[Witches' Horses] Sibir
Title: new command, new responsibilities
'Verse/characters: Sibir; Stas, Sergeievich
Prompt: 34A "the lucky"
Word Count: 1841
Notes: Between new arrival and forms, forms, and more forms.
Vocab: Rotmistr is a captain of calvary; two man horses are crewed by two men, fives can be crewed up to five, seven up to seven but in this case they're lower numbers to make space for survivors.
Mat (pronounced maht) is about as far from polite as you can get.
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He'd just popped his chin strap when the singer said "Stanislav" in his captain's non-nonsense tones.
Reaching forward to flip the toggle back to its battle-open position, pouring as much cheer as he could into his own voice he replied "Sir?"
"We just got the all-clear for retrieval and salvage," Captain Sergeievich told him, and if he was hearing right there was a not-yet-spoken 'Are you up for this, or do I need to delegate to someone else?'
"Want me on guard or on retrieval, sir?" he asked as he put his chin-strap back into place, before he could second-guess the decision or the captain could actually ask the question. He was already starting the run-up sequence to getting his two-man back out of the stable, when "Guard, unless you want to swap horses," Sergeievich replied, and Stas could hear similar checklist clicks and chocks through the connection. "I've got a five, we'll be meeting a couple of sevens out there, along with a few others. Rotmistr Gregorovich is sending the sevens. Wait for your gunner, Lievtenant."
Stas blinked at the pickup. His captain was actually--all right. He shook his head once, reminding himself about the stories, and kicked himself back in the saddle to wait. "How many I got for guard?" he asked as he heard the crashing noises that always accompanied Andrei Olegovich getting settled.
"As of right now three other twos and a five," Sergeievich said as Andrei drummed his all-ready, "you have command." Which meant his companions were either lower ranks or not in Sergeievich's druzhina; either way he had some signal matching to do. "Sir," he acknowledged automatically, and took his horse out of the stable.
His mini-band met him up-axis, syncing up channels and rotations with the ease of long practice. Captain Gregorovich had sent the five and one of the twos--highest rank sergeant--and the rest were from Sergeievich's. Good enough. If he hadn't been drinking with them already he probably would be later.
He sent the twos on the longer runs, their extra speed enough of a difference that they beat the heavier horses out to the battlefield. The five he had scheduled for the area farther away from the zastavas they'd come from--harder to run in case they needed to, but the bigger guns would give the rest of them a chance at flanking whatever unpleasant surprise might come out of the black.
"We've got two dead--no heat--and one with signs of life," Gregorovich's two-riding nickel reported as the twos finished their first pass, curving back under the debris field to do another pass.
"Ordinance?" he asked as he arrived himself, marking the map he was sharing with his captain with the dead and the injured horse information. He flipped his horse in a good slow three sixty, watching as his horse's mirror lit with navigation-hazards and the names of the horses close enough--and complete enough--to identify.
"Nothing so far," the nickel replied, doing his own rotation on the other side of the field. "Might be something mixed in with the pieces, but if it's live I'm not getting it."
"All right," Stas said, and sent them back to escort the Captain's group while he did a few sweeps himself.
By the time the bigger horses got there, he and the other twos had a map of three quarters of the field, and he'd sent the sergeant to go try to retrieve the survivors from the horse that finished dying as they circled past it.
"Hey Boss," he said automatically when Sergeievich came up within immediate-ping range again. "Map's current, and Tymshenko's trying to get whoever's left from Yaroslav's twenty-two. He could probably use a hand." Too late to take back the greeting, he remembered that he'd picked up that habit with Captain Ivanov, not this one. Still picturing Sergeievich mouthing 'Boss?' in silent bafflement, he rolled the horse over on her axis and pinged a query off his long-patrol five.
A reassuring 'nothing moving' came back as Sergeievich said "Thank you, Stanislav. Any chatter back from the wounded?"
"Couple using their lev's codes, 'bout six coming in with a sergeant's--I'd guess they lost the sergeant," he replied after checking the log. "I had Tymshenko on reply, but he's busy right now."
"That's fine. I'll take over--it's looking like Sergeant Tymshenko may need to tow that horse in."
"Sir?" Stas heard himself asking without permission from his brain.
"I'm perfectly capable of maintaining course corrections while my crew do retrieval, if that's what you're asking, Lievtenant," his captain replied coolly, and Stas winced.
"No, sir," he protested quickly, "--I'm just used to sergeants or levs on immediate-reply duty." Andrei, obviously listening in, clanged what sounded like a shell casing on the horse's skeleton, making the strut behind Stas' head ring, and he fought the urge to cover his eyes with his hand. "Sir?"
"Yes, Lievetanant?"
"I'm just going to leave my foot in my mouth, if that's alright with you, and go ask Tymshenko if he's alright with towing that horse back to the stable."
If he'd had any other captain, he might have gotten a snort of laughter in reply, but if he'd been talking to any other captain he wouldn't have shoved his foot in his mouth in the first place. "Sergeant Tymshenko says he's fine to tow--assuming I'm understanding his command of mat correctly," Sergeievich said, "and that he thinks he can take that partial horse between him and Twelve Fridays with him. I'm unconvinced he should be towing a live one with a dead."
"Tymshenko," Stas was saying into the guard-channel before Sergeievich was finished, "just take the kid and go. He's got to be getting cold by now."
"Sir," Tymshenko acknowledged grudgingly, and clicked off. Stas watched as the horse pulled away from the field, ducking gracefully under the partial horse as a slow enough speed the dead horse didn't even wobble as it changed rotation and started to accelerate in response to Tymshenko's tow-cable.
"How we doin', Vanya?" Stas asked the five again, and tried not to watch as logged conversation started rolling down the command mirror, Sergeievich as good as his word about his ability to multitask.
"No heat, no movement," Vanya said after a beat, "How's body-catching?"
"Faster than expected," Stas admitted, watching the map update. "Captain do this a lot?"
"Tymshenko says so," Vanya replied, "'s my first time."
"Mine, too--well, here. Lot less organised out my way," as the map updated again, several possible-lifes going out and one they hadn't spotted lighting. "You good for towing debris?"
"Ilya says yeah. You going to play rearguard, or are we?"
"I will," Stas said. "You've got more towing capacity than I do anyway."
"Sir," Vanya acknowledged cheerfully. "Just let us know when."
"Ten minutes assuming they keep up the pace," Stas told him, "but keep an eye out just in case. I'd hate to have those poor bastards get tossed to the black twice."
Five minutes later, he pinged Sergeievich. "Want me on one end of a drag net?"
"Not yet," Sergeievich replied, half absently. "We have four more horses to clear; once we're done, yes, and pull in that five."
"I was planning to have him take the net, have me on rear-guard," Stas mentioned, pinging the still-patrolling twos to let them know timing.
"You were?" Sergeievich asked, startled into full attention if his voice was any clue, and Stas wished he could give the man an incredulous look. Wasn't that a reasonable division of--"Yes, better that five than a pair of twos. Well done, Lev."
"Thank you, sir," Stas said, feeling a lot more cheerful than he had a few minutes ago. "I'll call in the five once we're set to drag."
"Two more horses to clear," and more than one body, if the command-mirror was right, "then you're clear."
The dragging went as well as could be expected. Vanya's reflexes weren't quite as good as Stas had expected, so they had a few minutes of trying to retrieve the end of the tow cable for the five--the rest of the two groups already on their way back to camp--before it was handed off and Stas could focus on a proper rear-guard's set of mirrors.
He set the horse down with the gentleness he always did when he was tired, and Andrei stuck his head up in to ask if he should save a seat near the beer for Stas.
"Nah," he replied, waving off his gunner. "Gotta go check in with Rotmistr."
Andrei laughed his nasal, echoey laugh. "Good luck with that."
Stas didn't bother replying, just popped his chin strap for the second time that afternoon and went through the run-down sequence, flicking down toggles and powering off mirrors. Aside from his spine popping in seven places when he eased himself out of the saddle, he had a clean "Nothing to report" to hand to the stablehand, and frankly his spine had very little to do with his horse and a lot to do with how long he'd been in the saddle.
It was a bit sad when some other captain's sergeant was easier to find than your own damn captain, but Tymshenko gave him two places to start, which was more than he'd had when the page went unanswered. Since engineering was easier to get to immediately than the infirmary, he tried there first, scratching underneath his hair at where sweat had dried to his scalp.
Sure enough, there Sergeievich was, handing off chain of possession paperwork to one of the horse-engineers. Bastard didn't even have scuff falling out of his braid, Stas thought heatlessly as he fell in at the Captain's right shoulder.
Sergeievich didn't even twitch when he registered Stas' presence, just flicked a peripheral glance up and down him, then looked back at the engineer, nodding as the man detailed the whole mess the riders had brought back. Stas somehow wasn't surprised that Sergeievich had the whole list memorised.
After the papers were signed, Sergeievich headed back out of engineering, sparing a glance each for one of the larger horses--Stas thought it might have been one of theirs, earlier in the day, but it was hard to tell--and Stas himself.
"I'm supposed to give you an after-report," Stas said once they were out in the hallway and Sergeievich had given him a slightly more questioning glance as Stas started following him towards what he thought was probably the infirmary.
"Before or after you fall asleep on your feet?" Sergeievich asked, tone just barely dry humour instead of unamused machine.
"I was thinking before," Stas said, trying for cheerful. "I'm not very coherent when I talk in my sleep."
He was pretty sure he saw his Captain's lip twitch in a suppressed smile, so he continued "I mean, I could try, and I think a couple of the sergeants have submitted reports when they were asleep or at the very least drunk--"
"That won't be necessary, Stanislav," Sergeievich interrupted.
"'Stas'," Stas corrected him, grinning. "Trust me, it's easier."
'Verse/characters: Sibir; Stas, Sergeievich
Prompt: 34A "the lucky"
Word Count: 1841
Notes: Between new arrival and forms, forms, and more forms.
Vocab: Rotmistr is a captain of calvary; two man horses are crewed by two men, fives can be crewed up to five, seven up to seven but in this case they're lower numbers to make space for survivors.
Mat (pronounced maht) is about as far from polite as you can get.
---------
He'd just popped his chin strap when the singer said "Stanislav" in his captain's non-nonsense tones.
Reaching forward to flip the toggle back to its battle-open position, pouring as much cheer as he could into his own voice he replied "Sir?"
"We just got the all-clear for retrieval and salvage," Captain Sergeievich told him, and if he was hearing right there was a not-yet-spoken 'Are you up for this, or do I need to delegate to someone else?'
"Want me on guard or on retrieval, sir?" he asked as he put his chin-strap back into place, before he could second-guess the decision or the captain could actually ask the question. He was already starting the run-up sequence to getting his two-man back out of the stable, when "Guard, unless you want to swap horses," Sergeievich replied, and Stas could hear similar checklist clicks and chocks through the connection. "I've got a five, we'll be meeting a couple of sevens out there, along with a few others. Rotmistr Gregorovich is sending the sevens. Wait for your gunner, Lievtenant."
Stas blinked at the pickup. His captain was actually--all right. He shook his head once, reminding himself about the stories, and kicked himself back in the saddle to wait. "How many I got for guard?" he asked as he heard the crashing noises that always accompanied Andrei Olegovich getting settled.
"As of right now three other twos and a five," Sergeievich said as Andrei drummed his all-ready, "you have command." Which meant his companions were either lower ranks or not in Sergeievich's druzhina; either way he had some signal matching to do. "Sir," he acknowledged automatically, and took his horse out of the stable.
His mini-band met him up-axis, syncing up channels and rotations with the ease of long practice. Captain Gregorovich had sent the five and one of the twos--highest rank sergeant--and the rest were from Sergeievich's. Good enough. If he hadn't been drinking with them already he probably would be later.
He sent the twos on the longer runs, their extra speed enough of a difference that they beat the heavier horses out to the battlefield. The five he had scheduled for the area farther away from the zastavas they'd come from--harder to run in case they needed to, but the bigger guns would give the rest of them a chance at flanking whatever unpleasant surprise might come out of the black.
"We've got two dead--no heat--and one with signs of life," Gregorovich's two-riding nickel reported as the twos finished their first pass, curving back under the debris field to do another pass.
"Ordinance?" he asked as he arrived himself, marking the map he was sharing with his captain with the dead and the injured horse information. He flipped his horse in a good slow three sixty, watching as his horse's mirror lit with navigation-hazards and the names of the horses close enough--and complete enough--to identify.
"Nothing so far," the nickel replied, doing his own rotation on the other side of the field. "Might be something mixed in with the pieces, but if it's live I'm not getting it."
"All right," Stas said, and sent them back to escort the Captain's group while he did a few sweeps himself.
By the time the bigger horses got there, he and the other twos had a map of three quarters of the field, and he'd sent the sergeant to go try to retrieve the survivors from the horse that finished dying as they circled past it.
"Hey Boss," he said automatically when Sergeievich came up within immediate-ping range again. "Map's current, and Tymshenko's trying to get whoever's left from Yaroslav's twenty-two. He could probably use a hand." Too late to take back the greeting, he remembered that he'd picked up that habit with Captain Ivanov, not this one. Still picturing Sergeievich mouthing 'Boss?' in silent bafflement, he rolled the horse over on her axis and pinged a query off his long-patrol five.
A reassuring 'nothing moving' came back as Sergeievich said "Thank you, Stanislav. Any chatter back from the wounded?"
"Couple using their lev's codes, 'bout six coming in with a sergeant's--I'd guess they lost the sergeant," he replied after checking the log. "I had Tymshenko on reply, but he's busy right now."
"That's fine. I'll take over--it's looking like Sergeant Tymshenko may need to tow that horse in."
"Sir?" Stas heard himself asking without permission from his brain.
"I'm perfectly capable of maintaining course corrections while my crew do retrieval, if that's what you're asking, Lievtenant," his captain replied coolly, and Stas winced.
"No, sir," he protested quickly, "--I'm just used to sergeants or levs on immediate-reply duty." Andrei, obviously listening in, clanged what sounded like a shell casing on the horse's skeleton, making the strut behind Stas' head ring, and he fought the urge to cover his eyes with his hand. "Sir?"
"Yes, Lievetanant?"
"I'm just going to leave my foot in my mouth, if that's alright with you, and go ask Tymshenko if he's alright with towing that horse back to the stable."
If he'd had any other captain, he might have gotten a snort of laughter in reply, but if he'd been talking to any other captain he wouldn't have shoved his foot in his mouth in the first place. "Sergeant Tymshenko says he's fine to tow--assuming I'm understanding his command of mat correctly," Sergeievich said, "and that he thinks he can take that partial horse between him and Twelve Fridays with him. I'm unconvinced he should be towing a live one with a dead."
"Tymshenko," Stas was saying into the guard-channel before Sergeievich was finished, "just take the kid and go. He's got to be getting cold by now."
"Sir," Tymshenko acknowledged grudgingly, and clicked off. Stas watched as the horse pulled away from the field, ducking gracefully under the partial horse as a slow enough speed the dead horse didn't even wobble as it changed rotation and started to accelerate in response to Tymshenko's tow-cable.
"How we doin', Vanya?" Stas asked the five again, and tried not to watch as logged conversation started rolling down the command mirror, Sergeievich as good as his word about his ability to multitask.
"No heat, no movement," Vanya said after a beat, "How's body-catching?"
"Faster than expected," Stas admitted, watching the map update. "Captain do this a lot?"
"Tymshenko says so," Vanya replied, "'s my first time."
"Mine, too--well, here. Lot less organised out my way," as the map updated again, several possible-lifes going out and one they hadn't spotted lighting. "You good for towing debris?"
"Ilya says yeah. You going to play rearguard, or are we?"
"I will," Stas said. "You've got more towing capacity than I do anyway."
"Sir," Vanya acknowledged cheerfully. "Just let us know when."
"Ten minutes assuming they keep up the pace," Stas told him, "but keep an eye out just in case. I'd hate to have those poor bastards get tossed to the black twice."
Five minutes later, he pinged Sergeievich. "Want me on one end of a drag net?"
"Not yet," Sergeievich replied, half absently. "We have four more horses to clear; once we're done, yes, and pull in that five."
"I was planning to have him take the net, have me on rear-guard," Stas mentioned, pinging the still-patrolling twos to let them know timing.
"You were?" Sergeievich asked, startled into full attention if his voice was any clue, and Stas wished he could give the man an incredulous look. Wasn't that a reasonable division of--"Yes, better that five than a pair of twos. Well done, Lev."
"Thank you, sir," Stas said, feeling a lot more cheerful than he had a few minutes ago. "I'll call in the five once we're set to drag."
"Two more horses to clear," and more than one body, if the command-mirror was right, "then you're clear."
The dragging went as well as could be expected. Vanya's reflexes weren't quite as good as Stas had expected, so they had a few minutes of trying to retrieve the end of the tow cable for the five--the rest of the two groups already on their way back to camp--before it was handed off and Stas could focus on a proper rear-guard's set of mirrors.
He set the horse down with the gentleness he always did when he was tired, and Andrei stuck his head up in to ask if he should save a seat near the beer for Stas.
"Nah," he replied, waving off his gunner. "Gotta go check in with Rotmistr."
Andrei laughed his nasal, echoey laugh. "Good luck with that."
Stas didn't bother replying, just popped his chin strap for the second time that afternoon and went through the run-down sequence, flicking down toggles and powering off mirrors. Aside from his spine popping in seven places when he eased himself out of the saddle, he had a clean "Nothing to report" to hand to the stablehand, and frankly his spine had very little to do with his horse and a lot to do with how long he'd been in the saddle.
It was a bit sad when some other captain's sergeant was easier to find than your own damn captain, but Tymshenko gave him two places to start, which was more than he'd had when the page went unanswered. Since engineering was easier to get to immediately than the infirmary, he tried there first, scratching underneath his hair at where sweat had dried to his scalp.
Sure enough, there Sergeievich was, handing off chain of possession paperwork to one of the horse-engineers. Bastard didn't even have scuff falling out of his braid, Stas thought heatlessly as he fell in at the Captain's right shoulder.
Sergeievich didn't even twitch when he registered Stas' presence, just flicked a peripheral glance up and down him, then looked back at the engineer, nodding as the man detailed the whole mess the riders had brought back. Stas somehow wasn't surprised that Sergeievich had the whole list memorised.
After the papers were signed, Sergeievich headed back out of engineering, sparing a glance each for one of the larger horses--Stas thought it might have been one of theirs, earlier in the day, but it was hard to tell--and Stas himself.
"I'm supposed to give you an after-report," Stas said once they were out in the hallway and Sergeievich had given him a slightly more questioning glance as Stas started following him towards what he thought was probably the infirmary.
"Before or after you fall asleep on your feet?" Sergeievich asked, tone just barely dry humour instead of unamused machine.
"I was thinking before," Stas said, trying for cheerful. "I'm not very coherent when I talk in my sleep."
He was pretty sure he saw his Captain's lip twitch in a suppressed smile, so he continued "I mean, I could try, and I think a couple of the sergeants have submitted reports when they were asleep or at the very least drunk--"
"That won't be necessary, Stanislav," Sergeievich interrupted.
"'Stas'," Stas corrected him, grinning. "Trust me, it's easier."