The wind howled in great gusts, blowing snow and ice against the base of a cliff. A figurein a white parka, huddled at the base of a narrow road. The road wound, up, around thewhole cliff, all the way to a flat mesa, almost 100 feet off the ground. The wind poundedthe cliff face, and snow whooshed around, everywhere, pounding the side of the face,
with a force, that kept the little figure pressed against the cold wall.
John was cold. It felt as if every part of his body, would freeze right off. He was
clothed in a white snowsuit and parka, but even that, didn’t keep out the cold. John was
also wearing heavy insulated gloves, goggles and insulated boots. Ice formed on his
goggles and his breath froze the instant it left his mouth.
He inched his way along the cliff face, until he reached the little road. There was
at least two feet of snow, on the road and more snow was falling every minute. His feet
were so cold, that john figured that he had gotten the snow inside his boots. It seemed that
no matter where he moved, he was always facing the wind. His face was bright red and
John didn’t doubt that he had gotten frostbite already.
“They could have picked a better place to send me,” John thought, as another gust
of wind threatened to bowl him over.
John Freed, had been sent to northern Siberia, by the CIA, which was where John
worked. He had come, to find The main mofia headquarters.
John stopped, and dropped to the ground as he heard a faint rumble, from down
the mountain. He laid there, the snow, piling up around him. Around the last bend in the
road, a large truck appeared. In a moment of panic, John realized that he was in the
middle of the road.
Oh my god, John thought in terror. They can see me!
Then his fear ebbed away, back into cold, as the truck drove over him, John being
directly under the middle. As it passed over him, John reached up and grabbed the rear
fender. He pulled himself up, so that he was standing on it, and looked through a hole in
the canvas that covered the back. Inside, dimly lit by the holes, John saw crates and a bin
full of clothes. He slipped in, and let out a sigh of relief, glad that the cloth cover kept out
most of the wind. He lay down and inched toward one of the crates. When he reached it,
he got on is knees and peered in though one of the slats. Inside, were a multitude of guns.
Mostly machine guns and pistols. When John saw the machine guns, he leapt back,
hitting the side with a low thump. There must have been at least 50 guns, maybe more.
The man in the front of the truck slammed on the brakes, making the truck slide
around on the road, and looked back through the window at the back of the cab. John
flattened himself against the floor and held his breath. After a few seconds, The man in
the front said something to his companion in Russian, and the truck began to move again.
John slowly got up and sat down in the darkest corner, hoping that no one would
find him. After what felt like an eternity later, the truck stopped , and voices could be
heard above his head. Then the truck started moving again, and through a hole in the
back, John saw the face of a Russian in a parka, retreat into the distance. There was a
wooden gate, beside him, so John figured that they’d entered a compound of some kind.
Once the Russian had disappeared, John moved to the end and peered out around
the canvas. There was no one in sight, so John rolled out, hitting snow. He scrambled to a
large bush and crouched behind it. The cold wind hit him again and John forced his way
against it to reach the plant. The truck pulled up to a garage and turned around, so that the
back was facing the garage door. The two men got out, and walked around the back. They
were soon joined by several more men, from a large “ Mansion” , that was adjacent to the
garage. The men began unloading the crates and bins, putting them against the wall in the
garage. Once they had finished, they wandered back to the main building and passed two
guards at the entrance.
John peered around the bush, examining his surroundings. He was behind a spruce
bush, one of about seven that lined the road to the garage.There were three buildings, the
large house, the garage, and a shed that was parallel to the garage and adjacent to the
house. At the gate, which was about twenty feet away, John saw the guard in front of a
little guardhouse.
John crawled away from the bush, and slipped towards the garage. He kept his
eyes on the guards the whole time, and soon reached the garage. The truck was still there,
and the garage door behind it, was still open. John slipped inside and pulled out a small
maglite. He turned it on, and crept along the wall, shining his light in front of him. Within
seconds, John noticed a large object, covered by a drape. He walked over and pulled of
the cover. Below it, were a pile of RPGs, and about twenty launchers. John furrowed his
eyebrows and covered the launchers again, not knowing what they would be used for, and
not wanting to.
John ran back outside and crept around the building, away from the guards. He
reached the corner of the garage and the main house, and hurried to the nearest window.
He peered through and saw that the room beyond was a large diningroom, where over
twenty people were seated, laughing and talking at a long table. There was a grouchy
looking man at the head and he did not laugh or speak the entire time. He must have been
the leader. There was a fireplace against the wall, and a large fire blazed in the center. He
crept to the next window, which looked into a hallway. He reached up and pushed open
the window, and stood up. He was about to reach over the windowsill, when the window
latch broke. The whole window slid down, and slammed into the spot where his hand
would have been in about a second. John scrambled away from the window and raced to
the back of the building, just as the guards at the front, came around the edge between the
garage and house. About thirty feet away, the cliff leveled out, and began a semi-steep
decline, down to the valley.
In a moment, John sprang away from the building. He began racing down the hill.
Shouts echoed behind him, but John had kicked into escape mode and barely heard them.
He was startled by the sound of bullets plowing into the snow behind him, making little
poofing sounds.
A bullet ricocheted of a rock in front of him, and slammed into John’s calf. He
stumbled and his feet slipped out from under him. John began sliding down the hill, as
bullets followed him.
Pain shot through him, as John’s leg jammed into a log. He couldn’t get his leg
unstuck. The bullets had almost reached him, when in a move of desperation, John thrust
his leg up with such force, that the wood cracked and so did his leg. He shouted in pain,
but jerked his leg again, until the wood fell away. He rolled, just missing the first of the
bullets.
Below him, there was a drop of about twenty feet. John rolled of the edge and
landed in the snow at the base. Bullets were spraying the ground all around him, none
actually coming near to him. Obviously, the people at the top couldn’t see him. John
began scrambling away towards the south. All this seemed to John to last an interminable
amount of time, when actually it was only a matter of seconds.
He crawled for what seemed for almost an hour.
Finally, he reached the small village where his men would be waiting. He held on
to the surrounding houses for support, and reached the Huey Helicopter, in a few minutes.
A medic got him in, and they took off.
John knew that he would get it he got back to his headquarters. He was supposed
to have not been discovered until after he found what he was looking for. In all truth, he
was supposed to be looking for a computer where all the mofia’s information was stored.
So much for that, John thought ruefully as they thundered away from the mesa.
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