Two Chechnyans hauled Natalya out of the chair as the SAS with the broken nose strode toward them down the hall. He stopped in her font her, struck her across the face with the back of his hand, then curled it into an easy fist and punched hit her again, snapping her head down and forward.
"End of the hall," he told the two keeping Natalya on her feet. He caught her hair and pulled up so he could look her in the eye for a moment.
"Not a bad gamble, sweetheart, but hardly worth what I'm going to do to you, now." He shoved her head down again as they dragged her down the hall, away from Yorick and Sam. Natalya turned her head, tried to get a level look at Yorick to somehow convey that he needed to be patient, and just wait, and be smart, but seeing the movement the SAS reached out, grabbed her upper arm so his fingers landed where the skin was the most traumatized, and squeezed. She screamed.
It hurt.
The world blurred and dimmed with the sudden onslaught of pain and her knees gave out. It didn't slow their progress. A door was kicked open at the end of the hall- there was the door to the outside, the stairs up, and another door that she only remembered vaguely. She hadn't gone through it the first time. She was going to go through it now.
Natalya tried to find her feet, to turn and look back at Yorick and same, but they jerked her forward and shoved her, struggling, into the small concrete room. She knew with absolute certainty that she was going to die, but the chiefest concern then became- how the hell were Yorick and Sam going to make it out alive?
She leaned heavily against the wall, and tried to listen through the ringing in her ears for sounds of a struggle down the hall. The ex-SAS officer was in her field of vision suddenly, and she reacted. She focused, tried to think about shutting down all the pain receptors in her brain, tried to think of the armor under skin, the armor of her training that had, once, been stronger than almost anything else in her arsenal.
Almost.
She surged forward, driving her body into him and knocking him against the concrete wall, and started in on him with every angle she could use, her knees and elbows and skull. There were hands on her, pulling her back, and she lashed out at those too. She was hurt, badly, and it wasn't the most graceful assault she'd ever launched, but goddamnit if she could pull off enough of a distraction to give the two men in the cells down the hall the chance of getting out, it didn't matter.
There was a distinctive click and she whipped around, bringing her knee up to knock the pistol out of the Checnyan's hand, and there was another click and the ex-SAS officer had raised his sidearm.
She'd been shot before, lots of times, but never at point blank range. The bullet struck her and she almost felt it, for a moment, felt a tiny spot of cold against her forehead, and then everything went white.
She was lying in the snow on a hillside, among drifts and heavily-laden trees. There was a low concrete building half buried in the stuff in the small box canyon below her. Seven figures, barely discernible against the ground in their white snowsuits, white and grey encasements on their guns and flashbombs, moved toward it.
"....schto?!" she hissed, recoiling and looking around at the pristine wintry landscape. She looked back down.
How how how how how?
Without thinking, she jumped up and ran, crouched, rifle held in close to her, to a rock outcrop some ways down and all but threw herself down the hill toward the tree cover behind where Sam and Yorick were flanking the rest of the platoon.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-07-27 12:15 am (UTC)"End of the hall," he told the two keeping Natalya on her feet. He caught her hair and pulled up so he could look her in the eye for a moment.
"Not a bad gamble, sweetheart, but hardly worth what I'm going to do to you, now." He shoved her head down again as they dragged her down the hall, away from Yorick and Sam. Natalya turned her head, tried to get a level look at Yorick to somehow convey that he needed to be patient, and just wait, and be smart, but seeing the movement the SAS reached out, grabbed her upper arm so his fingers landed where the skin was the most traumatized, and squeezed. She screamed.
It hurt.
The world blurred and dimmed with the sudden onslaught of pain and her knees gave out. It didn't slow their progress. A door was kicked open at the end of the hall- there was the door to the outside, the stairs up, and another door that she only remembered vaguely. She hadn't gone through it the first time. She was going to go through it now.
Natalya tried to find her feet, to turn and look back at Yorick and same, but they jerked her forward and shoved her, struggling, into the small concrete room. She knew with absolute certainty that she was going to die, but the chiefest concern then became- how the hell were Yorick and Sam going to make it out alive?
She leaned heavily against the wall, and tried to listen through the ringing in her ears for sounds of a struggle down the hall. The ex-SAS officer was in her field of vision suddenly, and she reacted. She focused, tried to think about shutting down all the pain receptors in her brain, tried to think of the armor under skin, the armor of her training that had, once, been stronger than almost anything else in her arsenal.
Almost.
She surged forward, driving her body into him and knocking him against the concrete wall, and started in on him with every angle she could use, her knees and elbows and skull. There were hands on her, pulling her back, and she lashed out at those too. She was hurt, badly, and it wasn't the most graceful assault she'd ever launched, but goddamnit if she could pull off enough of a distraction to give the two men in the cells down the hall the chance of getting out, it didn't matter.
There was a distinctive click and she whipped around, bringing her knee up to knock the pistol out of the Checnyan's hand, and there was another click and the ex-SAS officer had raised his sidearm.
She'd been shot before, lots of times, but never at point blank range. The bullet struck her and she almost felt it, for a moment, felt a tiny spot of cold against her forehead, and then everything went white.
She was lying in the snow on a hillside, among drifts and heavily-laden trees. There was a low concrete building half buried in the stuff in the small box canyon below her. Seven figures, barely discernible against the ground in their white snowsuits, white and grey encasements on their guns and flashbombs, moved toward it.
"....schto?!" she hissed, recoiling and looking around at the pristine wintry landscape. She looked back down.
How how how how how?
Without thinking, she jumped up and ran, crouched, rifle held in close to her, to a rock outcrop some ways down and all but threw herself down the hill toward the tree cover behind where Sam and Yorick were flanking the rest of the platoon.