The wind in that crack in the ice was murder. It didn't blow, it stabbed. Got right in through the tears in your clothes, found the cuts, made everything hurt worse. We were shoved under a little rock ledge, just enough to block the worst of it. The soldier, Vogt, was shaking like a leaf. Not from cold. Shock. Borealis was trying to work his pad, his fingers blue and stiff. The rest of us just sat. Breathed. Tried to think of what to do next that didn't end with us as ice statues.
Elena moved first. She crawled over to Vogt. Wasn't gentle. She slapped his cheek. Not hard, but sharp. "Hey. Your Colonel. He had a backup. A meet-up spot. Where?"
Vogt blinked. Looked at her. "I... I don't..."
"He didn't walk in there without a way out," she said, voice flat. "A camp. A boat. Something. Wher
