Dust settled inside warehouse number 3. Illya Kuryakin shook himself off and crawled out from under a pile of rubble that still smoked from the explosion he himself had set. The results, he noted, were quite satisfactory and Kuryakin was certain Thrush would not be using this particular facility again for storage of advanced weaponry used by anti-government insurgents trying to disrupt the business of the United States government. Chalk one up for the good guys.
He rose and shook the dirt off, looking for his partner. Once again, UNCLE's best had cut it a little too close when Napoleon Solo had delayed their exit from the building in order to apply a very firm kick in the pants to a couple of vagrants hanging out on the loading docks just seconds before explosions engulfed them. It wasn't the first time the American's humanitarian inclinations put the two agents at risk.
Kuryakin scanned the scene for his partner, coughing several times to clear the smoke from his throat.
"Napoleon...." He shouted. "Napoleon! Where the devil have you gone? Napoleon!"
His attention was drawn to a moving pile of debris just inside the loading dock and within minutes, Solo's head and shoulders peeped out from a collection of twisted metal, wood beams, and smoldering wires. He appeared to be sitting upright.
Kuryakin laughed at UNCLE's CEA who's handsome, dark hair appeared to have turned totally gray with the dust that had settled on him from the explosion.
"I've heard that spy work can age a fellow but this is ridic........" Kuryakin started.
"Ah..........Illya......I think we've got a bit of a problem here." Solo called out, staring down at himself.
Kuryakin strode casually over to his partner unconcerned due to the calm demeanor of UNCLE's senior agent. He was alarmed to see Solo's crisp white shirt changing to a frightening shade of bright red. A jagged piece of metal jutted out from the upper right quadrant of his abdominal area. Not good.
"Hang on, Napoleon. Let's get you out of there." The Russian consoled as he hurriedly began peeling away the debris surrounding his friend.
In short order, Illya dug his way down to Solo and was sitting behind him, supporting him, and examining the intruding object that waylaid his partner. Illya held the metal piece in place and put pressure against Solo's abdomen to hopefully slow the sea of blood spreading across his shirt.
Solo's skin had already turned pale and sweaty as he slipped back into the support offered by his friend and partner. Illya managed to open his communicator hoping someone would be on the other end ready to advise them on treatment and provide much needed help. By a lucky break, Dr. Elizabeth Ray, chief medical officer, happened to pick up the emergency call herself.
"Channel D is open, Mr. Kuryakin." Dr. Ray said calmly. "What have you got?"
"Ah, Dr. Ray, Napoleon appears to have a very large piece of metal impaled in his abdominal area. We're going to need assistance quickly. Should I pull it out?" Illya asked flustered.
"Negative, Illya...absolutely not. Now listen. You've got to stabilize that thing just as it is until we can get him into surgery here. Don't move and inch and keep pressure around the wound. It might be a lacerated liver and that could easily bleed him out if we don't
move you both very carefully."
"All right, we'll sit tight, but get somebody over here in a hurry, yes?" He panted.
"The medics have been dispatched as we speak." Dr. Ray assured. "They'll be briefed on how to transport so just hang in there. I'll see you in surgery...."
Illya dropped the communicator knowing it would help the medical team isolate their location quickly. He felt Solo's breathing become shallow against him and he tried to jolt his partner back to lucidity. Both of the Russian's hands now stabilized the scrap of metal protruding from Solo's belly.
"Napoleon." He said, slightly unnerved. "Napoleon, wake up. Stay with me. Come on, Napoleon. You make a terrible shish kabob."
Solo smiled slightly at the wise crack, consciousness waning. "Spy on a stick, right?"
"Hmmmmmmm." Kuryakin replied. "The world is not ready, my friend."
"Neither am I."
They were interrupted by the sounds of UNCLE's medics moving into the warehouse armed with med kits, a long board, straps, IV supplies and a busy crew of four who immediately swarmed the two men.
"Sirs, we've been instructed to move you as a unit and will be using the backboard to secure you both. Please don't move and let us do the work." The lead medic directed.
"Of course." Kuryakin muttered. "Don't mind us."
Two medics prepared the long board with padding and straps as one nurse started an IV on Solo and took vital signs, ignoring Kuryakin. The last man worked rapidly to wrap Illya's hands to the metal jutting out of Solo, packing gauze in and around the wound, and taping the whole thing down to Napoleon's torso. It was a bizarre scene.
Napoleon coughed once and blood began trickling out of his mouth.
"Ladies and gentlemen, could we move this along please?" Illya implored noticing Solo's skin temperature starting to cool measurably.
The four medics surrounded the agents and prepared to lift them onto the backboard.
"On my count....one, two, three." The team leader called and instantly Solo and Kuryakin were moved to the backboard, both of them secured and stabilized to each other. In seconds, the agents were anchored to the board and transported into a waiting van.
The nurse tried to rouse Napoleon. "Sir. Mr. Solo, sir. Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"
UNCLE's top agent rolled his head slightly on Kuryakin's chest.
"Illya?" he murmured anxiously.
"He's alright, nurse. Let's please proceed to headquarters immediately."
The medics buzzed around them speaking only with each other, grabbing this, adjusting that until Illya felt as if he and Napoleon were invisible. Over the chatter of the radio, he looked down at his partner's collapsed body against his and felt an isolation that shook him to the core.
Solo coughed once more, and reached out to his only true lifeline.
"Illya........" he slurred. "We ok?"
"Yes, Napoleon. We are fine. Hang on. We're almost home."
The van roared into UNCLE's underground entrance where medical staff descended on the two agents like flies. The long board was lifted onto a gurney and in seconds Kuryakin noticed the familiar doors of a surgical unit being swung open.
Dr. Elizabeth Ray calmly moved towards the two men and began stripping away the tape, gauze, and clothing to examine what she had to deal with.
"Dr. Ray...what....." Kuryakin started.
"Jesus." She gasped, interrupting. "Dennis, get two units of blood hung stat. Dr. Rayburn, go ahead and start with the anesthesia. Get me a scalpel .....we're going to have to cut some decent margins on this wound."
Dr. Ray directed ICU to prep. for receiving Solo after surgery as the medical staff began cutting away clothing and draping the agent with traditional green paper-like sheets to isolate the surgical area. Only then, almost as an after thought, did Dr. Ray address Illya.
"Listen Illya, all hell's going to break loose when we extract this thing. With his vitals, there's no time for even x-rays. We don't know how long or wide it is, if it's in pieces or jagged...we're working blind here."
"What do you want me to do?" Kuryakin asked feeling helpless in the medical operatory.
Dr. Ray was all business directing nurses and interns to various places. One assistant was positioned behind Illya with his arms underneath the Russian's and clasped around his chest.
"When we're ready, just let go. Kevin's going to pull you away from Napoleon and off the table. We need to move fast to try and stabilize him before he bleeds out on us. Just get clear of the operating table and get out of here fast. You're full of contaminants."
Before Illya could respond the Chief Surgeon flew into action and Kuryakin was unceremoniously dumped on the floor behind the operating table. When he scrambled to his feet, he could no longer see his partner for all of the medical staff converging over their patient, working frantically. He stood momentarily noticing Napoleon's blood all over him and slowly backed out of the surgical suite. The sudden separation from his partner and sense of helplessness disturbed him. Kuryakin retired alone to an empty hallway and sank to the floor.
He deeply felt the sudden separation from his partner. Now, he could only wait.
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