CIA Listening Post #487
Secure Area, Alfenwehr
West Germany
28 October, 1987
0925

First thing first, I closed the door and set my chemlight on the counter in front of where a bunch of communications equipment was missing.

I'd hoped the CIA had left at least the standard RF band equipment in place, but from the looks of it, they had taken all of it.

Still, I needed to take stock.

Four rooms in the small square. The communications room, eight by ten. Four chairs. One safe against the wall. One set in the floor. Kerosene/gasoline stove (worthless). Dead commo gear. Computer equipment, missing large sections. Next room, a bedroom. Two set of bunks. Eight lockers. Two other exits. Small as hell. Right hand room. Small kitchen. Sink (useless), fridge (empty), stove (natural gas, I tapped it in my head to find the propane tanks), empty cabinets. One cabinet marked "Emergency Supplies" that was locked. I'd break that open later. Room opposite. Bathroom. Toilet, frozen. Sink, frozen. Shower, the wall cracked from where the pipes had burst from the cold.

They'd only had the listening post up since spring.

Moving back into the survelliance room I sat down and took control of my breathing again, taking a deep hit off of my O2 bottle. I'd need to dig another tunnel, at an angle, to the surface to make sure that brought in good air.

The generators were useless no matter what, but if I worked it right, I might be able to bring the stoves online.

When I had been in 7th grade I had read accounts of the crew of the USS Wahoo, including a Navy diver. I had never forgotten the way the crew had handled being below the surface past the recommended time. While I didn't have any lime to absorb the CO2, there were other methods I could use.

Carbon, from denatured charcoal, from the MOPP suits, might work, but that was risky. I didn't have any other options, so I was pretty much out of luck.

I'd have to risk it.

My body had warmed up, and I knew what I had to do next.

I climbed back out and managed to get back onto the roof. I cleared the stove's pipe, rested for a moment, then started digging again. My weight compacted the snow beneath me as I kept going at a high angle, watching my compass to make sure I was always moving south-west, away from the edge of the cliff. It was about two-hundred yards away, but why take the risk of suddenly having the snow give out from under me and dropping me a thousand feet to my death.

By the time I came back I was shivering, my sweat having turned to ice, which melted again, and penetrated the outer layers until I was losing body heat fast. My face was numb, as was my ears. I moved into the generator room and checked the drums. There was one that was hooked to a pipe, as well as two propane tanks, one empty, the other at a quarter. I closed my eyes, willed my knee to hold, and began rolling one of the 50 gallon drums so I could struggle and get it into the room.

Twice my knee gave out, once almost dropping me backwards so that the drum would have fell on me. It slammed into my damaged knee and I screamed out loud, uncaring who heard me. My leg would barely hold me up as I finished side-rolling the drum into the room.

I closed the door, then opened the lid at the top of the stove. It was a standard stove, fuel ring down by the bottom. More than likely it was hooked up to fuel, but it had gelled. I checked behind it and found the valve. Someone had shut it off, and I opened it and checked again.

Nope, no fuel.

I tossed one of my small firebricks into the stove and lit it with the Bic lighter. It would burn for about a half hour and provide a small amount of heat. The building was cinderblock, with thick windows designed to handle Alfenwehr winds and storms, with snow on top, so I knew that it was somewhat insulated, but would still take a long while to completely warm up.

That didn't matter. Any heat at this point would be better than the sub-zero temperatures I was currently operating in. It was this, or dig a modified igloo. I'd prefer this, it would be better for long term survival, so the snow cave was a go-to-hell option.

I needed to get moving. I was starting to drift.

Pretty soon my core temperature would drop too far and I'd start to get confused, think I was over-heated, and I. Would. Die.

I took off my field jacket and set it aside. I was chilly, but it was better than more sweat building up. The pilot's knife helped me pry open the top of the drum. It took nearly a half hour, and I snapped off the point of the knife, but I managed to get the top off.

The diesel was thick and waxy looking, and I used the knife to slice a chunk off of it. It reminded me of bacon grease as I moved over and dropped it into the stove next to the remains of the fuel stick. I put the lid back on the diesel drum and went outside.

During desert warfare training at Fort Erwin, California, I'd learned a trick for when the stove didn't have a feeder hose line. I went back out into the small area I'd pushed away, shot my azimuth to due west, and started packing down the snow again. The parking lot was to the south, the helipad to the north.

Roughly five paces, ten minutes of work, and I found what I was after.

Dirt.

Using the damaged pilot's knife I hacked several large chunks of frozen dirt free, then headed back into the room, setting the dirt on the lid I moved back outside and repeated it. By the time I was done, after five trips, over half the dirt was thawed and the temperature had increased. I left the door open and opened two windows. Not because of heat, but to let the CO2 out and the diesel fumes rise.

When the diesel finally burned out I put the dirt in the bottom then carved out more gelled diesel and put it on top of the dirt. I pulled out a block of C-4, unwrapped it, and put the wrapper inside the stove, on top of the gelled diesel, and lit it up.

When the diesel ungelled it would soak into the dirt, which would take longer to burn.

It wasn't perfect, I'd need to find or create a wick, but it was field expedient and would keep warming things up.

Yes, the heat would leave out of the tunnels, but that would prevent the heat from melting the snow all the way. As it was, the way I had done it, the heat would melt the snow, but it would rapidly refreeze, creating a thick layer of ice, which would make a rough ceiling.

The plastic of the chair cracked as I sat down to take time to catch my breath and take stock of what to do next. My chemlight had died, but the flames in the stove provided light through the open lid.

The lizard knew, and told me flat out.

I needed food. That meant the emergency supply locker. If there was a flare I could wait until the clouds cleared up and fire one or two off. But that would probably be March. Who knew what the CIA put in an emergency supply locker, but up here it better be food, emergency clothing, a medical kit, and stuff like that.

I wasn't shivering so bad, and my teeth weren't chattering. I stood up and pulled off my BDU cold weather top and the field jacket liner, hanging them over the chair. I moved to the locker and beat skipped the lock, attacking the clasp directly. It came off in a few moments and I pulled open the door.

MREs, frozen water in split containers, parkas, gloves, extreme cold weather boots and masks, a flare gun, a box of flares, and a medical kit.

Next was the bedroom. I pulled six of the mattresses down and hauled them into the commo room, carefully stacking them into a fort. I took apart two of the chairs to provide structural support and decided it was time to eat.

I chose the most difficult to digest first. Pork patty with beans. Once again I marvelled over the fact that they managed to dehydrate the grease with it. I ate everything but the dehydrated fruit and a few of the things in the accessory packet. Done with that, I sat down on the mattress, tore the cloth off of three of the chairs, and slowly sewed the supports into the mattresses. That satisfied, I went and got the blankets, came back, and sewed the blankets onto the inside of the fort, stuffing it with the chair stuffing before sewing up the last of the gaps.

So I had an insulated shelter, and I could pull the side mattress on the stove side back and forth to open and close the fort. I piled up the last of the blankets in a pile, knowing I'd do it right when I felt like it. I'd found two empty tin cans while searching. I bent four points on the can, using a strip of the cloth covering of the chair as a wick, and used the second can with punched holes in it to make a "hood" that would let light out. I put gelled fuel in it, dropped the wick in, then set it on the stove to warm up. I didn't have long, the chemlight was pretty much dead.

The containers had largely thawed, spilling water on the floor, but I'd set them with the splits up, giving me warm water. The diesel had melted in my 'lantern' and I removed it, lit the wick, and watched it slowly flicker to life, the edge carbonizing. I flicked open the lid of the stove with the broken knife and put more gelled diesel into it before closing the lid. I got out the coffee packet and my canteen cup, mixed in the cream and sugar, poured in the coffee and water, and set it on the stove.

The chair squeaked this time when I sat down and looked around.

It was rudimentary, not really something made to survive the winter, but I'd done my best. I had eight cases of MRE's, that was ninety-six meals. If I cut them to one per day I'd lose about sixty pounds, but I'd survive three months. That led to Jan. I'd need more food. But I wasn't planning on staying that long.

Outside, the wind was picking up, once in a while blowing down the tunnels and sweeping the warmth away, and I knew I'd made the right decision. If I'd tried to go down the mountain, I'd already be succumbng to hypothermia or dead and frozen.

The coffee was sweet as I savored it. I got out my 550 cord and cut free lengths, carefully measuring them. Boy Scouts and being Command Sergeant Major Tiernan Stillwater's son had imparted on me a lot of skills, and one of them was going to be handy.

Trapping.

My clothing was dry, and even though I felt tired I got up and climbed back out of the tunnel. It was dim outside, but I could see a half dozen trees nearby. The wind was up, so I didn't bother checking for tracks, just moved to the tree and examined the exposed branches.

Three of them had marks.

I carefully set the traps, putting the dehydrated fruit in my mouth to make it expand. I knew what I'd catch, and the idea of it made me want to cry.

I loved bunnies.

But I loved living more.

I set a half dozen traps. If I got unlucky, I'd eat MRE's. If I got lucky, I'd have two or three to eat. If I got REALLY unlucky, I'd catch all six and want to die while I slaughtered them.

Snowseeds were up and tearing at my face as I moved back, following my compass azimuth. I had to backtrack once and I felt a little bit of panic clawing at me until I saw the tower and was able to find my tunnel. The top of it was coated with ice and the snow was hard under my knees.

When I got out of the tunnel, my knee went out from under me with a loud crack. I tried to get up twice, but the joint wouldn't hold my weight. I lifted my knee up and dragged it behind me as I crawled into the building, kicking the door shut behind me.

The stove was still going, putting out warmth. I managed to pull my self up and stagger to the diesel drum. It had started to ungel, so I used the split open plastic container I'd left by the drum to scoop out more diesel and "refuel" the stove. I closed the stove, closed the drum, and sat beside the little padded fortress.

I had light. I had multiple layers of shelter. I had an insulated sleeping space that would keep me warm even if all the heating devices failed. I scooted the chair over and put two blankets on top of the blanket, two pillows at the top of the gap, then added three blankets, putting the last of them at the bottom and sides.

I slowly got undressed, putting my top and bottom and field jacket on the torn apart consoles. I slowly removed my long johns, rolling them down off my leg.

My knee was purple, with yellow and purple bruising running up my thigh and down my calf.

It was also swollen up to the size of a  cantelope.

I wasn't going anywhere for a few days at least.

...sorry, Cromwell, you're on your own...