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Challenge: The Short Affair

-Prompt Word #2 – Mishap

-Prompt Colour – White

Title: “Survival School”

Author: mrua7

Word Count: Approx. 1000

It was supposed to be a simple training exercise. It had, however, turned into possibly the biggest mishap that Jules Cutter had ever seen at his Survival School. That’s what he was trying to convince himself it was, a mishap, though it probably wasn’t. It was deliberate.

Given the recruits were being put through basic training yesterday with gas grenades, there was bound to have something go wrong once in awhile, but this took the cake.

Never had in all the years he’d been running the UNCLE training outpost in the middle of the Pacific had anything like this happened.

The fact there were all sorts of recruits from every walk of life, most with military experience, things should have gone smoothly. Military backgrounds were were a must in Cutter’s mind; they had discipline.

He wasn’t here to baby these men and walk them through everything. In his book they had to be sharp, alert, cunning and fearless, those were the major traits he looked for in a potential U.N.C.L.E. agent.

Now this fellow, a real hot shot, stood in front of him in his office.

“You better have a good explanation Mister,” Cutter bellow.

Most recruits would show some sort of reaction to that booming voice but not this guy. He just remained there at attention, staring straight ahead.

“Figures,” Cutter muttered to himself.”You Commie types are cold hearted bastards. You’re a real quiet one, and your kind are the ones I watch. You think you’re were pretty smart weren’t you? ”

“The fact that I am Soviet citizen and Party member should have no bearing.” His accent thickened, perhaps deliberately just to annoy Cutter.

“Oh so now you’re ready to talk Kuryakin?”

“Talk about what Mr. Cutter?”

Illya turned his head slightly, making eye contact with the man. He wasn’t intimidated at all as he’d been trained by the best. What GRU put him through would bring half the recruits here to their knees begging for mercy. To him, Cutter was what American’s called a cream puff by comparison. There would be no waving of the white flag in surrender to him.

He was only going through the motion of training; he was already well versed in the ways of espionage, and had done an U.N.C.L.E. apprenticeship under the tutelage of Harry Beldon in London.

Graduating from Survival School was a mere technicality, one that Alexander Waverly had requested be completed before Kuryakin was transferred to New York.

Illya was relieved by the move as he was fed up with Beldon. The man merely saw him as pawn and used him, trying to pull him into his own agenda.

Harry had aspirations, he wanted to control the Command. At the same time, he was decadent...no, hedonistic in his ways. Kuryakin wanted no part of that and as long as he remained in London, it would be inescapable. Waverly’s transfer couldn’t have come at a better time.

Jules Cutter huffed as he sat on the edge of his desk.

“I want to know who threw a stink bomb during our exercise? Given your penchant for rigging explosives; I suspect it was you, Pinko!”

“I ask you will all due respect sir not call me that,” Illya remained at attention.

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please Russkie!” Cutter’s voice became louder.

It was then Kuryakin knew better than to answer back; perhaps the freedoms he’d become accustomed to in London had colored his thinking? He had to revert back to his frame of mind and training from his days with Soviet Military Intelligence.

There you only answered yes or no, and used your superior’s title. No answering back; yet that was a bad habit that Illya has since his days back in the orphanage in Moskva. He managed to curb his mouth once he went into training to become an agent back home, as a smart mouth could get you sent to the blast furnaces at Sepakov.

In Soviet Union, Directorate wanted men who would comply with their orders and not question them. Fear had a way of making them compliant. It would have been sheer stupidity on Illya’s part to risk back talking to his superiors at home.

Still he couldn’t let this man bully him, as he knew that’s exactly what he was doing; perhaps this was part of UNCLE training? Once he'd joined UNCLE though, his old habits came back, espeically with an adversary...dare he look upon Cutter as one?

“Da Comrade Cutter,” Illya couldn’t resist answering that way, getting in a little dig.

“Don’t use that gutter language with me!”

“No sir, but since you referred to me as a Russkie I deemed it appropriate to respond to you in Russian, sir.”

Jules Cutter became red in the face; a vein swelling in his neck. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

“All right Mister Kuryakin, I’m going to ask you for the last time; did you mess with my exercise?"

“No sir.”

Given Kuryakin’s reputation for honesty among his peers, Cutter was a little thrown off by that answer. He was convinced the Russian did it and would own up to it. He was, after all, a stinking dyed in the wool Communist and admitting to it would give him bragging rights but then again if he did admit it under such mild interrogation; that didn't bode well for his career.

“Your peers say you’re an honest man…are you willing to swear on your Commie beliefs that you don’t know who used that bomb in my quarters?”

“Yes sir I swear.”

Cutter’s eyebrows arched. Perhaps he’d misjudged Waverly’s little pet? The man was a good agent, one of the best he’d seen next to Napoleon Solo.

“All right Mr. Kuryakin, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes sir,” Illya nodded and turned; quickly leaving the office

Once outside he heaved a sigh of relief, and felt as though he’d passed a test after all.

Though he had a reputation as being honest, he did not in the least hesitate to lie when the need arose. Lying was part of being a spy. Setting off that stink bomb was a job well done... by him.

No one would ever know it though; that was also part of being a spy.