Chapter 6
Under new management
Vai'dqouulth's night
After Vai'dqouulth left the structure, he immediately went back to hunting the hard meats. This was a containment mission, not a trophy hunt, so he forwent skull collecting to avoid becoming encumbered unnecessarily.
He also had walls full of them back on Yautja Prime and on his ship.
The other problem was the native human warriors. They looked nothing like the ones he had cornered in the structure earlier, so they must've been unique to this region. The issue was they were spread all around – and while he had no qualms about killing them, they were a waste of valuable time as well.
The latest batch of warriors he was shadowing (to use as bait) were referred to as 'Dagger' by their leaders. His mask, thankfully, was uplinked to his yacht in orbit, and had downloaded the human language known as 'Russian' straight to his mask.
He knew English quite well; it was an elective he took before his Chiva, figuring he only needed to know what his prey was saying. But he hadn't bothered with the class teaching how to speak it. It required a lot of vocal muscle practice and mouth manipulation for someone of his kind to speak with any fluency. And again, why would he need to?
From the treetops he watched the 'Russian' warriors, weighing his options. Either he could kill them and slow the spread, or he could leave them alive and hope they took as many of the demons with them as they could before meeting with the Black Warrior. Either way, he'd need to kill them at some future time.
The parasites made the choice for him when they ambushed the humans.
Totally unprepared, the warriors – if they could be called that – began blindly firing their kinetic weapons in all directions as the impregnators and drones swarmed all around them. Vai'dqouulth shot arrows as fast as he could draw them.
Once both groups thinned each other out, he joined the fray with wrist blades and his invisibility.
It wasn't much of a challenge; but they were soon all cleaned up, humans and hard meats alike. Reaching down, he scanned the two-way transmitter device of one of the human warriors, and tapped into their frequency.
"All callsigns in the area, be advised, unknown hostiles to the west are attempting a force in detail assault on the forward operating base, request immediate assistance."
Presumably, that was a human leader. It sounded as if the humans' military 'base' was in jeopardy.
Vai'dqouulth ignored the human radio chatter at first, until a follow up message came a short time later. "This is the Siberian civilian evac site to all callsigns in the area, overwhelming forces from the west are threatening to destroy our position, we can't take much more of this! We need more time to get these civilians out of here! Please assist!"
Civilians… it took a moment for the word to register with him. His kind had citizens, but a non-combatant was unheard of among his people. Vai'dqouulth decided to investigate this 'civilian evacuation site'. Along the way, the human leader broadcasted again, the tone frantic now.
"Any callsigns in the area, be advised! This is the evac site! Combat personnel are mostly dead, all support armor is destroyed! We are combat ineffective; civilians are taking up arms to defend the evac site! We are hanging on by a thread, here! Please, anyone assist! We have women and children!"
Vai'dqouulth's society valued females and pups above nearly anything else. Even if it was a different species, the plea was getting to him.
Vai'dqouulth sat in the trees and weighed his options once more. There were those warriors he cornered in the structure – but that was too far away, and four human warriors were unlikely to change the tides of the battle. That pretty much left just him.
Begrudgingly, he began to make his way toward the gunfire, arguing to himself that the more humans saved, the less the parasites spread. And that would be his only options for unarmed humans, save them or let the parasite take their course against them. Saving seemed like the lesser of two undesirable choices. Another positive, he'd be able to destroy many demons as they seemed to be converging on a singular location.
From the treetops, he could make out the human military structure. It was a non-military building within a small village, that much was clear. He had seen plenty of human military structures before. Currently, there were hundreds of parasite warriors closing in on it.
Through investigation, he found the 'civilians' packing into a human vehicle. It was an aircraft that used a massive top propeller to fly. A scan showed none of them were carrying the parasite within them.
Arming the two plasma casters on each of his shoulders and his bow, Vai'dqouulth began firing at the approaching hoard. It didn't take long to run out of arrows and overheat the plasmacasters, however.
Blades it was.
As he jumped down to face the onslaught, both wrist blades shot out, and each stabbed a parasite warrior through the head. He then flared his mandibles as much as he could within the mask and roared in challenge. That was more than enough to get them focused on him and off the humans.
Through his blade dance, Vai'dqouulth could see the last of the humans on the perimeter had abandoned their post and were climbing into the escape vessel. A part of him knew he shouldn't let them leave; but then, in all the chaos the dark night, and humanity's historically poor vision, what really could they report seeing anyway – and what evidence did they have? He decided if it became relevant, he'd deal with it later; for now, it was time to retreat and regroup.
He was wounded and outnumbered. Making for the tree line, Vai'dqouulth grabbed as many arrows as he could along the way, parasites hot on his trail. Once he was in a tree, they seemed to lose track of him.
With the number of parasites he had encountered, by his estimations, they were reproducing faster than he and the humans were killing them. It was time to call in backup.
Unfortunately, when holding up his wrist computer, he found it destroyed; probably from the heat of battle. This was concerning. He had no way to call his ship from orbit, no way to call for backup, and no final measure in the form of a cleansing bomb. Vai'dqouulth was marooned on Earth.
He took a deep breath and tried to think.
Primitive though it may be, Earth likely had the needed parts to repair the computer, or at least enough to call his ship down. He just needed to find them. That might prove to be difficult, given the more undeveloped ways the humans of this region seemed to live. Warriors, though, sported technology. They may have been the best odds of finding anything.
Dawn was starting to break, so the demons would probably bed down for the day, making them harder to track. Vai'dqouulth needed to do some triage, anyway. Pulling out his medicomp, he began to work until a noise from below broke his concentration.
" 'We were raised with the stick and a pair of blades, on the ice we cut our teeth. We took our knocks in the penalty booooooox, our mother was the referee'."
He recognized that voice, though the words were complete nonsense – that was the human that had called him an 'asshole', and he was singing, softly, just below him now. Passing through, it looked like. He wondered what happened to the other three. Did they die, and now this one was alone? Had they split up for some reason? Really, it was irrelevant.
"S'yuit-de," Vai'dqouulth muttered to himself. What an idiot; he was practically broadcasting his location to the parasites. If he was trying to attract a female, he was too late. They were all gone, though he wasn't sure if that was the reason for the singing.
Either way, were he not in pain, he would've killed the human just to shut him up. A scan from earlier told him that this human didn't even have the technology he needed; though he hadn't been looking for it very closely at that time, either. But then, Vai'dqouulth's mood brightened. If the warrior was out of the structure, that meant he could retrieve his weapons.
Morning
Of all the people Adrien expected to see opening the door of a shack high atop a mountain, a gorgeous redhead training a handgun on him was not one of them.
God, she was a tiny, tiny, girl. Barely over five feet.
He greeted her with the only Russian phrase he knew, and she replied in perfect English – in fact, disconcerting as it was, it may have been possible that she spoke it better than him – with absolutely no accent. Everyone always told him he had a Minnesota accent by comparison, whatever that meant. Usually southerners and coast dwellers were the ones to comment on it.
The redhead also seemed to have a whole pack of armed men at her disposal literally backing her up, and they were all wearing military garb and equipment.
"Woah, blue, blue," Adrien tried to deescalate the situation calmly, though he was fairly confident they weren't going to shoot him.
"Who are you?! What are you doing here?!" one of the men behind her demanded; also in English. The man in question was tall, with high, sharp cheekbones and large ears, and his uniform – well, it was so comically old, Adrien wondered if he'd stepped off the set of Red Dawn.
Adrian decided it was way too early in the morning to be yelling. And he smelled food.
"Sir, I'm with the United States Marines, and I'm here to help." he answered the demand.
One of the other men, with a bad haircut and mustache, looked at him with undisguised hostility and spat out something in Russian. Something pretty accusatory-sounding, too.
A third man – if, in fact, the skinny little string bean in a uniform before him could be considered that – said something in reply, and it seemed like a counterpoint. Hopefully, that meant the little guy was on his side? Maybe?
"I don't know what the hell you people are saying, but I'm gonna have some of whatever you're cooking," Adrien announced. Nobody protested, but they all seemed confused. By their expressions, it was apparently harder to find an American out here than an extraterrestrial. "Is that cool?" he followed up.
With no response, Adrien walked past them all and looked at the boiling pot of soup. Yummy. Or maybe he was just ridiculously hungry.
"I'm sorry; just who are you, exactly?" the redheaded girl asked, following him into the kitchen. Pulling down a bowl from one of the sturdy cabinets, Adrien then held out a gloved hand and introduced himself.
"Captain Adrien Pierce, United States Marine Corp."
"Captain Jekaterina Mikhailov, 25th Special Purpose Regiment Spetsnaz of the Russian Federation." She shook his hand, her suspicion evident.
"That's a mouthful. You said your name is Yeka–, Kater–," Adrien stumbled. She had said it so fast, but he was now almost certain this was the woman he needed to extract.
"Katja, for short. What is your mission here, Captain?" she pushed. "Why are you in our country? Our nations are not exactly allies. You have to admit, it seems pretty suspicious."
She didn't know? If this was his girl, something wasn't right. She seemed to have absolutely no idea she was his reason for being here. For some reason, her benefactor must have not informed her of the situation.
Her men were beginning to gather around them. Adrien knew he would have to tread carefully.
"You are my mission, actually," Adrien thought privately. He knew lies would be picked up on quickly, though, so he decided half-truths would be better until he could ease her into the idea of leaving. Soup first, though. "I feel like I'm the only one eating, why don't ya'll grab a bowl and we'll talk about it?"
None of her men budged. "Why are you here?" she asked again, face unreadable.
"The meteor, you know? To extract people, same as you," Adrien answered shortly. His aim wasn't to lie, just not tell the whole truth, but he could tell this 'Katja' saw through it.
"Why?" she pressed.
"Does the why matter at this point? US. offered help, and Russia quietly accepted," Adrien explained. More partial truths.
"You're lying, American! The Russian Federation would never accept Western aid!" one of her men snapped. If Adrien wasn't mistaken, he was the same one who has spoken English earlier, as well. Mr. Big Ears was a bit of a pretty boy, as well. Strong accent, unlike the girl. He also had a bandage around his hand – they had clearly run into something last night.
"Petrov, pazhalsta." Katja said, splaying her own hand on his chest to calm him. The way she leaned slightly into him, consciously or not… seemed a little intimate to Adrien.
Interesting.
She then turned back to Adrien and flicked her braid out of her collar, where it had gotten stuck. "How did you find us?" she asked. She sounded simply curious, but he could tell by now she was clever. He had to be careful.
"Followed the sound of gunfire from last night. Saw some tire tracks heading up or down a mountain road. Found your boots-prints, and here I am," Adrien explained with an easy smile.
Her eyes brightened, just perceptibly, at the mention of the gunfire. "We have not fired a shot. Did you see signs of another team on the way here?" Katja continued, sounding cautiously hopeful.
"No, but I wasn't looking, either. You're saying you didn't encounter anything unusual last night?" Adrien raised a brow.
That was when Petrov dumped a large, tan-ish worm on the table. "That count?" the man sniffed.
Adrien made a face and pulled his bowl back from the dead thing. "I'll give you an 'A' for effort, but if that's the worst you have, you're lucky. Also, this is the breakfast table, do you mind?" He waved for Petrov to remove the offending corpse.
Another soldier, one with a crooked nose, asked, "You're saying they get worse than this?" The question was probing, inviting a more detailed explanation.
"Hey, another English speaker! Yeah, they get much worse. Bigger. Nasty bite. Fast as hell. You're lucky if they just kill ya, too," Adrien elaborated, not realizing his slip up at the end
"What do you mean?" Katja demanded, pouncing on his mistake like a hungry lioness.
Adrien stopped mid-soup slurp. Crap, how was he to play the idiot and not lie? "What do you know of them so far?" he redirected.
"Some. That a spider latches onto a host, impregnates orally, gestates in a sense of the word, then bursts from the chest of the host to finish growing," Katja answered, counting the points off on her fingers.
"Right, but they need live hosts to do this. So, their goal is capture. Doesn't do them much good to kill a potential host, now, does it?" Adrien asked rhetorically
Katja's brow wrinkled as she pondered this. "If these are birthed from us," Katja asked, pointing at the bloated corpse for emphasis, "how do the spiders come into being?"
Adrien held the spoon in his mouth, buying some time to think of how to answer. Would knowing the truth about these creatures make her more or less likely to leave the country with him?
"How much did they brief you on this?" Adrien asked. His response was only silence. They weren't gonna reveal anything classified, obviously; but their quiet seemed more due to lack of insight on the matter than secrecy.
Relenting, he finally explained, "Ok, they didn't brief us much on this either; but we've gathered there's a big one, a command and control. This big one is also a birther – a queen if you will. Much like ants. That's where the spiders come from. Without the queen, they can't spread."
This was a bit of conjecture. Wood's account was speculative and based on ancient carvings within the pyramid. But that's the conclusion she put forth, and that was all he had.
He watched as Katja shot an angry look at the curly blond-haired kid with big glasses – the string bean. The kid simply nodded. Adrien knew military when he saw them, and that kid was most certainly not Spetsnaz, but it was good to know 'queen' seemed to be the right assessment.
"If you're here to help us, where's the rescue squad?" the one called Petrov asked, changing the subject.
"I'm it," Adrien said, and outstretched his arms to emphasize his point. Clearly, that answer didn't fly, because almost everyone – except String Bean and the one who hadn't yet spoken – scowled at him.
"I was leading a four-man team. We got ambushed in an abandoned mining town overnight. One of my guys is hurt. I don't suppose one of you is a medic?" Adrien asked hopefully.
String Bean said something to the Russian Captain, and she nodded in turn.
"Was he impregnated?" Katja asked.
"No. Acid burns. Their blood–"
"Is acid, that we do know," Katja finished. "I presume one was killed too close to him?"
"Correct," Adrien nodded.
"Well, you're out of luck. All our medics are at the civilian evac site. The forward operating base. But… how's his condition?" Katja asked, a small bit of concern in her voice.
So, she had a soft side. "Stable for now. An evac would be great," Adrien answered wheedlingly.
Katja shook her head before replying. "First, I need your help."
"With?" Adrien questioned.
"There's a second team out there, Dagger 2-1. We need to find them. That was likely the gunfire you heard last night. That's why you're here, isn't it? To help?" Katja requested. Damn her, she was twisting everything he said around to her advantage, and she knew it.
"Have a heart, Captain. I have a man down and he's critically wounded," Adrien protested.
Her empathy apparently only tolerated a certain level of bull. "But alive and stable. You do this, we go back to the FOB and grab a medic for your guy. Then, we all get out of here. Please," Katja reasoned coolly.
Adrien sighed and rubbed his face. Man was he tired, but it was clear he wasn't getting out of this.
"Ok, fine, where do you think they are?" Adrien asked.
The girl disappeared for a moment before coming back with a map. "They were assigned here, but the gunfire sounded like it was from elsewhere. I think they were in these woods. The sounds seemed muffled and bounced." Katja pointed to a couple spots on the map.
The woods? Oh, hell no. The hunters thrived on hiding in trees. He needed to talk her out of this.
"With respect, Captain, if they were out in the woods last night, odds are they're dead. Did they respond to radio hails?" Adrien asked. String Bean said something to her, but she didn't look happy about it.
"If there is even one man alive out there, we need to try," Katja said at last.
Adrien scowled at her. It was clear she had conviction in this matter, and he would not get any help until she was satisfied knowing what he had already figured out: That the second team was dead, by one or two species of extraterrestrial, and he wasn't sure which fate was worse.
And now, they would likely suffer the same fate. Clearly, she wasn't used to losing people… or she was, and just didn't want to accept it.
The American at the door had identified himself as 'Blue' which, if Katja wasn't mistaken, was a US military callout meaning 'friendly'.
She wasn't so sure about that right now.
"I knew it! The Americans caused this!" Preobrazhensky growled – in Russian, so the marine couldn't understand.
Adjusting his glasses, Alexei responded in Russian, "Actually no. As much as I would like to blame them, they have nothing to do with it."
"I don't know what the hell you people are saying, but I'm gonna have some of whatever you're cooking," the American cut in, and with a grin pushed past everyone, sauntering in the direction of the stove.
Wait, why was there an American marine in Russia? Had a war started, and no one had bothered to tell her?
Actually, a war had started. She just didn't know who was on whose side yet.
"I'm sorry; just who are you, exactly?" Katja asked, hot on his heels as he went into the kitchen. She watched in confusion as he just helped himself. She was tempted to tell him this was inappropriate, and to stop. But she assumed he was a typical American, who felt entitled to having his way on everything.
"Captain Adrien Pierce, United States Marine Corp," the American said, turning in her direction and holding out his large hand to shake. He was handsome, she decided; albeit in that burly, square-jawed way that Americans seemed to idolize.
"Captain Jekaterina Mikhailov, 25th Special Purpose Regiment Spetsnaz of the Russian Federation." Katja took the hand with trepidation. She did not trust this man.
"That's a mouthful. You said your name is Yeka–, kater–," the American tried to say her name. Frankly, it was a little disarming to see a good-size military man stumble with her name like a child.
But she would not allow herself to lower her guard. "Katja, for short. What is your mission here, Captain?" she pressed. Katja was not being subtle this time. If she had pushed harder with Alexei, maybe the outcome would've been different.
All of her men began to crowd around in curiosity. Katja ignored them and kept her focus on the American. "Why are you in our country?" she continued. "Our nations are not exactly allies. You have to admit, it seems pretty suspicious.
The look he gave her at the question was… disconcerting, to say the least. It was too focused, on her specifically.
"I feel like I'm the only one eating, why don't ya'll grab a bowl and we'll talk about it?" Adrien requested, smiling. He smiled a lot. She had heard that about Americans, but... "Look past it, Katja, look past it."
It was all clever redirection tactics in a bid for time. Probably to concoct a believable lie. Thankfully, none of her guys took the bait, and Katja asked her question again.
"Why are you here?"
"The meteor, you know? To extract people, same as you," the marine said. The answer seemed truthful enough to her. According to her memory, some of the guys at base had mentioned the US offering aid. But still, the story seemed… off.
She was not letting this go, though, lest it cost more lives. "Why?"
"Does the 'why' matter at this point? The US offered help, and Russia quietly accepted," the American stated.
A new tactic: dismiss a question as unimportant when it actually was the right question. Still, she didn't feel he was really lying. It was beginning to frustrate her. She hated talking in circles.
"You're lying, American! The Russian Federation would never accept Western aid!" Petrov suddenly broke in angrily.
Katja mentally cringed. She was trying to work this guy over, and this was exactly the thing she was trying to avoid. Accusations and outbursts would just give Adrien the excuse not to answer her questions. Thankfully, he didn't seem fazed.
"Petrov, please." Katja said in Russian, reaching out to hold a steadying hand on his chest. After a few moments, Petrov looked down at her, and his face softened. "Please, no more outbursts," she tried to communicate with her eyes.
Then, she noticed just how close she was standing to her lieutenant. And the way he was looking at her…What the hell? Where had that come from? Anyone could read that.
Quickly, she stepped back and stole a glance at the American. Adrien had clearly picked up on the less than innocent exchange.
Uncomfortably moving her braid away from her neck, Katja attempted to get the interrogation back on track. "How did you find us?"
She was hoping that question would trip Adrien up enough to reveal something of importance. No way he 'happened' upon them, and if he had tracked them down somehow, she would be extremely impressed. In her opinion, they hadn't left an obvious trail to follow.
He gave her yet another easygoing smile, one that she slightly wanted to punch off his face. "Followed the sound of gunfire from last night. Saw some tire tracks heading up or down a mountain road. Found your boot-prints, and here I am."
Katja perked up at the first part of what he'd said. "We have not fired a shot. Did you see signs of another team on the way here?" She tried to control her tone, but it was hard not to be excited at the prospect the other team had survived.
"No, but I wasn't looking, either. You're saying you didn't encounter anything unusual last night?" Adrien asked her with a raised eyebrow. Now the urge to hit him had gone from 'slight' to 'absolute'. And he was trying to flip the interrogation around on her.
Thankfully, Petrov saved her the trouble.
"That count?" the lieutenant asked as he dumped the corpse of his little pocket beast on the table. This time, he had held it gingerly, away from the bloody parts.
"I'll give you an 'A' for effort, but if that's the worst you have, you're lucky. Also, this is the breakfast table, do you mind?" Adrien stated and waved for the corpse to be removed.
Katja almost signaled for Petrov to leave it, since it seemed to make the smug American uncomfortable, if only marginally.
"You're saying they get worse than this?" asked Zaitsev guilelessly, even inserting just a bit of artificial fear into his 'curiosity'. Katja had never been prouder of him. Her squad knew a little, yes – but now it was time to find out if Adrien knew more.
"Hey, another English speaker! Yeah, they get much worse. Bigger. Nasty bite. Fast as hell. You're lucky if they just kill ya, too," the marine answered, delighted that someone else spoke his language. Katja, however, latched onto that last sentence. Finally, the American had tripped up.
"What do you mean?" she demanded immediately.
The American stopped before the spoon of soup reached his mouth. "Got ya," Katja thought. But she was surprised when he again turned it around on her.
"What do you know of them so far?" he asked. Admittedly, it was a fair question; but Katja could tell he was using it as a defense.
"Some. That a spider latches onto a host, impregnates orally, gestates in a sense of the word, then bursts from the chest of the host to finish growing," Katja rattled off, using her fingers to visibly and obnoxiously count off the points on her fingers. Her brother had told her American marines were rather dumb, after all.
"Right, but they need live hosts to do this. So, their goal is capture. Doesn't do them much good to kill a potential host, now, does it?" Adrien posed to everyone in the room. Katja didn't like him flaunting knowledge that she had not yet acquired. But it did raise an important question.
"If these are birthed from us," she asked, pointing at the bloated corpse to get the point across, "how do the spiders come into being?" Now that Katja thought about it, that wasn't something Alexei had explained. Where did the spiders come from? Were they birthed somehow, as well? Logic would say yes, but they were extraterrestrial. For all she knew, they were formed in the gasses of Jupiter.
The American knew more than he was leading on, that much was clear; and it was also clear he was going to dance around the answer, given his sucking on that spoon longer than needed.
"How much did they brief you on this?" Adrien asked. Another rerouting question. This time, he only got silence. Nobody had been briefed, so there was really nothing to say; but neither were any of them going to admit that to a potential enemy. It seems he got the hint, too, because he continued
"Ok, they didn't brief us much on this either; but we've gathered there's a big one, a command and control. This big one is also a birther – a queen if you will. Much like ants. That's where the spiders come from. Without the queen, they can't spread."
Katja immediately looked over to Alexei with a glare; she didn't care how obvious it was. That kid had left out a critical piece of information – if the American was to be believed – and it could cost more lives. She also knew that information like that wouldn't be passed down to a lowly American Captain without cause, but calling him on it might only make him clamp up. Better to let him talk if he was willing.
"If you're here to help us, where's the rescue squad?" Petrov asked, bringing Katja back from the brink of smashing Alexei's head in with a frying pan.
"I'm it," Adrien answered proudly. Katja barely held back a snort. If this was their only backup, then they were truly in trouble.
"I was leading a four-man team. We got ambushed in an abandoned mining town overnight. One of my guys is hurt. I don't suppose one of you is a medic?" Adrien elaborated. Ah, so she had heard non-Russian weapons firing last night.
But a four-man team? If he was Marine Forces Special Operations Command, he'd be leading at least a fourteen man Marine Special Operations Team – MSOT – as she recalled. Maybe that's all the Russian government would allow into the country?
Maybe it was a test. Maybe all of this was a test. Whatever it was, it was wrong and prickling at her senses.
"Ask him if the man was impregnated," Alexei suggested in Russian. Ignoring the fact that she was still angry with him, and the fact he seemed to understand English but not speak it, Katja agreed that was a good question.
Folding her arms, Katja glanced at Adrien. "Was he impregnated?"
The American shook his head. "No. Acid burns. Their blood–"
"Is acid, that we do know," Katja finished for him, and was only a little smug about it. "I presume one was killed too close to him?" she deduced.
"Correct," Adrien confirmed, clearly not offended that she had cut him off.
"Well, you're out of luck. All our medics are at the civilian evac site. The forward operating base. But… how's his condition?" Katja asked through an exhale of air. Much as she hated to admit it, she was concerned about the American's wounded man. It just wasn't a fair way for anyone to go.
"Stable, for now. An evac would be great," Adrien answered her hopefully.
Now the truth was out. He wanted a ride from them. Well, he would have to work for it.
"First I need your help," Katja bargained, with a shake of her head at the direct request.
"With?" the American asked suspiciously.
"There's a second team out there, Dagger 2-1. We need to find them. That was likely the gunfire you heard last night. That's why you're here, isn't it? To help?" Katja asked, using the sweetest, most innocent little-girl voice she could muster. If this Adrien could pretend friendliness, so could she. And, if it worked on Karik, surely it would work on an American who clearly thought he was a do-gooder.
"Have a heart, Captain. I have a man down and he's critically wounded," Adrien protested to her. Nope, his plea wasn't going to work. The man was declared stable, and other people needed more immediate help.
"But alive and stable. You do this, we go back to the FOB and grab a medic for your guy. Then, we all get out of here. Please," Katja tried to reason with a level head. Her patience was wearing thin.
She heard an audible sigh and watched him rub his face. If she had to guess, he didn't get much sleep either. "Ok, fine, where do you think they are?" the man relented. Katja jumped up and grabbed her map before practically shoving it in the American's face.
"They were assigned here, but the gunfire sounded like it was from elsewhere. I think they were in these woods. The sounds seemed muffled and bounced," she explained in detail, and watched as Adrien's face scrunched up in disapproval.
"With respect, Captain, if they were out in the woods last night, odds are they're dead. Did they respond to radio hails?" Adrien asked.
Great, first a meteor; now there was something wrong with the woods; because clearly rescuing the men didn't bother him, the location did.
"See? Even the American says they are dead! Let's just leave before we all get killed!" Alexei protested in Russian.
"If there is even one man alive out there, we need to try," Katja answered both of them. She wasn't sure at this moment which of them she hated more.
The American was clearly angry but didn't protest any further. Unlike Alexei, before they reached the woods, she was going to flat-out ask why he didn't want to go in there.
She knew liars, spent her whole life around them in the force. And the American Captain was purposely not lying. He just wasn't telling the whole truth. Her questions going forward would have to be creative to get any information out of him.
"All right. We'll leave right after the rest of us eat," Katja said. "But I need a minute to talk to my men. In private."
Adrien appeared to be more interested in the fact that he'd just noticed the alcohol sitting on top of one of the kitchen cabinets. "Yeah, sure, whatever," he said, finishing his soup and walking over to the cabinet, stretching on his toes to inspect the bottles. Drinking on duty. How unprofessional of him. How American.
Shaking her head, Katja signaled for her men to follow her into the son's bedroom. Once they had all filed inside, she closed the door.
"We can just speak our own language. Why the secrecy?" Alexei asked through a yawn, depositing himself on the bed and closing his eyes.
"Quiet. We don't need your input in anything," Katja told him, although she did say it in Russian. "There's always an outside chance he does understand it and is playing dumb."
" 'Playing' ?" Preobrazhensky muttered.
"Look, you all know I don't know any English," Yahontov put in, "so you're going to have to catch me up on whatever it is he said."
"We told you to take those classes with the rest of us, Yahontov," Zaitsev groaned.
"Yeah, yeah, it's on my to-do list. Just tell me what was said," Yahontov waved it away.
Katja briefed him on the situation, and when she'd finished, he twisted his mouth. "This guy sounds like a real piece of work. You don't trust him, do you, Captain?"
"Obviously not," Katja answered, "but he's useful. He knows more about what's going on out there than we do. We'll just have to watch him closely. Our last assignment was to assist the civilians and Dagger 2-1. We failed the first, and this is our chance to complete the second. Yes, I know it's unlikely they made it through the night. But we owe it to them to at least find out."
As inspiring speeches went, it wasn't exactly her best. But Zaitsev gave a short nod. "Ma'am, you saved our lives last night. I'll follow you wherever you want to go." The others, apart from Alexei, nodded in agreement.
Katja's stomach knotted up. She knew she didn't deserve either their respect or devotion after how badly she'd botched the mission. "Thank you, Zaitsev. We'll do this as quickly as we can, then report into base." After that, she knew she would most likely be punished for dereliction of duty, cowardice, or both. This could very well be the last time she commanded them.
Karik would have been so disappointed in her. After all his years of caring for her, guiding her, this was how she repaid his support. And her parents… she didn't even want to consider her father's face when he found out. It was very possible he would never speak to her again for the humiliation.
And yet, looking at the small team before her, breathing and whole, she couldn't totally regret it.
"All right; go out and get your soup, if the American has left anything. I am going to go over this map again, so he doesn't try to pull anything funny when he's leading us around out there." There was a snore from the bed, and Zaitsev kicked Alexei back to consciousness.
"Did you just nod off while we were talking?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't sleep well. What was the question?" Alexei yawned again.
"Nothing, just keep not speaking English and go get some food."
They all left the room; even Alexei, who must have decided he was hungry enough to partake in the despised soup.
Katja hopped up on the dresser, where a small oil lamp sat flickering. With the widows still boarded, it was the only source of light in the room.
After a few minutes, Petrov returned with an extra bowl and set it beside her on the dresser.
"You should eat something," he said. "Quite a hike ahead of us."
"East, we should be going east when we leave. No, more southeast, actually. Half a klick, and the elevation–"
"Ma'am?"
Lowering the map, Katja glanced at him over the edge of the paper. "It's fine, you can take it back. You boys are probably hungrier than I am," she said dismissively.
"Please?" he said earnestly. "If you don't have it, the American or the kid will just eat it, and they've both had more than their share."
"Oh, fine," she muttered, just to get him to stop acting like a fussy nanny. "But you have to hold the map so I can see what I'm doing."
"Uh, okay." Perhaps deducing the dresser would not hold both of their weight, he turned and stood shoulder to shoulder with her, and held the map in front of them.
"Wait, hey, what's with the shoes?" Katja asked, pushing the map upwards as she caught sight of the offensively bright blue hiking shoes on his feet. Adidas brand, based on the three stripes.
Petrov shrugged. "Some of the blood dissolved holes into my boots when I stomped on that thing last night. Didn't really notice until this morning. Thankfully, one of the men who lived here wore my size. They seem to be at least semi-waterproof. It's not like I want to steal them, but–"
"We'll call it a requisition," she said. "Glad you found something that will work."
He lifted a brow at her deliberately stoic face. "What?" he asked, and she inwardly cursed him for knowing her too well.
"Nothing!" she demurred.
"Come on."
"They're… colorful," she said, unable to help herself. "And I left my sunglasses back at base."
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, though she could tell he was fighting a laugh. "I'm sure I'll hear plenty about it from the others."
"I've no doubt. But let's get back to business." Picking up her soup, Katja tapped the back of the spoon at a point on the paper. "We're about here now."
"Yeah. He mentioned his men are in an abandoned mining town right now. Where is that?"
"Map doesn't say, and I'm sure he wouldn't tell us," Katja said, spooning some soup. To her surprise, it settled her stomach and even warmed her a little. She loved potato soup, even canned. "But, I noticed this whole area, to the northeast, has a section where the forest seems to be cleared. I'm betting that's it."
"So, we don't let him take us that way."
"Mmmhmmm," she agreed, around another mouthful of soup. "And our base is almost directly east of here."
"Yep." Petrov pointed to another spot on the map. "There's a road here that can get us back to base easily after we find Dagger 2-1. Well, more easily than last night's climb, anyway."
"Petrov, I was thinking…" Katja mused thoughtfully. "Maybe the five of you should go back to base and report, and I can go with the American. That way, if he turns out to be a problem, at least our commanders will know about it."
He was already fiercely shaking his head before she'd finished speaking. "Oh, hell no. Are you kidding? Alone with that guy, monsters in the woods?"
Suddenly irked, she set the soup aside and faced him. "Lower your voice and get yourself in line right now, Lieutenant Petrov. Last time I checked, I am still your superior officer. Do we have a problem?"
He lowered his head, but not before she saw the genuine hurt in his eyes. "Ka– Captain, I…"
"What?" she snapped.
"I apologize."
Releasing her breath slowly, Katja felt the fire going out of her at his sincere tone. Waiting until she was fully composed, she said, "No; I do, Petrov. You're right, it wasn't a great idea." He was good and loyal to her, and he didn't deserve another verbal lashing; especially not after the night they'd been through.
Slowly, she continued. "We just… we don't know anything about this man, is all. And what bothers me most is, if he is who he says he is, and is really here for assistance… I want to know above all why the Americans would've sent help. They wouldn't be helping us out of the goodness of their hearts, or they would have splashed news of their 'charity' all over the world for good press. There has to be an ulterior motive. They want something from us." She picked up her soup again and resumed eating. "Between that and Alexei hiding things from me over and over, and the government sending us in here with absolutely no warning about the aliens…"
Tightening her grip on the spoon, she glanced over at Petrov. "You're the only person I trust right now, Maksim."
He returned her gaze steadily. "I'll make sure you can count on me. I promise."
Adrien looked towards the bedroom impatiently, then checked his watch. How long did it take a girl to finish one bowl of soup?
Unless it was her lieutenant that was the distraction. Though from the sounds of it, they were arguing.
"Checking the time again, hmm? Eager to get out there and die?" asked Crooked Nose nastily.
String Bean giggled and said something in Russian, which made Bad Haircut and the one who hadn't spoken to him yet laugh.
"No, I was thinking we're burning daylight and these things clearly prefer the dark. What's the holdup?" He jerked his chin toward the bedroom. "They ever gonna wrap up the lover's spat and get moving?"
Crooked Nose scoffed. "Wouldn't make jokes like that in front of the Captain, if I were you. She'll kick your… ah, what is the term – hind end?"
Adrien was unable to make a witty comeback, because Katja and Petrov unexpectedly emerged from the room.
Stepping into the middle of where everyone was gathered, Katja gestured to Bad Haircut. "Adrien, this is Preobrazhensky." She moved her hand in the direction of Crooked Nose, and then the Quiet One. "Zaitsev and Yahontov. Yahontov doesn't speak English. And," she finished, pointing to String Bean and the Boyfriend, "Alexei and Petrov. Alexei understands English but doesn't speak it."
Adrien cringed. "Look, I'm gonna do the best I can with those names, but I'll be honest. Might never say them right."
"God's sake," he thought he heard her mutter under her breath. In English, of course, so he'd know it was directed at him. So unfair. Wouldn't it be ruder to keep mispronouncing them with no apology?
But Katja had already moved on. "Now that we're all friends, it's time to move out. But, first, I need to talk to you, Captain."
"Oh, goodie," Adrien thought, headed to the alcohol he'd found earlier. He was going to need it.