Chapter 20
Climbing: Not floating anymore but making the long, hard march through the Caucasus Mountains in the spring, the packed snow and ice resisting us every step of the way, making it seem as if it were the dead of winter.
In the mountains, each step is like the last, the next like an infinite number ahead of it. Any misstep may mean death for you or the comrade next to you. In the mountains, there are no enemies—no Afghan warlords, no rebellious satraps forcing you to double back. The mountains are the enemy, the snows are the enemy, to be endured if not defeated.
“Again, this may not be the best of times to ask if we might’ve postponed this journey, oh, say, another week or two,” Hephaestion said as we bundled the youngest soldiers into one of our makeshift ice caves.
“Peritas,
