A patrol called Tinsmith has missed its windows twice.
There is no ceiling to fly under and nothing airborne with eyes in it, so the only thing that will fit in one aircraft goes in: Bledsoe and four men.
They follow a boot print under an overhang to a hide left in a hurry — six shapes filling with rain, a standing ration tin, a rucksack strap cut rather than unbuckled, and a departure line going the wrong way entirely. A buried battery says Tinsmith walked out of there with a working radio. Nobody can explain why it never came up.
Then the rain takes the hillside and the trail with it. Rain destroys sign and lays scent down — and an enemy search organisation with trackers and dogs is working the same problem from the other end.
