big plus and one big minus. The minus was that it burned a lot of calories. The plus was that burning that many calories was like carrying an onboard furnace. In fact, he had to unzip his parka to vent some of the heat.
The Russian gear he had on wasn’t nearly as high-tech as American cold-weather clothing. If he got soaked from too much sweat, he might not be able to get dry. Even being slightly damp would accelerate heat loss if he was forced to remain outside without a shelter.
Harvath checked his watch. Moving through the forest, he tried to keep his pace consistent. After two hours, be began encountering hills, some much steeper than others. Though his hips and legs were aching, he pushed on. An hour after that, it was all he could do to keep going. He was forced to take a break.
Pausing under a large pine, he propped his rifle against his pack, took off the snowshoes, and gave them a quick inspection.
They had held up remarkably well and needed only a few minor adjustments, which he made before attending to anything else. That was something else he had learned in the SEALs. The instructors had been fanatical about it. Even when returning from a grueling mission when all you wanted was a hot meal and an even hotter shower, you always took care of your gear first. It was a lesson that had become a part of him.
With the snowshoes taken care of, he gave his weapons a quick once-over and wiped down the rifle. Only then, with all of that complete, could he see to everything else.
Under the pine, he was able to get out of the weather, which was a welcome relief. Walking for hours with icy crystals being blown into your eyes was a special kind of torture.
From where he sat, he could see that the intensity of the storm had begun to lessen. Visibility was starting to improve. He knew better than to tempt the fates by celebrating, but inside he allowed himself a quick thought that maybe things were breaking in his direction.
Removing his tiny, foldable camping stove, he ignited a hextab and scooped up some snow in his canteen cup. He needed to rehydrate, as well as to replenish the water in the condoms. In addition to burning a lot of calories, snowshoeing also depleted a lot of fluids.
As the first batch of snow began to melt, he added some of the cherry drink mix from the IRP, along with some of the electrolyte powder from the med pouch, to form his own version of survival Gatorade.
Making sure the liquid wasn’t too hot, he stirred it with a spoon and then raised the metal cup to his lips.
It tasted better than he had expected, and he quickly drank it down.
He was convinced that the reason sports drinks were referred to as “thirst quenchers” was that the moment their salts and sugars hit your taste buds, your body knew the relief it had been begging for was on its way. That’s what this felt like to Harvath.
After chugging it down, he quickly whipped up another batch. Judging by how much he had been sweating, it was no surprise that he needed to replenish himself.
He took the second cup more slowly, savoring it as he had his breakfast. There was no sound other than the wind and the occasional clumps of snow falling through the boughs of the trees. In any other circumstance, it might have been peaceful, beautiful even.
Removing his compass, he marked which direction was west and then finished off his drink.
Packing his cup with snow again, he placed it on the little stove and stood up to take a leak.
His urine, no surprise, was dark, and proved what he already knew—he hadn’t been hydrating enough. It was a luxury he couldn’t afford