In order to give his siphon a test, he placed the water pail atop the fireplace mantel. Into it he placed the free end of the tubing. Holding the water bottle below the mantel, he began to squeeze it.
He heard bubbles in the pail and then seconds later saw the bottle begin to fill with water. He couldn’t believe it. It was slow, but it actually worked.
Without the water bottle, he would have been forced to suck on the tubing himself. That only ended one way—with a mouth full of gas. It wasn’t necessarily fatal, but it was a level of miserable that no human being should ever have to experience. This was yet another small victory, and he was proud of it. He took it as a sign that he was going to make it, that the snowmobile was going to start and he was going to get the hell out of here.
Draining the tube and bottle, he returned the pail to where it had been and brewed another mug of tea—likely his last one for a while.
He had everything he needed at this point, and it was time to move. The storm had all but passed, and that meant planes were likely already in the sky looking for the wreckage. Half of the day’s light was already gone. The sooner he got going, the better. Adding a few more items to his canvas rucksack, he began transferring all of his gear, including the snowmobile battery, to the workshop. The last thing he did was to disconnect the booster pack, coil up its cable, and retrieve the solar panel.
Before exiting the cabin, he extinguished the fire and gave the place a final inspection—a “dummy check,” as they called it in the military—to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything.
Confident that he had everything, he brought the trapper’s corpse back inside and placed it gently on the cot. Standing there, he thanked the man once more. If not for what he had built and stored here, Harvath probably wouldn’t have made it.
Stepping outside, he made sure to close the cabin door firmly behind him. The trapper deserved to rest in peace, not to have his door blown in and his corpse turned into a carrion feast.
Back at the shed, he installed the snowmobile battery. Making sure the kill switch was firmly attached, he turned the key and hit the starter. Nothing.
Getting out the booster pack, he attached the jumper cables to the corresponding battery terminals. Taking a deep breath, he powered on the booster pack.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the green charge level lights began to cycle. Power!
Reaching for the snowmobile’s start button, he applied pressure. Instantly, the machine roared to life.
Harvath couldn’t believe it. It had worked. All of it. He let out a cheer.
This wasn’t a small victory, it was a huge victory. It felt as if he had been injected with a syringe full of adrenaline. Instinctively, he grabbed for the throttle and revved the engine. The growl was music to his ears.
He sat there for several more moments, revving the engine and charging the battery back up.
Once he felt comfortable enough, he unclamped the booster, closed the engine cover, packed everything up, and opened the double shed doors.
Returning to the sled, he gave it some gas and navigated out into the snow. He drove slowly, getting a feel for the machine as he warmed up its engine and pumped life into the battery. Then came the real moment of truth.
Coming to a stop, he removed the GPS unit from inside his anorak. Plugging it into the twelve-volt outlet, he powered it on and snapped it into the holder above the handlebars.
It took a moment for the device to make satellite contact, but once it did, Harvath’s chance of survival skyrocketed.
He had a topographic picture of everything around him: what his elevation was, where the river ran, and multiple waypoints selected by the trapper, which likely marked the position of his traps. But more important, as Harvath zoomed out, he could finally pinpoint his location.
He was in a densely forested area north of the Arctic Circle, more than 120 kilometers from the Finnish border. According to the GPS, the nearest inhabited area was forty kilometers away. After that, it was nothing but ice, trees, and snow for farther than the eye could see.
Marked on the trapper’s digital map with what looked like the Russian word for “home,” the town didn’t appear to be much