Victims of Circumstance

by ARCCaptainFordo

The Russian government dispatches a team of Special Operations Forces to rescue the passengers and crew of a missing yacht after they suspect terrorist activity. When the operatives end up stranded, and they receive the Endurance's SOS, they begin to suspect that there may be more to the mysterious circumstances that surround the island and the erratic storms that plague it.

1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

Victims of Circumstance: Chapter 1 – Prologue

Major Vasily Beloi

Major Vasily Mikhailovich Beloi was not a particularly superstitious man. He was a religious man, but there were times that he wondered if the Lord would be particularly proud of what it was that he was doing with his life. Even so, he didn't believe in ghosts, specters, curses or anything of the like. He sure as hell didn't believe in mystical cursed islands that mysteriously sunk ships and brought down aircraft. He leafed through his briefing packet, anything to take his mind off the story he was a captive audience to, on account of the fact that he was connected to the same intercom as Lieutenant Morozov.

Usually their intelligence was very detailed, especially when it was a…sensitive matter, like this one. Missing civilian ships normally didn't attract the kind of attention that got a team from the Special Operations Forces deployed. Missing civilian ships did get a team like his deployed when they were Russian citizens, and when said area was not only notorious for having ships disappear, but was uncomfortably close to Russian, Chinese, Japanese and Philippine waters. The Philippines happened to have a working relationship with Russia, and the Chinese were not only fellow BRICS members but also defense allies.

While there were unstable elements working in the Philippines, no one was sleeping easy given the area. Said known terrorists were suspected for the missing ship, but as of yet there were no demands being made. It was his team's job to get in, find out what was going on, and make sure that their citizens came back to them alive. If they were lucky, this was just an accident, and the worst that they would have to do is provide medical aid for the survivors. If they were not, then this was going to be a complete and utter shit show.

He'd been given express instructions not to fuck this one up. It had taken great effort to placate the Amerikantsy, who'd been extremely vocal in their displeasure of having a Russian special forces team so close to one of their installations, especially a unit like theirs, whose reputation preceded them. Major Beloi didn't give a donkey's ass about what the Amerikantsy thought. They were the closest unit, and so it was their job to respond. The Amerikantsy weren't thrilled but had agreed to their deployment as long as they checked in with them every hour on the hour and had taken it upon themselves to provide transport out upon completion.

That's what this briefing packet said in any case. Major Beloi wasn't entirely thrilled about the arrangement, but that's what they'd managed to work out. When there was suspected terrorist activity, the Amerikantsy wanted to send their own, but given that it was Russian citizens on an uninhabited island, they had agreed to let them go in. Vasily had no problems with most Amerikantsy, the ones that didn't call him a communist on sight in particular, but it was the government and their strict anti-Russian policies that he hated with a passion.

"Tovarisch major, did you hear about this supposed mystical island in the area?" asked Lieutenant Pavel Morozov, having paused his story about the same chertovskiy island. "I hear there's a mystical Sun Queen there, according to local stories." Pavel was grinning ear to ear, despite the annoyed glare that Vasily had given him in return. His blue eyes had that same glint they did when Pavel had a stupid idea. Vasily didn't even want to know what his idea was this time.

"With your govno luck with women, Lieutenant, I don't think we should bother her if she's there in the first place. Remember Grozny? I'm sure this 'Sun Queen' will have something worse than a pan," remarked one of his marksman, Senior Lieutenant Sasha "Zubov" Voroboi, barely looking up from his VSS Vintorez. This elicited laughs from the rest of the squad. Pavel waved them off, but a smile slowly formed on his features as well. Vasily was smiling as well now as he remembered the event; Pavel running out of one of the houses and some babushka chasing him out with a cast iron pan.

"Jokes aside, tovarischi, this is a serious situation. Once we locate the wreck from the air, we'll have to secure the survivors on our own. According to our intelligence, there is nowhere to set this plane down on the island. Assuming this is all an accident, we'll have to secure the survivors. So, make sure those rations and medical equipment survive the drop. If we're not so lucky, we'll have to make sure that we secure the survivors and eliminate whoever has them. Bystryy. Effektivnoye. Standart," he said, looking over the other Special Operations Forces personnel in the troop bay of the An-26 they were flying in. "Any questions?" he asked, making sure to look at the usual suspects.

"Da," said Pavel, perking up. "Will we be getting that vacation at Sochi that the komandir promised us?" This earned him a punch in the arm from their medic, Lieutenant Artyom "D'Artagnan" Chyornyj. "D'Artagnan, is okay. I promise we'll all wear our suns cream, no need to get violent." This time the joke was at Artyom's expense. Vasily had read Alexandre Dumas' novel a long while ago. At first, he'd wondered how the names had stuck, but he'd soon come to see how Artyom was the D'Artagnan to Pavel's Athos. They'd been through thick and thin together during their days in the VDV.

It was at this moment that the intercom came to life once more, "Major Beloi to the flight deck. Major Beloi to the flight deck." Vasily sighed and disengaged his harness, standing up. Slinging his weapon over his shoulder, he made his way over to the flight deck of the transport aircraft. The sound of the engines drowned out everything else, even with his active headphones on, the sound was loud. The door to the flight deck was open, and Vasily could see the grey skies ahead of their aircraft. He wasn't a pilot, but he'd flown enough to know bad weather when he saw it, and the skies ahead looked particularly grim.

He could see the crew at their stations, their navigator checking his display and wondering how this storm managed to sneak up on them no doubt. There was no word about a storm in the area, nothing this huge, and somehow this storm had appeared without them knowing. "Major Beloi, I have a favor to ask of you, but I have a feeling you know what it is I'm going to ask." Vasily didn't know their pilot, Captain Ruslan Subotin, very well. What he did hear from their usual pilot however was that he was a good man, not one to shirk his duty.

"Captain Subotin, I think it is safe to say that perhaps you are asking if we are willing to get off a little early. On account of that I think," he said, nodding at the clouds in the distance. There was no point endangering their aircraft, once they were close enough, his squad could certainly make the jump. "Have you tried contacting HQ?" he asked, turning to the radio operator.

The radio operator nodded, "Tak tochna, ser. The radio is acting up, the storm must be causing too much interference." Something about this was very wrong, it was a feeling that was coming from deep within his gut. Chechnya had proven that his gut feelings were very rarely wrong, but he had no information to back his claim here. He took a breath to steady his mind.

"Well then, we have no choice. Captain Subotin, drop us to jump altitude. We'll make the jump. You turn back to Vladivostok. We'll radio the Amerikantsy once the storm has subsided," he said, then turning around and making his way back to the cabin, shutting the door to the flight deck behind him. He whispered a quick prayer to the Lord as he stepped into the cabin fully, then making the symbol of the cross. "Alright, switch bottles, check your gear. This is the last chance you're going to get, volch'ya staya," he said. Whatever was going on here, he had confidence in his Spetsnaz, they were his wolf pack. Like Siberian wolves, there was no prey they couldn't bring down. If Chechnya hadn't taken them from him, this place wouldn't.

Vasily changed the pre-jump bottle for the oxygen bottle meant to be used during the jump. At the thirty thousand feet, there was only enough oxygen for thirty seconds before you passed out. He double checked his cold weather gear; the temperature was close to -45 degrees Celsius, any slip up and he'd freeze before he got to the ground. Once they were on the ground, they would have to ditch the cold weather gear. It was a little too warm on that island for that, unless they were going anywhere near it's mountains, which he did not plan on doing. "Tovarisch major," said his second in command, Captain Viktor Zaitsyev, approaching him. "Gotov idti."

Vasily nodded, and before he could instruct them to prepare to jump, the plane shook violently. Vasily was nearly thrown off of his feet. He could see the storm around them now through the windows. That didn't make any sense, radar and visual observation put the storm well ahead of them! What in pizdec what this? "This storm's going to tear us apart! This is our last window to turn around, Major Beloi, if you are going to jump, jump now!" Vasily could have sworn that he heard a barely audible, 'Oh kurva!' The volch'ya staya didn't need to be told twice, they were all seasoned Spetsnaz, and each and every one of them took up their positions for the jump.

The red light that bathed the cabin was replaced with a green light, clearing them for jump. One by one, each operative ran down the ramp and leapt out into the raging skies around them. Then went the supply crates, food and medical supplies, connected to automatic release chutes. As Viktor moved to make the jump, he put a hand on his old friend's shoulder, prompting him to turn around. "Ser?"

"I'll see you on the ground, brat," said Vasily, his words muffled by the oxygen mask he wore for the HALO jump. Viktor nodded, and then turning, he ran down the ramp and leapt out into the raging storm around them. Vasily took a look at the scene outside the aircraft. 'Once more unto the breach', he thought to himself, before he followed suit, footfalls barely audible over the howling winds and the constant rain. The clouds around them were angry and grey, the winds buffeted them on their descent. There was nothing to do yet, for now, it was all up to gravity.

Eight operatives, two crates, all fell in loose formation. Despite the winds whipping around them. A radio check followed. Voices filtered in through his headset, only slightly marred by static and interrupted by the audible intake of oxygen. No one said anything more than what they had to. The only sounds were the faint droning of the An-26's engines over the howling winds of the sudden storm. Vasily knew that with winds these strong they'd be split off from each other the moment they opened their chutes. Once they landed, they'd link up and start their search for survivors.

Falling at terminal velocity, the island below became visible after a while. It was a beautiful, breathtaking even. Dense jungle covered most of it, snow covered peaks dominated most of his view. Even from where he was, Vasily could see the wrecked hulls of ships arrayed against the shore. To say that he was even more confused was an understatement. First, freak storm. Second, enough hulls to put most repair yards to shame. What the hell was going on here? "Think one of them is our missing ship?" asked Senior Lieutenant Alyena "Koush" Davydova. There was a reason that she'd earned her nickname. That woman had fantastic eyes, and she was an even better shot. Even so, none of them were low enough to be able to tell what sort of water craft any of the hulls had once been.

"Only one way to find out," replied Vasily, taking a quick look at the altimeter on his wrist, the display mostly fogged up from the low temperatures at higher altitudes. Three thousand five hundred feet. "Chutes on my mark," he said, waiting till the display read three thousand feet before he spoke again, "MARK!" Pulling his chute release tab and the cord attached to it, he felt his billowing chute pull him upward. The automated release on the crates opened as well, black low observability parachutes opening up and slowing their descent.

Just as he predicted, the wind began scattering them, the secure crates as well. Fortunately for them, they were tagged with the same locators that his men were, he could track them using the Sagittarius, the commanding officers tablet computer issued to all commanding officers. Which was admittedly still new to him, but he was getting used to it. Even being tossed around by the wind on his way down, separated from the rest of his men, Vasily still managed to find it ironic that he was having trouble using the Sagittarius. To think he was going to try to get into college for computer science.

He was very quickly snapped out of his thoughts by a gust of wind that pulled him to his left and started bringing him dangerously close to the trees. Vasily knew it was pointless to fight the strong winds with the controls of the chute, less the chute itself sustain damage. However, he still had no plans on smacking into any of those trees at his current velocity. Of all the ways Vasily thought he was going to die over the years, smacking into a tree too hard after a freak storm resulted in a botched HALO jump was not even on the list.

He mumbled another prayer to the Lord, promising to take up a more peaceful career if he could just survive this once he found a clearing of sorts. Only problem was that it was a little too close to the shore. Weighing his options, he decided that falling into the sea and enduring the brief struggle of disengaging his chute was far preferable to drowning. He thought for a moment about disengaging and discarding his mask but decided that both hands on the chute controls was probably a far smarter decision.

By the time he realized that he was coming in too low, all he could do was let out an exasperated, "Ay blyat." It was not that the realization was too slow, but the simple fact that the gust of wind that had been carrying him stopped miraculously, and now there was nothing he could do about but realize that he was in trouble. Looking at his flight path, Vasily could see several branches. Hopefully nothing too rigid. The parachute came low and he recoiled in pain as he smacked through small but not exactly fragile branches before his chute was caught. Just as he thought he was going come to a stop, he swung forward. Seeing a massive branch in front of him, and knowing that he wasn't going to stop before he hit it, Vasily's last thoughts before his world went black were, 'This is going to hurt…'

Captain Viktor Zaitsev

Viktor folded up his chute and slung his patrol bag. His Pecheneg Bullpup was supported by its shoulder sling and its grip was held firmly in his right hand. With his left hand, he hit the transmit button on his headset, "This is Zaitsyev, I'm mobile. Status, priyem?" As he waited for a reply, he fetched his Sagittarius table from its hard case pouch on his webbing. The tablet took a moment to boot up and initialize, but then displayed the locations of each and every member of the squad, including Vasily. Everyone else except for Vasily's markers were moving, and that concerned Viktor. Then again, it was a new system, and there would be some interference from the storm, he didn't think too much of it. "Tovarisch major, ty kopiruyesh, priyem?" There was no response from his commanding officer.

"This is Abramovna, the wind got my chute tangled, I'm stuck up in the trees. I'll cut my way down and report back in, ser, priyem" said Junior Lieutenant Natalya Abramovna. Viktor checked his tablet again, Artyom and Pavel were close enough to divert in her direction if need be. Sasha was close enough to Vasily's locator, there was no one he trusted more to check in on their commanding officer.

"Morozov reporting in. Chyornyj and I are on the ground and ready to move, priyem" came Pavel's response a moment later. Of course, those two had landed close enough to each other. Even a storm of this size couldn't separate them. That was the first good thing that had happened since the storm had forced them to jump before they'd located the missing ship or any sign of the survivors. He knew that they had to be on the island somewhere.

"Voroboi here, I'm on the ground. What are your orders? Priyem," asked Sasha, his voice filtering in through. Sasha was the furthest from them all, close enough only to Vasily. It would be a while before Sasha could link up with them, assuming he managed to find their Major alive and well. They'd yet to have any contact, hostile or otherwise.

"Petrovich reporting, mobile and awaiting orders, priyem," reported Illya. According to his locator, if he was the 'middle' position, Illya was to his west. That meant that Illya would be able to search that area before he linked up with them. Luckily, Alyena had also landed closer to Ilya than him. If those two couldn't find the source of the SOS signals in that part of the island, then no one could.

"Davydova here, ready to move, priyem," reported in Alyena at last. For a moment he'd been concerned. After all, no one had heard from Vasily yet. He knew it was on their minds, but none of them was going to mention it unless he didn't, and he planned on.

Of course, they'd tried raising the missing civilians when they were on approach, to no avail. "Morozov, you and Chyornyj make your way to Abramovna's position. Pick her up and then link up at my location. Davydova, you and Petrovich search the area for any sign of our missing civilians. Voroboi, I've got a special task for you, I'm sending you Major Beloi's last known position, locate him and report your findings, priyem," he ordered. A chorus of "Est, konets svyazi" answered him.

Just as he was about to get moving, his radio crackled to life again, "Volch'ya staya 6, this is Kuritsy, we have lost number two engine and are losing altitude fast. We are not going to be able to make it to Vladivostok. We are attempting a crash landing on the island. Sending you our estimated crash coordinates, konets svyazi" The tension in Subotin's voice was apparent, the man was clearly fighting with the controls of his aircraft. Viktor let out a sigh. Fantastika. This was going just great. First their commanding officer was non-responsive, and now this?

Normally Subotin would have used their secondary channel, but their radio operator rightly figured out that they'd have switched to their intra-squad channel when they'd made the jump. That meant they'd all heard it. Viktor checked the coordinates on his Sagittarius, a dot representing the rough area in which Subotin and his crew expected to put their aircraft down appeared. "Alright, change of plans. You all heard that. Davydova, Petrovich, you are the closest to the crash site. Once they come down, move in and report back in, priyem."

"Assuming they survive the crash, tovarisch kapitan, priyem," said Alyena. Viktor looked up as he heard the stuttering of turboprop engines. He'd heard that sound more than he'd like to have in his life. It was the sound of a dying aircraft. Barely visible through the low cloud base, their An-26 was visible, trailing acrid black smoke from one of its engines. Viktor said a quick prayer for the crew. He then looked around at his surroundings. What the hell was going on this island?

"We don't leave our own behind, Senior Lieutenant Davydova. Be advised, I will be joining you at the crash site, priyem," he said, making his way toward the estimated crash site, his Pecheneg Bullpup cradled in his hands, held just as easily as a rifle. There was enough weird govno going on, no point in being an easy target.

"Tak tochna, tovarisch kapitan, konets svyazi" came her reply, filtering in through his headset. Viktor continued moving. The environment was far lusher than what he was used to, but Viktor had trained in the tropics before. Of course, if someone had told him that he was going to be on an island like this, he would have hoped it was for a vacation. Not that he would vacation here. Something about this place was off, it gave him the creeps, and Viktor Zaitsyev was not a squeamish man. He wondered, if Chechnya didn't have nearly this bad an effect on him, and he'd lost many friends and nearly died there several times, what was it with this place that had such an effect on him.

Forty-five minutes later, after crash landing of An-26 callsign Kuritsy on unknown island

The Kuritsy had crashed, they'd all heard it. There had yet to be radio contact from the crew, however. Whether they were unconscious, dead, or their radios were damaged was yet to be ascertained. Alyena and Illya were closest, so he expected them to report their findings soon.

He was perhaps forty-five minutes into his route when he heard voices ahead of him. Viktor reflexively sought cover, in this case a small boulder that he threw himself behind. Viktor stayed quiet and listened. "I'm telling you, I saw one of them come down around here," said the voice, it had an American accent. Viktor raised an eyebrow in confusion. This island wasn't supposed to be inhabited. As far as he knew, there were no Amerikantsy on the missing yacht. Survivors of the other shipwrecks perhaps? Viktor risked a glance around the boulder, and he saw two men in filthy torn clothes making their way toward him.

"Who the hell parachutes onto an island like this? You know, you can't bail out of commercial jets, right? This has to be something else," said the second, also in an American accent. Two Amerikantsy? What in pizdec was going on? Both men were carrying bows, makeshift ones from the look of it. Even at this range, he didn't have to worry about them. Snapping up his weapon and stepping out, he trained it on the man on the right.

"Don't move, both of you," said Viktor in Russian accented English. He could speak English fluently, but without an accent? That was a different matter. "Keep your hands, where I can see them." Both men were taken completely by surprise. On seeing the large light machine gun in his hands, both men instantly complied and raised their hands, if reluctantly.

"Hey man, look, we're just trying to help. Don't need to point a weapon at us," said the first man, whom Viktor currently had his weapon trained on. "You uh…Russian? Russian Army? Special forces or something?" Viktor had seen the look of genuine fear on the face of a lot of men, but the look on their faces, in their eyes? They weren't scared at all. There was something wrong with them, only he couldn't put his finger on what, and he couldn't shoot them because he didn't like the look in their eyes.

"Trying to help, eh? When did you shipwreck here on this island, and why didn't you send SOS signal when you did?" he asked, still not taking his eyes off the man, in fact, Viktor was watching the two very closely. He noticed that one of them had a radio on his belt. It didn't prove anything, but Viktor was starting to get very suspicious. What set all the alarm bells in his head off, was the Zlatoust Volodaz Diver watch on the man's wrist, which was suspiciously cleaner than the rest of his attire.

Almost as if the Lord himself was watching over him, the man's radio crackled to life, "Hey, what's taking the two of you so long. Did that parachutist give you trouble?" Viktor didn't need another reminder, and neither did both men who began reaching for vicious looking hand axes on their belts. Squeezing the trigger with practiced ease, Viktor sent a three-round burst of 7N13 rounds through the man, splattering his comrade in vitae. A slight adjustment and Viktor turned the other man's torso into pulp as well. There was silence for a moment, propellant gasses slowly leaving the barrel. The radio crackled to life once more. "Come on, answer me, damnit!" swore the voice on the other end, sounding very annoyed.

Viktor walked over to the two bodies, and immediately began searching them. The first thing that he pilfered was the radio, switching it off before dropping it into one of the empty pouches on his webbing. Monitoring their communications, whoever 'they' were, could be helpful. He took the watch from the dead man, hoping that he'd find who it once belonged to. Lowering his balaclava, he spat on the corpses before moving on. "Zaitsyev here, we're not alone on this island. Treat anyone that is not one of us, or the missing civilians, as potential hostiles. Subdue them if you can, if you can't? Neutralize them. Priyem," he said after keying his mic.

"Tovarisch kapitan, I've spotted a group of armed men making their way toward the crash site. Petrovich and I haven't ascertained the status of the crew yet, priyem," reported Alyena. Two of them versus this scum? Viktor had complete confidence in the two of them. He almost felt bad for these fools.

"Tak tochna, I'm en route, konets svyazi," replied Viktor, turning around to glance at the two corpses, blood pooling up under them. Shaking his head at the sheer insanity of the situation, Viktor began jogging toward the crash site. He wasn't far, nor was he worried that they were going to need his help, he was worried that they'd leave none for him.

Senior Lieutenant Alyena Davydova

Their An-26 was a wreck, but at least it wasn't a flaming wreck. Thankfully, the crew had clearly jettisoned their fuel reserves before they'd crashed, otherwise she was sure that there'd be a massive flaming wreck. The aircraft was in bad shape, but all things considered, it was mostly intact. It'd lost it's right wing at the root, the left wing being bisected right at the engine. The tail planes were both sheared off at some point in the crash, and the tail itself was torn to shreds but still present in some form or another.

At least the crew was armed, and so there would be no babysitting required. For that, she was thankful as well. Dropping to a crouch as she saw the group of armed men get closer she shouldered her VSS Vintorez. Under one hundred meters. Perfect. The Rys-LD automated ranging unit was a wonderous piece of technology, it automatically adjusted for elevation, range and the ballistic characteristics of the PAB-9 armor-piercing round. Steadying her breathing, she took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked ever so familiarly in her arms, sending a round downrange with barely a hint of a cough.

One of the men instantly dropped, the man closest to him covered in brain matter and blood. The remaining four men began spinning around wildly in fear. Alyena adjusted her aim, and mirthlessly put a round through the next man's torso, punching through the man's makeshift body armor effortlessly. One of his comrades began fruitlessly strafing the woods around him, forcing Alyena to drop down, lest she be hit by a stray round or a ricochet. She felt something rebound off of her shoulder protection and decided that ducking till he decided to stop firing was best. "Illya, chevo blyat? Today or tomorrow? Priyem," she hissed into her mic, wondering if Illya had decided to take a nap.

"Have some patience, Alyena. Konets svyazi," replied Illya, and Alyena was about to respond with what she thought of him when she heard the telltale sound of suppressed automatic weapons fire, audible at this distance thanks to her headset. She dared to poke her head up and saw the remaining two idiots trying to throw themselves behind cover. Taking aim once more, Alyena pulled the trigger, sending a single round through the fallen log the man had thrown himself behind and through his side. A deadly burst from Illya killed the other man as he turned to run.

Alyena turned her mic on and made it clear to Illya that she was going to be pushing up, asking him to cover her, "Ya pashol, prikroy menya, priyem!" Taking a moment to quickly survey the immediate area, smelling the wafting smell of propellant gasses mixed the scent of damp earth and not seeing any movement, Alyena pushed up. Moving quickly, she carefully flicked the selector switch into the middle position, switching from semi-automatic to fully automatic. There were eighteen rounds left in the magazine. Plenty of ammunition.

Half crouched, each step carefully placed, she moved quietly up to the injured man. As she reached the log he'd been taking cover, she could see the shower of splintered would the round had left in its wake. More importantly, she saw a small, glistening trail of blood leading away from the log. "Don't move…" she hissed in accented English. "Toss your weapon away, now!"

First the man let out a maniacal laugh. "Oh, you're a woman!" he exclaimed, she swore she could see a grin on his face. Alyena had seen a lot during the years she'd served her country, but something about this man's smile put her off more than it should have. "Good shot too, pity we don't accept women. You'll have to go through the trials…" This confused Alyena even more. She kept her weapon trained on the man and frowned. What the hell did he mean, 'we'. What in pizdec were these trials he was talking about?

Alyena looked at the prone form of the man. They didn't need him to last long, just long enough to answer some of their questions. Immediately, she turned and put a round into the man's hand. Naturally, he screamed. "Listen to me very carefully, asshole, I'm going to keep hurting you unless you toss your weapon and start answering questions. Understand?"

The man turned over, painfully, and looked her over. "You're Russian, right? Vlad'll like you. I mean, I can't tell under all that gear, but hot damn if you're as beautiful as you sound." Alyena's weapon coughed again, this time it punched through the man's other palm, leaving a ragged edged hole that leaked blood. However, the man's statement did leave some very important questions. Who was this 'Vlad'? Name like that, she was willing to bet that he was Russian or Ukrainian, Eastern European in the least. "You have no idea who you're messing with!" he growled. "Last one of you fucking Russian whores was defiant too, before we worked her over."

"Who is this Vlad? What do you know about these other Russians? Answer me, cyka! Pray to whatever you fucking believe in that I like your answer," she hissed once more. The man didn't seem like he wanted to talk, and so she brought her foot down on his injured hand, hard. Alyena was sure that she heard bone cracking. Taking her foot off barely a moment later and stepping back, she watched him languish in pain for a moment. "There is no version of this where you are alive, only thing that changes is how quickly you die," she added.

"Vlad…is the man in charge of one of our groups," the man said through tightly clenched teeth. "And…you're a fool if you think I'll tell you anything more, you bitch." Alyena was starting to wonder what the hell happened to this man to make him such a tough son of a bitch, because most men cracked by now, especially those who hadn't received specialized training to resist interrogation.

"Wrong answer," said Alyena, aiming for his shoulder and being careful to aim for the actual joint, Alyena put another round into him. She was down to fifteen rounds now, and the man was running out of explicitly non-lethal areas to wound. "The other Russians, where are they? What have you done with them?"

The man looked at her with hatred in his eyes, he tried to sit up, but no doubt his broken shoulder made that a distinct impossibility. "You're too late…the ones who refused to join us are dead…and the women…well, only one of them is going to go through the final test," said the man. The man didn't display any of the telltale signs of lying, but given how injured he was, he was hard to read. That was the only disadvantage to what she did. Was he just trying to get inside her head?

"It's the other shoulder unless you tell me what this 'final test' is, and where the rest of the survivors are," she said, aiming at the man's other shoulder, making sure he knew that she was definitely going to shoot him if she didn't like his answer. Truth was, this place was getting weirder and weirder the more she learned about it, and the sooner they left this place, the better she was going to feel. What the fuck kind of cult was this? The conscripted the men and sacrificed the women?

"To see if she's a worthy successor to the Sun Queen, Father Mathias said she has great promise," said the man, with a conviction that both confused and worried Alyena. The man truly believed in what he was saying. The implications of which were starting to chill her to the bones.

"Where can I find this Father Mathias?" she asked, finger tightening around the trigger. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear more of the man's insane ramblings, worried that there would be some actual truth to it.

"Don't worry sweet heart, everyone saw your plane go down, we'll be paying you a visit soon enough. If you feel like walking in, well, just go inland. You'll find him," said the man, then starting to maniacally laugh between cries of anguish that came from even moving his shoulder slightly. Alyena knew that she wasn't going to get any more out of the man, and so she put another round into his head. The heavier round forced brain matter and blood out of the exit wound. 'Good riddance,' she thought to herself, then turning around and moving toward the aircraft.

From out of the corner of her vision, she could see Captain Zaitsyev approaching, and so she slowed to match his pace. "Tovarisch kapitan, we have a serious problem." As Alyena explained to her Captain about what she'd heard, the status of the survivors, what this cult on the island did to both the recent crash survivors and countless others, about this Father Mathias and the mysterious Sun Queen. The same Sun Queen who Pavel had mentioned in his story.

Viktor's eyes went wide as he listened to what she said. "So, you're telling me, that these lokhi have killed most of the civvies we're looking for. Then they raped most of the women, forcefully recruited the remaining men and that they're sacrificing the one surviving woman to the 'Sun Queen' or some other dermo, the same one in Pavel's story?" asked Viktor, looking at her for confirmation, and then when she nodded, let out an exasperated, "Eto pizdec."

"Crew are alive for the most part, ser, cuts and bruises is all," said Illya, standing a few feet away from him. "Captain Subotin wants to speak to you when you're able." Viktor nodded, and then after exchanging a glance with her, he turned in the direction of the crashed aircraft. Sure enough, they both were able to board the aircraft via the starboard access door. True enough, Subotin and his crew were alive. Captain Subotin was standing in front of the arms locker, handing out AK-74Ms to the rest of the crew, finally taking one himself and rocking a magazine into the receiver.

"Tovarisch kapitan," he said, turning around as he noted their arrival. "My crew and I are grateful for your intervention. What kind of hell hole have we landed up in?" Subotin flicked the safety lever down all the way, setting the rifle to semi-automatic, and then chambered a round.

"You don't know the half of it, kapitan Subotin," said Viktor, his feelings on the whole situation coming through quite clearly in his voice. "We need to tell the Amerikantsy about the situation here and warn them about the storm. Hopefully they aren't stupid enough to try and send someone till it subsides. Is the communications gear intact, the battery?"

"Da, the battery is still fine, GLONASS module and radio survived the crash as well. This is a Russian aircraft, tovarisch, we build to last," said Subotin, gesturing at the aircraft's hull with his right hand, his left hand holding his rifle by the fore end.

"And you also happened to crash well," said Alyena, a smile spreading across her face underneath her balaclava. Subotin looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "Just saying, your piloting skill and some luck certainly helped." Subotin shrugged, and then nodded.

"At least that's some good news," said Viktor nodding in approval of the situation. "See if you can raise the Amerikantsy. We'll give the others two hours to reach this position before we move out from here. Till then, Alyena, I need you to scout the area out and tell me if you can find anything out about this…cult."

Alyena snapped off a smart salute, "Tak tochna, tovarisch kapitan." With that, she turned around and exited the crashed aircraft, making for the same direction the group they'd ran into earlier seemed to have come from. With any luck, they'd find a base of operations, an outpost, something…anything that gave them more of clue about what was going on here.

Junior Lieutenant Natalya Abramovna

Getting down from the precarious position that she currently found herself in wasn't going to be easy. This damn chute was caught in the trees, but the release clasp was within reach. As soon as she got off the radio with her captain, she immediately reached for the release clasp. That was until she heard rustling in the bushes in front of her. Unfortunately, her rifle was not exactly easy to reach right now, and so her hand immediately reached for the grip of her pistol.

It was then that she saw two men slowly approaching her position. Natalya's hand closed around the grip of her pistol. Something about these men didn't look quite right. One of them had a makeshift looking longbow in his hands, the other one had a pistol holstered at his hip. "Hey, you need a hand there?" asked the man in front, while his companion with the bow didn't say anything. They were both dressed in filthy clothes, hooded jackets of some kind.

"Who are you," asked Natalya, eyeing the two men suspiciously. Something about them, rubbed her wrong. Firstly, for survivors, they were oddly coordinated. They'd only just landed on the island, after they'd executed a HALO jump, which meant that they had to have been watching them very closely somehow. In addition, the storm was still lingering, most people would seek shelter at a time like this. Even so, it wasn't enough to just shoot them, but it was enough for her to not want to accept their help.

It was just about then that Captain Zaitsyev's voice crackled in her ears, "Zaitsyev here, we're not alone on this island. Treat anyone that is not one of us, or the missing civilians, as potential hostiles. Subdue them if you can, if you can't? Neutralize them. Priyem." Natalya didn't need to be told twice, she immediately pushed down on her pistol, chambering a round and flicking the safety off as it went through the EFA-2K self-load holster.

Snapping her weapon up, she trained it on the man with the holstered pistol, not worried about the man with the longbow. "Throw your weapons down, both of you, now!" She definitely caught both men off guard. Going from a seemingly gullible and confused woman to suddenly pointing a large sidearm at them. It must've been quite the shock.

"Whoa, take it easy there. I'll answer your question, no need to be violent. We're just survivors here, not a soldier like you," said the man. It was convincing, and if she hadn't heard from her captain, she'd have bought the man's lie, hook line and sinker. Who knows what would have happened to her then?

"I said, throw your weapons down, I won't ask again," she repeated, keeping her weapon trained on the first man. She was getting the impression that neither man was going to comply with her. It was an uncomfortable half second as they stood, unmoving, and she continued to hang from the parachute with her pistol pointed trained on them.

Then they made the first move. The bow wielding man knocked back an arrow, moving surprisingly fast, Natalya adjusted her aim and immediately pulled the trigger. Her suppressed SR1MP spat a single UCh armor piercing round at the man, tearing through his upper left torso. Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough, and the impact of her round caused him to release the bowstring.

Pain shot through her left shoulder, she'd been shot enough to know that it wasn't broken. Letting go of her gun with the left, continuing to hold it in a one handed right hand grim, she turned it on the other man just as he managed to pull his pistol free, and put a single round right into his upper middle torso, just below his neck. The man's eyes opened wide, as he gurgled, coughing up blood. He stood where he was for a moment, before he dropped his pistol, fell to his knees and fell over, dead.

With the immediate threat dealt with, Natalya looked over at the arrow stuck in her shoulder. For one, it was a hell of a lucky shot, it got her in the small gap between her vest and shoulder protector. Blood leaked out from the wound. Khorosho blyat. She began to holster her weapon when she heard the voice of Lieutenant Pavel Morozov, "Natasha, I see you are just hanging out here, waiting for us." Even though he had a balaclava on, she was willing to bet he had his usual smug, shit eating grin on his face. As he and Artyom drew closer, Pavel took note of the bodies and the smell of propellant in the air and added, "And you managed to find some friends too! Opa! Look at you, Artyom and I have yet to socialize with the natives."

"Let's see about that arrow in your arm," said Artyom, pulling out his medical bag. "Anything broken?" he asked, just to be sure. Truth be told, as annoying as he was, she didn't mind Pavel. He was dependable in a fight and lightened the mood most of the time, even if he sometimes did it at her expense. Artyom was a sweet guy, and he'd had been a friend of hers as long as she'd been in the unit.

"Pasha, Tyoma, good to see you too," she said, nodding an acknowledging nod at them. She holstered her gun and then took another look at the drop. Seven feet. Not bad, not bad at all. After undoing her leg straps with her right hand, she disengaged the clasp, letting out a slight yelp as she fell. She landed on both feet, dropping down to absorb the force of the fall. She walked over to the trunk of the tree she'd been hanging from only moments ago and leaned back against it.

Artyom immediately came over and looked at the wound, sucking teeth as he looked at the arrow. "Good thing you've had your tetanus shots, eh?" he asked, completely deadpan. Natalya pulled down her balaclava and gave him a look. Artyom raised his eyebrows and returned his attention to her wound, "Right…Well, you're lucky, the head didn't go in completely, so we can just pull it out." Natalya nodded, and then immediately let out a cry of pain and protest as Artyom pulled the arrow out.

"Chevo blyat?" she spat back at Artyom with venom in her eyes. "Why the hell didn't you warn me?"

Artyom shrugged, "It's like with bandages, better to rip it off." He looked at the bloody arrowhead and then tossed it aside. "Take off your shirt, please," said Artyom, fishing around in his medical bag for what she presumed was something to patch the wound back up. Natalya nodded, taking off her patrol pack, and then her plate carrier. The shoulder and thigh protection came off next, and finally her carrier rig. She then unbuttoned her shirt with practiced ease and placed it atop the rest of her gear.

She could see the nasty gash left in her shoulder by the arrow, still oozing blood onto her telnyashka. "Should I leave the two of you alone?" asked Pavel, leading to both Natalya and Artyom fixing him with a scathing glare. Pavel nodded, "Right, I'll go pull security." Pavel muttered to himself as he brought his AS Val up and patrolling the area.

"Oh Pasha, what will we do with you?" sighed Natalya as she watched Pavel leave. Artyom smiled as he cleaned her wound up, and then got ready to begin stitching it up. "Wouldn't really be the volch'ya staya without him, either."

The smile on Artyom's face grew broader, "Someone has to constantly put their foot in their mouth." Natalya clenched her teeth as Artyom began stitching. Pavel could be hard to deal with sometimes, but he'd been an integral part of the team ever since Natalya had joined, and that was the case long before that as well.

Natalya suppressed a chuckle. "Please don't make me laugh, Tyoma," she said through clenched teeth, wincing ever so slightly as Artyom worked. Artyom just gave her a supportive smile as he continued stitching. Letting out a sigh, Natalya wondered how Alyena and Sasha were doing. Part of her was also worrying about Major Beloi, they hadn't heard from him since they'd landed. Hopefully he was okay.

Senior Lieutenant Sasha Voroboi

Sasha checked his Strelets tactical computer to see if he was any closer to his squad leader. The terrain in this area wasn't exactly easy to traverse. Sasha had found himself scrambling up more than a few ledges. The top of the cliff face gave him a perfect vantage point to look down on the area where his commanding officer was supposed to be in, according to his GLONASS signal in any case. As he brought his VSS Vintorez up, turning the magnification factor on his Rys-LD Automated Ranging Sight all the way, more than enough to let him see all the way to the beach below him, his radio crackled to life, "Be advised, we've picked up an SOS signal from a ship called the Endurance. Chances are it's the same storm causing them problems. Priyem."

It was Captain Zaitsyev. The same storm knocks both their aircraft and another ship out? That was a bit of a strange coincidence if he'd ever heard of one. This whole mission had been fraught with weird coincidences. What was the chances that a Russian yacht gets shipwrecked on an island because of a storm, and then a storm knocks out their aircraft when they came to rescue them, and now a storm was knocking out another ship that had come close to the island? There was no way to explain it, really, and he was not a fan of speculation or superstition, but not having an answer about what happened to them felt so much worse.

Pavel's story came to mind, but Sasha immediately dismissed it from his mind. "Ser, Senior Lieutenant Voroboi here, I'm in an overwatch position overlooking a beach with a large number of wrecks. Shall I hold my position and attempt find any survivors of this wreck before the natives get to them? Priyem," he said after keying his mic. They'd all received information about the locals being part of a bizarre cult from Alyena, who'd interrogated one of them. Part of Sasha felt bad for whichever madman she'd interrogated, Alyena was very scary when she wanted to be. Though he felt bad for her, she was constantly trying to 'make up' for her 'mistake' of getting captured during her term of service with the MVD in Chechnya.

If it weren't for Captain Pyotr Valentin's insistence on going in to get her, she would have certainly been dead. He'd seen firsthand what they'd done to her. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. He was happy that she'd ended up joining them after that, Captain Valentin's personal recommendation certainly helped. For that matter, he missed Captain Valentin. Major Beloi is a good leader, and he would give his life for him if he was ordered to, or to protect him, but Captain Valentin was the father figure they all needed at the time, given the job they had.

"Da, that's an acceptable idea. Hold your position and relay your findings. Oh, and Sasha, when you find Vasya, please tell him exactly what I think of his disappearance. Priyem," ordered Captain Zaitsyev. Sasha found it difficult not to laugh at his last instruction. The veteran sniper knew exactly what his captain meant, and he knew exactly how his major was going to react to that.

"Tak tochna, tovarisch kapitan. Konets svyazi," he replied, and then returned to watching the beach below him. He'd made sure to place one of the three MON-50 anti-personnel mines on the approach to his position, actuated by the MVE-72 electric break wire. He pitied the idiot local that tried to ambush him. Dropping down onto his stomach, Sasha braced his rifle and waited.

Major Vasily Beloi, thirty minutes later

It was far from the first time that Vasily had woken up to gunshots. It was the first time that he'd woken up suspended from a tree by his own chertov parachute. Over a hundred jumps, including HALO jumps like the one they'd just done, and he ends up in a tree. Of course, none of them were performed during freak storm conditions like this.

His eyes fluttered open, and even with mostly muddled senses, he could tell that the shots had come from his left. Looking, he saw a cliff face, which based on the incline he surmised was likely not very sheer. Probably overlooking a rock beach, or a small sand beach, given that he could smell the ocean. His oxygen bottle and mask had come loose at some point during his descent, he remembered smacking into a tree branch too many on his way down.

He actually drew his pistol when he heard conversation, "That guy was crazy. We had to shoot him, right? He'd definitely have shot us first otherwise, right?" The voice was American accented, male. That was odd, he didn't know that the island was inhabited, let alone that there were Amerikantsy here. Sure, this area was known for missing ships and aircraft, but survivors? They weren't close enough yet, and so he keyed his mic with his left hand and whispered, "Volch'ya staya, check in, priyem."

"Vasya, eto Viktor, where the hell have you been?" asked Viktor over the radio. "There's a lot you don't know, so I'll try and fill you in. Are you in a position to talk? Priyem." Vasily listened carefully to the sounds of conversation, looking around as best as he could. For now, he couldn't see whoever was conversing, but he was willing to bet his last paycheck that they were not alone. He very much doubted that they were talking to themselves. Then again, with this island, who knew?

"Da, da, but hurry, priyem," he hissed into the radio. Viktor filled him in the way only Viktor could, straight and to the point. From the cult, to their current status, the crashed An-26, the SOS signal from a ship called the Endurance, the correlation between Pavel's recalling of a folk story pertaining to the mystical island of Yamatai and the local cult's mention of a 'Sun Queen' and finally the status of the remaining civilians, Viktor mentioned everything. It took a moment for him to process before he let out an exasperated sounding, "Eto pizdec."

Viktor laughed, "Well then good luck, ser, Sasha says that you are the closest to where he saw some of the survivors of the Endurance wash up ashore. If you can get them to the wreck, Pasha, Tyoma and Natasha have picked up the rations crate, we can get them some warm food in the least. Storm's still going strong, so we haven't managed to get in contact with the Amerikantsy. Udachi, tovarisch major. Konets svyazi."

As luck would have it, it was about then that he caught sight of four people walking up the clearest part of the jungle toward where he was. Looking down, he saw that it was about a nine-foot drop. Not ideal, but he'd survive without breaking any bones. That was the last thing he needed right now. However, as he tried to release the clasp, he found that it was refusing to budge, and the moment he looked up, he finally got a good look at the people who had been slowly approaching his position.

One of them was a woman, she had a Beretta 92 in her hands. The others were men. One was a large man, with tribal tattoos on his muscled arms and a pump action shotgun cradled in his arms. He had what looked to Vasily like a large bush knife in a sheath on his back. The older man with them, he had a pump action shotgun with him as well. Another, looked like he was here on a day trip rather than a shipwreck survivor, or like a college professor come to give a lecture. He had a satchel bag still with him and was unarmed. The fifth person was a bespectacled man with a shoulder holster and a Beretta 92 as well. A decently well-armed group. Though he hardly considered the bespectacled man a threat, based simply on how he held his weapon, but even he rated above the college professor looking fellow.

They didn't seem like they were survivors of previous crashes and based on the partial conversation that he'd heard earlier, he was very sure they weren't Russian, or the Russians that they were here looking for. On seeing him, the woman immediately raised her weapon and trained it on him, "You there, keep your hands right where I can see them!"

Vasily sighed. He picked up her American accent immediately. Khorosho blyat. Being held at gunpoint by an American, exactly what he'd been looking forward to. "Really? There are four of you, it would be easier than, how do you Americans say, shooting fish in a barrel?" He kept his SR1MP in his hand, but didn't train it in their direction, most of them were probably still recovering from the adrenaline surge they'd experienced, and adrenaline pumping made most people who lacked formal combat training very jumpy. He had no intention of getting shot if he could help it.

"Fish in a barrel, hah. This guy's funny," said the bespectacled man with the stylized escape key on his t-shirt. Vasily counted that as a sure sign of progress, progress toward not getting shot. This comment however, earned him a scathing glare from the woman. The other two men seemed to be following her lead, or just didn't care to comment on the situation.

"Just who the hell are you? Some sort of mercenary? Soldier?" she asked, the venom and distrust in her voice apparent to the veteran Spetsnaz soldier. Vasily of course, was completely and utterly unfazed by the woman. He worked with far scarier, and he'd dated far scarier.

Vasily did a flourish with his left hand, "Major Vasily Beloi, Russian Special Operations Forces, at your service." He could see the confused looks exchanged between the group standing in front of him. Vasily resisted the urge to sigh. "Relax, I'm not looking for the treasure or whatever else brought you to this God forsaken place. I'm here for Russian citizens that were shipwrecked here. Recently."

"And why should we trust you? Why should we believe you are who you say you are?" asked the woman, clearly resisting the urge to point the weapon right at him. He could tell by how she held her pistol. Vasily didn't understand what about him made her so tense. He didn't quite expect them to welcome him with open arms, but this was…different.

"Because clearly, I somehow stole a Russian uniform, Russian gear, Russian weapons and then stuck myself up in this fucking tree somehow, yes?" he asked rhetorically, making his confusion about how she could presume him to be anyone but who he said he was quite clear.

"Lad's speaking some sense, ye don't just land up in a tree," said the older man among them. Vasily was glad to see that the shotgun in his hands was held more casually than the pistol in the woman's. The woman didn't like it, but from the expression on her face, she couldn't really argue at this juncture.

"Mr. Grim does have a point, Reyes, and so does this gentleman here," said the college professor looking fellow to the woman, whose name he now knew was 'Reyes'.

"Why don't you give the man our biographies too, Whitman," spat Reyes. "Tell you what, soldier boy, you can cut yourself down, and then we'll talk. I promise we won't shoot you. No other promises."

Vasily rolled his eyes, "What a fantastic offer, however can I refuse your generosity?" The look in Reyes' eyes told him quite clearly that she didn't find him amusing in the least. "Great, give me a minute…" he said, holstering his pistol and drawing his Katran knife and getting to work on cutting through the straps keeping him attached to the parachute bag. A few moments effort and he was on the ground. Sheathing his knife, he dusted himself off, taking his pack off from the front of him and slinging it.

Normally, they didn't wear patches. For this mission, however, because they were dealing with civilians, they were wearing patches so as to not cause a panic. Vasily then pointed to the Russian flag and then his unit patch before saying, "There, proof? I mean, don't expect me to carry ID, your special forces employ the same practice. In fact, your Delta Force also doesn't employ patches on a regular basis."

Reyes looked somewhat placated for the moment. She snorted, responding with a thin-lipped smile. "You on your own, Major Beloi?" she asked, watching him carefully for a response.

"I'm so glad you asked that question, but I am not. My squad is also on this island, currently. Our aircraft was downed by some freak storm, there was no storms according to our satellite scans. Even though they are erratic, our meteorological data implied that they wouldn't be a problem," he explained. "We intercepted your distress call, and my marksman noticed the number of wrecks and assumed that this is where you would wash up. So…here I am, offering my help."

"Well, if you've got some food you're willing to share, and another gun certainly would be appreciated," she said, sizing him up. The look on her face, as far as Vasily could tell, went from 'I want to shoot this man' to 'maybe he could be useful'. He'd take that.

"I'd hope I've got more than just one more gun, unless the crash took more from me than my consciousness and oxygen mask," he said, a grin having formed on his face. "Davai, please, lead the way." Reyes grunted, and then began walking, he presumed to a camp they might have set up. Vasily waited for the others to get moving and then walked along with them.

"Viktor, this is Vasya. I've located some of the survivors, and I'll be helping them secure their location. Tell Sasha to keep looking. Priyem," he said, keying his mic. Viktor gave him an affirmative response, but this attracted the attention of the others. "Just telling my second in command that I've linked up with you, and to order my marksman to try and link up with any other survivors from your ship."

"Your radios are working in the storm?" asked Reyes, frowning at him in what he hoped was confusion. He didn't want to assume with that woman.

"Our radios are a lot more resistant to interference, it's still there, but we can still communicate," said Vasily, shrugging. He then pulled out his Sagittarius tablet and brought up the location of Sasha. He was confident that even if these people weren't who he was almost sure they were, he wouldn't give them the chance to go after Sasha. "Here, you can see from my marksman's positioning locator that he's close, and diligently searching for any of your crew that might have survived."

It had it's intended effect, Reyes and the old man whose name he assumed was Grim seemed placated, almost at ease even. However, clearly having noticed both the signal indicators, the bespectacled young man took a closer look and then said, "Is your tablet using both GPS and GLONASS to track your men? I mean, if it is, that's pretty cool."

"Now you've got Alex interested," said the big man with tribal tattoos. "Good luck shaking him. He won't stop until you've satisfied his curiosity." Vasily looked from the big man, to this 'Alex' and then nodded in a knowing fashion. Alex's curiosity reminded him of Natalya in a way, she was always keen to learn about the latest technological whatsit. True enough, Alex did start questioning him about the device's functions. This was going to be a long walk back to their camp.

Notes

Ah, hello readers! I congratulate you for getting this far! I haven't firmed up on choosing to go on with this story, but I thought I'd see if there was any interest from anyone! The story idea has been floating around my head for a while. So, we'll see, maybe I'll continue it regardless.

I've decided to keep Russian conversations in English, because to you as readers it makes no sense if I unleashed my very limited Russian on you. I will still try and insert bits and pieces to remind, you, the reader, that it's not in English.

Also, for those who are confused with Russian diminutive names, I'm sorry, but they're not hard once you get the hang of them I promise.

Also, I'm looking for a beta reader, if any of you feel up to the task please PM me.

Looking forward to hearing from you! Till the next time…