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The schoolteacher berated them. “You are a tool of the state and you do not even know it! You can take me back, but I will only escape again. Maybe you should just shoot me.”

“No, we are not taking you back. You are not welcome. We are not going to shoot you, either, Comrade Schoolteacher.”

Puzzled, the schoolteacher watched as Barkov and the Mink built a fire and made tea, then handed steaming mugs around to the handful of soldiers that made up Barkov’s squad. When he approached the fire, intending to give himself up, the soldiers prodded him away with bayonets and curses.

The schoolteacher was no fool. He understood. Escape across the taiga was impossible. Return to the Gulag compound was not possible. He sat down in the snow fifty feet away, took out a tattered book that he had somehow smuggled into the Gulag, and began to read. He did not beg, as Barkov had expected. Men tougher in appearance would have. The schoolteacher acted as if the life-saving food and warmth did not even exist.

As daylight faded, the temperature dropped cruelly. Soon, night shrouded the scene and the schoolteacher was lost from sight.

They found him the next morning still sitting there, the book clutched in his stiff hands, dead from exposure.

Barkov and the Mink stood quietly smoking, lost in reverie.

The memory of that curious schoolteacher did not stop Barkov from wishing for a horse. A horse would be just the thing in this terrain. But there were no horses at the Gulag. What would they be fed? The taiga was too rough for a truck, and there were no roads. So they walked.

When the watch tower of the Gulag compound had disappeared from view, the Mink said, “Comrade Barkov, you now owe me a bottle of vodka. They have made it farther than the schoolteacher.”

“I am impressed,” Barkov said. “But, Comrade Mink, two bottles says we shall catch sight of them within an hour.”

“Agree.” Barkov laughed. “I am working up a thirst.”

When that hour passed away, the Mink said, “Why don’t you bet me three bottles that we will see them before nightfall? When we get back, I can throw quite a party.”

Barkov didn’t answer. He shouted at Bunin, “Those mutts of yours are useless.”

“They are perfectly good dogs,” Bunin said.

“Maybe they are good for hunting squirrels or woodcock,” Barkov said.

“The Americans had a head start of several hours.”

“We tracked them through the night. Your mutts should run faster. And don’t give me any of that baking bread nonsense!”

The Mink was laughing in his soundless manner. His shoulders shook in mirth. ”What about those three bottles if we don’t catch them by nightfall?”

“I won’t take that bet,” Barkov grumbled. “But I will bet you a case of vodka that we catch them by noon tomorrow.”

“Where would either one of us get a case of vodka?”

Barkov finally laughed. “When I win, that will be for you to worry about.”

• • •

Cole and Vaccaro worked their way across the taiga. Cole was satisfied to see that despite the size of their group, they had left little trace of themselves moving across the frozen ground. Here and there, he could detect where a broken branch or the shadow of a footstep marred the brown grass, but he had sharp eyes for such signs. The question was, would the Russians?

Listening to the dogs, he realized that it might not matter what the Russians saw. Those dogs would follow their noses right to them.

It was up to Cole and Vaccaro to slow down the pursuers.

“What’s your plan, Hillbilly?” Vaccaro asked.

“I seen a hill back there that would give us a good view. I say we get up there and pin them down for a while. After that, they might not be so hot and bothered to come running straight for us. They will take their time if they think we might be keeping them in our rifle sights.”

“Sounds like a plan, just as long as we don’t have to shoot any dogs.”

Cole nodded. “Them dogs is just makin’ a livin’. I say we shoot the people first. We’ll only shoot the dogs if we ain’t got a choice.”

Vaccaro gave him a sideways look. Cole could be awfully matter of fact when he talked about killing. Not for the first time, he was glad that Cole was on their side.

“I never took you for an animal lover.”

“Oh, I got a plan for them dogs.”

“You know, just a few months ago, the Russians were supposed to be allies and the Germans were the enemy.”

“Vaccaro, don’t you know by now that you can’t trust nobody?” Cole nodded toward the higher ground. “This way.”

Though the terrain was rough, Cole navigated a path through the boulders and brush.

The gray clouds seemed to nearly touch the horizon, and even the air itself felt thick. The wind had dropped to nothing. Snow coming.

Soon, they reached a ridge that was fifty feet higher than the plain before them. Had they really walked all that way in the dark last night? They half expected to see the Gulag itself, but the horizon was empty of any man-made features.