The Congo Affair chapter 10~ "Maggie"

[mlaw]

 link to chapter 9: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/2013/03/23/

 

                       

"But we're on your side!" Napoleon growled in French and as the guard grabbed him by the arm, he pulled away. "No, you're making a mistake." A second later Solo's elbow was rammed into the man's gut, and as he bent forward Illya slammed him in the chin with an uppercut. The guard went flying to the floor, and was out cold.

 

"You put on his uniform chum, it looks like a better fit for you." Napoleon picked up the handgun from the floor hiding it under his shirt.

The Russian stripped the guard of his clothing and quickly dressed himself, pulling the blue beret over his blond hair and promptly pointed the guards rifle at his partner's back.

"After you," he smiled.

Napoleon led the way through the door with his hands raised in the air, with Illya following after him. They walked behind the shed, eyeing the nearby treeline of and made a quick dash for it, disappearing into the lush green cover.

They kept running, dodging trees and ducking through the brush until they finally stopped to catch their breath.

"Well here we go again, no water, food or supplies and we still need to get across the north of Katanga, except now we'll have the Belgian army coming after us," Napoleon said.

Illya was gasping heavily, having trouble catching his breath. "I have an idea. Wait here and stay out of sight," he whispered as he turned to go back.

"What are you doing?"

"We need our supplies, and will not make it to Northern Rhodesia without them." Kuryakin left his partner and sauntered to back to where the jeep was parked, with no one standing near it, he made a quick decision and a change of plans. As their supplies were intact; only the weapons were gone; he climbed into the drivers seat, starting the engine.

The fact that he was dressed in a Belgian military uniform made no one pay him any mind, and he slowly pulled down the road moving along with the throngs of refugees surrounding him.

He stopped, giving a wave and Napoleon dashed from his hiding place, hopping into the passenger seat. With it being a covered vehicle and the way Illya was dressed, they were virtually invisible for the moment.

"Slick," the American smiled.

"I can be at times," the Russian grinned.

It was several miles before the groups of refugees began to thin out, and once past them, Illya was able to really give it the gas. If they were stopped by any Belgian troops, the story would be that he was escorting a Russian deserter to be interrogated...now if they asked where, that would be a slight problem.

Napoleon was of a more optimistic mind.

"I think they've got enough on their hands with the thousands of refugees swarming into the province, my bet is we'll be the last thing on their minds.

"Let us hope so." Illya's head was pounding with a headache and the exertion was making his chest tight, and he assumed it was the heat that was affecting his breathing.

"Now pull over chum and lets take on some passengers again, as least we can do some good."

They stopped along the side of the road, helping a few people into the back of the jeep, infirmed, women, young children and an infant, that Solo cradled in his lap. The baby looked up at him with wide brown eyes, it didn't cry at all. That's what he noticed about all the children...fear had taken their voices as well as hunger.

They travelled for a fair distance when there was a sudden bang, everyone ducked including the UNCLE agents, thinking it was gunfire, when it was in fact a blown tire, and as the fates would have it, the spare was flat as well, with an unnoticed bullet hole in it.

They helped their passengers from the jeep and the agents gathered up what supplies they could carry. Illya slung the rifle over his shoulder, bearing the weight of it, along with a backpack filled with their supplies. Their canteens were hooked to their belts, and before starting off on foot, Napoleon looked to the Russian, who seemed unsteady on his feet.

Without telling him, Napoleon had transferred some of the supplies to his pack, reducing his partner's load. No doubt Illya noticed it, but said nothing.

Together, they joined of refugees moving along at a snail's pace as they followed the road toward the border Kantanga shared with Northern Rhodesia.

As tired as they were, both Napoleon and Illya would periodically lift a struggling child into their arms and help carry them part of the way. Some of them were starving, with their little bellies distended and their hair having lightened from malnutrition.

Half their supplies were given to the equally as hungry mothers to help ease the suffering of them and their children, though it seemed it was only prolonging their eventual deaths.

It took several days to reach the border on foot and when they arrived, the refugees swarming there were even more than they'd seen crossing Katanga.

They surprisingly made it across, despite how they were dressed, as the border guards were simply overwhelmed by the sea of humanity that had converged there and once on the other side, they were all directed to a nearby refugee camp.

They were spotted by and aide worker and were ushered towards what looked like a staging tent and they both thought it odd to be pushed to the head of the line. It dawned on them they were receiving special treatment because they were white. There were other Caucasians present as well who seemed to be taken care of more quickly. That did not sit well at all with the Russian and the American.

Thought they were physically worn, there was no need for medical care, and the two agents opted to head to a tent that had been set up as a sort of soup kitchen.

A pretty young woman, dressed neatly in a soft looking floral dress, wearing a white apron tied around her waist stepped out from behind the distribution the endless line; she carried with her two large bowls of soup, along with slices of bread. She stopped in front of them handing them the food.

"You two look like you have been through bloody hell," she spoke with a slight British accent. "Sorry no spoons, so you'll just have to drink from the bowls."

"Thank you, yes we've been through hell and back," Napoleon said, and in spite of his weariness, he flashed her his best smile."And you are?"

"Oh, sorry. My name is Margaret...Maggie Kingsford."

"Anthony Schoonovar," Napoleon lied," and my quiet friend here is Edwin Rosbrük, we're businessmen and were caught up in the coup in the Congo and were unable to get onto the emergency evacuation flights out of Leopoldville..."

"Schoonovar, that's Dutch but you sound American," Maggie pointed out.

"I am, though Eddie here is from Holland."

"Ik ben blij u te ontmoeten_I am pleased to meet you," Illya said in Dutch.

"Blij om ook ontmoeten_pleased to meet you as well," she held out her hand to him.

Illya clasped it, shaking her hand in reply. "I do speak the English," he said to her, but his face remained expressionless.

"Good Lord, you've traveled all the way from Leopoldville, no wonder you two look terrible. You poor things. You're coming home to my family's place, we can get some proper food into you and get you out of those uniforms, one is Belgian and the other is Russian from the look of them? How did you get them...no, maybe I don't want to know that right now, we'll save that as a story for later over dinner perhaps."

"You wouldn't happen to have a telephone at your house would you?" Napoleon asked.

"Yes we do, but it's not working," she apologized.

"Shame, I'd like to contact my Uncle, who's the head of our company and let him know we're all right...say what's the date?"

When Maggie told Napoleon, he was mildly surprised, as he'd lost track of the time; he and Illya been on the run for over six weeks."

"Sorry, none of our family has the know how to fix the telephone, and with all the unrest in the area from the Mau Maus, no one is willing to travel to come fix it.

"Mau Maus?" Napoleon asked.

"Yes, the Congo has it's Simba, we have the Mau Mau. They were an insurgent group in Kenya, made up mainly of the Kikuyu tribe. It was their goal to expel all the white settlers. The reprisals against Europeans by them began around 1952 and like the Simba, their methods were brutal as they slaughtered men, women and children, both white and black. They even killed members of their own tribe who refused to join in the extermination of the whites. The settlers retaliated and British troops hunted down most of the Mau Mau in the mountain forests, capturing and executing their leaders. This year, the entire Kikuyu tribe was resettled within a guarded area. However, some of the insergents escaped and are now operating in Northern Rhodesia, starting their brutality all over again. It's quite frightening, and now with what's going on in the Belgian Congo and the Katanga region..."

"If it's anything like what we experienced in the Congo, then it must be pretty bad," Napoleon took her hand, kissing it reassuringly. "Thank you dear Maggie for coming to our rescue. It's quite possible Edwin here might be able to repair your phone, he's pretty handy with those sort of things."

"Really, that would be wonderful!" Maggie reached out, being rather presumptuous and gently touched her hand to the Russian's face.

Illya blushed, "I make no promises, but I will try."

"My goodness Mr. Rösbruk, I think you have a fever? May I?"

He nodded his approval as she placed her hands on either side of his face, feeling around his neck. "Hmm, your glands seem to be a little swollen as well. Were you inoculated against malaria?

"We both were," Napoleon answered for him.

"My cousin Richard is a physician...he'll be able to check you out when we get to the family plantation."

Her pronouncement made sense to the Russian as to why he was not feeling well, and again he nodded his approval; no argument on his part for once being checked out by a doctor.