The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

Air pressure in the room increased perceptibly, with ear-popping speed.

Colonel Volgin arrived moments later, like the thunder that superseded lightning.

Actually, Volgin had learned that thunder and lighting actually occurred simultaneously, but the speed of light was faster than the speed of sound, so one's perception of lightning came first.

He'd been pleased by the knowledge. Ivan had told him that, after reading it in one of his books.

But now, Volgin was not pleased. Electricity crackled around his gloved hands as he strode inside the hallway and saw that Ocelot was alone.

Volgin's uniform coat had been hastily buttoned, and his boots stamped on heedlessly. Volgin's short hair lay too close to his scalp to be rumpled by sleep, but he'd been dreaming of Ivan.

He'd gone to bed early, after being up all night and all day, intending to just take a short nap then seek out Ivan later. But he'd been rudely awakened by the klaxon.

At first, he'd been annoyed.

And then, he'd thought of Ivan.

Volgin closed the distance between himself and Ocelot rapidly, then reached out and grabbed the young major by his lapels, lifting him up without effort, holding him away from his body. "Where's Ivan!" Volgin roared through gritted teeth. "I told you to watch out for him, Ocelot! Where is he!"

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Ocelot's eyes widened.

"Colonel!" he exclaimed, alarmed. "We were required to part company for a moment. There was a report of a threat to MENTS, at the same time as the news came down that we had another body."

Instinctively, he wrapped his red-gloved hand around Volgin's wrist, suspended as he was- even though he knew from experience that Volgin's grip was sound.

He schooled his voice into normalcy.

"Colonel," he said reasonably. "Ivan was under no immediate threat, and I required him to gather his men. Meanwhile, the threat to the investigators was present and immediate. The call was made."

He paused, scowling.

"If we lose the MENTS, Colonel, it doesn't make Raikov any safer."

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"Oh," Volgin said.

He blinked, then scowled fiercely again, just for good measure.

"Well, why didn't you tell me that sooner!" he growled, but set Ocelot down.

Volgin stepped back and brushed his gloves together, turning away and glaring around the hall, as if he could summon Ivan's presence by his will alone.

Perhaps he overreacted, he pondered.

His electric charge dampened.

"Er. Well. Good work, Major," he muttered over his shoulder.

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Ocelot smirked, straightening his uniform.

"Thanks," he drawled.

His Ocelots had better get their shit together and show, and soon.

He wasn't too keen on making small talk with Volgin, considering his current mood.

Looking down his eye caught something on the black canvas of his uniform.

A long blond hair, winking up at him with glimmers of gold.

He seized it and threw it from him as if it were a scarlett letter.

When he looked up, Volgin was studying him, bemused.

"Your boyfriend sheds," he muttered, in explanation, in case Volgin had cause to notice his bizarre reaction. "Like a Persian cat, his hair gets fucking everywhere."

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"Ah." Volgin nodded, sagely. "Yes, I know."

Reflexively, he looked down at his own uniform, and sure enough, there was one of Ivan's hairs stuck to the lapel of his greatcoat. It took him a couple of tries to pull it free, groping with gloved fingers.

He held it up to the light, and admired the way it shone. Something about it comforted him, in spite of Ivan's absence.

"What do you know," Volgin mused. "There you go."

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vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com

The Fury was obvious among the soldiers who were just starting to trickle in, a black shadow that stalked along the walls with purpose, toward Volgin and Ocelot. There was something startlingly casual about the way he went: his helmet, delegated to Phobos, who cradled it lovingly as he trailed behind his commander. Dark hair that usually stood in wisps and disheveled swoops lay down, nearly covering the deep scars that crossed his scalp, still damp with water from a leisurely shower. Likewise, his space suit was unzipped nearly all the way so that the white body suit underneath was visible. Though he carried his flame thrower, his respirator dangled out of the front of his suit, suspended there by hoses and tubes.

The cosmonaut stopped just short of the pair, scowled, and took a drink from the coffee cup he held in one gray-gloved hand. He looked up at them again, rubbing the deep blemish that crossed his left temple and blossomed across his cheek.

Though the malice gleaming in his dark eyes said enough, he finally spoke. “You two had better have a damn good excuse for this. What ever you called us here for, it had better be a matter of life and death.”

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"What's this...is that static electricity I sense in the air?" remarked Ocelot airily, with a twist of his lips.

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Volgin turned to the Fury, nodding in acknowledgment.

"There will be a briefing once everyone has arrived."

Volgin paused, studying the Fury for a moment. Largely ungirded by his cosmonaut's accouterments, he looked almost sane, Volgin thought. More human. Like any other hideously scarred man.

He remembered the strange kinship he's felt for the Fury when he'd met the man's feral, angry eyes. The realization that in some way, they were the same, warriors who lived for the kind of battles they rarely got, struggles to the death.

"But your prompt arrival is appreciated," he added.

Actually, Volgin wanted to know what the hell everyone was doing out here in the middle of the night as well, but he knew Ocelot wouldn't have called the ALL PERSONNEL if it hadn't been warranted. A show of solidarity was in order, particulary if it had to do with another dead body.

He turned his gaze to scan the hall, more impatient than ever to see Ivan, but thusfar there was still no sign. It would take time, he told himself. Ivan had to gather all of his men, coordinate with his subcommanders. He would be here soon, he told himself.

Slowly, Volgin frowned as he remembered what Ocelot had said before. He turned back to Ocelot.

"And the MENTs?" he asked, in a low voice. "Are they secure now?"

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"Yes," Ocelot said. "Specialist Irinarhov and Specialist Imanov are with them as we speak. The threat turned out to be no more than a soldier who was unaware of the tamp-down we're keeping them under."

He saw no need to go into specifics. The woman was cleared as far as he saw it. No one could be that sputteringly indignant if they'd had an actual ulterior purpose.

...no one but himself, he corrected, cynically amused.

He pulled out his Makarov and spun it idly, watching the glint along its barrel flash by like the headlights of a jeep.

"My troop should be here by now," he muttered. "What the hell are they doing? Polishing their dicks to a mirror shine?"

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Volgin rolled his eyes.

"Well, they're your men, Adamska. You would know, wouldn't you?"

He had heard the rumors about Ocelot and his men, how Ocelot required them to service him. It was Ivan that had mentioned it to him, actually, and at the time, Volgin had been surprised but grudgingly impressed at the young Major's ruthlessness.

It was a good trait. Ocelot would go far with that kind of mercenary attitude.

Volgin had once been the same way, before he'd consolidated his power and found that blind, unswerving loyalty and devotion didn't really interest him anymore.

And then he'd met Ivan, who was beautiful and cruel and completely unafraid. An insolent young captain who looked him in the eye and stared openly at his scars, then drew his gaze down Volgin's body unabashedly.

Volgin had never been in love before that; he simply didn't have the time or the inclination.

But Ivan Raikov had blindsided him completely then, and now, well, Volgin wasn't complaining.

He smirked. "Though, you're right, of course," he told Ocelot. "I'm sure you won't be pleased if all of Flame Patrol manages to report here before Ocelot Unit."

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No, he wouldn't.

Ocelot glowered and removed himself to the other side of the atrium with chinking spurs, stalking sharp heeled.

Volgin's dubious charms were already wearing thin.

He shouldn't have sounded the all personnel. He could have handled this in-squad.

It only reinforced his belief in the separation of his men from the average rabble.

He crossed his arms, and was relieved to see a bobbing flotilla of red berets coming down the East Wing stairs.

"At fucking last," he muttered, brightening.

He didn't bother with a head count. It would waste valuable time. He would work with the men he had.

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andrei-isaev.livejournal.com

"Major," said Andrei. "Reporting for call."

He glanced at the crowd of soldiers, congregating into neat lines.

"We would have been here sooner, but several of us needed to extricate from special assignments."

Or each other, he thought, amused. Fyedor and Pavel had certainly not been expecting the ALL PERSONNEL. They'd been more involved in the all personal.

Even now Pavel looked edgy, biting his lip and surreptitiously shifting his junk.

The Major looked irritated, but Andrei didn't think it was related to their tardiness. Or Pavel's restless junk. In fact, by contrast, he looked vindicated and pleased at the sight of his men.

Of course, what passed for a pleased expression on Ocelot might not be immediately evident to a bystander.

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"Good. Now we just need your rankmate and the sniper to show up with the fucking MVD tsareviches."

Ocelot crossed his arms.

Then he turned around and tapped his CODEC furiously, hailing Raikov's frequency.

"Ivan," he hissed. "Where the hell are you? Volgin is becoming a fucking Tesla coil. I don't want to become his first demonstration because you're thwarting danger somewhere. I'm supposed to be watching you, you prick-"

He broke off.

Clicked off.

There was no need for Raikov to know he'd been assigned to be his constant companion. That would only make him more difficult to deal with.

Ocelot scowled, hoping he hadn't blown it wide open.

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"Major?"

A soldier asked him tentatively as Ivan stopped dead in his tracks, raising an eyebrow.

Raikov threw the soldier a dirty look and tapped his ear in gesture of codec. The soldier stepped back into line, grateful to not have lost the ability to have children by asking a pointless question.

Raikov resumed his brisk pace, followed by the sheep that made up his portion of GRU: eyes downcast, all evenly paced, all avoiding being near the front of the procession.

He tapped and tried to ring Ocelot back.

"Quit being melodramatic," Raikov muttered, not aware at how close Ocelot was to becoming a human lightbulb. "Christ."

Fortunately, Raikov's mind was elsewhere, and missed the context of his comrade Major's statement. He was trying to make the link between Volgin having an electric tantrum and Ocelot vehemently demanding he be voyeur next time.

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"Sorry," muttered Ocelot. "What took you so long?"

He covered his ear and lowered his voice.

"Is everything all right?"

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Raikov snorted.

"Apart from you loving and leaving me, cocktease?"

It was said in an affectionate enough way, although with more than enough grains of truth in it. Ivan was not in the best mood right now.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked, unruffled. "You forget your squad arrives at the click of your heels. I have to give them an actual boot to stop them dragging theirs along. I'll be with you in a minute."

He sped up pace, and he could hear the clatter of boots in his wake a few moments after.

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Ocelot cringed, and felt a flush creep along his brow.

"Sorry," he bit out. "That wasn't my choice. Take it up with the MVD."

He paused, dropping his voice to the quietest possible whisper.

"I'm good for it, you know that. That's an IOU, Major."

He glanced up at the crowd of soldiers, chattering quietly amongst themselves.

He scowled.

"Believe me, I'd rather have stayed and gotten off a few more shots myself."

Raikov's men. He pitied the Major for a moment, tryiing to motivate his frightened bunnies into a line.

"They might be slow and undisciplined," he offered, "but they make great human shields for my squad."

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"You're welcome to them," Raikov said, smiling slightly. At least they were both suffering, he supposed.

"Maybe once everyone's assembled, we can make ourselves scarce," he suggested lightly.

Hide and seek in the yard, dodging spotlights whilst finding a few crates for support and a brick wall for balance...

"Give the MVD something to look for," he suggested, slowly. The glitter in his eyes could almost be heard in his voice.

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Ocelot bit his lip.

"...Don't tempt me," he muttered. "Searching your body sounds a lot more appealing than the one we're looking for."

He allowed a smile.

"Imanov can handle my squad. How about your men?"

Ocelot shook off his hormones.

"No promises. We have to...deal with business first," he said, hating the words.

At twenty, his business was loudly clamoring for priority.

He looked up, as Raikov entered through the automatic doors at the far end of the East Wing.

"I see you," he snorted, amused.

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"Business, then pleasure," Raikov intoned, before signing off.

His comrade in sight, he gave him a wink. It wouldn't say much, not even in front of the Colonel, but would speak volumes to Ocelot.

"Here I am," he declared aloud, for the benefit of the Colonel, to quel his concerns, for he did look oddly tense.

He was aware this was not a good party to turn up fashionably late to, and didn't waste time in skipping the niceties.

"Sir. Do you want me to search outside and check for stragglers?"

No point trying to do a headcount on the lot behind him until the Colonel intervened, whereupon the whole lot of them would straighten up perfectly. Ivan could do it in the short-term, but right now he had two fists and several scores of men. His usual methods would take too long.

From:

capt-kasya.livejournal.com

Kassian entered the hall, pausing until he located two things: Ocelot Unit, and Krasnogorje Patrol.

Fortunately, the red-accented black uniforms were fully across the room from the nearest tan jumpsuit, with a sea of green-outfitted GRU inbetween.

He took the direct route to rejoin the squad, eying the balaclava-clad Ocelots as he approached. It only took him a few moments to mark Isaev from the way he stood when idle, indolent, like he'd rather be leaning against a wall.

Kassian's mouth twitched slightly to the side.

He stopped in front of Major Ocelot, and tossed off a quick salute, just because it seemed like a formal occasion, given that almost all of Groznyj Grad had assembled in the hall.

"Irinarhov and Imanov reporting, Major. We have the MENTs secured."

He gestured. Liadov and Rakitin were only a few paces behind him, with Imanov bringing up the rear.

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Volgin smiled when he heard Ivan's voice, but he restrained himself from doing more. The reassurance of Ivan's presence was enough.

"No, Major Raikov, see to your men," he said.

He eyed the assorted GRU who loitered behind Ivan like children in a schoolyard. In comparison to Ocelot's squad, the regular GRU appeared a bit disorderly. Ivan really should tamp down on discipline, Volgin thought.

He knew Ivan was capable of it, after all.

The MENTs approached their position, escorted by a pair of Ocelot soldiers. Volgin nodded at their arrival. That was good. It meant they could start soon.

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The shock of seeing the Colonel's massive shape looming head and shoulders above the sea of green GRU sent a jolt to Ippolit's heart. Of course he was here. It was his fortress. His man who had been discovered missing.

It was entirely predictable that it would be him they were heading toward, Rakitin carried along like lint on the current. Ippolit would have known it, if he'd given it a moment of thought.

It was better that he hadn't.

Now that he did think of it, Rakitin realized that, for the past few hours, the Colonel had fallen completely out of his mind. All it had taken was a dismemberment. That was progress, sort of.

It was just a- a momentary infatuation. He'd heard people talk about those. The only thing to do was keep his fat fucking mouth shut and ride it out.

It wasn't as though there was much risk, Ippolit thought, sadness trailing cool fingers across the surface of his mind. The Colonel would not so much as look at him.

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Ocelot was glad to see Imanov and the sniper, and somewhat relieved that they hadn't killed each other.

He was also glad to see the MENTS, looking wholly unperturbed, even though he knew their full military assemblage must look like some Spanish surrealist's painting of the dogs of war.

But he did not show this gladness.

He scowled.

Pointing at the MENT- the unassuming one with the oddly-shaped eyes- he demanded, "Debrief."

When the man looked politely askance at him, he sighed, crossing his arms.

"What did you find? Any indication of where this body was? Where we should look?"

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Volgin turned to look at the MENT as Ocelot pointed him out.

Ah, yes. This one.

Lieutenant Rakitin, he recalled.

Young, and eager to please. Volgin had found him a bit suspicious, earlier, wondering if the GRU lieutenant was merely trying to lull him into a sense of complacency, but now he wondered if that were the case. Major Liadov had been nothing but reasonable, and had given him no reason to doubt Rakitin, either. Perhaps Volgin had been wrong.

He rested an expectant gaze upon Rakitin, waiting to hear what would he would say. He wanted to know what had happened with this new body just as much as Ocelot did - no, actually, he corrected, more.

Ivan's life could be at stake, which made it doubly important to Volgin.

"Well? We're waiting, Lieutenant Rakitin," he prompted.

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Rakitin did not panic.

He could do this. Even with the Colonel's beautiful eyes locked on his making his knees weak.

Some species had camouflage reflexes. Ippolit had forensic pathology.

"Traces of basalt clinging to the limbs suggest an underground environment, sir," Rakitin said, hearing his voice as if from a distance. "Caves, perhaps."

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"Caves?" Volgin frowned, and turned to Ocelot. "It can't be too far. Your men have scouted the surrounding area, haven't they?"

His gaze flicked back to Rakitin. "If you had samples, could you match where this basalt came from? And what are you telling me, Lieutenant, that - "

Volgin broke off abruptly, aware of where they were, and how many people could overhear. Was the killer truly among them, or was he hiding in some cave, far from here?

Either way, perhaps it was unwise to say too much aloud.

"I'll expect a more detailed report later, Lieutenant Rakitin," he said, crisply. "When you know more."

He looked to Ocelot. "Organize a search of Groznyj Grad, top to bottom, Major. I want that body found. If it's not here, then organize a search of the nearby caves. I'll leave the details up to you."

Volgin knew he could count on Ocelot for his ability to not only organize the search in the most expedient manner, but also to make sure that the top secret areas of Groznyj Grad were handled with discretion.

He turned to the MENT.

"Is there anything else we need to take into consideration, Major Liadov?"

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"Yes, sir." Rakitin nodded, his heart rattling like a bat in a box. "I could be more specific with samples to go by."

He grew lightheaded at the prospect of a later report. Just- just talking to him. Nothing special. Just debriefing--

Bad choice of words. Bad, bad choice of words.

Distantly, he heard his own enthusiastic affirmations. Probably a little too enthusiastic. Ippolit was beyond caring.

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Nika raised an eyebrow.

"Your victim is male. There's a distinct possibility he would never be found, if the vultures got to him, or if the body was pitched into a crevasse. But I highly doubt our killer would have done that. In fact, our killer is so enamored of himself I wouldn't be surprised if you found the body posed in plain sight- perhaps not immediately noticeable, except from one specific angle."

Liadov paused.

"I've been thinking."

Nika glanced at the senior officers in turn, while letting his thoughts align into words.

"Lieutenant Rakitin has suggested basalt caves," he said. "I noted a prominent cave system on a facing ridge as we arrived by Kamov. Is there any point on this base where that side of the mountain is highly visible- say, a guard tower, or someone's quarters with a view of those grottos?"

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Volgin's brows narrowed and drew together sharply.

"I don't know," he said.

Mountain ridges surrounded Groznyj Grad. Volgin didn't usually pay particular much attention, but now that Liadov mentioned it, he recalled seeing caves up there.

Searching the base would take hours, and would be a waste of time and resources. Volgin had even started to wonder if this whole business with the murders was some elaborate ploy by his enemies to slow down production on the Shagohod.

Unlikely, but still possible, he thought.

He glanced at Ocelot. "Major Raikov can handle the troops here for a few minutes. Let's go test Major Liadov's theory. Gather a small detachment of your men and we'll head out shortly."

Volgin turned to Liadov.

"Can you show us the caves you noticed, Major? It might be eaiser to tell what the best vantage would be if you point them out first."

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Ivan was distinctly annoyed. No Volgin, no Ocelot.

... What was a man meant to do?

Left alone with his lot. Maybe he'd be able to drill some discipline into the useless bastards with the MVD investigators out of the way.

After all, Volgin had suggested he "handle" his unit. He didn't say how gently was acceptable.

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"Of course," said Nika, blinking, wondering how anyone who regularly patrolled in the area could have missed the slope he was referring to, which was so riddled with caves it looked like swiss chesse.

"I'm sure Polya saw it too. It loomed up just as we took the turn into the base in order to land on the helipad."

Ocelot was looking ovver his troops with a scowl, pacing slightly.

As Liadov watched, he pulled out his gun, twirled it, checked it and inclined it at a selection of men in rapid order.

"Isaev. Todorovich. Ustinov."

He looked at the sniper and his first Lieutenant briefly, witheringly.

"...And of course, the little angels who guard all good MENTs."

He said it as if it seemed redundant to him, and Nika supposed it was. They had been given an order and they seemed aware that it was a standing one.

The possibility of wasted words clearly annoyed the Ocelot Major.

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Volgin turned to Ivan. "You're in charge, Major Raikov," he said, loudly enough so that the entirety of the assembled hall would hear him.

"We'll be back in a few minutes," he added, more quietly, then gave Ivan a nod, meeting his eyes.

Ivan would be safe, here in the hall among so many people. As long as he didn't go wandering off - and he wouldn't, with the responsibility - Volgin had nothing to worry about. He would rather have Ivan at his side, of course, but he vaguely remembered the caves Liadov mentioned as being visible from Ivan's quarters.

It would be better to find out if that were the case if Ivan wasn't around at the time.

They left the East Wing hall. Volgin walked with the MENTs and Ocelots as they headed in the direction of the helipad. It would give them the best vantage to see the caves, if they could find a sufficiently shadowed spot. The overhead floodlights would cut down on distance vision, but the night was clear and the moon nearly full, which would help with visibility.

They covered the ground quickly, with little conversation.

Just past the helipad, they walked around a truck yard to an open length of fence. From here, they had a good vantage toward the caves themselves. Volgin peered into the darkness, toward the silhouetted caves.

After a few moments, his eye fell on one in particular that looked darker than the rest, but Volgin couldn't quite make out why.

"There's something in the mouth of that cave," Ocelot said, pointing in the same direction.

Trust the Major to have the best eyesight among all of them, Volgin thought.

Ocelot nodded to the sniper, who raised his rifle, looking down the scope at the at the darkened cave.

"You were right, Major Liadov," the sniper said, voice low but steady. "There's a body in there. No legs. No arms."

The sniper paused a moment. "Crucified," he added.

One of the other Ocelots had brought binoculars, and he passed them to the others, but Volgin turned away and looked behind them.

A cold cramp tightened in his chest.

There, across the yard, sat Ivan's quarters.

If Ivan were to look out his window, he'd have a perfect view of the cave.

From:

elyseexpatriate.livejournal.com

The Sorrow stood vigil.

The body left bereft of all but the bare minimum of a recognizeable human form. It hung alone and silent. The spirit long fled from the plane that had brought it such unjust suffering.

As with any unknown soldier, there lay a duty that someone preserve who he had been, a pall of remembrance with the cool touch of a shroud. Not a piece in someone's game, a sacrifice to narcissism run mad, but a soul in full dimension.

In the heart of the graveyard, someone mourned.

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"Great," muttered Ocelot.

What had they expected to find, really, anyway?

He sighed.

"Who wants to go cut him down?"

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Liadov gazed out past the chain link.

"Awful," he said, flatly.

He hadn't expected anything quite so posed. That didn't bode well. Killers who posed victims were from a whole other pathology.

He turned to Rakitin, knowing the pathologist was seeing what he did.

"Bet you anything we find Molokov's limbs up there," he said, in an undertone.

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The corpse was splayed like a hunter's trophy, pale against the rock.

Rakitin dealt with murder from the province of 'how.' Right now, he was very glad that he wasn't the one who was forced to understand 'why.'

"The sets of limbs switched..." He stared at Liadov. "Do you think we're being led along?"

The idea that they were playing right into someone's hands was enarly as disturbing as the corpse itself.

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capt-kasya.livejournal.com

Kassian stood close enough to the investigators to overhear their hushed conversation, but after a few moments, he turned his focus, and glanced to Major Ocelot.

"The MENTs will have to go," he said. "They'll probably want to examine the scene before it's disturbed."

That meant he and Imanov would go as well. Kassian paused and leveled a glance up at the cave again. He didn't like how exposed it was, vulnerable to snipers and killers lurking in the darkness.

"We should at least take a small detachment."

He paused, and glanced at the others, Todorovich and Ustinov, and Isaev.

"The six of us can probably handle it, if you want to come along, Major," he offered.

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"Dying to," Ocelot muttered. "Let's get this over with."

He holstered his guns and tamped down on his CODEC.

"Call us a fucking Kamov so we can hop the ridge," he instructed. "And a pilot."

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"It sounds like you have this well in hand, Major Ocelot," Volgin said, distractedly. "I need to check in with Major Raikov."

Though Volgin was sure nothing had happened in the last fifteen minutes, he knew he'd feel better with the reassurance.

And part of him didn't want to be around to hear any conjecture the MENT might make about the killer's connection to Ivan.

As far as Volgin was concerned, Major Liadov had one job, and one job only, and that was to catch the person who had done this, before anything happened to Ivan. He personally didn't care why or how or who the person turned out to be, just that the killer died in the most painful ways he could muster.

He'd daydream about it later. For now, Volgin had more pressing matters to attend.

"I expect a full report in the morning," he called over his shoulder as he strode off.

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For a moment, something crossed the Colonel's face, like a breeze riffling the surface of the ocean. It centered on the words Major Raikov. It was noticeable only in how foreign it seemed to the stoic, chiseled features (and, granted, because Rakitin was watching much more closely than he really should have been). It took Ippolit a moment to place.

Fear.

The monumental, untouchable Colonel feared for his lover's safety.

It was the most adorable thing Ippolit had ever seen.

All Rakitin could do was find the man responsible for these crimes and stop him before any harm could befall the one the Colonel held so precious. It was enough.

From:

andrei-isaev.livejournal.com

Andrei frowned, pulling his balaclava down from where it had been shoved up, resting above the crown of his hair.

No one was really speaking overmuch. A grimness had fallen over the assembled at the discovery of the corpse.

When the Kamov landed he waited for Ocelot to climb inside and vaulted up right behind him.

The others followed. Only their eyes identified them to him.

Liadov and Rakitin were the last to embark, and Rakitin took a jump seat, while Liadov grabbed for an overhead loop to steady himself, intending to ride it out on his feet.

The bird whirred and lifted, and then pitched low over the rise of the helipad, hovering the short distance to the cave system on the opposite peak.

Andrei studied his hands, flexed them slowly.

He thought about murder.

A shudder passed through him, brief and violent, almost like the taste of pickling spice.

When he looked up, Kassian's dark eyes were focused on him.

Condemning? Or empathetic? The shadow obscured too much to know.

Imanov seemed distracted, or maybe he was just angry- at having to deal with Irinarhov, at being away from the squad.

He leaned forward slightly, nudging Ilya with his boot across the aisle.

"You all right?" he mouthed, over the shirring blades of the Kamov.

She was already beginning her landing.

The trip had been no more than a jaunt.

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ilya-imanov.livejournal.com

Ilya had been preoccupied.

What the hell was he going to do? He'd been going over it long enough, but his mind was hitting a brick wall over and over again.

He looked up, and gave a slight smile, and shook his head lightly, as if coming out of a dream.

He wanted to lean in nice and close to him, casual and friendly like a normal day, but was very much aware this would become an overly territorial move right under Irinarhov's gaze.

He might even growl and shield Andrei from view, hackles risen. Best not to tempt fate.

His blue eyes looked into Andrei's, full of warmth for him.

But he soon pulled himself together, preparing to leave the chopper.

Duty overrode all things, he thought glumly.

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capt-kasya.livejournal.com

The Kamov landed, and the pilot cut power. Everyone waited a few moments for the rotors to wind down, shouldering rifles, checking sidearms, grabbing flashlights and other assorted gear.

Kassian glanced at Isaev, then Imanov, sensing the weight of unspoken words between them.

He averted his gaze. They were still friends, those two, he reminded himself. They had been long before Kassian had arrived on scene. It was not that Kassian felt insecure about his relationship with Isaev; they'd reached an understanding.

Rather, it was that Kassian and Imanov had not.

They would have to, he knew, or else every situation that put them together would only grow more and more intolerable.

He backed off to give them space, waiting as the others hopped out. He disembarked after a few moments, pausing to scan their surroundings.

The Kamov had landed by a scree near the cave in question. Even from here, Kassian could see with bare eyes what he'd espied through the scope of his rifle: a pale, limbless torso strung up at the mouth of the cave.

He caught something glinting near the limbs. Maybe the body was suspended by wire.

Kassian thought about the night the greenhouse exploded.

The night of the first murder, and how they'd discovered the body.

Kassian had seen the bodies of the dead before, many times, during the war and beyond it. He had caused more than his fair share to join them in dissolution.

But he hadn't been prepared for what the discovery and subsequent investigation would do to him, that night. What it would do to Isaev, as well.

And now they were here again, walking inexorably forward.

Kassian kept his gaze sharp, watching their surroundings. He didn't like how exposed they were here, out in the open, silhouetted by the mountain.

He always thought about snipers, but even if there were no hidden sharpshooters nearby, the caves still made for excellent hiding spots.

Kassian's shoulders twitched, and his gaze went back to Isaev, but only for a few moments, before he had to turn his attention.

They'd reached the mouth of the cave.

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"Light him up," he heard Ocelot mutter, and one of the Ocelots sprinted back to yell some words into the cockpit of the Kamov.

After a moment the pilot flashed on the searchlight, and everything within the wide swath of the beam was suddenly flooded with ubiquitous light. It was surreal and hyper-illuminating, a day without shadows.

And light gave sudden, arresting form to shapes in the darkness.

He heard a few soft curses, and one choked sob. No one judged that man, or looked for him.

A soft, low whistle came from Isaev.

Even after some time in the Internal Service, Nika was given pause at displays like the diorama that had been staged here among the boulders.

The figure that was lashed to the crude X-shaped edifice bore a passing resemblance to a saint.

His head was bowed low, face hidden behind a veil of light hair.

The torso itself was lashed to the frame with barbed wire, it criss-crossed the young man's stomach and solar plexus.

Venus de Tselinoyarsk, he thought, grimacing.

Slimmer body than Captain Molokov's. Still a nice physique...apart from the obvious limbs gone astray.

Nika frowned.

...Not a soldier, he thought.

The man's hips were thickly swathed in camoflauge net, like a loincloth, covering his genitalia.

To reinforce the barbed wire, crude metal stakes had been driven through each shoulder point, and anchored into the wood.

Liadov wasted no time in approaching now, his curiosity aroused, slipping on a pair of evidence gloves that Rakitin wordlessly put into his hand.

The lieutenant already wore his scene gloves. Forethought, and a good thing.

"Thanks," he said. "Are you ready?"

There was one thing that would determine how easy their first job would be- and that was the face, and whether he still had one.

Nika gently grasped the young man by the hair, raising his head and looking into his face.

His face, yes. He had one. A nice one, with half open doe-eyes, and child-like lips. He was not much over twenty.

"We've got features," he said, to Rakitin. "Someone will be able to ID him."

He raised the man's head, steadying his chin, cradling the face in his gloved hands like a statue or an artifact.

Presenting him to the assembly.

"Does anyone recognize him?" he asked. "He was probably a scientist, or a medic. Maybe a mechanic?"

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Rakitin's breath deserted him in a soft sigh.

"As ready as anyone gets," he said, quietly and without bitterness.

The grotesque and horrible held its own fascination. Ippolit couldn't look away. There were ways to make it useful, and a job that had to be done.

Nika looked strange, facing the dead man in the floodlight that turned everything into a a scene cast in pale clay, hand outstretched like a prince speaking to a skull. I knew him.

No limbs. Maybe farther into the cave, where the shadows were deeper. They would have to look. The face was left intact, this time. Little enough else for company. Only enough to betray that it had once been a man.

Something nagged at Rakitin. A snowflake of wrong among the avalanche. Something about the lay of the netting.

He stepped forward, looking a question at Nika, who nodded wordlessly.

Can't cry in the graveyard. Leave it to the ghosts.

With careful, mechanical motions, Rakitin unwound the netting.

"Genitalia removed," Rakitin said, without inflection.

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