“...Grey looked around. The ship's pines rustled, the snow glittered silver on the branches of the juniper. The sharp stems of last year's weeds protruding from the crust trembled sluggishly in the wind. Fox tracks, bird tracks, the characteristic track of a runner's chassis. And yet, this time Gray was lucky: he managed to settle down with the gun in the dead wood, and the bullet with a hardened steel core seemed to find its target on its own. In general, the runner could have been knocked out with several precise shots from an AKM, naturally, using armor-piercing cartridges, but with an anti-tank rifle - or rather. Gray looked around again, then reached for the walkie-talkie...”