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Nov. 21st, 2006 02:17 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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groznyj_gradIt was early in the afternoon before the hovercraft occupying most of laboratory number 307 was in one working piece again. Fixing things, the cosmonaut mused, was almost as satisfying as destroying them. To take something previously useless and coerce it to function again…
Phobos and Deimos would be along soon to collect it, and return it to its proper hangar.
He shook the thought from his head as he shut the door and scanned the hallway for any signs of life through his gold-hazed view of the world. Everything was as quiet as he had expected to find the narrow corridor -- no one ever visited, except for the Krasnogorje flame thrower unit…
…Or the Ocelot soldiers, who had came to call earlier. To retrieve crimson scarves, and bring interesting, if not infuriating, news.
…Or the welcome visitor from beyond the grave. The Sorrow, long departed, was a welcome sight.
And, the Fury thought, deliberately lingering on the top step of the narrow staircase, the expected presence of the Ocelot unit had seemed far stranger than the appearance of a deceased comrade. Such things were mundane to individuals as unique as the Cobra Unit. Ghosts and reanimated dead, holding conversations with hornets and the spectacular view of falling back to earth.
…Or men who bent electricity to their whims.
Ocelots soldiers were fantastical creatures, surreal in the way they believed in reality.
The Fury laughed to himself as he descended the stairs, with characteristic heavy footsteps and clank of his jet pack. Volgin. Something about the Colonel was amusing to the point of maniacal delight. Something was likeable about the man, despite his obvious excessive hubris.
Perhaps his lust for experimental technology.
Maybe it was his temper, and his common violent outbursts. It was enjoyable to see someone so willing to give in to their rage.
Or perhaps it was the Colonel’s willingness to fund the cosmonaut’s special weapons projects that made him so likeable.
Either way, it delighted the Fury to find Volgin lingering about on the second floor, outside the empty office of Ivan Raikov. How predictable. He was out of place under the harsh fluorescent lighting, a man like Volgin seemed to belong only on a battlefield.
“Colonel,” he began with a brief salute, stopping on the second step from the bottom. “If I may have a word with you…or is this a bad time?” He had several words in mind, right at the top of his list were fucking kraut and son of a bitch and kill the lying bastard, but he remembered Major Ocelot’s words -- the kid had promised it would be much more rewarding to let Volgin deal with Krauss’ gross abuse of power.
Still, it nagged at his conscious. He would have honestly rather left the lying German with a few broken bones and third degree burns over ninety percent of his body.
Swallowing his pride and saluting Volgin was quite possibly the greatest insult of all to the cosmonaut's dignity, but a neccicary evil.
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Date: 2006-11-21 08:12 pm (UTC)Briefly, he considered branding his anger in black scorch marks across the door, but the impulse was short-lived. He knew if he actually thought about doing it, he wouldn't. To Volgin, there was something very trite about planned outbursts of violence. It cheapened the outcome, somehow.
He eyed the door balefully instead. It wasn't that he was angry at the door, or the office, or anything inside. It was just that he'd expected Ivan to be here, and he wasn't. Volgin could have used a dose of normalcy right about now. There was just something about seeing all of your plans finally come to fruition that was...unsettling. In spite of how much he wanted it.
Volgin was not a man who hesitated. Not when there was something he wanted. He hadn't hesitated when he'd seized the Legacy. He hadn't hesitated when he'd gone after Ivan. Or the Shagohod. Or anything else, for that matter.
He wasn't hesitating now.
He just...needed grounding. There were some days when it felt like Ivan was one of the few things that helped keep him sane.
Volgin turned as he heard someone call him. It actually took him a moment to realize who it was. What the man probably wanted followed shortly thereafter.
Damn Krauss, anyway, Volgin thought, but smoothed the scowl from his expression.
"Fury," he said, formally, with a nod of his head. He couldn't recall if the Fury actually had a rank or not; he'd read the dossier, but it hardly seemed important - or appropriate - now. The Fury was the Fury. Nothing else needed to be said.
He paused. "No, it's not a bad time. What is it that you need?"
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Date: 2006-11-21 10:10 pm (UTC)He considered all the possible taunts, meant to evoke rage so effortlessly; the casual observation that Volgin seemed prepared to unleash his electrical wrath against an inanimate object. There were no negative conclusions to be drawn; the Fury reveled in similar outbursts.
“I require nothing.” He replied coldly, satisfied at least when Volgin frowned. He always frowned when thinking, and the Fury wondered if forming intelligent thought was so difficult for the man that it proved to be painful. “Routine maintenance for the fleet of hover vehicles was completed at 18:00 hours yesterday by the first lieutenant of the Krasnogorje patrol.” Io was the man’s code name, but Volgin would not care about something so trivial.
“I can assure you nothing will survive the defenses we set on the pass through the mountain range, and should an intruder make it to the tunnels that run beneath this base…” The cosmonaut nodded, though his respirator hid a defiant smirk. Nothing would make it in or out alive, unless he allowed it.
“I was… paid an unexpected visit by a certain Ocelot Major this morning.” The cosmonaut descended the final step as though to punctuate the sudden subject change, once again, much shorter than the Colonel. “Comrade Major Adamska notified me that I was free of any obligation to report for a physical, as Major Krauss had mentioned several times before.”
He raised his head, glaring at Volgin in question, “so why the sudden change of heart?” The Fury crossed his arms over his chest as though expecting some explanation.
The blank stare he received was satisfying -- Volgin was as clueless to the true nature of the situation as he and Ocelot had been.
“I do appreciate the reprieve; I have something of an aversion to doctors, understandable, after everything…” He couldn’t will himself to finish the sentence, “but Major Krauss said you were adamant that I report for a thorough exam. I only wanted to thank you for recalling such frivolous orders, even if you did tell Krauss I was certifiably insane, and should be locked away in a little padded cell and straight jacket for the rest of my life.”
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Date: 2006-11-22 03:50 am (UTC)The question, of course, was rhetorical. Volgin had heard the Fury perfectly well. He stared, his snarl pulling as livid as the scars that crossed his face.
His fist crackled. The smell of ozone suffused the air.
It seemed that Krauss had been less than forthcoming concerning his admission of guilt. Volgin wondered what he should do about that.
He had a few options, but again, once he started thinking, considering what he should do, the solution that involved charred epidermis slowly receded from the realm of possibility and ceased to be an option.
Even though, it would have been satisfying to fry Krauss for such a gross display of insubordination, dammit.
But he had to think.
Volgin could control himself when he needed to. The Fury, reportedly, could not. And the last thing he needed was the cosmonaut flying off with his jetpack in a murderous rage, incinerating everything within ten meters of Krauss' office. Even if he could afford to lose Krauss - which he couldn't, he had to remind himself - the collateral damage would be unacceptable. Particularly if any GRU soldiers or Ocelot unit got involved, which they inevitably would.
No, it would be a disaster. As would making excuses for Krauss, he knew instinctively.
Eh.
There was something Volgin had heard as a young man during the war. A bit of wisdom from the West. Great Britian's Prime Minister, to be exact, but had always struck Volgin as something a Russian should have said instead: If you're going through hell, keep going.
In other words, forge ahead, even in uncertain territory, with an even more uncertain outcome.
"Apparently Major Krauss was...confused," Volgin said in a dubious tone that implied he believed nothing of the sort. "Though I find it very hard to imagine what the source of his confusion could possibly be, given that I've never given any orders regarding physicals for anyone, let alone the Cobras."
He waved a dismissive hand. "What matters is that you, and your brothers, and Voyevoda are here now. You're far too important to this operation to bother with such trivialities. Tell me..." he said, lowering his tone to speak more confidentially to the cosmonaut. He stepped closer as well. "Do you know what he might have against you, in particular? He seemed to single you out, as far as I know. Perhaps he's afraid of something..."
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 07:57 am (UTC)In all, it was entirely pleasing.
“I will not kill him, not this time,” the cosmonaut promised, “because there are so many things far worse than death. Do you know what we did with captured Nazi officers during the war? Hornets prefer their meals alive and screaming…all the thrashing around excites them so.”
Briefly, he glanced to the side, then smirked. Brothers, the man said. The Fury was certain Volgin had no concept of brotherhood or loyalty beyond false camaraderie aimed at furthering his goals.
He didn’t appreciate Volgin taking a step in his direction, to speak to him as though he were some false comrade, but the Fury was not about to back down, especially not from Yevgeny Borisovitch.
“I have no idea.” He shrugged slightly, shaking his head. “What reason would he have to be afraid of me? Are you trying to accuse me of something, Colonel?” The Major had no reason at all to fear for his well being, the Fury mused, no reason beyond the death threats, occasionally being lit on fire, held at gunpoint with his own sidearm… minor details.
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Date: 2006-11-23 06:10 pm (UTC)And he was not. It was the truth. Accusation implied he cared to know the truth. He did not. Even if Krauss had been provoked by something the Fury had done, dealing with it on his own rather than reporting it to Volgin got him exactly what he deserved in turn.
But at the same time, Volgin couldn't spend his energies putting out fires and making peace between nominal allies that needed to work together if they were going to pull this thing off.
And they were. Going to pull this off, that was. He had spent far too long, and devoted too much energy, to see it fail because of petty in-fighting.
This was Volgin's life work. He put it above everything else, even Ivan.
When he finally saw his plans come to fruition, that was when he and Ivan could sit back and enjoy their rewards.
He held his ground. "Krauss would be a fool to cross you again," he told the Fury. "Because he wouldn't have just the threat of your reprisal to worry about, he would have mine, as well." His gaze flickered like a gathering storm. "With that in mind, if there is an incident, I want you to report it to me directly, or to Voyevoda. Either."
He shrugged. Volgin was sure that the Boss, at least, would be forthcoming.
"And at the same time, if Krauss feels like he's threatened by anyone...or anything...I'll also expect him to speak personally to me, or to the Boss."
Volgin stared into the expressionless helmet for another few moments, then finally eased back, and left the cosmonaut's personal space. "That way, these sorts of conflicts will be handled the way Voyevoda and I see fit."
He made a mental note to speak to the Boss whenever he saw her next. He afforded the legendary soldier a lot of leeway when it came to her men, something he wouldn't do for anyone other than her. But in the long run, it would be worth it, he knew.
"Are we clear?" he asked the Fury.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-24 04:17 am (UTC)But Volgin had overstepped the boundary of what was tolerable when he decided to give orders, however politely they had been issued forth.
It was interesting, he thought, the way Volgin went about it. Kindness was not afforded to anyone else on the base, but the Fury only laughed at him.
“If there is another incident, I’ll be certain to return the Major’s ashes to you in a stylish glass jar, and tie it up with pretty little red ribbons.”
It was neither threat or promise, it was simply the way things would be if things persisted. He was content to leave things, until Volgin mentioned Voyevoda, one of the few things that remained worth fighting for. Immediately, the casual mention set off another tirade of threats.
“And if he so much even looks the wrong way at The Joy, the slimy son of a bitch will never be able to look at anything again. I shall indulge you and leave his eyes in a gilded gift box on your desk, so you can file your report the next morning.”
With that, the cosmonaut pulled away, regarding Volgin with a bitter glare. “And that goes for anyone on this base.” The comment carried a double edge of threat and promise this time.
It was no secret that women had a habit of dying horrible, painful ways when left alone with Volgin for too long.
Even if she was The Boss, a legendary soldier. Even if she could take care of herself…it didn’t matter.
“I am thankful you are not accusing me of anything, comrade Zhenya.” The sarcasm implied that the Fury certainly did not regard the Colonel as comrade, and the pet name was only intended to be irritating. “It would be terrible…”
He had started to say that it would be terrible if Volgin found himself on his bad side, terrible for Volgin anyway. Instead, he only shook his head.
“..terrible to be accused of something which I did not do.”
no subject
Date: 2006-11-24 04:38 pm (UTC)Ivan was one.
In the Fury, he saw a worthy opponent. A man secure in his own strength and will. A man who had no fear of death. No hesitation. Nothing to lose.
The overhead lighting glared off the Fury's helmet, rendering it completely opaque.
For a moment, Volgin wished he wasn't a colonel. That he didn't carry the burden of remaking the world on his shoulders. That he could be stripped down of all his responsibilities and just be a man. A soldier. And then he and the Fury could fight to the death, and it would be glorious.
Like the battles that Ivan told him about. Ancient times. Armies coming together on the battlefield in an orgy of violence. Entire nations, entire societies, wiped out on a single plain of battle.
War had become so civilized since.
"Take off your helmet," he said, suddenly. He surprised himself. It was not an order, but rather a strange, impulsive request. "I want to look you in the eyes."
no subject
Date: 2006-11-24 06:19 pm (UTC)Something tickled his fancy, and that was even more dangerous than having him livid.
“It is purely psychological, you know.” The cosmonaut spoke, hesitating. It would have been a proper request for one of the other Cobras to make, but it was all too peculiar coming from Volgin. “If an enemy cannot read your emotions, see your eyes and know that you are human… all the better.”
Finally he relented, pulling the heavy equipment from his shoulders, wincing at the sudden flood of harsh fluorescent lighting that assaulted his senses. Blinking a few times, he looked up at the Colonel with dark brown eyes, intense and feral, as though expecting something; still, unsure what to expect.
The silence was uneasy. Somewhere, a cricket sang.
The Fury gestured to the deep burn scars that crossed his forehead and descended into his respirator; only a hint at what lay hidden beneath the heavy equipment and black flight suit. “We are more alike than I care to admit," he said finally, "you and I, we could make a fabulous friendship out of hating one another.”
no subject
Date: 2006-11-25 01:02 am (UTC)Some would look upon such a visage with disgust, or perhaps pity. They would see the discolored patches of skin or the sparse clumps of hair and wince, or avert their eyes. They would make assumptions about what kind of man he was before he even said a single word.
Volgin knew, because people looked at him that way too.
But Volgin did not see a pitiable creature before him. He knew the Fury's scars were war wounds, but it was the fierce intelligence that he saw in the man's eyes that struck the deepest chord.
Here was a man who was wholly and utterly untamable.
He nodded slowly. "Yes," he said. "It's a shame we aren't enemies."
Volgin let out a deep sigh. "This - " he made a gesture at the hallway around them, but he meant much more - "Is not for men like us. We shouldn't have to negotiate terms of how to get along in a reasonable fashion. How to behave so everyone can work together and be..." He trailed off then, his lip twisting with contempt. "...agreeable."
He met the Fury's ardent gaze with clear, pale eyes. In another place, in another life, Volgin would have been a warlord, he knew. Cleaving his enemies' heads off and drinking their blood. Taking what he wanted and leaving the rest to spoil.
It was a distant, bittersweet dream.
His wars involved politics. They involved bargaining and making deals. They required that he plan for years in advance. Decades. Dozens of minute victories measured one person, one maneuver, at a time. It was chess on a near-infinite board.
In a way, he envied the Fury, who still preyed like a wolf. If Krauss offended him badly enough, the cosmonaut would simply kill him and send Volgin the trophy afterward. It was a visceral sort of luxury Volgin could not afford.
"Men like us," he continued, "should settle their differences in blood. Not words."
Volgin shifted his gaze to the Fury's helmet. It probably was terrifying to his enemies, who would only see darkness. Not the pain and rage of the man within, which was immeasurably more familiar.
After a few moments, Volgin just shook his head and looked up again.
"A shame," he repeated.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-25 05:37 am (UTC)He never understood men like Volgin, fighting for such trivial things as cities and imaginary boundaries. Even before he beheld the earth from the infinite blackness of space, small and blue and without East or West, it was obvious from the cockpit of a fighter jet, leading enemy planes to their demise.
Borders were irrelevant. Countries did not matter, in the grand scheme of things.
Emotions were a universal human language. Countries and territories were nothing, their borders constantly changing since the dawn of civilization.
“I indulged you by removing my helmet, now you must indulge me and answer my questions.” He studied Volgin closely, “what are you fighting for? Is it some fanciful notion of ruling the world? For power? Money? I must know why, we are all so curious -- my Cobra-brothers and I. How can you fight without an emotion to carry into battle, to guide you?”
Slowly, the Fury circled, scrutinizing the Colonel for any visible reaction, heavy footsteps echoing in the cavernous hall.
“Tell me…”
no subject
Date: 2006-11-25 11:25 pm (UTC)He considered how to answer the question. More precisely, he considered how to answer the question in a way that the Fury would understand. Of course, he could speak about duty and responsibility and loyalty and the dozens of other reasons why he had made this his life's pursuit. Because for Volgin, it was not any one thing, and any one reason why. It was many, as complex and intertwined as the politics he was forced to practice in pursuit of his goals.
But that was not what the Fury had asked, nor was it what he meant. Volgin found it amusing that he was such an item of speculation for the Cobras, who apparently saw things in such a clear-cut manner that all their motivations could be summed up in single word. Single emotions.
Apparently, they expected everyone else to be as clear-cut.
Volgin's frown was like weathered stone, deeply etched. Perhaps, he thought, slowly, it could be that clear-cut.
His was a thankless task. There was nothing that he would have then that he couldn't have now, given the sheer amount of wealth at his command. He could own nations, fleets, any number of insignificant material things, if he chose. But those things were meaningless to him.
And even after he controlled the world, well, he still had to run it. Another thankless task, to say the least. He almost wasn't looking forward to that part of it. Contemplating the journey itself was far more pleasant than the destination.
No. He knew why, though he had never realized it before.
Volgin turned to meet the Fury's flickering gaze.
"Love," he said, simply.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 05:21 am (UTC)Men like Volgin did not love, they were only capable of destruction and death and torture. The very idea was…
And then something occurred to him, and he glanced briefly at the engraved bronze plate riveted to the front of the heavy reinforced steel door: Major Ivan Raikov.
“I suppose everyone needs something to take the edge off…”
There was nothing comforting about the bleak harshness of military life, men looked for small comforts wherever they could find them.
Scowling, the Fury took sudden interest in the image reflected in his helmet. He would have liked to consider himself above such things, but the nights at Groznyj Grad were dreadfully long and cold. Too cold for stargazing alone.
The trajectory of the conversation was disturbing, with great potential for disaster.
“Everyone has their vices.” He concluded, securing his helmet once more. It was an immediate relief, knowing Volgin would not be able to read his emotions. Soothing, to exist separate from the rest of the world, secure behind a thick layer of smoked glass.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 07:36 am (UTC)A shame; they'd been building up such a rapport.
But perhaps there were lines that even the Fury did not cross. Volgin had refused to acknowledge the existence of lines as they applied to him a long time ago, and merely did what he pleased, and to hell with what other people thought.
He studied the blank, dark face of the cosmonaut's helmet, the soulful eyes hidden once more. "Not that kind of love," he said, tone almost gentle.
Though he did love Ivan, and would not be ashamed to admit it. But that was not what he meant.
"Some people love God," he told the Fury. "It's somewhat like that, what I do, and why I do it. It's something greater than I am."
It was a sacrifice, what he was doing. A labor of love he'd devoted himself entirely to fulfilling. Though he was a man of supreme ego and will, he would readily acknowledge that there were things that surpassed him, and would end up changing the world permanently.
Legacies.
Though he had to admit it pleased him a great deal to be the agent of change.
He wondered if the Fury would understand. Could understand. Or perhaps he was merely the sort of man who did not think in such large-scale terms.
"You saw the Earth from space, did you not?" Volgin asked. "Did you find it brought you...perspective?"
no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 01:15 am (UTC)He turned, and began pacing slowly, back and forth in front of Raikov’s door as he spoke.
“Instead, it will be other trivial countries, fighting pointless wars to expand imaginary boundaries or conquer other people who are, at the core, the very same. Because they are different races, or religions, or because they are some different nationality, they must be conquered.”
The Fury stopped, glaring pointedly at Volgin, though he knew the brutal honesty would be missed.
“In one million years, the human race will become extinct due to a predicted rise in global temperatures -- if we do not destroy ourselves first. In five billion years, our sun will supernova and incinerate our humble little blue planet. Your love, however noble the intentions, is terribly misguided.”
The Fury stopped, and glared at Volgin for a long moment. “I saw no God during the course of my brief flight, though space is vast and infinite; He could have been hiding anywhere. If there was a God, and He loved mankind as they say, He would not allow men like us to exist. Then again, we always destroy the things we love the most…”
In a brief flash of light, he recalled the way she had looked, pale and lifeless on the bathroom floor, blood spreading outward on the white tile in a growing pool of deep crimson; washing his hands over and over again as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror.
“Do you know why the Cobra Unit was first formed? To destroy a man who had similar ambitions as yours -- totalitarian world domination through any means necessary. In the absence of God, mankind creates heroes instead. That is a relative term as well, depending on which side you are fighting for.”
He went silent as his thoughts trailed off, taking particular interest in the bronze name plate on Ivan’s door, and giving Volgin time to reflect on the cosmonaut’s answer of perspective and God.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 05:02 pm (UTC)He saw now that in spite of their remarkable similarities, and the other things they shared in common, that there were some very fundamental ways in which they differed. Baseline dichotomies.
And some of the things that the Fury said, Volgin actually agreed with - yes, in a million years, none of this would matter.
In a hundred years, the politics would be different. In five hundred years, the world would be remade, and completely foreign.
But that did not matter. What mattered was the now.
Volgin's face grimaced into a smile.
"Yes," he said, when the Fury had finished, and had fallen silent for a while. Volgin also stared at the name plate on the door, which was as polished and shiny as the well-kept locks of Ivan's hair.
He let his gaze trail away and examined the back of the cosmonaut's helmet instead.
"That's true," Volgin said, slowly. "But the difference is, this time you're fighting on my side."
The colonel gestured at the building around him. "You're here now, with your brother Cobras and Voyevoda. Does that make you a villain, now? Or are you still a hero, in spite of the fact you're fighting on the wrong side? Or does does the fact that you're on this side make it the right one by default?"
He shook his head. "Or, since you say nothing will matter in a hundred years, does that make who you're fighting for or what you're fighting about pointless?"
Volgin considered himself a man of faith. Not the desperate faith that men found in trenches when bombs split the air overhead and one had to be careful or risk stepping on dead comrades.
Not the naive faith of those who gathered in churches and thought prayer alone would save them and absolve them of the responsibility of trying to help themselves.
No, his faith was tried and tested. He'd struggled with his burden for years. Sometimes, he'd felt alone. Sometimes there had been setbacks, disasters, so grievous he'd thought about giving up. But every time he'd reached a low point, he'd somehow found a way to go on.
It was a pattern. When the same thing happened again and again, eventually one believed in it.
The Fury was not looking at him, but Volgin stared nonetheless, his gaze direct and challenging. Goading. "If you don't believe in anything, you might as well just stay in bed each morning, Fury. Why do you get up day after day? Is it merely for the chance to vent your rage? Is anger enough?"
no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 06:53 pm (UTC)Ocelot's boots slapped rapidly on the linotile, punctuated by truncated chinks of his spurs.
He drew up, saluting sharply.
"I've recieved confirmation through CODEC, sir. The Ocelot Squad has apprehended your scientist. Mostly intact," he added, with a smirk. "They need a helicopter transport to bring him back to base. One of Krauss's little lizards shattered his leg with a love bite."
He flinched distastefully.
"According to Charushkin, it's compound."
He glanced at the Fury, and back up to the Colonel, who stood mildly by like a towering monument to The Glory of Work. Legs apart, jaw set and lifted. He doubted it was even conscious.
"I apologize for the interruption," he averred, crossing his arms.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 09:34 pm (UTC)For love, and the Fury finally understood something of what Volgin had meant.
But to the cosmonaut, Volgin’s definitions of hero and villain seemed so limited by specific actions or what side one chose to fight for. He did not seem to realize that there were no sides, no boundaries, only opposing ideas. “Everything is relative. The victors write the history books. If you want to be remembered as a hero, be certain you can win the war.”
The final question struck him as strange: the answer should have been obvious, especially to a man like Volgin, so devoted to his own personal mission in life.
“I continue to arise each morning because I am not dead, and I still have a mission to complete. The earth is still flammable, is it not?”
By flammable, he more truthfully meant overpopulated by men who fit his personal definition of evil, but flammable still, and in dire need of purification by fire. Humanity itself was a cardinal sin worth punishing for all eternity in a pit of flame and brimstone.
Or nitrogen tetroxide, as it were.
The Fury acknowledged Ocelot with a nod and a smirk at the crisp salute. Volgin was, in his opinion, undeserving of such reverence.
“You’re not interrupting anything.” he said finally, “just idle talk about the nature of the universe, mankind, what constitutes good and evil, the existence of God, and love…” he trailed off, noting the disturbed expression on the Major’s face, and unsure if it was the subject of conversation of the idea of being eaten by a smiling gavial.
Fifty, fifty.
The hovercraft pilots insisted it was great fun to toss a hand grenade into a gavial’s gaping maw and watch the guts rain down like macabre confetti. They had a running tally of who killed how many, and made a real competition of it.
“I am amazed there are any of those beasts left to devour scientists.” The cosmonaut said offhandedly, then looked to Volgin. “I should be off. I have long list of preparations for tonight’s… experiment, and so little time to actually prepare. Have fun with your scientist.” He knew by the way Volgin was smiling that the unfortunate scientist would not survive to see daylight, and not because of the saurian love bite.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 10:28 pm (UTC)He'd almost forgotten about it entirely in fact, though seeing Ocelot reminded him of it.
But no matter. He chalked it up to the impetuousness of youth.
"That was fast," he said. "Tell your men good work. Go ahead and arrange for the helicopter to bring him back here immediately, and alert Dr. Khostov that there's an emergency."
Privately, Volgin thought that the scientist got what he deserved. Running into the jungle was a very stupid thing for a supposedly very intelligent man to do.
He knew they needed each and every scientist they had to complete the required work in a timely fashion, but Volgin needed traitors away from the project much more than he needed the work on Shagohod completed right away.
Ah. He would have to ask Sokolov how important the man was, and if they could get by without him, Volgin would just execute him publicly, as an example of what happened to those who tried to leave, presumably to defect.
Yes. That would help morale. He nodded to himself.
"Krauss' little machinations are proving to be quite the irritation today," he said aloud thoughtfully, almost as if speaking to himself. "I suppose I'll have to talk to him about it later, now that I have...more information."
no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 10:50 pm (UTC)Too bad it had seemed like such a good idea to his body.
Not like Raikov had any soft thoughts about him, anyway. It had been physical, and he'd probably been thinking about the Colonel the whole time anyway.
Ocelot scowled, but smoothed his face into an officer's alignment once more.
"Colonel," he said. "Permission to investigate the weapons hangar after I do so." He paused. "I don't trust that Snake she's brought along one bit. Nor that woman you're bedding, either."
Fucking possible enemies was one thing, but Ocelot knew that Volgin, like himself, was a pragmatist. The Shagohod must be protected at all costs.
Ocelot had no mission now but his own. And he hadn't decided exactly where the chips would fall yet.
Best to maintain the staus quo.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-28 01:45 am (UTC)"Woman I'm...?"
For a few moments, he had no idea what Ocelot was talking about. But then he remembered: the blond secretary they'd acquired yesterday, along with the Shagohod. Sokolov's lover.
He shook his head. "I hadn't had a chance to try her out yet," Volgin said, offhandedly. "I don't really have time right now."
Not even for Ivan. And if he didn't have time for Ivan, there was no way he was going to make time for some stupid whore instead.
He shrugged monolithic shoulders. "I had been thinking about giving her to Krauss, but..." he rumbled, a scowl darkening his brow, "...now that's definitely not going to happen. Why, Major?"
Volgin regarded Ocelot narrowly. "Do you have reason to believe she's a spy? Perhaps I should just kill her, and save ourselves the trouble."
The Boss' protégé, however, would be far more problematic. Volgin had no doubt that the Boss herself was loyal, and dedicated to her duty. The legendary soldier would do anything to fulfill her mission, he was certain of it. But this Snake, on the other hand, might very well be suspect, and the Boss herself might be too attached to realize it.
At the very least, they needed a great deal of proof before going to the Boss and explaining any suspicions.
"But I don't want to hear any baseless accusations against the Boss' apprentice, Major," Volgin reprimanded. "Unless you have something solid against him, I suggest you watch what you say."
And who you say it in front of, he mentally added.
His gaze slid infinitesimally in the Fury's direction as a warning to Ocelot. Snake was not one of the Cobras, but he was still one of the Boss' sons. There might be some familial loyalty there, and besides, it was impolitic to say in front of anyone else.
"That's how rumors get started. And I'm sure you've had your fill of those today."
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Date: 2006-11-28 04:37 am (UTC)He'd been fairly certain the Fury was out of earshot when he mentioned Snake, but Volgin had a point, in his earthbound way.
"Point taken, Colonel," he said, wryly. "I'll bite my tongue around company more often."
He was beginning to think he'd have to bite it around Volgin too, if the rumors didn't die down.
"Something tells me that giving that woman to Krauss would be the worst punishment you could devise for him," Ocelot said, obscurely. "I have no solid proof, Colonel, but I have a very bad feeling about her."
He paused.
"That demure act." He scowled. "It rings about as true as Ivan's."
Volgin would know what he meant. It wasn't an insult, but a fact. Raikov was no delicate flower, despite his coyness.
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Date: 2006-11-28 06:07 am (UTC)Because, he thought to himself, twisting gloved fingers around the handle of his flamethrower in nervous habit, Volgin shouldn’t trust Snake. Or Voyevoda.
The cosmonaut was not even sure he trusted the Boss, though he had every bit of faith in her, and nothing but the utmost respect. Trust was an impossible thing until he was certain of her motivations. It was all too suspicious, too sudden: abandoning the country she loved, defecting, striking a deal with someone like Volgin. Something was wrong about it. It went against her very nature.
Either way, the Fury knew that he and the others would stand by her no matter what, even if it meant following her to a certain death. He was not sure about Snake, but considered himself an excellent judge of character: the kid was average, if not a bit apathetic. Not Cobra material yet, but he had potential, however hidden it was.
As he stepped out into the bright afternoon, the Fury made a mental note to corner Voyevoda later and try to gain more information on her true motives for ‘defecting.’
Until then, the blue sky was a welcome reprieve from the harsh fluorescent lighting, even if it was tinted amber through his helmet. For now, he needed to find Lieutenant Io, and speak with him about the Krasnogorje patrol’s first real ‘mission’ in months, and give orders to bring the Composition 4 down from the mountainside armory. Destroying the old German’s prized greenhouse wasn’t much of a mission, but the unit would find it much more agreeable than patrolling the same mountain pass day in, day out.
Destruction and chaos was always preferable to the same boring routine.
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Date: 2006-11-28 06:32 am (UTC)He tried to shrug it off.
Regardless, Volgin felt confident that the Fury would do what the Boss told him to do, and that was enough for his purposes.
He turned his attention to Ocelot, and his expression soured. He didn't like what Ocelot had said about Ivan. Not so much for the truth of it - Volgin was under no delusions that his Vanya was a saint - but rather for the fact that Ocelot seemed to know Ivan well enough to talk about him in such a manner.
Well. They were rankmates, after all, and Volgin allowed that they were probably also friends. Volgin's work kept him busy, and he couldn't expect Ivan not to socialize. It would be tantamount to keeping a wild bird in a narrow cage and denying it the sun.
But in spite of the impudent words, Volgin could acknowledge that the content of what Ocelot said had some validity.
He frowned in thought, scars pulling tight. "Hmm, do you think so?"
Volgin was inclined to trust Ocelot's judgment, actually. He thought about it some more. "Yes. I think perhaps I will give her to Krauss, then. If she is a spy then all of Krauss' schemings will keep her busy, and vice versa."
Not that he wanted even the appearance of doing Krauss a favor, but that part, at least, couldn't be helped.
"Let me know if you notice anything suspicious," he continued, though he dropped his voice. "Particularly about the Boss' apprentice. He seemed too quiet too me."
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Date: 2006-11-29 05:52 am (UTC)He twirled his gun, slowly, thoughtfully.
"Colonel," he said, "there's going to be a little...reconstruction...on Major Krauss' greenhouse tonight."
He paused.
"Your new comrade was none too pleased about Krauss' manipulation. And to tell the truth, I'm not either."
He scowled.
"The German might be useful, but mark my words- he's sowing dissention in the rows." He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. "You know how the European swallow raises it's young."
Ocelot narrowed his eyes.
"I have a feeling he's got a mind to sneak into your nest, Colonel, and shove out your ideals."
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Date: 2006-11-29 07:31 am (UTC)"Never mind, Major, I don't want to know." He shook his head. "But if you see Ivan before I do, make sure to warn him to stay away. I'll deal with the aftermath later."
Let the Fury have his fun, then. Volgin was sure that Krauss would come whining to him about it in the morning. And then to appease Krauss, Volgin would give him the woman, and that would keep the German occupied for a while.
Krauss had certainly been at the center of a lot of trouble today. It made Volgin think about Granin.
"Cuba," he muttered, but then at Ocelot's blank look, he explained. "Granin came to me today. He said the Cubans had invited him to come help with some scientific project or another. I don't recall. And then I went to see Krauss, and he happened to mention the same thing to me, and asked if he could go along as well."
Volgin frowned, slowly. "To Cuba."
On one hand, Volgin would be glad to have Krauss and his machinations away from his base, but on the other...
...it was what Krauss wanted.
"I wonder what he's trying to get away with," he mused, aloud.
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Date: 2006-11-29 08:01 am (UTC)It didn't make sense to him, but then, he'd never considered anything beyond the Shagohod, and Sokolov's...
Ocelot's eyes narrowed.
"The plans," he declared in a low voice. "Granin's prototypes. The ones you dismissed," he added, with a glance at Volgin's monolithic visage.
He was frowning, almost endearingly, and Ocelot waited gamely for Volgin to join him in epiphanygrad.
The trains of thought might be slow to arrive, but they ran on time, and once they met their destination they pulled in full steam.
Ocelot however, found his impatience creeping upward, as more of the implications sunk in- exactly what Krauss was planning with the disillusioned engineer.
"Don't you see?" he exclaimed, eyes wide and affronted. "They're going to build his machines. They're going to build another Groznyj Grad out there in the fucking jungle."
They intended to give the Shagohod a run for its money.
Hah.
They intended to.
If they made it to Cuba.
Ocelot was beginning to feel a little solidarity welling up in his breast. They thought they could slip this victory out from under Volgin, from him? From this old whore Mother Russia?
Old whore she was, but she was their old whore. No one else was allowed to fuck her.
"Colonel," he said, "Let me take down Graniny-Gorki."
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Date: 2006-11-29 10:30 pm (UTC)He gaped at Ocelot for a few moments, then firmly shut his mouth.
It all made sense, except...
"But how could they possibly pay for it?" he asked with a sharp frown. "Granin and Krauss don't have the kind of resources I do."
In fact, no one did.
Volgin knew that the sheer amount of wealth at his command made him the most wealthy person on the face of the planet. When he thought about it in such terms, even he was impressed, though mostly, he didn't think about it.
There was only so much money could buy, after all. All the money in the world wouldn't be enough to let an idiot rule it.
"That can't be. Unless..."
Volgin trailed off, jaw working. The scars pulled and tightened on his cheek like live snakes, writhing.
"Unless he intends a coup. He'll need to steal everything."
But no, Volgin thought, that didn't make sense. If it were a coup, then why not just take over Groznyj Grad itself? It would be far easier than getting a new base constructed, and finding all of the personnel, and all of the other myriad attending headaches that came with it.
He knew.
Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know, Ocelot...I'm not convinced that's what's going on. Even for Krauss, that's a bit extreme. As is destroying Graniny-Gorki."
And besides, if destruction on that scale was going to happen, Volgin wanted to be the one who got to do it.
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Date: 2006-11-30 02:52 am (UTC)He shook his head, scowling, ticking his gun back and forth in his hand as he ruminated, trying to find a way to explain the unsettling feeling he had about the whole Granin idea.
He had started pacing, as he thought, and he finally looked up, raising his hands in frustration.
"I don't know, sir. I can't put my finger on it. But I know enough not to ever trust a German, especially not an ex Reich officer."
Ocelot shook his head.
He'd always liked Krauss, as a comrade. It was unfortunate that he might be running his own program.
He almost hoped it wasn't true. Good comrades were hard to come by, and the Major class didn't need any more dwindling.
A self-mocking smirk threatened to bloom and was suppressed as quickly.
The last thing he needed was more rarified air in the company of Raikov.
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Date: 2006-11-30 11:02 pm (UTC)He fished in his pocked and took out a bullet, toying with it idly. It was true, yes, Krauss was an old friend. He had known him for quite a while. But it absolutely did not mean that Volgin trusted him.
Certainly not as far as he could throw him, which was, admittedly, at least a meter.
He paced in the hallway, his gaze settling on Ivan's nameplate. Absently, he reached out to touch it, brushing his fingers across the face as if removing a fine layer of dust.
Volgin knew he had to think about the future and the long-term. Beyond merely the completion of his plans, which were now tantalizingly within reach.
He turned back to Ocelot abruptly. The Major almost looked startled.
"I want you to find out what's going on with Granin and Krauss," he told Ocelot. "I want proof. I told Granin to get me this letter he received from Cuba, and that I'd have to think about it afterward. That will give you time to look into the matter, and confirm your suspicions."
Volgin held out his hand, and offered the bullet to Ocelot. "I know it's not your area of expertise, Major, but since you brought it up, you should be the one to look into it. Let me know what you find. And if you're right, I'll let you conduct the interrogations and executions yourself."
He was nothing if not generous to those who did their jobs well, after all.
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Date: 2006-12-01 12:39 am (UTC)It was warm. Even through the kid leather of his gloves, he could feel it. A little more heat, a little more power. and Volgin could have discharged it. It was one of his favorite parlor tricks, using the conduits in his gloves to fire off live shells as he held them between his fingers.
Impressive, but inaccurate.
Although not as much accuracy was needed, with five shots coming off at once.
Ocelot had been riled over Krauss and thoughts of the Cuban question, but his concern turned abruptly toward more localized matters when he noticed the Colonel making love to Ivan's brass nameplate like a schoolgirl drawing hearts in the margins in of her history book.
That had unsettled him, shot his mind back to the night before, and how he could have used that nameplate to remind him who he was dealing with and what kind of trouble he was imagineering for himself by being a randy young bastard.
But nothing had quite prepared him for Volgin's graciously blithe offer to let him vivisect and snuff his own comrades.
Despite his love of guns, Ocelot had no great love of torture. It hardly seemed sporting, and it always made him queasy. He attended when required. Only Ivan got exemptions from the most cherished part of Volgin's work. Ocelot always wondered why, if the Colonel was so enamored of his own freakish abilities and punishing fists.
Volgin claimed it was an acquired taste.
"Give me a year," he said, in his oddly fond way. "I'll make a Russian out of you yet."
By Russian, of course, the Colonel meant sadist, but the Colonel rarely considered encompassing conceptual words like that unless that unless they were taught to him by Raikov.
The Major always had his shapely nose in some book or another, when it wasn't being dragged off behind his cock like the rest of his body, like an old woman with a bear on a leash.
Ocelot managed a smirk.
"Thank you, Colonel, but I trust you to deal with Krauss and Granin in your inimitable way. Provided, of course, that there actually is anything going on."
There was always the possibility, however slight, that Krauss' perfidy didn't extend to dreams of taking over Groznyj Grad.
But Ocelot doubted it, with well-worn skepticism.
"The Fatherland will always find it's match in the Motherland, Colonel, and her sons."
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Date: 2006-12-01 06:38 am (UTC)There were just occasions when there was nothing that could make a man feel better than crushing someone's skull.
"Very well," he told Ocelot. "In any case, I'll let you watch."
Ocelot could acquire a taste for torture, Volgin thought. He recognized it in the detached, reluctant curiosity he'd seen in the young Major's eyes on occasion when he was attending in the interrogation room.
Bullet holes were always the same, after all. There were plenty of other ways to perforate the human body that left entirely different marks and blood splatters on the floor.
He shrugged. "If there is something going on, of course. You're correct."
Volgin wondered for a few moments if their suspicons were true. He would hate to see Krauss go.
Ah, the sacrifices of command.
Offering Ocelot a nod in parting, Volgin turned to go. "Report to me what you find out, Major, and we'll go from there."
He left Ocelot in the hall, and resumed his search for Ivan.