Two Sides - Song Story Challenge
Aug. 27th, 2016 10:30 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuThe prompt: Compared To What
Word count: 1203
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The argument could be heard down two intersecting corridors. One voice had a distinctive accent that seemed to growl at times, the intensity of it causing a few of the women to turn back to their points of origin rather than face the Russian.
The other voice was American, or so it seemed. Upon first hearing them many people assumed it was Kuryakin and his partner, Napoleon Solo. Those who ventured close enough to actually witness the verbal brawl would discover another American agent by the name of Sandy Dunbar, so named because of his hair color in addition to the Scottish ancestry. He was also a former Navy officer, recently graduated with high scores from Survival School. He was a choice recruit, willing to give up a promising Naval career for that of an UNCLE agent. That he was now in a verbal jousting match with his superior, the number two man in Section II, did not bode well for his future in New York.
Dunbar and Kuryakin apparently had a disagreement concerning Vietnam, a hot topic now that US troops were being sent there in large numbers. That had been Dunbar's last voyage, patrolling the waters around that war torn region aboard the USS Maddox, specifically in the Gulf of Tonkin.
"Mr. Dunbar, I think it best we end this … discussion." Illya had lowered his voice in hopes of walking away from Agent Dunbar. He had no desire to foster negative feelings, and he definitely was disinclined to say what he really thought about Vietnam, and what he knew about Tonkin.
Dunbar was aware of his place in all of this, he understood hierarchy and the privileges of rank. Right now Kuryakin out ranked him, something that was a little difficult to swallow considering he had just come from a job where Soviets were the enemy. He backed away, no longer interested in conflict, at least not like this.
"I apologize, I was out of line sir." Illya's face had lost all color, his own personal conflicts suddenly very much on public display. It was times like this that his nationality was like a yoke to which he was inextricably bound, a weight he wished to not carry. Not here, not among these people.
"Mr. Dunbar…" Illya didn't get a chance to finish.
"Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Dunbar…" It was Napoleon, and his expression said it all.
"Yes Napoleon." It wasn't difficult to know what would come next. Napoleon felt a twist of remorse as he looked at his friend. If it was sometimes difficult to be so 'obviously American', as Illya had once put it, being a Soviet agent in this country had its own set of problems.
"Mr. Waverly would like you both in his office, immediately.'' Illya nodded, that sharp little movement of acquiescence that bypassed conversation. Dunbar looked sheepish, his self-confidence suddenly mired in self-recriminations for having lost his temper and his sense of decorum. He was the new man, and Kuryakin had rank and experience; in truth, Sandy admired the man from a distance and had hoped at some point to be teamed with him on a mission. That seemed utterly impossible now.
The three men made the walk to Waverly's office in silence. When the pneumatic doors swished open they were confronted by the Old Man, his expression bearing down on them mercilessly.
No words were exchanged as the three took seats around the big table that served as Waverly's desk. An uncomfortable silence prevailed until the head of UNCLE Northwest broke it:
"I have two Naval officers here at this table, one from the United States and the other from the Soviet Union. Each of you has been a loyal and able representative of your respective countries. But that is in the past for as long as you are here at UNCLE.' He took a moment to find his pipe, fingering it with practiced care, tamping down the tobacco and lighting it, only to set it down again before resuming his discourse.
"Mr. Kuryakin, you have engaged Mr. Dunbar over the topic of Vietnam. In spite of whatever knowledge you do possess regarding your country's policies and, ahhh… strategies, you are not speaking from a position of having actually been involved in this unfortunate conflict. Mr. Dunbar completed a tour of duty in that region and has first hand knowledge of his nation's involvement. Do you disagree?"
Illya knew he deserved this, although he also was aware that not everything accepted as truth was, in actuality, the truth. Perhaps it was particularly so concerning his country, to that he had no delusions of a righteous cause. The Soviet Union was involved in Vietnam, was supplying arms and military advisors; he had no doubts about that. But the Americans were doing the same for the South, and that in the face of internal conflicts that would undoubtedly deal a treacherous hand at some point.
"Sir, I apologize for …" Waverly slammed his hand down on the table and stood up, his face animated by anger. Napoleon flinched slightly, watching as Dunbar sat up a little straighter and Illya's face flushed at the indignity.
"I am not fishing for an apology here, Mr. Kuryakin. I am attempting to instruct you, both of you. This is the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. We do not deal in nationalistic loyalties, no matter the extent of your own. Vietnam is not ours to engage, and your respective former careers have no place here.' He sat down again, his tone less angry as he continued.
"I have seen too much war, gentlemen. I helped to build this organization in the hopes that some of that type of misery might be eliminated. We won't stop the actions of governments intent on destruction of others, but we also will not tolerate our own dissolution into political alienation. You have left that behind, you must consider yourselves now as men without a country."
Dunbar's face registered a measure of shock at that statement.
"Is that a problem for you Mr. Dunbar?" Waverly's voice cut into his thoughts.
"Sir? No sir, and I apologize for stepping beyond the boundaries of … of …"
"Non- aggression. Mr. Dunbar, I am sorry for my outburst. It was unprofessional and unsuitable for an UNCLE agent. We aren't here to have personal agendas, and … ' Illya's sigh was nearly imperceptible except to his partner. Napoleon knew this wasn't the first nor would it be the last time that this scene would be played out.
"Sir, Mr. Dunbar and I will not revisit this conversation. Again, my apologies, both to you and to anyone else who was assaulted by our … conversation."
Waverly harrumphed into his pipe… conversation indeed.
"Let this be the end of it then. Mr. Solo, I believe you have a file on your next mission… Gentlemen, the three of you will be heading out this evening. I suggest you sit down and review the information in Mr. Solo's hand. That is all."
So, it was to be one of those lessons. Very well, Illya and Sandy Dunbar were quick learners, and something told them that having each other's backs would be a big element in this mission.
Word count: 1203
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The argument could be heard down two intersecting corridors. One voice had a distinctive accent that seemed to growl at times, the intensity of it causing a few of the women to turn back to their points of origin rather than face the Russian.
The other voice was American, or so it seemed. Upon first hearing them many people assumed it was Kuryakin and his partner, Napoleon Solo. Those who ventured close enough to actually witness the verbal brawl would discover another American agent by the name of Sandy Dunbar, so named because of his hair color in addition to the Scottish ancestry. He was also a former Navy officer, recently graduated with high scores from Survival School. He was a choice recruit, willing to give up a promising Naval career for that of an UNCLE agent. That he was now in a verbal jousting match with his superior, the number two man in Section II, did not bode well for his future in New York.
Dunbar and Kuryakin apparently had a disagreement concerning Vietnam, a hot topic now that US troops were being sent there in large numbers. That had been Dunbar's last voyage, patrolling the waters around that war torn region aboard the USS Maddox, specifically in the Gulf of Tonkin.
"Mr. Dunbar, I think it best we end this … discussion." Illya had lowered his voice in hopes of walking away from Agent Dunbar. He had no desire to foster negative feelings, and he definitely was disinclined to say what he really thought about Vietnam, and what he knew about Tonkin.
Dunbar was aware of his place in all of this, he understood hierarchy and the privileges of rank. Right now Kuryakin out ranked him, something that was a little difficult to swallow considering he had just come from a job where Soviets were the enemy. He backed away, no longer interested in conflict, at least not like this.
"I apologize, I was out of line sir." Illya's face had lost all color, his own personal conflicts suddenly very much on public display. It was times like this that his nationality was like a yoke to which he was inextricably bound, a weight he wished to not carry. Not here, not among these people.
"Mr. Dunbar…" Illya didn't get a chance to finish.
"Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Dunbar…" It was Napoleon, and his expression said it all.
"Yes Napoleon." It wasn't difficult to know what would come next. Napoleon felt a twist of remorse as he looked at his friend. If it was sometimes difficult to be so 'obviously American', as Illya had once put it, being a Soviet agent in this country had its own set of problems.
"Mr. Waverly would like you both in his office, immediately.'' Illya nodded, that sharp little movement of acquiescence that bypassed conversation. Dunbar looked sheepish, his self-confidence suddenly mired in self-recriminations for having lost his temper and his sense of decorum. He was the new man, and Kuryakin had rank and experience; in truth, Sandy admired the man from a distance and had hoped at some point to be teamed with him on a mission. That seemed utterly impossible now.
The three men made the walk to Waverly's office in silence. When the pneumatic doors swished open they were confronted by the Old Man, his expression bearing down on them mercilessly.
No words were exchanged as the three took seats around the big table that served as Waverly's desk. An uncomfortable silence prevailed until the head of UNCLE Northwest broke it:
"I have two Naval officers here at this table, one from the United States and the other from the Soviet Union. Each of you has been a loyal and able representative of your respective countries. But that is in the past for as long as you are here at UNCLE.' He took a moment to find his pipe, fingering it with practiced care, tamping down the tobacco and lighting it, only to set it down again before resuming his discourse.
"Mr. Kuryakin, you have engaged Mr. Dunbar over the topic of Vietnam. In spite of whatever knowledge you do possess regarding your country's policies and, ahhh… strategies, you are not speaking from a position of having actually been involved in this unfortunate conflict. Mr. Dunbar completed a tour of duty in that region and has first hand knowledge of his nation's involvement. Do you disagree?"
Illya knew he deserved this, although he also was aware that not everything accepted as truth was, in actuality, the truth. Perhaps it was particularly so concerning his country, to that he had no delusions of a righteous cause. The Soviet Union was involved in Vietnam, was supplying arms and military advisors; he had no doubts about that. But the Americans were doing the same for the South, and that in the face of internal conflicts that would undoubtedly deal a treacherous hand at some point.
"Sir, I apologize for …" Waverly slammed his hand down on the table and stood up, his face animated by anger. Napoleon flinched slightly, watching as Dunbar sat up a little straighter and Illya's face flushed at the indignity.
"I am not fishing for an apology here, Mr. Kuryakin. I am attempting to instruct you, both of you. This is the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. We do not deal in nationalistic loyalties, no matter the extent of your own. Vietnam is not ours to engage, and your respective former careers have no place here.' He sat down again, his tone less angry as he continued.
"I have seen too much war, gentlemen. I helped to build this organization in the hopes that some of that type of misery might be eliminated. We won't stop the actions of governments intent on destruction of others, but we also will not tolerate our own dissolution into political alienation. You have left that behind, you must consider yourselves now as men without a country."
Dunbar's face registered a measure of shock at that statement.
"Is that a problem for you Mr. Dunbar?" Waverly's voice cut into his thoughts.
"Sir? No sir, and I apologize for stepping beyond the boundaries of … of …"
"Non- aggression. Mr. Dunbar, I am sorry for my outburst. It was unprofessional and unsuitable for an UNCLE agent. We aren't here to have personal agendas, and … ' Illya's sigh was nearly imperceptible except to his partner. Napoleon knew this wasn't the first nor would it be the last time that this scene would be played out.
"Sir, Mr. Dunbar and I will not revisit this conversation. Again, my apologies, both to you and to anyone else who was assaulted by our … conversation."
Waverly harrumphed into his pipe… conversation indeed.
"Let this be the end of it then. Mr. Solo, I believe you have a file on your next mission… Gentlemen, the three of you will be heading out this evening. I suggest you sit down and review the information in Mr. Solo's hand. That is all."
So, it was to be one of those lessons. Very well, Illya and Sandy Dunbar were quick learners, and something told them that having each other's backs would be a big element in this mission.
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