The Greenhouse [Wednesday, January 29, 1964, 12:30 am]

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

[SRIDA, 29 YANVAR, 0030 hours]

[OOC: Warning, description of dead body to follow.]

Ocelot took the lead as they walked from the East Wing toward the smoldering ruin of the greenhouse. The major's spurs jingled restlessly with each long stride, and his mouth was set and sullen, like a child called in from play too soon.

Kassian and Isaev flanked slightly behind, following the blaze of Ocelot's trail over the muddy hill.

Kassian glanced at Isaev. Jacketless, face uncovered by balaclava and without his beret, the lieutenant looked cold, flushed cheeks and curled-in shoulders. The earlier rainstorm had lightened to an intermittent drizzle, which had in turn abated for the moment, but still, it was no weather to be wearing only tel'nik and jodhphurs.

With little ceremony, Kassian unwound his scarf and handed it to Isaev.

A pair of GRU soldiers fidgeted at the edge of the smoking, skeletal remains of the greenhouse, tossing glances over their shoulders at the lumbering form of the cosmonaut, who was already lurking inside. The pair saluted quickly as Ocelot approached. "Sir! It's...she's...just over there." They handed them flashlights and pointed to a lumpy mound that sat next to what looked like the twisted, blackened husk of an overturned barrel.

Ocelot nodded and wound his way past a half-dozen small, guttering fires. They walked in single file now. Thin, melted glass and charred wood crunched under each step of their jackboots. Kassian's eyes burned from the smoke and fertilizer residue.

In the center of the greenhouse, the Fury stood over a blackened, charred lump that lay half-buried in a mound of dirt. At first Kassian thought the body merely lay contorted in some odd position, then he realized that one arm had been severed at the elbow, and both legs above the knee. The other arm was bent back and twisted underneath, the impossible contortion of a broken puppet.

The corpse's skin peeled up like burnt bark, turning the face skull-like, eye sockets blistered and hollow. The heat of the explosion had probably brought them to an instant boil and charred the rest of the body, but only the front. The back must have been buried in the dirt and shielded from worst of the explosion. He could just see the lacy hem of a dress half covered by dirt underneath the body. Somehow, it looked more obscene than anything else.

For long moments, it was quiet.

Comments

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

Ocelot's face contorted into almost cartoonish incredulity.

"What?" he said. "No! He was like this when I got here."

Raikov's face was unreadable.

Adam spun his Makarov carefully, pausing.

"His own dick was shoved down his throat," he muttered. "It doesn't seem like the usual."

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

Volgin looked at Ocelot sternly, and raised a finger.

"You'd better be telling me the truth, Ocelot. If I find out you lied about this, I'm not going to be pleased," he said, but his tone was mild.

In Volgin's mind, only he was allowed to kill people on a whim in Groznyj Grad, though he would make an allowance for Ocelot.

He sensed something in the insolent major, something sharp and ruthless that he liked. It was an instinct that could be honed, Volgin thought. There was some paternal part of him that wanted to cultivate it, and watch it bloom.

Ocelot always seemed to fight that ruthless instinct, however, though Volgin thought he really would enjoy it, if he just gave it a chance.

He let out a sigh, and turned to Ivan, who was standing at his side, and wearing that look of complete attachment, the one that even Volgin couldn't read.

"This wasn't worth the interruption," he muttered to Ivan, regretting even more now that one of their precious few moments alone together had been squandered because some fool didn't know what to do about a dead body.

He turned back to Ocelot. "So who was he? Who killed him?" Volgin gestured at the burned corpse, impatiently.

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

Ocelot scowled deeply.

"I have no reason to lie about this," he said, indicating the corpse with a shooing wave of his gun and a curl of his lip.

"I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a fucking homocidal pervert."

Too late, Ocelot realized he'd categorically described more than one person in the room while willfully excluding himself.

He was blackly amused, on some level, that Volgin would almost certainly be less angry at him for committing sexual ritual murder on some hapless grunt, than for his singular drunken impulsive consensual indiscretion with the equally drunken Raikov.

Sure, Ocelot. Vivisect all the junior lieutenants you want. But don't park in my hangar, panyatna? That's reserved for the Shagohod. Heh.

Ocelot shook off his mind's unsettlingly convincing impersonation.

"The point is," he declared, "this is an unplanned, unintended action, by an unauthorized individual. Murder-for-pleasure has no place in the GRU."

...Unless you can justify it militarily, his mind added, making him smirk slightly.

He turned, sighing, thinking, head bowed, pressing the nose of the barrel against his brow. It left a pale white indentation when he pulled it away.

"We don't know who it is yet. Major Raikov needs to call for a base-wide head count, make sure everyone is accounted for."

He paused, eyes narrowing.

"As for the sick fuck who killed him...it could be anyone."

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

Volgin had believed Ocelot from the beginning, but his reaction to being accused of lying was humorous. Volgin's amusement was short-lived, though, as Ocelot's words sank in.

Ocelot was right, of course.

No one was to be killed on his base unless Volgin authorized it.

He frowned, wondering if this had something to do with the Shagohod, and his plans. Volgin found the timing highly suspicious. Just like Granin's sudden invitation to Cuba, and the Boss changing her plans and bringing her apprentice onboard at the last minute.

Perhaps this was a distraction, something to occupy his attention while spies infiltrated his ranks and committed acts of sabotage. Perhaps they were even after the Legacy.

His eyes flew around the gathered group, passing from person to person.

They all seemed subdued, and did not look at him, except for the Fury, whose opaque helmet only gave the impression of a stare in return. Volgin had no way to know if it was true or not.

Still, he didn't like it. They were too quiet. Part of him wondered if they were all in on the plot.

His face cracked into a scowl, and electricity sparked between his fingers, but he willed it away at once. He had not worked so long and so hard on controlling his abilities to let them get the better of him now.

"Well, find out," he snapped, turning on Ocelot.

His eyes glinted dangerously.

"I'm putting you in charge of this investigation, Major, and I want results. Find out who did this and bring him to me. I will conduct the interrogation personally."

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

Something about Volgin’s reaction to the cadaver pleased the Fury in ways he could not fully explain. It was indifferent nonchalance, casual detachment, and typically Yevgeny Borisovitch. The value of human like was negligible, unless it was someone who was particularly useful to him.

The cosmonaut had flourished at Groznyj Grad, with such indifferent commanders. The destruction of the greenhouse would only be a footnote on some official report.

Lieutenant Io nudged the Fury, rousing him from his thoughts. “So they found his equipment hacked off and shoved down his throat?”

“Yes.”

“They should let Ivan Raikov have a look.” Io whispered, a cruel smile spreading over his thin, pale lips. “He could probably make a positive identification by the curve of the cock.”

The Fury did not even bother with an attempt to hide his laughter, it was better to let the others simply speculate why the lunatic was laughing. “No no. They’ll have to blindfold him and shove it down his throat before he’ll have any idea who it once belonged to.”

The Lieutenant snorted, but took a sudden interest in his boots when Volgin looked their way.

“As Io and I were saying,” The Fury spoke, taking a few steps toward Volgin, gloved hands raised in mock surrender. “My men are already two light-years ahead of the Ocelot squad. I sent them to find the soldiers who typically patrol this area, and Major Krauss as well… since the proverbial skeleton was found in his closet.”

He looked around, surveying the burned out greenhouse as if for the first time, light gleaming ominously across the arch of his helmet. “The Major should have been more careful about storing the barrels of fertilizer so close to the heater. I warned him. Twice.”

Though the cosmonaut had, truthfully, warned the German twice, it had nothing to do with keeping noxious chemicals near open fires.

[raidenovitch.livejournal.com]

Raikov merely smiled at comments of The Fury's lunatic squad. Lunacy seemed to make them forget that he was not incapable of reading (what remained of) their lips, and had partially earned his rank.

The murder was enough not to have it linger for long. The whole affair looked distastefully planned. The very definition of murder, he supposed, but that made it sicker than merely killing. Killing did not leave patterns to have a squad-and-a-half of soldiers to brainpick at; it was erratic and organic.

Not Raikov's particular interest himself, but he had admired the Colonel's handiwork on occasion.

"Colonel," Raikov said pleasantly, "perhaps our Major Krauss would be more inclined to talk without being force-fed napalm and set on fire... which I hear our comrade Savitskiy excels at."

He was fully confident that Volgin could finish off The Fury, despite what plastic protection his suit provided, if he suddenly felt the need to set something on fire.

He chanced a glance at Ocelot carefully, seeking some kind of back-up on his point: the sooner they could exclude everyone in the Major class, the more authorised hands there would be to conduct the investigation.

... And so he and the Colonel could get back to his room.

Although the sight of the dismembered genitalia had somewhat killed his mood.

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

"He's right," declared Ocelot, starkly, in acknowledgment of the Major.

He avoided meeting Raikov's eyes.

Ocelot paced, slightly, in Volgin's galactic periphery, arms crossed.

"You need to interrogate him, Colonel. You and no one else. Neither Ivan nor I have the authority, and the Fury doesn't recognize any. Nor is he acquainted with the gentle art of making enemies talk."

Volgin wasn't either, Ocelot thought privately, but he didn't have to be. He cut an imposing enough figure that most people readily spilled their guts at the sight of the towering Soviet obelisk.

Adam frowned, skeptically.

"Even so, I doubt Krauss did this. He brings in whores every other week. Why not one of them, if torture is his kick? Dump her off the truck they bring them on, toss her off the waterfall cliff. Who would be the wiser?"

[elyseexpatriate.livejournal.com]

Listening to the young man's words, The Sorrow felt his vision become rimmed, at the lower edge, with red.

Someone would.

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

"I agree," Volgin said, after a moment. "I don't think Krauss did this."

Volgin was fairly certain of it. Krauss might have his own schemes, and a shriveled black heart beating under his chest, but he was not capable of something this...overt.

He imagined that if Krauss ever killed anyone, the German would dump the body quietly, as Ocelot hypothesized, or would chop it up and run the parts through a meat grinder for use as fertilizer for his plants.

Or perhaps he would simply have his cook make him Leberwurst instead.

Volgin's lip curled.

"But he does need to be questioned. Perhaps he saw something, or knows the person who did it. I will interrogate him, when he is found. But until then," he said, and raised a finger in the Fury's direction, "he is not to be harmed. This - " and he gestured around at the ruin of the greenhouse - "makes things even between you."

He imagined the Fury's sharp and defiant gaze upon him, underneath the helmet, but only gave the cosmonaut a small nod, and turned back to Ivan and Ocelot. "Very well. Is everyone clear on what needs to happen now? Do a head count, and find out who is missing. Bring Krauss to me. Question those on duty and see if anyone saw anything."

Volgin scowled. What a way to ruin a perfectly good evening.

"I'll make it up to you later," he told Ivan, in an undertone, and with a brief leer.

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

Ocelot's lip raised in a brief sneer of distaste at the public display; he was unsettled by overt affection and never good at controlling his face, which despite all efforts remained willfully animated.

But he was nothing if not fair to a comrade when called upon.

"I can do the head count, if you...require...Major Raikov to...keep his post," he muttered.

It was six of one, half a dozen of the other as far as Ocelot was concerned. Ivan would owe him, and his gratitude would mean he'd cheerfully handle Ocelot's dreaded paperwork for the week.

However, looking at the Colonel and his well-heeled subordinate, Ocelot wasn't convinced either of them had the stomach to continue playing soldier-on-a-mountain tonight.

Raikov very well might wind up doing the headcount anyway.

Still, even if his offer was declined, the gesture had been made. Solidarity, and all that chush. For the glory of the GRU.

Whatever.

He caught a glimpse of Raikov's slightly pursed lips, and questioning brows, directed at him.

Just what he needed. Now the Major was even more convinced that Ocelot was trying to avoid him.

Ocelot suppressed a roll of his eyes and managed a finger gun in Raikov's general direction.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

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.

[...]

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

[...cont'd]

The Fury ignored the squabble, for the time being. It was routine, a daily occurrence, and if they were trying to kill each other, they wouldn’t be trying to kill Krauss. He glanced at Volgin, and knew the Colonel would be demanding an explanation at any moment, then Raikov, who always seemed to have a pleased half-smile upon his face.

Krauss raised his head just long enough to look at the Fury, and choked back a sob. “Was haben Sie getan?” Slowly, he looked around, taking in the reality of the destruction, the rubble and ash. “Warum… warum hassen mich so sehr?”

It would have been so easy to kill him, but the cosmonaut remained still. Krauss deserved his pity more than his rage.

Comforting velvety blackness encroached on the German’s vision, and he stumbled forward a few steps before full unconsciousness took over.

The Fury reacted before he even had time to think, and caught the Major before he fell. “It’s over now.” he promised, nodding in agreement with himself as he wiped the blood from Krauss’ pale face and nose. “Sleep, Major, and let this all fade into a bad dream.”

The Krasnogorje patrol watched the showing of mercy in awed disbelief.

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

Volgin shook his head, turning to Ocelot.

"No, that's not - " he started, but then broke off.

He watched, incredulously, as Flame Patrol emerged from the darkness with a muttering and shell-shocked Krauss in tow. Then Volgin scowled as he noticed all the blood, both on Krauss, and the Fury's people.

Volgin looked at the Fury with a stone-set jaw. "I told you, he wasn't to be harmed," he growled, but he knew there was little the Fury could have done. Flame Patrol had been already been set out on their mission by the time Volgin had arrived. "Take him - "

His speech was interrupted yet again as Krauss stumbled, then collapsed. He frowned yet again as Krauss was saved from the ignominy of falling flat on his face by the Fury himself.

There was a strange sort of irony there, Volgin knew.

He let out a deep sigh, then pointed at one of the GRU soldiers who stood guard at the perimeter.

The man flinched, and drew back slightly. "Sir?"

"Make sure Major Krauss is brought to the infirmary, and tell Khostov to look him over before he deals with the body."

Volgin had little room for weakness, but he didn't know what had happened to Krauss, either. Perhaps Krasnogorje patrol had given him a good beating before bringing him back to the greenhouse. He wouldn't put it past them.

They were all cruel, vicious bastards, like a pack of starving dogs. Especially the woman. Volgin thought she was probably one of the worst of the lot.

She had the sort of scrappy edge to her that Volgin liked in a woman, but she was actual infantry, which made it different in Volgin's mind. He watched her for a few moments, remembering how she'd struck the other soldier.

Yes, she was interesting.

He turned to find the Fury's helmet pointed in his direction, as if the cosmonaut had been watching him.

"I want a report from your people on what happened," he told the cosmonaut. Volgin knew it was no use asking them directly. It was well known that they followed the orders of the Fury without question, and respected little else. Volgin could make them respect him, of course, but he didn't think it worth the effort, and there was still the Boss to consider. "And what Krauss did when they found him." He wondered what Krauss had been saying, as well. He did not speak German.

He sighed, and his monolithic shoulders slumped. What a day. He didn't even feel like electrocuting someone for the hell of it.

Soldiers hurried forward but then hesitated, looking at the Fury with nervous, furtive glances. "Sir, we're here to take Major Krauss to the infirmary," one of them ventured, apparently unwilling to just wade in and take the German from the cosmonaut's arms.

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

Krauss's babbling was pitiable and infantile. Ocelot always cringed at seeing a man reduced to a child-like state of helplessness, and the conniving Kraut was no exception.

Ocelot wasn't sure what the Lord's Prayer had to do with exploding greenhouses, but then, Krauss hadn't seemed particularly stable upon his arrival.

He sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Groznyj Grad made no fucking sense. None at all.

Now the Fury was tenderly cradling the Nazi he'd single-mindedly pursued with a rabid bloodlust for months before.

Now, apparently, everything was ok.

"Are you sure we're not all just playing army in the day room of a mental hospital?" he snorted, incredulous.

A collective delusion of soviet grandeur among nightgowned madmen.

Ocelot smirked at the mental tableau.

It seemed more probable than anything he'd witnessed here in Tselinoyarsk.

[vostok-n2o4.livejournal.com]

The Fury glared at the GRU soldiers for a long moment, still clutching the German as though he were a broken doll, limp and lifeless. “Yes.” He hissed finally. “I know what your orders are. Do you think I’m deaf, of just fucking stupid?”

He relinquished the lifeless Major to the officers, and watched with curiosity as they carried him away. His attention turned back to Volgin once the unconscious body was out of sight. “It is a very sad thing,” he spoke, “when you finally destroy what you hate most. I know you understand, Colonel.”

The destruction he spoke of was not literal -- Krauss would survive with nothing more serious than a slight concussion. The eccentric, scheming German had been brought to his knees, both literally and figuratively. His greenhouse lay in ruins, he was beaten, bloodied, and broken. Humiliated. Helpless. The look of complete and utter despair on his face before he passed out was satisfying.

“You’ll have your report first thing tomorrow morning.” The Fury promised, turning away from the Colonel. “I am finished here.” Without another word in regards to the burned greenhouse, the charred corpse, or the Major, he walked away.

When the cosmonaut was far enough from the group, he activated his jetpack, rose over the tree line, and disappeared into the night.

Io and Pasiphaë exchanged bewildered glances, but one look at Volgin was all it took to send the remaining flame patrol soldiers scattering into the pitch black woods.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

In the silence that followed the Fury's departure, Kassian stepped closer to Isaev. His eyes were dark with concern, though his expression stoic, and he grazed his bare hand against the lieutenant's arm.

The gesture could have been accidental, or could have been a casual inquiry, the careless contact between friends, but it was not, and he knew Isaev would know it.

It was not the place for more.

He said nothing, but watched Isaev, the silent query in his eyes.

In the brief moments they had here, and in the presence of the others, it was all he could do.

Ocelot seemed restless, his attention distracted. Volgin was giving orders to the GRU, and then turned to speak to Major Raikov. The Fury's unit had already made their retreat in the wake of their leader's more impressive departure.

Privately, Kassian was glad he'd gotten to see the Fury close up, and gotten a better look at that jetpack. The fuel lines were narrow, and would be difficult to hit mid-flight, but the fuel wells themselves were not.

It was good information to have, in case he ever needed it.

His gaze flicked to the body, momentarily.

There was an undercurrent in the air, like the dropping of pressure before a storm. Kassian felt like he hadn't felt in a long time.

Like he was going to war.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"That was more than unpleasant," said Andrei, quietly, knowing that Irinarhov was the only one listening.

Pawing over a corpse was worse than creating one, in his mind. Though clinical, it felt more like a violation, and although the subject was dead, there was no mercy in the act.

One of the best parts of his speciality was learning how to make a kill truly instantaneous, brutal and painless for both parties involved.

The heart punch was his favorite. Localized and ruthless force applied with the heel of the hand, the strikepoint choice of Spetsnaz.

A moment's intimacy, so transient as to be over before it began.

Ocelot turned and looked at them both, briefly, eyes narrowed to pinpoints of glacier blue.

Andrei raised his jaw casually.

"Major," he said, holding up Kassian's ruined gloves. "In light of the circumstances, and at the risk of being bold, may I request that the night shift be delegated the task of transporting the corpse?"

Ocelot nodded, waving them off with a crimson clad hand.

"Go, you're dismissed. You too, Captain. We've all had more than our share for the night."

Andrei wanted nothing more than a banya, or a hot shower.

Either would do.

And then a warm bunk. A little physical comfort would go a long way toward shoring up his mental resources.

"Sorry about your gloves," said Andrei, glancing at Kassian. "I have a spare pair back at our barrack, if you want them for tomorrow. In light of recent events, I don't know how long it's going to take Ocelot to get around to putting in the req for more."

Maybe Raikov would handle it for him. The Administrative arm of Groznyj Grad seemed to be doublejointed for Ocelot lately.

Maybe the rumors were true.

Vah, thought Andrei. It would take balls of diamond to tempt Volgin's wrath. Ocelot's were plenty metallic- Andrei was surprised they didn't clang louder than his spurs when he walked- but Andrei doubted he would let himself in for that kind of grief.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

"I know," Kassian said.

He meant it in more than one way. He knew it might take time for the requisition, he knew Isaev was sorry about his gloves, he knew that inspecting the body had been more than unpleasant.

He knew that Isaev just wanted to get out of here, away from the corpse, and get the lingering residue of death off of him.

He knew Isaev probably didn't want to be alone tonight.

Kassian felt the same way.

He acknowledged Ocelot with a brief but grateful nod. Ocelot was a natural leader, Kassian thought. He understood a few things about people, and what they needed, in spite of his relative youth.

Experience, and instinct, counted more than the mere passage of time.

Kassian turned away and lightly nudged Isaev's arm. The lieutenant needed no coaxing, but began to walk back up the hill toward Groznyj Grad.

They walked in silence, passing more soldiers and personnel who hurried past them toward the greenhouse ruin. Kassian walked close, closer than was necessary or even proper, and every so often his hand would brush the back of Isaev's.

It might have been to reassure Isaev that he was there, and close, and alive; it might have been to say he understood, and Isaev didn't need to say a word.

But it also might have been to tell himself the same things, Kassian thought.

He let out his breath in a long sigh, watching it mist the air in front of him, but then fade away.