North Cape

The wind was blowing in fiercely from the sea, driving the snow in ragged gusts, when McPherson found the point. High up on the cliffs and folded in among a series of chimneys and crags, McPherson found a cleft that was hidden from sight above and below, yet would afford him a clear view up and down the beach or at least it would have if the snow had not been so heavy. As it was, his effective seeing distance was almost nil at times.

But it was all McPherson needed. Directly below, the beach described a narrow, inwardturning arc. A small barrier of rocks, piled up by countless generations of waves, drew a dam from the base of the cliffs to the water. To negotiate the dam, a man would either have to climb up and over, which would leave him fully exposed for several minutes while he did so, or else work part way up the cliffs over a series of icy ledges. His hiding place afforded a view along the rim. The rock peaked at this point so that McPherson had a clear field of fire downhill, enabling him to control the terrain within rifleshot inland. As he sat in his well-shielded cubbyhole, he reviewed Folsom's orders. The object of this little jaunt was to delay the advancing Russians as much as possible. By attacking them here, nearly eleven miles from the camp, then retreating as fast as possible, Folsom hoped to fool the Russians into thinking that they faced a sizable party. If it worked, the Russians already on the beach would call for reinforcements and, if everything went as it should, wait until they were landed.

Even if the Russians did not wait for the reinforcements, McPherson could make the eleven miles directly back to the camp in under half the time it would take the Russians, as they would be traveling more slowly, fearful of ambush. Teleman needed all the time for sleep that they could gain for him. For the run: or the Norwegian base he was going to require every bit of strength he had. So, in fact, were they all After nearly an hour of waiting, a flicker of movement on the beach caught McPherson's eye. The wind, blowing laconically for the past few minutes, decided at that moment to freshen; and as the snow parted, he caught sight of three men dressed in Arctic gear, advancing toward his position, still several hundred yards away as yet. Carefully, McPherson edged first his parka hood, then his forehead over the edge of the cliff until his eyes were level with the ground. At first he saw nothing, but when he did he rather wished he had not. There was indeed a second party hiking along the top of the cliffs. There were five men, spread out in a line reaching from the edge, three hundred yards inland. The wide separation between each man was going to make it hard to keep track of them all once they dropped into the snow for cover.

McPherson shifted his attention to the three men approaching along the beach. His eyes narrowed as he studied the situation. The wind was blowing hard enough so that it should effectively cover the sound of his firing from the men along the top of the cliffs. By not revealing his position to the party advancing along the cliff tops, he might be able to damage the beach group and then get away before they could alert the others to flank him from the top. McPherson laid the carbine on the rock and sighted in on a featureless bundle of parka and boots trailing the main group on the beach by several yards. With luck he could knock him out and shift to the leadman before they realized they were being shot at. McPherson drew a deep breath and steadied the sights, then another movement caught his eye. One man was walking along the top with what appeared to be a portable radio. He was close enough to hear the report and perhaps see the muzzle flash if

McPherson fired. But he was also near enough to the edge so that he could be fired upon without the rest of the topside party noticing right away.