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section7mfuShort Affair 9/12
Prompt: Rubble
Color: Crimson
Title: Friendly Fire
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~900
Nothing remained of the THRUSH satrap other than a pile of smoldering rubble. Uniformed men were going through the rubble, pulling out the bodies as they came across them. And Napoleon could only stand in front of this scene, watching as, in his peripheral vision, he could see two military commanders shaking each other’s hands on what they deemed “a job well-done.”
Something snapped.
“A job well-done!?” he fumed, glaring at them. “My partner was a prisoner in there, and you say his death was a job well-done!?”
“Collateral damage—regrettable, but the objective of destroying the satrap was achieved,” one of the commanders said, without a shred of sympathy. “I think we can write off the loss.”
“I could have gotten him out of there first!” Napoleon countered. “I’ve done this before; I know how THRUSH works--”
“We couldn’t have risked those THRUSH men escaping while you did that,” the other commander countered. “Besides, I understand that the agent lost was of Soviet origin? No great loss, in that case.”
Napoleon’s eyes flashed with a fire that would have sent most men running for cover; he was drawing back a clenched fist when the shout echoed from across the area--
“Mr. Solo! Stand down, Mr. Solo!”
Napoleon turned to face Waverly.
“Sir, they--”
“I’m very well aware of what they did, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said. He cast the commanders a dark look. “And it will be a long, long time before U.N.C.L.E. ever considers a collaboration with any military establishment ever again. And you can be certain that Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart shall hear about this personally from me!”
“That won’t bring Illya back,” Napoleon hissed.
“Nor will venting your frustrations on them, will it?” Waverly asked, gently.
Napoleon’s reply was cut off by a shout from one of the soldiers searching through the wreckage.
“Sir! This one is still alive!”
Napoleon didn’t dare to hope as he saw the blond-haired form being pulled from the rubble; he only reacted when the soldiers nearby pointed their weapons at the blond.
“STOP!” he yelled, running over to them and pushing them aside. He knelt beside his partner, gently gathering him in his arms. “Illya? Illya, can you hear me!?”
Blood trickled down Illya’s face in a trail of crimson; he didn’t respond.
“Illya?”
Illya turned his head slightly towards the sound of Napoleon’s voice. The blue eyes opened, briefly, and his expression lightened slightly to see Napoleon there.
“I take it that was your man who had been taken prisoner?” one of the commanders asked Waverly. “If it is--”
“It solves nothing!” Waverly countered. “Mr. Solo, see that Mr. Kuryakin is sent to Medical at once!”
“We can send him to the infirmary near our installation; it’s closer--” one of the commanders began, but paused as Napoleon glared daggers at him.
“I’ll take him to Medical myself, Sir,” he said, not breaking eye contact with the commander.
It was just as well; Napoleon was certain that if he stayed any longer, he’d have done or said something he’d have regretted… Well, probably not regretted, but gotten reprimanded for, definitely.
Napoleon was true to his word and took Illya to Medical; as per his usual routine, he stayed by his side until Illya awoke.
“There you are…” the Russian mumbled.
“I never left,” Napoleon promised. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible,” Illya murmured. He winced; Napoleon had clearly requested that he be given a lower dose of painkillers, as the “normal” doses made him loopy. “What happened? I remember explosions… For a moment, I felt like I was a child in Kiev again, during the war…”
“Well, you’re close,” Napoleon sighed. He would have to tell him the truth. “It was a NATO strike. Illya… they…”
“…They knew I was there…” Illya sighed, suddenly realizing that Napoleon had wanted him sober for this discussion, hence the lowered dose of painkillers.
“Illya, I swear I tried to stop them; I tried to rush out there before the strike…”
“I do not doubt that you did your best to extract me first, Napoleon,” Illya said, glancing at his partner.
Napoleon sighed, gently touching Illya’s hand.
“I really don’t know what to say, Illya. I want to tell you that it won’t happen again, but I can’t even promise you that.”
“I don’t think I could promise you that, either,” Illya said, quietly. “Our work takes us to the Eastern Bloc, and the military coalitions there would probably see you the same way as the NATO forces sees me.”
“And there we have the sorry state of world affairs. I guess the question now is what do we do about it?” Napoleon asked.
Illya shut his eyes, trying to ignore the aches from his injuries.
“We have only two options, as we always do in this line of work--either we press on, or we give up,” he said. “And if I know you as well as I think I do, Napoleon, you won’t even consider the latter.”
Napoleon managed a wan smile and gave Illya’s hand a squeeze.
“Well, when you’re right, you’re right,” he said. “And I hope you’ll be joining me in this.”
“But of course.”
“Good, ‘cause our chances have always been best when we’re together. Of course, in comparison to the regular odds, they still may be nothing spectacular, but they’re still slightly better.”
“I shall take those odds.”
“Me too, Tovarisch. Me too.”
Prompt: Rubble
Color: Crimson
Title: Friendly Fire
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~900
Nothing remained of the THRUSH satrap other than a pile of smoldering rubble. Uniformed men were going through the rubble, pulling out the bodies as they came across them. And Napoleon could only stand in front of this scene, watching as, in his peripheral vision, he could see two military commanders shaking each other’s hands on what they deemed “a job well-done.”
Something snapped.
“A job well-done!?” he fumed, glaring at them. “My partner was a prisoner in there, and you say his death was a job well-done!?”
“Collateral damage—regrettable, but the objective of destroying the satrap was achieved,” one of the commanders said, without a shred of sympathy. “I think we can write off the loss.”
“I could have gotten him out of there first!” Napoleon countered. “I’ve done this before; I know how THRUSH works--”
“We couldn’t have risked those THRUSH men escaping while you did that,” the other commander countered. “Besides, I understand that the agent lost was of Soviet origin? No great loss, in that case.”
Napoleon’s eyes flashed with a fire that would have sent most men running for cover; he was drawing back a clenched fist when the shout echoed from across the area--
“Mr. Solo! Stand down, Mr. Solo!”
Napoleon turned to face Waverly.
“Sir, they--”
“I’m very well aware of what they did, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said. He cast the commanders a dark look. “And it will be a long, long time before U.N.C.L.E. ever considers a collaboration with any military establishment ever again. And you can be certain that Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart shall hear about this personally from me!”
“That won’t bring Illya back,” Napoleon hissed.
“Nor will venting your frustrations on them, will it?” Waverly asked, gently.
Napoleon’s reply was cut off by a shout from one of the soldiers searching through the wreckage.
“Sir! This one is still alive!”
Napoleon didn’t dare to hope as he saw the blond-haired form being pulled from the rubble; he only reacted when the soldiers nearby pointed their weapons at the blond.
“STOP!” he yelled, running over to them and pushing them aside. He knelt beside his partner, gently gathering him in his arms. “Illya? Illya, can you hear me!?”
Blood trickled down Illya’s face in a trail of crimson; he didn’t respond.
“Illya?”
Illya turned his head slightly towards the sound of Napoleon’s voice. The blue eyes opened, briefly, and his expression lightened slightly to see Napoleon there.
“I take it that was your man who had been taken prisoner?” one of the commanders asked Waverly. “If it is--”
“It solves nothing!” Waverly countered. “Mr. Solo, see that Mr. Kuryakin is sent to Medical at once!”
“We can send him to the infirmary near our installation; it’s closer--” one of the commanders began, but paused as Napoleon glared daggers at him.
“I’ll take him to Medical myself, Sir,” he said, not breaking eye contact with the commander.
It was just as well; Napoleon was certain that if he stayed any longer, he’d have done or said something he’d have regretted… Well, probably not regretted, but gotten reprimanded for, definitely.
Napoleon was true to his word and took Illya to Medical; as per his usual routine, he stayed by his side until Illya awoke.
“There you are…” the Russian mumbled.
“I never left,” Napoleon promised. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible,” Illya murmured. He winced; Napoleon had clearly requested that he be given a lower dose of painkillers, as the “normal” doses made him loopy. “What happened? I remember explosions… For a moment, I felt like I was a child in Kiev again, during the war…”
“Well, you’re close,” Napoleon sighed. He would have to tell him the truth. “It was a NATO strike. Illya… they…”
“…They knew I was there…” Illya sighed, suddenly realizing that Napoleon had wanted him sober for this discussion, hence the lowered dose of painkillers.
“Illya, I swear I tried to stop them; I tried to rush out there before the strike…”
“I do not doubt that you did your best to extract me first, Napoleon,” Illya said, glancing at his partner.
Napoleon sighed, gently touching Illya’s hand.
“I really don’t know what to say, Illya. I want to tell you that it won’t happen again, but I can’t even promise you that.”
“I don’t think I could promise you that, either,” Illya said, quietly. “Our work takes us to the Eastern Bloc, and the military coalitions there would probably see you the same way as the NATO forces sees me.”
“And there we have the sorry state of world affairs. I guess the question now is what do we do about it?” Napoleon asked.
Illya shut his eyes, trying to ignore the aches from his injuries.
“We have only two options, as we always do in this line of work--either we press on, or we give up,” he said. “And if I know you as well as I think I do, Napoleon, you won’t even consider the latter.”
Napoleon managed a wan smile and gave Illya’s hand a squeeze.
“Well, when you’re right, you’re right,” he said. “And I hope you’ll be joining me in this.”
“But of course.”
“Good, ‘cause our chances have always been best when we’re together. Of course, in comparison to the regular odds, they still may be nothing spectacular, but they’re still slightly better.”
“I shall take those odds.”
“Me too, Tovarisch. Me too.”
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Date: 2016-09-12 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-12 08:25 pm (UTC)And yes, it was a dark time that brought out the best in some and the worst in others.
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Date: 2016-09-12 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-12 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-12 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-13 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-12 08:41 pm (UTC)I kind of wish Waverly hadn't been there, as that commander needed a lesson. I love this look at cold war attitudes.
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Date: 2016-09-12 08:45 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it! Thanks!
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Date: 2016-09-12 08:51 pm (UTC)Well done.
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Date: 2016-09-12 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-12 11:13 pm (UTC)Loved this. Well done!
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Date: 2016-09-13 03:39 am (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2016-09-13 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-14 09:17 pm (UTC)