"The Lost Flight" Part One - for PicFic Tuesday

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

This Picfic story has taken on a life of its own and will be posted in multiple parts over the next few days.

The prompt:

Illya was sitting in his seat on the  private UNCLE Learjet; arms crossed in front of himself, he was trying to sleep but that just wasn’t going to happen.

Giggling and squealing children running around inside the cabin were usually not a source of annoyance to him but at the moment they were, as he was extremely tired.

A transatlantic flight with Mrs.Waverly and her two grandchildren from New York to Scotland and now from Scotland to Rovaniemi, the administrative capital of Finland's northernmost province, Lapland; it was wearing thin on the Soviet agent. This was his second flight across the pond this week and the jet lag was catching up to on him.

Still when Alexander Waverly asked one to escort his wife and children to him in Finland, one did not refuse.

There were heading there to meet him in Rovaniemi as he was caught up in meetings with potential member nations looking to align themselves with U.N.C.L.E.

It was getting near to Christmas and Alexander knew he wouldn’t be home in time and with the grandchildren staying with his wife...well he just didn’t want to miss spending the holiday with them; he’d done that in the past too many times with his own children.

He was getting of an age where he was missing the grandkids as well as his wife. Perhaps it was time to think of retiring; in truth, how many more years might God grant him to be on this earth?

His wife Estelle had managed to raise their children more or less without him; she was a woman made of sterner stuff and understood the needs of his job.

“Dash it all! Not this year!” They were going to enjoy Christmas together, even if it’s in Finland,” Waverly swore to himself.

Alexander suddenly chuckled. The Finns considered Rovaniemi to be the official home town of Santa Claus. Perhaps the jolly old elf himself could pay a personal visit to the children once they arrived.

Rovaniemi was a remarkable city, situated roughly 6 miles south of the Arctic Circle, as the reindeer flew, and was between the hills of Ounasvaara and Korkalovaara, at the confluence of the river Kemijoki and its tributary, the Ounasjoki river.

During the Second World War, Finland signed the Moscow Armistice and found itself involved in the Lapland War with its former German ally. In October of 1944 the retreating  German army received orders to destroy all the buildings in Rovaniemi, excluding hospitals and houses where inhabitants were present.

While the German rear guard was going about the destruction, an ammunition train in Rovaniemi station exploded and set fire to the wooden houses of the town. The German troops suffered many casualties.

A Finnish commando unit claimed to have blown up the ammunition train and may well have been the primary cause of the town's ruin. The cause was then unknown and generally assumed to be the deliberate intent of the Germans.

Ninety percent of all the buildings in Rovaniemi were destroyed and,  as Alexander Waverly looked out his hotel window, he marveled at the recovery of the city. The lights were bright, but the really amazing view was that of the Aurora Borealis.

Swaths of green rippled and undulated across the night sky. They were nearly hypnotic. It was known for being visible here more than any other place.

“The northern lights are amazing sir aren’t they sir?” Napoleon Solo said as he set down a drink he’d just made for the Old Man. “Shame though, I heard it’s supposed to start snowing heavily for the next few days. Good thing your family will be arriving soon.”

Mr. Waverly canted his head to one side, lost in thought.

“Hmmm, yes quite. I was hoping the youngsters would be able to see the lights...oh well. Mother Nature doesn’t feel like being cooperative does she? Still it will be good to spend the holiday with the Mrs. and grandchildren for once. My apologies for you not being able to spend Christmas with your own family Mr. Solo.”

“No worries there sir; they’re all travelling for the holidays. The ummm...date I had scheduled understood.”

Waverly had a twinkle in his eye. “Yes your Aunt Amy is a good sport, isn’t she?” He winked.

Napoleon smiled. How the hell Old Man knew these things still amazed him. He only hoped when it came his turn to man the helm of the Command, that he’d be as intuitive as Mr. Waverly.

He looked at his wristwatch.” I’m afraid sir it’s time to head back to the negotiating table.”

Waverly downed the rest of his drink and placed it on a nearby table.

“You will let me know when the plane arrives will you?”

“Absolutely sir.”  Napoleon gestured with his hand as he opened the door for his boss to exit.

“And try not to get yourself entangled with anyone while I’m in the meeting, if you get my drift...ahem,  Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon lowered his eyes. He’d made arrangements to meet a gorgeous blonde named
Vilhelmiina...Mimmi for short. Hopefully she’d understand; maybe she didn’t have plans for Christmas? If she did, then he could always spend it with his partner. What was he thinking? Illya, though he loved the guy, was a stick in the mud when it came to the holidays.

He’d had gotten Illya to loosen up a bit; he’d finally succumbed to the idea of exchanging gifts. He’d also started showing up at the headquarters Christmas party back in New York, though at first it seemed like it was for the food.

Solo chuckled to himself when the former Soviet agent asked how much it cost, and was completely wide-eyed with surprise when he was told it was free, and it was catered by Mr. Waverly.

Since then Illya got how things worked. He became a bit more social at these holiday events once he realized that not everyone at headquarters disliked him because he was a Soviet and a Communist. To the contrary, he was well liked by most people. Illya just didn’t know it.

Napoleon managed to take care of a few of the naysayers with who Illya had some unpleasant run ins. One pair tried to beat the crap out of him in the men’s locker room down at the gymnasium, telling him to go home to Russia.

Once Illya confessed why he was sporting a black eye, and who gave it to him, Mr. Waverly took swift action.

The men involved were transferred to a weather station located on Mount McKinley, Alaska and the highest peak in North America. It was considered the coldest mountain on earth.

They were assigned to the weather station located there as security, seeing that no one interfered with it.  Of course with the wind gusts ranging anywhere from 50 to 100 mph, the chances of any problems at the weather station seemed close to nil.

After seeing Waverly to the meeting, and making sure security was in place, Napoleon went to the hotel restaurant. There he ordered himself a strong cup of black coffee. Something told him he was going to need it.

Sitting off to the side at a table in the shadows he waited for the call telling him the UNCLE jet had arrived. At least going to pick them up at the airport would break the monotony.

…..

One of Illya’s eyes popped open as he heard the voice of Edmé MacDougall who’d come on board in Scotland as hostess for the last leg of their flight. She was rather close to his face.

“Mr. Kuryakin, I think there’s a wee problem,” she whispered. “By my reckoning we should be just about ready ta land. I took some coffee ta the pilots and I saw we’re nae on the right course.”

Kuryakin’s eyes opened wide. “Say nothing to Mrs. Waverly. I will go check on this. Just as a precaution everyone should be seated and wearing their safety belts.”

As soon as his back was to everyone, Illya drew his gun from his shoulder holster, just in case.

He slowly parted the curtains at the cockpit entrance. Looking at the controla, he knew Edmé was correct.

“Why have you changed course?”

“Reports of bad weather, so just go back to your seat and let us do our jobs Kuryakin.”

For a split second Illya was taken aback at the man’s tone of voice.

“Excuse me?”

The copilot turned, holding a Luger in his right hand.”I’ll take that gun Kuryakin.”

Illya dove for the weapon, wrestling the man for it. In the process it went off; the shot hitting and killing the pilot.As the struggle continued the plane went into an immediate descent. The gun went off again, this time hitting the copilot.

Illya released his grip, though it was premature as the pilot was able to get off one more shot before he died. This one hit the Russian in the shoulder.

He went down, and struggled to stand in order to get the pilot from his seat. Once he did, Illya climbed into the chair. Gripping the controls, he tried to pull the plane up but it was too far gone when he saw the altimeter.

“Hold on, we are going to crash!” He yelled to the others.

He grabbed a microphone, getting out a mayday just before the plane slammed into the ground.

Continued in Part 2