Red Wheels Turning

by Ashton, Hugh

  Featherington had broken down completely by this point, and was sitting sniffing in his chair, his shoulders heaving. “Sorry about this,” he said. “I mean, not about the – the treason.” He seemed to choke on the word. “I mean about me sitting here like a shivering jelly. What do you think is going to happen to me?” He stared at Brian with bloodshot eyes.

  “That’s not my business,” replied Brian. “My job was to make sure that you returned to Blighty to face the music, but I don’t know what tune they’ll be playing for you. It’s not going to be ‘See the Conqu’ring Hero Comes’ though, I can tell you that right now. So, I am going to tell the pompous little rat who brought me here – Crofts-Lavery, I think his name was – that I am going to escort you to HMS E9, Lieutenant-Commander Horton’s submarine, currently in dock at Reval, and see you safely on board to go back home, as the result of a sudden death in your family. And I want your word of honour that you are not going to do anything silly like run away or try to hurt yourself while I’m gone, or indeed, at any time before you get to talk to the people you’ve got to talk to in London.”

  Featherington smiled ruefully. “You trust my sense of honour after this?” he asked.

  “Of course. You had your chance to break your word when I asked you earlier, and you didn’t take it. Of course I trust you.”

  “You have my word.”

  Brian left the room, and returned after about thirty minutes. “That’s it. All fixed. We’re on our way.”

  “What? Now? Don’t I even have time to pack a toothbrush or something?”

  “Time, tide and Max Horton wait for no man. We’ll take the train to Reval, and you’ll be on your way back to Blighty an hour or so after we arrive.”

  The two men left the room together, Featherington a few steps in front of Brian.

  -oOo-

  From his fellow Party member and protector, Kolinski discovered that the Netopyr was always crewed by at least three people: two engine-men (and sometimes four) and at least one helmsman and clutch-man.

  “It’s pretty cramped in there,” he was told. “Quite frankly,” his informant continued, looking him up and down, “I don’t think you would be able to move around in there at all fast. Not fast enough to overpower them all. My uncle always carries a gun with him, and so does my cousin.”

  “You don’t?” Kolinski asked.

  “No,” shaking his head. “I wouldn’t know how to use one if I did. Something I’ve always managed to stay away from.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that there’s no easy way I could take over the Netopyr by force?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Supposing I took your place in the crew?”

  The other shook his head, smiling. “I don’t think you’re a trained mechanic. Have you any experience with engines of this type?” Kolinski shook his head back in reply. “It really wouldn’t work. Those engines are so temperamental that they need a nursemaid all the time, and if you’re not experienced in these things, it just wouldn’t work at all.”

  “So there’s no way of capturing the Netopyr?” Kolinski asked again.

  “Basically, that’s correct. Unless we can find several Party members who are also mechanics, and train them in the operation of the machine.”

  “And are there any other Party members here?”

  “The only three I know here are soldiers without the education or training that we need for something like this.”

  Kolinski paused in thought. “Then I have to destroy it, don’t I?” His grin, displaying the wreckage of his teeth, was a terrible thing to see. “You’ll have to arrange to be sick or something so that I don't destroy you along with it, won’t you?”

  “I guess so,” the other had replied. “How will you destroy it?”

  “I’ll find a way, don’t worry. This is an Army base, after all. Full of things which are meant to explode and blow up other things. You talked about the armoury before. Don’t suppose you could find your way in there, could you?”

  “I could get hold of the key, I suppose. I know where it’s kept, and it should be easy enough for me to get in and out without anyone noticing if I time things right.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “What do you need?”

  Kolinski scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Grenades. About ten of them.” The other nodded. “And a rifle for long range work, and some ammunition for it, of course. Twenty or thirty rounds should be enough. I’ve got enough ammunition for my pistol.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Make sure that I have a bayonet as well. Useful things, bayonets.” Kolinski smiled without humour.

  “Fine. I’ll try to get these things to you really early in the morning, before sunrise. You stay here – I have keys to this place and I’ll lock you in here. No-one’s going to come here before I come back anyway, but just in case, it’s best if no-one can get in. Then you’ve got to leave here while it’s still dark.”

  “What’s going to happen tomorrow with this thing?” Kolinski gestured towards the Netopyr.

  “I don’t know yet. There’s a meeting to discuss plans in,” pulling out his watch, “about an hour’s time. I’ll know then, and I can tell you in the morning where you should make your ambush.”

  “Good. Once the monster’s out in the open, I can start the fireworks.”

  “You could destroy it here,” the other pointed out.

  “Too easy for me, and too easy for them.” Kolinski’s hideous grin re-appeared. “I want this to happen a long way away from tools and repair workshops. Otherwise it might be too easy to put it back together again.”

  “I see your point. In any case, I want that fat little bugger Petrov to go up with it. He’s too dangerous to be allowed to continue with what he’s doing, but I would really like you to leave my uncle alive, if you can. He’s not dangerous to the Party. He doesn’t believe in what you and I believe in, it’s true, but he’s not really a bad man – just in love with his machines.”

  “And your cousin? And the Englishmen?”

  “My cousin can go to hell for all I care. Drunken Tsarist fool. One of the Englishmen left the other day without telling anyone. The engineer Englishman told us he’ll be coming back, but we don’t know when. It would be a shame to kill the engineer, though. He seems quite intelligent and could almost be useful.”

  “He’s an English officer,” Kolinski objected.

  “But he’s not one of their aristocracy, he told me. In fact, he’s one of the proletariat.”

  Kolinski was confused. “You mean the English army makes officers of proletarians?”

  “Not always, but this is because of the other one – the one who’s gone away – they made the proletarian engineer an officer. I don’t pretend to understand everything about it, but it seemed to be that way when it was explained to me.”

  “So you want me to spare the two most valuable engineers on the project?” Kolinski growled. “I suppose you’re going to want me to save the life of the young lady as well?”

  “I have no love for her, but if you kill her, you’re going to have to kill everyone. They’re not going to show any mercy to you if you dispose of her and leave the rest alive.”

  -oOo-

  Kolinski was starting to feel the same sort of excitement that he had experienced as a teenager, hunting wolves in the taiga. There was the same element of danger, from something larger and more powerful than Kolinski himself, but without the intelligence that Kolinski knew he possessed. Although he was not in any shape or form an intellectual, and would have argued violently with anyone who suggested that he was, Kolinski believed himself to be the equal or superior of anyone he had ever faced when it came to matters of practical tactical cunning. Although he hardly seemed to have slept for the past few days, and his stomach was now almost empty, as it seemed to have been for at least two weeks, his mind was alert and his senses were on edge, attuned to any movement or noise out of the ordinary.

  He w
as now waiting at the edge of the forest by the trench system. He had been told early in the morning that the Netopyr was due to make another trench-crossing trial some time in the afternoon. His informant had given him this information along with the requested grenades, a rifle and several magazines of ammunition for it, along with a bayonet, all of which had been secretly removed from the armoury, and then once again repeated his request for Kolinski to spare the lives of his uncle and the English engineer officer.

  Kolinski grinned to himself. He wasn’t going to spare anyone if he could help it. He had his pistol as well as a rifle. His primary weapon, though, on which he was relying to complete the job of disabling the Netopyr, was the knapsack of hand grenades. He had constructed a sturdy and powerful catapult to act as a grenade launcher, using a forked branch and a rubber fan belt he had discovered in the workshop. Testing it with stones of the same size and weight as the grenades, it propelled its projectiles with an almost flat trajectory up to about 50 meters. It wasn’t as accurate as Kolinski would have liked, but he guessed that the explosive force of the grenades would compensate for this, by bursting and damaging anything nearby. And, as an ace in the hole, he also had the bayonet hidden under his jacket.

  The air was still. A few birds called from inside the forest, but otherwise there was silence, broken as he listened by the faint sound of what sounded like the Netopyr’s engines. Kolinski raised a pair of stolen binoculars to his eyes, and scanned the horizon in the direction from which he expected the Netopyr to arrive. Sure enough, two columns of dark smoke indicated the imminent arrival of his prey. He turned to his knapsack and withdrew the grenades, arranging them in a neat row in front of him, and placed his grenade launcher carefully at the end of the line. He turned his attention to the rifle, making sure that there was a round in the breech. Lastly, he re-checked the pistol, thrusting it into his belt, after ensuring that the safety catch was on. Now he felt ready for anything.

  Waiting was always the hardest part for Kolinski at these times. He wanted to smoke, but he’d run out of cigarettes, and the last of his bottle of vodka had disappeared down his throat that morning. Still, there’d be enough when he finished this job, he guessed. He watched the horizon, and soon he could see the massive shape of the Netopyr lurching towards him. The details were too far away to be clearly distinguishable without the binoculars, but the general shape and appearance were unmistakable. Even though he’d been assured that there were no guns mounted in the machine, he was still struck with a sense of awe as the green metal monster approached.

  He had worked out that he would attack the main axles first, which he considered to be the Achilles heel of the beast. The rest of the machine was too well armoured and the observation and ventilation slits too small for him to be sure of doing any damage with a grenade. If he could stop even one wheel from turning, the Netopyr would be unable to proceed, and he would be able to finish it off at leisure with the rest of the grenades, or simply wait for the occupants to emerge, when he could pick them off one at a time with the rifle. Maybe he could just wing them with the rifle and finish them off at close range with the pistol. Yes, that would be the most satisfying, especially if they could watch his face while he was doing it.

  He picked up the first grenade and fitted it into the catapult. He crouched behind one of the bushes, where he was fairly certain he could not be seen. The monster lumbered closer, and the roar of the engines became louder, drowning out the birdsong behind him in the forest.

  He drew back the grenade, stretching the heavy rubber fan belt, and when he judged the time was right, let go. The grenade soared through the air straight towards the Netopyr… and bounced harmlessly off the metal flanks of the beast, coming to rest in the grass below the wheels as the behemoth rumbled on, seemingly without noticing this pinprick.

  Kolinski swore foully to himself as he realised he had forgotten to pull the pin out of the grenade before sending it on its way. He’d forgotten this basic action when he’d practised with stones. Never mind. He picked up the next grenade in the line, and fitted it into the catapult. With a little effort, he was able to remove the pin with his teeth, before pulling back the rubber, and letting fly with the grenade. This time the grenade let out a small pop while it was still on its way to the target, and Kolinski instinctively ducked to avoid the expected shrapnel from the casing, which never arrived. Another foul oath emerged. Obviously only the detonator had exploded. The grenade crashed against the Netopyr’s armour with a loud clang. Surely the crew must have noticed something by now, Kolinski told himself.

  They had noticed, obviously. After about ten seconds, the sound from both engines dropped in volume and pitch, and the machine slowed down. The belly turret under the main body of the Netopyr now started to turn, like a wolf scenting its prey, Kolinski thought to himself, and for the first time he noticed what appeared to be the muzzle of a Pulemyot Maxima machine-gun protruding from the gun port. He had been specifically told that the Netopyr was unarmed, and was likely to remain so for some time. Why was this happening to him now? The oaths were coming fast and furious as he fitted another grenade into the catapult and pulled the pin, working a little faster now to ensure the grenade exploded against the axle of the Netopyr. This time, both his aim and his timing were accurate. The grenade sped straight to the gap between the main body and the axle and lodged there for a second before exploding, but once again with no more than a puny pop.

  Kolinski had exposed himself to the view of the Netopyr as he stood up to launch the grenade, and the belly turret was now definitely pointing in his direction. A loud voice came from within the body of the halted Netopyr, obviously amplified by a megaphone.

  “Kolinski, we can see you, and in case you had failed to notice it, there is a machine-gun pointing straight at you. We give you ten seconds to throw down all your weapons and walk slowly towards us with your hands in the air. Ten … nine …”

  Without pausing to think how they came to know of his presence, Kolinski flung himself flat on the ground, dropping the catapult and snatching up the rifle. He wormed away from the place where he had been hiding, using the long grass and the undergrowth as cover.

  “… five … four … “

  He peeked through the grass at the Netopyr. The machine-gun still appeared to be pointing at the spot he had just left, now five meters away. He had to move faster.

  “ … two … one … Belly turret. Fire at will.”

  With a loud chatter, the machine-gun started spitting slugs into the vegetation where Kolinski had been hiding, spraying the bullets over an area a few meters in diameter. He was certain that if he had remained in his original position he would have been killed. As it was, some of the ricochets seemed to come uncomfortably close at times. After about five seconds of firing, the gun stopped. Kolinski reached for his rifle and flicked the safety off, nestling the butt into his shoulder. As far as he knew, there was only one hatch on the Netopyr, at the back, leading onto the rear trail wheels, and he sighted the rifle in that direction. To his surprise, however, a hatch at the top of the vehicle opened, and a man’s head and shoulders emerged. The man’s hands followed, grasping a pair of binoculars, which he used to scan the ground where Kolinski had been hiding. Kolinski debated with himself whether to shoot, and betray the fact that he was still alive, possibly betraying his position into the bargain, or to keep low and hope to slip away unseen and unnoticed. His hunter’s instincts got the better of his caution.

  He let out his breath, sighted the rifle on the observer’s head, and squeezed the trigger. Another pop, rather than the sharp crack he had been expecting. A misfire? He threw the bolt, ejecting the unfired round, but no new round took its place in the rifle’s breech. A jam? Kolinski quickly removed the magazine. Why was it empty? He checked the other magazines in his pocket. All seemed to contain only one round. What in the name of all the saints was going on? He mumbled several obscene oaths to himself, and realized that by now, he had probably given away his positio
n, anyway. As if to confirm this fear, the belly turret swung round in his general direction. He couldn’t expect ten seconds’ grace this time, he was sure, and he rolled to one side, bracing himself for the rain of bullets that he was sure would come his way. To his astonishment, however, there was no such rain. Instead, the voice came booming out of the Netopyr’s belly once again.

  “Our patience is wearing a little thin, Kolinski. Throw down your weapons and advance towards us.”

  It took Kolinski little time to make up his mind and move towards the Netopyr. Not that he had any intention of surrendering. His plan was to get inside the machine, and, armed only with the bayonet, to kill all inside before wrecking the vehicle with the remaining grenades which were still on the ground where he had been lying in ambush.

  He stood up slowly, and ostentatiously dropped the useless rifle. He moved his right hand towards his waist.

  “No tricks,” warned the voice of the Netopyr. Kolinski smiled inwardly. The sort of trick he was planning was a little more subtle than simply pulling a pistol from his belt and firing it. He pulled the Nagant by the butt from his waistband and dropped it beside the rifle.

  “Stay where you are,” came the voice. There was a clanging sound, and two figures appeared on the rear trail and started to walk down towards the back wheels. One seemed to be carrying a rifle and one a pistol, but neither appeared to be wearing a Russian uniform.

  “Don’t move,” one of them called. It was a woman’s voice. Surely, Kolinski thought to himself, the Netopyr was not being crewed by women? The two guns never wavered as the two walked towards him. The one carrying the pistol was definitely a woman – a girl, in fact – and rather a beautiful one, Kolinski thought to himself. In a way, it was a pity that she was going to have to die. The rifle carrier was wearing a military uniform, but not a Russian one. He seemed young, and appeared to be strongly built. He might be a problem, Kolinski reckoned, working out his chances as they neared him. He hadn’t forgotten the belly gun in the Netopyr, which was still pointing straight at him, but he’d already worked out there were several blind spots where the gun was unable to fire without damaging the machine itself. He reckoned that if he played his cards right, he could reach one of those spots before the crew of the Netopyr had time to react.