AN: This will probably be the last chapter I post this year. I'll be taking the holidays off. Next chapter comes up on the 8th of January 2016. Chances are I might get inspiration and post another chapter during the holidays, but in case I don't, I wish you all Merry/Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year! See you in 2016!
As big as it was, the USS Enterprise still shook noticeably under the relentless charge of the waves. A storm hit the vessel minutes after Richard had landed, grounding his aircraft and trapping him aboard. Compared to the Enterprise who found itself in the middle of a hurricane suspiciously often, and Gordost's Admiral Kuznetsov who somehow functioned despite operating in negative temperatures twelve months a year, Eton was heaven and sanctuary. Richard hoped that at least Wellington was having an easier time on Kuznetsov.
Richard waited in the guest room for a good twenty minutes, alone and bored, with the only benefit of having enough time to fix his dishevelled hair. The wind had done quite a number on it. Just as he finished making himself presentable again, two boys entered. The first was Top, the second, just as tall, but far skinnier, was probably Jack Drake, or 'Command' as Richard understood he was called.
Top was caught up in some conversation with his tactical advisor, although it sounded more like a rant. It was heated enough that Richard's hosts simply ignored him as if he weren't there, despite being obviously aware of his presence.
"I love Kay, but why the fuck she's using those old M4s I have no idea," Top said. "So many fucking early stock M4s, with their shit 75mm M3! And their 76mm is the fucking M4A-fucking-1?! Do they have a fetish for the R-975 engine? What's wrong with the Ford GAA?" Command quietly listened to Top's rant without revealing a single trace of impatience. Richard, on the other hand, was desperately trying to abstain from crossing his arms and tapping his foot. "All their tanks are old variants, and with vertical volute spring suspension nonethe-fucking-less. Oh, and don't get me started on the fucking Firefly! Why the fuck they use a Brit tank, I have no idea! That shit didn't even have a HVSS version and their cannon was so fucking inaccurate. And it's cramped like hell! Why doesn't she upgrade? She has the money!" Top paused for a moment. Richard hoped the rant was finally over and put on the best smile he could muster, albeit with great difficulty. To his chagrin, the conversation continued.
"Like many others, Kay follows foolish ideals about–" Command said, but his booming voice was suddenly interrupted.
"Don't you fucking call Kay foolish!" Top yelled. "I'll cut your tongue." Unimpressed, Command ignored the threat, but didn't retort either. It was pointless and foolhardy to argue. "At least they have the M34A1 gun mount."
"Yes, I jump with joy at the thought," Command mumbled. "Then I shall take my leave. You have guests to attend to," he added. Without giving Richard a single glance, he turned around and headed for the door.
"Yo! Sup, Rich! What brings you here?" After impolitely ignoring him for such a long time, Top finally greeted the boy. "I got the band up and running again. We should hold a battle of the bands!"
"That's great!" Richard said. He could barely stop himself from bursting into laughter. His plan had worked. The reason he organized a concert at Roosevelt wasn't just to distract attention from Patton, but also to provoke Top. He knew the boy was arrogant as hell and would try to top him. He must have trained a lot to get even close to Eton's level, which in turn meant it was weeks before he started up his tank and noticed the sabotage, making Richard's deniability the more plausible.
"Oh, by the way, a week ago I started up the engine on my Sherman and it stalled," Top said.
"Oh my, you should take better care of your machines," Richard said. It was suddenly much easier to keep up his trademark smile.
"You don't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Top asked.
"Me? Seriously, Top, we catch one of your guys trying to blow up our engines and you accuse me of sabotage?" Richard's tone reflected such confidence that not even Top could question any further. Besides, he was put on the defensive by his guest's accusation. Unfortunately for him, with his agent caught and interrogated, there was not much he could do to deny.
"That idiot? He's been expelled," Top said.
"You expect me to believe he did it on his own?" Richard asked.
"I didn't say that. I just said that the idiot has been expelled." So he didn't deny his involvement, but he wasn't admitting it either. Richard looked him in the eye. Top glared back. "If you're that curious, you should know it wasn't my idea. In my opinion, you're not worth the time, but some of the guys got riled up and thought it would be fun," Top said. "You'd know this had you interrogated him properly."
"Torture is illegal, Top," Richard said. "And vulgar."
"I didn't say torture him, but a few well place punches would have gotten him talking more."
"I have more refined ways of persuasion," Richard said. He hadn't beaten information out of anyone since he returned from Germany. He had learned of better ways to get what he wanted since then.
"Don't expect me to thank you for him. I beat him personally when he came back. Had to make an example. He didn't exactly go against my orders, but he done fucked up and made me look bad." The ease with which Top confessed the violence he did to one his own was disgusting. Richard knew his visit wouldn't be enjoyable, but he didn't expect it would be so hard to abstain from punching his host in the face. He took a deep breath. There was one more matter that had to be addressed.
"About that, my boys and I have been under attack by hooligans suspiciously often recently, as if a bounty has been place on our heads. I'm not one to tell you how to play, Top, but I draw the line at terror attacks against loved ones. If you have anything to do with this–"
"Oh, for fuck sake, man, not even I would do that!" Top interrupted. "Now there's breaking the rules and there's breaking the law." His surprise seemed genuine. "And besides, we'll kick your ass so hard, why bother?"
If not for the still present feeling of disgust in his gut, Richard would have chuckled. He couldn't believe that Top didn't order a single act of subterfuge against Eton… He disagreed with Wellington on the scale of the attacks Roosevelt had supposedly launched against them, but not on their existence, yet Top denied everything, and Richard believed him. His senses did not lie. Top was telling the truth.
So Drake didn't cheat because he wanted to prove to himself that he was better, and Top because he was certain of it. Not even Peter was that proud. Who would have imagined Roosevelt was vainer than a school called 'Pride'. "How quaint," Richard said to himself. He had doubted from the beginning that Top was behind it, despite Wellington's conviction, and now he had his proof. For better or worse, Top was not involved in the attacks. A part of Richard was glad that he was right, another not as much, since if Roosevelt was not… then who was?
Wellington's phone rang just as he got off the chopper. "Beka?" he asked himself, looking at the screen. The noise of the propellers was deafening. It was neither the place nor time for a conversation. He rejected the call. Ten steps later, the phone rang again. "She's insistent…" Wellington mumbled. "Fine." He picked up. "What is it?" he hissed over the still loud howls of the helicopter blades.
"Adie! How are you?" Beka cried.
"Don't call me that," Wellington said. "What is it?"
"Mind if I crash at your place for the weekend?" Beka asked.
The fact that she made the request with such ease did not surprise Wellington, since it was Beka he was dealing with, but the nature left him a bit confused. "What?"
"I mean at Eton," Beka clarified, if those four words could be considered a clarification.
"Why?" Wellington was getting suspicious. Then it occurred to him. How could he be such a fool? In all the confusion, he'd forgotten about her. Her identity had just been revealed. "You're in trouble? I imagined Natasha would endure the blunt of it. Do you need extraction?" Wellington asked, all serious.
Beka burst into laughter. "Nah, Adie, but I'm moved you care. You're so sweet!"
Wellington sighed. "Don't scare me like that."
"Aww, I'd give you a hug if I were there."
"Then what is the issue?" Wellington asked.
"Well, Natalie said she'd cover for me, but if Ivan went berserk he might try to attack me and I don't want him to get hurt."
"Him to get hurt?" Wellington asked, then remember who it was he was talking to. "I see… very well, you can 'crash' any time."
"Thanks, Adie!" Beka cried.
"So, what happened? What did Peter do?" Wellington asked.
"He forgave her."
"Really? I'm not privy to the exact details behind her actions, but I'd say she got off a bit too easy," Wellington said.
"Oh, common Addie! Mercy is a virtue. Don't forget, to err is human, to forgive is divine."
"I'm curious how Richard would have handled it. He is a very emotional fellow and has difficulty controlling himself. He'd tear a traitor apart. Although he's also a softy, so I guess he'd make exceptions depending on context."
"I… I see he's changed…" Beka said. A minute earlier, Wellington wouldn't have noticed the difference in tone over the noise of the helicopter, but as he walked away, the propellers slowed down and the engine stopped humming, he was able to pick up on it. Regardless, he was too worked up in his rant to be interested in the reasons behind Beka's subtle change. Whatever it was, it had broken through her usual carefree attitude. The faint hesitation and lower pitch gave it away. Wellington wondered if that was how Richard read others. After pondering on it for a moment, he continued his discourse.
"I too am emotional, but I like to think I control my emotions for the most part. My mind is in charge, although I do indulge my heart when I get the chance."
"Whatever you say, Adie," Beka said, back to her normal self. "I'll see you tonight. Kisses! Bye!" As sudden as their conversation started, so it ended. Wellington put his phone back in his pocket and kept walking towards his office.
"Vanya! No!" Sofia ordered. Darkness had completely engulfed Ivan's expression. His sister's pleas fell on deaf ears. "Vanya!" Sofia cried again.
"Izviní, starshaya sestra Sofia, this time I can't listen. I need to punish traitor," Ivan said. His gaze burned with rage as he approached his prey. There was nothing left of the carefree smile that usually decorated his face. His eyes reflected nothing but the pitch-black hatred in his heart. "Pódlaya! Gryáznaya izménnitsa! Suka!" The boy spit curses, the vanguard of his attack. It didn't matter it was a girl he was facing; he would bury her. "I show you what happens to traitor at Gordost. I am not nice like brother."
"Oi, oi, Jean, take it easy," Beka said, trying to keep up a smile. Sweat was already going down her nape, adrenaline already pumping through her blood. It must have looked like fear to an outsider, and it was, albeit not for what one would normally expect. Beka giggled nervously, like a young girl put in an awkward situation, like the target of unrequited love being confessed to, but instead of love, it was hatred. "Somebody could get hurt," Beka said.
"You will," Ivan retorted. He cracked his finger joints and without another word, dashed for his pray, like a hungry bear. Suddenly, Beka's gaze focused, her forced smile vanished, the adrenaline in her veins was put to use. No longer were her eyes pleading – any trace of nervousness was gone – Beka was ready for battle.
Under Sofia's worried gaze, Ivan struck like a freight train. There was no holding back. His clenched fist went straight for the girl's skull. With such force, the impact would have knocked Beka out immediately, but it missed. To her, Ivan was overwhelmingly strong, but also painfully slow. In the blink of an eye, the girl was no longer where he aimed his strike. Instead, Ivan gaped as she flew above him, her crimson hair tickling the top of his head. The Kamchatka brown bear was not facing a simple squirrel… he was facing the Siberian tiger.
Natasha ran, she ran like her life depended on it. Through the familiar hallways, she passed door after door, nothing but a blur in her vision. Her lungs worked at full capacity, gasping for air with every step, her heart pounded in her chest as if trying to burst out. She ran and ran and ran until she felt the freezing air hit her face. It flooded her throat, making it sore, but she still ran. The snow slowed her advance; she tripped, got up and ran again. There was no time to pick the cleared alleys, Natasha cut straight through the fresh mounds of white.
Ivan was breathing heavily. He couldn't keep up with the spry tiger. If only a single hit would land, it would be over, but he struck to no avail. "Stop moving so I can hit you!" he shouted.
"Oi, Jean, please stop. I don't want to hurt you," Beka said.
"Vanya!" a cry from afar. It wasn't Sofia – she was speechless. Ivan was too enraged to listen or look. Berserk, he didn't notice the frozen tears on Natasha's cheeks that reflected the setting sun's light. Behind her, Peter tried to keep up, swimming through the soft snow.
One more punch Beka dodged, and another, but the third was not so simple to avoid. Blinded by hatred, Ivan didn't notice when his little sister jumped right between him and his prey. Her eyes closed, Natasha didn't anticipate the blow. But Beka wouldn't let an innocent bystander get hurt. Quick on her feet, she grabbed the young girl and redirected her momentum, pushing her away from the blow. Ivan's fist went right between their noses, near missing them both. But the move was too fast to be elegant. Unable to maintain her balance, Beka went down with Natasha in tow. She made sure to protect her friend's head as she hit the icy earth. The ground greeted her like a lover she hadn't visited in years. The cold crept up her spine as she lay defenceless.
Ivan hesitated for a second before rage refilled his mind. Blinded by his hatred, he raised his arm to strike down at his hopeless enemy. Finally, he could deliver justice to the spry traitor. With Natasha in her arms, Beka could do nothing. With her left arm, she shielded her friend's face, lest she became collateral damage, and the right she aimed desperately to try and block Ivan's strike. She could barely see… the setting was positioned right behind Ivan. But the strike didn't come. As the orange light slowly shone its last for the day, Beka noticed a towering figure standing between Ivan and his prey.
"Get out of my way, brat," Ivan hissed, but the figure didn't move. Peter simply stood like a statue in front of his brother. He didn't even lift his arms as a guard. He simply stared his twin down with the gaze of a warrior, and indomitable glare that pierced through the twilight.
"Stand down," Peter ordered. For the first time in years, he stood up to his brother rather than have his big sister clean up the mess. Two simple words, but spoken with the resolution of a true leader. It was not Ivan's little twin brother that made a request, it was Gorodst's captain that gave a command.
Ivan didn't budge. His arm still in the air, he stared back. But the rage in his eyes was nothing compared to the steadfast determination in Peter's. The icy glare was like frostbite, overwhelming the inferno is Ivan's soul, so cold that one would swear it could freeze hell itself. And it did. Ivan turned his back on his sibling and walk away. "You are all fools. Traitor should die traitor's death. Beka should go to gulag for what she's done."
New tears rolled down Natasha's cheeks, eager to join their frozen comrades that were already biting at the girl's skin. "There, there, Natalie," Beka said, caressing her friend's head. "Everything will be fine."
Sofia was finally able to move. She quietly ran to her young sister and helped her get up. "Natashenka, we need to get you inside. You'll catch a cold," she said. Like a caring mother, the girl took her sister away, leaving Peter and Beka alone.
Still on the ground, Beka looked up. Peter offered her a hand. His face betrayed no emotion, neither good nor bad. "I'll be away for the weekend," the girl said.
Her captain pulled her up to her feet. "That would be best."
At the helicopter Peter was kind enough to provide, Beka found Ivan lying in wait. Her senses, toned by years of experience, detected no killer intent from the boy. He had taken his brother's, no, his captain's words to heart. "Running to your masters, suka?" he asked. Beka remained silent. Her hands were tucked in her trouser pockets, her face devoid of any smile. She simply walked right past him. A step behind the boy, she stopped.
Annoyed, Ivan aimed a punch at the air right next to her head, a final warning, close enough to scare a normal girl, but otherwise harmless. He wanted to get one final reaction from her before moving on. He expected to see her flinch. He was wrong. The tiger was not an ordinary girl. The moment he turned around and threw the punch, Ivan was not greeted by the expected sight of Beka's defenceless back. Instead, his eyes met hers, focused in a glare that left him breathless. His heart skipped a beat. He didn't even notice his fist stopping halfway through its motion. A sharp pain surged through the bones of his fingers. Beka had blocked his attack and was crushing his fist in hers. Ivan clenched his teeth in pain, struggling not to show it on the outside.
"Oi, Jean," Beka said. Her glare and tone were unnaturally cold compared to how she normally behaved. The sweet and friendly mask was off. It was the first time Ivan saw her angry. "Don't put your sister in danger again. I don't give third chances."
"Shlyukha, let go," Ivan said. "I'd never harm mladshaya sestra." He was a fool to underestimate her. Had he used his full strength, Beka wouldn't have been able to block him. His mistake had put him at a disadvantage. Ignoring the pain, he jerked his hand away. The girl let go.
"Hey, you gonna get in or not?" the helicopter pilot cried. Beka took a step back, then turned around and boarded the transport. Its propellers started moving faster and faster, blowing the snow from the pad. Ivan kept starting at the vehicle as it took flight until it vanished into the distance.
The freezing wind did nothing to cool the anger still burning in the boy's heart. Only time could extinguish it completely and dull the pain of betrayal. "Altinnovo vora veshayut, a poltinnovo chestvuyut," Ivan mumbled and started his walk back home.
Author's note: I don't normally explain the foreign words I use, but I'll make an exception for once because this is more relevant than usually. With the exception of the final line of dialogue, it's mostly curses and various ways of saying "brother" and "sister". The last line of dialogue, however, is special.
Алты́нного во́ра ве́шают, а полти́нного че́ствуют. It's a Russian proverb. English pronunciation: Altinnovo vora veshayut, a poltinnovo chestvuyut. Literal Meaning: The thief who stole an altyn (3 coins) is hung, and the one who stole a poltinnik (50 coins) is praised. Interpret the meaning as you wish.
