Despite the extreme weather, the SEALs were making good progress. In truth, the weather was a blessing. Any sane man was inside, out of the storm, seeking warmth before a roaring fire. Bill Beaman and his team were the only ones foolhardy enough to be out on a day like this, but they had a goal, a mission that they had been ordered to perform. It would take more than a blizzard to deter them.

Since parachuting in, they had traveled by night, holing up in snow caves during the day. Otherwise there was always the risk of some hunter stumbling across them or a border guard aircraft spotting them during daylight. The terrain proved even more difficult than they expected, so they had fallen several hours behind schedule. The storm would allow them to extend their travel day, to catch up.

They had built a reliable routine: ski across the empty hilly uplands and then drop down to the fjord. Since the fjords were where they would most likely encounter the few people who lived up here, the risky part was crossing their frozen expanse. There, they were exposed. One at a time, they would scurry across the open ice, then hide in the gorse that grew on the opposite shore. Meanwhile, the others watched and waited with weapons at the ready.

So far they had crossed each fjord in the darkness of the Arctic night, but they were now approaching the first fjord they would cross during what passed for day at this latitude. They were well above the Arctic Circle, and the sun was little more than a golden glimmer on the horizon for a couple of hours each day. Day and night held only a vestigial meaning, but Beaman knew from many training missions in the Arctic that most people living and working here still kept to a normal diurnal routine. The body clock seemed to work most efficiently that way.

Johnston slid up alongside Beaman. His words were muffled by the neoprene face mask and then snatched away by the brisk wind. Beaman had to lean in to hear him.

“Skipper, the topo map shows we drop down here. It looks like a small stream that dumps into a larger river a few clicks to the north. You think we oughta be crossing it at high noon?”

Beaman nodded and shouted back, “Yep. I don’t figure anyone else is crazy enough to be out here in this weather. Besides, for high noon, it’s still pretty damn dark.”

“Okay, Skipper. Just checkin’. It looks like open country for a click before we get to the stream. I’ll spread the guys out to combat interval.”