The Moscow Affair (From The Files Of Lady Dru Drummond Book 1)

by CW Hawes

  I went to the back of the car, opened the boot, got out the jack and spare, and proceeded to jack the car up. I removed the nuts and yanked on the tyre to pull it off. The car came off the jack and almost crushed my foot.

  “Goddamn bloody bleeding hell,” I shouted.

  From down the road, sounding loud in the rural quiet, I heard an automobile engine. Thinking I might be able to flag them down for help, I ran out into the road and started waving. Just as quickly I had second thoughts. After all, how many Daimlers does one see in the Russian countryside?

  The one word appropriate for this situation but not at all lady-like or socially appropriate, exploded from my lips. I turned and started running. The car screeched to a stop. A voice, one I knew quite well, yelled, “Halt!” It was followed by two pistol shots.

  “God damn it,” I muttered. If I wasn’t so angry, I would have cried. I stopped and turned around. Another car stopped behind Neratoff’s Daimler. It was Dunyasha’s Talbot Lago.

  SEVENTEEN

  Prisoner

  Like a bad little girl, I was sent to my rooms when we returned to the dacha.

  “You try my patience, Lady Hurley-Drummond,” Neratoff said on our return, “and I have little patience for ungrateful people. I have promoted you in Captain Turbanev’s eyes and this is how you repay me. You will be confined to your rooms and to make sure you stay there a guard will be posted outside your door. A word to the wise is sufficient. Are you wise, Lady Hurley-Drummond?”

  I stared him down until he shrugged and addressed two men in Russian. To me, he said, “Modest and Anton will escort you to your rooms.”

  “No.”

  Neratoff sighed and spoke Russian to the men, whereupon one of them simply picked me up and carried me off. Dunyasha broke out in a furious stream of Russian while Neratoff turned and walked away. She followed me.

  After my capture, I rode back to the dacha with my friend. Sitting in her motorcar I wondered how everything had fallen apart and so quickly. Only three days ago Mikhail and I made love and slept together, we'd spoken the tender words lovers speak to each other. Now I was opposed to him and trying to run away.

  Dunyasha had reached out, taken my hand, and said, “Little kitten, why do you fight so? You will drive him away.”

  “I’m afraid I already have.”

  “No, you have not. He has been busy. In a couple of days, we will launch a major offensive. I think he will come to you before we leave.”

  “I won’t be going?”

  “I don’t know. You might go with Mikhail or myself. I haven’t been told. What I do know is you must stop. The Count was furious when he found out you’d left. He chewed out Nestor because he suspected Nestor helped you escape by not raising the alarm right away.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “No. He likes you, you know.”

  “He does?”

  “Yes. He likes your spunk.”

  “So he let me escape?”

  “More or less.”

  “So much for my daring do.”

  Dunyasha laughed. “You have plenty of daring do. For not knowing where the hell you are, you did very well in getting where you got.”

  “And now I’m going back.”

  “Promise me you won’t do anything foolhardy and we’ll talk to Mikhail when he returns.”

  I promised her. But when we got back to the dacha, things didn’t look overly promising. Neratoff’s intransigence. My being dumped in my room and confined there. Dunyasha ignored first by Neratoff and then brushed off by the guard she attempted to give a dressing down. He told her he followed orders from the Count. We were clearly not winning friends or influencing people.

  “I’ve gotten myself into a fine mess, Dunyasha.”

  “Do not fret. All is not lost. If you don’t question Mikhail anymore, I think all will be forgotten.”

  “I’m not a puppet. I cannot just sit by and agree with everything he says and does – especially if I’m not in agreement.”

  “Dru, Dru, Dru. I fear you will end up as I.” She took me into her arms, kissed me, and stroked my hair. “Little kitten, please listen to me.”

  “I’ll do my best, dearest friend.”

  Unfortunately, I had little opportunity to do much of anything. I could not leave my rooms except to bathe and a guard was posted outside the bathroom. The only people I could see were Klopov and Dunyasha and Dunyasha was busy preparing for the upcoming campaign. I did not see her again until Friday, the twenty-seventh of March. The heavy rains had turned everything to a sea of mud and the campaign was postponed.

  Klopov was moved out of the servant quarters and into my rooms in order to minimize her contact with the other servants. We were isolated. The two of us strangers in this very strange land. What I discovered is she is a sweet young woman and our hours together turned us into friends.

  “However this ends, Klara,” I found myself at one point calling her by her given name, “whether I stay here or return home, I would like for you to remain with me.”

  “I would like that very much, my lady. I was very sad when I learned you left without me.”

  “I’m sorry, Klara, the next time, should there be a next time, we go together.”

  We passed the remainder of the time until Dunyasha came back, reading to each other, telling each other stories of our lives, and playing double solitaire.

  When Dunyasha did return, she took her lunch with us. Klara was going to withdraw but I told her to stay. Dunyasha raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Our offensive has been postponed,” Dunyasha said. “And Mikhail should return today. He’s been trying to cut off routes into the dacha. We believe the Soviets know we’re here.”

  “Why don’t we move?” I asked.

  “We’ll probably have to,” she replied. “Last night, we had a fight with two squads of Soviet soldiers and a tank. We ended up capturing the tank.”

  “I suppose there were no survivors.”

  “We took the tank crew prisoner.”

  “Because you need them to teach you how the tank works.”

  “Something like that. Dru, this –”

  “I know. This is war.”

  Dunyasha took my hand. “Yes,” was all she said.

  Throughout Friday afternoon the three of us told stories and played Trumps. We ate supper together and then at eight, Mikhail showed up. Dunyasha and Klara excused themselves, leaving Mikhail and I alone together.

  He opened his arms. I hesitated. “Come to me, Dru. Please.” I went to him and he enfolded me in his arms. “I have missed you, my little kitten.” He kissed my forehead. I lifted my face to him. Our eyes met and I closed mine. He kissed me tenderly and then passionately and deeply. When we parted, he said, “I am saddened you want to leave. I love you, Drusilla. I want you for my wife. Will you not stay and be my companion in this fight?”

  “Oh, Mikhail. I want you so very much. But all this killing. Do you, do we, have to be part of it?”

  “Dru, this is war. You were a war correspondent. This is not new to you.”

  “No, the horror of war is not new. But now, with you, I’m a part of it. Through you, my dearest, I am perpetrating these atrocities.”

  “I see. My hands are stained and they touch you and stain you. But they don’t stain you.”

  “My dearest, if I am your wife what you do reflects on me and what I do reflects on you. Do you want your people, our people, to see you as just another butcher?”

  “I am not a butcher.”

  “No, you aren’t. But your tactics are no different than those of the regime you wish to replace. This is not good, my love. You must take the high road. Killing is not the way.”

  “You wish me to be like that Gandhi fellow who is trying to free India from British rule.”

  “That would be infinitely better. Thoreau’s civil disobedience.”

  “My sugar plum, this is Russia. The Soviets are nothing like the British. Stalin killed tens of millions of
people. Do you think a few people prancing around in their underwear are going to stop the Soviet juggernaut? Such might work against the British, but not against the Soviet state.”

  “So you aren’t going to change.”

  “I don’t see how I can. This isn’t India, Dru. What might work there, won’t work here. The bully only understands the power of force.”

  “I don’t know, Mikhail.”

  “Do not let this come between us, Dru. We love each other. We deserve to be together.”

  “I want to be with you.”

  “Then be with me. Do not build a wall between us. Let me love you tonight. I ache for you.”

  I held him and lay my head on his chest. “I want you, Mikhail.”

  He lifted my face and kissed my lips. And even though I detested what was happening around me and what I’d become a part of, I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted Mikhail’s love. I wanted him in my bed and to wake in the morning with him by my side. And so I pushed aside the horror I knew he authorized and made passionate love with him.

  EIGHTEEN

  Attack

  When I woke in the morning, Mikhail was lying next to me. I touched his smooth skin and felt the hard muscles beneath. Given his age, he was in superb physical shape. His eyes opened.

  “You’re still here,” I said.

  “I am here with you. We belong together. You and I.”

  “I want you, Mikhail, forever. I’ve fallen overboard and gladly.”

  “The same with me, Dru.”

  “Promise me you’ll at least follow the Geneva Convention.”

  “My Dru, my dearest Dru, this bothers you so?”

  “It does, Mikhail. It does.”

  “My dearest, I am one person in an underground organization. My dreams and aspirations to the contrary. At this point, I cannot dictate what others do.”

  “At least you can do what I ask and hopefully the others will follow your example.”

  He sighed. “Since this means so much to you, I will do as you ask.”

  “Thank you, my love. Thank you.”

  I kissed him and he kissed me back. I touched him and my fingers found him hard. He touched me and his fingers came away wet with my desire. We kissed again, our mouths crushed together, and let nature take her course.

  The guards are gone. Once again, I’m free. And once again I’m typing articles. However, everything has its price. Every action has its cost.

  Dunyasha exhaled smoke. “You, my dear, sweet Dru, have unleashed Chaos and Discord. You are Pandora’s Box.” She made the statement in between bites of her buckwheat and mushroom stuffed carp.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our cell meeting this morning with Mikhail was not a quiet one. He said from now on we must not stoop to the level of the Soviets. We must claim the moral high ground. He hadn’t finished his speech when the Count spat out your name. Mikhail asked, ‘And what of Lady Hurley-Drummond?’ The Count replied in French, perhaps to limit those who could understand, ‘Elle est impossible!’ Mikhail said with a smirk, ‘Vous l’avez suggere.’ The Count replied, ‘Je regretted ma decision.’ Mikhail shrugged and said, ‘Et je ne sais pas.’ Switching back to Russian, the Count said things would be best for all concerned if you were smuggled out of the country. For you see, my dear, not only has Neratoff had a change of heart, but so have the Soviets. Your articles have made you persona non grata. They want you out of the country as badly as Neratoff does. The immediate problem, though, is Neratoff. He carries a lot of weight with Mikhail.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Goes back to the Great War and the war between the Reds and the Whites. On two separate occasions, the Count saved Mikhail’s life. The bond between them goes back further, but those two actions on the part of Neratoff seems to have made them inseparable.”

  “He seems such a sadist, the Count.”

  “Oh, he is. And he’s no coward. A dangerous combination.”

  I shuddered.

  “Neratoff as much said your presence is a mistake which must be rectified. Which puts him at odds with Mikhail, at least at the moment. Which is why your actions are very important.”

  “I see that. And on top of everything, the Soviets want me gone.”

  “They do. They’ve even put a reward of ten thousand rubles for the person who provides them with information leading to your capture.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “The cell member code name ‘Vikenti,’ whom you haven’t met, sided with the Count. He said with the Soviets looking for you, your presence is only an added danger the group doesn’t need. The man code named ‘Vitya,’ who is the fourth cell member and whom you haven’t met as well, argued you are still of use but we need to curtail your movements. I, of course, want you to stay and Mikhail does also.”

  “The cell is divided, Dunyasha. That can’t be good.”

  “No, it is not. Such division can lead to its destruction. Up until now we’ve been united. Decisions have been unanimous. Your presence and your thoughts have altered this. And the infighting does not bode well.”

  Because of me, all of Mikhail’s work could come to naught. “What was the outcome?” I asked.

  “The Count and Vikenti eventually agreed you could stay but, like Vitya, want your movements curtailed. Ten thousand rubles is a lot of money. Enough to breed a traitor in our midst.”

  “Dunyasha, maybe it’s best if I do leave.”

  Before Dunyasha could respond, there was an explosion which rocked the dacha on its foundation. Someone ran down the corridor yelling a phrase in Russian, over and over.

  “Oh my God,” Dunyasha said, “we’re under attack.” She jumped up and raced out of the room.

  The anti-aircraft gun began firing. I ran to the window and saw a Soviet plane on fire diving into the trees. I retrieved my pistol and revolver and raced downstairs. A machine gun had been set up to stop anyone coming in through the front door who shouldn’t be. Gregor was handing out weapons. When I stopped in front of him, he smiled and handed me a submachine gun with five additional magazines.

  “The Baroness is on the north end of the estate,” he said in French, “and the Captain is on the west.”

  “Thank you, Gregor.”

  I ran outside just as a plane was making a strafing run. I jumped back and narrowly avoided becoming swiss cheese. Dunyasha is my dear friend but Mikhail is the one I’ll marry. I made my way to the western perimeter. There I found Mikhail, pistol in hand directing the defense.

  When he saw me, he shouted, “Go back!”

  “No. I’m a reporter and I’m here to report. I’m here to die with you, as well, if we must die.”

  “Dru, go back. It’s –”

  He pulled me down as the plane began its strafing run. After it passed, two machine guns on the dacha’s roof opened fire. A chunk of tailfin disappeared. The plane hit a tree top, did a somersault and disappeared into the trees

  Someone yelled a word in Russian and a moment later a shell exploded.

  “That must mean incoming,” I said.

  “Da,” Mikhail replied with a smile.

  From over the tree tops three autogyros appeared, machine guns firing. They were flying quite low and fairly slow. When they were five hundred meters from us, the machine guns on the dacha’s roof opened fire. The middle autogyro exploded and took out the one next to it on our right. The remaining gyro began a sweeping turn. Our machine guns poured a furious stream of bullets into the machine and we watched the rotor disintegrate. The gyro dropped like a stone.

  Someone yelled and this time I caught the word, “Vkhodyashchiy!” And a split second later a shell exploded.

  Several cries went up of “Tank!” Through the trees came an old MS-1. It stopped, fired ten shells in the span of a minute, and started moving again. It’s machine gun sweeping our positions. A dozen Soviet soldiers emerged from the woods to give support to the tank.

  I watched the tank and soldiers approach. Suddenly there was an ex
plosion, then another, and yet another. The Soviet unit had entered a mine field. The soldiers froze. Then our men and women opened fire. Mortar shells began dropping on them. The soldiers turned and ran. The tank began backing up, took three direct mortar hits, stopped, and returned fire. While the mortars and the tank traded fire, a dozen partisans were crawling towards the tank following paths through the mines. Our mortars shifted and dropped shells behind the tank to prevent the Soviet soldiers from regrouping and coming to the tank’s defense.

  Our soldiers were getting close, too close for the tank commander’s liking, and the tank started backing up. A partisan ran forward and fired a panzerfaust. On the other side of the tank another panzerfaust was fired. The tank stopped and burst into flames.

  A cheer went up. The attack was over. Mikhail quieted the men and women and we listened. There was no sound except the cries of the wounded and dying. Mikhail issued orders to his people and then called the other leaders in for a conference, including SS-Sturmbannführer Leiprecht who had been with Vitya on the southern perimeter.

  “I want you there also, Dru. It is important they see you are with us,” he said.

  Together Mikhail and I entered the command room. He had me sit next to him on his right. He stood and addressed the group of cell members and associates. Dunyasha translated for me.

  “My friends, it appears our enemy has found us out. We will implement plan five-seven-zero immediately. Operation Bat Patrol is on hold. You all fought well. We held off the attackers and destroyed critical pieces of equipment. Every soldier who dies, every tank that is destroyed, every plane we shoot down, every gun we capture is one less tool the oppressors have available with which to oppress us.

  Lady Hurley-Drummond will write a dispatch to the world detailing the Soviet defeat. Every defeat promotes the viability of our cause. Thanks to Lady Hurley-Drummond the world knows of our revolution. Talks continue with the Germans, Americans, French, and British. We’ve opened a dialogue with the Italians. I am confident we will get significant military help from one of these countries and when we do the Soviets will be finished.”