Mikhail was out of his snow burrow and moving swiftly hours before dawn. He felt a satisfying, almost hypnotic happiness. The snow muffled all sound save that of his skis. It reflected the light from a full moon. In good weather, even without a moon, snow on the ground provided ample light for moving efficiently at night. With a full moon, it was like skiing in daylight.
He was in a bubble of light and silence. His body was operating at its peak. His mind was clear of distractions. Here, he was beyond organizational politics. Gone was the constant underlying anxiety that he wasn’t performing well—which could lead to the dreaded knock on the door in the middle of the night.
He was moving on ice again, heading south on the Pudasjärvi waterways, making good time. If someone asked him if he was having fun, he would answer that what he was doing was too deeply satisfying for such a lighthearted word—or feeling—like fun.
He came across Arnie’s ski tracks. This was not a good sign, as it meant Arnie was ahead of him. He knelt briefly to examine the edges of the tracks, to see how fresh they were. He figured he was no more than half an hour behind. He picked up the pace.
He moved easily and quickly, taking advantage of small lakes, their solid and safe ice clear of snow, making the skiing fast and easy. In between lakes, he’d have to plow through more difficult snow-covered ground. He occasionally encountered bogs but avoided them.
Coming off one of the lakes, he saw that Arnie’s tracks went right into an adjoining bog. The fact that Arnie was cutting directly across bogs probably explained his lead. He smiled grimly. Know your opponent. Though he could never think of Arnie as an enemy, even if they might end up fighting each other someday. To Mikhail, Arnie was a typical Finn: taciturn and hotheaded. It was that Finnish hotheadedness that might be moving Arnie to risk crossing bogs as he was doing. Or it could be American ignorance. It could also be American soldier’s two-edged sword of “can do.” Get it done, even if you break a few rules. More relevant in Arnie’s case, however, was get it done, even if you take more risk than is wise. Mikhail’s grim smile came back. He knew he was thinking in stereotypes—and that could be a terrible mistake when trying to make an intelligence estimate of an opponent. On the other hand, stereotypes existed for a reason. Most Germans were meticulous. They were also militaristic. He had no doubt the Germans had the best army in the war. They fought under the handicap of crazy political leadership and the usual mix of incompetent generals—combined with extremely limited resources—against the greatest powers on earth and yet held them at bay for years. Any other army would have collapsed long before the Germans did.
He chuckled and headed slightly off course to skirt the edge of the bog. Arnie was classic. Mikhail really liked him and had a lot of respect for him as a professional soldier. As an opponent in a ski race, he was a highly skilled athlete and tough. However, Arnie was also a risk-taker, perhaps ignorant of Finnish winter terrain. Then, Mikhail thought of the motto of the British Special Air Service: who dares wins. Dare too little and you lose; dare too much and you die. He set his jaw and increased his pace.