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section7mfu2012-09-16 09:22 am
mrua7.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2012-09-16 09:22 am
A Leaf moves ~ chapter 8 The Conclusion
Link to chapter 7: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/120962.html
A group from the United nations would be arriving to do another inspection and those prisoners too weak to work were moved to the clinic as well, to be kept out of sight from the visitors.
A complaint had been filed by the Red Cross, advising the U.N. of unsanitary conditions, and prisoner abuses, and now the inspectors arrived a day early taking everyone by surprise, sending the warden and his guards into a panic.
Slobodan Ivanović, the prison warden tried his best to keep Margaret Van Dorn and her assistants in his office, offering them lunch and drinks to buy time for his guards to do what they needed, but she would hear nothing of it.
“Fine, let us get this over with then,” Ivanović snapped at her, mistakenly telling himself, what did it matter what she saw, as a woman’s word only carried so much in the the world.
She and her pair of assistants were escorted through the prison, and the brickyards making her notes on a clipboard and saying nothing, but when Margaret would spot a blond prisoner, she would turn to her dark haired assistant, getting his attention.
He shook his head no, and they continued on. This time she insisted on seeing the conditions of the prison clinic. It was there she spotted Illya, nearly unrecognizable, as he was thin, filthy and unshaven and his hair had grown quite long. It was so dirty that it looked almost brown. Her gesture to the assistants was hardly perceptible, and this time they smiled, barely nodding back to her.
Without hesitation the dark haired one turned to the guard who was escorting them, delivering a karate chop to his neck and rendering him unconscious.
“Mark, you take his uniform and we’ll dress Illya in your clothes.” Napoleon said.
“Are you sure this is going to work Napoleon?” April asked.
“Hey you’ll be leaving with the same number of assistants that you came with, and the guard will escort us out to our car.” He winked at her, and he turned his attention to the doctor. “I need him clean, shaven and ready to go in fifteen minutes, can you do that for me? We’re taking him out of the prison.”
“Ah so it is you Zoran calls out to in his sleep, and not the Bonaparte,” Dragovic said. “Yes, I can have him ready. It is good to see that he has friends such as you who are willing to risk their lives for him.”
The old man hesitated. “I beg of you to do something for me? When you get out of here, please tell the world of us, and our plight.”
“Napoleon, is there any way we can take him with us?” April asked.
“No no, young woman. I am too old for such an undertaking, just promise me you will try to get us some help.”
“I will Doctor, I promise.” April smiled, touching her hand to the Radovan’s care worn cheek.
Illya was washed and shaved in minutes, with his hair quickly clipped to a decent length by April. He was barely coherent during the whole process and seemed not to know who they were.
April pulled a bottle of smelling salts from her purse, wafting it under the Russian’s nose, and bringing him to his senses with a start.
“Where am I?” He asked, his eyes darting in confusion around the room.
“Among friends,” Napoleon whispered. He took a small vial out of his pocket. “Drink this, it’s a stimulant. We need you up and able to walk out of here.”
Illya swallowed it, making a face at the bitter taste and in a few minutes he was standing on his own two feet, with the help of what Napoleon had given him along and his sheer force of will.
“Okay, show time,” Napoleon said as he and April took hold of Illya, steadying him between them as they returned to the Warden’s office, escorted by Mark dressed as the guard.
“Come, come in Mrs. Van Dorn,” Ivanović gushed, still trying to sway her.” So did you see everything you needed? I hope you will give us a favorable report. It is so difficult to control these men at times as they act more animal than human beings.”
“Thank you Warden Ivanović, I’ll make sure you’re forwarded a copy of my report to the Council,” Margaret Van Dorn said, “and don’t fret dear, it’s not as bad as you imagine. I agree with you, it’s so difficult to keep such louts in line, isn’t it?”
Ivanović smiled, thinking perhaps she did understand the need for such harshness at his prison. He looked to the guard who was with them, not recognizing him, yet there was something oddly familiar about him.
“Jesi li ti novi ovdje_are you new here?”
Mark tried not to panic, as he only knew a few words in Croatian, and caught out of the corner of his eye, Napoleon nodding ‘yes.’
“Da gospodine_yes sir.” He answered confidently.
“Trebali su izvijestili da se prije nego što je otišao na dužnosti_you should have reported to me before you went on duty. Don’t let it happen again.”
Napoleon carefully shook his head ‘no’.
“Ne gospodine_no sir.” Mark replied.
Ivanović thanked April for her visit. “It was a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman, and your image will bring such pleasant memories for my unfortunate existence in such a harsh and dreary place.” He took her hand and kissed it.
“Thank you.” April cringed.
“Sada prate ove ljude na njihov automobil_now escort these people outside to their car.
Napoleon nodded, giving Mark his cue, and holding on tight to Illya keeping him steady; thankful the warden hadn’t recognized him cleaned up and without a beard.
“Da gospodine_yes sir.” Mark answered again with a crisp salute. He turned, following April and the others as they headed to the office door, hurrying to open it for them.
Once out into the hall, supporting Illya between the two of them, Napoleon and Mark nearly dragged him out of the building while April walked point, making sure the coast was clear.
“Okay buddy boy,” Napoleon said as they reached the courtyard, “Time to walk tall.” He held onto Illya’s arm as the Russian struggled to maintain a semblance of normality as they crossed the yard to the main gate with Mark now in the lead, with April helping to support Illya now.
The iron gate opened slowly, and they looked straight ahead, avoiding glancing up at the watchtowers.
“Halt,” a guard called to them, and they froze in their tracks. There was nothing they could do. If they drew their weapons, they’d be gunned down where they stood.
He approached April, reaching inside his uniform jacket.
“Da li možete da dobijete ovo pismo mojoj ženi ? Ona je u Beogradu i nisam videla mesecima_could you get this letter to my wife? She is in Belgrade and I haven't seen her for months.”
Napoleon nodded with a sigh of relief, and smiled as he took the envelope from him.
“He wants us to deliver a letter to his wife in Belgrade,” Napoleon said.
“Oh, yes.” April nodded, continuing to smile as she enunciated each word. “Yes-we-will.”
“Thhhank ou, vera much.” The guard replied in broken English, then waved them on.
They made it to the outside, walking the distance between the gate and the car without rushing, making it feel as if were the longest twenty yards they’d ever traveled. But once they reached the waiting sedan, they quickly piled into it, with Mark getting behind the wheel.
Illya lay in the backseat with his head cradled in his partner’s lap. Everything was spinning and he couldn’t recall anything of what had just taken place. Thoughts raced through his head... was he dying, had he died already? He felt arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, covering him with a warm blanket. It felt good, reassuring. A familiar voice spoke to him, encouraging him, telling him he was all right.
Everything hurt, and he coughed violently in response to the weariness of his body.Yet he felt a hand holding his now, squeezing it reassuringly and finally as his head began to clear a little, he recognized the voice of his partner, it was filled with concern and emotion, but confidence as well.
"Tovarisch?"
Illya’s eyes opened a moment later to see a smile, one he knew well.
He was out of that place now, he didn't know how, but he was free.
Napoleon bundled the warm blanket around his partner and held him tightly, brushing Illya’s chopped up hair out of his eyes.
"You were very late this time," Illya whispered, his voice barely perceptible as he tried to smile.
"I may be late, but I'll always be there...I’m sorry I took so long finding you. Your note eventually made it from the Red Cross to the U.N., but it was slow in getting to us. Damn red tape.”
“Da...” Illya took a deep gasp, it was obvious he was having trouble breathing.
Napoleon held onto his friends hand, squeezing it again tightly as Illya broke out into violent a fit of coughing, moaning in pain from it. He could hear the rattling and wheezing in the Russian’s lungs, and prayed it wasn’t too late. Illya was strong, and the most stubborn man that Napoleon knew, that, he hoped would help his partner hang on.
“Ne pytaytesʹ govoritʹ. kety, uspokoytesʹ’_don’t try to talk. chum, just it easy.” He spoke Russian as he looked into his partner’s still bright blue eyes.
“I must give you more lessons...your accent leaves much to be desired.” Illya tried smiling again.
That was at least a good sign to Napoleon, as his friend still had his snarky sense of humor.
“That’ a deal. You just get better and then you can give me those lessons.” His words went uheard, as Illya had fallen asleep.
The car bearing United Nations plates and flags sped off northwest, heading towards Austria, with no one following them. Once crossing the border, they were met by the waiting arms of U.N.C.L.E. personnel.
Illya’s condition was quickly assessed, heart rate and pulse checked.
He was put on an IV with an infusion of Ringer’s lactate and given antibiotics, as they whisked him away in a medivac chopper to a hospital in Vienna. Once he was stabilized, he would be moved to medical in the West Berlin headquarters, and finally brought back to New York for rehabilitation.
Napoleon was given the thumbs up by the medic that his partner was going to make it, and he watched alongside April and Mark as the chopper rose into the air.
“We almost lost him,” April said, as she locked her arm though Napoleons’; her auburn hair blowing wildly from the whipping of the helicopter blades.
“I know,” Napoleon answered somberly, brushing his forelock back into place.“ But we didn’t, not this time.”
“We’ll run out of our nine lives eventually, won’t we mate?” Mark asked as he followed behind them, having removed the uniform jacket and hat.
“That, my dear chap, is an answer I don’t want to give,” Napoleon replied.
He’d seen Illya come through after some pretty close calls, and according to his count, his partner had run out of his nine lives a long time ago. Maybe, Napoleon hoped, some of that Solo luck had finally rubbed off on his stubborn Russian friend.
A line of poetry suddenly popped into his head, about endurance, and not giving up hope.
“It's not that you can't pass ten or fifteen years inside and more --you can, as long as the jewel on the left side of your chest doesn't lose its luster.” * That applied, he thought, to Illya Kuryakin as the Russian’s heart hadn’t lost its strength yet, in spite of the trials sent his way.
.
Finis
.
Authors note: Jasenovac concentration camp was real but the prison in my story is not.
A group from the United nations would be arriving to do another inspection and those prisoners too weak to work were moved to the clinic as well, to be kept out of sight from the visitors.
A complaint had been filed by the Red Cross, advising the U.N. of unsanitary conditions, and prisoner abuses, and now the inspectors arrived a day early taking everyone by surprise, sending the warden and his guards into a panic.
Slobodan Ivanović, the prison warden tried his best to keep Margaret Van Dorn and her assistants in his office, offering them lunch and drinks to buy time for his guards to do what they needed, but she would hear nothing of it.
“Fine, let us get this over with then,” Ivanović snapped at her, mistakenly telling himself, what did it matter what she saw, as a woman’s word only carried so much in the the world.
She and her pair of assistants were escorted through the prison, and the brickyards making her notes on a clipboard and saying nothing, but when Margaret would spot a blond prisoner, she would turn to her dark haired assistant, getting his attention.
He shook his head no, and they continued on. This time she insisted on seeing the conditions of the prison clinic. It was there she spotted Illya, nearly unrecognizable, as he was thin, filthy and unshaven and his hair had grown quite long. It was so dirty that it looked almost brown. Her gesture to the assistants was hardly perceptible, and this time they smiled, barely nodding back to her.
Without hesitation the dark haired one turned to the guard who was escorting them, delivering a karate chop to his neck and rendering him unconscious.
“Mark, you take his uniform and we’ll dress Illya in your clothes.” Napoleon said.
“Are you sure this is going to work Napoleon?” April asked.
“Hey you’ll be leaving with the same number of assistants that you came with, and the guard will escort us out to our car.” He winked at her, and he turned his attention to the doctor. “I need him clean, shaven and ready to go in fifteen minutes, can you do that for me? We’re taking him out of the prison.”
“Ah so it is you Zoran calls out to in his sleep, and not the Bonaparte,” Dragovic said. “Yes, I can have him ready. It is good to see that he has friends such as you who are willing to risk their lives for him.”
The old man hesitated. “I beg of you to do something for me? When you get out of here, please tell the world of us, and our plight.”
“Napoleon, is there any way we can take him with us?” April asked.
“No no, young woman. I am too old for such an undertaking, just promise me you will try to get us some help.”
“I will Doctor, I promise.” April smiled, touching her hand to the Radovan’s care worn cheek.
Illya was washed and shaved in minutes, with his hair quickly clipped to a decent length by April. He was barely coherent during the whole process and seemed not to know who they were.
April pulled a bottle of smelling salts from her purse, wafting it under the Russian’s nose, and bringing him to his senses with a start.
“Where am I?” He asked, his eyes darting in confusion around the room.
“Among friends,” Napoleon whispered. He took a small vial out of his pocket. “Drink this, it’s a stimulant. We need you up and able to walk out of here.”
Illya swallowed it, making a face at the bitter taste and in a few minutes he was standing on his own two feet, with the help of what Napoleon had given him along and his sheer force of will.
“Okay, show time,” Napoleon said as he and April took hold of Illya, steadying him between them as they returned to the Warden’s office, escorted by Mark dressed as the guard.
“Come, come in Mrs. Van Dorn,” Ivanović gushed, still trying to sway her.” So did you see everything you needed? I hope you will give us a favorable report. It is so difficult to control these men at times as they act more animal than human beings.”
“Thank you Warden Ivanović, I’ll make sure you’re forwarded a copy of my report to the Council,” Margaret Van Dorn said, “and don’t fret dear, it’s not as bad as you imagine. I agree with you, it’s so difficult to keep such louts in line, isn’t it?”
Ivanović smiled, thinking perhaps she did understand the need for such harshness at his prison. He looked to the guard who was with them, not recognizing him, yet there was something oddly familiar about him.
“Jesi li ti novi ovdje_are you new here?”
Mark tried not to panic, as he only knew a few words in Croatian, and caught out of the corner of his eye, Napoleon nodding ‘yes.’
“Da gospodine_yes sir.” He answered confidently.
“Trebali su izvijestili da se prije nego što je otišao na dužnosti_you should have reported to me before you went on duty. Don’t let it happen again.”
Napoleon carefully shook his head ‘no’.
“Ne gospodine_no sir.” Mark replied.
Ivanović thanked April for her visit. “It was a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman, and your image will bring such pleasant memories for my unfortunate existence in such a harsh and dreary place.” He took her hand and kissed it.
“Thank you.” April cringed.
“Sada prate ove ljude na njihov automobil_now escort these people outside to their car.
Napoleon nodded, giving Mark his cue, and holding on tight to Illya keeping him steady; thankful the warden hadn’t recognized him cleaned up and without a beard.
“Da gospodine_yes sir.” Mark answered again with a crisp salute. He turned, following April and the others as they headed to the office door, hurrying to open it for them.
Once out into the hall, supporting Illya between the two of them, Napoleon and Mark nearly dragged him out of the building while April walked point, making sure the coast was clear.
“Okay buddy boy,” Napoleon said as they reached the courtyard, “Time to walk tall.” He held onto Illya’s arm as the Russian struggled to maintain a semblance of normality as they crossed the yard to the main gate with Mark now in the lead, with April helping to support Illya now.
The iron gate opened slowly, and they looked straight ahead, avoiding glancing up at the watchtowers.
“Halt,” a guard called to them, and they froze in their tracks. There was nothing they could do. If they drew their weapons, they’d be gunned down where they stood.
He approached April, reaching inside his uniform jacket.
“Da li možete da dobijete ovo pismo mojoj ženi ? Ona je u Beogradu i nisam videla mesecima_could you get this letter to my wife? She is in Belgrade and I haven't seen her for months.”
Napoleon nodded with a sigh of relief, and smiled as he took the envelope from him.
“He wants us to deliver a letter to his wife in Belgrade,” Napoleon said.
“Oh, yes.” April nodded, continuing to smile as she enunciated each word. “Yes-we-will.”
“Thhhank ou, vera much.” The guard replied in broken English, then waved them on.
They made it to the outside, walking the distance between the gate and the car without rushing, making it feel as if were the longest twenty yards they’d ever traveled. But once they reached the waiting sedan, they quickly piled into it, with Mark getting behind the wheel.
Illya lay in the backseat with his head cradled in his partner’s lap. Everything was spinning and he couldn’t recall anything of what had just taken place. Thoughts raced through his head... was he dying, had he died already? He felt arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, covering him with a warm blanket. It felt good, reassuring. A familiar voice spoke to him, encouraging him, telling him he was all right.
Everything hurt, and he coughed violently in response to the weariness of his body.Yet he felt a hand holding his now, squeezing it reassuringly and finally as his head began to clear a little, he recognized the voice of his partner, it was filled with concern and emotion, but confidence as well.
"Tovarisch?"
Illya’s eyes opened a moment later to see a smile, one he knew well.
He was out of that place now, he didn't know how, but he was free.
Napoleon bundled the warm blanket around his partner and held him tightly, brushing Illya’s chopped up hair out of his eyes.
"You were very late this time," Illya whispered, his voice barely perceptible as he tried to smile.
"I may be late, but I'll always be there...I’m sorry I took so long finding you. Your note eventually made it from the Red Cross to the U.N., but it was slow in getting to us. Damn red tape.”
“Da...” Illya took a deep gasp, it was obvious he was having trouble breathing.
Napoleon held onto his friends hand, squeezing it again tightly as Illya broke out into violent a fit of coughing, moaning in pain from it. He could hear the rattling and wheezing in the Russian’s lungs, and prayed it wasn’t too late. Illya was strong, and the most stubborn man that Napoleon knew, that, he hoped would help his partner hang on.
“Ne pytaytesʹ govoritʹ. kety, uspokoytesʹ’_don’t try to talk. chum, just it easy.” He spoke Russian as he looked into his partner’s still bright blue eyes.
“I must give you more lessons...your accent leaves much to be desired.” Illya tried smiling again.
That was at least a good sign to Napoleon, as his friend still had his snarky sense of humor.
“That’ a deal. You just get better and then you can give me those lessons.” His words went uheard, as Illya had fallen asleep.
The car bearing United Nations plates and flags sped off northwest, heading towards Austria, with no one following them. Once crossing the border, they were met by the waiting arms of U.N.C.L.E. personnel.
Illya’s condition was quickly assessed, heart rate and pulse checked.
He was put on an IV with an infusion of Ringer’s lactate and given antibiotics, as they whisked him away in a medivac chopper to a hospital in Vienna. Once he was stabilized, he would be moved to medical in the West Berlin headquarters, and finally brought back to New York for rehabilitation.
Napoleon was given the thumbs up by the medic that his partner was going to make it, and he watched alongside April and Mark as the chopper rose into the air.
“We almost lost him,” April said, as she locked her arm though Napoleons’; her auburn hair blowing wildly from the whipping of the helicopter blades.
“I know,” Napoleon answered somberly, brushing his forelock back into place.“ But we didn’t, not this time.”
“We’ll run out of our nine lives eventually, won’t we mate?” Mark asked as he followed behind them, having removed the uniform jacket and hat.
“That, my dear chap, is an answer I don’t want to give,” Napoleon replied.
He’d seen Illya come through after some pretty close calls, and according to his count, his partner had run out of his nine lives a long time ago. Maybe, Napoleon hoped, some of that Solo luck had finally rubbed off on his stubborn Russian friend.
A line of poetry suddenly popped into his head, about endurance, and not giving up hope.
“It's not that you can't pass ten or fifteen years inside and more --you can, as long as the jewel on the left side of your chest doesn't lose its luster.” * That applied, he thought, to Illya Kuryakin as the Russian’s heart hadn’t lost its strength yet, in spite of the trials sent his way.
.
Finis
.
* a line from “Some Advice To Those Who Will Serve Time In Prison.” By Nazim Hikmet.
Authors note: Jasenovac concentration camp was real but the prison in my story is not.