The Spot the Zebra Affair

Chapter 1 Grounded and In the Dark
Author: Llinos

"Come on, wake up Illya." Solo patted his partner's cheek a little more sharply. "You can't sleep all day, wake up."

Napoleon Solo, Chief Enforcement Agent for the U.N.C.L.E. was impatient for his Russian colleague, Illya Kuryakin, to be up and ready for action as soon as possible. His own endurance was at its limit.

In spite of having no sensation in his legs and a rather nasty feeling in his spine, Solo had managed to pull himself out of the wrecked plane and drag his partner clear before the gas tank caught fire and exploded, spraying debris over them both. The American had shielded Kuryakin with his body and managed to protect his own head and face by curling away from the worst of the flames. But their initial survival had left them vulnerable to the possibility of a second attack, added to which they were miles from civilisation, with no food, water or immediate means of communication. Solo had injured his back when the single engine Cessna crashed abruptly and now he could not even walk.

He tested his partner's pulse again, it seemed regular enough. There was a nasty lump on the back of his head, but other than that the Russian seemed unscathed.

"Wake up dozey, we need to get moving." Napoleon pulled Illya half upright, leaning his unconscious partner against his chest, caught his face in his hand and patted his cheek again.

This finally had the desired effect and the blue eyes opened, unfocussed, but open at last.

"What time is it?" Illya whispered groggily.

"Time you were awake. How's your head?"

"I don't know, I can't feel it." Kuryakin mouthed the words so quietly, Solo had to strain to hear him. "Are you all right, Napoleon?" Illya pulled himself up a little more, turning to squint at his partner.

"I think I've injured my spine, I can't walk." Solo slapped his right thigh to test for any return of feeling. "My legs are totally numb and I can't move them."

"Do you think it's permanent?" There was the nearest thing to anxiety that Solo had ever heard in his partner's voice.

"Hard to tell. My back hurts like hell, but below that I can't feel anything."

"You must try not to move. If it's a spinal injury you could do more damage."

"Too late for that, I already moved quite a bit. I don't think my spinal column is severed, it hurts too much." Solo didn't want his partner to get overly morose about his condition. "I'm sure it will get better."

Kuryakin decided not to dwell on the problem either. There was little they could do about it at the moment anyway. "I thought you checked the plane for explosives?"

"I did, we weren't hit by bandits at 3 o'clock. The aircraft just lost power." Solo pulled his attention away from scanning the horizon to look at his partner in surprise. "Don't you remember?"

"Uhuh, it's coming back. Was it THRUSH?" Illya's voice was getting quieter. "Where have they taken us?"

"Nowhere." Solo was puzzled now. "Illya, why are you whispering?"

"It's so dark, I presume we are in some kind of prison."

Napoleon frowned. The Russian was gazing just past his shoulder, not making eye contact at all. "Illya, it's bright daylight and we are in the middle of an open plain." He waved his hand in front of the blue eyes. There was no reaction, no blinking. "Illya, can't you see…" Solo trailed off as he suddenly realised that was beyond doubt the case.

"No, I can't see anything," his partner confirmed. "If this is broad daylight, then I'm completely blind."

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"So where are we now?" Kuryakin seemed unusually edgy. He felt rather vulnerable sitting in the middle of the African tundra by, what his nose told him, was the smoking remains of their crashed aircraft, unable to see what might be coming next.

"There's nothing much around us except grass and a few grazing antelope and zebra." Solo tried to paint a picture of their surroundings. "I can see some trees in the distance to the South, about half a mile away. To the North there is nothing but open savannah, the same to the East. To the West is a mountain range, but that starts about 5 miles from here."

"Why do you suppose we were attacked?" Illya gazed unseeingly at his partner with an intensity he never employed when sighted. "It's odd. We'd finished our mission and were on our way home."

"We were always on shaky information with this report of THRUSH developing a new type of missile." Napoleon looked back into the blue eyes; it was hard to believe his partner could not see anything. "Just because we found that experimental base and closed it down, doesn't mean we didn't miss something. Perhaps it was a red herring."

"A what?"

"Red herring, a ruse. A false set-up to lead us away from the real one." Solo pointed out. "It wouldn't be the first time. Look at that business with the THRUSH ultimate computer."

Kuryakin considered this for a moment, remembering how he had been gulled into blowing up the wrong computer. "Yes but that was suspicious, it was too easy. This last mission was hardly that."

"Nevertheless…" Solo decided not to press the point. They had other things to worry about just now.

"Do you think we'll be able to salvage anything from the plane?" Kuryakin automatically turned toward the wreck, even though he could not see it.

"The explosion scattered quite a bit of debris around. It might be worth taking a look." Solo was still massaging his legs trying to find some feeling. "I was holding my communicator when we were hit, so only God knows where that's gone. I couldn't find yours in your pocket. I don't suppose you have one secreted somewhere else about your person by any chance?"

"No, it was in my pocket." Kuryakin shook his head to clear it, which did nothing to reduce the pounding ache that had now set up home there. "Shall we begin the search?"

"Okay. The plane still looks too hot to handle. There's some stuff about 200 yards to your left."

Kuryakin walked to his left until his partner called out. "Stop. Three paces right, now two forward." The Russian bent down and felt about until he found something. But it was only useless shrapnel.

"Move more to your right." Solo called. "About 10 paces."

Kuryakin stood once more and did as instructed. This time he was rewarded with one of their communicators. It was, however, not working. Nevertheless, he took the prize back to his partner for a visual inspection.

The two agents spent three hours examining the strewn debris and, eventually the wreckage. The search finally yielded, along with the broken communicator, a scorched first aid kit with most of its contents intact, an operational U.N.C.L.E. Special and a spare clip of sleep darts which had miraculously not been damaged in the fire, a bag of peppermints, a rug, a cigarette lighter and, most importantly, a gallon can filled with water.

"How long do you suppose before anyone at U.N.C.L.E. misses us?" Kuryakin dropped the latest collection of firewood on the growing pile. It was getting dark and the temperature had dropped dramatically.

"I'd just finished the report I was making before we were hit. Mr. Waverly finished off by telling us to take a week's vacation. I guess they won't miss us until then at least." Solo bit his lip as he strategically balanced the last piece of wood on his campfire in preparation for lighting it. Then scowled as the whole thing toppled over.

"How's the fire coming?" his partner asked innocently.

"Fine!" Napoleon began to rebuild the little pyramid, suspicious that Illya's hearing had told him exactly what had happened.

"Good, I'm starving."

"What's new?"

"Did you gut the pig you shot yet?"

"Don't be so impatient Illya. It's not easy to butcher meat with just a jagged piece of shrapnel."

"It is if you're hungry enough."

Solo took a mint from the bag, caught his partner's wrist and slapped the candy into his palm. "Have another peppermint and don't crunch it this time."

It was another hour before the agents sat in front of a healthy fire, chewing roasted meat off the pig bones.

"Your cooking is improving no end, Napoleon."

"That, I presume, is an insult."

"At least it doesn't have ketchup and mustard on it."

"Such gratitude, after I've been slaving over a hot campfire all day." Solo pulled another meat-laden bone from the embers on the edge of the fire. "Can I tempt you to some more?"

"No thanks, I'd only eat it."

"Hmm, yes I guess we'd better save some for later." Solo began collecting the remains of the cooked animal and placed them in some large leaves which Illya had gathered earlier. He wrapped the bundle tightly with a bandage from the first aid kit. "Would sir like to finish his meal with coffee and brandy or would he prefer a swig of water from a Jerry can?"

"Hard choice," Kuryakin's unseeing eyes smiled in the eerie glow of the flames. "You decide for me."

Solo handed him the large can and watched thoughtfully as his partner felt for the spout and lifted it carefully to his lips. "We can't both stay here, Illya. You'll have to go for help. Waverly will have no idea where we are, even when we don't report in."

"I can't leave you on your own in the middle of nowhere, unable to walk. Besides, what use am I going to be if I can't see where I'm going?" Illya countered.

"Well you can't carry me. There's no sign of anything for miles." Napoleon grimaced at the ache in his back. Pain tablets from the first aid kit had relieved the agony a little, but he was still hurting. "Besides, I don't know if I can cope with being lugged about."

"Maybe if we wait, your back will get better." Kuryakin tried optimistically.

"And maybe it won't."

They both lapsed into silence, each frantically trying to think their way through the problem.

"Shakespeare!" Solo suddenly broke the silence.

"What about him?" Kuryakin rubbed his eyes with both hands, as if in hope that his vision would suddenly return.

"Umm... It's a quote that wandered into my head." Solo threw some more wood onto the dwindling fire. "King Richard the Third, I think."

"Oh yes - very useful." Kuryakin supplied the line. "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse."

"Yes." Napoleon nodded. "Wouldn't that be nice."

Silence again.

"I saw some zebra earlier."

"Zebra?"

"You know, stripey things, look like horses."

"I know what zebra are, Napoleon. I used to… oh no, you can't be serious! I'd get kicked to death. I can't even see. How am I going to…No, I'm not even going to attempt it. There has to be something else."

The silence returned. This time it lasted even longer.

"I suppose if you could bring one down with a sleep dart…" Kuryakin eventually suggested.

In spite of the pain in his back, a broad grin spread itself across Solo's face. He knew his partner well enough to know that planting the idea was often sufficient persuasion. He then needed space to think it through and make it work.

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TBC

A/Notes: I usually write Lord of the Rings stories, but MFU was my first love and I thought I'd post this little piece. If it goes well I have more.
Cheers

Llinos