Private Rogue

Chapter 31

A chill ran down the back of Floyd’s neck. He woke suddenly and sat up. He rubbed his chin and found it was wet. He looked up to see an icicle glistening in the morning sun. There was already another drop hanging at the very tip, ready to fall. He looked out of the mouth of the tiny cave that had sheltered him and his horse, and saw the deep valley was bathed in sunlight. The snow-covered slopes of the mountains opposite dazzled him, and the green flourishes of trees or the gray of rock could only be seen here and there. The snow was far too thick to be defeated, even by the most severe outcrops in the landscape.

Floyd had named his horse “Mule” in honor of what would politely be called its independent mind. He turned to see the creature pawing the cave floor impatiently. Floyd had wrapped himself in most of the clothes he’d found in the pack Chris and John had given him, and had covered Mule in the rough woolen blanket he’d also found inside. But the blanket had fallen off and the horse was stamping it into the frozen ground.

“Easy,” Floyd whispered, getting to his feet.

The animal must have been freezing, and Floyd knew the kindest thing to do would be to get moving, but he was worried about the men who’d come looking for him.

“Shush,” he said, reaching down for the blanket.

He placed it over the horse’s back and patted the animal on the flank. Mule snorted again, and clouds of steam burst from her nostrils.

“Just wait here,” Floyd said, but the animal didn’t have much choice; it was still bridled and its reins were tied around a rock.

Floyd jogged out of the cave and went up the narrow snow-covered path that led to the ridge overlooking Kamdesh. He slowed as he approached the end of the path, crouching as he picked his way between ice-crusted rocks. He reached the apex of the ridge and looked down at the town. He could see tiny figures dotted on the mountainside, gathered in groups of three or four, all in gray and white combat fatigues, very obviously searching for him.

Why would someone go to all this trouble for a Green Beret pilot? Floyd had never considered himself a high-value target, but someone was throwing a great deal of manpower at him.

He held his breath when he heard voices and slowly turned to his left to see three men moving through the trees, two hundred yards below him. They were checking every mound and bump, searching in the roots of trees.

Overnight snow had covered Mule’s tracks out of town, but the sky was now clear, so as he withdrew, Floyd did his best to brush away the marks he’d left in the snow. When he was well below the ridge line, he turned and ran down the path to the cave. He couldn’t stay there. It was only a matter of time before he’d be discovered.

He hurriedly packed his clothes and gear, and checked the map John had given him. He slung the backpack onto his shoulders, saddled Mule, and once the billet strap was secure, he untied the reins and led the horse from the cave. He moved slowly and cautiously, and patted Mule in an attempt to convey the need for silence.

They headed down the path into the valley — Floyd’s plan was to cross it and climb the mountains to the south. The border was only eighty miles away as the crow flies, but in this terrain, it might as well have been eight hundred.

You’ll do what it takes, soldier, he told himself, thinking of Beth, Maria and Danny. When he was a safe distance from the men hunting him, he mounted Mule and set off down the slope at a trot.