Cranberry syrup or the mission in Russia!

I can't say I wasn't expecting something like this, but the sweep and grasp with which Nicole began to act was impressive. Fury had handled the information efficiently-not twenty hours from the second I'd stepped into her office, and she was already ready to grab at the neck of her prey with a predator's dead grip. Even Nicholas, whom I once got to know somewhat closer than I would have liked, couldn't have done better. This allows me to hope that my choice - not to lurk and wait for the story to go the route I already knew, but to come to her - was the right one. And maybe at least in this version it will succeed in destroying Hydra once and for all, rather than chopping off heads one by one, long and painfully.

Speaking of Hydra heads.

Despite all the dirt that has fallen into the hands of the director, she reasonably fears that it will not prove sufficient in all cases. After all, in addition to, and often because of, Hydra's involvement, many of these bastards have high social status and occupy positions of power, with many privileges, such as diplomatic immunity and the like. And then there are cadres like the one who was the target of our mission.

And here we are - me, Romanoff and two other female operatives of approximately Slavic appearance - here, on the other side of the world, preparing to conduct the capture of Vasilisa Karpova. However, when I say we, I exaggerate a little. Strictly speaking, so far no help has been required from either Peter Parker or Spider-Man. The agents themselves, not with words, no, but with attitude and innuendo, had made it clear that they knew their jobs and that the boy's presence on the mission was a silly whim of his superiors, and that it would be better for the boy to keep his head down and not interfere with the professionals. So, by and large, I just try not to get in the way of Romanoff and her capture team. I'm even inclined to believe that the director sent me to the other end of the world, just so I could not interfere with her grand plan to destroy Hydra - she still considers me too suspicious and dangerous...

So, Vasilisa... what a beautiful name... originally we were going to catch Karpova on our return home, the only thing was that no one was waiting for her there except her dog and housekeeper, but the woman clearly did not intend to rest: as soon as the flight formalities were settled, the colonel urgently called her personal driver from leave and left her military unit, where she held the post of Chief of Staff.

Although we didn't know exactly where our target was going, it wasn't hard to set up an ambush along the way. Especially considering the route Karpova had chosen. For some reason the colonel drove her car away from any settled places, through impassable forests, taking us closer to the mountains and further away from people.

"Ready in two minutes," says Quinjet, the pilot, who also served as navigator during the mission and was guided by the plane's precision instruments.

Soon a black Soviet sedan - a Volga, if I'm not mistaken - with a black four-digit military license plate shows up around a curve. As before, I leave it to the professionals to do their direct work.

In the beginning, everything goes according to plan. A Soviet off-road vehicle (a Niva, I think) stops in the middle of the countryside because of a flat tire, which, according to the legend, forces the driver of the Colonel's Volga to stop. Larissa and I - a short, I would even say stocky woman with a large, clean and certainly beautiful face - pretend to be angry and frozen wayfarers in order to distract the target's attention. Romanoff and Daria, a blond girl with fine features, lively eyebrows, a quick smile, and clear blue eyes, took shelter on opposite sides of the road. A classic ambush, a grandfather's method, invented in the Middle Ages, which, nevertheless, is still effective.

Except that in addition to Vasilisa and her driver, there is a third person in the car. A woman soldier, at the sight of which my sixth sense begins to move, giving warning signs. Having thrown the driver out in the cold - a very young girl in a cap and ideally tuned staff soldier's uniform - the extra passenger also leaves the car and clearly prepares for unpleasant surprises, carefully observing the surroundings and looking in our direction. Karpova, annoyed by the stop, rages and orders her companion to go and help the driver clear the passage, but the woman pays no attention to her.

The unknown one is the colonel's security, I realize. Except that earlier Karpova, as far as we know, preferred to do without an escort.

It soon becomes clear that the spidey senses were signaling for a reason. The attempt to disarm Karpova's guards proves to be a failure. I do not know how, maybe she also has some premonitions, but the woman manages to react to Daria's shot almost before she pulls the trigger. The dart with the sleeping pills just grazes impotently on the roof of the Volga.

The soldier shifts sharply to the side, takes cover behind the car, and immediately returns fire into the thicket of the forest with his pistol. And effective fire, judging by the short shriek that came from behind the trees.

Shit, and I just thought the operation would go smoothly. I barely managed to get my partner in misfortune on the ground before the bullets started pounding on the back of the Niva - Colonel Karpova didn't take long to contemplate the situation. Covered by the passenger door, Vasilisa opened fire in our direction.

Belatedly, Romanoff intervenes in the fight. Natasha manages to get up close to the Volga undetected and deftly disarm Vasilisa, so carelessly stuck out of the car. Karpova's companion immediately switches her attention to her new adversary.

Meanwhile, an enraged Larissa, spitting away the dirty and wet snow - I was somewhat careless in yanking her out from under the bullets - pulls her gun from her holster, her eyes fixed on the back of the girl running hastily away from the gunfight. She was an unwitting accomplice to Karpova, but she can't be killed for that! Even I realize that this girl is just unlucky that the colonel she is driving is a Hydra agent.

"I'll catch her, help Natasha," I say to my companion, before I rush after the driver.

I understand from Larissa's displeased face that the girl is ready to send me away, but the situation does not dispose to bicker, and she, leaving her indignation for later, listens to my advice.

I, unlike the agents, do not rely only on weapons and fists. A well-aimed charge of webbing on the ankles of the fleeing woman becomes the cause of the unexpected acquaintance of her face with the road - snow, and ice - entangled in the legs, the fall is unavoidable. Quickly twisting my victim into a pretty cocoon, I turn around to the Volga, expecting to see the superiority of Shield agents over their compatriot...

But my expectations are not borne out. The woman accompanying Karpova is clearly not going to succumb to the onslaught of Shield operatives And it's not just about skills and level of training. She is stronger - fists like a hammer, faster - always ahead of her opponents for a moment, but most importantly - how she fights - like a mad furious beast. Her mouth is twisted in a wild grin, her pupils dilated like those of a drug addict, each blow carries the urge to kill, to tear her opponent to pieces. She's not after victory, she's after the enemy's blood.

Before I can intervene, events take a new turn. Daria, forgotten in the heat of battle, seizes a moment to tranquilize the frenzied Russian. For a second she lets herself linger and even tries to carelessly pull the dart out of her shoulder, but Romanoff doesn't miss her chance. A quick hook and a cleverly thrown garrotte around her neck lead to the fact that after a couple of minutes the violent lady is handcuffed.

Our wounded companion walks limp to the side of the road. Daria's left leg is a little wobbly, her pant leg soaked in blood just above the knee, but not that badly.

"Wounded?" Gasping for air-this brief encounter in the cold air hadn't come easily-to Larissa, she asked her companion hoarsely.

"It's just a scratch," Daria waves off carelessly, "the branches knocked the bullet out, and I've already stopped the blood."

And she has strong nerves. As you'd expect from an agent on such a risky mission.

"All right, call Quinjet, let's load them up," Natasha ordered.

I lift the girl, white-faced as the snow around us, onto my shoulder, and walk up to the Volga. With her face buried in the ground, Karpova is bleeding from her split forehead - Romanoff was obviously a bit careless in stunting her victim. Throwing my prey on the backseat, I turn to my allies and immediately catch Larissa's fierce stare, her face still smeared with dirt from the thawed snow after my help.

"If you do that again," she hissed, obviously referring to the way I pushed her on the road, "I'll beat you up and I won't look at you as a guy! Get it?!"