Up From the Depths by J. R. Jackson

The defile required them to move single file and prevented the wind from blowing through the crevasse which meant the snow wasn’t powdery or deep allowing them to make up for lost time.
    “How far are we from DZ Fox?” Sands asked when O’Toole had called a short break.
    “I figure 15 klicks,” O’Toole replied. “That’s if it’s there.” He left unspoken that the lead plane might have aborted due to weather and not dropped their supplies. “How’s Harris holding up?”
    Sands looked back towards the rear of the column.
    “He’s probably still a little pissed off. But, he’s young, he’ll get over it,” Sands commented.
    “I’ll tell you though, those fucking squids are serious hard core studs,” Sands said. “They’ve been switching off between themselves and they brought a shitload more gear with them then we did. Not one of them whines or bitches.”
    “Noticed that,” O’Toole agreed. A shout from the head of the valley made them look up.
    The Ranger pathfinder element was approaching, but they had someone with them. As the small unit drew closer, O’Toole could see that the newcomer wasn’t military. He was dressed in a North Face parka, quilted, thick insulated pants and heavily furred boots. His face was covered with a balaclava and ski goggles. He drew back the hood of his parka to reveal a knitted watch cap. It was obvious he was Inuit by his skin tone and features. The man lifted up the ski goggles and looked around.
    “What are you boys doing out here?” he asked, surprise in his tone.
    “Training mission gone bad,” O’Toole stated studying the native Alaskan resident.
    “Bullshit,” the man said. “No way you boys are on a training mission,” he said looking around at the Rangers and Special Operations personnel, the weaponry they bristled with and the heavily loaded cargo sleds. “You got a case of the ass for someone,” he added.
    “OK, you got us. We’re invading Russia,” O’Toole said. The man scowled, looking hard at the Special Forces captain.
    “Then you’re really fucked because you’re heading the wrong way,” the Inuit replied.
    O’Toole didn’t say anything just looked at the man.
    “Where’d you come from?” O’Toole asked changing the subject.
    “I was out checking my traps,” the man said pointing back the way he had come. “Ran into this storm on the way back and headed here. Then a couple of your people stopped me,” he explained.
    “You live around here?” O’Toole asked.
    “Hell no. No one lives out here. I live a few miles back that way,” he replied pointing in the direction that the team had come from.
    “You got a name?” O’Toole asked.
    “Do you?” the reply came back defensively. “OK, OK,” the man said holding up his hands and nodding his head when he saw the men tense. “I’m Elian Weatherstone.”
    “You from that Inuit village a few miles from here?” Harris asked as he walked up.
    “Yeah, what of it?” Weatherstone asked cautiously.
    “We sent some of our injured that way,” Harris replied.
    “You got injured people here?” Weatherstone asked with disbelief. “Sucks to be them,” he added.
    “How’d you get here Mr. Weatherstone?” O’Toole asked.
    “You mean here? As in this state or in this area?” Weatherstone asked.
    “I mean here in this valley,” O’Toole clarified.
    “Well, shit, dude, everyone who lives in this area knows about this pass,” Weatherstone stated. “It’s the best place to head for when the weather turns bad.”
    “Did you walk all this way?” O’Toole asked.
    “Shit no. I left my snowmobile a few miles back. The little bitch crapped out on me. Figured the best thing I could do was head here before there was a total whiteout. Can’t see shit in this weather,” Weatherstone stated.
    O’Toole, Harris, and Willis who had joined them stepped away for a quiet conversation.
    “The only other place around here that has shelter is that research station,”