He's gone. We've got to turn back." Packer's big hand flipped a switch and he talked into his headset. “Sandcat 2 to Sandcat 1—we are returning to base. Repeat. We are returning to base. Over.” “Just one more pass along the rift valley,” pleaded Adjani. His eyes did not leave the thermograph screen. The Sandcat swayed on its springs as the Simoom screeched around them. Packer, blue in the light of the thermoscreen, turned his face toward his friend. He placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped it firmly as if to establish a physical hold on reality. In a voice deepened with fatigue and sadness, he said, “It is twenty below out there and only an hour after sundown. In another hour it will be fifty below. The storm is bucking to full force by morning—we haven't seen the worst of it yet. We lost visual four hours ago, and the thermograph shows a solid blue field. If we don't head back now, we won't make it.” He paused and added, squeezing the shoulder once more, “It's over.”
