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section7mfu
“That one was close,” Solo thought as a bullet whizzed past his head. “Don’t these idiots know they could start an avalanche?”
Napoleon pushed harder on his ski poles and leaned like he was competing in a giant slalom down the sharp slope, trying to avoid being hit by the two men who were pursuing him
He had to get away from them, as what he was carrying was far too dangerous to be in the hands of anyone, much less THRUSH.
Nestled in his pocket was the only copy of a formula developed by the late Professor Werner Leipzig, that could convert ordinary Pyroxene - Ca(Mg,Fe,Al)(Al,Si)2O6 into fissionable nuclear material, bypassing the normal process of induced radioactivity without exposing it to a specific radiation.
Madame Curie and her son-in-law, Frédéric Joliot-Curie, had proven that when lighter elements such as boron and aluminum were bombarded with α-particles, there was a continuous emission of radioactive radiations, even after the α−source had been removed. This new Leipzig formula eliminated the radioactive α−source that was needed.
His Russian partner had tried explaining it all to him, but in the end Napoleon didn’t need to understand the process, he just knew it had to be kept out of the wrong hands.
Another bullet rang out, this time catching the left shoulder of his ski jacket, ripping a hole through it. Considering he was dressed completely in white, that was an achievement, only made possible as they were catching up to him.
At that moment his communicator, sticking out of his breast pocket, chirped to him. He’d deliberately left the channel open, knowing his hands wouldn’t be free to keep hold it.
“I’m here, where are you,” Napoleon answered, breathing heavily from his exertions.
“Zeroing in on your position, but since you are moving, that has proven to be a bit difficult. The mountains and snow seem to be affecting your signal,” Illya answered, his voice breaking up in the static.
“Well a bit of haste would be nice,” Napoleon called out,” their bullets are getting a little too close for comfort, and I don’t want to end up looking like a piece of Swiss cheese.”
“I am trying my best...” Illya answered, pulling up the collar of his leather jacket against the cold.
“So am I...just hurry up will you.”
More shots hit the snow in front of Solo as he banked right to avoid being hit.
In the distance he could hear the sound of helicopter blades cutting the cold air, the steady thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup becoming louder as it flew closer.
The red chopper that Illya had borrowed from ARS-Swiss air guard and rescue dove towards the American’s position, and a steel cable with a harness was dropped, floating just out of Napoleon’s reach at first. The Russian needed to keep adjusting his position and speed to stay with him while he made a few grabs at it. Trying to maintain his balance on his skis, Napoleon caught hold of it just as he started to fall forward.
Illya was holding the chopper as steadily as he could, but now the THRUSH agents chasing his partner were shooting at him. He was a much bigger target to hit, and the fact that he was now hovering didn’t help. He heard several shots ricochet off the fuselage and checked the gages, and seeing the fuel was steady; he finally exhaled.
The Russian throttled up as soon as he saw Napoleon wrap his arms through the harness, hitting the winch to raise him, and at the same time he pulled back on the cyclic, working the foot pedals to stay level and increase his altitude.
“Hang on tight Napoleon,” he shouted a warning into his communicator, not waiting for an answer.
He spun the helicopter around, now facing the two skiers who’d been chasing his partner, and activated an automatic machine gun, peppering the slope in front of them with bullets, sending the snow up in little bursts into the air..
The firing of the weapon was loud, creating a strong enough vibration to weaken the snowpack, starting an avalanche just above them and sending tons of dry snow cascading down. The two men were buried within seconds.
The power of the avalanche created near disaster for Illya as it sent billowing clouds of powder up into the air. He fought against it, feeling the helicopter begin to spiral, but somehow he managed to regain control and level out; remaining fully aware that Napoleon was dangling in the midst of all of it.
The winch came to a stop, but there was no sign of his partner.
“Chyort!” Illya bellowed out a curse, thinking he’d lost him, but it was then he heard Napoleon’s voice come across on his communicator.
“Hey, I’m hanging onto the landing strut, and I’m covered in snow. Can you please find a place to set this down, and fast...don’t know how long I can hang on.”
Illya scanned the landscape, spotting the level top of a small escarpment; he headed for it and carefully landed the helicopter there. As soon as it touched down, he set the blades on autorotation, and jumped from the pilots seat, searching for his friend.
Napoleon was on the ground, nearly invisible in his white suit against the snow. “Hey, mind giving a guy a hand up?” Solo called. “I’m a little numb.”
Illya reached out, pulling the American to his feet and helping to dust him off. “Nice exit,” he smiled.
“Nicer entrance, “Napoleon grinned as he shivered. “Would you mind if we went back to the lodge for some hot chocolate with a whiskey chaser?
“Not at all, as long as you make mine Stoli,” Illya said as they climbed into the helicopter seats. “and you pay.”
“Ah so there’s a price for rescuing me?” Napoleon sniggered, knowing that a few drinks were a meager compensation for his life being saved. “I feel like I’m paying the devil his due, you smart Russian you.”
“But of course.” Kuryakin’s bright blue eyes twinkled as he put on his sunglasses...
At that moment his communicator, sticking out of his breast pocket, chirped to him. He’d deliberately left the channel open, knowing his hands wouldn’t be free to keep hold it.
“I’m here, where are you,” Napoleon answered, breathing heavily from his exertions.
“Zeroing in on your position, but since you are moving, that has proven to be a bit difficult. The mountains and snow seem to be affecting your signal,” Illya answered, his voice breaking up in the static.
“Well a bit of haste would be nice,” Napoleon called out,” their bullets are getting a little too close for comfort, and I don’t want to end up looking like a piece of Swiss cheese.”
“I am trying my best...” Illya answered, pulling up the collar of his leather jacket against the cold.
“So am I...just hurry up will you.”
More shots hit the snow in front of Solo as he banked right to avoid being hit.
In the distance he could hear the sound of helicopter blades cutting the cold air, the steady thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup becoming louder as it flew closer.
The red chopper that Illya had borrowed from ARS-Swiss air guard and rescue dove towards the American’s position, and a steel cable with a harness was dropped, floating just out of Napoleon’s reach at first. The Russian needed to keep adjusting his position and speed to stay with him while he made a few grabs at it. Trying to maintain his balance on his skis, Napoleon caught hold of it just as he started to fall forward.
Illya was holding the chopper as steadily as he could, but now the THRUSH agents chasing his partner were shooting at him. He was a much bigger target to hit, and the fact that he was now hovering didn’t help. He heard several shots ricochet off the fuselage and checked the gages, and seeing the fuel was steady; he finally exhaled.
The Russian throttled up as soon as he saw Napoleon wrap his arms through the harness, hitting the winch to raise him, and at the same time he pulled back on the cyclic, working the foot pedals to stay level and increase his altitude.
“Hang on tight Napoleon,” he shouted a warning into his communicator, not waiting for an answer.
He spun the helicopter around, now facing the two skiers who’d been chasing his partner, and activated an automatic machine gun, peppering the slope in front of them with bullets, sending the snow up in little bursts into the air..
The firing of the weapon was loud, creating a strong enough vibration to weaken the snowpack, starting an avalanche just above them and sending tons of dry snow cascading down. The two men were buried within seconds.
The power of the avalanche created near disaster for Illya as it sent billowing clouds of powder up into the air. He fought against it, feeling the helicopter begin to spiral, but somehow he managed to regain control and level out; remaining fully aware that Napoleon was dangling in the midst of all of it.
The winch came to a stop, but there was no sign of his partner.
“Chyort!” Illya bellowed out a curse, thinking he’d lost him, but it was then he heard Napoleon’s voice come across on his communicator.
“Hey, I’m hanging onto the landing strut, and I’m covered in snow. Can you please find a place to set this down, and fast...don’t know how long I can hang on.”
Illya scanned the landscape, spotting the level top of a small escarpment; he headed for it and carefully landed the helicopter there. As soon as it touched down, he set the blades on autorotation, and jumped from the pilots seat, searching for his friend.
Napoleon was on the ground, nearly invisible in his white suit against the snow. “Hey, mind giving a guy a hand up?” Solo called. “I’m a little numb.”
Illya reached out, pulling the American to his feet and helping to dust him off. “Nice exit,” he smiled.
“Nicer entrance, “Napoleon grinned as he shivered. “Would you mind if we went back to the lodge for some hot chocolate with a whiskey chaser?
“Not at all, as long as you make mine Stoli,” Illya said as they climbed into the helicopter seats. “and you pay.”
“Ah so there’s a price for rescuing me?” Napoleon sniggered, knowing that a few drinks were a meager compensation for his life being saved. “I feel like I’m paying the devil his due, you smart Russian you.”
“But of course.” Kuryakin’s bright blue eyes twinkled as he put on his sunglasses...
