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..."
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
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..."