"The Lost Flight" Part 3
Nov. 30th, 2016 01:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuPart 1, Part 2
Illya and the children were huddled together when they heard it, the jingling of bells.
“Santa?” Susan whispered.
“I think not,” Illya said as he raised his gun with his left hand. He’d previously instructed Thomas on how to tell him in which direction to shoot based upon the hands of a clock.
Illya pointed the gun at the noise as the door opened.
“Don’t shoot Illya, it’s Grandma!” Thomas barked. The two children ran towards her, wrapping their arms around her.
“Yes please don’t shoot me Mr. Kuryakin. My husband would be quite cross with you if you did.”
“Yes Ma’am.” he immediately lowered the weapon.
“Well I have good news and bad news. Which would you liked to hear first?”
“It does not matter,”Illya answered.
“Very well then, the good news first. I have found us help. The bad news is that our plane has come down in the Soviet Union.”
A man with a full white beard dressed in a heavy black coat stepped in behind her. He said nothing until he was inside the cabin.
“Privetstvuyu,” he greeted them.
“Hello,” Kuryakin replied in Russian.”My name is Illya, might you be able to help us? As you can see we are in a bit of difficulty.”
“Yes, Mrs. Waverly told me of your predicament. You will come with me please back to my home…oh and my name is Pavel Andreivich. I was once a priest in the Orthodox church but no more, well at least I can no longer practice my faith. There are so few people here this time of year, what does it matter even if I could? I have been lucky as I avoided being sent to gulag all these years. I guessed NKVD and now KGB have forgotten about this part of Russia...I mean Soviet Union as it is so remote and sparsely populated.”
Illya said nothing at first, and slowly rose. “Do you speak English?”
Pavel shook his head no, which meant Mrs. Waverly must have indeed spoken Russian to him. The fact that the man knew the details of their predicament confirmed that to Kuryakin. He wondered if she knew Finnish as well?
Illya held out his hand in friendship, though he was pointing it in the wrong directly. “I hope that would include KGB not having much of a presence here...where is here by the way?”
“The Karelian Isthmus, in the Leningrad oblast...or is it St. Petersburg? It it hard to remember now days. We are basically in the middle of nowhere. The village that was once here was wiped out during the conflict between Soviet Union and Finland and few people remain. Now come we must go before the snow becomes heavier.”
Kuryakin, with the help of the children, made his way to the door and outside. Waiting there for them was a red sleigh and harnessed to it were a pair of sturdy reindeer.
“Look it is Santa’s sleigh!” Susan giggled.
Santa was one word Pavel knew and it made him smile. “Nyet. Sorry little one but no Grandfather Christmas here. It is merely an old man’s sled and his reindeer. We use them here instead of horses.”
Illya started to translate but was interrupted.
“I understood him,” Susan nodded.
Illya was even more impressed with the Waverly family than ever.
“Do they have names?” She asked Pavel.
“Da, the big one is Vasha, and the other his brother is Pasha.”
Everyone snuggled under blankets and furs as Pavel yanked the reins, telling calling for Vasha and Pasha to go.
Gliding across the snow, the feel of the cold brought a plethora of memories back to Kuryakin. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel and remember. The scents of the forest were powerful as were his memories, good ones for once.
The last time he was in St. Petersburg he road in a troika with a pretty girl and fellow Military Intelligence agent named Rada Ryabkova...he smiled as he recalled those days with Rada. Sadly,she died while on assignment somewhere in the jungles of South America.
The sled pulled up in front of an old Orthodox church, and Estelle made a point of describing it to Illya. To her it was beautiful, but to him it brought back more memories from is past, but this time they were ones he didn’t really want to revisit.
His thoughts immediately went to to that of St. Andrews in Kyiv, and the time spent there with with his now long dead family.
Before she disappeared, never to be seen again, his babushka tried to get him to not lose his faith in God, but after seeing his mother and infant brothers murdered in the street by Nazi soldiers...he became angry with God. He gave up believing. *
“Yes, thank you Mrs. Waverly. I am sure it is lovely but might we go inside? My shoulder is hurting terribly.”
“Why yes of course Illya dear, what was I thinking?”
Illya was guided inside the church and Pavel helped him lay down on a nearby fur covered bed.
The church was devoid of all religious imagery. There were no icons or holy images present. The interior was now a home, with several beds, a large wooden table with benches, several crudely made chairs. There was a cast iron stove but towards the back of the church was a hearth with a roaring fire.
“First we see to your wound,” Pavel announced,” Mrs. Waverly if you would assist me?”
He reached to a shelf above the bed, taking down a small black bag.
“If you could sterilize this for me please? I had some medical training during the Great Patriotic War.”
“I was a nurse back then,” she smiled, patting the back of his hand.
“I am sorry my son, but I have nothing to dull the pain,” Pavel whispered.
“It is fine. Just do it.”
Illya moaned ever so slightly as the procedure began. Pavel was quick in his probing for the bullet. Estelle assisted, helping to wipe the blood as he worked and finally found the bullet.
Pavel held it up for her to see, then proceeded to clean the wound as best he could and stitched it closed. Mrs. Waverly put a fresh dressing on it.
The man washed his hands in a small basin then lit a fire for heating up water in a polished brass samovar for tea, and placing a simple tea pot atop it; he waited for the water to boil.
“I will be back shortly,” Pavel said.”Help yourself to the tea when it is ready. Do you know how to use the samovar?”
“Da,” Estelle nodded, but she was suddenly a bit suspicious.”Where are you going?”
“Do not worry. I must go unharness the reindeer and feed them in the barn where they stay. Would you like to help me Tomas and S'yuzen? If they may?” He looked to Estelle.
“Nyet,” Illya called out.” As grateful as we are for your help we do not…”
“I understand my son. You do not know me so how can you trust me? Here, perhaps this might help?” Pavel opened a carved wooden chest and lifted out his priest’s robes, and with it a prayer book. There was a yellowed photograph of him in his younger days, dressed in his priestly garb.”
“Illya it’s all right, I have a good feeling about him,” Estelle spoke up in English.
After putting on their coats Pavel and the children went outside, though Estelle peeked out of the window watched as the they climbed into the sled and it was driven round the corner.
A short while later two yawning children followed Pavel inside; he was carrying the blankets and fur throws from the sled.
“Once these are dried they will help keep us all warm. I fear it is going to be a very cold night.
Estelle helped him open them, spreading them on the floor near the fireplace. She then poured him a glass of strong tea, noting the holder was gold plated and beautifully enameled with white and blue. One of the other holders was plain, apparently made of cheap aluminum, with the hammer and sickle prominently featured on it. This was a stark reminder of where they were.
“Now time for some food,” Pavel clapped his hands together.
“Let me help,” Estelle said.”The least I can do for you rescuing us.”
“The dishes are there,” he pointed to the cupboard.” They are the special ones I use for company, otherwise I eat from a plain wooden bowl.”
Estelle brought out a beautiful set of bowls; they were black lacquered on the outside with a design of berries and swirls of golden leaves. The inside were shimmering gold.
“I know, not what you expect a humble former priest to have. They were gifts from parish members over the years. The style of decoration is called Khokhloma. It was supposed to have originated in the town of Semyonov, in the Gorky region, a little over 300 miles northeast of Moskva."
"There is a legend that the craft was invented by a clandestine icon painter, who lived deep within the forests which surrounded the Kerzhenets River. The painter, a member of a group of ‘Old Believers’ who inhabited the area, broke from the Russian Orthodox church in the middle of the 17th century. The painter learned of a band of men who were coming to bring him back to Moscow to answer for his dissension. The craftsman quickly gave away his brushes, and told the members of his village the secrets of the art of Khokhloma. It is said that he burned down his house, and was killed in the blaze, but throughout the night the red fire cast a golden aura against the black night sky, so that no one would soon forget the colors associated with the art of Khokhloma.”
“That’s a wonderful story Pavel, thank you.”
Illya who had nodded off was woken by the children, and was told food was ready. Though Estelle wanted him to stay in bed, he refused. Thomas carefully led him to the table. To make it easier Illya was given a chair at the end while the others used the benches.
In the middle of the table a large bowl of red borscht along with a bowl with sour cream. On a platter with a was a stack of mini-pies called piroshki which were filled with potato, egg and cheese. There was also a loaf of freshly baked brown bed, and a bowl of fresh butter.
Generally no meat was eaten until after Christmas in the Orthodox tradition, but Pavel lived on a rather spartan diet, so not eating meat wasn’t really a problem. His guests would eat what he ate.
There was more tea, and milk for the children as Pavel had a milk cow as well as chickens, besides his two reindeer. That and having this church as his home made him a rather lucky man.
Illya moved carefully as the food was set in front of him.
“It smells delicious, thank you again Pavel. I apologize for seeming distrustful.”
“My boy, it is understandable. I think I can speak frankly to you. We live under a great shadow here in our country. Mother Russia I think weeps for what has been done to her by the bolsheviks and the others who followed them. We all live in fear. Everyone spies on his brother and will betray anyone to save themselves.”
That’s exactly what was in the back of Illya’s mind. Surely the Soviet Air defenses tracked the UNCLE jet, and knew where it came down. They’d be out here soon enough looking for the occupants of it.
Komitet gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti was in favor with the Kremlin right now, and he being a former GRU agent who refused to spy for the KGB when he was sent to the U..N.C.L.E. made him a thorn in their side.
He would be interrogated most assuredly; there would be no gulag for him, only a firing squad. All of this would be done in secret. No one would know...not GRU, Kremlin, or U.N.C.L.E. He knew the way KGB worked; they had made too many people disappear without a trace. Families might or might not be notified of the death of their loved one months after the fact. No one dared question their actions.
As to Mrs. Waverly and the children, he hated to think what could happen to them...
They might be executed as well or somehow they could be miraculously returned unharmed to Alexander Waverly; the Old Man had a fair amount of pull with the Kremlin, though not KGB.
“Pavel, I fear our presence here will put you in danger. Someone...the military will surely be coming to look for us. This is my fault.”
Not being able to see; Kuryakin had no idea how he was going to get them out of this.
“Illya it was not your fault so stop that nonsense immediately,” Estelle snapped at him. “Alexander will come for us, or rather I should say Mr. Solo will. You know that in your heart of hearts my dear.”
“I wish I could be as sure as you Mrs. Waverly.” She did not know KGB like he did.
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Date: 2016-11-30 06:27 pm (UTC)Fantastic! I am riveted!! Can't wait for more!
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Date: 2016-11-30 06:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-30 08:10 pm (UTC)Very Christmassy; and I love the bits of Russian history/art.
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Date: 2016-11-30 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-30 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-30 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-30 11:11 pm (UTC)I've kind of in a state of awe as to how quickly I wrote this really. Now that I've broken it up in to chapters, I've been able to see a few things that needed to be address, so now it's more like 12,000 words, or close to it. Yikes!
Something will come to your for the PicFic and basically you have all of December to post it as that was the last prompt for this year. I decided to take a break from the challenge. Besides there's the round robin, Short Affair, Drabbles, What's my line? Song Story, and probably some impromptu challenges, so there'll be plenty to do in the busy month of December.
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Date: 2016-12-01 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-01 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-01 05:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-01 12:30 pm (UTC)