[color=lightgreen][center][h3][i][b]Day 2: 00:31:21
Grestin Monastery,
Somewhere overlooking the the village of Pristupin,
Libor Province,
Republic of Polavia
[/b][/i][/h3][/center][/color][center][b][h3][i]Borys Skala[/i][/h3][/b][/center][hr]
Borys took several deep breaths, verifying his ribs were bruised but not broken and turned to give Felix a thumbs up when he called for sitreps when he got shot again.

He gave up on trying to get back to his feet when his first attempt was thwarted by another round, instead crawling around his rock pile to try to get himself out of the way, glancing at the wine bottle in his vest with every subsequent bullet impact.

He must’ve seen that bottle 20 times in half as many seconds.

At last, the fight was over, Borys finally getting up as he sniffed the air. “Someone’s making shashliki?” He asked, seemingly completely missing and having to be made aware of the forest fire heating up behind them.

Getting to the ruined monastery hadn’t been that hard, the team walking slowly enough to let him mostly keep pace. But two dozen bullet impacts later, with the lingering mental wobble of still having Oksana’s vessel on him and now having to run like he was stealing chrome parts off a Zhiguli and got caught by the owner was a bit much for someone in his state and with the length of his legs. He had finally caught up the 30-odd meters when the team got held up by a ditch, heaving air and wincing at the pain in his ribs that shot through his arcane alcoholism’s increased tolerance. He took a breath and a few steps back to get a running start - or what would pass for one, anyway - when he felt an upwards pull on the back of his vest.

He realized what was happening. He wouldn’t have thought of it, but he saw it happen.

The fucking gall of the pussycat…

The absolute balls on this motherfucker.

“The mirror, mirror, debil!” Borys protested as he got yeeted over the ditch, sprawling out on landing and face planting into the dirt instead of the instinctive tuck and roll he would have attempted normally had he not also foreseen the sounds of cracking glass.

He hit the dirt when the Dushka started barking, knowing full well there was no walking away from that one. He was just trying to think of what to do about that when Silas ran up, the punch doing to the pain in his ribs what PSA used to do to human rights - making them disappear without a trace.

Then, an idea.

Borys took a magazine out of his pouch and pitched it in the UAZ’ general direction like a grenade, using the distraction and Keodis’ support fire to move over to where Felix was holed up. He grabbed Felix’ arm, probably messing up a few shots as he pulled him back behind cover. “Got an idea.” He said like it would explain anything and waited for Felix to ask what it was before raising Svetlana up and bringing her down fast, smacking the shovel-stock into Felix’ stomach as hard as he could with one hand while shoving his finger in the DSR operative’s throat to get him to throw up and do his lion thing.

In Borys’ plastered mind, it was a solid plan.

And also quid pro quo for getting picked up like a wet cat.

And Oksana could probably thank her guardian angels for the chaos of the Dushka not letting her see 17 versions of it.