by CW Hawes
“Which means, my dear Dru, we aren’t going to be allowed to leave. But I also noticed a sign which informed me the border crossing is closed at eight p.m.”
“And?”
“That means there will probably be very few guards on duty. Which means we have a better chance to crash the gate.”
“Which also means, they’ll be shooting first and asking questions later. Or maybe not at all.”
“Probably. So we shoot back.”
“Kind of thought you might say that.”
“Let’s go back to the car.”
We entered the town a little after one in the morning.
“It’s so quiet and peaceful,” I said.
The Soviets might have a curfew in place to help control who enters and leaves.”
Being we were on the main thoroughfare there were streetlights. The sidewalks were empty and no vehicles moved.
“Get ready. Here we go,” Dunyasha said.
I cocked the machine gun, she pressed the accelerator hard, and a siren began blaring. I turned around and a car whipped around the corner behind us with lights flashing. The powerful engine of the Talbot Lago roared as the RPMs climbed and Dunyasha shifted. Up ahead of us were the guard houses and the road blockade.
The speedo needle climbed past one hundred and gunfire erupted from the car behind us.
“Any time, now, Dru.”
I leaned out the window, let fly with three bursts from the machine gun towards our pursuer, turned, and fired at the guards emerging from the little houses, which sent them scampering back.
The rear window shattered and the bullet blew out most of the windscreen. I fired again and smoke began billowing out from under the bonnet of our pursuer. In front one of the guards began firing at us. I stuck the machine gun out where the windscreen had been and pulled the trigger. He went down and seconds later the big roadster smashed the barrier into kindling and was out on the bridge.
A guard was shooting at us. The speedo needle was at one hundred eighty and Dunyasha grunted.
“Bugger all,” she said. “I’ve been hit. Keep shooting.”
I fired until the magazine was empty. I turned around to see Dunyasha in obvious pain and the road taking a sharp curve to the right on the Romanian side of the bridge.
“Dunyasha!” I yelled.
“I see it,” she said through gritted teeth.
She hit the brakes and down shifted. The car began fishtailing and I thought this was it. The Talbot rounded the corner, tyres screeching, slid across the other lane and onto the hard shoulder. She then guided the car back onto the pavement and into our lane.
“Where are you hit?”
“Right side, I think.”
I touched her and my hand came away wet with blood. “You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you to a hospital.”
Dunyasha drove around another curve and there were the border crossing gates. She drove up to the guards, said, “We’re Americans,” and passed out.
THIRTY-TWO
August In The Catskills
Karl and Kit were off somewhere, Dunyasha and I, having returned from a walk, were smoking and drinking martinis. Klara was nearby and drinking tea. The five of us were spending some time together in the mountains.
“Did I tell you,” Dunyasha began, “my car should arrive on the Field Marshall von Hindenburg this coming week?”
“No you didn’t. Good as new?”
“That’s what I was told. And it should be. Cost me thirty thousand dollars.”
“With you good as new and now your car, as well, all I can say is look out world.”
Dunyasha smiled. “Kit was a dear, offering me a Graham Hollywood to use. I declined. I have enough cars. Well, I should say the Baron does.”
“Are you seeing Kit?”
“On occasion. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Like hell you’re just curious. You like him, don’t you?”
“He’s very nice –”
“Go on, say it.”
“Oh, all right. Yes. I like him. And he likes me and apparently he likes you. And that’s okay. I have Karl.”
“Everything okay with him?”
“Things are fine. We have an understanding.”
“An understanding?”
“Yes. If he is not around he understands, well, you know.”
Dunyasha let out a throaty laugh. “He understands you just may go out and fuck some other guy until he comes back.”
I exhaled smoke. “Something like that.”
“Dru Drummond, I never thought you were the cat in heat type. I’m going to have to reconsider our friendship. You might be a bad influence on me.”
“Me? On you?” I started laughing and she did, as well, until she got a stitch in her side. “How’s the wound?”
“Pretty much healed up. Doctors said I was lucky.”
“I remember. Most of the bullet’s energy was spent punching its way through your car.”
“It saved my life. I love that car. Sometimes I think more than people.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re not people. You’re a friend.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You going back to work?”
“In the fall, I think.”
“War correspondent?”
“I don’t think so. I might write on something totally different. Perhaps science and technology.”
“Tired of politics, are you?”
“Very much so. Mr. Hall wanted to send me to Crimea to report on the Italian invasion, or Romania to report on their attack, or to the Baltics to report on the German invasion, but I told him ‘no.’ Karl wasn’t interested either. He’s had enough of the Soviet Union, as well.”
“You can add me to your club.”
“Any word from or about Mikhail?”
Dunyasha shook her head. “You?”
“No.”
“He’s probably alive. He and Neratoff. And if he is, he’ll get in touch I think.”
Karl and Kit arrived. They’d been out walking. Karl took a seat by me and Kit took one by Dunyasha. I called out to Klara and asked her to join us and, when she came over, Kit indicated a chair next to him. She smiled and took it.
I looked at these four people with me, one old friend and three new ones, for Klara I count as a friend even though she is technically an employee, and thought of the past five months and what each of us has been through together and individually. We have a bond now we didn’t have before. And in the end it is people who are important and I have been enriched with these new friends.
Karl sitting next to me is his reserved self. I suppose as long as he is married public displays of affection will be few and far between, but I love him. I love him more than anyone. The one thing I learned in Russia is when no one had a clue where I was or how to find me, Karl found me. He’s married but he loves me heart and soul. He’s devoted to me and is with me every chance he has. Not perfect. But what is perfect? For now it is enough to love and be loved. Heart and soul.
The Golden Fleece Affair
Follow Lady Dru, Karl, and Dunyasha on their next adventure.
The year is 1954. The Soviet Civil War rages on. However, in the midst of devastation and death, the Golden Fleece, of Jason and the Argonaut fame, lost for millennia, is found in war-torn Soviet Georgia.
Media magnate Walter Ramsey Hall wants the fleece, along with a half-dozen governments. To secure the fleece for himself, Hall assembles a team, led by his ace journalists, Lady Dru Drummond and Karl von Weidner, to find the ancient artifact and bring it to him.
But nothing is as it seems. Dru and Karl must face spies, traitors, robots, death rays, an old nemesis, an old love, and even death itself to carry out their boss’s wish.
The Golden Fleece Affair is a dieselpunk, alternative history, action/adventure thriller that borders on the fantastic. Where love, duty, and a little bit of luck save the day.
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CW Hawes, born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio, has lived in suburban Minneapolis, Minnesota for the past forty-five years, with occasional sojourns here and there. His interests range far and wide, but he doesn’t do windows and isn’t a good dancer. He does like to cook, though, and is especially fascinated by steam power, sailing ships, airships, streamlined locomotives and automobiles, and all things streamline moderne.
You can visit him at www.cwhawes.com .
Raihana Dewji is married to the author of this work and gets lost in another world when she has a paintbrush in her hand. The cover art for The Moscow Affair is her second book cover.