LazarusBoard

Despite falling many times faster than most Cossack fighters could dive, the ride aboard the Leonist F77 was smooth as it descended from the atmosphere in a steep descent. Taras Fomenko checked his straps agitatedly even though they were the safest ones he had ever had; but if they were Cossack-made, they would have had an ever-present chance to fail. But he was still more nervous by returning to his homeland. It had been just over a year since the First Battle of the Cossack Strait, where he had been fished out of the water from the wreckage of the corvette збитний and brought back to holding facilities in Leonism. There, after he had naturalized, he was swept away by the cleanliness of the air, the taste of the food, and the overall contentment he found in their company-- every idealism of a Cossack back in his homeland was a reality in Leonism.

But even though he was but a sailor, Leonism needed ex-Cossacks with military experience and he knew the lay of the land.

A flashing indicator near the rear of the craft let him know they were close to drop off-- Fomenko forcibly sucked in air through his nose and exhaled through his mouth and cast a glance to those around him. There were a few other Cossacks around him in the hold of the F77-- from what he knew, also part of the navy though certainly not from any vessel he had served on. Some of them had managed to doze off while waiting for their drop point, while others sat in a state of near-awakeness, refusing to sleep.

The roar of the winds grew louder and louder until the indicator made a final flash and changed color before the craft rocked in a mighty thump and the wind stopped. Taras surged forward, quickly undoing his harness and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and dashing down the lowering ramp. Within moments, the ramp closed behind him and the craft once again made off, leaving him in what looked to be an old sawmill.

The sky was still dark, and the chilly air was filled with the sounds of crickets from the darkness of the nearby treeline, who had prematurely hatched without anticipating the dying throes of the Cossack winter that came in unseasonal frosts. The stars shone out here, which provided Taras with much more visibility than he had hoped for.

Taking a moment to account for his surroundings, he fastened his bag around his shoulders and began to make his way across the field of stumps. He had been deployed somewhere east of St. Timofeyevich; he should be able to link up with one of the major roads and head towards civilization.

In his bag, which although unusually plain was otherwise quite inconspicuous, Fomenko carried various survival implements and supplies; as well as a pair of glare-free binoculars, a small radio signal direction-finding and COMINT device, a long-distance mobile phone, and a single P95 handgun complete with two magazines and a silencer.

He was to gather intelligence of one of the sides in the civil war, making observations and intercepting communications before reporting back to his handlers on what he had found-- his mission was strictly surveillance, as he had been instructed time and time again.

Finding the road he was looking for, he began his travels. As Taras progressed and the night began to turn away, he began to hear the whispers of the thunders of battle far over the horizon. He shuddered-- it was not the homecoming he had expected.