The Rock

THE RUSSIAN II

The truck's engine whined in protest as the Russian negotiated the steep logging trail. The wheels spun in the virgin snow, spewing it out to the rear in long plumes. Easing off the gas, the Russian downshifted and continued on, the multi-wheel drive finally finding purchase.

The Russian's limbs felt the weariness of the past thirty-two hours of driving, but his mind fueled his muscles with the elixir of revenge. Once he made it over the mountains, he'd rest for a few hours-only enough to gather strength for the last leg of the journey.

Reaching a relatively flat area before the next upgrade, the man rolled to a stop and put the parking brake on. He pulled out a map case and checked his location. The winter weather was slowing him down and he'd already had to revise his estimate of time on target, adding perhaps half a day. He had enough fuel loaded in the rear to get to the target and beyond not that there would be any beyond.

Putting the maps away, he picked up an AK-74 and checked to make sure a round was in the chamber and it was functioning properly. He did not believe he would run into anyone this soon, but as he got closer there might be guards out. He had no doubts about his ability to deal with that. In thirty-two years of military service he had done more than his share of killing. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered except the final revenge. The world was not a place worth living in. Concepts such as duty and loyalty were carrots and sticks to be used by less scrupulous men to control men of honor. But no more.

He put the weapon down and released the parking brake.