Make it to the rendezvous point

We run far from site of the bridge before turning and beginning a wide loop back to the rendezvous point.

"Whoa." Artyom says, bringing the horse to a halt when we recognize an area we cut through earlier in the day. The snow is now falling at a much gentler rate, and the night is deathly quiet.

"Let's dismount." Artyom says. "We'll walk this part. I want to be careful."

I climb off first and take the horse's reins so Artyom can climb down.

"Lead her." He says to me, unslinging his rifle and starting in front of me.

We creep along through the woods, not making a sound. The horse starts to act just a little skittish.

"I don't like this." I whisper. The horse makes a sound of distress and pulls on the reins. "Easy." I whisper. I keep the reins but unsling my own rifle and carry it in my hands. The horse grows even more skittish.

"Whoa!" Artyom cries out when a stick cracks. We both whip around and raise our weapons towards the sound.

"Don't shoot. It's me."

Smirnov stands before us and lowers his weapon. "Scared the shit out of me."

"Have you seen anybody else?" Artyom asks him.

"Not yet." He responds. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

He starts off and we follow behind him. "You're lucky you found that horse." He gripes. "I had to run this whole way."

I can tell he’s favoring the leg where he was bit, and notice that it is crudely bandaged.

“Are you alright?” I ask him.

“I washed it with vodka and wrapped it with part of a bedsheet.” He answers.

“Where did you get that?” Artyom asks.

“I borrowed it from a family I came across.” He says with a small laugh.

“Wait.” Smirnov says to us. “We’re close. Find a place to put that horse. We can come back for it.”

After tying the horse in a thick patch of trees, we regroup and proceed on foot.

“Stop!” A voice calls out from in front of us. We stop dead in our tracks.

“Who are you?” The voice asks.

“Smirnov, and the others.”

“Come on in.”

It’s Tarasenko, and he lowers the barrel of his PPSh. I can see the silhouettes of the other two.

“Thank god.” He says. “Smirnov, Petrov, and Kulikova. What about Zakharov? Pavlovich?”

“Dead.” Smirnov answers.

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

We begin to settle down. The three of us sit down to rest. Smirnov sits against a tree. Artyom and I sit against a fallen log.

“We thought we were the only ones who made it, with all the chaos we heard.” Tarasenko tells us. “We waited and waited, and held out hope.”

“What about Dadonov?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He answers. “I haven’t seen him.”

“I doubt that we’ll be seeing him again.” Smirnov says. “We should just get out of here.”

“We have to wait for him and the others.” I object.

“For Mr. bad knees and back?” Smirnov asks. “If we weren’t at war the Red Army would **** him to retire! They’ve been waiting here all night and haven’t seen any of those three. You heard that shootout. There’s no way that they escaped.”

“We still have to give them a chance!” I argue.

“We’ll wait one more hour.” Smirnov says, looking at his watch.

The wait is agonizing. I keep looking off into the woods, hoping that somebody will arrive. We wait for a half an hour, then forty-five minutes. I fear the worst, until I hear the snow crunching behind us.

“Did everybody miss me?” It’s Dadonov, and he looks disheveled. I jump up and rush over to him. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees me before him.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Is that blood?”

“Don’t worry.” He says. “It isn’t mine.”

Dadonov makes some grunting and groaning noises as he sits against the log. I help him down.

“How the hell did you get out of there?” Smirnov asks him.

“The same way I got out of Finland.” Dadonov says. “Luck. Pure luck.”

“The others?” I ask him.

“Dead.” He answers, his head hung. “There were too many of them. We didn’t stand a chance.”

“You all look rough. What the hell happened to you?” He asks us. “What about Zakharov and Pavlovich.”

“Both of them are dead, I got bit by one of their hellhounds, and top it off, the fucking charges didn’t go off.” Smirnov answers. “Exactly to plan.”

“All of that… for nothing.” Dadonov mutters. “I guess we’re lucky that at least the three of you made it. Even you, Smirnov.”

“It could have easily been none of us.” Smirnov says coldly. “That’s what you get for letting that little snot run away. Four men dead and a mission failed.”

“Are you serious?” Dadonov asks.

“Because you have to be a hero.” Smirnov criticizes. “Mr. ‘I always do the right thing no matter what’ with your ‘honor’ and your ‘integrity.”

“When people call Russian soldiers animals and monsters, it’s because of you.” Dadonov responds. “You are one sick son of a bitch. God must have let me live to keep you from taking over. To keep you on a leash.”

Smirnov doesn’t have a response but I can tell that he hasn’t changed his mind.

“We’ll rest another fifteen minutes.” Dadonov says. “Then we’ll get out of here.”