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section7mfuNapoleon leant heavily against the fence of the homestead, trying to get his breath back and to stop his lungs from burning. It was the first building of any sort that they’d seen for miles. He and Illya had been running for almost fifteen minutes and, even though he was a fit man, sustained running was something he hadn’t done for a long time. Besides, his shoes and suit weren’t exactly the right attire for sprinting.
“Napoleon,” Illya called back to him. “We have to keep moving if we’re going to make it to the train station on time.”
“Can’t we . . . catch . . . the one after,” Solo gasped.
“Certainly. I’m sure Mr Waverly won’t mind if we’re two days late.”
The pair had successfully cleared and destroyed a minor satrapy which was at least a day’s travel from the nearest town. Unfortunately, their vehicle irreparably broke down on their way back and Mr Waverly had flat-out refused to send out a helicopter for them. He told them someone would get back to them with an alternative solution. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Wanda informed them that there was a train station five miles west of their position and the next train was due thirty-five minutes. If they missed it, there wouldn’t be another for two days. The two men had been less than overjoyed at the idea of running five miles in thirty minutes.
“I’m prepared to . . . take the heat for being late,” Napoleon told him.
Straightening up, he gasped as his back reminded him that he shouldn’t have stopped moving.
“How come you don’t seem as exhausted as me?” he asked Illya, who was panting slightly, but not struggling for breath in the same way he was.
“Because, when you’re out every night with various women, I spend time keeping myself fit. Before you try to make a remark about getting your exercise in other ways, there’s something over there which might aid our speed.”
Napoleon looked over to where Illya was pointing. At first he couldn’t see it, but then his eyes fell on an object with brought joy to his pounding heart. Nestled inside a ramshackle outhouse was an Italian moped. It wasn’t the sort of thing you’d expect to find in the American mid-west, but it was definitely a sight for sore eyes.
“Let’s see if the owner is home.”
As it turned out, there was no-one about. Napoleon left a few dollars, which he’d had to borrow from Illya, and a note to say the moped could be found at the train station. He then insisted on controlling the machine, relegating his partner to the pillion seat.
The moped turned out to be a godsend. The agents made it to the station with about thirty seconds to spare. They parked up and jumped onto the train just before it began to pull away.
“You seem happy, my friend,” Illya commented, when he noticed a strange smile on the American’s face.
“That moped reminded me of our first mission together in Rome,” he told the Russian. “I quite enjoyed riding one then, and I got the same feeling today.”
“Then maybe you should get one.”
“I don’t think so,” Solo replied. “They don’t really go with my suits.”
.
“Napoleon,” Illya called back to him. “We have to keep moving if we’re going to make it to the train station on time.”
“Can’t we . . . catch . . . the one after,” Solo gasped.
“Certainly. I’m sure Mr Waverly won’t mind if we’re two days late.”
The pair had successfully cleared and destroyed a minor satrapy which was at least a day’s travel from the nearest town. Unfortunately, their vehicle irreparably broke down on their way back and Mr Waverly had flat-out refused to send out a helicopter for them. He told them someone would get back to them with an alternative solution. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Wanda informed them that there was a train station five miles west of their position and the next train was due thirty-five minutes. If they missed it, there wouldn’t be another for two days. The two men had been less than overjoyed at the idea of running five miles in thirty minutes.
“I’m prepared to . . . take the heat for being late,” Napoleon told him.
Straightening up, he gasped as his back reminded him that he shouldn’t have stopped moving.
“How come you don’t seem as exhausted as me?” he asked Illya, who was panting slightly, but not struggling for breath in the same way he was.
“Because, when you’re out every night with various women, I spend time keeping myself fit. Before you try to make a remark about getting your exercise in other ways, there’s something over there which might aid our speed.”
Napoleon looked over to where Illya was pointing. At first he couldn’t see it, but then his eyes fell on an object with brought joy to his pounding heart. Nestled inside a ramshackle outhouse was an Italian moped. It wasn’t the sort of thing you’d expect to find in the American mid-west, but it was definitely a sight for sore eyes.
“Let’s see if the owner is home.”
As it turned out, there was no-one about. Napoleon left a few dollars, which he’d had to borrow from Illya, and a note to say the moped could be found at the train station. He then insisted on controlling the machine, relegating his partner to the pillion seat.
The moped turned out to be a godsend. The agents made it to the station with about thirty seconds to spare. They parked up and jumped onto the train just before it began to pull away.
“You seem happy, my friend,” Illya commented, when he noticed a strange smile on the American’s face.
“That moped reminded me of our first mission together in Rome,” he told the Russian. “I quite enjoyed riding one then, and I got the same feeling today.”
“Then maybe you should get one.”
“I don’t think so,” Solo replied. “They don’t really go with my suits.”
.
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Date: 2016-02-24 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-02-24 09:11 pm (UTC)Glad you like it :-)