"This is a bad time to discuss employment backgrounds, Elena. Do you want nice-sounding lies? I can give you those. The truth, however? You can know it, but that will take two weeks of constant testing and a permanent job change. Truth is luxury, and the price is at an all-time high."
Elena finishes her jury-rigging and reattaches the panel cover. Turning the switch and nearly pulling off the choke-start button, the snowmachine sputters and spits out a foul mix of burning oil and mis-timed exhaust fumes. Giving the infernal machine a good kick, it conks out a few seconds later. Elena, noticably pissed, grabs the loaded Dragunov from Jess. She calmly slings the rifle over her shoulder, sits down on the machine's seat and lights another cigarette...all the while the mysterious stranger appears to have stopped his advance and the chopper approaches ever closer.
*Taking a long drag off her cigarette*
Elena keeps the cancerous smoke for what seems like a very unhealthly length of time before exhaling.
"We are...how do you American's say...fucked. Yes?"
"Not yet. When the chopper opens fire, we run out of ammo and the entire Chinese Army surrounds us and demands our unconditional surrender - THEN we're fucked."
Jess finally draws the Makarov.
"But I have to admit, it's a pretty close approximation. Now, please tell me your rifle has armor-piercing ammunition loaded."
"But I have to admit, it's a pretty close approximation. Now, please tell me your rifle has armor-piercing ammunition loaded."
It's unclear in the moonlight, but Jess is pretty sure Elena just rolled her eyes.
"Yes, of course! Perhaps in Chicago or Detroit, but you cannot just walk into a Russian store and buy armor-piercing ammunition. Besides...you do not need it when you aim for the cockpit. One high velocity round through the pilot's head and they will rethink their actions. But first, we kill the bastard who brought the chopper."
Elena spins her rifle about, drawing down on the mysterious stranger and fires. The figure takes a shot to his right leg, dropping'em to the snow.
"I am inclined to think even if he did, he's not going to using it right now..."
The helicopter's spotlight comes into view as it pans across the frozen landscape and towards our intrepid duo. It is hard to tell from the glare, but it appears not to be a gunship, rather a troop transport of some kind.
"I quickly learned in Chechnya, when you only have beets to eat...you make borscht. Check the man for anything useful before the chopper gets within range. They haven't fired yet which means whoever on board probably wants you alive."
Loose snow from the valley floor is whisked up as the helicopter approaches the buriel site.
Soft snow is crushes under Jess' foot, the mysterious stranger getting closer with every stride. The grimace and cursing announces her female persuastion to the downtrodden Agent. The woman's head rears up, looking towards Jess.
(In a distinctively Scottish accent)
"Yer stupid wench! I told'em we should've just offed yer when we hads the chance in Edinburgh. Now look where it's got me...shot in fooking leg, freezing me arse off in middle of fooking Siberia!"
"Ah, you Fawkes people warm my heart. I couldn't make it to Scotland in time, so you threw a surprise party for me. I'm touched, really touched. And because I'm so happy, I'll put off shooting you for a few seconds to ask what name you'd like on your tombstone."
Standing above the crippled Scot, Jess takes aim and drops the hammer.
The slug buries deep inside the woman's abdomen, her eyes rolling back as she goes into shock. She's not dead yet, but for intents and purposes...the wolves won't go hungry this night.
On her person, Jess finds:
-Cold Weather gear (slightly damaged)
-Beretta 9mm, 10 shots left
-Encrypted Radio
-Flaregun (2 shots)
Jess grabs the Beretta and stashes it for later; the flaregun goes into another pocket, and the encrypted radio finds it's rightful place on Jessica's head. She begins to make her way back to Elena as she presses the "Talk" button on the radio.
"I would like to let you folks know that I'm very, very unhappy with this situation."
Garbled chatter comes over the earpiece. A cursory look at the transmitter finds that the current channel requires a numbered sequence in order to use it.
The helicopter arrives on the scene about 50m away from the snowmachine and Elena, levelling off into a hover as rappelling lines drop out of either side. Ubiquitous armed commandos (4 total) descend down with Elena drawing a bead on its vulnerable cockpit.
Steady...Steady. Just give me something to shoot at.
Jess disables the radio in annoyance, then spies the chopper hovering over the frozen wasteland. At once, she reaches for the stashed Beretta, but neglects to put away the Makarov beforehand; as a result, she finds the Russian gun in herleft hand struggling to somehow make it's way into a pocket while her right hand already steadies on the 92F. Perplexed at her lack of proper coordination, she holds up both guns, her eyes darting from one hand to another while a smile slowly spreads over her face.
Oh, come on. It can't be THAT hard, right?
Still hefting both pistols, she begins to make her way back to Elena.
Commandoes land on the snow as Jess goes guns-akimbo. They move towards Elena in a 2x2 formation, alternating kneeling positions as each team approaches.
Still training her scope on the hovering chopper's windscreen, Elena seems recalcitrant at the oncoming band of Kalishnikov-wielding mercenaries. Rounds begin to whiz by, one ripping a hole in her coat, when she finally gets a bead on the pilot's head.
"Now you die!"
A bullet screams toward the chopper's cockpit, penetrating the glass and tearing a path of tumbling death via the flyboy's eyesocket. The downed pilot slumps over the stick with the helicopter lurches forward at a steep angle, his co-pilot struggling to maintain a semblance of control.
Elena raises her head above the rifle's scope, fully taking in the squad of men bearing down on them. The commandos drop to their stomachs, not wanting to be the next hash mark on the huntress' headcount.
Gatac
