"In the mess hall?" he muttered, to the pathologist.
The scene had become something of a spectacle. Soldiers had stopped eating to watch the two majors in MVD grey. Conversations around the tables hummed low and furtive. Taras stood straighter, instinctively, broad shoulders pulling taut under his uniform. His gloved hands curled loosely at his sides.
They were not touching now, Liadov and Isaev, but stood at odds, like lean wolves establishing dominance. It was unclear who had won.
no subject
"In the mess hall?" he muttered, to the pathologist.
The scene had become something of a spectacle. Soldiers had stopped eating to watch the two majors in MVD grey. Conversations around the tables hummed low and furtive. Taras stood straighter, instinctively, broad shoulders pulling taut under his uniform. His gloved hands curled loosely at his sides.
They were not touching now, Liadov and Isaev, but stood at odds, like lean wolves establishing dominance. It was unclear who had won.
Taras looked between them, briefly.
"Are you done, Liadov?"