[identity profile] gurlukovich.livejournal.com
It had been far too long since Sergei had seen Grozynj Grad. Not many people would say that sort of thing - no, most people were eager to get out of there, not to go back - but it was closer to a home to him than where he'd just been.

When news had come that his mother was sick, he still hadn't hesitated to jump on a plane for home. The fact that he never spoke about his family was sign enough that they didn't get along very well, but blood was still thick. He wasn't about to ignore his mother's illness. If it had ended up being bad enough that she'd died from it and he hadn't gone to see her one last time, what then?

Unfortunately, the reunion had been far from pleasant, but he had been expecting that. As it was, it seemed that his mother would recover. At this point, however, he didn't want to think on it any longer. There was probably only one person that would ask him more than a few questions about it. Luckily, the major was the one person he was willing to talk to about it.

As he exited the helicopter, the artificial gusts caused by the propeller blew dust into his eyes. He turned his head and coughed. It hadn't helped that the flight into the base had left him a little queasy. Usually it wouldn't be problem, but the fact that he'd gone straight from an airplane into a helicopter meant there hadn't been much time for his stomach to settle.

Now that he was back home, however, he got the feeling he'd be just fine. Pulling out his unit's trademark red cap and placing it firmly on his head, he scanned around for anyone familiar. Had anyone caught wind of his return and decided to come give him a warm welcome, maybe? He'd been gone for a while, so it was possible some of the others had been missing him. Then again, he could be hoping for too much. But if no one showed up, he could easily get back to his room to unpack on his own.
[identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
All clear. Good.

Initially, Ippolit had despaired of ever slipping past all of the fortress's watchful eyes. However, careful observation had revealed that there were often short gaps in the patrols, just long enough for a man to slip through, if he was quick. He had bought himself some extra time with an item he had found in the storeroom, wedged between a splintering crate and the wall. Ippolit sometimes saw things other people didn't.

A glance around the corner confirmed that the soldier whose route went by these particular offices was indeed neutralized for the time being. Honestly, he couldn't see what was so engrossing about women in black garterbelts, though it did also contain an interesting story about aliens by a man with a name like a fish.

Ippolit darted down the hallway, his hand moving to the other object his earlier foray had borne, nested safely beneath his coat. He'd been very careful not to ruin the shape. C3 was, after all, pliable.

The door was unlocked. Ippolit smiled to himself. The Colonel's reputation would be enough to keep most intruders at bay.

Ippolit kept his eyes straight ahead and his mind on the objective, refusing to be distracted by seeing in what kind of environment a man like the Colonel would live. There was no time to fall into a trance.

Withdrawing the object from his pocket, he held it up to his eye, examining it critically. He adjusted a few of the petals, ensuring that they were well defined. Detail was important.

Alone in the center of the massive desk, the small shape was striking. Delicate among brutality, artistry among ruthless efficiency, dangerous and, if he said so himself, beautiful. A single white carnation. Forming it had been difficult, but Ippolit had a dextrous bend, and, besides, the symbolism was ideal.

Fascination.

Deed done, Ippolit made his escape, taking care that his egress was unobserved.

By the time he arrived at the more populous parts of the fortress, he let himself feel a giddy tingle of relief. It was only a gesture, but it felt like a victory.

He even had an alibi.

Rakitin strode toward Liadov's office, ready to take on the day's interrogations.
[identity profile] charushkin.livejournal.com
Matvei had helped Sergei along with his bad leg, determined they should get their fair chance to inflict as much embarrassment on Borishnakov as when they had each been forced to do the circuit.

And now, they had a damned good front-row seat of the hilarity.

The Gauntlet )
[identity profile] capt-kasya.livejournal.com
(Continued from previous thread.)

Borishnakov burst from the dog pen, leaving dozens of barking puppies in his wake, though with a pair of boots clutched tightly to his chest.

First test passed, then. Kassian nodded. He had the feeling this particular Ocelot would earn his spots, as Isaev had phrased it, without any trouble. He certainly seemed ardent enough, barely pausing long enough to stamp on his boots before he began to slog through the snow toward the tanks Isaev had pointed out. Each was marked with a flash of red or black, though getting to the items in question without freezing body parts to the metal would be tricky. Trickier while drunk, he was certain, but Borishnakov seemed game.

As they watched from the landing, Kassian and Isaev started to talk...
[identity profile] vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com
(A new Ocelot, the more the merrier)

Vladislav was quite relieved when he was finally allowed to go to his assigned bunk and sleep. First days were always boring, hectic, and exhausting at the same time.

Groznyj Grad was a very unusual base, filled with very unusual soldiers. This had become apparent when he'd nearly been knocked down by a soldier dressed in some frightening, full body, flame proof suit shortly after arriving at the base.

It had become undeniable when Major Raikov had grabbed him, by the crotch, then again, he wasn't the only one the Major had grabbed. That was slightly comforting.

Vladislav Yaromirovich Borishnakov had quickly come to the conclusion that this was where soldiers who fail their psych evaluations are sent.

But all of those thoughts left Vladya's mind as he closed his blue eyes, only to recall that Raikov had commented on those too. That was really the last thing to cross his mind before he fell asleep. He was too tired to be concerned about the Major.
[identity profile] capt-kasya.livejournal.com
[PANIDYELNIK, 27 YANVAR, 1964 0600 hours]

The Ocelots had made it to the range on time - a "piece of cake" as Isaev had so flippantly phrased it - though it was less Kassian's doing than it was simply that firearms drill was part of their routine. He didn't have to lead them anywhere, just follow as they marched out through the muddy snow.

It actually suited him just fine. Kassian preferred to be the last one in line, to have everyone in his field of view; to observe, but be unobserved.

He watched them mill about, with with purpose: all business now as they prepped their rifles and sidearms, with little chatter and talk between comrades. The confrontation with the cosmonaut had left them uneasy and unsettled, sentiments that Kassian actually shared. In his book, threats against one's commander could not simply be written off so lightly, not in favor of fetching a scarf to keep one's neck warm. Where the hell were Isaev's priorities, anyway?

If Kassian was in charge - and he technically was, thought not in the way that really counted - he would have made it his first priority to find the major and warn him, inform him of the cosmonaut's words, then plan a strategy to deal with the man.

Kassian pulled his Mosin-Nagant out of its case, stroking the stock with an affection most men usually reserved for their lovers or pets. The stock was stained dark from long years of use, with faded marks along the right side, remnants of when he used to mark off every kill. He'd stopped after that night in Berlin, but it hardly mattered - he knew the count like the sound of his own name, the sort of knowledge that followed one everywhere, even in sleep.

A bullet to the brain of a certain insane cosmonaut would bring that count up to two-hundred twenty-nine, he thought, idly.
[identity profile] gurlukovich.livejournal.com
Sergei was seated in a chair in the infirmary, his head placed into his palm, trying his hardest not to pout.

He'd been forced to walk alongside the doctor's jeep while his leg continued to make a fuss, explaining how he'd stupidly ventured too close to the swamp area and ended up getting intimate with a crocodile's teeth--on his leg. Then again, this sort of thing must have happened before. At least he hadn't been rendered unable to walk. Then he would have been laying in the middle of the denser jungle area, bleeding to death.

Not fun.

After his report, he'd ushered himself back to the infirmary for the second time that morning. Everyone else would be eating at the moment, but he had to sit and wait.

Prodding carefully at the makeshift bandaging on his leg, the boy let out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. It was just about numb at this point, though he knew it still had to be taken care of.

He was going to need crutches, wasn't he? Otherwise he'd tear the stitches and--

Great.

Role-call!

Jul. 17th, 2006 06:48 pm
[identity profile] raidenovitch.livejournal.com
(OOC: Feel free to start... incidents. This is another introduction, breaking-us-in-gently entry before we get stuck into the story/crack properly.)

Soldiers had best better get in line... )

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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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