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Re: Untitled
« Reply #25 on: April 14, 2009, 03:15:14 PM »
Without even a flinch as Mikhail's hand shot out and took the paper from her, Juron sat back, letting her back rest against the softness behind her as she watched him read over what she had written. It caused the grin that was already in place on her lips to grow a little bit more. Of course, he would react to her writing something. And she could only imagine the reasons running through his head, for why she had written up about his appearance. They were both a mystery, to one another but she herself, Juron felt was more of a mystery to him than he was to her. Especially as he looked down at the written appearance of himself.
She noted the way his hands moved, and how he seemed to manage to keep such a calm front despite the heavy lethal emotion running around inside. Wondering if she should add that to the paper, just to irk him more, Juron reached out for her coffee, and took another long sip, this time holding it in her hands while listening to him speak of how he seemed to like the idea of killing her still being an option. Running the tip of her manicured finger over the rim of her cup Juron finally sat forward and shook her head slowly, still slightly smiling. "No, Mr. Kirechenko. I do not believe that is an option today."
Moving her hand back onto the table, she slid the pad back to her and began to write down what she noticed about him. The tone he used, the way he drank his coffee, no longer bothering with his hands or how he managed to keep himself collected. "For, you see... I don't have the papers in my possession anymore. So killing me, would only be personal revenge to you. But in the end, it wouldn't stop anything else from getting out. I didn't write everything I found on those papers. I thought I would let it out just a bit at a time. What you had read, was just a small chunk of the damage I can do to those men. Killing me... would just leave it up to someone else. And since we know that people would be out looking for whomever published the information... we'd have to hide, wouldn't we? You only knew who published this, Mr. Kirechenko," reaching into her bag again, she pulled out the newspaper and turned it towards him, tapping her article, "because you were with me at the time. And knew what I was looking for.
Killing me, would do you no good. You would be sent back out here again on a wild goose chase looking for the next person to take my place. And who's to say you'll find them? And even if you did, it would continue, and continue until everything we had was finally released to the public. So this is why, Mr. Kirechenko... I do believe the only option for you... is to let me tag along. That way, we can avoid this mess. I can get the papers back and... we won't need to have you in trouble anymore with your superiors, yes?"
Leaning forward some more, Juron lowered her voice looking Mikhail straight in the eye as she spoke. "For you see, you may not have noticed, but our coffee shop owner over there," she inclined her head slowly towards the man behind the counter who seemed to have a half eye on them, "is armed. And were you to try anything, he could would probably shoot you. And I know, you wouldn't want to risk causing a scene, yes? I can sit here all day, just sitting here. And not leave. You would probably get very tired of waiting, wouldn't you think? You don't seem like a very patient fellow, Mr. Kirechenko. So I do believe, you have no other option, than my option."

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Re: Untitled
« Reply #26 on: April 14, 2009, 08:08:55 PM »
"You don't understand, Ms. Bratthen.  Or is it Mrs?  I never got round to asking if there was a husband waiting nervously each time I caught you trying to get some new scoop to fill your newspaper.  Because that's the thing.  I know that it'll never stop, but I'm fed up with bumping in to you when I'm sneaking around some top-secret compound.  You got me in to trouble, and if I let you go, then you'll just get me in to more bother the next time I stick on a wetsuit and grab my gun."  Mikhail drummed his finger tips against the coffee table top, imitating the same tune he had heard someone whistle a few days ago, and also the song his commanding officer had taken a liking too recently.

"Tag along?"  He almost spewed out his coffee.  Although it tasted horrible - he wasn't one for the stuff - he found himself continually sipping at it while the pair exchanged conversation, whether it be sarcastic or informative.  "You're not tagging along.  A few nights ago was an exception, it was a lucky night.  You could have tripped up or set off an alarm.  Hell, you knocked out a guy and left him lying in the middle of a corridor that a patrol was on.  Are you crazy?  That's the kind of stuff that fucks up the mission.  No way.  I'm not having it."
But sometimes travelling the world was lonely.

Wait.  Was he having second thoughts?  Actually considering he proposal?  No, don't be stupid Mikhail.  The KGB has you work alone for a reason.  Would they really let him get away with working alongside a Norwegian journalist-turned-super-secret-agent?  Not a chance.

The Russian flicked his face towards the man behind the bar, unconvinced that he was in fact armed.  Was he that brave to shoot a Soviet soldier, whilst the territory was run by the USSR?  Pulling back on the trigger of the shotgun, or what ever he had, was him more or less signing on the dotted line below his printed name.
"You... going with me."  Mikhail couldn't believe he was even taking her proposal seriously.  "Exactly what do you think you'll be doing?  Because you sure as hell won't be coming with me on missions.  You'd be far away from the location as you can get.  If it were up to me, it'd be in the trunk of my car, gasping for air."  Leaning forward and swallowing a large portion of coffee, he stared in to her Norwegian eyes.  "I do top secret stuff.  And working with a big-mouthed journalist is the last thing I'd wanna do.  I can't believe I'm even thinking of ways this can work out."

Shaking his head, his hand once again tore the paper away from Juron's pen.  Mikhail couldn't help but smirk at his current thought.  Juron looked sexy in that wetsuit, the way the fabric highlighted her nice curves and near-perfect figure, the way she danced around in it through the dark, tiptoeing over flooring and the feeling he discovered when he pressed against her to whisper commands in her ear.
But the woman couldn't even shoot, and could very well panic in a FUBAR situation.

"Four miles north of here, there's a railway station.  Not that big, but they're using it to transfer supplies to the south.  Meet me beside the large tree just a little south of the tracks.  02:00 tomorrow night.  And get yourself a Norwegian uniform."  He whispered, placing his half-finished coffee on the table and walking out.

[[  You can skip ahead to the night, if you'd like  ]]

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Re: Untitled
« Reply #27 on: April 15, 2009, 03:17:43 PM »
Watching him walk away, Juron didn't say anything as he departed. She just sat there, pulling her cup to her lips with a small grin curving the corners of her lips. She had won.

Sitting crouched under the tree Mikhail had spoken about the day before, she waited for him. Arriving earlier than what he had told her to, Juron fidgeted with the uniform she had managed to acquire. After some quick talking with a soldier she had ran into an hour after she left the coffee shop, she managed to get her hands on a uniform that was too big in shoes, clothes, and cap. The boots were two sizes too big so her feet slid around inside, and yet surprisingly she managed to still walk without making too much of a sound. The pants, she had tucked inside and rolled up trying to at least make them fit. The tunic she wore Juron had tried to fix by bringing it in some around the sides, but still it was too large and she had to roll up the sleeves just to be able to access the use of her hands. She had pinned up her hair, and stuck it under the cap, that still ended up falling into her eyes. She had to keep pushing it back up and knew, that at some point she was going to end up ditching it because it would became a complete nuisance during what they had to do.
Juron couldn't believe she was here though. Waiting for the Russian man who earlier had told her he wanted to kill her. The very same Russian that complained about them always bumping paths on days. Standing, Juron stretched her limps, raising her hands to the heavens above that were hidden behind a cloudy sky. The clouds weren't dark, but the Norwegian woman still found herself hoping that it wouldn't rain. That was the last thing they needed, Mikhail would probably blame it on her anyways. Blame the bad weather on the Norwegian journalist.. ex journalist? for it starting to rain on them.
Shifting the tunic, Juron looked around and still didn't see Mikhail. She wondered, if this was going to end up being some sort of trick. If he was planning on killing her tonight. Headlines would read "Poor Norwegian Journalist accidentally shot while playing dress up as a Norwegian soldier. Nobody would know what was really going on. After all, what did Mikhail Kirechenko have to lose now? She had told him that if he let her tag along, she would take the papers back and it wouldn't be leaked out to the public anymore. They would just be kept away. Of course, he probably expected her to bring them with. Probably thought they would be sitting inside the bag at the base of the tree trunk. Or, somewhere hidden in her house where nobody could get them. Just because she wouldn't give them to the public, didn't mean she would give them to him. But, incase Mikhail had planned to show up, gun pointing at her and telling her she was going to die she had tucked away a paper or two inside her breast pocket. She wasn't going to give them all to him, but one or two wouldn't hurt none.
She sighed again, resting her head against the trunk and closed her eyes.

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Re: Untitled
« Reply #28 on: April 16, 2009, 02:39:49 AM »
She was a perfect target.  Underneath a tree, no one around, no coffee shop owner to protect her or witness to catch a glimpse of the shooter.  He could have put a well-placed bullet in her heart, and he could carry on with his life, mission complete.  Or Mikhail could let her live, and risk failing yet another assignment.  It was a rare failure, and the KGB had been leniant on that fact.  But two in a row?  That was the kind of streak that you picked up a one way ticket and never returned.
So why had he decided to take that path?  Defy his superiors, for the sake of one stupid woman he could not stand?  Maybe he

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Re: Untitled
« Reply #29 on: April 16, 2009, 01:40:13 PM »
Standing up straight, Juron's eyes opened at the sound of his voice. How wrong his accent sounded, she thought when he spoke to her in broken up Norwegian. She hadn't heard him come up, with made the woman mentally kick herself for closing her eyes. She should have paid attention instead of going off in her own little world. She was lucky, that it had been Mikhail, and not anyone else. At least, a Mikhail that didn't decide to shoot her when she had her eyes closed.
Her eyes fell on the AK-47 on his back, and she felt just a little uneasy. Juron wasn't one for guns, didn't approve of them really. There had been numerous times when someone had told her to keep one in the house, as protection incase something happened, but she never did. Having a little boy around and a gun? It seemed like an accident just screaming to happen. And the journalist didn't want to risk it. She just hoped, the family Juron kept leaving her brother with whenever she ventured off, didn't have one either. But, she couldn't let herself get lost in her wandering thoughts. Not with what lay ahead of her in the next while or so.
A small frown touched her lips when she took in Mikhail's appearance. How was it, he managed to come across a better fitting uniform than she had? Had he watched, and sized up men who went by before attacking one, knocking them out, or even killing them for the clothes they wore? From what she knew, Mikhail seemed to enjoy the thought of killing people, so she wouldn't put it past him to do it. But, she would never know, would she? Glancing down at her own attire Juron frowned a little bit more. It was just a uniform. She didn't know where it had come from, just that the soldier had given it to her. She wasn't picky. And it wasn't like she was going to kill someone for it. They were her own countries soldiers, it would have been an unreasoned murder. Not only that, she had a small frame who's to say she could find one that fit her in the first place? Of course though, he would insult. Did he know how to do anything else? Probably not.
Picking up her bag, she followed after him almost at a run to reach him. Glancing around, she didn't see anyone about. It was a pretty deserted area and she wondered about the papers hidden in her breast. He didn't kill her, or make a move to. Should she hand over the papers to him in the end? Looking at the Russian she decided to see if he'd mention them. And if not, then Juron figured she might, just to be a good sport. But, that all depended on how the night turned out.
When she saw the truck, and he told her about the fuel cans, the Norwegian finally took notice of the fact they were dressed like Norwegian soldiers. And when Mikhail informed her that she'd be doing the talking, her honey coloured eyes widened just a little bit. She had thought, this had something to do once again with 'the pigs' as she called them. But it was starting to look like she was terribly, terribly wrong and a small look of doubt began to form across her face. Juron stared at Mikhail long and hard, wondering if there was a reason he had decided to bring her along on this trip, instead of one later on. Of course, she had to have known that dealing with a man from the opposite side there would be things he did to her own people... but bringing her along on them? She wasn't a traitor... her older brother had died in this war...
Climbing into the passenger side, Juron closed the door and stared down at the papers on the dashboard. Could she back out now? Tell him, sorry but.. she wasn't interested? What if he decided then that she definitely wasn't someone he wanted running around. Knowing what he had done this night? Biting down on her lower lip, she thought for a bit, and realized she really couldn't do anything now. Looking up at Mikhail with as straight a face as she could she moved her mouth to speak, but shook her head looking ahead, out the window. Of course he was planning on killing them, and his success would be her fault.

Reaching the depot, she flashed the standing guard a smile and handed over the papers. She tried to keep the conversation between them short, giving quick answers. "We're just here to drop off some fuel." She finally said tilting her head to the back. The guard nodded his head, waving them through.

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Re: Untitled
« Reply #30 on: April 16, 2009, 07:21:24 PM »
Mikhail kept quiet, just as he had told her, while Juron was the one who opened her mouth whenever a soldier came to talk to them.  He knew alot of Norwegian, and so far she was doing well, saying the right things and not secretly trying to message her fellow countryman that the man next to her was in fact a Russian agent who was planning on blowing things up.
Turning the wheel to the left, he continued up the road and towards the warehouse where one last man checked their papers and allowed them access to its precious insides.  Considering the short road from the station entrance to the warehouse was packed with wandering soldiers, patrolling the surrounding area in fear of a surprise attack, the interior had a single man who directed them on where to park the truck.
Of course, Mikhail had his own idea of where the truck was to be stationed, and when the poor man told him off, he was quickly subdued and knocked out.

"All you got to do, Juron, is watch over my back.  You see anyone come in, or wonder what we're doing, you tell me quick.  Understand?"  She seemed to know what he meant, and strangely he felt as if he could trust her in what ever he asked the woman to do.  There was something about her, a determination to not allow herself to act foolish, or weak?  To show to him she was strong, and just as good as him in every department.

The whole thing took quicker than anticipated.  Mikhail climbed in to the back of the soft-top truck, pressed a couple of switches and jumped out.  "Right," he rubbed his hands, nodding to the front door where they had came in.  "Walk quick, just don't draw attention to yourself.  We got less than a minute to get as far away from here without them chasing after."
Pushing his hands in to the pockets of the stolen uniform, Mikhail casually left the warehouse and disappeared with Juron in to the darkness, listening to the exploding bonfire behind them.

Six months down the line, Juron had been reluctantly dragged on more and more night outs.  Although usually her role was to hide in the backdrop, or the occasional communication with Norwegian troops, she had been given an active role in the last few missions, proving she could handle difficult situations on her own.
He had been insistant on recieving every last one of the documents she still had, going as far as threatening to tear her home apart to look for them.  Sure, the papers were given to him but somehow he suspected there was still one hidden somewhere, but he never did question her on it.  The superiors believed that they had all the information, and that the unknown journalist was dead, so they were moderately happy.

Mikhail and Juron sat in the back of a 4x4 armoured jeep that had picked them up after yet another successful errand.  Although he had fired his gun a few times more than he would have liked, Mikhail was satisfied with the outcome.  Watching out the back window, he sighed at the site, realising they had taken a detour through what appeared to be a city in the midst of a conflict.
"This is the shortest way, I'm afraid."  Explained the driver, slowly travelling past a squad of Russian soldiers taking cover behind a pair of burnt out cars.  "32nd Infantry's been fighting in this town since last night, they're more or less just clearing up the idiots that decided to stay behind and f-"

CRASH.

There was a painful ringing, a horrible smell of burning and as the smoke began to clear, it was clear to Juron what had just happened.  The vehicle was ripped apart, crushed and smashed, a huge hole in the left hand side, and caught in the garbage of metal was two bodies.  Painted in red, not moving, eyes closed.

The driver of the 4x4.  And Mikhail Kirechenko.

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Re: Untitled
« Reply #31 on: April 17, 2009, 02:48:51 PM »
Their latest mission wasn't something Juron felt too good about being apart of. Of course, Mikhail hadn't given her too big of a part. Seeing as the whole death thing was still hard for Juron to cope with. Instead, the Russian had given her the usual job of staying out of the way and making sure nobody came snooping about while he did what he had to do. Which, this time was setting explosives in the basement of a large building. What the building was, she hadn't been too sure on. It was just... one of those buildings that someone else had an interest in and it was one you would walk past on a day to day basis, never wondering what was inside, or what it was about. But, this building Juron hadn't even known existed. So she figured it had something to do with something since Mikhail was out to destroy it... and those who remained inside.
The building to her, looked all but used. There were a few vehicles lying about and she saw a few shadows inside that indicated people were indeed inside. She wondered the importance, but didn't want to find out. She didn't want to know the lives of the people inside. Sometimes it made it easier. Not once, had she complained to Mikhail about the things he dragged her along to do. She did it all without much of a conversation, just did as she was told and left it at that. Sometimes after, depending on what they had done Mikhail would find her just sitting alone, staring off into nothing as she came to terms with what she had helped to do. It had all been her idea, and there was no turning back now. Juron knew she had to keep going with it. It was too late to look back, the only option was continuing forward.
A few gunshots came from inside, and each gunshot always made her worry, and wonder if that ment Mikhail wouldn't be coming out of the building. But as always, he did and the building was brought to the ground. And now they were on the back of the 4x4 sitting as they went through what appeared to be a warzone.
The next thing she knew, there was a lot of destruction. The smell of blood, smoke and fear curling through her joints as she tried to remain conscious. Juron had been thrown from the vehicle a good few feet and she could see Mikhail's frame still in the rubble painted in red. Her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the Norwegian girl struggled to stay conscious and move herself forward, towards Mikhail. He could still be alive, he could, but her body didn't want to obey and each limb felt like it was broken in fifteen different areas from the throw. Finally, her eyes slid closed.

The first sense that came back to the woman, was her hearing. She could hear murmurs and laughter from somewhere nearby, speaking in a language she didn't recognize. There was something hard, supporting the left side of her which gave Juron the impression that she was lying on her side. Groaning softly, she moved her hands and felt what could have been rope dig into her flesh. Letting out an exasperated sigh she opened her eyes, and found a concrete wall to meet her eyes. Where was she?... where was Mikhail?

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Re: Untitled Mission
« Reply #32 on: April 22, 2009, 06:41:10 PM »
"Hey, corporal... she's awake."  The Russian voice was high-pitched, from a young man's vocal cords that sounded like they hadn't broken in to a man's yet.  He stood close to her, crouching down, looking at her back from behind.  The uniform she wore indicated Russian, or on the Russian side at least.  Yet that didn't give her immunity to the harshness of war, and what women found happening to them when the front line came to their backyard.  "What'll I do with her?"

The corporal, who had been spoken to, stepped forward, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips and neaerly falling to the floor with each small movement he made with his mouth.  "We let her get up, don't we?"  His toe nudged the woman gently.  "Did you hear that?  I said you get up.  We gotta start with introductions."  His voice slowly began to snap, syllables louder, words shortened.  Another toe hit her with more force this time.  "You deaf?  Or just don't know what I'm saying?"
Of course, giving her a chance to actually get up herself would have been fairer, yet the corporal continued to bug her.  "Oh, I know your game.  Pretend you can't hear us, think that'll make us go away?"

The boy frowned, "You could give her a chance to actually speak, instead of getting pissed off at her for no reason."  He talked quietly, almost deliberatly hiding his statement under a hushed breath that no one could hear.
His corporal glared, but killed the conversation when a young woman of similar age to Juron ran in to the room, crying, pleading, begging for the gun to be pointed away from her.  "No, please!  You can't do this!  I'll do anything, not that, please!"  The word 'please' came up a few more times, her hands joined in to a praying action that disgusted the man who followed her in.
"What's wrong with her?"  Growled the corporal, walking over to the woman sitting on her knees, eyes closed, head nearly on the floor.  "Hey, listen... shh... shh... you don't want to do that favour for us?  That small little thing we've asked you to do... you don't want to do it?"
The woman shook her head quickly at his question.  A loud bang came.  She shook her head no more.  "Remind me to gag that one."  The corporal said about Juron.

On the floor next to Juron was a large stockpile of ammunition, belts equipped with bullets of all different sizes, a rucksack containing more things, including some grenades, gun magazines, and mines.  "You see this little collection of bullets here?  This is all for our friends just down the road, two straight blocks.  Unfortunately, the road is dangerous, there's mines, barbed wire, enemy soldiers watching over it... it's too risky for one of us to take it to them."  He held up the backpack.  "So that's why you are going to take it to them for us."

 

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Re: The Tamber Saga by Milady Kim
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Re: The Tamber Saga by Lord Palatine
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Re: The Tamber Saga by Milady Kim
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Re: The Tamber Saga by Lord Palatine
[May 19, 2018, 12:21:34 AM]


Re: The Tamber Saga by Milady Kim
[May 18, 2018, 11:44:55 PM]


Re: The Tamber Saga by Lord Palatine
[May 18, 2018, 11:08:14 PM]


Re: The Tamber Saga by Milady Kim
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Re: The Tamber Saga by Lord Palatine
[May 17, 2018, 11:48:39 PM]


Re: The Tamber Saga by Milady Kim
[May 17, 2018, 11:38:05 PM]


Re: The Tamber Saga by Lord Palatine
[May 17, 2018, 11:10:44 PM]


Re: The Tamber Saga by Milady Kim
[May 17, 2018, 11:06:29 PM]


Re: The Tamber Saga by Lord Palatine
[May 17, 2018, 10:33:01 PM]


Re: The Tamber Saga by Milady Kim
[May 11, 2018, 09:32:31 PM]

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