Mar. 20th, 2017

[identity profile] otherhawk.livejournal.com
Hi! I fell off the grid for quite some time there. Hope some of you still remember me. This is actually the first thing I've written for four months, which is the kind of record I don't particularly care for. Anyway, this is based off Spinning Wheels.

Circling )

Korea 1951

Sometimes things went wrong no matter how clever the plan was. That was what Napoleon told himself as he trudged through the mud towards the distant village. It didn't help much. No matter what he remembered Frankie's screams and Kowalski's empty eyes, and he went over and over every moment of the mission in his head trying to find some point where he could have stopped it all from going wrong.

If they'd known about the retreat...if the shelling hadn't wrecked the jeep....if they'd been able to make it to the ridge before being flanked....if they hadn't stumbled into the minefield..... If he'd been smarter, faster, better....

His thoughts were spinning in endless circles. As if he didn't have enough troubles here and now. He couldn't even be sure that the village ahead was friendly - he thought he was back behind their own lines but he had to admit that wasn't much more than a guess. Not that he had many choices here. With no supplies, no map or compass and only fourteen rounds left his situation was looking just a little desperate.

Stay positive, he told himself firmly. With any luck there would be some friendly local who knew English or was prepared to speak slow enough that he could get some directions. As long as he could find some soldiers with a radio he'd be back with his unit by nightfall. And maybe then Major Morgan would give out that two day pass he'd been talking about. Even....even on his own, the chill of cheap champagne and the thrill of willing flesh would soon drown out the troubles of the last few days. Right. He didn't even believe it himself.

Frankie's screaming lingered in his head.


Siberia 1958

Things went wrong; it was inevitable. Regardless of how prepared one was, how careful, events had a way of spilling out uncontrollably. Yet even though Illya knew that perfectly well, failure still rankled. Dr Egorov was dead. He'd spent two weeks undercover in this hellhole of a camp trying to get close to the man only to lose him to Bukin's pet assassin. Foolish; he should have spotted the man sooner - had the cold and the misery here dulled his mind?

His thoughts were circling like dark vultures. He had managed to persuade Dr Egorov to give him the formula. That, and his previously unblemished record might be enough to save him from his superior's wrath, if he was lucky. Of course, if luck was not with him he might just end up locked in here for real. His gaze drifted out across the figures huddled hopeless beneath the falling snow. How many of them were here because they had said the wrong thing at the wrong time, or failed in some assignment?

No. Stay focused, he told himself. There was no sense in resigning himself to failure. Yes, he had failed to keep Egorov alive, but he did have the formula, and he had got a good look at the assassin. In this weather there was no way he could have got far, and that meant that Illya had the chance to catch up with him. Exposing this plot was his both his duty and his exoneration.

He didn't think about what would happen if he failed.


Milwauke 1964

From time to time things went wrong. That was inevitable; it was how you dealt with the consequences afterwards that really mattered in Napoleon's opinion.

"I blame you," Illya said with feeling as they ran through the mud.

Of course, there were other schools of thought....

"I'm pretty sure all our current problems can be traced back to the weather, pal," he pointed out, somewhat breathlessly. "And you can't blame me for that."

"Of course I can," Illya said loftily. "You were the one who placed his shoes upside down on the windowsill. My babushka would tell you that is always a way to bring on the rain."

Napoleon gazed at him, or rather at the back of his head, hair plastered down by the rain. "Naturally, I mean no offense to your babushka -"

" - Naturally," Illya agreed.

" - But her grandson is a liar. You're making that up."

"The rain is going down the back of my shirt, Napoleon. And I fear our quarry is leading us in circles."

It was possible. The storm had caused a powercut which had led to their prisoner making his escape in the dark and the confusion. And since he had vital intelligence, they needed to get him back quickly. Mr Waverly had already made his displeasure plain.

He grinned. "If you ran as hard as you complained, you would have caught him already."

Somehow, trouble was never as bad when they were in it together.
[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
2.2.jpg

Spring seems to be stalling here, with high winds and the threat of snow. What better way to take your mind off the fluctuating weather than by writing a short story about our favourite agents?

You’ll find everything you need, for stories due on March 27th, beneath the cut. To join in with today’s posts, just click this link for the prompts.

Remember, Section VII is a Gen site, but stories which are Het, Long-term Romance or AU can be posted in the Map Room. You’ll find the link for it down the side there.

Have fun



Under Here )
[identity profile] ssclassof56.livejournal.com
Prompts: sculpture / green
Word Count: ~1000
This story was also partly inspired by the Everybody Loves Raymond episode “Marie’s Sculpture.”


Solo and Kuryakin turned into their corridor, crossing paths with a pair of pencil-skirted secretaries. “Good morning, ladies,” Napoleon said as he smoothly stepped aside.

The women blushed and giggled. He watched in bemused appreciation as they hurried away, whispering to each other and darting glances back at him.

“What do you make of that?” Napoleon asked as he caught up to his partner.

“I abandoned such speculations long ago.”

Their office door slid open. A third secretary emerged and froze at the sight of them. “Monica?” Napoleon said. With a gasp, she slapped him across the face and stalked off.

“Interesting date last night?” Illya asked and walked through the doorway.

“I didn’t have one,” Napoleon replied, rubbing his cheek.

Read more... )
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com

Challenge: The Short Affair


-Prompt Word #1 - Sculpture

-Prompt Colour – Green

Author: mrua7

Title: ‘Waxing Poetic’

Word count: Approx. 681



Spring had finally arrived, and none too soon as far as Napoleon Solo was concerned.  The crocuses and daffodils were blooming in the parks, bringing a welcome splash of color to what had been a drab grey winter.


Read more... )
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
Wow we're into the month of April with this next PicFic? That was a quick winter and a not so bad for once...




Time to try your hand at writing some Man from UNCLE adventures
Spring is finally here; Let it inspire you to write! (You know you want to...)

Rules behind the cut: )

Here's your prompt:

[identity profile] rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com
Short Affair 3/20
Prompt: Betray
Color: Green

Title: Above Suspicion
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~970

Takes place immediately after the end scene of "The Summit Five Affair"

Above Suspicion )
[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
2.2.jpg

Prompts - Betray/Green
Word Count - 639


The two agents exited Mr Waverly’s office; the blond with a look of absolute thunder on his face. Illya upped his pace in an effort to get ahead of his partner, only for Napoleon to grab his arm and bring him to a stop. He glared at the American with such venom that Solo immediately let go, and Illya continued to stride away. Several eyebrows were raised as he passed by. With and exasperated sigh, Napoleon set off after him.

Read more... )

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