The sergeant gave a noncommital response as Raelyn departed.<br/><br/>As Raelyn approached and presented himself, Zmey took a moment before looking away from the screen depicting Dedika's predicament. The tall Russian weapon gave Raelyn a quick once-over, and grasped the proffered hand, giving it a gentle and perfunctory shake. It was almost lazy, and rather sloppy, all things considered, how Zmey shook hands. The left corner of his lips twitched as the captain mentioned Dedika's name aloud, and Zmey exhaled slowly through his nostrils. "Not in the field, under arms. Not in the presence of enemy combatants." The words came slowly, and with the expected accent. The slowness seemed not because it was difficult, because there was consideration behind them, or anything similar. From the look on Zmey's face, it was just that talking was too much of a chore. A shrug followed, and Zmey tilted his head to the side in a gesture of uncaring. "Out of combat . . . any problems will be that of the military police."<br/><br/>The Russian's arms drew back, as he stretched out a little. It was not neccessary - he was already limber, stretched. He was as flexible as someone of his size could be. Gripping his helmet in one hand, Zmey sniffed. "I am ready to move out, Captain."