The Search For Vladya the Coward

[imre-nico.livejournal.com]

Andrei breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him.

That had been easy. Pleasant, really.

He wasn't sure why he lacked the instinctive fear of the man that everyone else seemed to carefully carry in a handkerchief. Probably had something to do with being the son of a party member, and growing up seeing far worse beasts.

The Fury was a violent, tormented man. Russia was full of violent, tormented men. He'd seen them all his life- on the streets, in the taverns, in the Palace Square. Beating their wives and daughters, knifing other men in alleys, sodomizing the weaker. Dragging themselves upright in the morning again, to drive his father's car and shine his boots.

Those were broken men. Wounded and furious. Dangerous, certainly, if one was too trusting, or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But they weren't beasts.

Real beasts were sleek and well-fed, and their wives wore white mink. Real beasts had smiles and platitudes that killed more slowly and painfully than any britva to the gut.

Andrei had been raised by wolves.

It might have made a good folk tale, if not for the lack of a cautionary moral.

Isaev sighed. The scarf was his again. And next time he saw Ilya he'd be wearing it, prominently, so as not to catch hell from his comrade.

Ilya was very sentimental. Especially when he was drunk.

Andrei grinned.

Irinarhov. He'd almost missed spotting the fucker, he was so still and unflinching in his perch.

"Ochi chornoyje," he sang loudly, throwing open his arms. "Ochi krasivy..."

Comments

[vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com]

Vladislav had always been an early riser, and it appeared that neither the alcohol, the naked scavenger hunt in the tank yard, as well as his marathon run around the east wing, had done nothing to change this habit.

Well, almost nothing, he did wake up with a pounding headache and a new uniform, and a singular desire to escape from the insanity of his new base and his new unit.

It was surprisingly easy for Vladya to sneak off the base, and the trip down into the jungle wasn't all that difficult. But if he wanted to have any amount of peace he would have to do better than just walking off.

Thankfully, Vladislav had an extensive knowledge of tracking techniques, and with that came an equally extensive knowledge of how to avoid them. So, the first order of business was throwing off the scent trail, he removed his boots and socks and rolled up his pants before trecking through a stream, going upstream first.

After that he carefully put his boots back on and made a very clear trail leading further upstream, and then away from the creek, walking in a patch of soft dirt that would leave clear footprints. After he felt he'd made enough of a trail in that direction he once again removed his boots and socks and carefully backtracked, stepping from hard rock to fallen branch to tree stump to avoid leaving footprints.

This path lead him back to the stream, where he went downstream, passing his original entry point with little more than a casual glance. He figured he had some time before the search would begin, so he was determined to lay down as many false trails as he could, walking in circles and doubling back on himself and climbing along rocks where ever he could.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian's mouth pulled sideways, and he ducked his head as he straightened. His cheeks flushed, and he glanced around to see if there were any witnesses to Isaev's...serenade.

Fortunately, they were alone in the wing, which was probably why Isaev had done it.

Still, it was shameless, but Kassian couldn't quite maintain his usual gruff expression.

Dark eyes, burning eyes. It was a traditional folk song about love and...its complications, he supposed.

His own dark eyes gleamed. "Funny, Isaev," he said. His mouth threatened to turn upward even further. "Perhaps I should sing to you, and see how you like it."

There was another song he remembered, from a long time ago. "Ocharovatel'nye glazki ocharovali vy menya," he recited as he shouldered his rifle and strolled down to Isaev slowly.

By the time he made it to where Isaev stood waiting, he'd managed to turn his smile into more of a smirk. "I see you made it out of the lion's den unscathed," he murmured. "Good."

His gaze went to the crimson scarf around Isaev's neck.

"Imanov should be pleased," he added.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"Mne nenavidet' tebya nado, a ya bezumnaya lyublyu?" supplied Andrei, with a grin and a vault of his eyebrow. "Khuy, Irinarhov, I don't know whether to be flattered or outraged."

'Charming eyes', Irinarhov and countered with, and not unsmoothly. Ironically, it was a song he'd had sung at him before. His mother had favored it, as had some of the more audacious girls he'd known.

But never had it seemed so appropriate as it did when coming from the sullen, repentant lips of the brooding sniper.

"I like being sung to," he added, as an afterthought. "I find it endearing."

And he did. Ilya, there was someone that found his voice at the bottom of a bottle. When they were both pleasantly faded, Andrei loved lying on his bunk and watching Ilya break into lusty choruses of "A Cossack was Riding Beyond the Duna", replete with sweeping arm gestures and solemn bravado.

"Thanks for watching my back, comrade," he added, after a moment of fond reminiscence. "Fortunately, the man seems rational enough in casual matters. Either that or I'm not worth killing."

Isaev's fingers touched the scarf at his neck briefly as Irinarhov mentioned Imanov.

"Yes," he said. "It's a good thing I could get it back. It would have made for some real disharmony in our household."

He referred wryly to their shared barrack, but as he did, caught a piercing look in the Captain's eyes, and felt the sodium light of his stare, as if he was trying to illuminate a dark corner of Isaev's comment and read the writing on the wall.

"What is it?" he asked, slowly, frowning. "You think it wasn't worth the risk, don't you."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian continued to hold Isaev's gaze, but only for a few moments. His eyes dropped to the length of crimson that twined idly around the lieutenant's neck.

He reached out, gently, to touch it, letting the soft material slide between his fingers. The caress was thoughtful. Light, almost reverent.

Kassian let the contact linger, as if seeking something, trying to read some chronicle in the pattern of fabric.

"No," he said, finally. "I don't think that."

Slowly, he lifted his gaze, and regarded Isaev. The smallest of dents creased the young lieutenant's smooth forehead, right in the space between his eyebrows. If they were not in a public arena, Kassian would have reached out to touch that spot, just to feel it.

"Of course it was worth the risk...if it means enough to you," Kassian said, somberly.

Once more, he regarded the scarf. It was slung haphazardly over Isaev's shoulder. Not wrapped multiple times around the neck, and then tucked neatly into the uniform jacket as per the standard way to don the signature Ocelot accoutrement.

His fingers curled into the indulgent wool.

It would only take a single tug to pull the scarf free, Kassian thought, but he let go instead.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei looked away, not wanting to meet the sniper's eyes for a moment, as it seemed like a statement that demanded a reply. It had been phrased rheotorically enough, but Irinarhov's eyes asked a question the remark did not.

"It means a great deal," he said, slowly.

He let his hand seek Irinarhov's rifle.

"Symbols, you know, come to have their own life. Especially in combat."

The scarf, though identikit, had come to stand for the indescribable bond between himself and Lt. Imanov, something elusive and special that was beyond brotherhood.

The Captain deserved some kind of explanation for why Andrei had been so keen to retrieve the insignificant accoutrement. Irinarhov probably didn't really care beyond idle curiosity, but just in case he did, Isaev could leave the door open for him to pursue the matter.

"We swapped them, two years ago, after the first time we got drunk together." He paused, looking up, meeting Kassian's eyes squarely. "Imanov and I."

Isaev fell silent, offering a slight smile.

"You," he said, after a moment. "You came to watch over me."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian held Isaev's gaze as if he could look inside the lieutenant if he just peered hard enough, and see what was there.

There had been several times during their short association when Kassian was struck by how self-possessed Isaev was, in spite of his few years. Something about him had just struck Kassian as mature. Isaev was one of those people with a complete sense of identity. But in spite of that, Kassian realized that he had to remember that Isaev was young.

Slowly, he nodded. "Two years is a long time," he murmured, obscurely, and reached out again. He took one end of the scarf and solemnly wrapped it back in place, though he did not tuck it in.

"But you're right," he added as he finished, letting his hand rest lightly on Isaev's jacket, over his chest. "I am here to watch over you."

The sniper's eyes were dark and fond.

His mouth twitched as his gaze dropped to Isaev's full lips, though here in the hallways of the East Wing, he wouldn't let it linger. Instead, he just tugged on Isaev's beret affectionately.

"Ocelot was here," he said after a moment. "He told me that Borishnakov's gone AWOL. We're to take the squad into the lowlands by the mangrove swamp and find him."

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Isaev's voluptuous mouth lost its gentle curvature abruptly.

"What?" he asked in a low, dark tone.

No Ocelot had ever gone AWOL from the squad. It was unthinkable. These men were handpicked, proud. It would have been pure disgrace. It was an insult to the uniform.

"Borishnakov can suck my candy," Andrei said, flatly.

This was a bad fucking sign indeed. Either the junior lieutenant was a first class coward, or he was an attention whore.

Neither option conformed to their unspoken dynamic of brotherly solidarity and uniform loyalty.

"He did this on purpose. He wants the entire squad to spend a whole day looking for his precious ass. He wants us all to jack him off, Irinarhov. One big circle jerk for Vladislaus."

He snorted.

Apparently the fact that they'd planned and devoted a whole welcome party around him just wasn't enough. No, Borishnakov was fancier than that. He felt compelled to hijack the entire squad from their duties so that they could play army with him in the fucking woods.

Andrei pushed aside his irritation, catching sight of Kassian's obsidian gaze, warm and oddly affectionate. Still seeking, somehow, although he had let the matter go more than gracefully.

For some reason, Isaev found it harder to release, because it perplexed him.

When he thought of being without Ilya, he felt- cold, broken. Bereft. And with the cold, a sense of stabbing separation and yearning. But when he looked at Irinarhov, he felt something deep and unfathomable, like a giant and priceless relic that had only broken the surface of the earth.

He had many brothers in the squad. He loved every one. Yes, he'd always loved Ilya best, but what of it? Did it mean that no other comradeship could ever approach it?

"I know that you don't have much use for Ilya," he said, slowly. "And he's given you no reason to."

Isaev put his hand over the hand that braced his chest, leather over leather. He had planned to say something about how Ilya knew him like his own right arm, how Ilya had taken a shot for him once, how Ilya would tell him that a man chose his own family, and his own destiny.

But he found his tongue unwilling. The sniper would understand, he knew. All too well. And he didn't want Irinarhov to soften, to begin trusting Ilya. Because the other thing he knew about Imanov was the ruthless bedrock his church was built on. Ilya would cut down mountains to keep....

"Two years. It's not that long," Andrei said. "Not in the grand scheme."

He paused.

"But sometimes, you take am immediate liking to someone, you know? The same way you take a dislike. As if they're a brother...or..."

He hastily took his hand away, slowly removing his eyes from the sniper's face.

His thoughts turned back to Borishnakov for a moment.

"That little jumped-up prick," he said, coolly, as he turned to make the walk back to the barracks. "He's made an enemy of me."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian fell into step with Isaev. In spite of the difference in their heights, and Isaev's agitated strides, Kassian kept pace easily, staying abreast. It felt natural, like he should be there.

After a moment, he wondered if Imanov had felt the same way.

He'd only known Imanov for all of a half hour before the squad's leader had suddenly taken so ill. He really didn't have much against Imanov, in spite of the man's venom. It was more indifference he felt, which he actually thought was crueler.

But Imanov was not here now, and Kassian was.

And the matter before them was not Imanov at all, but rather Borishnakov, who had fled the squad.

Privately, he was impressed by Isaev's anger. He found the lieutenant's edge compelling. He'd only seen hints of it before, through the cracks of Isaev's veneer, but now it showed through more plainly, like watching through the slats of a cage as a captured animal paced.

"Your uncivilized side is showing, Isaev," he murmured as they crossed the grounds, his voice a low-throated rumble. He found himself wondering what sort of animal lurked in Isaev's eyes after he killed.

"I like it," he added.

He caught Isaev's eye, his own gaze flickering. But he knew this was not the time - Borishnakov, he reminded himself.

Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out and centered. "I haven't been on patrol in the lowlands yet," he said, directing his focus back to where it needed to be. "Is there anything with height on it nearby? If I can find a place to nest, I might be able to spot him."

Even if the mangrove swamp was thick, Kassian was trained to notice movement. There was nothing harder to spot than a fellow camouflaged sniper, and in his time, Kassian had killed a few. Borishnakov's flight through the swamp would not be that secret.

He mulled over the problem for a few more moments. He didn't know the all of the squad's talents yet, but this would be a good opportunity to learn them. Kassian was sure they were all highly competent.

After all, they were chosen by Ocelot, and Kassian imagined that the Major demanded of them the same standards to which he held himself.

"We'll find him," he told Isaev with a slight nod.

Honestly, he had no doubt.

[charushkin.livejournal.com]

Matvei rounded the corner of the nearby building in a sprint, skidding in front of Andrei and the sniper.

He stared at Andrei, appallation written all over his face as he stopped to regain breath.

"I heard it from Fyedor," he said shortly, without waiting for a response. "I'm surprised Ocelot hasn't shot someone for the sake of it. What's the plan?"

He would have normally gone straight to Ilya, but as far as he was concerned, Andrei was next in line. He wasn't keen on the idea of confronting a angry Ocelot for orders; that was the kind of thing best left to Sergei, who hadn't been able to find - hell, he'd only just found out what had happened himself. He had no intentions of having his reputation lumped in with a deserters'.

He looked up at Andrei, flustered and eyes-wide, seeking orders.

He didn't know if there was a plan for something like this - after all, a fleeing soldier would eventually have to return to base as the surrounding fauna and flora turned on him, but as a first-class scout, Matvei had an eye for small details, and he was determined to make Vladislaus captive.

Again.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei wanted to grin at Matvei's sudden, cartoonish entrance, but his anger was too keen and paralytic.

"Charushkin," he said, with an upward nod. "We're going down to the Mangrove swamp right off."

He wondered why Ocelot hadn't shot the bastard, now that Matvei mentioned it.

He must have been really fucking distracted by those rumors after all.

"Let's go," he said, shortly. "I don't want Ilya coming back to this shit."

[charushkin.livejournal.com]

"Yeah." Matvei gave a sheepish smile, immediately picturing Ilya going absolutely spare, Andrei having to calm him down before he could get down to business functionally.

And then, if Ilya found Vladya, he would dispense personal justice. Ilya allowed no insult against his squad unpunished, and he was good at separating heightened emotions from a situation. He would come up with something infinitely worse than a good kicking Andrei might give.

"You bet I'll find him." He grinned. "We jumped him once with rope and tape. We can do it again."

He felt slightly uncomfortable about all this, and wondered if Andrei, or any of the others, would call him on the fact he had avoided the "sacred duty" shit... blame him, somehow, for Vladya's leaving. It didn't seem like he would've appreciated it, anyway, and that just... wasn't Matvei's thing.

He thought he might be forgiven for opting out, but nonetheless, things seemed to have been fucked-up enough this week that he felt it was best not to depend on certainty.

He also didn't seem quite comfortable with meeting Andrei's eye, although he seemed otherwise fine.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian walked with Isaev and Charushkin back toward the yard to gather the other Ocelots. Isaev led the way. The lieutenant looked strung as taut as a bowstring, angry, affronted. Entirely focused on his mission. Even Charushkin, who seemed to be the good-natured sort - when he wasn't singling out Kassian for his ire that was - looked subdued, preoccupied.

In a squad as tight-knit as the Ocelots, Borishnakov's flight came off like a slap in the face.

Brotherhood was inflicted in this squad. Isaev had told him that. Now Kassian saw what he had meant. Once accepted, an Ocelot became a brother for life. To have someone reject that was the greatest insult they could suffer.

They reached the yard where the others gathered, milling like caged panthers. As soon as they saw Isaev they surged forward, rifles clutched in their hands. Some of them looked as angry as Isaev, while others just looked like they were still hungover and spoiling for a fight.

Not a single eye turned in his direction. No one seemed to be questioning his presence.

If there was a benefit to Borishnakov's dereliction, the sniper thought wryly, it was that Kassian now looked good in comparison.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei raised his eyes to the phalanx of Ocelottry.

"I don't care," he said, lightly, "how you get him, or how he doth protest. I don't care if you pistol whip him into next month. I don't care if you drive him into the jaws of a fucking Gavial. But one of you, or me, or all of us, are going to apprehend Junior Lieutenant Borishnakov and send him back to GRU with a brand of white-hot shame on his lemon-yellow ass."

[charushkin.livejournal.com]

"Calm down," Matvei admonished, looking a little concerned at Andrei's temper. "Look, he's going to come crawling back half-chewed if we don't find him first." He gave a shrug, and added, bluntly, "And if he's dead, he's not cut out for the squad. He has no chance of escape. I wouldn't fancy my chances crawling my way past mines for miles."

He exhaled slowly, looking deep in thought, ticking over all the possibilities, all the ideas he could formulate.

Borishnakov could have taken any direction. Logically he might have escaped to the nearest village. Of course, he may have taken his chances with the wildlife, as a smarter man might know that he could be caught there. It was also a question of how far he might have managed to travel. Given he likely had very little equipment, not far enough, especially before it was light.

Matvei assessed all the factors and felt he had a good idea how to begin, but kept quiet. He would wait to see what the others thought.

After all, he was barely a year into GRU, nevermind the squad. He didn't fancy a reputation as a know-it-all, a green kid coming up with half-baked ideas that the more experienced knew would never work. He was more content to trust the judgement of his seniors.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

As Charushkin spoke to Isaev, the other Ocelots were grinning, feral and wolf-like. Some of them rumbled dangerously, trading jokes about Borishnakov's fate.

"Hey, Irinarhov," someone said. Kassian turned to see one of the Ocelots gesturing at his Mosin-Nagant. He'd never learned the man's name, but he looked familiar enough, blonde and sharp-featured, young but with a scar across his jaw.

Kassian nodded.

"Can you give Borishnakov a new asshole with that thing? Right in the middle of his forehead, I mean."

The others laughed.

"Yes," Kassian said, his tone flat.

Slowly, the Ocelots stopped laughing, and eyed him.

After a moment, he shrugged. "But he's already a big enough asshole on his own. We don't need to do anything to him. He's already done it to himself."

The Ocelots nodded, their faces turning more serious.

"Da vai," the scarred Ocelot said, somberly, and shouldered his rifle. The other Ocelots began to form up in hunting packs, itching to move out, united in their singular purpose.

Kassian turned to look between Isaev and Charushkin. "I don't know the terrain yet," he warned. "I'll follow your lead." Kassian faded back to take his self-appointed position as rear guard, ready to watch over everyone.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

The Ocelots were not stone-faced Soviet automatons, like most soldati. Their hand-picked faces wore anger well, and if they looked more like a squad of sullen pin-up models than a mercenary force, their balaclavas his it well enough.

The image of Borishnakov with an anus-brow was enough to crack Isaev's smile once more.

He was sure Irinarhov could re-pave the lieutenant's entire gastric track with lead if he chose to. The plainspoken affirmation was not vanity on Kassian's part; he was simply stating what his use was and what he did.

The sniper had shifted to the back of the squad, he noticed, trailing with intent to cover.

Andrei looked at Matvei.

"Makno," he said with a tip of his jaw. "Will you walk point with me."

He turned to face his comrades, raising his voice slightly.

"We'll take the tunnels and come out through the water cave to save time. The little prick probably went down the mountain path and covered it with snares." He snorted. "If he knows how to lay one."

[charushkin.livejournal.com]

I doubt it.

Matvei gave Andrei a slight nod at once, stepping up.

He couldn't help but look behind him as he settled beside his friend, curious and surprised.

It was strange, how Irinarhov had refused to talk to a single one of them a day ago, and now seemed to fit seamlessly into their design. Still not centre of attention, but nonetheless, it surprised Matvei to see him volunteer himself openly like that. He was intrigued.

But there was no time for idle thought, and he quickly looked away, and mentally mapped out the terrain ahead.

"Andrei," he said quietly, turning towards him, "do you mean the Groznyj Grad under tunnels? With our numbers, we'd be best off by road. The tunnels will slow us down."

He had a feel for how their unit worked, and remembered the river, and how pointless it would be to track where there was a river deep enough to swim in. How the Krasnojorje cliffs were narrow and sloping, designed for one or two effective patrol, and not for the army, and then the Krasnojorje tunnel with its singular ladder...

"Or are you assigning us groups?"

A few of them could walk that distance and easily catch up with the jeeps and bikes on the longer road. Who knew which way their deserter had gone?

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"Go whatever way you want," Andrei replied, succinctly. "My gut says he's well into the rough by now, and that meandering down the cliffs is a waste of time. But who the fuck knows? Split the patrol. Can't hurt."

Matvei was parroting Ilya's logic, he noted. Like having him around when he wasn't, he thought wryly. Ilya was a forge-ahead and fuck 'em type, but Andrei usually subscribed to a more circuitous approach. He liked to cut them off at the pass, catch them unaware, and take them quietly, with horns and a motorcade.

Charushkin might have harbored some lust for him, but he certainly thought the sun shined out of Ilya's ass when it came to command.

Andrei didn't care.

He couldn't be bothered with convincing anyone that his intuition was right, or agonizing over whether it was wrong. Let Charushkin try it his way.

After all, he might have been right.

[charushkin.livejournal.com]

Matvei shrugged. "It's not for me to decide."

Andrei seemed irritated, for whatever reason, and he wondered if he should have just remained quiet. Perhaps his own irritation had brushed off on him, although he had tried to swallow it for the sake of group unity in the meantime.

He settled into quiet thought. Keep his ideas to himself, and follow orders. There would be no mistakes that way.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian's gaze settled on Isaev and Charushkin for a moment.

They were talking, it seemed, though they were too far away and too quiet for Kassian to overhear. He watched their body language and decided that there was still tension between them, but whether it was about him or not, he didn't know. Probably not, though Borishnakov going AWOL on the squad didn't help any lingering tensions between them from the day before.

He shrugged and returned his gaze to the surrounding territory, scanning for any sign of Borishnakov, though he doubted it would be so easy. Isaev and Charushkin's argument was none of his business. They would work it out, for the good for the squad.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei sighed.

Clearly Matvei was irked about something beyond the path of patrol.

"All right," he said coolly, nodding. "Well go your way. Excuse me...Ilya's way."

He turned to the Ocelots and gestured sharply with his arm, then turned and headed down the cliff path.

Picking one's way along the rocks was only treacherous at points. As they walked, he studied the sky.

It looked vaguely stormy in the distance.

He liked thunder by night, lying in his bunk with no obligations and only his thoughts...

and Ilya's warm breath

Andrei smiled slowly.

Nasty weather was better with a comrade, of course.

Suddenly he wondered if Irinarhov liked storms.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

They took the path down the cliffs and through the rugged terrain that Kassian had patrolled yesterday with Isaev and Charushkin, only now they went further. Charushkin was in the lead, and seemed disinclined to have any more conversations with Isaev, though things still seemed tense.

Kassian took the opportunity to pay attention to the path this time. Yesterday, he'd been somewhat distracted, but now he was able to take in their surroundings with a particular eye for sniper positions. It could come in handy someday, even if there was no need at the moment.

The Ocelots settled into a quiet march up the cliffside, eventually cresting at a ridge then heading down a series of embankments that were still covered in half-melted snow. The earlier rumblings and sadistic jokes fell away to a grim sort of determination, the reality of Borishnakov's desertion weighing more heavily on them, the difficult terrain honing their anger.

Eventually the countryside changed: less cliffy, with stout trees and lush greenery. They came to a stream that was probably fed by runoff from the mountains.

The Ocelots spread out in pairs, searching for any sign of the deserter. Kassian wasn't a tracker, but he had a set of eyes that worked. He and another Ocelot moved partway down the stream. After a few minutes the man paused, and pointed to a set of footprints.

"These are recent," the Ocelot said.

Kassian nodded. They followed the tracks upstream until they seemed to angle to the river and disappeared, but when they crossed to the opposite side, the other Ocelot found nothing. They headed back.

The others were milling downstream, angrily. Apparently they'd found several sets of tracks, all from the same pair of boots.

"The fucker did this on purpose," an Ocelot said. He pointed at yet another set of tracks. "He spent a lot of time laying down as many trails as possible, to throw us off."

The others muttered, darkly.

Kassian looked up and spotted Isaev nearby. He caught the lieutenant's eye then moved closer to talk. Technically, Kassian was the ranking officer, but the other Ocelots all clearly looked to Isaev to lead them in Imanov's absence, and that was just fine as far as Kassian was concerned. He had no ego in it, and it was better for the squad.

"You were right," he told Isaev in an undertone. "It is a circle-jerk. He's not trying to get away. If he was, he'd only bother to lay one false trail at the most and then start running, not waste his time making all these other trails. He's probably going to get us chasing after him down here then make back for the base and be waiting at the gate like a slaboyob by the time we finally give up and head back."

He scanned the surrounding terrain.

Borishnakov could be anywhere, even watching them right now.

"You should send someone back to wait near the gates, hidden," he murmured. He was almost tempted to suggest that they all just head back, but then Ocelot would probably show up and ask them what the hell they thought they were doing, since they were supposed to be looking for Borishnakov in the swamp and not loitering around the base.

Kassian shook his head. Now even he was starting to get annoyed, and he had much less to get annoyed about, having only been the squad a day.

He met Isaev's pale gaze, which seemed frosty, anger held in check.

Kassian's expresion nearly mirrored Isaev's. "Who does this guy think he is, anyway?"

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei gave a half smile of wryness and some displeasure.

"I don't fucking know, I really don't. Where does he get off fucking us around like this?"

Irinarhov was right about housekeeping. Andrei paused to snap off a quick command in an undertone, sending Fyedor and Vasya back to flank the main gates under cover. They saluted informally and broke company, shouldering their AKs.

Isaev turned back to the matter at hand, pressing his lips into a disenchanted moue.

He wondered if Ocelot would nix Borishnakov's newly granted Ocelot communication clearance as retribution.

Andrei turned to meet Kassian's eyes, cynically.

"He was on the schedule today, you know, for a nano injection from Khostov," he remarked, raising an eyebrow. "He was going to get Codec, now that he's Spetsnaz elite, and not just regular GRU. Fine time to cunt off and cry in the forest."

Fine indeed, thought Isaev, coolly. Borishnakov had not only fucked his own chances, but screwed several of them out of their booster jabs, which were a necessity to keep the nanomachines running smoothly. The summarily screwed included Isaev himself.

"I fucking hate injections," he muttered, forgetting that Kassian wasn't privy to his interior ruminations. "Nothing prehensile penetrates my corpus without some serious negotiation. Or a direct order."

He paused, eyes narrowing.

"But as much as I hate getting a prick, I hate anticipating them more."

After a moment he gave Irinarhov an aridly dry smile.

"Best to get it over with, eh, Captain."

The high and brutal winds of the Ural Pass were less in evidence here in the valley, and he didn't especially miss them.

They'd have to wade the Mangrove Swamp, and he wasn't particularly enamored of the idea, but they couldn't very well leave Borishnakov unaccounted for. Of course, if they left well enough alone, Krauss' game park would take care of him in short order.

He smirked dark and briefly at the thought of retrieving the deserter's beret in a week, floating on the surface.

But no. Ocelot wanted damage control and accountability. So he would provide it.

Isaev turned his back to the slight breeze, tucking stray strands of overlong blond beneath his beret, and shook a cigarette from his tin, catching it in his teeth and pulling it out.

Time to think a bit.

"So. If you were a complete khokhol, where would you be?" he asked Irinarhov conversationally, lighting up and exhaling.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian watched Isaev, who stood casually while he smoked, cigarette pressed between his lips. The bastard even smoked sensually, though Kassian felt fairly sure Isaev wasn't doing it on purpose.

He turned his gaze to the surrounding jungle, frowning in thought.

"Nearby," Kassian said, slowly. "So I could watch."

He made a face and scanned the treeline, then shrugged.

"But then again, I'm not a complete khokhol, so I might be wrong."

His look briefly turned wry as he caught Isaev's gaze for a moment, sharing the dark humor.

"I was scheduled for an injection today as well," he said. "To overwrite my settings to the Ocelot frequencies."

He supposed it wouldn't happen now, at least not today.

Kassian did not actually mind the injections. Over the years, he'd been poked and prodded and given so many various inoculations that he'd come to accept them with equanimity. Like war, they were just something that happened to you in the Army.

He'd originally been given his first nano injection when he'd made Major, but had been surprised to learn that everyone in Ocelot Unit had them, though it made sense, given they were one of the most elite Spetsnaz units.

Kassian still wondered how he'd managed to be assigned here. He remembered that he had meant to speak to Major Raikov at some point to ask him what had prompted his transfer. Preferably when the Major was in neither a groping nor grinding mood.

His gaze turned back to the river. Borishnakov had seemed to focus on it a great deal, leaving so many false trails nearby. Even if the deserter had only meant to throw them off the scent, it still was a point of reference. Perhaps he continued to make false trails even now.

"Where does this go?" he asked Isaev, looking both up and downstream. "Is there something nearby, some landmark where he could hide? Or where someone could lie in wait and watch for him circle back, if everyone else moves on?"

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"Maybe," said Isaev. "This whole area is full of hollowed logs and loam."

And sinkholes. And gavials. And rigs.

He glanced at the quietly teeming woods around them.

"I don't like to split the squad into singles. Never less than five." He paused, taking a drag, hating it. He wished he had some gum. He'd have to visit the German, once they had Borishnakov in hand.

He glanced around, made an expansive gesture, exhaling.

"Creeping death. Every step. One man has little chance." He shook his head. "Even Ocelot doesn't venture down here without us flanking him. He's arrogant, but not stupid."

Isaev frowned. His balaclava was in his pocket, but he decided not to put it on. It wasn't as if they were stalking an enemy. They were stalking one of their own.

That was the problem.

If it was an enemy, the risks were worth it. A renegade of their own squad posed no imminent threat, and Borishnakov had yet to demonstrate any personal value beyond self-absorbtion.

Andrei was unsure how to proceed, how much to put on the line.

It seemed unfair to these men, to put their asses on the line just because Ocelot wanted payback on a poor choice.

He wondered who had greenlighted Vladislaus Yamirovich, and if Ocelot had anyone else to blame but himself.

"We'll leave three men in this quadrant, and have them tree-sit. It's a gamble, but they'll be relatively safe up high where they can keep an eye on the surround."

He paused, offering his cigarette to Kassian absently.

"I think we need to head for the ridges by Bolshaya Past Base. We can get a good perspective from there, scan they whole valley with your scope and our binoculars."

He glanced at Irinarhov's Mosin-Nagant.

"You got tranqs for that sexy bitch?"

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian nodded. "Five."

But he only needed one.

He usually went light on non-lethal ammunition because he so rarely used it. In most cases, if he found himself summoned to any particular situation, it was because someone needed killing.

Accepting Isaev's offered cigarette in the spirit it was offered - comradeship - he drew a short, reluctant drag, then handed it back.

He still didn't care for smoking, but the nicotine settled in his bloodstream and he felt his annoyance at the situation lessen.

Kassian was still plenty annoyed at Borishnakov. It surprised him. He'd been in the squad such a short time, and he already felt protective. Maybe it was Isaev's influence. Maybe it was something else. Being given a second chance.

He checked his Mosin-Nagant, but didn't load the non-lethal rounds yet.

After all, it looked like there might be plenty of things out here besides Borishnakov that might need killing.

He stood back as Isaev made the assignments. Three Ocelots, all veterans by the look of them, moved off to find tree-perches. The others fell into a line, Charushkin at its lead, and Kassian following behind.

They moved out without further ceremony, heading for higher ground.

[vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com]

As the alcohol thinned in his blood, running off into the forest had begun to seem less and less like an intelligent thing to do. Granted, he certainly didn't want to be anywhere near his new unit if the previous night had been any indicator on how they treated one another.

But running away was quite possibly one of the stupidest things he had done yet. This became particularly apparent when he began spotting traps, at first it was just a pit trap blocking his path that he had to jump over or go around, then a snare that he gave plenty of space, but soon it became apparent that the area was practically covered in them.

Vladislav knew that he couldn't stay in the forest forever, that he needed to figure out a course of action, but he couldn't think of any way out of his current situation.

In a fit or irritation, at both his situation and whoever decided to booby rap the forest, he carefully took apart key pieces of the simple, obviously home-made device, effectively disabling a rather nasty spiked log trap. Disarming them gave him something to do, something to think about while he moved onward.

A loud, piercing, scream cut through the calm, heavy, jungle air from somewhere ahead of Vladya, around the corner blocked off by some rocks. It had startled him so much he'd almost triggered the arrow trap he was currently disarming.

Making a quick decision, he abandoned the trap, leaving it in an armed state while he went to see who was screaming, and why.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

A scream echoed.

Everyone froze. It sounded like a man crying out in both pain and terror, coming from somewhere behind them, deeper in the forest.

"Borishnakov," someone muttered.

In spite of how they all felt - some more deeply than others - and in spite of the jokes they'd made earlier, there were no vindictive looks of satisfaction on any of the men's faces. Instead, their expressions were urgent, troubled. A fellow Ocelot was in jeopardy, and probably needed help. Regardless of the fact that Borishnakov had rejected them, each and every man still felt a responsibility to him.

Kassian looked to Isaev, who nodded and turned his gaze to include the others.

"Go," the lieutenant told them, and nothing more needed to be said.

They went as expeditiously as was prudent, moving in a double-file line with the squad's scouts at the front.

Kassian had been informed, earlier in the morning, that he would be briefed today on the location of all the traps set in the terrain surrounding Groznyj Grad, and given a set of maps to study. No one could have predicted that he'd find himself on a long-range patrol today, so suddenly. He made sure to follow the Ocelot in front of him closely, and was glad they'd stayed grouped together.

Another scream broke the air.

Traveling with quick steps, Ocelot Squad turned from the path and pushed into the forest, heading in the direction of the sounds of distress.

[vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com]

Vladislav wasn't quite sure what he expected to find when he went toward the sounds of the screams, a soldier in a trap, most likely, but this was certainly not something he had anticipated.

The stark white of the lab coat stood out horribly, even more so than his own red and black did. However, the pristine white was stained brown with mud, and now, in addition, pink.

A rather large, angry looking crocodile apparently thought that the scientist made a nice snack, and was currently thrashing back and forth, trying to rip with arm off the flailing, shrieing scientist to make it easier to swallow.

Vladislav's gun was in his hand before he even thought to grab it, an instinct that was extremely useful. Wild thrashing movements made it hard to get a good shot on the writhing reptile, but Vladya was quite use to hitting moving targets.

Of course, generally the moving targets were fleeing rabbits or leaping deer, not large, powerful crocodiles trying to tear a mans arm off.

The first shot hit the beast in the neck, and only seemed to make it angrier. Vladislav wasted no time in putting another three bullets in it's neck and the back part of it's head, aiming there to avoid hitting the still shrieking scientist, who didn't seem to realize he was no longer being eaten alive and appeared determined to scream loud enough to wake the dead.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"That's not a good sign," remarked Andrei, grimly, picking up his pace and reaching for his Makarov.

The gunshots had echoed, a volley of rapport, but the screams had not stopped, or even diminished.

It sounded like something had Borishnakov by the joybag, and was playing bocce with it. Using Tselinoyarsk Animal rules.

Kassian looked equally unoptimistic about the deserter's chances for a glorious death.

"Fucking Krauss," muttered Andrei. "Isn't Volgin enough? Do we really need fucking rejects from Class Sauropsida to make things interesting?"

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

They traveled with haste through the treeline, the screams still strident and now very close. Ahead of Kassian, the first in line came to a halt and the ones behind fanned out around them, taking defensive positions.

When it was Kassian's turn, he moved forward and had to step around the side of a taller man so he could see.

The Ocelots stared, almost incredulous as they eyed the tableau before them: Borishnakov with a gun in his hand, a man in a bloodstained white lab coat, incongruous in the swamp, and an impressively large crocodile that appeared to be dead.

Kassian remembered the reptile that had attacked Gurlukovich, and then shook his head.

Borishnakov, for his part, had a slightly startled expression as he turned to see the phalanx of Ocelot soldiers now surrounding him.

It seemed like Borishankov had a lot of explaining to do, Kassian thought.

[vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com]

It was only natural that all the noise would draw attention from his new Unit, and Vladislav froze when he saw them spread out in the direction he had just come from.

Someone needed to take care of the scientist, but he didn't think his new comrades would be very tolerant of him making any sudden movements. For some reason he had the feeling they'd take it as an insult if he decided that, rather than pay attention to the Ocelots, he decided to check up on the scientist; whose arm was still quite firmly in the dead, toothy grip of the crocodiles massive jaws.

The newest of the Ocelots carefully controlled the expression on his face as he mentally worked through the tangled, mental knots of his current situation.

He had known that they were going to find him when he went towards the sound of the screams, and even if by chance they had missed the high-pitched shriek, the sounds of gun-fire would've brought them running regardless.

However, there hadn't been any other acceptable options. He knew he would never have been able to just ignore the wordless call for help, and there was no way he'd let the crocodile eat someone.

Vladya had a very focused look in his eyes as he stared intently at the group, looking at everyone and no one while he finished his deliberations. He broke off his gaze and physically turned his head to regard the scientist, a silent, subtle suggestion, perhaps even a pleading request, that someone should do something about the bleeding, obviously delirious scientist who was quickly losing consciousness as well as his voice.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

No one seemed to have an expression to suit the occasion. Irinarhov's igneous face looked positively disgruntled, as if there was absolutely nothing in the Stoic Russian's Manual of Responses™ to cover this particular contingency.

Andrei stared, like everyone else.

"I see you bagged yourself a wild physicist," he drawled, finally. "Nice job, Lieutenant. I hear they're unbelievably wily." He paused. "Too bad this poor iguana got caught in the crossfire."

He nudged the gavial's corpse with the side of his jackboot.

Dead, dead, dead.

"Shame," he said, slowly. "She's a big old grandma, this one. Baba Yaga."

He examined the big, carapactic head, running his hand over the raised ridges and scales, and knelt down to look at the jawline, where the huge serrated teeth interlocked in graceful misalignment.

Then his eyes widened.

"Mother with a dick! Is that Sergei's pant leg?"

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

The Ocelots laughed at first. They were accustomed to Isaev's bullshit. But they looked closer anyway. Even Kassian leaned forward. And sure enough, there was a strip of fabric caught in the creature's jaw, standard Ocelot-black trouser material.

"Khuy," and Ocelot swore. "This is Serzhya's crocodile!"

They looked between the dead gavial and Borishnakov, impressed.

Finally, though two of the Ocelots tore their attention away from the dead gavial and back to the scientist. They worked to extricate the man from the trap and bound his wounded arm tightly with a tourniquet. "He needs an immediate evac," one of the Ocelots tending to the scientist said.

Kassian joined Isaev at the creature's head, crouching down to examine the pattern of bullets. He pushed a gloved fingertip at the thick, armored skin and muscular neck. After a few moments, he looked back up at Borishnakov, and the Makarov in his hand.

He shook his head. "You hit the brain stem. It's probably about ten, fifteen millimeters across. If that."

That hadn't been precision shooting he'd heard, and the spare amount of bullets Borishnakov had fired were not enough to drop a creature of such mass and strength from sheer trauma due to nine millimeter rounds alone.

"You got lucky," he told Borishnakov, almost sternly, but then relented and offered him a nod. "Good shooting."

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei's lip curled.

"Well, I'll have to Codec the Major and hope my nano isn't fucked. Otherwise one of you other pricks will have to deal with him. Seeing as Vladya here decided to take us all on a reptile hike, instead of a trip to Khostov."

He paused.

"Although they probably amount to about the same thing."

His hand still rested on the gavial's stone dead skull.

Isaev shook his head slowly, looking down.

"I still think it's a shame."

It couldn't be helped, of course. She'd have finished the scientist, and had Borishnakov as a chaser. And the fact that this animal had taken a bite out of Sergei was an issue that he couldn't deny the others. However, privately he felt that there was no way of holding instinct against a beast like this one.

Killing men had never bothered him much. Men had uncharitable intentions in war. But animals were another matter.

It always hit him hard, for reasons he couldn't pinpoint. Made him think of leopard fur coats at government parties and gorilla hand ashtrays.

Made him nauseous, until he shook it off once more.

"She was just doing what crocodiles do," he muttered, stroking the jagged maw. "I mean, look at that idiot flailing around in his white coat. He was practically trolling for crocs."

He stood up and glanced at the pale, anguished scientist.

"Next time you try to escape, mudak, a word of advice. Take off the fucking coat. It's like a homing beacon. In case you haven't noticed, we're not in the fucking Northern tundra here."

The man's leg, aside from being mangled, had punctures and gashes from being shaken.

Andrei shook his head.

"You'll be carrying around that little reminder for the rest of your life: I shouldn't be so stupid. Or I should have studied herpetology instead of weapons design."

He glanced again at the bloodied mass and shrugged.

"If they can save it."

He blamed the man for getting the majestic gavial killed, as well as for his own misfortune. If he'd just fucking stayed put...did he seriously think he had a chance out here?

Andrei's scarf was coming loose, and he halfheartedly tried to toss the end back over his shoulder, but his mind was elsewhere.

Igor Davidovich was twisting Sergei's trouser swatch in his gloved hands, grinning.

"Hoi, Andrusha," he said, "We should frame this for Gurkukovichka."

Andrei nodded, absently, as the others snickered.

He glanced at Kassian Irinarhov. Impressive, as always, the things he would produce from that quiet, stern mouth. A mouth that was neither as stern nor as quiet as it seemed, Andrei thought, affectionately.

"You're a good man to know, comrade Kasya," he said, formally. "A lot of knowledge in there."

He pointed a finger to the sniper's brow and smiled faintly.

[vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com]

Vladya had shrugged slightly at the comment about hitting the brain stem, he'd been hoping for part of the brain or spine, but he hadn't wanted to go for a full-out head shot for fear of hitting the scientist.

All four bullets were roughly within the same area, though. Four nine millimeters embedded in the thick, tough skin and parts of the skull. He'd been willing to bet that he'd be able to get his target within four tries, even with all the wild thrashing.

He had gotten lucky.

Vladislav remained silent for the most part, but when one of them talked about framing the trousers for Gurlukovich he spoke up. "Or you could get a pair of crocodile boots for him." The scaly hide was tough, and would probably offer a good deal of protection.

It would be a pity to let such a wonderful example of predatory reptile go to waste, though. The crocodile certainly looked pretty large and meaty. It would probably taste a lot better than anything they served up at Groznyj Grad, and Vladya was lamenting the fact that they'd have to just leave the beautiful reptile there.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian's expression softened slightly, and he regarded Isaev with a look as warm as it was brief. The faint lines around his mouth twitched upward slightly, then relaxed.

"You're not so bad yourself, Isaev," he muttered, though his voice was fond and gruff, and only just loud enough for the two of them to share.

His gaze traveled to the gavial. "It is too bad," he said, solemn once more.

A creature like that had lived a long time and clearly had come to have no fear of humans. And the massive beast had survived one encounter with an Ocelot soldier already. That was saying something.

Spetsnaz elite versus giant crocodiles.

That was definitely not part of GRU training, Kassian was sure.

He thought about the way the lieutenant had touched the gavial's ruined head, with both reverence and regret. "She lived a long time," he murmured to Isaev, "and she'll be remembered for longer. Soldiers will be telling this story for years to come, and she'll probably grow larger and fiercer with every retelling."

He shrugged a little, and let the back of his hand graze Isaev's arm in a seemingly casual gesture. "If she knew, she'd be pleased."

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei nodded, meeting his eyes briefly, quashing his emotions after letting them flash for a millisecond, unrestrained.

"I'm all right, Irinarhov."

He patted the sniper's shoulder and gave a lingering squeeze of gratitude.

"I guess I just think it seems like an unfair end to a glorious career. As if you got hit by a train instead of dying in battle."

The crocodile had been playing by the rules. The normal rules did not account for Ocelots.

He looked at Kassian's profile, like a glacier carving through the afternoon light.

"Do you know, she kind of reminds me of you," Isaev said, with a grin. "Hard exoskelton and fiersome jaw. Inerring deadliness."

His smile gained a subtle sincerity.

"But a delicacy on the inside. And a shining example of her trade."

His voice dropped to a subsonic pitch.

"I wonder if she tastes as good," he murmured, with a slow raise of his brow.

He cleared his throat and raised his voice once more.

"Bind that fucker up so his leg doesn't bleed everywhere. I'm not about to be scrubbing up the Kamov's floor. And you- Borishnakov."

He paused.

"Think of something to tell Ocelot."

Andrei nodded.

"We'll back you up on it."

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei's head lifted at that.

"We have a chopper coming. It would be a shame to waste it. At least she could do some good as dinner." He shrugged. "And boots, sure." He grinned. "Although the only person with enough muda to wear something like that is our comrade Major."

"Or his secret boyfriend," snickered someone. "He's pretty fancy."

[vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com]

"Well, if you give me his size I could make a nice pair of boots for this boyfriend of his." It was an offhand comment, these Ocelots didn't seem too horrible now that he wasn't drunk and naked.

They were even offering to let him come up with a story, and back him up on it. This certainly was not something he had expected.

"And Crocodile is very good meat, especially in the tail." His mind was half-focused on the best way to cook crocodile, and what to say about his little excursion into the forest.

Vladislav stepped a little nearer to the large creature, admiring it up close. It certainly was trophy sized.

Already he was sizing it up, picking out which parts of the hide had the least amount of damage and the best scale patterns, where and how to cut it up.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian snorted at Isaev's teasing. The bastard was shameless, no two ways about it, but then again, Kassian liked that about him.

He gave Isaev as companionable elbow in the ribs before the lieutenant turned to issue orders to the squad.

"Hey, Charushkin can find out," one of the Ocelots said with a laugh. "He's good at sneaking around and poking his nose where it doesn't belong."

The others laughed, and Kassian thought he saw Charushkin blush.

Kassian decided he had better start learning all their names instead of just ignoring them.

It looked like he was going to be a real part of this squad now, in spite of his earlier misgivings. It was not what he had wanted going in, but felt pretty sure it was what he wanted now.

The squad busied themselves with rigging stretchers for both injured scientist and dead crocodile. By the time the steady whir of the helicopter's rotors baffled the air, they had rolled the crocodile's body into the sling and gotten the scientist secured and ready to transport.

The helicopter flew over their position and eventually touched down on a flat spot near where the terrain turned more clifflike.

The Ocelots picked up their burdens and moved out to meet up with the helicopter. Those unfortunate enough to draw crocodile duty huffed under the encumbrance.

"Yei bogu, Borishnakov," someone groused. "This thing is heavy."

[vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com]

Vladislav was not particularly fond of helicopter rides. Especially helicopter rides with bleeding scientists and large, dead crocodiles. It was loud, and between himself, the scientist, the crocodile, and the rest of the Ocelot Unit, they were making quite a smell.

He was quite glad that he didn't actually have to carry the crocodile, he didn't let it show but he was rather tired from his early morning jungle excursion. Borishnakov glanced over towards Andrei, having come up with a story.

"It's really dangerous out in the jungle," He commented slightly. "Good thing I saw his tracks leaving the base when I did and went after him." He indicated the scientist with his head when he said that.

It was a good cover story, and that way he'd probably only get in trouble for not reporting it in. Of course, if he'd really been doing that, it shouldn't have taken him as long as it did to track down the scientist, but well, things happened. Like areas where there were no foot-prints. And crocodiles, those seemed to happen rather violently. Then again, everything seemed to happen rather violent and frightening manners.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei nodded.

"All right," he said.

He glanced at the other Ocelots.

"You heard him. He's produced a hall pass. Let's keep it Q.T. on the Major's end."

The other Ocelots gave brief nods of affirmation.

It was no skin off their asses; besides, Vladya had provided a diversion from the norm of patrol, and the crocodile promised further entertainment.

Privately, he truly hoped Borishnakov could make good on his threats of cobblery.

Andrei smiled ruefully.

Boy, would Ocelot lose his shit when that care package arrived for Raikov with his warmest regards.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

The helicopter ride was brief, but impressive enough.

They arced over the mountain ridge and approached the base. Kassian had originally arrived at Groznyj Grad at night, so he hadn't seen the full view of the sprawling base from the air.

Massive but plain concrete buildings were spaced by open areas filled with cargo containers and the occasional hangar. The Kamov banked gently, heading for the southwest quad, where a landing pad was outlined in yellow and ringed by spotlights.

Kassian caught a flash of red-accented black below. Ocelot, most likely, here to welcome them back personally.

At least their mission had been a success, and they'd even gone above and beyond by bringing the scientist back as well.

Ocelot should be pleased.

The Kamov touched down on the pad and the pilot began to power down the rotors.

Most of the Ocelots were grinning, in high spirits; they climbed out of the hatch and saluted the Major perfunctorily.

Kassian felt fairly pleased with the way things had worked out himself. He hopped out of the chopper after Isaev and joined the rest of the squad, wondering what Ocelot would make of their...trophy.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot nodded at his squad individually as they disembarked.

He wasn't much for sentimental gladhanding and backslapping, but they'd done well, and he did have an inexplicable fondness for them, despite his best intentions.

They seemed to be unusually pleased with themselves, which was never a good sign. He scowled. Either it was still the Raikov business, residually haunting him, or something entirely new and Ocelocentric.

Well. He'd unfortunately find out, sooner or later. Most likely sooner, by the way Charushkin's cheeks were glowing with cheer.

"Colonel Volgin says well done," he parroted, blithely, with a lift of his chin. He gave them the fingerguns. "And I appreciate you not fucking up."

He watched as a couple of the Ocelots unloaded the moaning, feverish scientist, and then ducked back into the Kamov, grinning wider, causing him to frown.

"Isaev," he muttered, snapping his head toward the smooth-faced Lieutenant. "What have you pediks done?"

Isaev was standing next to the sniper, his hands jammed into the deep pockets of his black field tunic.

"I didn't do anything, sir. Nor did Irinarhov. Or Charushkin. Or Bodokin. Or Naimushin."

Ocelot's lip curled into a sneer.

"I don't believe you."

"Really, sir. It was all Borishnakov."

"What was all Borishnakov?" muttered Ocelot, rubbing the tip of his gun against his forhead.

Isaev glanced at Irinarhov and shrugged, then pointed.

"That."

[vladya-yamirich.livejournal.com]

The self-satisfied attitude of the Ocelots was contagious, if a bit odd. It somewhat reminded him of an expression his mother's favorite pet cat would get when the old feline had left a dead mouse around for someone to find.

Vladya was doing what he believed to be a fair job of concealing his own good mood when the other Ocelots hopped out and joined in the saluting, seeing the man who was obviously the Major of the strange, strange unit.

Clearly, he was the one who set the standards for them. The man had the fair skin, blue eyes, and blond hair that dominated the unit. The Ocelot Major did look a little, young. And he seemed to be somewhat eccentric, and... were those spurs he was wearing?

Vladislav's eyes pulled away from the Major to glance at Andrei when the man said it was all his doing. In truth, it was, and he had yet to determine if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but regardless, he had to struggle to keep from grinning broadly when Isaev pointed to his trophy crocodile.

Though, Vladislav did have to wonder how the Ocelot's could tell themselves apart with their identical uniforms and almost uniform appearances. Irinarhov seemed the only one who wasn't blond haired and blue eyed.

Had Major Ocelot chosen men to purposefully look like him?

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Ocelot's eyes widened at the sight of the crocodile, briefly and then he looked at Borishnakov.

"You did this?"

Before Borishnakov could answer, Andrei interjected.

"Sir, the Lieutenant noted some non-personnel track this morning before duty commenced, and followed it, assuming it was a...scientific defector. He came across this gavial with the missing scientist in its jaws, and shot to kill."

He paused, letting Ocelot look the animal over.

"The man will be all right, and we thought perhaps the crocodile could be tomorrow's solyanka. Since we have her, and Charushkin can cook." He grinned.

Then he turned to look at Borishnakov, remembering that Ocelot would be looking to come down on the AWOL Ocelot like a ton of bricks.

"So Major, Lt. Borishnakov is not guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer, but merely overzealous judgment in the commission of those duties. He is duly apologetic, and meant only to prove himself a valuable asset to his new squad."

Ocelot tilted his head, smirking.

"Well, then we'll skip the brig, in light of this lesser offense." He scowled at Borishnakov sidewise. "It was still an inconvenience. But a few hours of desk duty should teach you a lesson. Assigned to the East Wing as Major Raikov's personal assistant, that is."

Isaev grinned and cringed, as did Charushkin, and he thought even Irinarhov shot him a wry crinkle of his eyes that suggested amusement.

It could have been much worse, but an afternoon in Raikov's company could prove plenty harrowing. Many of them had been there.

Ocelot's eyes slatted coolly as he cocked the gun in his hand and spun it.

"Nice lizard," he added. "Haul it out of here. I don't want to see it again in this form."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

"Yes, Major," the Ocelots said, saluting. A group of them moved forward to wrangle the crocodile in the direction of the mess hall. Charushkin went with them.

As the group began to break up, Kassian turned to Isaev. "Good call," he murmured, shifting his gaze to Borishnakov for a moment.

Even though he'd been irritated at Borishnakov earlier, Kassian thought that if the junior lieutenant had the presence of mind to shoot a rampaging crocodile, he probably would find the stones to continue with the Ocelots.

Sure, it had been a mistake, but maybe Borishnakov had learned his lesson.

After all, Kassian was a firm believer in second chances.

"What now?" he asked Isaev. He still did not have the squad's routine down, and besides, the search for Borishnakov had neatly broken it. It was probably too late to deal with the medical procedures. That could be handled tomorrow.

Ocelot seemed disinclined to issue orders, but instead twirled his guns and looked contemplative.

Kassian regarded Isaev's youthful, well-cut features and watched those reflective, pale eyes. "Any more accessory extractions on the itinerary today?"

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"Now might be a good time to show Isaev how to fire a fucking gun," observed Ocelot, mildly, looking at his own and clicking the trigger meaningfully.

He smirked.

"That is, if you're not too busy."

Andrei glanced at Irinarhov and nodded.

"What do you say?" he said. "I'm willing if you are. And I tend to be a pretty apt pupil."