(no subject)

[yelizaveta52.livejournal.com]

OK. It's not UNCLE but it does have duct tape.  And it's cute.

Duck and Cover - PicFic 4/30

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The story began with Stranger Things Have Happened...


Having been dispatched to San Francisco on a mission to retrieve information of an undisclosed nature, Solo and Kuryakin were now grievously devoid of not only the mission but their weapons and communicators as well.  The young woman who had lured them here with promises of secret THRUSH documents had managed to bat her eyelashes and flirt until that distraction had netted her two roughed up UNCLE agents.  The two thugs who worked for Veronica Revere were, in addition to being very big, wizards with a roll of duck tape.

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Duck and Cover - PicFic 4/30

[glenmered]

 It seems I didn't post last weeks story, so here's the link to Stranger Things Have Happened.  It is the first chapter of what it turning out to be a continuing story.
Today's entry is chapter 2.
~~~~~:

Having been dispatched to San Francisco on a mission to retrieve information of an undisclosed nature, Solo and Kuryakin were now grievously devoid of not only the mission but their weapons and communicators as well.  The young woman who had lured them here with promises of secret THRUSH documents had managed to bat her eyelashes and flirt until that distraction had netted her two roughed up UNCLE agents.  The two thugs who worked for Veronica Revere were, in addition to being very big, wizards with a roll of duck tape.

The two top agents in the Northwestern Region sat in a cold basement of the spooky old house, wrapped up like parcels waiting to be mailed.  Illya’s black jeans were dirty, his turtleneck ripped so that a bruised shoulder was exposed. He didn’t actually remember the battle, but as usual the scars were evident.  His hands were behind his back, securely fastened with the aforementioned duck tape.  The blond’s ankles were also wrapped tightly. 
Napoleon was similarly trussed, his suit a sad and battered image of the formerly impeccably tailored garment.  He couldn’t possibly be blamed for this.  It was as though the enemy targeted Solo’s suits; as though they knew Waverly was watching.

“I wonder how we’re going to get out of this one, tovarisch?”

Illya glared at his partner, a scowl was not far off.

“If you had simply resisted the impulse to flirt with that woman, Napoleon… I need some sort of remote, so I can turn you off.”

“Hey, I can’t help it.  Besides, you didn’t exactly refuse her flirtations, Illya.  As I recall, when she sidled up  next to you …”

The Russian’s blue eyes warned of an approaching storm.

“All right, that’s enough.  What we need is a plan, and as I recall that is your forte’.  So, do you have one?”

Napoleon attempted to feign indignation but it was no use.  The ambiance was lacking.

“Not exactly, save the one where you wiggle out of your duck tape bonds and then cut me loose.  Is that not what you’re going to do?”

Illya shook his head.  It was always up to him.  Always.  And so he went to work, contorting his body so that his hands could slide beneath his rear end and legs.  He managed it, although his shoulder felt oddly out of place and the process became so painful he thought he might pass out.  Napoleon noted the change in his friend’s complexion, the sudden palor.

“Come on, Illya … “

Solo winced at the pain he knew Illya was experiencing.  Finally the process of disengaging was completed and Illya fell back against the concrete wall.

“Are you all right?  That looked like it hurt.”

Without swearing out loud, Illya convinced his partner that it had indeed hurt and if Solo so much as winked at a girl after this he might find himself in serious trouble from the Russian.  Amazingly he did that without any words passing his lips.

With a great deal of effort the injured agent was able to get himself up off the floor and go in search of something to cut the tape that encased his wrists and ankles.  That the search was done in a hopping fashion was the source of some amusement to his still bound partner, although he was careful to conceal it.

Finally, and with the occasional grunt of discomfort, Illya located a small hacksaw with which he cut the tape on his ankles and then, proving once again his remarkable dexterity, managed the duck tape on his wrists.  Free at last, he was able to better inspect the damage to his shoulder, at least as well as he could by rotating it and feeling it with his right hand. 

Napoleon waited not to patiently while this self-examination was in progress, anxious himself to be free.

“So, any time tovarisch.”

The smile was a platitude, and the Russian remembered, once again, the outrageous flirtation that had occurred just moments before the first goon threw him against the wall.  That moment of impact is what was causing him so much pain at present.

“I should let you sit there while I go search the house.’

Napoleon cocked his head to one side, as though he hadn’t heard correctly.

“However, since my shoulder is quite painful and I shouldn’t like to encounter another of Miss Revere’s henchmen…”

The blond knelt down in front of his partner and with some difficulty, sawed a sufficient rip in the duck tape for Napoleon to pull it free, then repeated the process for his wrists.  When the American was completely free he stood and attempted to straighten his suit.  It was no use.

“I can’t believe I’m going to need to report the loss of another suit.”

Illya shook his head, letting his tongue make a sound very much like tsk, tsk, tsk.  It eased his pain only slightly.

“Come on, Napoleon.  We need to get out of here.  You can straighten your crease later.”

The two men walked silently to the door that opened to a steep staircase to the main floor.  It wasn’t locked, which meant, most likely, that Veronica and her men had left the house.  Cautiously opening the door, they looked up into a dark space with no light at all.

“Going up?”

Napoleon took the hint and led the way upstairs.

To Be Continued...

 

 

 

"Necessity is the Mother of Invention" ~for the Picfic Tuesday challenge on Section7

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

                                               

It was starting to get dark when Illya decided to land the single engine Piper Cub bush plane; he’d spotted a suitable place to bring it down beside a small lake and not far from it there stood what looked like hunting cabin.

He and Napoleon had been tracking a signal from a homing device planted on a similar plane, and had been in pursuit over the wilds of Alaska.

The occupants of said plane had stolen a file with plans for a device to help in the locating of gold. Considering their perceived destination,  home to the world's largest gold pan, they were most likely going to make a go of it. If they succeeded, it would give THRUSH a substantial supply of wealth to fund their future schemes for a very long time.

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"Necessity is the Mother of Invention"~for the PicFic Tuesday challenge on Section 7

[mlaw]

Sorry can't get the cut to cooperate.

                                

It was starting to get dark when Illya decided to land the single engine Piper Cub bush plane, he’d spotted a suitable place to bring it down, beside a small lake and not far from it there stood what looked like hunting cabin.

He and Napoleon had been tracking a signal from a homing device planted on a similar plane, and had been in pursuit over the wilds of Alaska.

The occupants of said plane had stolen a file with plans for a device to help in the locating of gold. Considering their perceived destination,  home to the world's largest gold pan, they were most likely going to make a go of it. If they succeeded, it would give THRUSH a substantial supply of wealth to fund their future schemes for a very long time.

It was simply too risky to fly at night, and they’d still be able to maintain the signal and most likely the other pilot would be landing for the evening as well. The Russian calculated they were not more than a mile or two away at the most but it was too dangerous to try to find their camp in the darkness.

Napoleon scrounged inside their stolen plane, looking for whatever supplies he could find. He discovered cans of beef stew and half a case, of all things, New York Knickerbocker beer, tools, plastic tarps and real head-scratcher, a crate of duct tape.  That was it.

He grabbed a couple of cans of stew, as well as some of beers. The back of the plane did smell like beer and all the while they’d been flying, Napoleon had wondered what that familiar odor had been and now his question was answered. It was the pungent odor of stale beer emanating from some empty bottles in the case.

His clever partner had managed to land the plane not far from a fishing cabin beside a nearby lake. At least that afforded them protection from the chilly elements rather than  sleeping uncomfortably in the cramped plane.

Lighting a fire wasn’t an issues as there were people hunting and fishing in the area all the time, so the smoke wouldn’t alert the other plane.

“I come bearing gifts,” he smiled, placing their victuals on a table in front of the fireplace.   Illya had gathered wood and tinder and had already a roaring fire going, warming up the small cabin nicely.

The Russian drew his throwing knife from the back of his jacket and removed the caps from the beer bottles with and easy flick of the blade, and handed one of the bottles to his partner.

“Naszdorov'ye.” Illya saluted, raising his bottle and chinking it to his partner’s.

“Here’s mud in your eye,” Napoleon responded, raising his bottle and taking a swig from it.

“I never understood that toast,” Illya shook his head, “Why would one wish mud in another’s eye? Can you explain this to me?”

“As I recall, it’s a saying that comes from between 1916 and the1920. One theory was that it originated in the muddy trenches of WWI or in the cafes where English and American soldiers spent their  leave time – perhaps better 'mud in your eye' than something more lethal.”

“The other theory is that It referred to the sediment which is often found in the bottom of a glass of wine. Possibly ‘dregs’ as a colloquial meaning of mud. The original meaning of the toast may have been that if one drains their glass too enthusiastically, one may literally find ‘mud in their eye.”

Illya sat wide-eyed, “Do you realize that is the first time you have me given a plausible explanation as to the origin of one of your colloquialisms?”

Napoleon put down his bottle. “Really?”

“Really,” Illya smiled, taking a careful mouthful from his beer bottle. “Now to our repast my friend...hmm, Dinty Moore beef stew. Is it any good?”

“Can’t say, as I’ve never tried it.”  

The Russian rifled through a draw, actually finding a can opener, a bottle opener, as well as well as eating utensils, and several bowls. There was one pot in a cabinet and he emptied the contents of the two cans of stew into it and placed it in the fire. It heated very quickly and in no time they had a delicious smelling meal.

Once warmed he doled out  the stew into their bowls and the two of them dug in, sitting on a pair of rickety chairs at a crude wooden table.

“Gotta tell you tovarisch, this isn’t bad. Beef stew, beer and a roaring fire.The only thing missing is a couple of gorgeous women.”

“ You would think that, but I agree, we have had far worse than this” Illya spooned the last of his stew into his mouth.

It was dark by the time they’d finished, and the dishes were put aside to clean in the morning as it wasn’t that urgent to wander around outside in the dark looking for the lake. The two of them laid down on the floor, wrapped in some woolen blankets they’d found and bedded down for the night.

“Not bad at all tovarisch,” Napoleon sighed, resting his head, with his hands tucked behind it. “Good night.”

“Da. Spokoynoy nochi Napoleon.” Illya rolled over to his side, and as usual, fell asleep within minutes.

Napoleon lay awake, listening to his partner’s light snoring as the fire was crackling and snapping. Outside in the distance there was the howling of a lone wolf the. Hearing it made him happy they were inside the cabin, but part of him felt drawn to the beasts loneliness....that was until another returned its call and together they created a harmony, of sorts;  that sound finally lulling the American into a deep sleep.

The next morning Illya awoke before his partner, standing and, raising his arms above his head and stretching out like a cat. He headed outside to relieve himself but that urge disappeared instantly when he saw something most unexpected.

“Chyortt poberi k chyortu!” The Russian cursed vehemently and drew his weapon.He turned, opening the cabin door, calling urgently for Napoleon to get up and come outside.

“Napoleon, wake up! We have a big problem!”

Solo woke with a start, climbing up from the floor and heading out the door in a few short steps.

“Oh crap,” Solo groused,  looking at the plane.

“Chyort, medved,” Illya swore again.

“Do you think?”

“I have no doubt, look at the height of those rather large claw marks.”

Napoleon drew his weapon as well as they cautiously approached the plane. Not that their Specials would do much good if the animal in question was a indeed as Illya suspected,  a brown bear.

One entire side of the Piper Cub had been ripped apart. Thankfully there was no sign of the bear who did it, as the two of them examined the damage to the fuselage. There was a gaping hole and the metal skin of the plane had been peeled back like it had been nothing.

“Why would a bear have done this?”Napoleon asked.

“They are usually seeking food, but there was nothing inside but but canned goods that you found, correct? I doubt one would get any scent from that.”

“Hmm,” Solo’s eyebrows shot up as he suddenly remembered something. “You know the back of the plane reeked of beer, I bet that’s what it was after,” he snorted.“ Well here’s another a fine mess we’re in, aren’t we Stanley?”

“Why are you calling me Stanley?” Illya tilted his head, looking at his partner as if he’d gone mad.

“You know Laurel and Hardy, always getting themselves in fine messes?” Solo looked at his partners confused look, obviously the reference on the comedic actors. They were comedy double act of the early Classical Hollywood era of American cinema. Hmm, yeah maybe you might not know that.” Napoleon  "twiddled” his necktie imitating Hardy" in an effort to show his resignation. “ It was just a way of wondering what we’re going to do now. The plane’s not flyable in this condition, so now we’ll lose the trace, and have to call Mr. Waverly for a retrieval.  He’s not going to be very happy about this.”

“That my friend is a given and there was no need to be cryptic about is with your hollywood movie reference,” Illya sighed his frustration, but suddenly paused. “Wait Napoleon, I have an idea.”  He picked up one of the tarps and a dug a roll of duct tape out of the crate still sitting there untouched.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me? Napoleon laughed, “That’ll never work.”

Illya looked out the window of the plane seeing smoke still rising in the distance where he guessed their quarry was still hunkered down.

“It is worth a shot,”  he smiled.  They gathered up the tarps, and roll upon roll of the silver duct tape, and secured the tarps around the damaged fuselage with a skeleton of tape holding them in place.

“Illya this really won’t hold,” Napoleon huffed.

“We need more duct tape.”

They wrapped it over and over, winding it like bandaging a mummy and by the time they’d finished the whole fuselage was covered in several layers of the duct tape. They’d used nearly the entire crate of it to finish the job.

Illya stood with his hands on his hips, tilting his head and admiring the handy work with grin.

“You really think this will hold tovarisch?”

“Have no doubt; duct tape has superior holding quality and very good tensile strength. I will be flying at very low so that will help as well, as least we will not be at an altitude where the temperatures are too cold, and may affect the stickiness of the duct tape.”

“Oh peachy,” Napoleon muttered, “If it gets too cold the tape will peel away?

“There is a remote possibility, but the multiple layers will act as insulation, so I do not foresee a problem.”  He ran his hand along the tape, double checking to make sure it was in place, with no air bubbles. He was pleased with the job they’d done.

A sharp wharble from the tracker called their attention, indicating their quarry was on the move. There was nothing in the cabin to retrieve so the two agents immediately hopped into the plane, and Illya started it up; the engine kicking in easily. He let it  warm up before adjusting the controls and easing the throttle forward.

Illya glanced at his partner, noting Napoleon had his fingers crossed and chuckled; he threw back one of the sayings Solo used so often.... “Oh ye of little faith.”

He  adjusting the controls, checking the rudder and  pulled back on the stick and the little plane quickly became airborne.

“Ah the miracle of duct tape,” he snickered, still seeing his partner’s fingers crossed. “Napoleon, relax.”

“I’ll relax when we’ve landed....safely that is, on terra firma.”

Illya smiled as he  banked the Piper Cub, making a leisurely course adjustment to to match the flight plan of the other plane.

It was a short jaunt, and the UNCLE agents arrived at a small airport just outside of Nome, on the southern Seward Peninsula coast and quickly surprised the unsuspecting THRUSH agents, and retrieveved the stolen file with little resistance.  

Illya and Napoleon did take some ribbing for the condition of the Piper Cub from the  hanger personnel and a couple of the captive THRUSH as well, calling it a toy plane.

Wanting to know if it was built by a kid and asking where the tinker toys were.

“UNCLE is really cutting back on their budget, one of the Thrushies cackled.  “You sure you don’t want to come work for us? At least Central gives up to date equipment that’s in good shape.”

“A bear did the damage during the night,  and thanks to my partner’s ingenuity, he made it flyable again.  You do realize we could leave you out on the tundra where you’d most likely be paid a visit by one of those hungry bears?” Napoleon remarked.

“You wouldn’t Solo.”

“No he probably would not,” Illya smiled wickedly,” but I would.”

.

* note, couldn’t help myself, this was based on a true story.

 

Picfic Tuesday: Good as New

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

“Illya, what is this?”

“I would think the answer is obvious: It is duct tape.”

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Agent Surprise--for the Picfic Tuesday challenge on Section7

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

( Napoleon was searching for his partner )

PicFic 4/30

[avirra.livejournal.com]

Another Day, Another Talk

"This was a good idea, Napoleon."

"All of my ideas are good ideas, tovarich."

"What about that time in Finland?"

"Fine. Almost all of my ideas are good ones. But I was pretty sure that you'd enjoy this museum."

"Very much. Just looking at all of the progress that has been made - all of the inventions. It is staggering how much has been done in the past hundred years."

"The next hundred are likely to be equally staggering when people look back."

"I must agree. So tell me, Napoleon - out of all the marvels that have been invented in the past hundred years, which impresses you most?"

"I don't think I should tell you."

"Why not?"

"You'll give me that 'look'."

"Try me."

"Fine. I'm most impressed by duct tape."

. . . . .

"See! I knew I'd get that 'look'."

"I will probably regret asking, but why duct tape?"

"Inexpensive. Easy to use. Versatile. Dependable."

"And the devil to get out of."

"That too."