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.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 08:08 am (UTC)"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.