"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?"