Krasnogorje Dinner Theater

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

The greenhouse was barely visible from the roof of the East Wing -- over the hill and through the dense greenery. The Fury stood balanced precariously on the ledge like some great black vulture ready to take flight, transfixed with the small clearing in the woods.

Beside him, a single flame soldier waited in khaki drab, arms crossed over his chest, gasmask dangling limp in his hands, short platinum hair damp from the rain and clinging to his forehead. The infamous Lieutenant Io, never too far from the cosmonaut-commander.

It always rained at Groznyj Grad, but for once, the cosmonaut could find no reason for complaint. He only wanted to destroy the greenhouse, not burn all of Groznyj to the ground.

Not just yet, anyway. That was something thrilling to consider…

And besides, it was better rain than snow.

So he paced back and forth on the narrow ledge, radio clutched in one gray-gloved hand, detonator in the other. Absentmindedly, he noted that it was a very long way to the ground, nothing to worry about though, not equipped with a jet pack.

“Captain!” A voice crackled finally over the radio, “he’s got a fucking grand piano in here.” Distant sour notes soon followed, as if to illustrate the soldiers’ point.

He laughed, yes that seemed typical of Johann Krauss, sitting in his greenhouse and playing Bach or Wagner to his precious lilies, or whatever the hell it was he played all the time. “Fill it with C-4 as well,” he answered finally, “and tell Phobos to quit screwing off.”

The Fury did not wait for the reply; footsteps on the rusted metal fire escape that hung on the side of the building caught his attention, not the tell-tale heavy bootsteps of the Krasnogorje soldiers, burdened under their heavy gear -- no, someone else entirely.   GRU, perhaps.  Maybe even Ocelot himself, coming to watch the fireworks.

“We have company.” the pale Lieutenant announced, glancing at the Fury for some signal of how to precede.

“Yes.” The cosmonaut observed.

“Shall I kill them?”

“Not yet.  At least wait until they reach the top.”

Comments

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

It was hard to miss the Fury's little rooftop soiree.

The squad kept game faces, but Ocelot knew they were a little quizzical about accompanying him on this excursion

The cosmonaut was waiting for them, along with one of his men, a Lieutenant that Ocelot had seen but never met. Light complected, pale haired and very Russian in features.

Ocelot nodded his greeting.

"Nice clear night for it," he said, with a smirk. "Should be quite a sight."

He glanced at the Ocelots behind him, holding neatly trimmed and wrapped parcels of butcher paper.

"I know you had a menu planned, but we felt bad not bringing something."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Crocodile," he said, with a finger gun. "One of Krauss's little pets."

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

“You are late.” The Fury answered, glancing with disinterest in the general direction of the Ocelot unit.

The lieutenant at his side laughed, recalling the familiar saying about punctuality: when you’re early, you’re on time; when you’re on time you’re late, and when you’re late you’re doing push-ups. Tardiness, however, was met with an different punishment among the Krasnogorje flame soldiers; a punishment that generally involved third degree burns. “And when you’re late, you’re set ablaze.” Io mumbled, turning back toward the gray horizon, and the clearing where the greenhouse lay hidden.

“But we are all a bit behind schedule tonight.” The cosmonaut concluded. “And our little picnic was canceled because of the weather… however, the festivities shall continue in my laboratory after the…show” He gestured to the door on the far end of the building, bright red against the drab gray brick work. “And we will have all the more reason to celebrate.”

Mostly, he was surprised that Adamska had agreed to the humble invitation; the idea that they brought something to the table --literally and figuratively-- was beyond belief.

“Crocodile?” He questioned, taking a step toward Ocelot, and smirking when one of the balaclava-clad guards behind the Major instinctively reached for his weapon. “One of the Major’s pets, even? I cannot say I have ever sampled crocodile, willingly… but I suppose it will taste all the sweeter, seasoned with revenge.”

“What goes better with mountaintop buzzard, than swamp lizard?” The lieutenant laughed, mostly talking to himself, and nodding along in agreement as he paced back and forth.

The Fury ignored him, more interested in the nervous Ocelot recruit. If circumstances were different, he would have provoked the man in sadistic delight, but the momentary truce was still in effect.

Oh, disappointment.

“Right, then. Take the meat to the laboratory while we await word from the demolition team.” He realized as an afterthought that he had just given an order to Major Ocelot and his unit, an order that he expected would probably be met with some form of bristling defiance.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot shrugged.

"You heard the Major," he said to the Ocelots, who had hesitated, not really wanting to incur the wrath of either officer by disobeying or obeying out of turn. "Go and stow that thing in the lab."

The unit departed in a black and red phalanx, probably relieved to be given a furlough from the cosmonaut.

Well, that was, all but Irinarhov, who lingered, eyes narrowed in a question that Ocelot read even before his lips moved. Permission to stay behind, major. Ocelot snorted inwardly. He was beginning to know the man better than half his squad, although to be fair, his motivations were direct and artless in everything except his tradecraft.

"Granted, Captain. Stay close to me, however. This is a social event, and we don't want any misunderstandings."

He smirked.

"The only thing I want to see go up in a blaze of glory is Krauss' glass house."

He glanced at the Fury idly.

"You know what they say about people who live in glass houses."

Ocelot remembered what the comosnaut had been grousing about earlier. Their lateness.

"Sorry we were running behind. I had a slight conflict of interest with my administrative counterpart that needed sorting out. Duty calls, comrade Ladonya."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

It had been a tactical decision for Kassian, one he'd communicated to Isaev with a glance and tilt of the head.

He'd seen the slightest hesitation as Isaev's brows pulled together at the Fury's order. Not an unease with the cosmonaut himself, Kassian noted, but rather at the situation, and with the Fury's men.

The men of the Krasnogorje patrol were said to be as crazy as their leader, only Isaev didn't have a personal understanding with them, unlike the understanding he apparently had with the Fury.

Kassian had never asked exactly how Isaev had managed to get Imanov's scarf back, he recalled.

He'd been distracted at the time.

But he could tell that tensions ran high between their respective squads now, regardless of the truce that seemed to be in place between Major Ocelot and the Fury.

With Imanov still out, Isaev had assumed the role as Ocelot's second; the men followed him, in spite of Kassian's higher rank.

It suited Kassian just fine, but he'd understood Isaev's concern: If the Ocelots ran off to stow the crocodile meat, then the Major would be alone with his counterpart and the Flame Patrol.

The inequity of numbers didn't sit right.

So they'd split, with Kassian staying behind and Isaev leading the squad to the lab. If trouble started, Kassian knew that one man wouldn't make much of a difference - and in all honesty, Isaev would be better in a situation that would undoubtedly call for close-range fighting.

Kassian knew his job was to help ensure that trouble never started in the first place.

He stayed close to Ocelot, as ordered, as dark and silent as a shadow. His eyes, the only part of his face visible under his balaclava, roamed their surroundings, taking in every detail. Under the face mask, he stood out less, though his black brows still marked him, as did the lines that pulled at the corners of his eyes.

It was not much of a concern, anymore.

Though he did not avert his eyes from either the Fury or his squad, he also did not stare, but merely waited with the thousand-meter gaze of a veteran soldier, both idle, and alert.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

“Your men do not trust me.” The Fury observed, eyeing Kassian suspiciously. Something was different about that one, he thought, immediately noticeable even despite the standard black balaclava and red beret. He was unlike the others; older, it was obvious by the way he moved, the way he stood, his nonchalant lack of words. Hopefully, he was wiser than the other temperamental braggarts of the Ocelot Unit. “They are wiser than I have given them credit for. On any other night…”

The cosmonaut trailed off. It didn’t seem right to make threats that were contrary to the temporary ceasefire.

“Glass houses?” he asked, laughing. “Those who live in glass houses should get dressed with the lights out? Especially, specifically, Johann Krauss.” It was not the traditional answer to houses of glass and those who chose to well inside, but it was as good of answer as any.

The flame patrol lieutenant pacing nearby managed a snicker.

His attention went back to the other Ocelot soldier, the quiet brooding one. “You. Do you have a name, or do they just give you numbers now?” Still smirking, he wiped the raindrops from his helmet, leaving streaks all the way across. It would have to do though, and he only anticipated being in the rain for another ten minutes or so anyway.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian turned his gaze to the Fury, eyes dark and somber, but he only saw his own masked face reflected in the cosmonaut's helmet.

He found it momentarily ironic. Both of them, hidden behind their respective shields.

Kassian thought he knew what he'd see if he could catch the man's gaze, just the same.

He'd known men like the Fury in the war. He'd fought side by side with them. At some point, something essential had been stripped away from men like that, leaving them raw with wounds that would never fully heal.

War cut deeply into a man's soul, and those that survived it were irrevocably changed.

The Fury was certainly no exception.

Neither was Kassian.

Still, it was no reason to be rude, in spite of the Fury's mocking question.

He felt unbothered by both the challenge in the cosmonaut's tone and the implied insult in his words. Those meant nothing, mere tests, attempts to feel out a potential opponent. He did not feel immediately threatened, but at the same time, he knew better than to drop his guard.

"Irinarhov. Kassian Dmitrievich," he said, simply, and left it at that.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"Captain Irinarhov is a special transfer to our unit," Ocelot addended coolly. "Major Raikov pulled some real strings to get him here."

He glanced at the Fury, smirking.

"Like you, he's highly decorated, but has some...unorthodox smudges on his permanent record."

He watched the Fury's lieutenant pace the roof, alert and on point, staring down at the greenhouse the way a cat observes a mouse hole. Ocelot could almost see his tail twitching.

"By the way," Ocelot said calmly, "I see you not only declined to kill Senior Lieutenant Isaev, but allowed him to retrieve his scarf. Much appreciated, Fury. I need to keep my senior officers in one piece. Especially the ones whose bodies could pass for me in a pinch," he added, smirking once more.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

“Irinarhov.” The Fury repeated, tilting his head to get a better view of the soldier from behind the smoked glass. The Mosin-Nagant slung over his shoulder was the first real indicator of individuality the cosmonaut had ever seen among the squad. “A sniper. I fucking hate snipers.”

He had a certain grudging affinity for The End and the old man’s surplus advice, an empathy that was required and expected, but that was where the affection for snipers stopped.

Fucking snipers, hiding in the trees, hiding in the bushes, always sneaking around. Malice lingered after a brush with death at the hands of an enemy sniper, once, long ago. He was certain he still had the bullet wounds to show for it, somewhere among all the other old scars.

And Irinarhov was probably the same fucking sniper that rumors were circulating about all over Groznyj Grad.

“There they are!” Io called, breaking the uncomfortable silence, pointing to the pair of hovercraft swiftly approaching, the characteristic whir of spinning turbines growing louder. “Phobos and Deimos. There!”

“Worthless sons-of-bitches were supposed to call home first.” The cosmonaut snapped, tossing the radio away. It rolled a few feet, skidding over the rough gray concrete, tumbling end over end. He considered smashing it just for the sake of destroying something.

“And they have company.” The Kranogorje lieutenant continued, shaking his head warily at the unconscious body soldier slumped over the railing of on hovercraft, with only an occasional glance from its pilot. “Field patrol, from the looks of him. I wonder if he’s still alive…”

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian's jaw tightened, though otherwise, he remained stoic.

He kept his gaze straight ahead.

He was not bothered by the derogatory comments about his record - no, he was well used to those by now, even coming from his commanding officer's mouth.

He was not bothered by the Fury's words, either. A lot of people hated snipers. Kassian didn't blame them.

No, it was the comment about Isaev that rankled, however casually it had slipped from Ocelot's mouth.

So that was why, Kassian thought.

That was why Ocelot chose all the officers from his unit from men of blond-haired, blue-eyed stock. Kassian had originally thought it was mere vanity, and ego, but now he understood: It was camouflage.

A matter of survival.

If Ocelot ever found himself as a target for assassination, all he had to do is have Isaev, or one of the others, take off his balaclava and dress up in spurs and twin holsters and he would have a perfect Ocelot-decoy.

The perfect target for, say, a sniper.

From a military standpoint, it made a lot of sense. Kassian could not deny that. But from a personal standpoint, it rankled, though he didn't let it show.

It was personal, and such concerns had no place in a military situation. He didn't need to remind himself of that; he knew.

He tilted his head as he caught the faint whirring sound in the distance, grateful for the interruption, though he frowned as he noticed the body slumped over the hovercraft's rail.

The Fury's men had some explaining to do, it seemed.

He looked back to the smooth opaque shield of the Fury's helmet, briefly, and wondered how the material would affect a bullet's trajectory, but the Fury seemed more occupied with his ire than anything else.

While the Fury was absorbed with destroying his radio, Kassian glanced at Ocelot briefly, though in solidarity, not question. The Major didn't like this any more than he did, he knew, and in spite of his earlier irritation with the young major, he was here to do his job.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"What's this?" demanded Ocelot, looking at the Fury with narrowed eyes. "Are your men acting on your orders?"

He didn't know what the circumstance was yet, he reminded himself, briefly. It might have been a rescue.

Hah, he thought, amused at his own willful naivete.

The sniper at his elbow looked staunch, and his eyes glinted with alacrity. Good man, thought Ocelot, absently.

He had noted the slightest jerk of the man's fist against his rifle when he'd made his offhand comment about officers as body doubles, and now he laughed quietly as they waited for the hovercraft to descend.

"Don't worry, Irinarhov. You're my last choice for a body plant. Even burned beyond recognition, you would convince no one."

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

“Burned beyond recognition,” the Fury mused thoughtfully, laughing, “we could arrange that.”

He waited patiently until the vehicles touched down on the rooftop, unflinching from the scorching heat of the exhaust that sent his lieutenant scuttling away towards the Ocelots, glaring and glowering. Even if he would have felt it through his fireproof suit, it would have been a welcome relief from the misty gray cold.

“All clear.” One of the flame soldiers announced triumphantly, the scrawnier of the two, “the moth flies at midnight!”

Without a word in reply, the Fury grabbed the soldier around the neck and hauled him from his vehicle. “I demand an answer!” he snarled, “why didn’t you radio mission control, cadet? The slightest deviation from our plans could have disastrous results!”

The other Krasnogorje soldier watched for a moment with detached curiosity as his commander strangled his struggling, screaming comrade. He glanced at the Ocelots, then to the unconscious body hanging over the railing of his own hovercraft.

Finally, he pulled off his gasmask and spoke. “Let him go. The radio was damaged in the struggle; it’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

Reluctantly, the cosmonaut let go of the struggling soldier; he slumped to the ground and pulled off his mask as well, gasping for precious oxygen, all the while laughing as though he were out of his mind.

“And what’s his story?” The Fury asked, gesturing to the unconscious body.

“A hero.” The dark haired soldier answered firmly. “The rest of the patrol scattered like scared rabbits, but he was determined to defend the greenhouse… even got off a few shots at the ‘craft before I took care of him. Thought it was wrong to leave such a brave soldier defenseless to be blown to bits or die in the fire… so I brought him back here.”

The Fury seemed pleased enough with the answer, nodding as he considered it. That was important, he thought. Learning when mercy was well deserved. “There is no honor in murdering an unarmed man. You’re learning, Deimos. Really learning.”

Glancing down, the cosmonaut offered a hand to help the soldier he had previously been more interested in killing to stand up. The lithe redhead wobbled on his feet for a moment, off balance because of the heavy fuel canister he carried and the stars flashing before his eyes. “No harm done.” He announced finally, and the Fury nodded.

Turning his attention back to the unconscious field soldier, he lifted the man’s head by a hand full of blonde hair. Poor bastard would have a nasty headache in the morning, a black eye, and nothing worse.

“Splendid. Deimos, Phobos: take our guest downstairs and make him comfortable. Io, you’re going with them.”

The lieutenant growled, but obliged, following the other men of his unit as they carried the unconscious soldier through the bright red door.

The Fury said nothing to the pair of Ocelots hanging ever so close to the fire escape, looking prepared to run at any moment. He only picked up the detonator from the ground, dusted it off, and sighed.

Krasnogorje affairs were always so exhausting.

“Captain Irinarhov… I believe you should go with them as well to be certain they do not change their minds and slit his throat.” The cosmonaut’s tone hinted it was more of a demand than a suggestion and he waited, impatient and glaring at the sniper.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian spared Major Ocelot only the briefest of sideways glances. His concern over the body doubles was not for himself, or course, but this was not the time or place to explain that to Ocelot. Instead, he watched the conflict between the Fury and his soldiers with growing concern.

It was the stuff of nightmares: images straight out of Dante. Infernal tortures, the punishment of the wicked. The whole thing had the patina of surreality to it, even to Kassian's jaded, dark eyes.

Kassian could have done far worse than Major Ocelot, he suddenly realized.

He spared only the smallest of moments to be grateful, because there were more pressing matters to deal with. Like the Fury, and his demands. He fixed the cosmonaut with a brief, hard glance, stoic and unresponsive, but then turned to Ocelot.

As his looked at Ocelot's ice-hard face, his gaze flickered, half-incredulous. There was no way Kassian would blithely follow the Fury's order and accompany his men, even given the wounded soldier's plight. The maneuver seemed purposeful to him, a ploy to get the Major alone.

And he couldn't believe that Ocelot would stand for any of this. He knew better than to even take a step without Ocelot's cue.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"No," said Ocelot, firmly. "The rest can go. He stays."

He doubted the Fury was being conniving by trying to send Irinarhov away. The cosmonaut had looked disgruntled at the mere idea of a sniper in his midst, and in all probability was merely wanting the source of his anxiety removed.

All the same, Ocelot knew better than to accept a stacked deck from a self-admitted lunatic.

"I might have been born yesterday," he said, with a crisp smile, "but don't mistake my youthful good looks for reckless idiocy."

Normally he would have bristled at the idea of an escort, but Irinarhov was stoic and somber as a statue brought to life in a folk tale. He registered more as sidearm then nursemaid. Not unlike Ocelot's own guns, or a quiet and protective mastiff.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian made no sign of acknowledgment other than to merely hold his ground. Let the Fury rant and rave, if he felt the need. Kassian had weathered worse storms in the past, and nothing short of a full-on flamethrower attack would get him to leave Ocelot's side.

And even then, it would just be to dodge.

He doubted the Fury wanted to declare open war, however. The man couldn't be that crazy yet. Or else he wouldn't still be able to function in a military environment. Somewhere in there had to be some modicum of common sense, however low that flame guttered.

Kassian was counting on it.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

The cosmonaut only stared for a moment, as if caught off guard by the outright refusal to comply. He was not accustomed to being told no; not from the Cobra soldiers, not from commanding officers, not even from Volgin himself. He secured a laboratory, a platoon of flamethrower equipped sociopaths that shared in his twisted ideals, and supplies to create and maintain a small fleet of hovercraft, all by making calm demands and subtle threats to the right people.

There was something endearing about the young Major though. His crassness, that was something all too familiar. It reminded the cosmonaut of himself, when he was but a young, ostentatious pilot flying top secret missions over Europe.

“Idiocy?” The Fury laughed, a cold and calculated laugh, but genuine all the same. “Not at all. You misunderstand me. I only wish to teach you… to enlighten you, Major Ocelot.”

It would have been easier, more intimate without the observer.

He stepped up onto the ledge once again; a black vulture with mechanical wings. “If I had any intention of harming you, I would have acted on such brutal impulses long ago.” Pausing in his thoughts, he motioned for the two to join him, though he doubted they would accept the invitation to stand where the view was so amazing. “You seem like a man who could appreciate the nature of fire: it moves, it breathes like a feral jungle cat; it consumes everything in its path like a ravenous beast. Yet, it can be tamed, controlled. It will bend to your will, under just the right touch. And that raw power… it is intoxicating.”

The Fury turned suddenly and tossed the detonator to Major Ocelot. “It can be just as temperamental and difficult as you, Major.” Again he laughed, “And this will be my gift to you. Flip the switch, extend the antenna, push the red button.”

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot frowned, but reached out and caught the device, turning it over it his hand.

"You want me to throw the switch, eh?"

A snort of amusement.

"I'm flattered."

And he was, even if he suspected that the Fury's gesture was less a benevolent concession and more a way of ensuring the main catalytic responsibility rested squarely on Ocelot's shoulders. Or at least a way of ensuring complicity for them both.

Either way, Adam didn't particularly care. Volgin had all but signed off on the idea, with his spare-the-rod philosophy. And Ocelot himself had no love for what he was beginning to suspect were Krauss' meglomanical underpinnings poking out like frilly women's underwear from under his crisp Major's drab.

He fingered the switch briefly, smirking, then reached out and drew the antenna out of the device.

Ocelot turned to Irinarhov, meeting the dark eyes that trained on him from the black balaclava.

"Irinarhov," he said, crisply. "You can stay or go below. Either way, you weren't here. And you didn't witness any of this."

There was no need for any retaliation to spread to his squad. It was Ocelot's action to take, and to take the flack, if any, for.

He turned back to the vista that stretched before them. The cosmonaut had done a masterful job of orchestrating the pyrotechnic set-up, as far as he could see. The greenhouse didn't stand a chance against the Fury.

"All right," he said coolly, holding up the remote so that the Fury could see. "Here goes."

His finger stroked the trigger surely, familiarly; it was the same motion he used for his guns.

And it was done.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian gave a slight nod to Ocelot's words, and stepped away. He only went a few paces before stopping, though he dutifully averted his eyes.

He wasn't there. And he didn't witness any of it.

Kassian lingered nearby, though, just to keep track of Ocelot and to make sure the Fury would not suddenly lash out with murderous intent. He didn't think so - the whole affair had an air of ritual solemnity to it, like an execution, rather than the more rash and heated charge that came with the mere vandalization of property. Most likely the Fury would not let his emotions get the better of him, in spite of his earlier display.

Ocelot would be fine.

Still, Kassian was here for a specific reason, and he was a stickler for completing what he started.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

Time always seemed to stop between detonation and ignition. Anxiety crept in like nausea, and the cosmonaut remained on the ledge, staring off into the misty gray distance, holding his breath.

It was the most thrilling and dreadful of things.

And then it happened, before he even realized it was done; the roar of the explosives ripping apart the defenseless glass house, puking orange fire and thick black smoke into the air. It leveled the nearby trees, shook the buildings, and the Fury could only speculate how much C4 his men packed into the greenhouse. Far more than was required, or within the realm of sanity or safety.

The explosion echoed through the valley, birds flew from their roosts in the canopy of the forest, and the Fury laughed with psychotic delight.

Debris fell like rain, tanks of pesticide and fertilizer blew up in the heat of the inferno; the reply to the question the first explosion had asked.

And how delightful it would be to walk through the flames and stand there among the burning rubble, to watch the fire consume everything, reduce it all to a thin layer of gray ash that would evenly coat his helmet when he emerged from the other side, and laugh for no other reason than the pure joy of destruction.

“No. If anyone should inquire, you were both right here the entire time. I will tell them the truth as I remember it: you tried your best to stop my terrible wicked plans, you and your sniper, whom I set on fire twice. Poor bastard narrowly escaped with his life.”

Even if Volgin had chose to look the other way, Krauss would demand some sort of punishment in retaliation, no doubt. And when the Colonel came looking for him, the cosmonaut would admit everything, and demand to know exactly what Yevgeny planned to do about it.

Below, men were starting to spill out into the yard, confused and disorientated as they stumbled toward the red-orange blaze just over the hill.

The Fury turned to look at the Major as the imaginary conversation played out in his head. “How do you feel, Adamska?”

That was the most important question of all.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian turned his head to focus on the conflagration.

After all, there was no way he could have missed that, regardless of how much attention he was paying to who did it at the time.

He watched the greenhouse burn, frowning slightly.

Kassian's tradecraft involved spare economy: the best kills were done with a single bullet, not so much C-4 as to shatter the walls and obliterate the remains.

To him, it was an inelegant method of destruction, but as he watched the Fury shiver, rapturous, as the inferno blazed, he thought the man must see his own sort of beauty in the surfeit of such ruin.

Each to his own, then.

The Fury's words amused him, though - set on fire twice? Unlikely cover story, as surely such injuries would have sent him to the infirmary, and with no corresponding paper trail, or verification from Khostov himself, it was a poor alibi.

He glanced at Ocelot, wondering what the young major thought of all of this.

Unauthorized usage of so much explosives, and the destruction of property went far beyond a mere prank in Kassian's mind. No squad he had ever served in would go so far, but it only served to impress upon him again what kind of a place Groznyj Grad was.

It went beyond the strange, to the singularly deviant.

After a moment, he shrugged to himself. Perhaps that was why he was starting to fit in.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot smirked broadly.

"You're a fun date," he said, after a moment. "I like it, but it's not my style."

It had felt good, like a gun did, to pull that trigger and unleash all hell.

But with a gun, hell could be directed, focused, contained.

"It feels remote. Removed." He looked at the Fury, frowning. "I like to commit my acts."

He paused.

"But then, it probably isn't about the commisson, for you, is it? Just the ripping fabric of devastation, and chaos of the aftermath. I understand."

He turned to Kassian.

"I guess we know how you wound up with black hair," he said, with a cynical snort.

Below the soldiers were frantically running for the hoses and chemical extinquishers.

Ocelot thought he could make out the lemon-blond form of Krauss, down below, walking slowly and dazedly toward his smoking wreck of a skeletal ex-greenhouse.

Volgin would just grant him funds to build a better one, thought Ocelot, vaguely.

Despite his anger at Krauss' attempts to manipulate him, and play he and the Fury off one another's instability, part of him keenly felt for Krauss' loss.

Fucking Nazi, he thought. He should watch where he makes his enemies. This didn't have to happen.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

The Fury eyed Kassian suspiciously as the soldier shrugged, apparently agreeing with himself about something. They had claimed, with all their support medical knowledge and degrees, that talking to oneself was a certain sign of lunacy. Ranting and raving and screaming at a lamp for endless hours had not helped the cosmonaut’s reputation either.

But Ocelot’s comment caught him off guard, rather nauseated him. A fun date. With a nice candle lit dinner of vulture and alligator, and Ocelot with that painted on hint of a smirk.

It was nothing personal, he realized, and chose to play it off.

“I’m flattered, Major. Perhaps I’ll even be lucky enough to persuade you back to my barracks for a proper lesson in rocket propulsion. You know I’ll never kiss and tell.”

The Fury laughed, shaking the idea out of his head. He watched the soldiers scurrying below with sadistic interest; they were starting to panic in the absence of orders. Typical, disorganized military men, who had been broken to let their superiors do all the thinking for them Like ants. Too easy to kill. Suddenly, he was thankful to have a flame unit under his command composed of rejects and men who found it impossible to blindly follow orders.

“You do understand.” He answered finally with an undertone of surprise. It was the destruction that drove him, that willed him to live even when he should have died. It was the overwhelming feeling of standing alone in the fire, laughing at the flames as they reduced everything to ash. It was the destruction, and the resulting peace. A patch of scorched earth -- cleansed.

“I would like to convince them,” he gestured to the men below in their panic, “if only for a brief period of time, that the explosion was the result of an atomic bomb dropped by the Americans. In their blind terror, they would believe it.” The Fury laughed, just imagining the chaos that would result for weeks. “But would create far too many problems for Voyevoda and her bastardly young son, now wouldn’t it?”

Not waiting for an answer to the rhetorical question, the Fury stepped off the ledge, plummeting toward the earth again before his thrusters fired, and he hovered in mid air. The soldiers below were too consumed in their panic to notice; he turned toward the Ocelot soldiers still standing on the rooftop.

“Tomorrow,” he shouted, “everything returns to normal. No truce! No sympathy between our respective units! My men will resume doing their best to set yours ablaze, and I expect no less in retaliation.”

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

"Why?" Kassian asked, calm in the face of the Fury's ire.

His tone was one of curiosity, not challenge.

He regarded the Fury with a dark, somber gaze.

Kassian knew it was not his place to question the cosmonaut, or to break into his conversation with Ocelot. He was only here as support, and as such, it was his job to stand as silent and disengaged as a sniper in the trees.

But Kassian found himself oddly compelled to ask.

They were of an age, Kassian thought. Perhaps the Fury was even older. There were things that men of their era knew that men of Ocelot's and Isaev's generation couldn't know. It was no failing of these young men, no deficiency in their character. They simply hadn't been through the same experiences, and were different because of it.

They hadn't been through the war.

Kassian felt that there was enough suffering in the world, enough death and loss and anger that one did not have to seek out such things from one's allies, at least.

Here would have thought that the Fury would understand such a thing, but perhaps there was something else, some other reason.

He allowed for the possibility of sheer insanity. If the answer was, because I can, then Kassian would know for certain the mind of the man they were dealing with.

But if it was something else, some other reason more esoteric, then he wanted to hear it. He wanted to understand. Kassian personally had no desire for a rivalry with Flame Patrol.

It occurred to him that they might actually be able to learn things from each other, instead.

He wondered if Ocelot saw it too, or if the young major enjoyed the antagonism.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Adam found himself smirking.

He said nothing, reaching for his gun and letting it spin on his careless hand, waiting to see if the Fury would actually deign to answer the Captain's very good question, the one he always assumed it was futile to ask.

Perhaps assumptions came too quickly. He idly appraised Irinarhov with a frown of satisfaction.

He had a kind of jaded sentience that worked to his advantage. Knew when to shut up, but broke that rule when he felt like it, and Adam could hardly begrudge that, even when it seemed contrary to subordination.

As he often did when studying the motivations of his elders, Ocelot found himself wondering why one man could go through hell and have his mind snap like a twig, whereas another could emerge relatively unscathed- functionally, at least.

He couldn't vouch for Irinarhov's emotional psyche, but his service was exemplary. His hands didn't fucking shake when he held his rifle, he didn't need pills to steady so he could sight. He might not have lit up the squad with his sunny disposition the first day of his assignment, but clearly he'd fallen in line without much friction.

Ocelot liked his unquestioning loyalty when it was called for, but he was equally pleased by the idea that the Captain was not a mindless automaton. If his experience told him something was unwise, he would in all likelyhood broach the subject, regardless of Ocelot's mood at the time.

His spontaneous adress of the hovering, glowering spaceman had proven that much.

Ocelot glanced at the Captain.

"Glad you went into ground forces, aren't you?" he remarked, obliquely, puntuating this with a snort.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

“You ask me why.” The cosmonaut laughed, genuinely amused by the question. “I did not think the Ocelot squad still had the ability within them to question.”

That fucking sniper, he thought bitterly, would be his first target tomorrow morning. He was too quiet, and when he did open his mouth, the words which spilled forth were irritating.

And the Major was twirling his guns again. Without thinking, the Fury reached for his flamethrower, absentmindedly clicking the safety switch on and off, on and off, as he hovered in mid air and pondered Kassian’s words.

“Why not? Everyone needs a hobby.”

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"You're wasting your time. Even he doesn't know," remarked Ocelot with a laugh. "You see? That's Groznyj Grad. Infighting and depravity, like a bunch of old, bitter whores. They've been at it so long they don't even know why anymore. No comradeship, no loyalties. That's why Volgin will never get his world domination."

And that's why this assignment is going to be so goddamned easy for Voyevoda and her donkey-jawed American ass boy, he thought, silently.

Ocelot smirked.

"Besides, what else does he have to live for? What are the things men live for? Wealth, fame, comfort, admiration. Prestige, accomplishment, attainment, beauty, creation. Moral good, moral evil, causes, greed. Friendship, brotherhood...love," he added, smirking briefly. "When none of that exists within a man, all that's left is the vaccuum of idealism. He lives for revenge, and nothing more."

Adam quirked his eyebrows in an expression of offhand bemusement.

"He wants to destroy everything, and then go out with it. A nihilist, and a relativist. Both disciplines I don't understand."

Why destroy it when you could own it?

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

They had been playing cards, Ocelots and cosmonauts alike. A quiet but civil game.

They comatose man had been tended and set aside. From time to time he stirred and murmured.

Andrei was almost relaxed. As relaxed as one could be, when not among one's own comrades.

And in the midst of an uneasy truce.

Isaev was working on a good hand when a kid in a crisp kapral's uniform burst in, looking ashen and shaken.

A single panicked sentence was all it took, tumbling from the lips of the pale junior officer.

Andrei leapt to his feet, abandoning his hand. The cosmonauts raked in his cigarettes, but he didn't notice.

He hit the landing of the outer stairs at a dead, efficient run, his jackboots clanking lightly on the metal grating of the fire escape, holding his AK against his side.

There'd been no time to snatch up his jacket, beret or balaclava, so he looked irreparably 'at ease' in his jodhpurs and striped tel'nik, hair whipping at his cheeks windblown disarray, but he endeavored to draw himself up like a soldier as he came to a halting stop before Ocelot.

"Major," he demanded, without preamble. "We have an immediate situation requiring discretion."

Andrei kept his eyes on the Major, fixed and importunate.

"They've found a body, sir."

"There were casualities?" Ocelot asked, frowning.

There should have been no one in residence at the greenhouse. It should have been locked and guarded at this hour. Only Krauss was allowed to go there during the night, and god only knew what he did there.

"Only one. In the shell of the Greenhouse." Andrei paused. "A woman."

Ocelot frowned, incredulous.

"What?"

Women, while common in the Russian army at large, were a rarity at Groznyj Grad.

Isaev nodded.

"A woman. They could tell that much, but not much more. Her face is...not going to be much help in identifying her. The body is charred...and missing several...appendages."

That seemed to unsettle Ocelot.

"From the explosion, doubtless," he muttered, after a moment.

Andrei ran his hand back through his hair, shaking his head.

"I don't know. But they've gone to notify the Colonel. I thought you should know."

He glanced down at the smoldering wreck.

"I'm sure you'll be needed immediately. Elsewhere," he added, significantly.

Ocelot nodded coolly.

"Get everyone, and secure the site."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian listened to Isaev's report, frowning.

So the prank had gone too far, then, and had backfired, turning unexpectedly deadly.

He'd thought he'd heard the Fury's men declare the greenhouse as all clear, earlier, unless the whole thing had been staged in order to provide a cover story to get rid of a body.

Though that didn't make sense, either. Perhaps Flame Patrol had just missed the woman. But who was she? A whore that Krauss kept hidden in the greenhouse?

It seemed strange, but it was a puzzle impossible to solve without more information.

Kassian felt a brief moment of regret that he'd not gotten a chance to answer either the Fury or Ocelot, because both had interesting things to say.

The Fury had replied much as Kassian thought he would, though unlike Ocelot, Kassian thought there was more to the story. Reasons deeper than nihilism, though that probably was a factor as well.

Ocelot's lecture afterward had been...surprising. The young major had almost startled him with his keen observations on the nature of men and the reasons they fought. Keenly perceptive, if a bit narrow, Ocelot's reflections on the cosmonaut's psyche had demonstrated an instinctive understanding of human nature that Kassian hadn't thought Ocelot possessed. He'd written off Ocelot earlier as too self-centered to understand the thought processes of others.

Yes, Ocelot's speech had been illuminating, but there was no time to dwell on what it meant now.

He spared Isaev a brief but familiar glance as he stepped forward. It was not the time or place for anything else, but he was glad to see the lieutenant nonetheless.

Kassian turned to Ocelot. "Major?" he asked with silent question in his gaze. He would stay with Ocelot if needed. Perhaps it would be wise.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot frowned.

"I don't want to deal with this," he muttered. "Where the hell is Raikov when a dead whore shows up?"

"I think you just answered your own question," murmured Isaev wryly, and Ocelot cracked an absent smile.

"Fuck. Fine. Both of you. Let's go."

He looked at Kassian.

"Unless you want to wait for more pearls of wisdom to fall from the lips of the lunatic."

He could, he thought, leave Irinarhov here- post him above on the roof and have him cover the situation.

He considered it briefly, but there seemed no imminent threat.

Ocelot checked his guns back into their holsters.

Because of the fucking cosmonaut's appetite for destruction, he was stuck dealing with a non-combat fatality.

Those were always lengthy, unpleasant affairs.

Unless it actually was one of Krauss's whores, which he almost hoped, because then the inquiry would be mercifully short.

"Thanks for the hospitality, Fury. I'll be sure to pay you back."

[elyseexpatriate.livejournal.com]

The smoldering ruins glowed on the horizon, tinting the sky with false sunrise.

"Pretty, isn't it?" The Sorrow said.

Children were so much easier to reach. They hardly noticed the difference. A natural sensitivity that most grew out of, perhaps.

An odd place, Groznyj Grad. Anywhere else, following a stranger into the woods would have had the opposite effect on one's personal safety.

The little girl holding his hand nodded, mutely.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian glanced briefly at the Fury when Ocelot offered to let him stay, but then shook his head. "No, Major," he said.

Besides, he didn't think the Fury would be lingering on this particular rooftop anymore. With the jetpack, he'd probably beat them all down there, if that was where he intended to go.

The rooftop did afford a good vantage to cover the remains of the greenhouse, but right now there seemed to be no need. He fell in line opposite Isaev.

Besides, he wanted to see the body. He'd seen enough of them, people killed in every manner imaginable, to know a thing or two about the way people died.

He'd taken a sort of macabre interest in it, even though technically his job was over the instant a pulse stilled.

He glanced at Isaev. He'd be willing to bet that Isaev knew a few things about the disposition of dead bodies himself, given the more intimate nature of his particular tradecraft. Killing with one's hands made for a more up-close and personal experience.

It was a shame, though, to think that the prank had resulted in what was mostly likely a civilian death. There were no female soldiers at Groznyj Grad, not that he'd seen, at least, except for the woman they called the Boss.

And if it had been the Boss, then that was another matter entirely.

They would find out, though.

He lined up to follow Ocelot down the fire escape, checking his Mosin-Nagant almost absently, in reflex.

It was going to be a longer night than he'd thought.

[elyseexpatriate.livejournal.com]

The Sorrow was distracted from the sight by a tug on his sleeve.

"'s cold," the girl muttered.

Ah. Right. He had almost forgotten them, these elements that affected the living.

"Let's get you back, then," he said.

The doctor's quarters should still be safe.

They took a circuitous route toward the building that hulked solid and black against the sky, as if in defiance of the recently demonstrated mortality of architecture. After going to the trouble of...preserving this secret, it would do no good to be seen.

"Nadine, was it?" The Sorrow said conversationally.

The going was slow, for the both of them. The girl had to pick her way over rocks, roots, and forest-floor debris. The Sorrow had to take care not to let his legs pass through them.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

The Fury waited patiently as the Major and the sniper discussed him, dissected his every thought, speculated on his motivations. He listened mostly out of curiosity, only picking a few words here and there over the wind and dull roar of his jetpack.

Isaev appeared, suddenly, unexpectedly. Even from his side of the smoked glass, the cosmonaut could tell how pale and unkempt the lieutenant was. He questioned for a moment perhaps one of his men had done something to upset the Ocelot soldier; Deimos found sadistic delight in such perverse endeavors.

He was fully prepared to take his leave and let them settle it themselves; the thrill of standing among the smoldering ruins was too much temptation. The soldiers were disbursing anyway, no need to hang around --literally and figuratively-- any longer and waste rocket fuel.

The cosmonaut had not expected his own lieutenant to burst through the rooftop door and run towards him, shouting and flailing. Phobos and Deimos followed, then Iapetus, Pasiphaë with her RPG-7 slung over her shoulder, and a few more flame soldiers already struggling to replace their gasmasks.

“A corpse!” Io shouted, “they’ve found a corpse in the greenhouse!”

“It was all clear when we departed.” Deimos offered, stopping just short of the ledge where the cosmonaut hovered. “We checked it three times, top to bottom.”

The Fury considered his words, then nodded. There was no reason for disbelief; they would have admitted, Deimos especially, to murder. Bragged about it, even. If they had gone so far as to drag the unconscious man who put up such a struggle back to the East Wing so that he would not perish in the blast, then they certainly had nothing to do with the alleged corpse.

“Meet me there.” The Fury ordered. Turning, he flew off into the approaching darkness, leaving the Krasnogorje patrol standing there in the thick black smoke that remained.