North Cape

preferable under any conditions to the MVD cellars in Murmansk. Although still exhausted by the three days and more of exposure to. the Arctic storm, the several hours of forced rest had done much to revive them. Teleman was completely clear-headed, though still experiencing brief periods of dizziness and disorientation from the remaining drug residues. Even so, he was confident that he would make it through. What shape he would be in he did not know, or even much care any more. Just to make it through, that would be enough now. Folsom set an easy yet steady pace. The four men moved along under the brightening aurora borealis. They were strung out in a line one hundred yards long, Folsom leading off, Gadsen second, followed by Teleman and McPherson, with his bundle of clothing, acting as rear guard.

McPherson, as he strode along carefully watching Teleman, smiled to himself every once in a while, recalling the scene in the tent. The first he remembered after falling asleep in the overheated tent was Teleman sawing away at his, McPherson's, bonds with the guard' s knife. It had taken him several moments to awaken enough to realize what was happening. The Russian troopers had been lined up in front of the tent and ordered to lean precariously forward with legs and arms spread and hands on the tent wall, which provided a not-too-firm support. Folsom had watched every move with the heavy Russian army rifle cocked and ready as the Russians stripped under his watchful eye. Gadsen, cradling a Russian submachine gun, had joined him, making pointed comments in Polish, which some of the Russians understood.

McPherson shook his head. First he runs away and manages to get us all captured because we were so intent on trying to bring him around that the Russians just walked up on us, then he pulls a pistol and we all walk away.

"Hey, Major," he yelled ahead to the stiff figure. Teleman turned his head to glance at the burly sailor.

"Hey, Major, when you get tired of this airplane nonsense, I'll get you into the SEALS—

if you promise to lay off the acid!"

It was close to four hours of very nearly steady travel before the party reached the first indications of the cliffs leading down to the Norwegian base, still two miles distant around the headland. The going had been both easier and faster than they had expected. So far they had seen no sign of the supposed pursuing forces and Folsom had about decided that any threat of a third party had been pure imagination. The Soviets could not carry unlimited manpower aboard the submarine. In any event they had swung nearly three miles south of their former line of march and so had probably avoided them. Folsom called a halt and hunkered down to wait while each man trudged up. During the long march the line had gradually lengthened until Teleman and. McPherson were half a mile behind. Teleman was still walking under his own steam, but the set, agonized look on his face was an eloquent indication of his physical condition. McPherson had discarded the bundle of winter clothes three miles south and west of the tent, pitching them behind one of the hummocks of tundra grass growing in the otherwise desolate plain of snow and ice.