Role-call!

Johnny had arrived a little bit early. He was always a little bit early. Being early meant that you weren't late. It also meant you got a bit hotter a bit faster if you were in the summer months, or a bit colder a bit more quickly if you were in winter. Which he was. In the winter, that is. Well, everyone was, weren't they?

Except for Major Raikov-- there always seemed to be a summer thunderstorm around for him. The warm kind, with the drops falling down gently, with the puddles and the drops making their splash-splash-sploosh and...

Oh dear.

Johnny hoped that this would be short.

Snow, a fine, pristine white powder.

He smiled, gazing out across the yard from the small window in the door.

Forecasts predicted at least seven inches by nightfall, a typical Russian winter; the reason he’d fallen in love with the godforsaken place in the start -- snow, pure and deep.

It was best viewed from the small office in the east wing, and Major Johann Krauss winced as he stepped out into the frozen morning, pulling his ushanka down secure, clutching papers and files to his chest in an effort to prevent the biting wind from whisking them away into the wild blue.

Oh yes, the cold made everything hurt worse. Every old injury, and he silently cursed the pain in his hip as he limped along in Raikov’s direction.

“Herr Major Raikov, guten Morgen. You look cold. Perhaps you’d like to borrow my scarf for the duration of roll call?” Krauss looked down for a moment, the fuzzy red and cream plaid scarf coiled around his neck, definitely not standard issue, tassels whipping in the wind. “It would look great on you I’m sure… you seem to have a way with making everything look spectacular.”

Johann only shot an annoyed glance at Sasaki, attention and saluting. “Johnny… how many times must I ask you not to do that, hmm?”

Taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air, the German sighed. “Honestly, I was hoping you could provide me with a bit of information… have you seen them this morning? You know…The Cobra Unit? Specifically, I’m looking for a certain…” again, he paused, thumbing through the paperwork he clutched tightly, “Captain Vladislav Savitskiy. Says here they call him The Fury? Either way, he hasn’t checked in with the med ward for mandatory inoculations and the required physical, or if he has, I never received the paperwork. Have you seen him recently? I’ve been told he’s rather hard to miss… but I get the sinking suspicion he’s avoiding me.”

Ivan chuckled. He liked Krauss; he was a good, dependable sort in his eyes, and a few extra compliments never went amiss. "Count yourself fortunate, comrade Major. He has his name for a reason. Unless you fancy being char grilled, assume he's healthy. Trust me in that he's not worth pursuing."

He shot a sidelong glance at Sasaki, who seemed to be fidgeting uncomfortably. He frowned. He was ruining the nice, neat little rows. He glanced over at the Ocelot unit, who were absolutely immaculate in stance. Trained well.

"You can keep your scarf. This shouldn't take too long. Besides, it's not quite my style. I'd rather borrow Major Ocelot's." He cast a smirk over in his direction.

“Healthy? Have you given the Cobra Unit the benefit of one wayward glance? God in heaven only knows what sort of diseases they’re carrying. The medical report on The Fear stated that for different specie of lice were found scuttling around on him. You get three guesses as to what region of him the parasites seemed to prefer.”

Krauss paused for a moment, a hint of a smile forming at the corners of his thin lips. “You’re well versed in the practices that occur between comrades after lights out. I’ve heard that Captain Vladislav has taken quite a liking to you, would you really want to make any bets on just how healthy he is?”

The smile widened, and he shut his eyes for a brief moment, letting Raikov consider it.

“Code name considered, I have no intention of pursuing him. I’m an old man, I’m tired and I hurt. I wouldn’t stand a ghost of a chance against him. But you,” casually, he draped an arm over the blonde’s shoulders, “you’re young! Less than half my age, and strong and a very fast runner. And…you owe me. That’s the critical point there, Ivanko. Just beguile him with your incessant charms, knock him over the head, and drag his happy ass back to the infirmary while he dreams of rocket ships and little green aliens. Please? For me?”

Again, with the mischievous smile. “If that fails, you could always give him the damn physical yourself, you know. One burn scarred cock is about as good as the next, yes?”

It was at this point that Ocelot completely lost it.

He'd scarcely been holding a smirk in check ever since Raikov had stepped up beside him, but Krauss had finished him off, and evoked a sharp and ebullient laugh.

It wasn't that he never laughed. It was just a rarified animal under the circumstances of duty. Though it seemed he was always on duty- in one way or another.

Meanwhile, his fellow Major was looking rather unimpressed with the German's analogy. He recognized that slight tilt of his head, the truculent moue.

Recovering, Ocelot shook his head, crossing his arms, pressing his lips together in a speculative sneer.

"Just do it, Raikov," he declared. "Otherwise Major Kraut will never get off your back."

Krauss spoke fairly good Russian, which always surprised him, but he stubbornly retained his Germanic stresses, and would not be relieved of them. Ocelot found it fascinating that one individual could be so comical and so menacingly ominous in the same breath.

Glancing at his comrade, he raised an eyebrow.

"By the way, Raikov, your tie is backwards."

Raikov looked down at his tie indifferently. "Well, whilst I straighten it to your neat-obsessive liking, perhaps you'd fancy chasing down the pyromaniac, Ocelot? Tracking is your unit's expertise, after all." He gave Krauss a look. "And if he's so keen, he can come find me. I have better things to do."

He looked slyly across the courtyard with a nod, as the Colonel was some distance away, apparantly heading towards the mess. Cue for them to hurry up and get their asses inside for breakfast.

He turned back to Krauss, leaning in. "Trust me, I don't owe you enough to get crisped. You're going to have to do better than that. He'll live without the shots, I'm sure."

The cobras were superhuman freaks that defied all medical science he'd ever heard of. It seemed almost pointless to try and give them a physical, and especially The Fury, who was more scar-tissue than skin.

Annoyed, the older man shot a scowl in Ocelot’s general direction. “Marvelous play on words there, Adamska. Brilliant observation regarding the similarly of my surname to certain popular and equally delicious German foodstuff. Did you think of this all on your own, or did you have backup from the rest of your darling unit?” Sighing, he smiled reluctantly, really, it was all in good fun.

And then, for once, Raikov made a good point. “Amazing, you’re good for more than standing around and looking pretty… not that you’re not good at that, but still.” He shook his head. “A glimmer hope, brains and beauty. The Ocelot unit does excel at tracking and stealth, and unfortunately for you Major Ocelot, shit rolls down hill.”

Krauss nodded pleased with the observation, “but I wouldn’t be smiling so soon, Herr Raidenovitch… I’m sure our favorite fuck raving lunatic cosmonaut will find you whenever it pleases him; I’m almost certain he’s watching you from wherever it is he’s hiding… with a telescope plenty big enough to zero in clearly on Uranus…”

Raikov gave a snort. "If he is, I'll make him see stars." A smirk crept onto his face. "Or the Colonel will. And as you said, comrade... I'm a fast runner."

He grinned. "And you bet I'm more than just good-looking. It's an added bonus on an already... impressive package. Even Major Ocelot would have a hard time against my many talents."

It was an open secret, and he liked this friendly banter. It was a hell of a lot more entertaining than watching his unit be sprinkled with snow, doing their best not to shiver as they saluted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny Sasaki, in particular, seemed to be quite uncomfortable.

"Wouldn't you say so, Ocelot?"

Ocelot smirked.

"Your stable of talents is quite unique indeed, Ivan Raidenovich." He reached for his Makarov and twirled it indolently on his forefinger. "I daresay...you've earned that Colonel class clearance."

He shifted his attention to Krauss.

"I'll chase down your truant spaceman, Major. Unlike some GRU officers, I'm not too good for a little hands-on work...of the kind that doesn't involve specialty lotions. I'm sure he's floating around somewhere."

Ocelot narrowed his eyes, glancing to the side, as if he imminently expected an angry cosmonaut to go drifting by.

He spread his hands presentationally.

"Consider it done."

He wasn't surprised. It would have to get done, and odds were that he would have to do it, as the only functional field officer not softened by petty administration...or soft pillows, he thought, glancing wryly at Raikov.

He would take the Ocelots. Despite his vaunted largesse, he didn't exactly favor the idea of going after the Fury with a medical subpoena without backup.

He was damn good, but he wasn't fucking crazy. Nor was he stupid.

“Adamska, you’re a saint.” Johann nodded, agreeing with himself. “An absolute saint. I’ve been trying for weeks to tidy up this little mess, or at least make it appear tidied, so I don’t have to think about it any more. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, anything at all your heart desires, no matter how difficult to procure…”

He stopped himself, before too much was said, and gave a frazzled shrug. “Its like cornering a rabid guard dog. No reason, no sanity. He’s out of his fucking mind. He promised to relieve me of the rest of my fingers if I didn’t stop bothering him.” Krauss shook his head, troubled by that notion. “Be he doesn’t bite you, lest you catch crazy as well. I’ll… well, there’s no reason to lie. I’ll be hiding in my office with the door locked if anyone needs me… and thank you again, Major Ocelot.”

Relieved, he started for the door; the warm interior, of Groznyj -- or at least warmer than the beginnings of a snow storm. The security of his office, contemplating the idea of taking the fire extinguisher from the hall, just incase.

He stops, having had a realization. “Wait, cancel that. I’ll be hiding in Colonel Volgin’s office… just to be certain.”

The regular GRU were likely bored and had already zoned out this nice, polite conversation. Always encouraging, to see your superiors be open about these things.

Ilya had been deeply amused, up to the point Major Ocelot had volunteered them all for the barbecue. Of course, he probably had a plan or a very good reason to agree, but it didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"We're Ocelots, not dogsbodies," Ilya grumbled halfheartedly in a whisper to Andrei, holding salute next to him.

Krauss was slow to come on and quick to depart once the matter was taken care of. They watched him clacking off briskly across the concrete, his boots mirror-shined, his files clutched in one gloved fist.

Ocelot smirked. He wasn't fooled by the seasoned, well-worn charm the German wore as casually as the scarf arond his neck.

"He must have been a real knucklebreaker when he was a younger man," he remarked, cannily.

He shifted his attention back to his unit, and the requisite inspection.

The Fury. Well, this would prove interesting. Just as well Raikov wisely declined It was out of his scope.

After all, you could send a boy to do man's job, but you could only send a rentboy to do a job on a man.

Still, the image of the unreasonably irked space cadet hovered in the Major's mind, making him frown.

He turned to Raikov.

"Someone is going to the infirmary," muttered Ocelot, shaking his head. "Better warn Khostov."

((Forgive me for being tardy!))

The jeep rounded the corner and came to a stop at the parade grounds with a squeal of the tires. Even from the entrance at the parade grounds at a distance from where the troops assembled, it wasn't hard to notice the white wintercoat and the red hair.

Nafaniel stepped off the jeep and didn't bother to take the key. He was late and although the parade grounds were still full. He had intended to be early and speak to the Major beforehand. He didn't bother to quicken his pace. He walked across to the middle of the parade ground with his large black bag.

He took out his pocket watch and looked at the time. This would have to be brief. He was overseeing the recpetion of pharmaceuticals from supply and 'losses from transport' where FAR less likely to occur when he was there.

He stopped five paces in back of the major and stood up straight and saluted. "Good morning Major. Request..." his eyes shot to the left of the troops seeing the wound on Gurlukovich. He clenched his teeth. "Request Permission to review the soldiers, sir" he said.

Ocelot smirked at the voice; clipped, efficient, unmistakable.

"Sergei Nikolaev...I fear your luck has just run out," he declared, twirling his Makarov once more and sliding it into the holster.

He turned to greet the head medical officer.

"Dr. Khostov," he said, with an invitational gesture. "Be my guest."

He stepped aside, repressing a smile, exchanging a look with Raikov, who was making no effort to hide his amusement.

Gurlukovich was in for it now, poor little bastard. Dr. Khostov had a fine medical gift, but little patience for disobedience.

New guy, huh? Well, Sergei couldn't admit to having anything against the man. He might have been a little different and he was sure that some of the other men would give him a hard time, but he wasn't about to make that his business. He got bothered often for how young he was, so he could relate to a certain extent.

Of course, those thoughts were chased away when a jeep pulled up and -

Oh. Great. Sergei would have dropped his face into his palm if he had been less worried about holding some semblance of dignity when in the presence of so many others. Instead, he remained straight and still, eying the doctor carefully with slightly challenging eyes.

Though Ocelot was probably right. This was the end of the line. At least he'd tried!

Andrei leaned toward Gurlukovich.

"You had a good run, Sasha," he whispered, with a grin. "Chin up. Don't let Khostov stick you in the ass."

He was sympathetic, and he knew Ilya was too. Sergei was the runt of the litter, and everyone always felt a little protective of him.

"Hey, and once you get that sewn up, you'll have a really class scar, bratan. Scars are what gives a man character, right, Captain Irinarhov?" he said, glancing at the sniper, as he was standing in the place usually occupied by Ilya.

He got no immediate reply, so he idly turned his attention back to Sergei.

"We'll save you a seat in the mess hall."

Nafaniel turned on his heel and faced the solders. He adjusted his glasses, which caught in the light. He started on the opposite side from Gurlukovich and walked down the soldiers. Occasionally he stopped and asked a soldier something specific which wasn't exactly in their files. The maiden name of their mother, questions on childhood accidents and sicknesses.

Finally he faced Gurlukovich. Nafaniel shoved his bag into the arms of the soldier beside Sergei without a word for him to hold it, while snapping on gloves. He reached into the bag and pulled out a long, shiny menacing looking saw.

"You might be wondering what this is. It's a bone saw, used in Triage to amputate limbs" he shined the bright morning sun into Sergei's eyes. The saw was almost as polished as a mirror. He spoke through clenched teeth. "While it might amuse you to stand in line with an infected wound by our Ubermensh friend's pets. I assure you that next time you will not have a leg to stand on if you are not in my infirmary"

He kneeled down and looked at the leg. He streched out the wound carefully. "Your stiches are sloppy but I do not care to replace them here. You will return to the infirmary with me where I assure you that that the incompetent that they have sent as an intern will take great pride in restiching your leg. Unfortunetly his skill with a needle is little better then your own" he said. He stood and walked back down the line. "He could use the practice" he added as an afterthought.

Matvei gave Andrei an approving smile from his place in line, where he had been dutifully observing, and then directed it to Sergei, also. He felt a touch of sympathy, not long shedding the dubious title of rookie himself.

On the other hand, Matvei probably wouldn't have done something as idiotic as run out the infirmary on an injured leg. Thank his lucky stars Colonel Volgin wasn't here to observe this in a bad mood.

He had to give the little guy credit for boldness, though.

Though it all had to be rather discreet, Sergei smiled back at both Andrei and Matvei. It was comforting to know that they did have some sympathy for his predicament--and they could show it a little easier than Ocelot, who had the other major watching him like a hawk.

Of course, the soldier was soon distracted by the encouraging comments of his comrades when the doctor moved closer. The teeth of the blade on that saw were jagged and altogether unappealing. It was all Sergei could do not to make a face at it. He could decide rather quickly that he didn't want that thing anywhere near his leg. But who was the doctor to know that the wound was infected yet? He glanced down at his leg--really, there was too much blood caking around the injury to actually see much of the cut.

Sergei held back a wince as the doctor began prodding at the cut, watching with disapproving eyes. He could finally let out a sigh of relief when the man stood and began to walk back. Though this was the part where he had to follow him. Casting one last glance at his major and the rest of the unit, Sergei limped after the doctor.

"You may want to get your crocodile tranquilizers ready, Doctor," Ocelot remarked idly as Khostov returned from the ranks. "I'll be dragging the Fury in for his routine physical. It promises to be a hot time for all," he added, smirking.

The cosmonaut was insane, and Khostov was going to need backup for the exam. That was, provided Ocelot could actually net the elusive puffy dome-headed butterfly.

Sergei followed behind Khostov, looking like a condemned man.

"It's all right, Sashlik," he muttered, almost inaudibly, as he passed. "...I'll let you use my guns at drill later."

"Of course Major" Khostov said.

"I assume you'll want the tranquilisers loaded into a rifle cartridge?" he said.

Ocelot frowned.

"Not a bad idea," he said. "Not bad at all."

He had to give Khostov credit- he might have been a doctor, but he thought like a soldier. It made sense, of course; he'd had the same officer training as anyone else.

"Can you actually do that?"

A rifle cartridge might be the only way to get them into the fucking maniac's bloodstream.

Ocelot smirked.

"You're a man after my own heart, Khostov. Yes, we'll hit him with whatever it takes to keep him...docile. Break out the good stuff."

In my medical opinion...

Khostov was writing a prescription for antibiotics for Sergei. He was standing in to the side of the blond headed Major writing quickly on a long complicated form. "I need your signature for the use restricted narcotics sir" he said. He handed over this blackclipboard answering the major's earlier question.

"Of course, I've also prepared a number neuroparalytic agents in high caliber rounds" Khostov said. He took out of his bag, a small black plastic case with three sinister looking cylinders. He was standing still as a statue. He straightened his glasses. He closed his bag and put the small case into the pocket of his labcoat.

As Gurlukovich passed behind him, Khostov spoke up. "Sergei, I believe your name is Sergei?" he said. He didn't wait for an answer. "Take your time" he said.

He waited the few minutes it took for the soldier to walk out of earshot. "I reviewed what little we have on the Cobra Unit but the Fury we atually have a large file including psychological testing" he said. He took out the case and opened it taking out right most cartridge. "The green 'feathered' round is the paralytic round" he said. He put it back carefully in the case and took out one of the fatter looking ones. "These blue cartridges, The other two will put him to sleep... if you manage to use them both on him. It is a binary agent, both must be in his blood stream. Unfortunetly they are inappropriate for a silenced rifle" he said. He put them away and handed the case to the Major.

Khostov wiped his glasses with a fine cloth. "It seemed prudent to be prepared for any... eventuality sir" he said after a moment. "You can contact me via radio at the infirmary, of course, at any time sir" he said. He saluted and jaunted over to the jeep.

He ran past Gurluckovich and started the jeep. He drove past Gurlokovich and rounded the field so he run the jeep driver's side beside the wounded soldier. "Please describe, the incident in detail. I believe you were attacked by an animal? I was told a crocodile?" he said. "You need to keep walking. You need to keep walking slowly. Keep circulation through the leg until I can get that on ice at the infirmary" he picked up the radio. "Piotyr, Khostov come in" he said. He let go of the receiver. "Might take a moment, he's preparing blood cultures" he said. "You're lucky, a little bit more and it would have cut an artery. We would have found your body in the spring. We lose a few every year that way" he said.

What with all the distractions and excitement of the Ocelots not being perfectly behaved, for once, this was taking far longer than Raikov liked. He was starting to feel a little cold around the edges, and was thinking fondly of breakfast.

He went through his list of names rapidly, whilst Ocelot and Khostov worked out some dire fate for baby Gurlukovich.

"Right, I think we're done," he announced crisply, deciding he was thoroughly fed-up with being dusted in snow. "See you in mess," he said casually, with a singular nod at the half-frozen GRU soldiers, already walking away with a brisk step.

He gave Ocelot a vague wave, indicating he was not interested in waiting any longer in the cold when there was hot food on offer inside.