Mark Slate sat cross-legged on the floor of his prison cell, wearing what looked like lightweight striped pajamas, as that was the standard uniform in most Southeast Asian prisons.
Just before his capture he'd heard members of his convoy speaking of rumors about an American woman, supposedly politically connected, who had recently gone to one of the prison camps in the North with a camera crew; interviewing some of the men and extolling the quality of treatment they were receiving at the hands of the North Vietnamese. The Americans weren't cooperative, so the attempt at propagandising the event was a bust, or so that's what was said.
He shuddered at that thought, and was sure some people wished they could get their hands on the traitorous bitch, if she really existed. Even though he was a Brit he understood her behavior demeaned the American soldiers who had been fighting for what they believed was a just cause. He only hoped no one else would try to use such a lame-brained scheme to help the North Vietnamese further abuse and demoralize their prisoners.
He wasn't exactly sure the United States belonged in Vietnam, but that woman's method of propaganda just wasn't right, regardless of what the U.S. was doing there.
So far Slate had been lucky, suffering only some minor beatings as they questioned him. He had no cover story, and had simply arrived as a courier to pick up documents secured by Solo and Kuryakin. His convoy from the airport had been waylaid by Viet Cong soldiers and he'd been taken prisoner.
Indirectly the Aussies were in country, as were the New Zealanders and some of the best war photographers were Englishmen... There were rumours that some British special forces went there to perform limited missions. However, Prime Minister Harold Wilson was under tremendous pressure from the Americans to join in but refused to do so on any formal basis.
Mark could have claimed he was a photographer, but he had no credentials...none at all, he'd dumped his UNCLE identification when his capture became imminent as that would be proof positive he was a spy, but then not having any ID set him up to be accused as a spy as well. Either way, he was in trouble.
The VC had confiscated everything, including his communicator. He was sure it was ignored as it would have appeared as simple a pen and nothing more. It was probably resting in the pocket of some officer by now.
His imprisonment had gone on for weeks, and why the North Vietnamese hadn't disposed of him, or sent him off to a POW camp left him puzzled. Still he wasn't complaining, to say the least.
There were a few American POW's who'd come and gone, though he never had the opportunity to speak with them. They were no doubt being shipped off to Hanoi.
Mark was sure UNCLE knew something was amiss when he didn't show up in Da Nang to pick up the documents secured by Napoleon and Illya. He'd heard they'd been hurt and wounded and were recovering at the American hospital unit referred to as China Beach.
.
The clang of his cell door being unlocked alerted him, and a soldier stepped in, followed by the entrance of an officer, a Russian officer. He was a bit short by military standards but his presence commanded immediate attention, even though he moved with a pronounced limp. Beside him was another man in a Russian uniform, who stood by silently with his hands clasped together in front of him
His eyes met a pair of familiar blue eyes, and Mark's heart skipped a best. It was rescue time!
The Russian spoke at first in Vietnamese. "Vâng. Đây là người đàn ông chúng tôi đã được tìm kiếm_yes. This is the man we are looking for. He is a Russian spy, a double agent working for the British and the Soviet Union."
He switched to Russian, addressing Slate directly.
"Poydem so mnoy vy predatel'skoy sobaki. Predatel_Come with me, you treacherous dog. Traitor!
Mark answered in Russian, thanking God for April's language lessons….which were in essence indirectly from Illya, who'd tutored Dancer with her Russian.
"Vy ne zastavit menya govorit'_you won't make me talk." Slate answered defiantly.
"Da ya eto sdelayu_yes I will." This was the exact same scenario Illya had used when rescing his partner less than a month ago.
The ruse had worked...again; much to Kuryakin's amazement and he watched with satisfaction as Slate's hands were bound and he was led out of the prison to the jeep that awaited them.
Napoleon got behind the wheel as Mark was put in the back of the vehicle, while Illya dealt with the VC commander who was not happy about losing another prisoner to the Russian.
Whatever Kuryakin said to the man, suddenly made the commanders face blanch and he backed off; saluting and turning away briskly, not waiting for the Russian's return salute. Illya got into the jeep, signalling for Napoleon to take off.
They headed out slowly, to an awaiting American Special Forces unit who were waiting for the Brits rescue before they were to go in and 'take care of busniness; once and for all putting this camp out of action.
"Lor mates how did you find me?" Mark asked, the relief in his voice evident.
"Past experience. This was the same temporary camp where Napoleon had been held after being taken prisoner. I found him because, unlike you, he had a subcutaneous tracking disc planted under his scalp. In your case Mark...it was a best guess."
"Well thank goodness either way. I wasn't sure what they had in mind for me. I trashed all my ID when I was captured and no real cover story that I could prove."
"Actually Mark, word was that you were going to be executed...tomorrow," Napoleon added.
The Brit's face paled at that news. " I owe you an even bigger thanks for not only rescuing me, but saving my life as well."
"All in a days work," Napoleon smiled, turning his head slightly to look at Slate. "Hey tovarisch, what did you say to the VC Commander. You look like you put the fear of God in him."
"Keep your eyes on the road," Illya snarled. "I swear if you get us lost, I will torture you myself."
"All right all right...don't get your knickers in a twist." Napoleon brushing off the Russian was in essence a taunt, though Illya didn't take the bait this time.
Hearing a typical British colloquialism at least made Mark laugh, though he hid the pain in his side. He'd had worse treatment at the hands of THRUSH, but still, a beating was a beating.
"So how's my partner? I'm sure she's beside herself worrying about me?" Mark chimed in.
"Acutally you can discuss that with her yourself, as she is waiting for you at the Medical Army Surgical Hosptial at My Khe."
"Hey isn't that where I was supposed to meet you two blokes?'
"Precisely Mark," Illya answered.
"Nice to know I'm finally getting to where I was supposed to be going," he smiled.
The jeep pulled to a halt, as it was suddenly surrouned by armed Americans...Green Berets.
Illya gave the proper passwords, along with showing his and Solo's ID as well as a copy of the mission instructions, signed off by the Commanding Officer of My Khe, Lieutenat Commander Pitkin.
The UNCLE agents were quickly given camoflage uniforms waiting there for them, and were whisked away with impressive alactrity by the Special Forces.
"By the way mates, thanks for coming to get me," Mark said as they were transferred to an American jeep.
"Glad to be of service," the Russian smiled, repeating the response he'd given his partner upon his rescue.
The American agent simply nodded, unusually silent. His thoughts were on his own captivity and torture at the hands of the Viet Cong….something he wasn't going to get over that quickly. It was bad enough to deal with such things with THRUSH, but this was somehow different, perhaps even more wrong.
He'd have to think further on it. Napoleon kept his political convictions to himself, as the Vietnam war was something he was against. He didn't think the U.S. belonged there. Not that, that was an unusual sentiment back home. Solo having served in Korea knew first hand the horrors of war and what was happening didn't sit well with him at all. There were too many rumors of civilain massacres and other atricities...no not good at all.
Napoleon would be glad to get out of this place and back to civilization...as he was sure both Illya and Mark would be as well. As soon as Slate was checked out at the base hosptial the hospital and reunited with April, hopefully they'd be on a military transport and out of there though not soon enough...