Every vehicle that was property of the red army was purchased second-hand and patched up into working order. Many parts used in this recycling process were scavenged from scrapyards or stolen from unsuspecting pack rats' backyards. This meant that none of the organization's aircraft or cars had that shiny, polished appearance many people adored, but instead looked more like something Frankenstein would have put together, if he had pursued engineering instead of medicine.

Tord and Patryk approached the only vehicle present in the small hangar, the latter in the lead. Tord looked upon the helicopter with disdain, growing anxious about the situation. If he had been nervous before about flying into a winter storm, the sight of the aircraft only made his anxiety worsen. It looked like a late Picasso painting, resting there in the center of the floor with mismatched landing skids, parts bolted onto places they didn't seem to fit, and a fissure in the tinted windshield. On its tail someone with either little talent for art or very little regard for the army's representation had sloppily painted the army's emblem in a bold red acrylic. The copter's rotor blades drooped, making the vehicle appear melancholy and forgotten.

Patryk was extraordinarily eager to get it into the air, and started the engine before Tord had even taken a seat. Tord dug his fingers into the torn cushion of the co-pilot chair and ground his teeth. He threw the soldier a pointed look.

"Calm down," he ordered. "And do not fly us into the ceiling, or you'll be demoted."

"What, like Paul?" Patryk replied, flipping switches and adjusting levers.

"Worse than Paul."

Patryk snorted. "What could be worse than being dropped to the rank of janitor?"

Tord became aloof. "He's not a janitor, he's the mess hall's sanitation manager," he said, pouting.

Patryk adjusted his seat and glanced over the controls. "Janitor," he said pointedly. Tord released an exasperated sigh, but sat back and fell into a brooding silence as Patryk informed ground control via intercom that they were ready for departure.

"Roger that," the response crackled in acknowledgement through the control panel's battered speakers. A few seconds later there was a shifting groan from above. The walls seemed to sigh and shudder as the ceiling split open, sliding apart to reveal the grey clouds Tord and Patryk had driven the snowmobile under not too long ago.

"Up we go," Patryk murmured, easing the helicopter into a hover, then navigating it carefully out of the hangar. It was a delicate job, but with a sharp eye and concentration he managed to get the aircraft above the trees without dealing any damage. Tord peeked out through the window just in time to watch the ceiling of the hangar shift back into place, making it appear as though there had never been a hangar at all.

Indeed, the secluded and rotted house was a prime location for a private base. No one would ever suspect the operations run through it, or the soldiers who worked in its basement. It was the perfect disguise, unlike the warehouse that doubled as headquarters, which had been designated HQ due to its convenience in location and the sorely needed sale that had allowed Tord to purchase the building at a discount of nearly half off its original price. The warehouse was a looming, red-bricked edifice that had so many soldiers constantly walking in and out of it that only a fool wouldn't notice it was property of an army. Which army, though, was the question.

It took roughly two hours to reach the destination. When they arrived, Patryk set the helicopter onto an available landing pad, informed HQ ground control of their arrival, and jumped out through the cabin door. He rushed to catch up to Tord, who had already gotten out and was now making his way across the roof of the warehouse towards the stairs down.

"So, what's the plan, boss?" Patryk said as he caught up and fell in stride with the shorter of the two. His face was set, a stone mask of determination. He appeared ready to jump directly back into the helicopter and ride back out into the storm with one word.

Tord sighed. "Nothing, at the moment. Get some rest, soldier, it is late."

Patryk came to an abrupt halt, as though someone had slammed on the emergency break in his head. He stood silently for a second, glancing back and forth between Tord and the copter. "I…no. You said…"

"Look, Patryk," Tord said, stopping and swiveling on his heels. "We will find him, eventually. But depriving yourself of sleep will not help. Go get rest."

"With all respect, sir," Patryk argued. "I have a right to at least ask questions."

"Huh?"

A fine line appeared between the soldier's eyebrows. "You've barely spoken since you walked out of Shostler's workshop. I just want you to talk. I need answers, Tord."

Tord gave the soldier an appraising look. "Then give me questions."

"Okay," Patryk began quickly, as though he'd been rehearsing what he'd ask in his head the entire flight to headquarters. "How long have you known he's been missing?"

Tord looked hurt. "It is new news to me, too, buddy. I would not hold information like this from you. Besides, I thought you had already known. After all, you two love birds are always together."

Patryk's cheeks flushed. He set his jaw and plowed on. "How did you find out?"

"Shostler. He told me he had spotted a soldier in a bar. It happened to be Paul."

"Wait," Patryk said, growing angry. "If Shostler saw him, that means he was in Parkano. We just spent the last two hours flying away from him."

"Paul's my friend, too-"

"Then why did you order me to put us farther from him?"

"Let me explain!"

Patryk was silent.

"Paul's my friend, too," Tord said slowly, picking back up from before he was interrupted. He paused to give Patryk his most sincere look. "And I'm going to do all I can to find him…but hear me out. Protocol is very important. Without it, there would be chaos, and chaos needs to be avoided. For that reason, I must treat Paul's case as I would any other soldier's."

Patryk blanched. "What? You're going to treat him like a defector?"

"You do not understand. When a soldier goes off the radar without warning, it can be a very dangerous thing. Shostler said Paul was spilling classified army information, too."

"So what? He was upset! The man doesn't know how to cope with demotion. He's not a criminal!" Patryk cried, throwing his hands in the air.

"Of course he is not a criminal-"

"Then stop talking about him like that!" Patryk's face had grown hot. "Everything you have said has suggested he's some kind of culprit. Of what, though? What could he even defect about? The army's debt? Everyone knows about that already!"

Tord sighed again. "That is enough, soldier."

"No, I won't stand for th-"

"I said enough." Patryk fell silent, and watched Tord with a sudden blank expression, which frankly, Tord didn't like any better than his anger. It was a strange look on the soldier's usually very animated face, and it chilled Tord to the bone. Patryk only wore that expression when he was planning something. "Now you might as well go to your quarters and sleep," Tord said coldly, "because we will not be leaving until we have had a debriefing and a mission planned for the search. A party will need to be put together, people who can be trusted. Until then, you are to remain with your feet on HQ ground, is that clear?"

Patryk stared at Tord. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Am I dismissed, Red Leader?" he said, sharply enunciating each syllable, his breath coming out in puffs in the chilled air. He only addressed Tord in that manner in face-to-face conversation when he was furious.

Tord sniffed. "You are dismissed."

Patryk stormed past towards the stairwell door, knocking into Tord as he went by – giving him a literal cold shoulder. Tord regained his footing and ground his teeth, as he had multiple times already that day. But otherwise, he didn't react to the soldier's unruly behavior as Patryk slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Tord by himself on the roof of the warehouse.

It just had not been a good day for Tord. He had already had bankruptcy weighing down on his mood. Just the last three hours, however, had proved that the size of Tord's collective problems was much bigger than he had originally thought.

A chilling gale kicked up, pushing Tord's bangs into his eyes. He blinked and looked up at the sky. It was overcast and a scatter of flurries blew nearly horizontally, bullied by the wind. The storm had been left behind when they'd flown out of Finland, and a handful of stars could be seen, their shimmer fighting feebly through the clouds. The storm wasn't far behind, though – the insistent press of the wind against his numb fingers and wind-bitten cheeks made him sure of that, and even as Tord watched, some of the few visible stars were suffocated by dark, rolling storm clouds.

The roof's floodlights flickered on, casting a dull glow across him. Tord shook his head, breaking from his stupor, and looked around him anxiously. These days, he always felt as though he was being watched. But the only company he could see was his own grey shadow, which stretched across the roof. Looking at the shadow made Tord uneasy; the light from the floodlights was too weak to make a complete shadow, so the outline was incomplete. His shadow faded out, making it so it was missing its head and one of its arms.

Tord shivered. He reassured himself that it was just the cold making him feel jittery, not nerves. He had always had a relatively calm head when it came to strategy, and he couldn't afford to lose it now. He just needed to think. To form a strategy of some sort…

Tord had always thought best when he felt most in control, which seemed to be at the shooting range. With a gun in his hand, he felt safe. With earmuffs on and gunshots ringing through his ears, strangely, everything seemed quieter. At least, there were no voices telling him what to do or soldiers coming to him nagging him for a pay raise. Very few people dared to bother Tord when he was shooting.

He cast one more wary glance about him before shoving his hands into his coat pockets and rushing for the stairwell door.

He direly hoped his shadow wasn't following him.

Thanks for reading! Chapter 3 should be coming soon, and along with it, a special guest!

Reviews are always appreciated. If you have a tumblr, you can reach me through my blog, redsweatercommie.