Sweet Love, Survive

by Susan Johnson

  Curled in Apollo’s arms, her dizzying sensations now only a silken feeling of warmth, Kitty vaguely recalled the quietly mentioned “favor.” She glanced up at the peaceful face. Apollo’s eyes were closed, and a faint smile was painted across his deeply tanned face. “What did I promise you in the heat of passion?” she murmured. Her full-lipped rose mouth quirked wryly. “That wasn’t exactly fair.”

  His eyes still closed, Apollo drowsily replied, “All’s fair, et cetera, et cetera.” Grinning quietly on the pillow, he contemplated the gratification it always gave him to see Kitty so lost to reason.

  Kitty’s voice, aggrieved, slid into mild reproof. “You took advantage.”

  Apollo’s pale eyes half opened then, and he glanced down. “It’s always such a pleasure to,” he said agreeably. “I can’t resist.”

  “That’s not nice.”

  “Nice?” His eyes opened quite wide and Kitty watched disapprovingly as Apollo choked with laughter. “Darling, I’ve been called many things in my day, but have never aspired to ‘nice.’”

  “Well, it’s rotten, then.”

  “Really,” he drawled, his eyes crinkled, mocking her. “Was that why you were screaming … right before the end?” His brows rose.

  Kitty had the grace to blush and knew she had lost that particular argument. That’s what came from giving in to lust instead of thinking of England. “So tell me,” she said in mildly theatrical affront. “What did I promise?”

  “Not to complain when I go on a raid,” he replied equably.

  Kitty snatched herself clear of his arm and shot upright. Sitting straight-backed, facing him with a glare, direct and stormy, the words tumbled out in a rushing torrent, “I never would have agreed—”

  “Under normal circumstances,” he finished blandly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know.”

  “You tricked me,” Kitty blurted out indignantly. Her eyes were visibly sparking and Apollo reached out to pull her close once again.

  She resisted. He didn’t insist, although he could have very easily.

  “Sweetheart,” he said gently, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, “It was only a game. I won’t hold you to such a promise. But … I do want to go. Consider,” he continued in a softly placating tone, “I’ve been dutiful since last spring. That’s eight months, darling, and while the men haven’t understood, they’ve endured.” Apollo rubbed one hand across the nape of his neck in a rueful gesture. “It has, on occasion, chafed at my pride. Understand, dushka, only because of my great love for you and the Cub have I remained docile so long.” His voice was moderate, reasonable, his golden eyes sincere.

  Kitty sighed softly. “Has it been so difficult?”

  Apollo nodded. “I haven’t minded so much. It was important to you.”

  “But you want to go out again.”

  He nodded again. “Only occasionally. Nothing risky. All of Azerbaijan and Dagestan is up in arms. The Georgian Military Road is in the hands of the Ingushians and Ossetians, who are seizing automobiles and making a collection of them. The Chechens are attacking the Terek Cossacks, who have held their land for Russia for a hundred years. Grosny’s besieged. The entire Soviet Arkani field force was destroyed at Arkaz a few days ago. The whole Caucasus is in the process of self-determination. It’s tempting to take part—destroy a munitions dump, or rob a Soviet payroll to help the insurgents, or just harass a Red Army garrison that’s been raising havoc in the lower villages. However,” he said very quietly, “if you’re still adamantly against it …” His voice trailed off.

  Kitty’s breath felt constricted, but she had to ask, “You do miss all that, don’t you?”

  “It’s been my life,” he reminded her softly.

  “And I’ve denied you that life.”

  Apollo shrugged, then smiled. “The compensation has been more than adequate. I’m not complaining, but—”

  “It’s been long enough?”

  “Am I a selfish brute? I’m sorry, dushka. When I watch Karaim and Sahin come back, time after time … Oh, hell, I don’t know.” He ran a hand impatiently through his long bright hair and dropped back down on the pillow. “Just forget it, sweet. It was a bad idea.” His arms were flung above his head.

  “Where are they going this time?” Kitty inquired in a small voice, her eyes raking his powerful, rangy form.

  Apollo’s whole body tensed and his tawny eyes met hers cautiously. “Down to Derbent. The monthly payroll is due in three days.”

  “How dangerous?”

  One eyebrow raised languidly. “A piece of cake.”

  Kitty took a deep breath, exhaled softly, and said, “Don’t be gone long.”

  The joy in Apollo’s eyes would have lit the Champs Élysées for a week. Hauling Kitty into his arms, he crushed her in an elated bear hug. “I’ll be back in four days without a scratch, not a hair out of place.” Apollo was like a young boy given his first taste of freedom. “Oh, kitten, do you know how much I love you?”

  “Tell me,” Kitty whispered, fear gripping her heart. And he did.

  The troop left early the following morning, their mood festive with Apollo in command once again. Each rider had shaken his hand in welcome. It was considered a good omen to have the Young Falcon let loose.

  Kitty watched Apollo canter out of the courtyard and turn with raised hand at the gates to bid her adieu. Leda caracoled and pranced down the mountain trail, as excited as her master to be riding out again, and when they reached the valley floor, in sheer high spirits, Apollo loosed the curb he’d held on her and she stretched out flat with extended rein and curbless mouth along the valley road.

  17

  Apollo and Karaim were looking through binoculars from a point halfway up a sandstone cliff above Petrovsk.

  There had already been two successful raids in less than a month, and the Red commander in Petrovsk had vowed that no mountain guerillas were going to steal this gold. He had enormously augmented the train’s protection: machine guns were mounted at every window, door, and orifice; the entire train bristled with soldiers and rifles. The commander was quite correct, of course; the train was secure.

  “That would be suicide,” Apollo observed pleasantly to Karaim, his binoculars sweeping the armored train from front to back. “Good Lord, he has practically emptied the garrison.”

  “A shame,” Karaim agreed.

  Apollo smiled serenely. “And we don’t have a thing to do until the gold is safely deposited in the garrison at Derbent.” He let the glasses drop to hang from the leather strap around his neck. “I expect the men left at Petrovsk plan on being paid this week, eh, Karaim?”

  “Assuredly, As-saqr As-saghir.”

  “Why settle for one payroll, then, when two would do as well?”

  “Why indeed?” Karaim concurred.

  “Is Madame Gautier’s still on Mokhovaya?”

  Karaim’s voice held a scornful note. “The commissar’s wives and girlfriends like silks and satins the same as everyone else, propaganda notwithstanding.”

  “Care to go shopping? Kitty hasn’t had a new ball gown since—” He was going to say “Aladino” until he remembered the armoire full of Poirets at Stavropol. “Well … for a long time.”

  Karaim’s even voice gave no indication he understood the brief hesitation. “I can always use a frivolous silk or two.”

  “Or three or four, with your reputation,” Apollo cheerfully amended.

  Karaim shrugged, his dark face bland. “Allah has been kind to me.”

  The Petrovsk garrison payroll was freed from Soviet hegemony late that night with a minimum of fuss and no casualties to the raiding party. The skeleton guard left behind had made their task inestimably easier. Apollo and Karaim shopped rapidly at Madame Gautier’s while the remainder of the troop fidgeted impatiently outside the fashionable dressmaker’s shop. In short order, Madame’s stock was lessened by several gowns, paid for with Soviet gold.

  When the telegraph lines were repaire
d the next morning and news was relayed to Derbent of the raid on Petrovsk, the protective guard started back immediately. The furious Red commander vowed to pursue the culprits until each and every one was caught. Obviously, he was new to the region. There were areas in the mountains where a man could stay hidden for a lifetime.

  So while the armored train and its complement of heavily armed men rushed north, Apollo and his riders set out for Derbent. Shortly after midnight, Apollo and three of his men were lounging in the office containing the safe for the Derbent garrison. Slaughtered Red soldiers—discreetly hidden, of course—formed a trail of sorts to the walnut-paneled room. Apollo rocked in a large, padded desk chair, his eyes half-closed in relaxed scrutiny of Sahin’s cousin Yazid as he intently worked on the safe’s combination. The clever young man—who had spent two months as a bank teller in Baku—opened the safe in under five minutes. His expertise hadn’t been acquired in the short space of two months of employment, but the skills already learned from an elderly uncle had certainly been polished to a fine gloss. The bank at Baku had been poorer by a considerable sum when Yazid retired at a young age and returned to Dargo.

  “Sometimes, Karaim,” Apollo said, strolling back to their horses held in readiness near the basement entry, “it makes one nervous, it’s so damn easy to steal from these Bolshis. I’m afraid we’re going to lose our fine edge and blunder out of boredom some fine day.” He hitched the heavy saddlebag of gold higher on his muscular shoulder and pushed open the basement door.

  “If they repair the telegraph lines before morning, you might have a little excitement on the way back,” Karaim remarked with his usual neat restraint. “That should help keep the edge.” Side by side they moved toward their horses, two tall, lean men, one fair, one as dark as Lucifer.

  “You think so?” Apollo inquired, a lift in his voice. “Fifty roubles says we’re clear to Gunib before they’re repaired.”

  “Akusha; no farther.”

  Turning to Karaim, Apollo’s pale eyes glowed with their own inner fire. “You’re on.” Clearly, he was hoping to lose.

  A full moon shone on the troop while they swiftly divided the gold among their various saddlebags, evenly distributing it to allow each mount maximum speed. Twenty men swung up into the high-cantled, heavily padded saddles.

  “To the foothills north of town and then to the Gunib plateau?” Karaim brusquely inquired, already wheeling his horse to the north.

  “One short detour,” Apollo declared cheerfully, his strong hand holding a curvetting Leda in the melee of men and horses.

  “There’s not much time. It’s after midnight already, and we should be past the garrison at Madjolis before dawn.”

  “Ten minutes, no more. Kitty needs some jewelry for her new gowns, and Firez and Sons survived the Revolution. Do you think I still have an account there?”

  “Not one that’s likely to be healthy. Stop next time. We’ll be back.”

  Apollo’s hand went out to soothe Leda. “Go on ahead if you want. I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”

  Karaim would sooner have condemned his soul to an eternity in hell than leave the Falcon’s side. “Foolhardy as ever,” he snorted avuncularly.

  “Humor me, Karaim. I’ve been sage too long.”

  With time at a minimum, Apollo climbed the grilled fence guarding the store’s rear entrance and forced the door of Firez and Sons. In less time than he would have liked, but considerably more time than Karaim deemed safe, Apollo selected several pieces of jewelry for Kitty. The gold to pay for them was discreetly placed under the senior Firez’s elegant silk-cushioned divan along with a note of thanks for extending his shopping hours.

  The riders passed the garrison town of Madjolis only slightly behind schedule, missing the early morning patrols by ten minutes. Although the telegraph lines north out of Derbent had been cut, the Red Army, by dint of repetition, was becoming extremely speedy with their repairs. Just north of Akusha two of Apollo’s scouts came back to report that two armored cars mounted with Lewis guns were patroling the road.

  “Damned if you weren’t right, Karaim. I owe you fifty roubles. Let’s go down and take out those cars.”

  “Think of the countess, As-saqr As-saghir. They’ve got Lewis guns. …”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Then Apollo’s clear, golden eyes lit with an alternative not particularly dangerous to them. “A few lobbed grenades couldn’t hurt. Think we can get ahead of them before they reach the Shura defile?”

  “Don’t see why not,” Karaim replied with a tolerant smile.

  “You’re always so damned reasonable, Karaim. That’s why we get along.”

  “We get along because I give in to all your harebrain schemes.”

  A flash of white teeth accompanied Apollo’s winning smile. “Well, that too.”

  The garrison at Akusha lost two armored cars that day. The heights above the Shura defile had always been a favorite spot for target practice by the mountaineers, and the blundering Russians hadn’t learned that critical fact in a hundred years.

  Moving up into the high mountain trails after Akusha, Apollo and his men entered Dargo that evening. The troop dispersed to their homes; Karaim and Sahin rode to report to Iskender.

  “Tell Pushka I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Apollo said on parting company with his two bodyguards. A smile flickered across his face. “Late tomorrow.”

  Ascending the steep incline to his palace, Apollo felt elated, exhilarated, alive. Riding out always left him in that state; the feel of a prime horse, the outwitting of one’s adversaries, the adrenaline flowing until one experienced a sense of invincibility. He must thank Kitty again for being so understanding, although the gifts piled high behind his saddle might, in small measure, express his feelings. He hoped, too, that the Cub was still awake—a little surprise for him had caught Apollo’s eye during his swift inventory of the stock at Firez and Sons.

  On entering the courtyard, Apollo immediately saw his hope was answered. Kitty, holding the Cub, stood waiting at the top of the stairs, illuminated by the light pouring out of the opened foyer door.

  Tossing Leda’s reins to a waiting servant, Apollo leaped from the saddle and bounded up the stairs. His long legs brought him to Kitty and the Cub in four gigantic strides; father, mother, and son smiled, laughed, beamed, all spoke at once within the crushing circle of Apollo’s embrace.

  After giving instructions for the disposal of the packages, Apollo, carrying the Cub, his free arm around Kitty’s shoulders, strolled into the entrance hall. “What new trick has the Cub learned while I was away?” Apollo asked, smiling happily first at his son and then at Kitty.

  “He can almost roll over by himself. You’ll have to watch before he goes to bed.” Kitty’s emerald eyes were alight with joy. Her worst fears had evaporated on hearing the signal blast reverberating around the valley when Apollo’s troop had been sighted. She’d had an hour, then, to wait until his arrival, during which she had bathed in a heady elation of bliss, delight, every other sensation of goodness and cheer. Apollo was back, as he had promised, safe and sound. At that thought, her eyes quickly repeated her earlier scrutiny. Had she missed a cut or wound or scratch?

  “Do I have egg on my face?” Apollo inquired with amusement in his voice. Kitty’s gaze was quite intent.

  “Just looking for blood, bulletholes, things like that. …” Her relief at not finding any was evident in her expression.

  “I told you it was a simple little raid.” He made no mention of Lewis guns or armored cars or the scores of dead Bolshevik soldiers left behind. “Do I get a gold medal for effort? We’re back a day early.”

  “Two gold medals,” Kitty replied, her face wreathed in smiles. “One from each of us.”

  “I drove the men mercilessly, you know, and all because of my timid-hearted wife,” Apollo teased.

  “I just wasn’t raised for it, I guess … didn’t cut my teeth on a mountain kinjal and kanly blood lust.”

  Looking down at
the delicately featured, golden-haired woman at his side, Apollo said softly, “However you were raised, you turned out splendidly.” Nearing their suite of rooms, Apollo inquired, “Do you suppose the Cub will perform for me now?”

  “He’s only learning. Sometimes he’s patently amazed when all the pushing and struggling works. You’ll see for yourself.”

  Laying the small, sturdy baby—his hair as downy gold as a chick’s—on the bed, Apollo gazed at him for long moments, taking in the changes that seemed to have occurred in three short days. Apollo’s hair and clothes were full of dust. Reaching out a long, bronzed finger he brought a smile to the Cub’s face, talking to him, tickling him softly under the pudgy little chin. He lazily continued the quiet game, unbuckling his belt with one hand. The Cub’s eyes, bright as doubloons, followed his every movement. Straightening, Apollo threw belt and holsters on the bed; pulling off his boots, he slung them under a nearby chair. One more fizzing, drooling smile coaxed from his son brought an answering warm grin to Apollo’s face, and Kitty stood smiling with blurred eyes at the sight of the two loves of her life.

  Looking up at Kitty, Apollo said in the gentlest of voices, “I missed you both.” Unbending, he turned and held open his arms. Kitty fell into them, tears of happiness glistening in her large eyes—and while his parents held each other in welcome, thanksgiving, and love, the Cub threw one tiny leg across his body and, pushing vigorously with the other, proceeded to disarm his father and mother with his infant determination. Before long, his little face rosy with the exertion, the energetic flailing and shoving was successful and—enormous baby eyes open wide in astonishment—he lay on his tummy. Both parents clapped, cheered, glowed with admiration of their very clever son.