War Division Kuryakin

 

�Something is different.�

����������� �There was a storm. The sea came in and claimed back more of her land.�

����������� �Of course. Now, how do we rescue Napoleon?�

����������� �And young Crawshaw,� added Kuryakin. �He saved me so I must return the favor.� On seeing the frown, Kuryakin told the incredible story of Aphrodite and Thrush�s new weapon. Their path to conquer the world began so simply. They bought the marshy land from people who would never guess what dastardly inventions and experiments would be undertaken in a small farmhouse. An underground complex was built then to prevent it from attack. Next the most terrible of deeds was performed. A festival was held knowing full well that in these small villages everyone would attend. A plane simply flew over and dropped knockout gas. All the children over five and under twelve were taken. The village was held to ransom, no one dared to interfere for fear of those innocents lives. Roma Sween had already gained the trust of many an U.N.C.L.E. agent having set up a barber business two years previously. Within six months this was the place to be. Modern music and even live performers added to the atmosphere of fun. Parties, call girls and simply just being able to relax and chat made this a barbers like no other. When the drugs began to be introduced no one really knew, but Waverly had become suspicious and sent Kuryakin out to investigate. This was not unusual; any place that had a connection with U.N.C.L.E. was regularly inspected so the mission was only secondary in importance to his other work. Instantly however, Kuryakin became suspicious. He disliked the freedom within the building, agents seemed far too chatty and readily spoke of a pending mission whilst their hair was being styled. The perfumed scent frequently left Kuryakin feeling strange, as if he had indulged in far too much vodka. On reporting his suspicions to Waverly he had just received a tut and the suggestion that Kuryakin had been the wrong agent to investigate whether this was harmless fun or something more sinister. Kuryakin continued to watch, marking down each agent with a pending mission and sure enough, that mission was often compromised. Unfortunately he hadn�t seen Slate using the barbers otherwise he would have immediately requested a different backup.

����������� �The idea was to take out all the best agents in anyway possible.�

����������� �I see!� murmured Slate still angry that he had managed to fall into their trap. �Once Uncle had been depleted, Thrush would be free to influence world leaders.�

����������� �As is happening now, by various means.�

����������� �Various?�

����������� �Once a person of interest to Roma and her band of thugs walks into the barbers a sequence of events takes place. Hot towels, containing drugs. Hair sprays, containing drugs. Tea, coffee, cigarettes all containing substances that cause complete ecstasy.�

����������� �Of course! All care is removed and talk is lackadaisical. In theory, a principal of a top school could give out all the answers to examination questions and little Thrush people could gain a pass without trying,� Slate said trying to remember just when the first time had been when he felt such joy about a hair appointment.

����������� �They went further with you, Mark. Did you like the music?�

����������� �Music?� Once again he thought back. He remembered the sweetly scented towels, expensive black cigarettes with the flavor of liquorice and then it came to him�a beautifully embossed headset�the special booth set-aside for Roma�s favorite customers and the music.� But what was the tune, who sang the song?

����������� �Were there orgies, Mark?�

����������� �Illya, really! I think you should mind you own business.�

����������� �I�ll take that as a yes. Mark, you weren�t yourself at the time. Music was used to start with after first dose of drugs. A bowl was set out with brightly colored��

����������� �LSD, purple hearts, opium��

����������� �And a small injection that you would never feel to keep you coming back for more. The music always turned into Roma�s voice, ordering, encouraging threatening and rewarding. Constantly singing inside your head until you knew nothing apart from her.�

����������� ��

For a while they walked in silence, sometimes negotiating roads that had become rivers and past houses that were completely deserted. Slate had noticed that everywhere seemed to be absent of people. The countryside had become silent in the aftermath of the floods, no dogs barked or birds sang, the only sound was occasional and distant. It was a sound he knew yet dismissed as memory, the distant memory of a Spitfire flying to hunt down the enemy.

����������� �And you, Illya,� he said shaking the memory away. �How did they obliterate your memory?�

����������� �So simply. One large dose of a hallucinogenic drug. A small amount of abuse, a few thumps. Then Roma inserted a radio at the back of my head. Two wires led to my ears. She constantly played a subliminal recording telling me of the pain, burning, and smell until it became real. She told me that Thrush was good, Uncle bad. That I was a Russian who was hunted by everyone. I knew no other language. After I was released every time I mentioned a banned word��

����������� �Thrush, Sweeny, Roma, etc, I presume.�

�Correct. An electric shock was sent straight to my brain. I learnt not to say those words. I somehow kept a memory that Roma was bad and remembered all the Thrush missions, so I took them out.�

�How did it stop?�

�Crawshaw did a shot in a million. He struck the back of my head and surgically removed the radio. My whole memory returned in an instant.�

�And the shoulder?�

�I can only talk to Solo about that!�

Slate smiled, there was a strange tone in the Russian�s voice and he wondered if Solo had something to do with his injury. If he had, he was in trouble.

�Illya, we do have one big problem. How are two of us going to remove a Thrush base, rescue the children and Solo?�

�Two of us? Who said anything about the two of us? I have an army,� he said giving a particularly annoying grin. �Mark, look up there.�

Slate not only looked upward but down towards the marshes. Lush green grass lay across the whole field. The farmhouse stood in the middle. An unobserved approach would be impossible, THRUSH would gun them down before they got halfway across. Then he smiled and looked upwards again at the pole. At the top was a World War Two air raid siren, still in use as a flood warning system. He didn�t need telling a second time, he climbed the pole and gritted his teeth as he turned the handle. The eerie wailing would be heard for miles across the flat unobstructed countryside and would call Kuryakin�s army, whoever they were.

 

It seemed as if only a few minutes had passed when men began to appear, standing proudly next to their leader. Armed with shotguns, scythes, hoes and ex-army equipment that had once belonged to both sides during the war. Bayonets, grenades bazookas, all polished and in mint condition. Then the memory returned. This time Slate laughed long and hard as three Spitfires flew overhead, escorting two Lancaster bombers. A Hurrican dipped its wings as it flew over Kuryakin and two Tiger-moths skimmed just above their heads.

�An army? How many museums have you raided?�

�All the men here, um, and women,� he added as a very large lady ran past carrying a javelin. �All fought during the war. They won then. They have all decided enough is enough. They will no longer live under someone else's rule. They will fight.�

�And us, Kuryakin.�

�You!�

�Us.�

�MI6 wants to help me?�

�Your Waverly called the Gamekeeper and explained about this mess. Those two are going in to remove Aphrodite's. Us two have been cleared because we have been following you for so long we can�t have been affected by Roma.�

�We hope!� said Kuryakin.

 

 

 

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