The Fury would have claimed ignorance for the destruction of the greenhouse, but something told him Volgin would not believe him, not for a minute. Instead he only glared, fumed, and pondered the delicate operation of informing the Colonel that he had missed a few buttons on his coat, and that Raikov’s pants were unzipped better than half way.
A critical security breech at mission control, and the whole world was about to catch a glimpse of Raidenovitch’s lunar probe.
He turned away at Volgin’s comment, wincing at the very thought of just how it would he would make it all better. The cosmonaut forced himself to think of something, anything besides that speech about love Volgin had given earlier. It was too morbidly inappropriate, standing among the ashes of the burned out greenhouse, next to a corpse liberated of its genitalia.
Under different circumstances, he would have asked why the Colonel insisted on doing that; hinting just enough that the entire base knew more about his personal life than they wanted to. But the Fury already knew the answer: simply because he could, and no one would stop him. The same reason the cosmonaut picked random victims at mess to set on fire.
The approaching footsteps in the woods were a perfect diversion, and sensing the dire need for a change of subject, someone shined a flashlight down the path.
“Look at that,” Io smirked, glancing towards Volgin, “they’ve took the liberty of starting the interrogation for you.”
Pasiphaë nudged Major Krauss along the narrow path with a rocket launcher pressed to the small of his back; Iapetus walked along side and toyed with the German’s Luger, seeming rather uninterested in the whole affair. Krauss seemed the worse off of the three, hands bound behind his back and blood spattered across the front of his white coat, obvious even in the dim light.
“Is he…?” The Fury stammered, tilting his head in curiosity, trying to get a better look. “Is he actually crying?”
“I think she broke his nose.” Io muttered, just as awed as his commander.
As he was lead into the burned out clearing by the Krasnogorje patrol, his injuries became more apparent. A split lip, a blooded nose, and his treasured mink coat bloodied and scorched.
As he stumbled along, the Major mumbled something to himself, with his head bowed and his nose still dripping blood. It was barely audible, and would have gone unnoticed if not for the movement of his lips. “Vater unser im Himmel, Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme. Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden…”
“We found him wandering around outside of the perimeter.” Pasiphaë announced, lowering her grenade launcher, and pushing Krauss towards the cosmonaut. “Mumbling to himself in German. He wasn’t too happy to see us.” She unbound his hands, tossing his red tie aside.
“For a cowardly fascist, at least he put up a decent fight.” Iapetus mumbled, pulling off his equipment and rubbing the growing goose egg on his forehead.
The female soldier pulled off her gasmask, left eye ringed in deep purples and reds and swelling shut. “But he made one critical mistake,” she hissed, gesturing to the wound.
Io raised a hand toward the woman, in a vague gesture of comfort, as if to inspect her blackened eye. She backhanded him sharply, but he was unflinching.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-01-25 08:20 pm (UTC)A critical security breech at mission control, and the whole world was about to catch a glimpse of Raidenovitch’s lunar probe.
He turned away at Volgin’s comment, wincing at the very thought of just how it would he would make it all better. The cosmonaut forced himself to think of something, anything besides that speech about love Volgin had given earlier. It was too morbidly inappropriate, standing among the ashes of the burned out greenhouse, next to a corpse liberated of its genitalia.
Under different circumstances, he would have asked why the Colonel insisted on doing that; hinting just enough that the entire base knew more about his personal life than they wanted to. But the Fury already knew the answer: simply because he could, and no one would stop him. The same reason the cosmonaut picked random victims at mess to set on fire.
The approaching footsteps in the woods were a perfect diversion, and sensing the dire need for a change of subject, someone shined a flashlight down the path.
“Look at that,” Io smirked, glancing towards Volgin, “they’ve took the liberty of starting the interrogation for you.”
Pasiphaë nudged Major Krauss along the narrow path with a rocket launcher pressed to the small of his back; Iapetus walked along side and toyed with the German’s Luger, seeming rather uninterested in the whole affair. Krauss seemed the worse off of the three, hands bound behind his back and blood spattered across the front of his white coat, obvious even in the dim light.
“Is he…?” The Fury stammered, tilting his head in curiosity, trying to get a better look. “Is he actually crying?”
“I think she broke his nose.” Io muttered, just as awed as his commander.
As he was lead into the burned out clearing by the Krasnogorje patrol, his injuries became more apparent. A split lip, a blooded nose, and his treasured mink coat bloodied and scorched.
As he stumbled along, the Major mumbled something to himself, with his head bowed and his nose still dripping blood. It was barely audible, and would have gone unnoticed if not for the movement of his lips. “Vater unser im Himmel, Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme. Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden…”
“We found him wandering around outside of the perimeter.” Pasiphaë announced, lowering her grenade launcher, and pushing Krauss towards the cosmonaut. “Mumbling to himself in German. He wasn’t too happy to see us.” She unbound his hands, tossing his red tie aside.
“For a cowardly fascist, at least he put up a decent fight.” Iapetus mumbled, pulling off his equipment and rubbing the growing goose egg on his forehead.
The female soldier pulled off her gasmask, left eye ringed in deep purples and reds and swelling shut. “But he made one critical mistake,” she hissed, gesturing to the wound.
Io raised a hand toward the woman, in a vague gesture of comfort, as if to inspect her blackened eye. She backhanded him sharply, but he was unflinching.
[...]