A warm face wouldn't matter much if he dropped off the hundred-foot-high cliff, so Squires chose to see-- as much as one could see with thick snow swirling around. At least he could see the cliff.

Squires was descending, buddy style, with Private Terrence Newmeyer. One man started rappelling down the cliff, got a foothold, then extended a hand and steadied the other as he descended a little further. In the dark, on icy cliffs, Squires didn't want anyone rappelling without something for guidance-- though he had to admit, these weren't the worst conditions he'd seen. Squires had once been invited to participate with Israel's Sayeret Giva'ati, the elite reconnaissance brigade, during their "hell week" training. The exercises included climbing down a twenty-four-meter high cliff and then running an obstacle course. The olive fatigues of the soldiers were ripped to shreds by the end of the drill, though not from the cliff itself: throughout the descent, officers had been pelting the soldiers with both Arabic epithets and rocks. Compared to that climb, this one-- foggles and all-- was a day at the beach.

About fifteen yards from the bottom, five yards to their left, Squires heard Sondra yell at them to wait. Squires looked down and saw her huddled close to her climbing partner, Private Walter Pupshaw.

"What's wrong?" Squires shouted as he stole a quick look at the horizon. He was searching for smoke from the locomotive and didn't see it-- yet.

'He's frozen to the cliff," Sondra yelled back. "He tore his pant leg on a rock. Looks like perspiration stuck the lining to the ice."

Squires shouted down, "Private Honda, get me an ETA on the train!"

The radio operator quickly set up the TAC-Sat as Squires and Newmeyer made their way toward Pupshaw. The officer settled in slightly above and to the right of the Private.

"Sorry, sir," Pupshaw said. "I must've hit a real icy patch here."

Squires looked at the soldier, who resembled a big spider plastered to a wall.

"Private DeVonne," Squires said, "you get above him and dig in. I mean, hold on real tight. Private Newmeyer, we're going to use our rope to try and free him."

Squires grabbed the line that held him to Newmeyer and whipped it up, so it was resting on Pupshaw's arms, in front of his face.

"Pupshaw," Squires said, "let go with your left hand and let the rope fall to your waist. Then do the same thing with your right."

"Yes, sir," Pupshaw said.

Both Newmeyer and Squires lent him their hands for support as, cautiously, Pupshaw released his grip on the rock face with his left hand, then grabbed it again when the rope had slid down. He repeated with the right hand, and the rope was now level with his belt.