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groznyj_grad[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.
[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.
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no subject
Date: 2007-01-26 05:39 pm (UTC)"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.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-26 06:44 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-26 09:21 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-27 06:28 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-08 09:16 am (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-08 05:18 pm (UTC)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.