The reality of losing the Strikers was with Rodgers every moment. But the pain had not yet sunk in. He was too busy staying fixed on the goal that had brought them here.

Rodgers was leg-weary as his group made its way across some of the starkest landscape Rodgers had ever encountered.

The ice was glass-smooth and difficult to navigate.

Nanda and Samouel slipped with increasing regularity.

Rodgers was glad he still had his cram pons heavy though they were.

Rodgers continued to help Apu Kumar along. The farmer's left arm was slung across Rodgers's neck and they were on a gradual incline. Apu's feet had to be dragged more than they moved. Rodgers suspected the only thing that kept the elderly man moving at all was a desire to see his granddaughter reach safety. The American officer would have helped the farmer regardless, but he was touched by that thought.

That was not a sentiment Ron Friday seemed to share.

Friday had stayed several paces behind Rodgers, Apu, and Nanda. Samouel continued to hold the point position, turning the flashlight on at regular intervals. At just under an hour into the trek, Friday stepped beside Rodgers. He was panting, his breath coming in wispy white bursts.

"You realize you're risking the rest of this mission by dragging him along," Friday said.

Though the NSA operative spoke softly, his voice carried in the still, cold air. Rodgers was certain that Nanda had heard.

"I don't see it that way," Rodgers replied.

"The delay is exponential," Friday continued.

"The longer it takes the weaker we become, slowing us down even more."

"Then you go ahead," Rodgers said.

"I will," he said.

"With Nanda. Across the border." "No," she said emphatically.

"I don't know why you're both so willing to trust those bastards in Washington," Friday went on.

"We're at our closest approach to the border. It's just about twenty or thirty minutes north of here. Troops have probably been pulled out to man the incursion line."

"Some," Rodgers agreed.

"Not all."

"Enough," Friday replied.

"Heading there makes more sense than going another hour northeast to God-knows where "Not to the guys we report to," Rodgers reminded him.

"They're not here," Friday shot back.

"They don't have on-site intelligence. They aren't in our shoes."

"They're not field personnel," Rodgers pointed out.

"This is one of the things we trained for."

"Blind, stupid loyalty?" Friday asked.

"Was that also part of your training. General?"

"No. Trust," Rodgers replied.

"I respect the judgment of the men I work with."

"Maybe that's why you ended up with a valley full of dead soldiers,"

Friday said.

Mike Rodgers let the remark go. He had to. He did not have the time or extra energy to break Friday's jaw.

Friday continued to pace Rodgers. The NSA agent shook his head.

"How many disasters have to bite a military guy in the ass before he takes independent action?" he asked.