if i look back, i am lost
blake kathryn
art blog(derogatory)
Misplaced Lens Cap
No title available
oozey mess
Jules of Nature
I'd rather be in outer space šø
šŖ¼
pixel skylines
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
romaā
One Nice Bug Per Day
Sade Olutola
shark vs the universe
occasionally subtle
PR's Tumblrdome
h
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands
seen from TĆ¼rkiye
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from TĆ¼rkiye
seen from United States
seen from Vietnam
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Hungary
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Indonesia
seen from Norway
seen from India
seen from Venezuela
seen from Australia
seen from Nepal
seen from Russia
@co1one1jgr
[[I will take your turret, your shield, and your tracks]]
[ [ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦..at the intersection of obsession and throwing yourself into your work. Nothing less will make you the best. Any ripple to threaten that met with unyielding forceā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦.ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦]]
[ DOCUMENT ] communication by M
{30 jahre alt} low/sporatic activity, but you will be given attention
//asks are best for interaction
spotify
blogs by the same writer: Blixtandetorst
The Marshalās silence was met with silence of his own. Deliberate and snide, the crackling of the flames filling the void with an under pinning of smoldering. The Colonelās eyes slowly widening in the wake of what he was just told. Life. The man they had was full of spit and therefore bounding with life in his bones. He was given proof of it. The insults at his expense left to wallow in the dirt. Insignificant, not to such a headstrong man.
Yet he heard every word. They all reached his attention and only then filtered in favor of what he wanted to know. The only concern he gave any of it was his being unwell. That his need of his flask had been more and more noticeably. It was to be considered. To be more careful. As careful as this asinine job would allow him to be. Because of course he was unwell. A Cavalry Colonel commissioned to catch a thief. The law in this land being so incompetent that the army was contracted to do it for them.
He wasnāt working his purpose, at least not in the sweeping charges he imagined when boarding the boat to make the journey. It drew his ire. One started in small nods, āI am unwell Marshal.ā A crude smile drew up his face, a sting from his fresh wounds making his eyes twitch in the pain, difficult but not impossible. Not for him. āAlthough not in a way that would let anyone be rid of me.ā
The his attention wheeled back to where he come from. To where that man was kept in captivity. The originator of these words. The ones that injected their life into the Colonel upon hearing them. He seemed vaguely crazed, and pleased with it. A look indescribable took his eyes watching the mere direction of the man who supposedly said them. As if to make him regret from afar. Transfixed there and far from his fireside companion.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āAren't we allā, he said, to the air more than to himself, to the man he was sitting with. The verdict of a distant observer, or what it should have been. Because the Marshal was no longer just an observer. Past was the time he stood by and watched and listened with no side carrying the weight of his boots, the barrel of his gun. It was a revelation that had been slowly creeping, growing in shape and presence that it took overwhelming form now. Alexander had to finally admit there had been good reason why his travels had been lonely and why he was not wounded by the ignorance and repulsion of people picking up on the strangeness of his presence after all.
No, no. What had been thought lost still had its roots within him. Rearing their heads after a light shower wetting desert ground. He realized then that it had been a mistake to spend all that time pondering about the self. To question what he was and wasn't anymore. He really did not like the answer.
His men would come. That was a fact. All they had to decide now was whether to continue as they were doing and wait for it to happen, or work on finding a way so that surprise was on their side, the rationality of his disguise told him. Both horrible cards that he was dealt. If only the Colonel and him could work together.
The other side of him...
The Marshal looked up; skywards. Waiting for a sign again that would not come.
He breathed in, deeply. The sighed all the air out of his lungs again. Following was a low groan and the rustling of fabric joined the soft cackling of the fire as he shifted and moved, before getting up from his spot. With the flat of his hands brushing some of the fabric straight and some of the red sand off, the man reached for his hat, fix it back into proper position.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI will talk to him.ā First time stated officially.
With the same words, the Marshal stepped around the fire and the Cavalry Man, not looking at him once after. Removing himself from the warmth and the light, his figure seemingly gave in to the call of the dark with how easily it melted into its welcoming embrace. Left as a shadow his form made over to where the Russian was kept. The last time the Marshal was seen this night. The following morning the Colonel would wake to the news that the Russian had miraculously disappeared...
The morning was heralded. Though not with trumpets as angels might have nor, even gunfire as one might expect from such a band of men. It was heralded by the shouts of a raving man too close for comfort. "WHERE DID HE GO?" The stiff beating hooves of his steed circling his own allies to wake them, asking broadly into the air expecting answer from anyone back. Those unfortunate enough to be awake and outside their tents at this moment were seared into by his gaze and the unchanging question. He shouted it to be heard over the early morning bustle of the chow line now gathering its length. Meeker cavalrymen shrunk to stay hidden in the crowd. They simply wanted to do their duty and go home. Their escapee was of no concern to them, or anyone besides their Colonel.
He looked to be out since it was still dark. No earthly human need such as hunger could tempt him, and only when no answer was coughed up from those waiting for food did he sneer and hide his eyes from the growing sun rays and turn his heavy horse away to inquire elsewhere. His arms on fire from the inside out, he was geo-ping the reins with such tenacity that they might permanently be created into whatever pattern the inside of his fists made when closed. A novel discovery to a more wondrous mind, and a ruined leather strap to a cavalry man.
Still, even with the growing pain from clenching something with such ferocity for so long he still ran himself through the camp nearly picking up by the collar those who made the polite mistake to stop. They all said the same thing. No one saw the Russian leave. No know knew he even left. Incompetence, the night watch were next, and with such poor performance during the raid that got that man caught, only a fool would assume they didnāt high tail it into desertion hearing the booming voice of their superior officer project over the plain. The visits far from over though. His subordinates were subject to his interrogation, the guards of the prisoners most of all.
A focused rage, far from quiet but that was more than likely the tin in his uniform pocketās fault. Without that liquid his anger was subdued yet no less potent. The rattle snake today was rattling. Though now stricken with a throbbing headache there was one more person left to ask. The mysterious lawman who had brought this whole excursion together. Kaiserās great head turned to face his tent.
Not to couch them, how amusing. This Colonel certainly knew his way around words; he was even less diplomatic than Ivushkin. Although Comrade Yartseva would disagree with him, Colonel JƤger acted accordingly given all that had transpired. Giving a brief smile, Ivushkin embraced the solid hand. The Colonel must grip the levers and controls of tanks firmly to build his strength. āBefore sundown, I hear you, sir.ā Ivushkin released his hand and stepped back to allow him the courtesy of walking ahead. He followed afterward, and all the cadets straightened at the sight of their Junior Lieutenant, accompanied by the Colonel. Ivushkin didn't even need to shout for them to get themselves together, which filled him with pride. After all, they are Russians. Come sunset, when the sun hadnāt yet dipped below the horizon, preparations got underway. Ivushkin had mentioned his intentions to Captain Korin late in the day, but the Captain seemed surprisingly open to the ideaāa rare occurrence. What Colonel JƤger said was also true; The Colonel had not informed Captain Korin about their earlier incident. However, his men tended to talk, and his Captain had ears, so the news would eventually reach him. For now, Ivushkin could entertain his Captain with witty suggestions and hurry him up to the watchtower while he himself headed off to rally his men. He was well aware that he wasnāt going to attend this training course for the green men, but he had to give them morale and confidence before they were slaughtered in the arena of lions and tigers. The Germans had always loved their big cats, it seemed. It was his idea to throw them into the ring this early; it was also his duty to ensure they wouldnāt feel as if their efforts were fruitless. As he arrived at the scene, the growling of tank engines and loud chatter of men told him to slow his pace. His own crew was disqualified from this first round of training, as his crew was brought from the front, as was he. If he were to be stuck in the tower, then their Merciless come again would be forced to remain in the motor pool. Everything was set into motion smoothly, though some cadets' faces showed signs of being shaken by the fast-paced start of training. This was a good sign; they needed to be ready by the month before a new batch arrived. As the Colonel mentioned, his own tanks hadnāt been seen. Not a single life-form showed over the training field; the cadets must be thinking itās a play-round with firing empty shells and facing off each other in their brand new, shiny beasts. That was also good. āŠ”Š¾Š»Š“Š°ŃŃ, ŃŠ¼ŠøŃŠ½Š¾!ā Like ants, they climbed down from their tanks and stood in a single line, with all three crews positioned in front of their assigned tanks. Ivushkin walked the lines, eyeing all of them. Snow had begun piling on top of the still tanks, and each step he took crunched the white powder under his boot. Keeping his voice level, he began. āŠŃ Š±ŃŠ“ŠµŃŠµ ŠøŃŠæŃŃŠ°Š½Ń. ŠŠ°Ń ŃŠ°Š·ŃŠ¼, Š²Š°ŃŠµ ŃŠµŠ»Š¾, ŃŠ¾, ŠŗŠ°Šŗ Š²Ń ŃŃŠ°Š¶Š°ŠµŃŠµŃŃ Š±Š¾Šŗ Š¾ Š±Š¾Šŗ ŃŠ¾ ŃŠ²Š¾ŠøŠ¼ ŃŠ¾Š²Š°ŃŠøŃŠµŠ¼, Š²ŃŠµ ŃŃŠ¾ Š±ŃŠ“ŠµŃ ŠæŃŠ¾Š²ŠµŃŠµŠ½Š¾. ŠŠ°ŃŠ° Š·Š°Š“Š°ŃŠ°āŠ½Šµ Š±ŃŃŃ Š“ŠøŃŠŗŠ²Š°Š»ŠøŃŠøŃŠøŃŠ¾Š²Š°Š½Š½ŃŠ¼ Šø Š½Šµ ŠæŠ¾Š³ŃŠ±ŠøŃŃ ŃŠ²Š¾Š¹ ŃŠŗŠøŠæŠ°Š¶. ŠŠµŠ¼ŃŃ ŃŠ¶Šµ ŠøŃŠæŃŃŃŠ²Š°Š»Šø Š½Š°Ń ŠŗŠ°Šŗ Š²ŃŠ°Š³Š¾Š². ŠŃ ŠæŠ¾Š±ŠµŠ“ŠøŠ»Šø ŠøŃ . ŠŠ½Šø Š±ŃŠ“ŃŃ ŠøŃŠæŃŃŃŠ²Š°ŃŃ Š²Š°Ń ŠŗŠ°Šŗ ŃŠ¾ŃŠ·Š½ŠøŠŗŠ¾Š², Š° Š²Ń Š±ŃŠ“ŠµŃŠµ ŠæŠ¾Š±ŠµŠ¶Š“Š°ŃŃ ŠøŃ ŠŗŠ°Šŗ Š²ŃŠ°Š³Š¾Š². ŠŠ½Šø Š²Š°Š¼ Š½Šµ Š“ŃŃŠ·ŃŃ. ŠŠ½Šø Ń Š¾ŃŃŃ ŃŠ±ŠøŃŃ Š²Š°Ń, Š¾Š½Šø Ń Š¾ŃŃŃ, ŃŃŠ¾Š±Ń Š²Š°Ń ŃŠ¾Š²Š°ŃŠøŃ ŠæŠ¾Š³ŠøŠ± ŃŃŠ“Š¾Š¼ Ń Š²Š°Š¼Šø. ŠŠ½Šø Ń Š¾ŃŃŃ ŃŠ½ŠøŃŃŠ¾Š¶ŠøŃŃ Š²Š°Ń. ŠŃŠ½Š¾ŃŠøŃŠµŃŃ Šŗ ŃŃŠ¾Š¼Ń ŃŠ°Šŗ, ŠŗŠ°Šŗ Š±ŃŠ“ŃŠ¾ Š²Ń Š½Šµ Š²Š¾Š·Š²ŃŠ°ŃŠ°ŠµŃŠµŃŃ Š“Š¾Š¼Š¾Š¹. Š” ŃŃŠ¾ŃŃŃŃ Šø Š½ŠµŠ½Š°Š²ŠøŃŃŃŃ Šŗ Š²ŃŠ°Š³Ń, ŠæŃŠµŠ·ŠøŃŠ°Ń ŃŠ¼ŠµŃŃŃ, Ń ŠŗŠ»ŃŠ½ŃŃŃ ŃŠ°ŃŃŠ¾ŠæŃŠ°ŃŃ Š²ŃŠ°Š³Š° Š² ŠµŠ³Š¾ ŃŠ¾Š±ŃŃŠ²ŠµŠ½Š½Š¾Š¼ Š»Š¾Š³Š¾Š²Šµ.ā Ivushkin turned to them at the end of the line, watching their faces harden. A ring of shouts exploded upon his "Š Š±Š¾Ń". All eager men, pulling a smile on his face as he left them.
"Dietrich to Rosamunde, how copy? End." There was a low crackle over the transmission, silence, a momentary pause, as all radio transmissions are trained to be conducted.
A crack of static. "--Rosamunde to Dietrich, loud and clear. End."
"--Copy, standby for the signal. End."
"--Understood. End"
The crackle took the floor again before cutting entirely. Empty air for the inner crew of Dietrich, a newly acƤquired Leopard 2 tank, to begin amongst themselves. "So," Wolff started up slow, fidgeting with a handle before himself, tapping, clearly eager to be underway. "How bad is it going to be for them, Colonel?" His commander behind his position only hummed. He was still checking the sights he had, making them utterly perfect. Finally starting to speak only when that was done. āHe did not ask me to be nice.ā
"So a bloodbath then, huh sir?" Wolff chuckled out. JƤger agreeing with them with only a lighthearted smile on his face looking in the scope directly at the bug sized cadets so nicely lined up far off from him. How Ivushkin had pure command of them and looked to be speaking. Cross hairs over this shapes. "You know, I cannot believe he asked this of you, it's like he's saying thank you for clamping his--"
"Focus Wolff." JƤger interrupted checking his watch, 11 minutes past sundown. Wolff turned forward and settled into his position quickly, the loader going to spy out his own tiny thick glass. Snow flakes were picking up intensity on the outside of the tank. He saw them collect on the many jagged edges of the branches and leaves JƤger had them cover the tank with earlier in the day, with a newly rolling in fog. He was beginning to hardly be able to see even the tanks back by the observation tower it had gotten dark so quickly. Yet, he saw the brilliant shimmering livid red of the flare perfectly from it. It'd pocked, muted pop out the gun, lit up everything in a neon red. He traded views to his commander, the red from the flare reflecting faintly in his eye. intently watching their 'enemy' run to load themselves into their vehicles, exhausts flaring up behind them. He waited till most of the engines were going to mask his own. "--Tanks, start engines." The tank roared to life, Rosamunde faintly heard in echo.
Chillingly calmly JƤger took the radio one last time as he watched the tanks before him jerk from their frozen places and out into the untouched snow to cris-cross it haphazardly with twin tracks that pushed the water down deep into the soil. He had always been so high strung in the halls of the school they were facing, yet here,JƤger seemed so eerily relaxed despite having not one but two high powered tanks at his fingertips. Even after this short time, his new loader had not gotten used to it. It in fact thrilled and froze him to the bone. Just happy he was here and not in a T-80. "--Stay in primary positions until the I take the first shot, engage only within range and move quickly. Keep a distance and them from pinning you in. End." The loader shook, even his voice was different, malicious in undertones. He was looking forward to this.
"--Understood. End." The radio crackled off again. Only the idling of the V12 Twin Turbo engine of their beast to fill the space no in lieu of further words. They each had their work to do, their hands ready in waiting at their positions expressly for JƤger's word to tell them where, how, and when to move. His orders waited on. He sat in silence, eyes to the vision ports before him. Thinking already, millions of variations moving in his head. Watching for when they might break off and try to flank or try a frontal assault, to move this way and that blindly, unknowing of where the two big cats laid in shadow to pounce.
Having arrived at the watchtower to monitor the operation, Ivushkin leaned forward, his gloved hands embracing the sill of the large viewing window. He didnāt even bother shedding his uniform coat, nor his ushanka that sat on his head, too eager for the grand view that was promised. From this position, it was almostānoāentirely impossible to see JƤgerās line-up. Not to mention the slow fog that rolled over from higher hills and the sudden warmth that surged through recently. It was as if Fall was desperately trying to cling to the land. As much as Ivushkin squinted and scanned over and over, he couldnāt see a single turret peeking through the dense brush, no smoke coming from the exhaust. Light mumbles came from his right, but he chose to ignore them, blurry as a foggy window in the morning humidity. They approached, sounding feminine. He turned his head to see comrade Yartseva, who was reaching but stopped herself now that she had gotten his attention. Behind them were other Russian Officers, including their Captain, most likely with more pressing business than watching Ivushkin sacrifice their reputation to the Germans. They both agreed not to mention his failing ears, so she proceeded without the tease. āŠ¢Ń Š½Šµ Ń Š½ŠøŠ¼Šø?ā She asked reasonably. From her view, seeing Ivushkin without his company was akin to a bad omen. Nikolay smiled, turning his attention back to the window while pushing himself off to stand still. āŠŠµ Š² ŃŃŠ¾Ń ŃŠ°Š·.ā āŠŠ¾ŃŠµŠ¼Ń? Š ŠŗŠ¾Š½ŃŠµ ŠŗŠ¾Š½ŃŠ¾Š², Š¾Š½Šø ŃŠ¾Š²ŃŠµŠ¼ Š½Š¾Š²ŃŠµ. Š¢Ń ŠøŠ¼ Š½ŃŠ¶ŠµŠ½.ā āŠŠ¾Ń Šø Š²ŃŠµ. ŠŠ½Šø Š½ŃŠ¶Š“Š°ŃŃŃŃ Š²Š¾ Š¼Š½Šµ. ŠŠ½Šµ Š½ŃŠ¶Š½Š¾, ŃŃŠ¾Š±Ń Š¾Š½Šø Š½Šµ Š½ŃŠ¶Š“Š°Š»ŠøŃŃ Š²Š¾ Š¼Š½Šµ.ā The logic was fair enough for Yartseva to leave the subject as it was. She stood by him for the time being, seemingly looking for the same thing, but her eyes wandered to their own tanks, their legendary T-80s, which roamed the field in grace. They were trying to organize each other; without their commander in sight, they were having to pick the lead tank themselves. For Ivushkin, it was both pleasing and mind-wrecking to witness. But even though the mess was forming, not once did he feel the need to try and correct it through the radio. If the birds canāt fly out of the nest, then they cannot dream of feeding themselves. Eventually, they split apart, trying to find cover in the field. A tactic Ivushkin wouldnāt use in the situation, not until heād at least spot the enemy. In this situation, theyād have to be the offense instead of the defense. āŠŠ°Šŗ ŃŃŃŠ°Š½Š½Š¾ Š²ŠøŠ“ŠµŃŃ ŃŠµŠ±Ń Š½Šµ Š² ŃŠ°Š½ŠŗŠµ.ā Yartseva sounded fond, like at last she could quit her rumination. Ivushkin squinted, eyes tracking back to the tanks below. He didnāt dare to touch that phrase, not a single poke. He kept his attention on his company, wishing to be an eyewitness to the German Leopards. One T-80 tank acted as the scout, navigating the line of the wilderness. Snow covered the tanks, and it appeared the Russians had reverted to their old ways, having painted their tanks a bright white color. Their sleek build plowed freely through the uneven terrain, with little smoke coming from their exhaust. The other tanks in the company came to the conclusion of staying far back and covering more ground, knowing that it would be best to stay away from range shots if the Germans were closer than they figured. They enclosed the area, while the "scout" tank proceeded deeper into the field, moving slowly. The tank Ivushkin knew, along with its commander. Not his old crew member, as even he was disqualified from appearing in the simulation, but a more carefree soul, if that was possible. It was daring to go poking the long turret, searching for the enemy. But it seemed that it was the decision made.
Their engine hums as the internal combustion engine rattles the chassis of the tank. Even and lively yet completely in the background of their attentions not matter how loud it was. The silent crew of the Leopard, bathed in the red overhead lighting, more invested in exactly what they should be. The T-80s advancing on their position. Jostling clumsily to send out a leader to prod the tree line with their turret. And despite them getting closer and closer the Colonel did not budge from his stone like watch over them.
Obviously thinking, the loader assumed. His eyes flicking from tank to tank to keep careful tabs on each of them. Not that they were hard to find at this very moment. They stuck to the open field even after the tree line began along their sides. No one dared to speak just yet. The only veteran of working with Colonel JƤger, Wolff, was still silent. The other two dare not break the silence with their questions. For there was a reason both were quiet, having worked so closely for so long they no longer felt the need to even speak the need to keep it so quiet. The their commander did it for them. A sparky feedback opening the radio line just loud enough for the loader to hear it click.
"ā-Dietrich to Rosamunde, give their scout something to find. End."
"ā-Rosamunde to Dietrich, understood. End."
Captain Thielicke seemed to know inherently what Colonel JƤger was asking him to do. Their companion tank let loose some impatience revving, like a cry in the dark of a pray animal nearby. Then swiftly kicked into a heavy whining reverse gear, recognizable even through the filter of the metal walls of Dietrich. It sounded to be behind them when it stopped, knowing the tracks were cutting the fallen branches and debris under the sparse snow as the multi-ton machine turned to go on its way away from them to the wide trail that broke the woods in two to their north west. A rabbit let loose for the bloodhounds to find as it would eventually pass the open trail not too far ahead. flashing its side quickly to them. A vulnerable soft underbelly. A follow me.
"They have to take the bait.ā Wolff muttered under his breath waiting for when one would turn and go after it.
"You think they will?" The loader asked, only to be shushed by JƤger just as quickly. As if theyād be spotted solely by their banter alone. That white hot gaze upon them both and while it made the loader shrink in his seat, Wolffās chuckle floated back up to them.
āāweāre staying in position. If this scout doesnāt deviate their path heās ours." JƤger declared. His voice also low and quiet over the internal radio, yet still not lacking in its power. This scout tank was unknowingly headed straight for them. "Loader, training round, make ready."
Snapped into action the loader turned to the ammo rack behind himself and slid out a training round, his arms weighed down with it cradled it as he twisted his trunk and slipped it into the entrance of the of the breech. Then with his fingers closed in a palm strike he pushed it forward and quickly retracted his arm into a cross against his chest. "UP!"
āGunner, once the scout is within ten meters take the shot. Driver, as soon as that shot clears our barrel I want us reversed and put into the secondary position." All waited. JƤger clearly having a clear plan of action, not it was only a matter if he was right in his predictions for their actions.
// fully intent to get to replies and some asks tomorrow. Trying to do things after work doesnāt fit bc I get out so late orz.
//Thinking about Klaus in pure training mode. Heās so rigid. Thereās a lot of inspo taken from Full Metal Jacket in that regard. He drills the cadets till they know what they need to know beyond a shadow of a doubt. So that when asked a question they respond correctly without ever thinking about it. He owns the training fields just by being there physically.
Iām also thinking about his drill walk. When they have to parade and walk in step. Again very much like R. Lee Ermyās character. He holds himself with such respect and his name holds such prestige. This man is under immense pressure to keep it. But this is also what he was born to do.
Thorsten Klapsch's photographs from inside Palast Der Republik in Berlin just before demolition began, 1993.
just let me bite you a little
send "you're just like your father..." for my muse's reaction to yours saying that.
//found an ask meme thatās be perfect for Klaus but I have never written about his parents on here so it wouldnāt have as much weight to anyone else as it does to me. So this is a reminder to me to make a post about them.
The Courier (2020) // Source : Hawthorn&Cedarwood
Not to couch them, how amusing. This Colonel certainly knew his way around words; he was even less diplomatic than Ivushkin. Although Comrade Yartseva would disagree with him, Colonel JƤger acted accordingly given all that had transpired. Giving a brief smile, Ivushkin embraced the solid hand. The Colonel must grip the levers and controls of tanks firmly to build his strength. āBefore sundown, I hear you, sir.ā Ivushkin released his hand and stepped back to allow him the courtesy of walking ahead. He followed afterward, and all the cadets straightened at the sight of their Junior Lieutenant, accompanied by the Colonel. Ivushkin didn't even need to shout for them to get themselves together, which filled him with pride. After all, they are Russians. Come sunset, when the sun hadnāt yet dipped below the horizon, preparations got underway. Ivushkin had mentioned his intentions to Captain Korin late in the day, but the Captain seemed surprisingly open to the ideaāa rare occurrence. What Colonel JƤger said was also true; The Colonel had not informed Captain Korin about their earlier incident. However, his men tended to talk, and his Captain had ears, so the news would eventually reach him. For now, Ivushkin could entertain his Captain with witty suggestions and hurry him up to the watchtower while he himself headed off to rally his men. He was well aware that he wasnāt going to attend this training course for the green men, but he had to give them morale and confidence before they were slaughtered in the arena of lions and tigers. The Germans had always loved their big cats, it seemed. It was his idea to throw them into the ring this early; it was also his duty to ensure they wouldnāt feel as if their efforts were fruitless. As he arrived at the scene, the growling of tank engines and loud chatter of men told him to slow his pace. His own crew was disqualified from this first round of training, as his crew was brought from the front, as was he. If he were to be stuck in the tower, then their Merciless come again would be forced to remain in the motor pool. Everything was set into motion smoothly, though some cadets' faces showed signs of being shaken by the fast-paced start of training. This was a good sign; they needed to be ready by the month before a new batch arrived. As the Colonel mentioned, his own tanks hadnāt been seen. Not a single life-form showed over the training field; the cadets must be thinking itās a play-round with firing empty shells and facing off each other in their brand new, shiny beasts. That was also good. āŠ”Š¾Š»Š“Š°ŃŃ, ŃŠ¼ŠøŃŠ½Š¾!ā Like ants, they climbed down from their tanks and stood in a single line, with all three crews positioned in front of their assigned tanks. Ivushkin walked the lines, eyeing all of them. Snow had begun piling on top of the still tanks, and each step he took crunched the white powder under his boot. Keeping his voice level, he began. āŠŃ Š±ŃŠ“ŠµŃŠµ ŠøŃŠæŃŃŠ°Š½Ń. ŠŠ°Ń ŃŠ°Š·ŃŠ¼, Š²Š°ŃŠµ ŃŠµŠ»Š¾, ŃŠ¾, ŠŗŠ°Šŗ Š²Ń ŃŃŠ°Š¶Š°ŠµŃŠµŃŃ Š±Š¾Šŗ Š¾ Š±Š¾Šŗ ŃŠ¾ ŃŠ²Š¾ŠøŠ¼ ŃŠ¾Š²Š°ŃŠøŃŠµŠ¼, Š²ŃŠµ ŃŃŠ¾ Š±ŃŠ“ŠµŃ ŠæŃŠ¾Š²ŠµŃŠµŠ½Š¾. ŠŠ°ŃŠ° Š·Š°Š“Š°ŃŠ°āŠ½Šµ Š±ŃŃŃ Š“ŠøŃŠŗŠ²Š°Š»ŠøŃŠøŃŠøŃŠ¾Š²Š°Š½Š½ŃŠ¼ Šø Š½Šµ ŠæŠ¾Š³ŃŠ±ŠøŃŃ ŃŠ²Š¾Š¹ ŃŠŗŠøŠæŠ°Š¶. ŠŠµŠ¼ŃŃ ŃŠ¶Šµ ŠøŃŠæŃŃŃŠ²Š°Š»Šø Š½Š°Ń ŠŗŠ°Šŗ Š²ŃŠ°Š³Š¾Š². ŠŃ ŠæŠ¾Š±ŠµŠ“ŠøŠ»Šø ŠøŃ . ŠŠ½Šø Š±ŃŠ“ŃŃ ŠøŃŠæŃŃŃŠ²Š°ŃŃ Š²Š°Ń ŠŗŠ°Šŗ ŃŠ¾ŃŠ·Š½ŠøŠŗŠ¾Š², Š° Š²Ń Š±ŃŠ“ŠµŃŠµ ŠæŠ¾Š±ŠµŠ¶Š“Š°ŃŃ ŠøŃ ŠŗŠ°Šŗ Š²ŃŠ°Š³Š¾Š². ŠŠ½Šø Š²Š°Š¼ Š½Šµ Š“ŃŃŠ·ŃŃ. ŠŠ½Šø Ń Š¾ŃŃŃ ŃŠ±ŠøŃŃ Š²Š°Ń, Š¾Š½Šø Ń Š¾ŃŃŃ, ŃŃŠ¾Š±Ń Š²Š°Ń ŃŠ¾Š²Š°ŃŠøŃ ŠæŠ¾Š³ŠøŠ± ŃŃŠ“Š¾Š¼ Ń Š²Š°Š¼Šø. ŠŠ½Šø Ń Š¾ŃŃŃ ŃŠ½ŠøŃŃŠ¾Š¶ŠøŃŃ Š²Š°Ń. ŠŃŠ½Š¾ŃŠøŃŠµŃŃ Šŗ ŃŃŠ¾Š¼Ń ŃŠ°Šŗ, ŠŗŠ°Šŗ Š±ŃŠ“ŃŠ¾ Š²Ń Š½Šµ Š²Š¾Š·Š²ŃŠ°ŃŠ°ŠµŃŠµŃŃ Š“Š¾Š¼Š¾Š¹. Š” ŃŃŠ¾ŃŃŃŃ Šø Š½ŠµŠ½Š°Š²ŠøŃŃŃŃ Šŗ Š²ŃŠ°Š³Ń, ŠæŃŠµŠ·ŠøŃŠ°Ń ŃŠ¼ŠµŃŃŃ, Ń ŠŗŠ»ŃŠ½ŃŃŃ ŃŠ°ŃŃŠ¾ŠæŃŠ°ŃŃ Š²ŃŠ°Š³Š° Š² ŠµŠ³Š¾ ŃŠ¾Š±ŃŃŠ²ŠµŠ½Š½Š¾Š¼ Š»Š¾Š³Š¾Š²Šµ.ā Ivushkin turned to them at the end of the line, watching their faces harden. A ring of shouts exploded upon his "Š Š±Š¾Ń". All eager men, pulling a smile on his face as he left them.
"Dietrich to Rosamunde, how copy? End." There was a low crackle over the transmission, silence, a momentary pause, as all radio transmissions are trained to be conducted.
A crack of static. "--Rosamunde to Dietrich, loud and clear. End."
"--Copy, standby for the signal. End."
"--Understood. End"
The crackle took the floor again before cutting entirely. Empty air for the inner crew of Dietrich, a newly acƤquired Leopard 2 tank, to begin amongst themselves. "So," Wolff started up slow, fidgeting with a handle before himself, tapping, clearly eager to be underway. "How bad is it going to be for them, Colonel?" His commander behind his position only hummed. He was still checking the sights he had, making them utterly perfect. Finally starting to speak only when that was done. āHe did not ask me to be nice.ā
"So a bloodbath then, huh sir?" Wolff chuckled out. JƤger agreeing with them with only a lighthearted smile on his face looking in the scope directly at the bug sized cadets so nicely lined up far off from him. How Ivushkin had pure command of them and looked to be speaking. Cross hairs over this shapes. "You know, I cannot believe he asked this of you, it's like he's saying thank you for clamping his--"
"Focus Wolff." JƤger interrupted checking his watch, 11 minutes past sundown. Wolff turned forward and settled into his position quickly, the loader going to spy out his own tiny thick glass. Snow flakes were picking up intensity on the outside of the tank. He saw them collect on the many jagged edges of the branches and leaves JƤger had them cover the tank with earlier in the day, with a newly rolling in fog. He was beginning to hardly be able to see even the tanks back by the observation tower it had gotten dark so quickly. Yet, he saw the brilliant shimmering livid red of the flare perfectly from it. It'd pocked, muted pop out the gun, lit up everything in a neon red. He traded views to his commander, the red from the flare reflecting faintly in his eye. intently watching their 'enemy' run to load themselves into their vehicles, exhausts flaring up behind them. He waited till most of the engines were going to mask his own. "--Tanks, start engines." The tank roared to life, Rosamunde faintly heard in echo.
Chillingly calmly JƤger took the radio one last time as he watched the tanks before him jerk from their frozen places and out into the untouched snow to cris-cross it haphazardly with twin tracks that pushed the water down deep into the soil. He had always been so high strung in the halls of the school they were facing, yet here,JƤger seemed so eerily relaxed despite having not one but two high powered tanks at his fingertips. Even after this short time, his new loader had not gotten used to it. It in fact thrilled and froze him to the bone. Just happy he was here and not in a T-80. "--Stay in primary positions until the I take the first shot, engage only within range and move quickly. Keep a distance and them from pinning you in. End." The loader shook, even his voice was different, malicious in undertones. He was looking forward to this.
"--Understood. End." The radio crackled off again. Only the idling of the V12 Twin Turbo engine of their beast to fill the space no in lieu of further words. They each had their work to do, their hands ready in waiting at their positions expressly for JƤger's word to tell them where, how, and when to move. His orders waited on. He sat in silence, eyes to the vision ports before him. Thinking already, millions of variations moving in his head. Watching for when they might break off and try to flank or try a frontal assault, to move this way and that blindly, unknowing of where the two big cats laid in shadow to pounce.
Upon spotting the Colonel coming down the high steps, Nikolay drew up his arm and saluted, his heels clicking at the sides. Despite being an officer who held certain views about officers higher than he, Nikolay didnāt lack basic forms of respect. He lowered his arm when the Colonel came closer, turning on his heel so that the Colonel didnāt have to stop while speaking to him. Ivushkin fixed over his gloves in silence, only nodding in response to the question. Ivushkin adjusted his gloves in silence, nodding in response to the Colonel's question. In truth, it wasn't the preparation of the tanks that took the longest. The T-80s were newly manufactured; the bolts hadnāt even had time to rust yet. The crew knew how to handle their tasks efficiently. No, the real time was spent not on the physical preparation but on thinkingāIvushkin himself had taken that time to reflect, turning over ideas and discussing them with Anya, who had a more diplomatic perspective. He had to agree with her on her ideas, and he was using up the synced walk he had with the Colonel to gather up his words without making a bigger mess. He just got here; if this Colonel is like the ones heās dealt with, then itās best to simply appease them for as long as possible. Itād be best for his menāhe can hear Anyaās voice in his head, ringing and nagging. The Colonelās voice pulled Ivushkin from his thoughts, although it didnāt seem so on his face. He only stared forward, turning his head slightly to show that he was listening. While he was pushing his gloves between his finger webbings, he pressed his thumb onto his palm and kept it there, humming in response to buy time. So JƤger hadnāt told anything to Korināthis made Ivushkin actually give JƤger his eyes for a split moment. That was merciful on his part; Ivushkin would give him that. Before reaching the motor pool where the sounds of his men boomed with work, Nikolay stopped and cleared his throat to speak. āSir, I need to speak with you. Not in front of them.āIvushkin tilted his head, gesturing for them to come closer and step away from the tanks they had reached. He then sighed through his nose as he looked over at the motor pool. If this colonel is as skilled as Moscow and all of East Germany say he is, then heās the only one capable of guiding his cadets through the challenges ahead. He is the only one who can provide them with the type of experience he wouldnāt wish on his worst enemyā even if that enemy is a pompous officer with shiny shoulder pads. Ivushkin turned his attention back to JƤger and lifted his head, the bruise still fresh and his jaw aching from movement. āI apologize for the actions come over me; I intend not to stir our parties apart. I did not ask your attention for that,ā Ivushkin inhaled the cold air and let it form the remainder of his speech. āThey are newāthe cadets. Trained on fake guns, half-made tanks in class. Confident, good, but too highly prideful in themselves. I see it, and it must be beaten down.ā Nikolay lowered his head briefly to show respect to the higher-ranking man. āYou are a skilled man, my country says. My translator said you desired to attend these trainings yourself. Iām here to ask you a favor; be in todayās training.ā He then gestured to the crews and their tanks quickly, watching them become impatient in their idle state of waiting for their Commander. ā Give them a taste of raw experience. Do the worst on them. Crush their spirits, I can rebuild themā but it is easier to build something ruined than make it come down when itās got too high an ego.ā Ivushkin turned his eyes to the Colonel, offering his gloved hand as a tradeā a truce from previous collisions. Nikolay could put aside the dislike if it meant winning a war.Ā
Strange how he was being pulled away from what he intended to do. To inspect the new T-80s he had sitting in his motor pool yet hadn't seen a single instrument of their insides. Not even to undo a hatch and stick his head in. He had been looking forward to that, that at least two things could have been accomplished because of a cadet's ill thought decision.
But there he was, standing just before the tanks and their crew listening to Ivushkin speak out of range for their ears to eavesdrop on. His eyes would shoot over to them at the mention of them. Russia's righting force. So green they had not had true practical time within a working tank on the field. A month would not be enough if that were the case. Not to fully school them with the security in knowing they had time to get all they could as JƤger would have wished. But the proposition itself. The last thing he expected to hear from any officer.
The junior Lieutenant's idea to remedy the situation, was one only a man who had seen the battlefield could give. One JƤger himself would only suggest out of his own learning experience, what worked for him, the relentless practice against fake odds so real you manned your position with fear in the pit of your stomach. He nodded along, occasionally dropping his eyes as if to better comprehend. Then he drew his head up, sniffing as he did, eyes back square on the Russian's face.
He wanted JƤger to do more than just scare them. He wanted them to work with adrenaline and despair on either shoulder. To feel the soul crushing weight of complete defeat on their shoulders as the metal walls and protruding instruments of their positions feel all so much closer than normal. And adding further injury to take away their mighty ace commander, though that idea was completely JƤger's own.
"Just before sundown then. I expect all tanks taking part to be lined up. My own will be in the field already. They will not know how many, they will not know where mine start. And you will not coach them Junior Lieutenant." His rough voice always in staccatos of orders. If this is truly the deal Ivushkin wanted to make, it would be followed to JƤger's preferences. The German's gloved hand going to his to shake. A deal with the Devil, made.
āOf course sheriff.ā Agreeing to both in one statement. Half an hour to meeting would be easily achieved. As any good Cavalry man should be quickly and properly provisioned, with said supplies secured snuggly at a momentās notice. This could be done within minutes. Sending away other men in blue to do the scrambling for those things. Food, ammunition, another change of clothes, rings of wound rope and per his own knowing wish to depart with it, a silver flask hidden deep under other objects in a saddle bag. While their Colonel took his time looking over his rifle, pistol, and saber as if they werenāt meticulously maintained before securing them too into their appropriate leather holsters. His horse standing dutifully as the straps are wrenched around its body.
What did take up his time was that a new briefing was to be given. His second, a born and bred American Major Keller, a careerist now getting his chance to fill the boots JƤger would leave behind over them all. Standing taller than usual with the anticipation of the responsibility. The men were informed of another detour in their larger plans, he projected out to them. Enjoy this time while you can men. But behave. We are guests, I will not learn about your sullying of the Cavalryās good name just to get drunk and act like a pig. And despite the fact that he impressed this into their bones through his booming announcement, though they needed no such thing. Remembering all too easily their superior officerās pension for wrath laden consequences.
Most recent of which a private that had nodded off on watch at the wrong time, was unfortunate enough to have JƤger catch him slumped onto the neck of his more attentive horse. Bringing the boy over as if expected to, Kaiser and the requisitioned paint horse getting acquainted. Thusly ending up strapped to a wooden pole in the center of their corral for days on end. A less personally attentive punishment but cruel nonetheless. How blistered the kid was after spending three whole summer days left there to gather dust and dirt and sunburn while regular training continued around him. A few men recalling how theyād have to time when they'd sneak in at night and be even shiftier during the day to get him even the most measly amount of water.
JƤger made quick work of arriving to the stables, ten minutes early to be precise. The old military adage of, if youāre not early youāre late, on full display. Keller accompanying him unmounted to see him off. āAh sheriff!ā JƤger spoke from above. āMajor Keller here will be at your Deputyās service.ā Always at someoneās service. It showed in tensely contained discontent. The Major rolling to the balls of his feet briefly at the explanation, his hands wringing themselves harshly. JƤger paid no mind to it, continuing cordially. āI anticipate no problems with my men, and they should act as auxiliary forces should they be needed.ā
Thirty minutes could be a whole lot of time, as much as they could be barely anything. For Paukka Laukkenen, as he remained where they had talked, even calmly returning to lean with his shoulder against the old wood post, watching the stuck-up military man turn and take his leave the same way he had come, it was the latter. Not because there were things he needed doing that he did not think doable in that amount of time. There was a lingering sense of dread, of doom, that he needed figuring out and just could not. Even the few minutes extra that he gave himself in remaining, used to watch the Colonel's figure shrink and disappear under the bright light of the midday sun and used to turn his head the opposite direction again, back to that same horizon who could bring an end to all their tension within moments but decided not to, he tried making sense of that strange feeling in his gut. Whether the sense of impending dread was oozing from the very ground the town was built upon, or if it was something the two were well riding into.
As always: acceptance. If it came it came. Stalling would not solve their problem and it was with that mindset that the man too finally moved from the spot, walking down the creaking boards of the porch, the clinking of spurs following behind him, until he turned to the left and disappeared inside the building. Picking up things of his own, his gaze briefly landed on a small mirror kept in one of the lower drawers of his desk. Looking at it (but not in it) his previous thought returned, which he decided against, again. Closing the drawer and giving up the want to shave for the time being. Another time. They would not be out long.
With the carbine slung over his shoulder it was on his way to the front door that the young deputy finally showed up. With hasty steps, Paukka was stopped in his tracks. Clarence, not out of malice or obstinacy but for the lack of a head, blocked his way. Looked at through big, wide eyes, it was clear he must have picked up news on the way somewhere, or at least part of it, going by how he was wordlessly begging him not to go. To not be left alone and especially not with so many scary men. Trying to soothe the young man with 'I am taking the worst of them with me' and 'It''ll likely only be a few hours', he had Clarence recite what to do and what not to in his absence, as they had talked about so many times and after a few minutes more of calming the youngster as good as he could, he was out. Watched from the on, as he stood beside the snowcap spotted appaloosa with his hands on the saddle, storing his things away. The same saddle whose straps he was undoing and whose weight he was pulling off the horse's back alongside its blanket, a moment later and a few meters up the road.
Now he was the one watching, standing with his back to the open road. Rolling in between the thumb and index finger right after the filter, a much needed cigarette, while the ringing of the anvil being hit by the heavy sledge and the blowing of the below could be heard in the backdrop. Ihme stood unbothered by the noise, knowing well this was her new shoe that was being adjusted to fit.
Reaching out for the saddle (thrown onto a standing barrel and waiting to be lifted from it again), with the cigarette clamped between his lips, his hands had just stored the pouch of tobacco and book of rolling papers back into its respective saddle bag, he heard being called. Just like that his moment of peace was over and Paukka had not even managed to smoke the thing. He looked up and walked over to the two men and the white horse, not wanting their talk to disturb the farrier (and his own horse). Listening to the Major being introduced, his eyes landed on the man and he pinched the brim of his hat to lightly tip it in greeting.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI'm sure Major Keller too knows the law. Just keep my town safe so I have somethin' to come back to.ā He offered up his trust in his own way while somewhat trying to get rid of the man's tension. Knowing what it must be like for him, to be put under a man that was not even in his twenties. Paukka himself did not think Clarence was ready for a big escalation.
He exhaled through his nose. Behind him, the iron was being cooled. Hissing and a stream of condensation rose from a bucket. A moment later the farrier approached the flank of the spotted horse. The Sheriff meanwhile, pulled forth a box of matches and finally lit his cigarette. Here was hoping they did not have to ride the whole way.
The dismissal came swiftly. JƤger didn't even look at him when he gave Major Keller the order. To which it was met with a huff from the man below him, once he realized what even happened. Yet he was sent away with a consolation prize of his making the act of turning away less full of sting. He was bestowed with full leadership powers for as long as JƤger was gone on this little quest. Longer is he was not so fortunate return, that which for a moment Keller thinks of. Quickly shooing it was as JƤgerās boots hit the dust behind him.
āThe Major has been briefed that my men will be used as an auxiliary force should they be needed.ā JƤger spoke clearly. Kelleyās superior clearly was less concerned with hypothetical daydreams and even less of those of his subordinates. He was watching the farrier work on the Sheriffās horse. A contradiction once again. āThey canāt have gotten too far.ā Strolling in from the sun under the shade of the open door to stand and watch with his arms crossed.
āYou seem to be preparing for otherwise.ā Neither a nitpick or accommodation. Simply observation. He himself had outfitted his own steed with supplies for a multi day trip, minus shoeing. Kaiser was due yet, not had the shoes he had on been put through their paces yet. Being prepared was a virtue, if it was a holy commandment JƤger would regularly be brought closer to god solely through that alone.
Even if it came from impatience. The Colonel much more comfortable barreling towards an enemy than standing around in a farrierās listening to the metal being hammered to hooves. Still he waited. The Sheriff would be able to get through his cigarette after all at this rate. Perhaps a second. And all the further those criminals would be able to get before Kaiserās gait pounded the dirt behind them. The impatience starting to well within him. He would just have to wait.
hatred that morphs to obsession that morphs to devotion. is this anything
(emerges 3 hours later covered in blood) i figured out what emotion i was feeling
As Ivushkin was mid-speech to his men, the damned Colonel decided the white flag hasnāt been risen high enough to count. Ivushkinās words died into frost in the air, earning only attention to those who couldāve heard it. Suppressing his indignation at the act, he turned his head to look over his shoulder at the other man. Then, he realized that wasnāt noble of himāconsidering JƤgerās ranksāand turned his body fully to face JƤger. He didnāt stand at attention to avoid showing too much respect, but his posture was enough to demonstrate to his men how to address even the worst of individuals. They would encounter far worse in their own battles; the Russian commanders were not the paragons they were meant to uphold. Every war hardens a man, yet the strongest among them choose to retain their humanity. That is the only way to determine if a man is truly a man. The man before him was only half of one, and even that was an exaggeration. Regardless, he raised his chin in a gesture that would encourage the other to speak. It seemed that the Colonel didnāt like distance; like a magnet, he was pulled closer to Ivushkin. Did he think he was poor at hearing? He sustained some loss of it in his career, but he could still make out Colonel even if he spoke. Ivushkin let him have it, but he couldnāt do that for long. Ivushkin didnāt let much escape his frigid inscrutability; the slight twitch of his eyebrow couldnāt help but escape. He could hear shuffling behind him, as if the words were understood not just by him, but he didnāt look back. Colonel had a look in his eyes that suggested he understood the game he was playing and was determined not to lose it.Ā He was just pressing buttons, trying to figure out which throttle fires the turret, thatās all. Nikolay chose to keep the burn and boil suppressed, however difficult it was. It proved to be quite, as his words came out without premeditating them. Walking to the Colonel in the same fearless steps the Colonel had, Ivushkin didnāt shrink from the manās impending shadow. āDonāt come near him. If you think he left snow in your shiny boots, forget it.ā Even if he knew that what he said was incorrect or too direct, he would have said it anyway because it carried its meaning. There was no reason to latch onto those who had done nothing than stood victim of Colonelās path of blame. Heās known Ivan, and he would rather face the tankās turret than mess with a high rank. Anya tried to step forward to smooth over his words, but Nikolay glared her into stillness as soon as he saw her open her mouth on the sidelines, much like an older brother desiring the little ones not to make the situation worse. He stood his ground in front of the man, a little daring with how he stared into JƤgers eyes. āLeave my men to me, Fritzā. An old word often talked about the Germans, it was a wound in the Second World War. Ivushkin didnāt care to order a high rank, never had one. It made him end up in low places, but his menās morale and respect for him mattered more. What Colonel asked wasnāt just a question; it was a threat. And if heās anything like the commanders out there in the field, heād challenge orders before submitting to what needs to be. He looked down with his eyes and slightly stepped on Colonelās boot tip, coating it with flakes of snow. He then looked up with his eyes, the hoods slimmer and eyebrows furrowed. A wordless comment on how idiotic the complaint was. Ā
JƤger's eyes followed to where the Junior Lieutenant dropped his. To the scuffing, or attempt there of to the toe of his boot. It told him all he needed to know of this soviet tank ace. That even with all of his perception abilities clearly it was tailor made for one purpose and one purpose only, and it wasn't to discern what the Colonel had so boldly told them all just minutes before.
A concept he found more insulting than the incident itself. But anyone who heard him, really heard him would gather that much. The boots were never the issue. Even now as the Russian finished his mocking Jager's demeanor remained composed. The boots could be polished again, he doubted anything even stuck with how the snow coated their outsides, where the snow should be. Too wrapped up in his cadet's and neglecting his own best interests.
The air thicker with their audience's now unbroken dead silent attention. Jager's eyes back where they were, on the Junior Lieutenant's face without a hint of woe, or anger. His gloved hand clamping onto either side of the man's jaw was quick. His flanks left open as he was only watching his 12 and 6 o'clocks. The Colonel holding him here as a fisher would a prized catch. drawing his chin upwards and squeezing his cheeks forward. The pressure carefully measured to keep him in hand.
"You mistake this for the battlefield." The vice pressure increasing ever so. "I am not to be fought. Everyone and everything that happens in this program answers to me. There is no second option." His voice followed, strung tight but only to give his words their sting. The pain of an antiseptic in an open wound. Gripping incrementally, squeezing more flesh harder by the second till he held it steady when it looked to visibly pain the Russian. when his eyebrows knit together and tried to slide his face from the lock it was held in. "I will return in two hours to check your progress. Lets hope we don't lose more than that today."
Then he let go. His own hand lingered in the air a moment before returning to his side. without breaking his sightline at Ivushkin, JƤger shouted for the rest of them. "DISMISSED!" Taking his own leave back to the interior of the building. The hand he held Ivushkin with being squeezed and stretched by his side as he motioned Thielicke over with a head tilt to mutter something only the two of them could hear. The German cadets being tasked to their own day's work without delay.
In the blink of an eyeāthatās how fast it all happened. From the forward motion of the Colonelās arm to the intense pressure blooming around Ivushkinās jaw. Ivushkin has taken many hits to his face in his career, but this one surely stands out above the rest. This only indicated that beneath all the shine and dark fabric, the man was incredibly muscular. It was more evident with his Hauptmann; he would hate to imagine the strength that man possessed if the Colonel was anything like him. Despite this discomfort, Ivushkin remained undaunted. Bruising would paint his jawline where Colonelās fingernails dug into it, and he could already feel his teeth grinding against each other as they were jammed into each otherāand Ivushkin still maintained eye contact with Colonel. His eyes only became narrower, allowing very little to be seen of his eyes, considering they were already slits to begin with. The squeeze of Colonelās hand began creating a ringing within his ears, to the point he could hardly make out what he was saying, but he guessed it was reestablishing himself as an authority figure and not someone to be given commands by. The only part of it was that JƤger was in the right. Ivushkinās men might as well be considered his own, which meant he could command and punish them as he wished. However, JƤger didnāt know or understand them as well as Ivushkin did. This became evident when shuffling was heard among his line of tankers. In response, Ivushkin raised his hand to signal them to remain calm. For the time being, he was content to dangle at JƤgerās feet as it was better than placing a burden on some poor soldier. When Ivushkin was released at last and JƤger retreated with a fiery boot, the shuffling of boots commenced, and a senior man peered into Ivushkinās face. A mustache lined the top of his lip, a tanker helmet covering his head as opposed to Ivushkinās officer ushanka. Ivushkin only waved his hand in dismissal to the older man, opting to adjust his jaw to ensure it wasnāt broken. The man seemed to be the only brave one to disobey Ivushkinās command to stand back, but that didnāt mean the others didnāt want to come forward to their commander. āŠ¢Ń Š² ŠæŠ¾ŃŃŠ“ŠŗŠµ, ŠŠ¾Š¹Š»Š°?ā The senior man asked. āŠŠ°Š²Š°Š¹ ŠæŠ¾ŃŠøŃŃŠøŠ¼ ŃŃŠø Š¢Š°Š½ŠŗŠø ŠæŃŠµŠ¶Š“Šµ ŃŠµŠ¼ Š¼Š½Šµ ŠæŠ¾Š½Š°Š“Š¾Š±ŠøŃŃŃ Š·Š°Š¼ŠµŠ½Š° ŃŠµŠ»ŃŃŃŠø, Š”ŃŠµŠæŠ°Š½.ā Thatās exactly what was done. In about two hours, the entire company of tanks was thoroughly cleaned of grime and grease, much to the mechanics' satisfaction. However, the downside is that this cleanliness wonāt last long, as Ivushkin wants these soldiers and tanks operational today. He had an idea for achieving his goal, but it required smoothing things over with the Colonel. His jaw still ached to the point that he had to rely on hand signals to command his company. After talking with Anya, he decided it would be wiser to proceed in this way, even after what happened. If this incident found its way back to Captain Korināif it hasnāt alreadyāhis career might end where he stands. And so, he made his amenable stride to meet the Colonel halfway from the tank storage, assuming he kept his word about being on time this time. The thought made Ivushkin snort, but he suppressed it instantly.Ā
The Colonel was perfectly on time. As compared to earlier he was arguably early. His own two hours of meantime squeezed of every second. A master of multitasking JƤger found it easy to split the time in the overseer tower between both maintaining his inspection arrival and scrutinizing his own cadetās aim in the binoculars. Finding gripes with their performance in the range. Must need to be re-sightedā¦.or re-taught. Too poor for the month in advance that they had before the Russianās arrived. Another irritation to him on poor excuse of a day nonetheless. So much so even his Captain had passed his eyes on him to try and gauge where the Colonel was in terms of lingering anger. The missed target, silence with a strong exhale, JƤger checked his watch once more.
Ten minutes left, he replaced the binoculars and radio phone on the reciever and left Thielicke to continue to guide them, though not without instructions he rattled off quickly as he was moving through the door. Back into the cold once more he buttoned his great coat on the way down the stairs. Surprisingly spying the Junior Lieutenant leaving the tank garage to meet him. His figure small and dark against the snow yet forceful as he trudged though. A sight unexpected, he'd admit. The sight briefly brought his eyebrows together, stopping on a step to see him, and push a defiant button through the corresponding hole in the other panel of his coat. Then he continued to meet him without delay.
āI take you coming to find me as your tanks being ready?ā Offering his voice before he reached his colleague. JƤger let his eyes mull over Ivushkin as he closed in, mainly his face, as the bruising was already looking to set in. He wondered if Itd be enough to keep him in line. A year of thisā¦ Still he opened a palm to steer the Russian back to where he came now that JƤger had reached him. Their pace matching once more. JƤger was already scanning from afar, even if there was little to be seen while he spoke. āI hope this only a minor incident, all of it. I do not see a need to inform Captain Korin so long as behavior is minded.ā
His attention now upon the tanks before him. Waiting T-80s in the garages flanked and climbed on by young cadets that now were catching onto their Junior Lieutenant returning with him for the final say. He could feel their eyes on him, and rightfully so. Yet that effort was futile. A man in a den of lions entering without fear. He entered with the same uptight pride he wore everyday. āIād like to start with one in the back.ā Obviously Ivushkinās would be pristine , inspecting it was hardly a test of how well they did. It was the crew that wasnāt being watched what he wanted to see.
His face curled. A cruel smile or something of the like. the lines of his face skewed in favor of the new lashings they held. Further distorted, no doubt, in the flitting flames of the fire between them. initially taking the question as a preposterous thing to be asked. clearly only posed to further sour his already sickly sweet rotting mood of this night. Another weight piled on. On top of the already strong insinuation he wasn't doing enough. Despite him becoming one track minded in pursuit of answers. A fever growing in the Colonel as the days went by without progress being made.
Yet when it broke, there was no smoke from his nostrils to illustrate the growing wildfire held in his furnace of a chest. Nothing more than his face holding the same expression it nearly always held these days. The same clenching in his jaw that showed in the sides of his face. Only the heat external from him changed anything at all when meeting one's eye. The waves of glossy invisibility shaking his form. A true glance at the activity beneath the ice that truly took hold of him.
It had alchemized. Something he was uniquely talented in doing, pushing his wild emotions through a funnel to be dropped into a watermill of sorts and used now with proper sorting into where he wished for energy, motivation, strength, anything Klaus so wished. To focus that into getting answers. He only needed a foothold in that man to do so.
Ignoring the Marshal's words in totality. They were les important now, even bordering on useless as he felt the man was on a cliff of an esoteric tangent that held no bearing on the problem nipping at Klaus's spurred heels. Klaus knew the man was talking, though not to him. "What has he told you?"
His looking-up and glancing-over happened slowly and delayed. An actual answer was long in coming. Instead, an unfaltering (though tired) gaze remained examining the devilish face staring at him from the other side of the fire. Hardened and twisted, though Alexander was unsure whether it truly sat carved in stone like that, or if it was shadows playing tricks on him, as they often liked to do. Cast by the wild dancing of flame, that deviously acted as though having calmed down, only to be spurred up by the next subtle breeze barely felt on their exposed skin to rejuvenate and continue its wicked frolic.
From the distance, Alexander surveyed the ridges and ravines gored into the Colonel's immaculate face. Marked for life now. Wounds fresh but no longer bleeding, even if it would not be a surprise if they started right up again into rivulets of red at the grimace. Cat's eye to fish in a dish. The Nile to blood. All because a man's heart was hardened.
Alexander caught on to being the one that was interrogated now. His silence was not defiance but more of abstruse pondering. Perhaps the devil really had gotten into the man. Not to test him but to tease what was already woven thinly. Waiting for him to snap because the downfall of a man could never come quick enough. Would he be able to sense his own untimely end? Would he be able to be surprised by it?
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThat the frown you always carry does not suit you." The Marshal paused. Let his words sink in. Let them sting. āThat you walk too stiffly for a man who's so deeply unwell and wondered why you keep pretending when everyone else can see.ā
The Marshalās silence was met with silence of his own. Deliberate and snide, the crackling of the flames filling the void with an under pinning of smoldering. The Colonelās eyes slowly widening in the wake of what he was just told. Life. The man they had was full of spit and therefore bounding with life in his bones. He was given proof of it. The insults at his expense left to wallow in the dirt. Insignificant, not to such a headstrong man.
Yet he heard every word. They all reached his attention and only then filtered in favor of what he wanted to know. The only concern he gave any of it was his being unwell. That his need of his flask had been more and more noticeably. It was to be considered. To be more careful. As careful as this asinine job would allow him to be. Because of course he was unwell. A Cavalry Colonel commissioned to catch a thief. The law in this land being so incompetent that the army was contracted to do it for them.
He wasnāt working his purpose, at least not in the sweeping charges he imagined when boarding the boat to make the journey. It drew his ire. One started in small nods, āI am unwell Marshal.ā A crude smile drew up his face, a sting from his fresh wounds making his eyes twitch in the pain, difficult but not impossible. Not for him. āAlthough not in a way that would let anyone be rid of me.ā
The his attention wheeled back to where he come from. To where that man was kept in captivity. The originator of these words. The ones that injected their life into the Colonel upon hearing them. He seemed vaguely crazed, and pleased with it. A look indescribable took his eyes watching the mere direction of the man who supposedly said them. As if to make him regret from afar. Transfixed there and far from his fireside companion.
