It was cold. Snow and cystallized water slamming into Ghost's face and eyes at unholy speeds. He was soaked through your gear, down to the bone. His mask clung to his face like icy tar.

Debrief had said nothing about a fucking blizzard.

"Keep up, safehouse is two klicks out" He growled into comms, praying to whatever deity might shine upon them that day that it went through. That the rest of the team heard him.

It was bad enough that you were clinging to his side, hypothermic and barely lucid enough to move your legs. The Lieutenant was bodily hauling you along with him.

Only two more klicks.