The Golden Fleece Affair (From The Files Of Lady Dru Drummond Book 2)

by CW Hawes

  Nineteen

  Next Stop Kutaisi

  Hotel Bagrationi

  Zugdidi, Georgia

  Afternoon

  Sunday, 18 April 1954

  The bombardment lasted a mere twenty minutes. It did, however, silence the Georgian Liberation Army — at least for the time being. We remained on high alert for the rest of the morning. I overheard Branson ask Dorman why Ernest hadn’t attacked the planes.

  Dorman said, “The WUROS can detect what is and isn’t a threat. Ernest must’ve calculated the route of the aeroplanes and determined they were not a threat to us.”

  I found Dorman’s comment interesting, for it meant the robot’s programming enabled it to have a measure of discernment with regards to threats. The question in my mind was, posed a threat to whom? The robot or those around the robot?

  For lunch, we ate C-rations. Mine was some sort of canned stew. It was edible. Barely. That’s all I can say for it. The instant coffee was utterly repulsive. At least it was hot. Thanks to the Sterno stove the soldiers had.

  Everyone was on edge and even though we could now smoke as much as we wanted, it didn’t do much to calm us. Italian artillery on the hills to the north was lazily firing shells at the supposed positions of the GLA forces to the east. Whether they were still there after the airstrike was anyone’s guess.

  Karl, Branson, Dunyasha, Kit, Klara, and I sat quietly together. Karl and Branson were playing Nine Men’s Morris with stones on a board drawn with chalk. Kit and Klara were holding hands. Dunyasha and I sat next to each other and smoked. A cigarette holder really does become her.

  Suddenly Private Ajax called out, “We got company. A Soviet truck.”

  We ran out of the alcove we’d been sitting in, and onto the street, weapons at the ready. Behind us was Ernest. I turned to look at the robot and saw him adjusting the Röntgenkanone. I looked back at the truck, which was slowly making its way up the street towards us, carefully negotiating the rubble.

  The low hum began. Ernest was getting ready to fire the raygun. The hum got louder and higher in pitch.

  Karl yelled, “Shut it off! The truck’s American!”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dorman flip a switch on his control box and the hum wound down to silence.

  The truck had an American flag, a small one, sticking out the passenger side window. Apparently Ernest wasn’t programed to distinguish flags and symbols. Or if he was, he didn’t recognize the Stars and Stripes as friendly. The truck pulled up to a stop before Ajax and his machine gun. The driver slowly got out, his hands in the air.

  “Karl von Weidner?” The man called out.

  We followed Karl as he walked over to the man.

  “I’m von Weidner.”

  The man said, “The coyotes at the ranch are hungry.”

  Karl answered, “But the jackrabbits are safe.”

  The man replied, “I’m Peter Zholkov. At your service, Mr Weidner.”

  “Is the truck empty?” Karl asked.

  “Yes. Your people get to ride to our next destination.”

  Behind me I heard Franzen say, “Thank God.”

  Chuckles rippled through the group.

  “Come, Mr Zholkov, we need to talk,” Karl said. “Branson, Dru, Dunyasha, you too.”

  We withdrew from the others and formed a circle.

  “What information do you have for us?” Karl asked Zholkov.

  “The most current information we have is the fleece is being held in Kutaisi.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  “Yes. The Provisional Government is in Kutaisi,” Zholkov replied, “and the fleece is with the Provisional President of the country.”

  “Do you have information regarding the front lines?” Branson asked.

  “There is much fighting and the front shifts constantly. What we know is this: the Czarists are pushing towards Tiflis. The Soviets are also making a push towards Tiflis. The Georgian Liberation Army holds the southern portion of the country from the coast to Tiflis. However, they have suffered quite a few casualties and have retreated for the most part up into the mountains. The Italians hold the coast down to Poti. There is every indication they are going to conduct a major offensive to take Kutaisi.”

  “With the fleece in Kutaisi, you will take us there?” Karl asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We won’t get far looking like a bunch of Americans, as we do,” Dunyasha said.

  “I agree with Dunyasha,” Branson said. “We need to pick up some local clothing.”

  Zholkov said, “I anticipated this and have clothing in the back of the truck. However, I did not anticipate women. I have no clothing for women.”

  Karl was thoughtful for a moment, then asked Zholkov, “Do you know where the fleece is being held in Kutaisi?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Our informant’s best guess is the provisional president’s office and residence.”

  “Makes sense,” Karl said. “Well, we had best get going. Let’s check out the clothing and get underway.”

  Karl had us gather at the back of the lorry. Since there was no clothing there for us women, Dunyasha said, “Okay, girls, let’s go find something to wear so we look like the natives.”

  Dunyasha, Klara, Elise Rodman, and I made our way through buildings and houses looking for suitable clothing. Most of the structures had suffered some manner of damage. The smell of fire, decaying flesh, and earth was everywhere. The air was not at all pleasant. Unfortunately, we had to breathe, and had no choice but to smell the odours of destruction.

  The part of town we were in had no women’s clothiers. At least none we could identify. The buildings housed shops, restaurants, tea houses, and professional offices. There were plenty of houses. The majority were empty. Combing through the vacant ones, we found clothing. We also found bodies. More than once, Elise and Klara threw up. Our search eventually yielded a dress for Elise and a skirt and blouse for Klara. Dunyasha and I opted for men’s trousers and shirts. We figured we’d be in a combat role at some point and might as well be dressed for it.

  Suitably clothed, we made our way back to the lorry and the rest of our party. They were having an argument about Ernest. Sax wanted to destroy the robot. His point had merit: “We’ll be as inconspicuous as a naked Marilyn Monroe on Fifth Avenue.”

  Mafeking granted the machine would most likely draw attention to us. His position was the robot would also give us a measure of protection “vastly superior to a pair of .50-caliber machine guns, a twelve-pounder, and a Dornier bomber.”

  Sax shot back, “We’re better off with less firepower and no attention.”

  Karl and Branson were quiet. Professor Franzen wanted the robot to accompany us. Kit and Elmer didn’t. Elise shared her colleague’s preference. The situation pretty much pitted the government boys against the non-government people.

  Dunyasha said, “The decision is Karl’s. This isn’t a democracy.”

  Sax shot back, “Wait a minute, here, I don’t–”

  She cut him off. “Oh, yes, you do. This is Hall’s expedition and Mr Weidner is Hall’s designated leader. You government boys are here to protect us, and then, when we’ve gotten the fleece, to take it away from us so the government can lock it away for safe keeping.”

  The Sergeant, Kit, and Elmer were spluttering. I love Dunyasha. She takes crap from no one and tells it like it is.

  She continued, “We don’t have the fleece yet, so you government boys follow Karl’s orders. Now, who’s going to light my cigarette?”

  Her last comment brought the house down. Elmer was closest to her and did the honors. Cigarette lit, everyone turned his or her attention to Karl.

  “Ernest will go with us, for now,” he said.

  Decision made, we climbed into the lorry. Next stop, Kutaisi. At least we hoped so.

  Twenty

  Team Bravo

  Outside Kutaisi, Georgia

  Night

  Sunday, 18 April 1954

  The roa
d was incredibly bad. Bombed, shelled, and torn up by tanks, there were places where it no longer existed. What would have been an hour and a half trip a couple years ago, took us four hours to complete. Four hours to go one hundred kilometers.

  When we reached the Tiflis-Senaki-Leselidze Highway, some seventeen miles from Poti, we stumbled into a firefight between the Italians and the Georgian Liberation Army, which was trying to hold on to Senaki.

  We were fired on at one point and Ernest started going into action. Dorman stopped the robot from attacking and Zholkov got us further away from the fighting. Another half hour passed before the Italian force withdrew, unable to cross the Tsivi River. The Georgian forces melted back into the rugged hills north of Senaki.

  There wasn’t much left of the town. Bombers and artillery had pretty much reduced it to rubble. We saw very few people. From Senaki, Zholkov took the northern highway through Khoni to Kutaisi, which we reached well after sunset.

  Sergeant Sax and his men hid the truck in a grove of trees and camouflaged it as best they could. We then followed a road, or what passed for a road, up into the hills for a couple miles to wait until midnight, when we would move into the city and begin looking for the fleece.

  The night was cold. Even with my greatcoat on, the chill penetrated into my bones. Dunyasha complained rather loudly, wishing for a hot bath. The Sterno stove was started and, after heating water, we had instant coffee. It helped a little.

  At midnight, Karl said, “We’re going to go down to the city. We will divide into five teams. Alpha team will be made up of Mr Smith, Mr Zholkov, and myself. Bravo team, Lady Hurley-Drummond, Lady Bobrinsky, and Mr Branson. Charlie team, Mrs Somers, Doctor Rodman, Sergeant Sax, and Private Milano. Mr Somers, Corporal Hill, and Private Ajax will comprise Delta team. The final team, Echo, will be made up of Mr Pond, Doctor Franzen, and Private Denham. Mr Shelsher will stay here with Ernest.

  “We will leave at forty-five minute intervals. Tomorrow, check in at the Hall Media office, which is near the airport, to pass on information, or to see if any has been left by another team. Remember, we are refugees fleeing the Soviets. Any questions?”

  Branson asked, “How do we handle the situation if we find the fleece?”

  Karl said, “Go to the Hall Media office and stay there. Each team should check in at Hall Media at least once a day. That way we will be able to keep in touch and if we find the fleece, coordinate its capture.”

  Sax asked, “What if we get found out? Or captured?”

  Karl answered, “Staff at Hall Media will keep record of each team’s check in time and date. If a team does not check in, we’ll know something has happened. If you are found out and know you are under surveillance, don’t go to Hall Media. Find a telephone and let the office know.”

  He then gave us the address and phone number of the office. “Remember, it is near the airport. Any more questions?”

  There weren’t any and Karl concluded, “The time is twelve-thirty. Alpha team departs now. Bravo team will depart at quarter past one. Charlie team, at two. And so on.”

  We wished them luck and watched the three members of Alpha team disappear into the night.

  I hadn’t kissed Karl goodbye and I couldn’t hold back the tears. I might not see him alive again and I couldn’t kiss him goodbye. Despite my not being religious, I asked God to protect him.

  Quarter past one arrived and Dunyasha, Branson, and I bid our compatriots farewell. The only one who said nothing, gave no indication he was aware of anything, was Ernest. I let my eyes roam the large and deadly robot, then turned back to my friends and team members.

  “Okay, Team Bravo, on to Kutaisi,” I said and the three of us walked into the night.

  Twenty-One

  Neratoff

  Kutaisi, Georgia

  Monday, 19 April 1954

  We walked down the road, or what passed for a road, in silence and in single file. Branson was in the lead and Dunyasha was behind me. He had the electric torch and kept the beam cupped to minimize its visibility.

  The night was very dark. We heard sounds from various animals and the light breeze in the trees. Here in the hills above the city, the smell of the forest was pleasant. It almost helped one forget there was a war ripping apart the countryside and turning it to a wasteland.

  Branson did his best to lead us around rocks or large potholes in the road. Even so, I stumbled several times. Trouble found us when we were not far from town. A patrol spotted the light and called out in Georgian. Branson flicked the switch to douse the torch light and we dove into the shallow ditch by the side of the road. I heard at least three voices. Four lanterns were played about by those looking for us. The voices spoke a mixture of Georgian and Russian.

  Branson had been about twenty feet ahead of me and Dunyasha about the same distance behind. If they found one of us, they’d find all of us. In the dark, I couldn’t see Branson or Dunyasha. Peeking up from the bottom of the ditch, I saw the lanterns were very close. I ducked back down. Something, though, was tickling my nose. I pinched it very tightly and prayed the tickle would pass. It seemed to work and I was just about to praise the power of prayer when I sneezed. That God and Lady Luck should both abandon me in my hour of need, well, all that was left for me to do was to utter a very unladylike word and I did.

  In a heartbeat, I was staring at the muzzles of four rifles. The lanterns though were bright and I closed my eyes to a squint. In the language I know best, English, I said, “I guess you boys found me.”

  They said something in Georgian. I started to get up, when Dunyasha yelled, “Down!” I dropped and the rapid fire “chu-chu-chu” of the suppressed STEN gun spoke. When the firing stopped, I waited a moment before I looked up and saw Dunyasha looking at the bodies. Her figure was illuminated by the light of a lantern on the ground.

  I stood. Behind me I heard Branson’s voice, “Nice work, Dee. I’m impressed.” I chuckled at the American nickname he’d given her.

  Dunyasha’s voice dripped disdain. “Impressed? You forget I was a partisan fighter. I’ve killed more men and blown up more things than an entire squad of your Rangers. Besides, where the hell were you?”

  Russian to the core, my dear Dunyasha.

  Branson simply laughed. “I low crawled away so I wouldn’t get caught and then have to shoot my way out.”

  Dunyasha just grunted an incoherent response.

  Branson continued, “So, Mrs Partisan Fighter, what now?”

  “We get these bodies off the road, hide them the best we can, and continue on our way. But first, I reload.”

  Branson let out a laugh. “I’ll take care of the bodies. Lady Hurley-Drummond, would you keep an eye out for trouble?”

  I was the leader, yet somehow Branson was in charge. Or at least he thought he was. Dunyasha got her submachine gun reloaded and helped Branson with the last body.

  For the last half mile into town, we hid our weapons underneath our coats and walked together. We were refugees escaping from the war or trying to. Dunyasha held my hand. I think she was sending a subtle signal to Branson she wasn’t interested in playing with him any longer. Something happened to put her off. What puzzles me is what she sees in me that attracts her. I haven’t gone out of my way to be winsome or alluring. Yet from the beginning, she took to me and has maintained an interest even though she knows Sappho isn’t where I’m at. If we survive this, we are going to live together. A Boston marriage sort of thing. Perhaps that and Branson’s bossiness have turned the tide against him. I don’t know. Life and love don’t play fairly, that is for sure.

  Branson thought it best we avoid the checkpoint where the main highway enters the city. Dunyasha and I agreed with him. Which meant we cut through the woods and entered the city through a mostly abandoned residential area. We still had a good two hours until dawn. After discussing options, we decided to wait out those hours in an abandoned house until there was enough dawn light to see by. Branson thought we’d look too suspicious wandering around a
t night and again Dunyasha and I agreed with him.

  The city was dark and we sat in darkness in the house not wanting to risk a light. I was cold, hungry, and tired. My clothes felt dirty, as well. What I wouldn’t have given for a hot bath and a cup of tea.

  “Why don’t you two get some sleep,” Branson said.

  Dunyasha and I didn’t argue. We found a couple blankets, huddled together for warmth, and slept. Although I’d have sworn on a Bible I’d no sooner closed my eyes, then Branson was waking us.

  We left the house and stood on the street. Clouds scudded across the sky doing their best to hang onto the darkness of the night. Yet even in the dim light of the early dawn, I could tell we were a sorry looking lot. Dirty from taking to the ditch and traipsing through the woods, we looked every bit the war refugees we were pretending to be. At least at first glance, no one would guess we were anything else. A more studied look might reveal the odd shapes beneath our coats — the odd shapes of our submachine guns.

  Branson’s eyes took in the neighborhood, pockmarked by shell and bomb craters, the walls of houses showing ample evidence of the impact of flying shrapnel and bullets.

  Somewhere I heard a baby crying. A family must be living in one of these houses. Something less than four million people lived in Georgia prior to the civil war. How many were still here was difficult to determine. Kutaisi is the second largest city in Georgia, or at least it was. Maybe a quarter of a million people lived here prior to the war. Now? This part of the city seemed largely deserted. Maybe the inhabitants had fled to the mountains. The baby’s crying cutting through the eerie silence only made the silence feel even more eerie.