Urrah! - PicFic 9/27

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The fog was the least of their problems as the UNCLE agents made their way through a forest in the northern most region of New York's Adirondack mountains.  The floor of the forest was littered with the usual debris from broken twigs and piles of pine needles.  The air was moist, the expected condition considering the amount of fog.

Napoleon Solo's left arm was in a hastily made sling, compliments of his partner and a very expensive silk tie.  Illya Kuryakin was many things, and his ability to construct something out of nearly nothing had come in handy once again.

"Watch your step Napoleon.  You're likely out of balance with one arm tied to your body."  He could feel it, his balance was slightly off as he made his way over the uneven ground.

"Do you see any sign of him?"  The him Napoleon referred to was the self-anointed Samurai Warrior whose day job was as a professor of Eastern Philosophy and Oriental Studies.  Somehow in the midst of his teaching job and extra-curricular activities, the good professor had begun to believe he was a reincarnated Samurai whose mission in this life was to wage war on a modern society that rejected everything he represented.

"Professor Wharton is leading us toward the top of the mountain.  I assume he will be waiting for us and intending to dispatch us with that rather terrifying weapon he's carrying."  Illya wasn't often impressed with the enemy, but this fellow was a believer and those were the most dangerous types of menace.

"I believe we will be encountering him up there somewhere.' Illya pointed up ahead to a clearing where the fog was lifting and a wide expanse of green could be seen, free of the sheltering trees.

"He is most likely poised for combat."  Napoleon looked down at his disabled arm.  He wasn't going to be much help if Wharton attacked them.

"And why, exactly, are we going to just walk into that clearing and let him ambush us?"  Was there a slight tinge of sarcasm in his voice?  Napoleon was tired and his arm hurt where he had run into Wharton's  kaiken, a double edged knife that he had pulled out of the sleeve of his robe.  The man was crazed with the imagery of feudal Japan and the war lords known as Samurai.  His total immersion into his field of study had thrown Wharton into a delusion that was now threatening the two men who were sent to capture him.

Illya's shoulders slumped slightly at the question.  What else were they to do but confront the madman?  Napoleon was indisposed, his arms completely useless and with only one with which to fight…

That gave the Russian an idea.  He stopped walking and turned towards the trees that lined their path.  He was looking for sturdy limbs that would serve as a Japanese bo, a stick or pole used for fighting.  Napoleon could do that with one good arm, and he would be  twice as effective with two at his command.

Illya scavenged the forest floor until he found what he needed; two limbs that would be sturdy enough for battle.  Of course either of them could be cut through with Wharton' sword… They would need to steer very clear of that weapon.

Napoleon had caught on by now to what his partner was after.  When he saw the two tree limbs being carried by Illya he was already flexing his right arm and hand, ready to assume a defensive posture at the sight of the would be Samurai.

"Do we go in together, or should you alter your course and find another way through the trees.  It might throw him off slightly if only I show up in the clearing."  Napoleon knew it was risky but he was trying to strategize a winning formula for their encounter.  They had no other weapons besides the tree limbs, their guns and communicators victims of an earlier encounter with Wharton.  To their utter disbelief, he had disarmed them by threatening to disembowel an innocent hiker whose misfortune it was to have wandered onto the path where the encounter was taking place.  In a movement too swift to stop, he had taken the young man in a grip he couldn't evade while holding that massive sword, ready to kill him unless Solo and Kuryakin threw away their weapons and the silver thing he had spotted earlier.  They had no choice but to acquiesce, and hope he wouldn't harm the hiker.

Wharton was true to his word, and he was fast in his retreat.  The UNCLE agents had been following him for two hours as they made their way north on the pathway he had chosen.  He was far enough ahead for them to constantly be out of reach of capturing him, but now they understood he would be waiting for them.  And so they continued on now, armed with their bo fighting sticks and a quiet interlude intentioned for preparing to do battle.

Illya put his hand on Napoleon's arm and motioned towards the trees.  Nodding his understanding, Solo continued on as soon as Illya was well out of sight.  His grip on the stick he carried was causing his knuckles to turn white; he wasn't in shape to overcome Wharton, so he pinned his hopes on his partner.

At the top of the rise, in the midst of the wide expanse of grass and wildflowers, Napoleon waited.  He knew Wharton was watching, hoped that he hadn't already encountered Illya.  Just as he was beginning to think they had miscalculated his intentions, Wharton emerged from behind a boulder, his sword upraised as he shouted out a warrior's cry, "Ei! Ei!…Oh!"  He ran towards Napoleon who was armed only with the stick his partner had given him.  As he braced for the attack another shout went up from a streak of blond and black turtleneck.

"Urrah!" The Russian flew into the stunned Wharton, whacking him in the back of his skull and then his chest.  The professor's arms flailed as he went down under Illya's assault.  Napoleon was standing close enough to hear the crack of the wood as it met bone and flesh, but he was mostly impressed at his partner's performance.  It was over quickly, with Wharton's body laid out between them, his samurai shitagi kimono atop black striped hakama trousers, and a traditional uwa-obi around his waist, from which he had hung the sword that now lay several feet away.

Napoleon waited for his friend to change his position.  Illya had assumed a demeanor much like the vanquished faux samurai  whose prone body was at his feet.  Arms upraised with the bo in a firm grip, the blond had a look on his face that hearkened back to the Russian warriors of his homeland; stern and unyielding in the presence of a defeated enemy.

"So, what did you yell before whomping on the professor?"  Napoleon needed to break the tension.  It was over, after all.  What was holding Illya in that pose?

The spell was broken with the question, and Illya lowered his arms and relaxed his body enough to direct his gaze to the man standing opposite him.

"Urrah!"  It is what Russian soldiers have shouted going into warfare for over three hundred years.  I thought it was appropriate to do so now."  He smiled as the words came out of his mouth, the satisfaction of carrying out something borne of patriotism and bravery in the face of danger made him feel as one with him homeland, if only for a brief moment.  Napoleon just shook his head, grateful once again for his partner, and the luck that seemed to carry them home every time.