The Yellowstone Affair Chapter 14
Feb. 7th, 2015 08:47 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuMany thanks to Sparky955 who used her medical expertise to beta this chapter!
To read the story from the beginning that includes photos you can go to my journal under PACTNMMT
Also you can find the story without pictures on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/892016
Chapter 14
Illya took deep breaths, working at stifling his emotions and remaining calm. Removing his snowshoes, he stepped up to the charred fuselage laying upside down in the snow and took stock of the damage. Both wings were sheared off, the tail section had separated from the cabin just aft of the rear door. He climbed over the exposed bulkhead and peered inside. The blackened interior reeked of burned fuel and chemicals released when the plastics and foam from the seats ignited. The cockpit windows were smashed, the instrument panel was completely destroyed. A large spruce bough had rammed through the side cockpit window on the copilot’s side. In spite of the horrific damage, Illya saw no corpses. Maybe they got out or were ejected.
Easing out of the plane, cautious of the sharp edges, Illya stepped back into his snowshoes. Darkness was showing itself early thanks to the heavy snow. He needed to set up camp quickly, then he could afford to take time to explore the area. He was torn as to which he should do first, but decided it was better to have camp set up . As before, he used his snowshoes to pack down the snow for his tent. Once he had it set up, he placed the foam sleeping pad and one of the sleeping bags inside. He fired up his camp stove and put on a pot of snow to melt.
The hour before, the snow seemed as if it was beginning to let up, however by the time Illya had the camp set up the snowfall was heavier. Even in the forest where the trees filtered the snow, visibility was less than twenty-five yards. Illya took a large spool of twine from the pulk then made sure the pulk was well covered with a tarp. He tied one end of the twine to the pole of his tent and played the spool out as he walked sans snowshoes about 30 yards from the camp to answer the call of nature. It wouldn’t due to get lost in a whiteout mere yards away from the security of his tent. Cutting the twine from the spool he tied off the other end to a snag. Now he could move back and forth using the twine as a guide in both the heavy snow conditions and in the dark.
Returning to the tent, Illya plowed through deep snow trying to stay in the tracks he made earlier. Damn, should have left my snowshoes on. About ten yards from tent, his feet struck what felt like a log causing the Russian to fall. As he got up he placed his mittened hand on the log to gain leverage. He happened to look down and saw not bark from a fallen tree but clothing. His heart in his throat, Illya dug quickly to uncover a body. To his horror, he found the body was decapitated. As he uncovered more of the body he found that it was only in shirt sleeves and the limbs had been grotesquely broken. The trousers, boots, and socks were also missing. Hope surged as he realized that the only reason for the body to be in that condition with missing clothes was because somebody had survived. He knew the victim was not Napoleon because this body had a shirt with an embroidered logo with the words U.N.C.L.E. Pilots’ Association.
Knowing that at least one person survived the crash, Illya immediately retrieved his snowshoes. He walked over to the fuselage and tied another end of twine to the wreckage. Slowly, working back and forth he played the twine out at least fifty yards as he searched the area for more clues. After about forty minutes, he stopped and looked over the tracks he had made, he had covered about twenty-five yards around the plane. Nothing. He wondered how much was hidden under the snow.
Scanning the trees around him, Illya noticed an unusually shaped lump of snow approximately 100 feet away. As he made his way over to it, his hopes soared again as he recognized the lump for what it was. A shelter! Immediately, he tied off the twine and called out. “Napoleon?” He stood still and listened. “Napoleon?” He ran over to the shelter, dropped to his knees and began pulling frantically at the the tree boughs at one end. As he pulled the branches away he could see in the dim light a dark form of a man lying on his right side in a fetal position.
Illya reached forward to remove the blanket covering the man’s head. In the twilight of the evening he could see dark brunet hair and the telltale mole on the left cheek. Placing a hand on his friend’s left shoulder he gently shook Napoleon to see if he could elicit a response. Nothing. Fearfully, Illya checked the carotid artery…nothing. Desperately, Illya squeezed himself into the narrow shelter, opened the leather jacket and placed his ear against Napoleon’s chest. He kept listening for about thirty seconds, nothi…no wait! There it was, a heart beat immediately followed by a shallow movement of Napoleon’s chest. He was alive, barely, but alive nonetheless! “Napoleon, listen to me. I’m here. I will get you help, just stay with me, my friend. Stay with me,” he urged harshly.
Illya quickly closed Napoleon’s jacket and recovered his head. He pulled the walkie talkie the rangers had given him from an inside pocket of his down parka.
“Agent Kuryakin calling Lamar Ranger Station, come in, Bob. Over.” He lifted his finger from the call button. He was answered by static. Depressing the call button again he repeated, “Agent Kuryakin calling Lamar Ranger Station, Bob, do you read me? Over.” He lifted the walkie talkie away from his head and stared at it, willing a response to emanate from it. Nothing. Swearing, he raised it back to his lips. Before he could depress the call button for a third time, a tinny voice mixed with static answered.
“Lamar Ranger Station, Bob Murray here. Come in, Agent Kuryakin. Over.”
“Hello, Bob. I have arrived at the site. There is one fatality, one survivor, and one unaccounted for. The survivor is suffering from hypothermia and currently unresponsive. He needs to be med-evacced immediately. Over.”
“No can do, Illya. Weather has completely socked us in. It is supposed to clear by tomorrow morning. You’ll have to make do. Over.”
“Bob, I have had some training in such matters, but any advice you can offer would be greatly appreciated. Over.”
“I’ve got someone here who was an army medic. Hang on. Over.”
Illya waited impatiently for the medic’s voice to come over the walkie talkie.
“This is John Harley. Mr. Kuryakin can you tell me the symptoms? Over.”
“Blue gray tinge to the skin, appears waxy. Very shallow and depressed respirations, extremely slow heartbeat and unresponsive. Over.”
“Is he shivering? Over”
“No. Over.”
“See if you can wake him up. If you can, don’t be surprised if he is combative or hallucinating. His speech will be slurred and he may not be coherent. Awake or not, you need to warm him up, but how you do it depends upon his condition. Can you get him to a warmer shelter? Over.”
“Yes. Over.”
“If he remains unresponsive, move him as little as possible but get him to the shelter, then call back. Over. Out.”
Illya pocketed the walkie talkie and turned his attention back to Napoleon. “Napoleon, wake up! Come on, Napoleon!” He reached down to lightly tap his partner’s face. He drew his hand back as if burned. Napoleon’s skin was cold.
Napoleon opened his eyes for a brief moment, looked about and saw Illya. He reached up with his foam covered hands to touch Illya’s cheek. “Hi, Angelique, what ‘r you doin’ he…here.” He promptly dropped his hand and fell back to sleep.
A blond eyebrow raised. “Trust you to hallucinate about that black widow. Hey, Napoleon, wake up! I didn’t come this far to have you die on me. Come on, my friend, we need to get you back to my tent.”
Illya left Napoleon long enough to get to the pulk, unload the supplies and cover them with an auxiliary tarp. He pulled three plastic quart-sized water bottles from his pack, filled them with warm water. After capping them tightly he threw them into the sleeping bag to warm it up. Illya grabbed a second sleeping bag and stuffed the first one into it. Making sure that the sleeping bags were closed tightly he fired up the Coleman lantern and set in on the tent floor. Exiting the tent and closing the fasteners, he grabbed the rope harness on the pulk and pulled it back to the homemade shelter.
Carefully, and with as little jostling as possible he dragged Napoleon from the shelter and placed him on the pulk. He tucked a tarp in around the downed agent and pulled the pulk back to the tent, using the length of tied off twine and the glow of the lantern to guide him as it had become quite dark.
Illya placed Napoleon in the bag then began stripping the brunet’s clothes off. He put dry wool socks on his friend’s feet. A knit cap on his head and a scarf around his throat. Finally he placed dry woolen mittens over his friend’s hands. The Russian quickly shucked out of his own clothes, turned off the Coleman lantern and wiggled into the sleeping bag as well. He knew that skin against skin contact could help warm a hypothermic victim. But ye gads, Napoleon was cold! It wouldn’t surprise him if his own core temperature dropped a little.
He felt for the water bottles and placed two between their torsos and one pressed up against the scarf around Napoleon’s neck. The whole time Illya kept up a running monologue with Napoleon. As he zipped up the sleeping bags he muttered, “I hope our colleagues never hear about this, Napoleon. Just think of the rumors we would be hearing back at headquarters.”
He reached for the walkie talkie and called the ranger station.
To read the story from the beginning that includes photos you can go to my journal under PACTNMMT
Also you can find the story without pictures on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/892016
Chapter 14
Illya took deep breaths, working at stifling his emotions and remaining calm. Removing his snowshoes, he stepped up to the charred fuselage laying upside down in the snow and took stock of the damage. Both wings were sheared off, the tail section had separated from the cabin just aft of the rear door. He climbed over the exposed bulkhead and peered inside. The blackened interior reeked of burned fuel and chemicals released when the plastics and foam from the seats ignited. The cockpit windows were smashed, the instrument panel was completely destroyed. A large spruce bough had rammed through the side cockpit window on the copilot’s side. In spite of the horrific damage, Illya saw no corpses. Maybe they got out or were ejected.
Easing out of the plane, cautious of the sharp edges, Illya stepped back into his snowshoes. Darkness was showing itself early thanks to the heavy snow. He needed to set up camp quickly, then he could afford to take time to explore the area. He was torn as to which he should do first, but decided it was better to have camp set up . As before, he used his snowshoes to pack down the snow for his tent. Once he had it set up, he placed the foam sleeping pad and one of the sleeping bags inside. He fired up his camp stove and put on a pot of snow to melt.
The hour before, the snow seemed as if it was beginning to let up, however by the time Illya had the camp set up the snowfall was heavier. Even in the forest where the trees filtered the snow, visibility was less than twenty-five yards. Illya took a large spool of twine from the pulk then made sure the pulk was well covered with a tarp. He tied one end of the twine to the pole of his tent and played the spool out as he walked sans snowshoes about 30 yards from the camp to answer the call of nature. It wouldn’t due to get lost in a whiteout mere yards away from the security of his tent. Cutting the twine from the spool he tied off the other end to a snag. Now he could move back and forth using the twine as a guide in both the heavy snow conditions and in the dark.
Returning to the tent, Illya plowed through deep snow trying to stay in the tracks he made earlier. Damn, should have left my snowshoes on. About ten yards from tent, his feet struck what felt like a log causing the Russian to fall. As he got up he placed his mittened hand on the log to gain leverage. He happened to look down and saw not bark from a fallen tree but clothing. His heart in his throat, Illya dug quickly to uncover a body. To his horror, he found the body was decapitated. As he uncovered more of the body he found that it was only in shirt sleeves and the limbs had been grotesquely broken. The trousers, boots, and socks were also missing. Hope surged as he realized that the only reason for the body to be in that condition with missing clothes was because somebody had survived. He knew the victim was not Napoleon because this body had a shirt with an embroidered logo with the words U.N.C.L.E. Pilots’ Association.
Knowing that at least one person survived the crash, Illya immediately retrieved his snowshoes. He walked over to the fuselage and tied another end of twine to the wreckage. Slowly, working back and forth he played the twine out at least fifty yards as he searched the area for more clues. After about forty minutes, he stopped and looked over the tracks he had made, he had covered about twenty-five yards around the plane. Nothing. He wondered how much was hidden under the snow.
Scanning the trees around him, Illya noticed an unusually shaped lump of snow approximately 100 feet away. As he made his way over to it, his hopes soared again as he recognized the lump for what it was. A shelter! Immediately, he tied off the twine and called out. “Napoleon?” He stood still and listened. “Napoleon?” He ran over to the shelter, dropped to his knees and began pulling frantically at the the tree boughs at one end. As he pulled the branches away he could see in the dim light a dark form of a man lying on his right side in a fetal position.
Illya reached forward to remove the blanket covering the man’s head. In the twilight of the evening he could see dark brunet hair and the telltale mole on the left cheek. Placing a hand on his friend’s left shoulder he gently shook Napoleon to see if he could elicit a response. Nothing. Fearfully, Illya checked the carotid artery…nothing. Desperately, Illya squeezed himself into the narrow shelter, opened the leather jacket and placed his ear against Napoleon’s chest. He kept listening for about thirty seconds, nothi…no wait! There it was, a heart beat immediately followed by a shallow movement of Napoleon’s chest. He was alive, barely, but alive nonetheless! “Napoleon, listen to me. I’m here. I will get you help, just stay with me, my friend. Stay with me,” he urged harshly.
Illya quickly closed Napoleon’s jacket and recovered his head. He pulled the walkie talkie the rangers had given him from an inside pocket of his down parka.
“Agent Kuryakin calling Lamar Ranger Station, come in, Bob. Over.” He lifted his finger from the call button. He was answered by static. Depressing the call button again he repeated, “Agent Kuryakin calling Lamar Ranger Station, Bob, do you read me? Over.” He lifted the walkie talkie away from his head and stared at it, willing a response to emanate from it. Nothing. Swearing, he raised it back to his lips. Before he could depress the call button for a third time, a tinny voice mixed with static answered.
“Lamar Ranger Station, Bob Murray here. Come in, Agent Kuryakin. Over.”
“Hello, Bob. I have arrived at the site. There is one fatality, one survivor, and one unaccounted for. The survivor is suffering from hypothermia and currently unresponsive. He needs to be med-evacced immediately. Over.”
“No can do, Illya. Weather has completely socked us in. It is supposed to clear by tomorrow morning. You’ll have to make do. Over.”
“Bob, I have had some training in such matters, but any advice you can offer would be greatly appreciated. Over.”
“I’ve got someone here who was an army medic. Hang on. Over.”
Illya waited impatiently for the medic’s voice to come over the walkie talkie.
“This is John Harley. Mr. Kuryakin can you tell me the symptoms? Over.”
“Blue gray tinge to the skin, appears waxy. Very shallow and depressed respirations, extremely slow heartbeat and unresponsive. Over.”
“Is he shivering? Over”
“No. Over.”
“See if you can wake him up. If you can, don’t be surprised if he is combative or hallucinating. His speech will be slurred and he may not be coherent. Awake or not, you need to warm him up, but how you do it depends upon his condition. Can you get him to a warmer shelter? Over.”
“Yes. Over.”
“If he remains unresponsive, move him as little as possible but get him to the shelter, then call back. Over. Out.”
Illya pocketed the walkie talkie and turned his attention back to Napoleon. “Napoleon, wake up! Come on, Napoleon!” He reached down to lightly tap his partner’s face. He drew his hand back as if burned. Napoleon’s skin was cold.
Napoleon opened his eyes for a brief moment, looked about and saw Illya. He reached up with his foam covered hands to touch Illya’s cheek. “Hi, Angelique, what ‘r you doin’ he…here.” He promptly dropped his hand and fell back to sleep.
A blond eyebrow raised. “Trust you to hallucinate about that black widow. Hey, Napoleon, wake up! I didn’t come this far to have you die on me. Come on, my friend, we need to get you back to my tent.”
Illya left Napoleon long enough to get to the pulk, unload the supplies and cover them with an auxiliary tarp. He pulled three plastic quart-sized water bottles from his pack, filled them with warm water. After capping them tightly he threw them into the sleeping bag to warm it up. Illya grabbed a second sleeping bag and stuffed the first one into it. Making sure that the sleeping bags were closed tightly he fired up the Coleman lantern and set in on the tent floor. Exiting the tent and closing the fasteners, he grabbed the rope harness on the pulk and pulled it back to the homemade shelter.
Carefully, and with as little jostling as possible he dragged Napoleon from the shelter and placed him on the pulk. He tucked a tarp in around the downed agent and pulled the pulk back to the tent, using the length of tied off twine and the glow of the lantern to guide him as it had become quite dark.
Illya placed Napoleon in the bag then began stripping the brunet’s clothes off. He put dry wool socks on his friend’s feet. A knit cap on his head and a scarf around his throat. Finally he placed dry woolen mittens over his friend’s hands. The Russian quickly shucked out of his own clothes, turned off the Coleman lantern and wiggled into the sleeping bag as well. He knew that skin against skin contact could help warm a hypothermic victim. But ye gads, Napoleon was cold! It wouldn’t surprise him if his own core temperature dropped a little.
He felt for the water bottles and placed two between their torsos and one pressed up against the scarf around Napoleon’s neck. The whole time Illya kept up a running monologue with Napoleon. As he zipped up the sleeping bags he muttered, “I hope our colleagues never hear about this, Napoleon. Just think of the rumors we would be hearing back at headquarters.”
He reached for the walkie talkie and called the ranger station.
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Date: 2015-02-08 04:48 am (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting. I'm glad you like it!