The North Artillery Range Part 3
Sep. 1st, 2006 10:12 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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groznyj_grad((OOC: holy crap.))
Spoilsport.
Matvei was vaguely irritated by Andrei's sudden adoration of their moody sniper.
It just... wasn't right.
Ocelots had to earn their place. Matvei had done his bit by trying to be polite and friendly, but Andrei was already swearing blind devotion.
He couldn't help but feel slightly disturbed by that.
Spoilsport.
Matvei was vaguely irritated by Andrei's sudden adoration of their moody sniper.
It just... wasn't right.
Ocelots had to earn their place. Matvei had done his bit by trying to be polite and friendly, but Andrei was already swearing blind devotion.
He couldn't help but feel slightly disturbed by that.
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no subject
Date: 2006-09-02 07:51 am (UTC)You should have kept your mouth shut, Andrei Alexandrovich. It was a nice afternoon. It could have been a nice evening.
Andrei could often deceive himself that his anger was mild, purely because he rarely raised his voice, but he knew in all honesty that it was a convenient lie.
He was worse than those, like Ilya, who yelled insulting things and punched walls. Andrei knew he flamed coldly, and when he felt that hard, black knot twist inside him, he was capable of savage unkindness, with more poison injected in a single benign word than most men had in their entire arsenal of epithets.
Andrei closed his eyes.
It was the last thing he had wanted to do to Irinarhov.
He had wanted...
No. It didn't matter, not now. Although when he had touched Irinarhov, his impulse had been to keep touching him, to see how much of the striking and unfamiliar terrain he could claim with tactility, how much latitude the sullen soldier would allow him.
Touching him was gratifying somehow, in the same way that touching Ilya was gratifying.
But Irinarhov was nothing like Ilya. They were night and day. Moon and sun.
Friend and...
Are we friends?
Who knew, he thought, frowning.
Their patrol was almost done, and Andrei was glad for it. He didn't exactly relish the idea of the night's activities with Matvei sulking at him.
He looked into the distance, watching the streaks of color paint the horizon line, letting it soothe his ruffled thoughts.
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Date: 2006-09-02 04:03 pm (UTC)It was vaguely embarrassing, unprofessional, to be sure. He tried to note his surroundings as the the patrol led them back toward the artillery yard, but it was too little, too late.
He turned his eyes back to Isaev, instead. From the set of his shoulders, the lieutenant was still angry. A couple of times, Kassian thought to say something, but really, what could he say?
Kassian felt tired. So much for a new start. As they moved past the range and headed back to the barracks, he realized he did not know what they were to do next.
It was as good of a reason as any, to speak.
He came to a stop, and let them continue for several paces, until the distance had grown.
"Lieutenant," he called after, looking in their general direction, but not specifically at either man. He had the feeling Isaev would know which one of them he was addressing regardless, though could pretend ignorance if he wanted.
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Date: 2006-09-02 06:59 pm (UTC)He'd never quite gotten over it. He always pushed it to the back of his mind, but it was a sore point to bring up, morphed from confusion to frustration to anger.
His balaclava could've burnt for the fierce red of his face.
Andrei was his friend. Why was he so keen to -
The heat died almost immediately as he froze in place, a glimmer of thought coming to him, alongside the unwanted recollection of the aftermath of his initiation night.
... He was going to have to bring this up with Andrei, alone, after patrol. The idea made him ill-at-ease, and he thought that it wouldn't necessarily benefit Irinarhov the way Andrei thought it might, either.
He should know.
He heard the rare voice, calling to Andrei, and he had to turn around, wondering what he might address. Professional or personal concerns? Matvei was curious as to which one he might hear.
And whether Andrei would get have his head screwed back on by the time he replied.
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Date: 2006-09-02 07:12 pm (UTC)"Sir?" Andrei called, sauntering back toward him, shoulders up, head level.
He knew he looked every inch like what he was, a fortunate son. Undaunted confidence was often called arrogance by those who had no acquaintance with it.
Left with no alternative but defeat, he always fell back on indomitability.
He felt no desire to temper that part of himself in that moment, as he approached Irinarhov. Let him see what he hated in the upper classes.
If he was going to pull away, let him feel justified.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" he asked, lifting his chin slightly, his gaze steady and measured.
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Date: 2006-09-03 12:34 am (UTC)"Come with me, back to the range," he said with a tilt of his head over his shoulder. "There's something I want to show you."
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Date: 2006-09-03 01:25 am (UTC)"All right," he said.
He glanced over his shoulder at Matvei, meeting his eyes, and to his surprise, they weren't full of anger.
Not exactly.
It was more raw than that.
Accusatory.
"Makno," he called, quietly, then sighed, and corrected himself. "Motya. I'll find you when I'm done. We need to plan our mission."
It wasn't true; they could pull that prank in their sleep, but Andrei doubted they'd be able to pull it off if there was bad blood between them.
He'd never argued with Matvei, not once. He loved the kid like his own flesh and blood, had watched over him, encouraged him, been his brother figure.
It bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
If there was something wrong, he wanted it out so he could make it right again. If Makno had a problem, he would do whatever it took to fix it.
He turned back to Irinarhov. Standing at his full height, he realized that the Captain actually had rather a more compact, lean build than he first surmised.
He tipped his jaw up to indicate that he was ready anytime Irinarhov was.
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Date: 2006-09-03 06:05 am (UTC)He marched back to the artillery yard and found the same slot he'd stood earlier.
Indicating for the target setter to set the target 1200 meters back again, he prepped his rifle. This time it was not with fine adjustments, lingering and minute. He flicked the sight spring and zeroed it for distance with a spare economy of motion.
It was as if he were back in the field, when a comrade's life could be measured in ticks of seconds, but as he worked, his touch effortles, astute, he was painfully aware of Isaev standing next to him, watching him with narrowed eyes.
The lieutenant mistrusted his motives, perhaps, or wondered what Kassian hoped to prove. But Kassian did not even break to glance at Isaev once he had finished, but instead raised his rifle, paused, breathed out, then fired.
He shot five rounds, one after another, then stopped to change his magazine, and continued, five more. He did this two more times, expending all his bullets.
Kassian shot with a brutal efficiency, like he was in the field. He recalled the time he'd nested on a ridge and waited for a line of Germans to pass below.
Starting with the last one, he'd picked them off, one by one, though with one spectacular shot, he'd hit two.
Back then there had been no time for setting up the shot, no waiting for perfect line-of-sight. Instead, he'd just shot by instinct, dropping even the ones who scattered.
It almost felt no different, here at the range, in front of Isaev, urgency quickening his blood.
As the last shot rang out, Kassian straightened, then signaled the target forward, but stepped in front of Isaev, blocking his view. He looked for a moment at the silhouette, nodded, then removed the paper from its mount.
He turned to the lieutenant then, who still looked doubtful. Kassian hesitated for a few long moments - the shooting had been the easy part - then folded the target in his hands and offered it to Isaev.
His look was contrite as he searched Isaev's eyes, looking for some sign of what he'd seen there before. There were a couple of times he tried to say something, but stopped, knowing how badly words failed.
What did it mean about him, then, that he had to speak in bullets? Kassian ducked his head, diffident, but managed to look up at Isaev once more.
"You weren't wasting your time," he said quietly, then reached out in quick impulse. His thumb brushed the delicate bones of Isaev's wrist, just once, before he withdrew.
Kassian kept his head down as he hurried away, unable to watch Isaev's reaction as he unfolded the paper.
Across the target's chest, a pattern of bullet holes emerged: Извините spelled out in uneven perforations, the letters spilling and angling into each other, but still recognizable for what they were: I am sorry.
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Date: 2006-09-03 08:07 am (UTC)He'd looked askance at Irinarhov, at the touch, as it made him shiver palpably, and he knew the other man must have felt it beneath his fingers, violent and responsive.
Like a reflex. How could that be possible?
Antagonism was forgotten.
Bold questions rose to his lips. He wanted to ask if Irinarhov felt it too, if that was what happened whehe n Andrei had touched him.
If he liked it.
But the Captain had eluded further discussion, hastily and abruptly taking leave of him as soon as he had accepted target sheet.
As he unfolded it, he was struck by surprise, and then by a sharper, more bitter pang he recognized as regret.
Regret, he recalled, tasted of copper and sulfur.
"Izvinitchye," he read, softly.
He sighed, rubbing his brow, leaning against the wall.
"So am I, comrade."
Andrei wished he'd had the presence of mind to grab Irinarhov's sleeve, to hold him. Keep him.
He had reached out, but perhaps not far and hard, or forcefully enough.
He wouldn't make that mistake again.
Irinarov would be there tonight, he thought. It was as good a time as any to have that cognac.
His thoughts spun softly down onto Matvei. His Makno.
Finding him was priority. He couldn't let it lie. It hurt too much to have a brother up in arms, and not in them.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
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Date: 2006-09-03 10:00 pm (UTC)Kassian paused at the building he recognized as the barracks, and then wondered what was next.
He'd forgotten to ask as to where they needed to go after the patrol, and now neither Isaev nor Charushkin where here to tell him. Loitering for the rest of the day, after all, probably was not to order.
Kassian looked about for another Ocelot, hoping to spot the scarlet and black. He actually hoped he would not see Isaev, at least for a while.
He hadn't had the nerve to face Isaev while he read his apology.
He did not know if he could hold his ground against complete and utter rejection, or contempt.
At least, not now. Not when this was all so raw and new. Given time, and distance, he could close himself off from it, like he had done with the other wounds in his life.
Dusya, he thought, and then, Vitya.
He closed his eyes.
Kassian wondered what he thought he was doing exactly, and with a man like Isaev. What was it between them, anyway? Isaev had picked him out immediately, and had refused to let up. Kassian's best efforts, both intentional and non-, had not been enough to drive Isaev away, and now, he no longer wanted Isaev at arm's length.
His body still felt taut, and coiled like a spring. It occurred to him that he could use a cigarette but frowned for thinking it, even though he could stand to have his nerves cooled about now.
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Date: 2006-09-03 10:13 pm (UTC)Ocelot had picked the dark haired man out like a rose in a cold fireplace, and he conceded that this, at least, was one advantage of his relative diversity.
However, he reminded himself, if this were nature, he'd have been picked off long ago, like an albino deer in the summer...or, in this case, like a snowmink whose color didn't shift with the advent of winter.
Irinarhov, however, usually did the picking. And did it well, as Ocelot had observed.
So perhaps a little dark smudge on his flaxen fleet was not intolerable.
"Irinarhov. I need a moment of your time."
He was convinced the sniper was his best hope for information, and so preoccupied with his own agenda that it didn't occur to him to wonder what the hell he was doing wandering around the base like a cenobite on reflection.
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Date: 2006-09-03 10:59 pm (UTC)"Yes, Major," he said, and turned his considerable focus on his commanding officer. Isaev had called Ocelot a kid, which on one hand was ironic, and on the other, perhaps inaccurate.
After all, age was relative thing. Experience counted for more.
Ocelot had it, he got the feeling, and that was enough for him.
Dutifully, he waited for Ocelot to speak, not needing to fill up silence with words.
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Date: 2006-09-04 01:13 am (UTC)"Walk with me, Captain. I'm on my way to find a spaceman. I thought I'd try his office first, just to give due credit to Occam's Razor, and, barring the easiest solution being correct, I'm heading down into the tunnels."
He paused, as the sniper dutifully fell into line.
He gained a level of personal comfort, when under explicit command, that he had not displayed when interacting with his new fellows that morning. Ocelot had noted at once the ill ease, the reticence. He had scowled. The file seemed accurate. A misanthrope.
It concerned him less after he'd seen the sniper at work.
Slightly less still when he glimpsed moments of responsiveness toward Isaev, the ever-reliable socialite.
It didn't concern him at all now.
Irinarhov was a man who liked to serve, for whatever reason. Denied the arms of a mother or a lover, perhaps, finding his proxy in the cold comfort of military strictures.
Imanov would have a word for it, and a whole accompanying pathology.
Ocelot could understand a man like that. Trust a man like that. To the extent that he ever would trust a man.
"You see a lot, Irinarhov." It was not a question.
Ocelot pulled out one of his guns and gave it a lazy jerk to set it spinning.
"You see, I'm hearing things- or rather, not hearing them. Murmurs when I leave, silences when I enter. There's been something curious going on since this morning, and I want to know what it is."
He locked his gaze onto the Captain's.
"I'm not the only one. Major Raikov noticed it too. So tell me. What the hell is going on, Irinarhov?"
Ocelot smiled obscurely.
"I'm fairly sure you're privy, even if you're avoidant."
He paused, cocking an eyebrow.
"Although you certainly seemed to warm up to our Andrusha. Our poor little rich boy. It takes some ruthless genes to kill men with your own bare hands."
His lip curled.
"I guess he had a lot to prove."
Ocelot didn't watch Kassian's reaction, turning his eyes up to the smoking tower above the weapons hangar.
"I'm pretty sure, whatever this little undercurrent of chatter is, Isaev's got a pretty good idea of what the topic is. And I'm pretty sure, gregarious as he is, that you've heard an earful."
He narrowed his eyes, catching the gun in midmotion.
"Now spill."
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Date: 2006-09-04 02:59 am (UTC)Which was what made the major's question so strange. He'd openly admitted to topping Major Raikov, and now was worried about gossip?
In Kassian's experience, secrets unkept very quickly became old news. He frowned, trying to work out Ocelot's motive.
Kassian was fairly certain Ocelot was referring to the earlier incident at the range, when he'd come upon the Ocelots gossiping, listening to Charushkin's tale.
Charushkin had treated it like a secret at least, and that had been the others' reaction as well. So perhaps Ocelot, unaware he'd been seen, had sought to make an ironic joke about his interactions with the other major, thinking no one would catch on.
Strange that he'd think no one would notice in such a tight-knit squad, Kassian thought, but that just made him think of Isaev.
He sought to get his train of thought once more on the right track. So then Ocelot was wondering what rumors his squad gossiped about - perhaps even suspecting. But if Kassian told him, he would be admitting that Charushkin had been spying.
Charushkin didn't care for him, that much was clear, but he doubted he deserved a betrayal.
Kassian watched Ocelot flip his Makarov in the air. Ocelot handled his guns like extensions of his own body, personifications of his will. If were almost anyone else, Kassian would feel distrustful of such casual and flashy displays, apprehensive of an accident - sooner or later, the odds caught up.
But Ocelot must have been born with a pistol clenched in each tiny fist, and his hand on his gun was true.
Kassian was quiet as he thought over his options, but when he had been silent long enough to draw Ocelot's gaze, he spoke, his voice even and measured. "Major, I can't say."
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Date: 2006-09-04 03:30 am (UTC)He didn't react to Irinarhov's refusal, except to smile tightly.
"You can, Captain, I assure you. Although I admire this surprising devotion to the covenant of my men, hopefully I can convince you to find a similar devotion to me."
He sighed, scowling, and he knew he looked his age for a moment.
"Look," he leveled. "I don't care who said it. They're all safe, Captain, so you can hang up your painful principles. I only want to know what they're saying."
He smirked.
"We'll pretend you just heard it through the grapevine, instead of from a particular little bird."
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Date: 2006-09-04 04:30 am (UTC)It now was only a question of trust.
If Ocelot was telling the truth, and would hold no one to blame, Kassian could speak with impunity. He supposed the man had a right to know what was being whispered about him behind his back, after all.
Perhaps it would put Ocelot's mind at ease. He'd heard that guilty men slept soundly only after their capture.
It was not his place to question, nor to disobey, though it also was not to break the trust of men who might one day call him brother.
He balanced his options in his mind as if calibrating his rifle.
Finally, he decided: there was no use in keeping his honor with the Ocelots if he alienated their leader.
He launched into it, without preamble. "We were discussing your -" how had Isaev phrased it? - "lateral fraternization with Major Raikov in the east wing this morning."
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Date: 2006-09-04 05:17 am (UTC)His eyes flung out wide, wide, wide- wide as if they'd been painted on, like a Matrushka doll's.
"What?" he managed, not quite trusting his ears, or his interpretation.
He took a deep breath.
"Please. Tell me. That lateral fraternization doesn't mean what I think it means."
Oh god. How the fuck had this idea gotten planted in Charushkin's fertile little brain?
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Date: 2006-09-04 06:03 am (UTC)Kassian was surprised that the major would be so shocked to hear it, his secret uncovered.
"No, Major, I think we are thinking of the same thing. Though I suppose I could be wrong."
Kassian did not spend a large amount of time in gossip, after all.
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Date: 2006-09-04 09:27 am (UTC)The time for innuendo was well past. Blunt reprisals for blunt force trauma, he thought, dazedly.
Ocelot rubbed his brow, without waiting for confirmation from the Captain.
"No fucking wonder. No fucking wonder they were...Christ, but how?"
He stopped, and looked directly at Irinarhov, scowling fiercely, his eyes bright blue and vexed, his cheeks as flushed as his cruel, shapely lips.
"I don't mean 'how did they find out', Irinarhov," he declared, glaring. "I mean, I'm not. I've never touched the bastard. Not once. We're off limits, strictly hands on the table. Friends, that kind of thing."
It occurred to Ocelot that there was one sure way trouble got started, and that was through Ivan Raikov.
He narrowed his eyes.
"I'm going to fucking eviscerate him."
The threat was convincing enough to the ear; however, it rang depressingly hollow in his own mind. He couldn't really deny that Raikov had seemed as bemused and quizzical as he was at the odd looks and quiet whispers that followed them, together and separately.
And if Raikov didn't do it, that meant there was no one to take this out on.
No one to blame.
It was just not fair. His fingers itched to pull the trigger.
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Date: 2006-09-04 12:44 pm (UTC)The indignation that crossed Ocelot's etched face was just too raw.
After a moment, he understood. It wasn't that the idea of relations with Raikov was so offensive, it was the outrage of being accused of something Ocelot just didn't do.
That, Kassian knew.
He gave Ocelot a single, somber nod to show him that he had accepted his words as truth.
"Use it to your advantage," he told Ocelot. "Embrace it."
Denials would only strengthen belief, and turn the knowledge into a precious, dirty secret to be flaunted about. With open admittance, the novelty would wear off, and if it went far enough, would shift the rumor in the opposite direction, to that of merely a grand joke.
Of course, Ocelot could always try another tactic, of trying to ignore it completely, though given the circumstances, Kassian didn't think it would work.
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Date: 2006-09-05 12:26 am (UTC)"Embrace it," he said, angling his gun at the sniper and ticking it thoughtfully. "Not bad, Captain."
He smiled darkly.
"Not bad at all."
It was a tactic he might have thought of himself, once he calmed down enough to detach from the immediate insult of matters.
He set his jaw.
"Shouldn't be hard to sell to Raikov," he snorted, tipping his gun up under the band of his beret to adjust it. "Not bad, Irinarhov. You're surprising me with your usefulness. Don't stop."
Ocelot paused, looking at the sniper sidewise.
"Shouldn't you be joining your unit at the barracks for recon?" he said, narrowing his eyes.
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Date: 2006-09-05 03:34 am (UTC)"Yes, Major," he said simply, taking Ocelot's words as a dismissal. He gave a short nod before turning to head back to the barracks, before Ocelot thought to question his earlier loitering.
In truth, Kassian had not been expecting things to go so well with the major. Kassian was not the sort of man who felt the great need to impress his commanding officers, though having Ocelot favorable to him certainly made things easier.
Especially considering how he'd managed to earn the ire of both Imanov and Charushkin.
And possibly Isaev as well, he thought with a frown, though for some reason he didn't feel as anxious. Talking to Ocelot had settled him even though he wasn't sure why, and when he caught sight of other Ocelots, he found himself searching for Isaev, rather than hoping to avoid him.
If Ocelot's personal crisis could be settled by a matter of perspective, then perhaps so could Kassian's.
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Date: 2006-09-05 04:58 am (UTC)Even some time later, he was no less impressed. Nor any less moved by the intent that drove Irinarhov to carve out his apology in metal and paper.
He reached up, frowning, tracing the low, ragged edge of a bullet hole with his finger. Following the topography of Irinarhov's skill.
He could trace the muscles of the sniper's trigger arm the same way, Andrei thought. Raw and wrought in bursts of violence, remnants of a barrage of a life.
But not...unpleasant. No. In fact...
Andrei snipped the thread of his thoughts, glancing outside through the window across the room.
It was almost five o clock and the last of the mountain light was fading outside. The four bed barrack was deserted; Senior Lieutenants Kolyin and Semeyonev kept the duty opposite from Imanov and he, and Ilya was indisposed, as Andrei knew all too well. If he chanced to forget, he was reminded by the silence.
He'd tried to stop by the infirmary on his way back to the barrack. Khostov had refused him entry, saying that Ilya needed his rest, and that exposure should be avoided until his fever went down. He'd persisted, even going so far as to lean into Khostov's personal space, which should have given the slender Doctor pause, as an Ocelot could be physically intimidating when he was inclined- but the chilly man perservered.
No visitors. Come back tomorrow, when your friend isn't running a fever of 106 and delusional.
Andrei had failed in finding Matvei, so far, but figured he would hear him if he appeared. The Junior Ocelot Lieutenants were housed in the room next door. Charushkin's bunk abutted the wall on the other side of his and Ilya's.
Parallel to his own, actually.
Sometimes they amused themselves by knocking quietly on the wall in morse. He always tapped out good morning to Makno, without fail, and usually good night, unless he was distracted or unable.
He practiced tapping out an apology, knowing the room was empty. The sound resonated hollowly, softly, and he settled back, hands behind his head, his gaze falling once more on the target sheet, and his thoughts falling back to the Captain's dark and solemn gaze.
Early moonlight scattered across the floor.
Any moment now, he thought, I'll turn on the lamps.
He lacked the ambition at the moment, but that could change.
These occasional odd moments of contemplative silence were still strange to him, after so may years in the constant company of comrades. As he got promoted up the officer scale, his rankmates became fewer, and the lodgings became more rarified- Ilya and he nearly had this room to themselves, as their counterparts kept diametrically opposed hours.
However, even silence with Ilya in the room, reading or sleeping, or lying quietly, like he was now, felt inhabited.
This felt like solitude, nothing more.
Irinarhov, he supposed, had an entire room to himself, as they had no other Ocelot holding the rank of Captain. That was good luck on the sniper's part. Andrei thought Irinarhov would probably prefer it that way.
Andrei wasn't yet sure if it suited him- maybe he really hated the silence, or maybe merely missed his comrades more than usual because of the unpleasantness of the day.
He wondered which side of the officers' barracks Irinarhov had been assigned to.
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Date: 2006-09-05 04:54 pm (UTC)Whilst he couldn't pin down the purpose, he was right when considering the nature of it - the sniper respected Andrei. Perhaps the same way Matvei had done, once he'd gotten over Andrei's first impressions.
He came across as a blasé, rude kind of bastard, in the first moment. A second attempt at his company showed he never meant it, and he just considered everyone friend enough to consider teasing acceptable.
He was just too forward, sometimes. He could brush off the world, carefree, unconcerned, but he forgot that the world didn't necessarily brush off him in the same fashion.
Matvei knew and was uncomfortable with the fact.
Seeing as Kassian was leading Andrei towards the range, he ended up prowling near the kitchens wistfully, wracking his brains on how he could tell Andrei what he was thinking. He needed to say it so he would understand, not just hear the words, pretend to be listening, and continue on his merry way.
... Maybe it wasn't the right thing for him to say. He was weighing up his doubts, afraid that maybe it was his perspective in the way, and he was just odd, or that if Andrei took it to close to heart, he might lose a very good friend.
No, he was making up excuses. He was going to have to grit his teeth, and do what friends did, even if they didn't like it very much.
Like battle prowess: ineptitude, not cowardice.
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Date: 2006-09-05 11:09 pm (UTC)Finally, when Kassian returned to the officers’ barracks at the end of the day, he took a slow pace through the hall and as he passed each room, looked sidelong.
It was easily explained – a newcomer wanting to plot the lay of the land, to know where his comrades were quartered – but in truth, he still only recognized a few faces, and knew fewer names.
He’d been a bit preoccupied.
When he came to the quarters he’d been hastily assigned much, much earlier that morning, he looked in, but all four bunks still had razor-tucked corners and unwrinkled coverlets. No personal effects imprinted even the small personal spaces on the wall next to each bed, and he’d just thrown his duffle in the corner. None of the spaces were earmarked as his, which meant, with no bunkmates, he could choose what he wanted.
Back when he’d still been a major, he hadn’t had to worry about it – instead, he’d had an entire room to himself. But earlier in his career, whenever he’d been dragged through the ranks reluctantly, and by default, he’d preferred the top bunk by nature; instinct told him higher ground was safer. Back then, he’d been assigned to so many squads, and some that were crowded, that he’d just learned to accept whatever was available.
Faced with a choice, he hesitated, studying each bunk, then finally chose the set by the door. The door opened inward, and would temporarily block anyone’s view of his position until they’d fully committed to coming inside. It meant he could see without being seen, even if but for a few seconds, which he found comforting enough to be his new home.
Kassian fetched his duffle and dispensed his gear. Spare uniforms in the closet with spare boots underneath, kit and field gear in his footlocker. He’d had to leave his rifle behind, in the unit’s arms room and even now, found himself noticing its lack. In the field, it was expected that a man sleep with his rifle, but in more civilized areas, there were regulations.
Though Kassian doubted Major Ocelot did without his guns at night.
Kassian carried very little in the way of personal effects, having found over the years that mementos tended to accumulate, taking up space in an already crowded pack.
Aside from his rifle – which was far and away his most treasured possession – he carried only five keepsakes with him.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-05 11:33 pm (UTC)Kassian tossed his rough-edged copy of the Iliad up to the top bunk, marring the perfect tucks as it bounced. He’d actually had this particular book for some time now, which was unusual, but as of late, he just hadn’t been in the mood for reading.
The second thing he always carried with him was his case of medals. He had no need of them, really, except on formal occasions, and some, he just found absurd. He’d gotten one particular medal for nothing more than getting wounded in Stalingrad, as if that had been some great task.
The others were more generally prestigious – the Order of Lenin was not given out lightly, after all – but still, Kassian felt no need to open the case as he slipped it into his footlocker.
The third token was more personal, and he climbed up on the bunk to tack it on the wall where his head would rest. On the surface, it seemed rather ordinary: a slightly worn black and white photograph somewhat jaundiced with age. Arranged in neat rows were the unsmiling countenances of a squadron of men, each face terribly serious, including his own.
Out of all the memories he carried around in a tangible form, it was the one he thought most often of abandoning. It had been so long ago now, ten years, and he wondered at the point of carrying it around. Unlike what conventional wisdom said, time had not eased the ache, and when he looked at the photograph, he could only recall more bad than good.
Perhaps he was just a glutton for punishment.
The fourth was already in his pocket – he literally always carried it around: a single ruble, pierced by a bullet into a near-perfect hoop, years ago. One side was nearly smooth and curled in at the center, while the opposite side blossomed outward, an exit wound.
Unlike the photograph, the coin brought only good memories, of silly games on the target range or in the field, and drunken shooting challenges. He’d won nearly a month’s worth of ration coupons with one particular challenge, and recalling the memory of it could almost make him smile.
The fifth thing was the oldest; somehow it had survived over twenty years. A letter, the last he’d received from his mother, a month before Kiev had fallen. It was otherwise perfectly ordinary – she’d written about life at home, the factory, her garden. He kept it for sentimentality’s sake, though no longer felt the need to read it. Kassian slipped it in his footlocker with his kit.
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Date: 2006-09-05 11:34 pm (UTC)Kassian was hesitant to ask, and had the feeling that the other Ocelots would hesitate to tell him. Both Isaev and Charushkin had been right, he thought, about his own initiation. It was already too late, and there would be no point. It would not change anything, not with the way things had started.
What should be done, then? Nothing? Isaev seemed to think so, and perhaps, he was right.
Another matter of trust, Kassian thought.
He’d extended his trust to the major and had been justified. Perhaps, he should extend his trust to his fellow Ocelots, as well, instead of keeping them at arm’s length.
And then there was Isaev himself.
Kassian’s head tipped and his gaze became hooded.
How far was he willing to trust Isaev?
Kassian closed his eyes, took in a long, slow breath, and then exhaled, like he did just before he committed to the shot.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-06 08:39 am (UTC)He heard the sounds of the night shift beginning, the sergeants and lieutenants calling orders and the tramp of unified boot clacks on the pavement.
That was nice.
He let his thoughts drift to Captain Irinarhov.
Kassian. Yes. That was his name, though it felt almost unacquainted with the man Isaev had met.
He thought perhaps he should find him, tell him that he had no reason to be sorry, that everyone was always so fucking sorry for nothing at all.
That maybe it was better to show than to tell. A handshake, a grin. A hand on the shoulder.
Tell him that for what it was worth, he was sorry too, and that he didn't know why he was drawn to the scars of fortitude and pain, like the scent of fresh blood in the ocean of his passion.
Why he was so intrigued by a jaded marksman with an obsidian gaze, and years of hard and brutal life beyond his own.
Fuck the motivation, he thought. The result is the same in any case.
Andrei rolled over, pulling off shirt and settling back.
At least he could rest his eyes and listen to the Grad, alive by night.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 12:55 am (UTC)When he opened his eyes and checked his watch, it was past midnight, and someone was banging on the door.
"Andrushushka!" the individual hissed. "Da vai!"
It sounded like Igor Timorovich.
"Za chem?" he tossed back, playfully. Ha. As if he'd really forgotten about the night's main event.
He rolled out from beneath his bunk and pulled on his striped shirt, buttoning and belting his jacket over it. Then he pulled on his gloves, scarf and beret.
Charushkin and he would switch to black gloves and balaclavas before they attempted to snatch Vladislaus from the GRU barracks.
He pushed open the door of his bunk room and found Ocelots milling about in the hall, cagey and grinning, chattering amongst themselves.
"This looks like a fucking Bolshoi audition," he cracked, grinning at his comrades. "Are you here to try out for Swan Lake?"
He glanced around, not seeing Matvei, or for that matter, Irinarhov.
Andrei glanced at Fyeodor, also a junior lieutenant.
"Where's Motya?" he asked, frowning.
"He's up and about. Getting rope, I think," the Ocelot added with a grin.
"Ah, very good," aid Andrei, crossing over to the door he assumed was Irinarhov's, as it was Captains' quarters, and previously empty.
No need to make a big deal of it. He was one of them, and he needed to go with them.
Andrei raised his fist and pounded smartly on the door, a military-style knock, succint and audible.
"Irinarhov," he called. "Hands off your cock, bratan. Duty calls."
The welcoming committee would shortly be in session.
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Date: 2006-09-07 02:49 am (UTC)His lips twitched sideways.
"All right," he called, and made a note of his page before setting the book on his bunk and hopping down to the floor.
He exited to find Isaev standing there, and the other Ocelots milling about. None of the others seemed to pay him much mind but rather were intent on something else, joking privately with each other.
Kassian felt strangely at ease among them.
Perhaps it was true, that he was an Ocelot now, but it was Isaev's face he searched the longest. If ire or resentment lingered, he saw no sign, and the lieutenant's tone had been light.
"I'm here, comrade," he said with a nod, wondering idly if Menelaos had been prophetic.
He supposed he would find out, this night.
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Date: 2006-09-07 04:42 am (UTC)"So, here's the deal."
He braced his forearm against the wall and leaned forward casually, confidentially.
"Charushkin and I are infiltrating the GRU general barracks at 1 AM to...acquire the new guy. After that we'll bring him to the soldiers' communal banya..." he continued, absently tilting his head from side to side, "...where the whole unit will be waiting, naked. Oh, bring your balaclava."
no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 05:23 am (UTC)Probably something unspeakably humiliating. Isaev had been quite adamant about wanting to shield it him from it, after all.
He would find out, he knew, but until then he had to put up a good front, though he had to admit part of him was intrigued. Maybe it was the glimmer in Isaev's cinder eyes and the smile that curved his lips. So animated.
Kassian decided this might not be so bad after all.
"I'll follow the others," he told Isaev, tilting his head to match the other man's gaze, now more curious than skeptical. "Good luck with your mission, Isaev."
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Date: 2006-09-07 06:01 am (UTC)"I don't need luck," he said, slyly. "I was born under the auroraborealis, you know."
He paused, smiling slightly, letting his eyes skirt the edges of the Captain's gaze.
"All the same...maybe I'll take it, from you. I appreciate the thought behind your gifts, Kassian Dmitrevich."
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Date: 2006-09-07 06:16 am (UTC)Andrei Isaev was not bad to look at, Kassian thought, but glanced away before he let it show.
"Can't hurt," he said mildly. "You can share some with Charushkin if you want."
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Date: 2006-09-07 06:33 am (UTC)"Charushkin can find his own fucking luck," he said, meaningfully. "Yours is spoken for."
He thought back to Irinarhov's first apprehensive expression at the revelation of their plot.
"Oh, hey, Irinarhov...don't worry," he said hastily. "We're not going to...abuse him, or anything. Just, you know...a bunch of naked men makes more of an impact on the psyche. He'll drink just to forget," he laughed.
Or to disinhibit, his mind added, dryly.
"Do svidanya, tovarishch," he murmured, giving a flip salute as he backed down the hall.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 06:49 am (UTC)He ducked back into his room to grab his balaclava, then caught up with the others, who had already started to move. He found himself feeling more at ease around them, glad for their unspoken acceptance. Imanov might command the squad, but Kassian wondered if the Ocelots followed Isaev's cues.
As they moved down the hall, Kassian trailed behind and let the others go first, already feeling like the space was his.