The Uzbeks hadn’t been idle while Vlad and I had been gone. They hadn’t been issued any live ammo, but a small bear had come snuffling around the camp the day before, and they’d managed to run over him with one of the byutors. The air reeked of roast bear meat and dripping fat. Vlad and I had a good big rack of ribs, each. The ribs in my chunk were pretty broken up, but it was still tasty. For the first time, I felt like a real hero. Eating bear meat in Siberia. It was a heck of a thing.