In The Thick Of It - Picfic Tuesday - 08-13

[avrovulcan.livejournal.com]

They made a hasty exit, THRUSH’s new avalanche machine had been destroyed and the snowy Carpathian Mountains of Romania were now safe, the resistance they met on the way in were now desperately trying to stop the rest of the outpost from suffering the same fate, though with little success.

“Three and a half minutes to go,” Illya panted as he checked his watch.

“Uh-oh, company.” Napoleon indicated two guards stood in the yard beside the gate, their stocky Romanian horses tethered nearby happily munching on their hay

With the deep snow, traveling was easiest by horseback and THRUSH always had a couple ready, just in case they were needed quickly. This worked in the agents favor as their own mounts were long gone, probably wondering around the thick forests foraging for food by now.

As was usual, Kuryakin took the guard on the left, leaving the other for Solo. Napoleon dispatched his adversary quickly and was already swinging up onto the bay cob, Illya’s goon put up more of a fight; just as the Russian knocked him out cold with another punch, the THRUSH managed to stab the agent in the side.

“Chyort,” Illya mumbled as he took a quick look, careful not to alert Napoleon to his injury.

“Come on tovarisch, what’s keeping you?” Solo rode over to his friend leading the sorrel mare behind him.

“He put up a bit more of a fight than yours,” bending down he pulled off the long fur lined coat the goon had been wearing, handing it to his partner, “here, he is more your size, it will help keep the cold out.”

After stripping the other guard of his heavy garment the Russian mounted his own horse, stifling a cry of pain as he swung his leg over. Another reason he went for the long outerwear: it would absorb the blood and hide the wound from his friend.

Within five minutes of leaving the destroyed machine they were loping across the snowy landscape, letting the stocky horses pick their way.

Illya glanced at his watch, “seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”

A loud boom was followed by a rumbling felt deep within the ground and one slightly worse for wear Russian sported a maniacal grin.

“Good job partner mine, as always.”

“Naturally,” Kuryakin smiled, “we need to get to Sirnea, our contact is there.”

“It should be just the other side of the peak.”

Illya closed his eyes, remembering the map he’d studied before the assignment, estimating distances and the approximate times.

“We should be able to get there before it gets dark,”

Napoleon looked at his watch, “nightfall is about six hours away, assuming we have no major problems, we should have an hour to spare.”

‘Does ‘no major problems’ include my injury’ Illya mused to himself as he carefully shifted in the saddle.

He allowed Napoleon to take the lead for a while; following behind in the furrow created by the Americans mount. There was no point wearing out both horses as they pushed through the deep snow, which was coming up to their shoulders.

The Russian took the opportunity to try and have a closer look at the knife wound, hoping his partner wouldn’t turn around as he did so.

He opened the fur lined greatcoat and his own parka and peeled away his blood soaked shirt, catching his breath as the fabric pulled at the wound, judging by how much blood there was, it was worse than he’d initially thought. Carefully he replaced all his garments and buttoned up his ‘borrowed’ coat and hoped he would be able to keep going until they reached safety.

It could be worse, they were lucky they hadn’t been chased, even though they were leaving a very obvious trail; it appeared everyone in the outpost had either perished or were too busy to bother with the two agents.

The going was slow now but it gave them the opportunity to admire the beautiful unspoilt countryside, the sun shining through the trees, causing the snow to glisten and sparkle, Sparrow Hawks and an Eagle watched them with curiosity before taking to the skies as Illya and Napoleon rode below.

Some chamois, a goat-like antelope, bounded through the forest away from the riders and once the horses became a bit skittish as a wolf crossed their path in the distance.

“Best keep our guns handy in case there are any more wolves around,” Solo suggested.

“Da, though I think we should be fairly safe, they do not generally attack people.”

Soon they crested the rise and stood at the top looking down to the forested valley below them.

“Shouldn’t be too long now, the village is just at the edge of the tree line.”

“Da, about another two hours,” Illya urged his horse on and Napoleon followed behind, giving their mounts their heads so they could pick a safe way down the steep trail.

By now Kuryakin knew he’d lost a lot of blood, he’d been feeling light headed for a while and had had a couple of dizzy spells, luckily he’d been able to stay in the saddle, holding tight to the pommel until it passed.

He knew he had to let Napoleon know, it was getting too dangerous not to, the constant motion in the saddle was keeping the wound open and he knew his pants were getting wet with blood, though the evidence was hidden under the long over coat.

“Illya? Illya…. ILLYA!”

“Wha, huh?” The Russians head snapped up, he hadn’t realized he’d drifted off.

Concerned, Solo urged his horse level with his partners and took a good look at his friend; riding in front or behind, he hadn’t been able to see there was a problem.

“My God Illya, what’s happened?”

The American reached over and pushed the heavy coat out the way, revealing the bloody clothes underneath.

“And when were you going to tell me?”

“I was just thinking about telling you around now, Napoleon I really do not feel well.”

“Think you can hold on ‘till we get to Sirnea?”

“I will try.”

“Blockhead, you should have told me earlier.”

“Hey, that is my line.”

“Maybe, but it fits.”

“Hmph.”

Solo kept up the banter, trying to keep Illya awake, urging the horses to travel a bit quicker in an attempt to get help as soon as possible. He could see how much his friend was suffering and knew he wouldn’t be able to last in the saddle much longer, it was taking all he’d got to keep upright.

Just over an hour later, they arrived in the village, their contact, Ovidiu Dodrescu, met them, leading the two agents to his home.

Ovidiu helped Napoleon get Illya off his horse and onto the bed in his spare room where the Russian finally passed out.

Gently removing the soiled clothing, Napoleon examined the wound more closely; it was quite a deep one, but clean. He checked for any foreign bodies before retrieving his field kit and stitching the cut together and wrapping a bandage around his friends torso.

Half an hour later Illya groaned and opened his eyes, finding an IV attached to his arm and Napoleon sitting nearby. The bleeding had slowed, now he could remain still, and at some point his friend had cleaned him up helping him to feel more comfortable.

“I’ve patched you up and Ovidiu is the local doctor here, he set up the saline.”

“Spacibo, my friend,”

“Here drink this, we need to get fluids into you,” Napoleon helped Illya to sit and handed him a glass of water, “I’ve contacted our retrieval team and they’re on their way, the chopper should be here in under an hour.”

“khorosho, ya spat”

“Yes you sleep, I’ll wake you when they get here.”

Napoleon smiled fondly at the sleeping blond; as insufferable as his partner could be sometimes, he wouldn’t want anyone else to watch his back, and he knew if Illya had his way it wouldn’t be too long before they were once again in the thick of it.