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

[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.