The Russian Resistance
A Misfit Squadron Novel
September 1940 - December 1940
Simon Brading
Cover artwork by Jack Tindale
Misfit Squadron badge by Ian T. Brading
This book is a work of fiction. While ‘real-world’ characters may appear, the nature of the divergent story means any depictions herein are fictionalised and in no way an indication of real events. Above all, characterisations have been developed with the primary aim of telling a compelling story.
Published by Sea Lion Press, 2019. All rights reserved.
The Misfits
A Flight - Turn Fighters
Badger One - Abigail "Abby" Lennox. Pilot of Dragonfly.
Badger Two - Gwenevere "Gwen" Stone. Pilot of Wasp.
Badger Three - Bruce "Walkabout" Walker. Pilot of Devil.
Badger Four - Montgomery "Monty" Fletcher. Pilot of Ballerina.
B Flight - Interceptors
Badger Five - Lady Penelope Bagshot. Pilot of Cheetah.
Badger Six - William "Mad Mac" MacShane. Pilot of Swordfish.
Badger Seven - Derek "Twitcher" Niven. Pilot of Swift.
Badger Eight - Kitty Wright. Pilot of Hawk.
C Flight - Support
Badger Nine - Owen "Sheepish" Llewellyn. Pilot of Bloodhound.
Badger Ten - Wendy "Firepower" Llewellyn. Pilot of Dreadnought.
Badger Eleven - Charles "Chalky" Isaacs. Pilot of Vulture.
Badger Twelve - Ophelia "Scarlet" Flynn. Pilot of Hummingbird.
Part 1
Rebuild
Prologue
The enemy aircraft couldn’t escape her. It twisted and turned, rolled and yawed, leaping and tumbling about the sky, but she followed it, anticipating its every desperate manoeuvre. She opened fire at the machine with short bursts whenever she had a clear shot and watched the incandescent lines reaching out for it. However, time after time they passed harmlessly over or under it, close, but never quite intersecting their target. It was only a matter of time before she got a hit, though, so she persevered; her guns were powerful enough that even just a single strike in the right place would win the engagement for her.
She sensed it coming before it happened and grinned grimly, not at all taken by surprise, as the triplane rolled onto its back and dived vertically in a last-ditch effort to get away, racing for the cover of the cloud a couple of miles below. Stick and pedals worked together in complete harmony as she threw her wonderfully responsive fighter on its nose and slotted in behind the tail of the Prussian machine, its body shining a brilliant red in the bright summer sunshine - red as the blood of the dozens of her fellow countrymen its pilot had spilled.
Even under such extreme circumstances, the pilot, a virtuoso of the air, still managed to evade her fire. In frustration, she held down the button on her stick, pouring stream after stream of lead at him as they dropped out of the sky, but then, with an ominous clunk, the juddering vibrations shaking her aircraft ceased and the guns fell silent, leaving her only with the hum of the airscrew and the rush of air flowing past the cockpit.
‘What? Oh, come off it!’
She stabbed at the button a few times, hoping that it was only a jam and that the automatic systems in place to deal with just such eventualities would do their job, but of course there was no response; she had run out of ammunition.
She frowned. ‘But I...’
She blinked, rendered speechless, her utter disbelief going unexpressed, as the aircraft in front of her jerked, twisting and slewing even more than it had previously, then swung around, disobeying every single one of the laws of aerodynamics that she knew so well and lived her life by, until finally, impossibly, it was pointing towards her, flying backwards while it continued to fall out of the sky.
She met the eyes of the enemy pilot, saw his mouth widen in its famous grin and shook her head in denial.
‘This isn’t how...’
Blinding white points of light flashed into being on the wings of the crimson triplane and her words were cut off by a scream of agony as her body was ripped apart by hot metal...
‘... wake up!’
Gwen opened her eyes with a start, gulping for air and gazed up into the blue eyes of a concerned Kitty.
‘Huh? Wha..? Kitty? What is it?’
In spite of the early hour and the fact that she had drunk a bucketful of champagne only hours before, the American looked awake and alert, fresh-faced. Her golden yellow hair was perfectly in place as well, pulled back into a ponytail which shone softly in the light of the gas lamp on the night stand beside the bed they were sharing. Gwen was positive that her own face would be blotchy and swollen and her hair would be a tangled mess, matted with the sweat that she could feel on her brow; it always was after even just five minutes in bed.
‘You were shouting in your sleep, making an awful noise.’ The beautiful young woman frowned in concern and reached out to brush several loose strands of hair out of Gwen’s eyes.
Gwen blinked, trying to retain hold of the nightmare as it slipped away, elusive as the Prussian fighter that had prompted it. ‘Too much cheese.’
Kitty chuckled softly. ‘I did warn you about that Stilton, but I’m not buying it; I know you too well. Bad dream?’
‘I guess... Sorry if I woke you.’
‘No problem. I’m more worried about you.’
Because of the boisterous activities of a couple of their less well-behaved pilots the night before, the squadron had been restricted to a single suite of rooms in The Dorchester and had had to double or triple up on their sleeping arrangements, which was why the two of them had been stuck sharing a bed. However, since they were already roommates in their barracks back at Badger Base, they didn’t mind one bit, especially seeing as the bed was so large that they still had more elbow room than they usually got in their standard issue Royal Aviator Corps beds.
Misfit Squadron were in London because they had been ordered to report to Buckingham Palace by King George VI after a scrap with the Crimson Barons which had seen one of their pilots, Lady Penelope Bagshot, injured and more than half of their aircraft destroyed. The Barons, the elite squadron which had been terrorising the enemies of the Prussian empire since before war had even been declared, had come off a lot worse from the fight, though. They had lost almost all of their aircraft and their leader, Hans Gruber, had been sent packing by Gwen, his triplane barely capable of staying in the air. His humiliation had been compounded by Gwen escorting him out over the Channel herself, making sure that nobody else attacked the crippled aircraft. Sir Douglas Pewtall, the commander of the RAC, and many of the ministers listening to the debriefing had been furious and ready to condemn her, but the King had seemed to understand and had accepted Gwen’s decision to let Gruber escape as the correct one under the circumstances; not only was it the British thing to do, but Gruber himself had had Gwen in a similar position not long before and had let her go.
The battle with the Barons had been the culmination of a day of intense fighting that had seen nearly a thousand Prussian aircraft attack London in two huge raids. More than a hundred of the enemy machines had been shot down, but the cost had been high, not so much in RAC casualties, which had been commendably low, but rather in the damage that had been done to the city. It was civilians, not military personnel, who had borne the brunt of the attack, when bombers being harassed by RAC fighters dropped their payloads without a care for who or what was beneath them.
The Misfits had sustained one other loss that day aside from Lady Penelope - their home. Badger Base, successfully hidden until that day in the wilds of the Kent Downs, had been targeted by an entire wing of enemy bombers and been put out of commission. Thankful
ly, nobody had been killed, mainly because sufficient warning had been given by Badger Nine, Owen Llewellyn, the Misfits’ second in command and their artificial eyes in the sky.
Once the Misfits had finished their report, the King invited them to stay at the Palace for a small reception. They had mingled with courtiers and fellow members of the armed forces, celebrating the victory won that day and attempting to emulate it by defeating as much of the Royal wine cellars as possible. They failed to make much of a dent in it, though, and after several hours of glorious fighting, they had beaten an honourable retreat and been conveyed by Royal autocars back to their lodgings at The Dorchester, the luxurious hotel on Airfield Lane by the Hyde Airstrip. There they were met not only by doormen with mops and buckets at the ready in case the indiscretions of the previous night were repeated, but also by a message from the hospital in Folkestone, where Lady Penelope was being treated, informing them that their fellow pilot was out of the woods, conscious and expected to recover from her wounds.
This prompted fresh celebration and the Misfits immediately repaired to their suite, where they gathered their forces, renewed their determination and proceeded to attack the contents of the bar with far more success than they had the Royal stocks, carrying a resounding victory, largely due to the efforts of Badgers Three, Six and Twelve, Bruce, Mac and Scarlet, although Gwen and Kitty personally managed to vanquish two entire bottles of champagne.
The party had petered out around two, mostly because the room’s alcohol supplies were exhausted and their leader, Abby Lennox, ordered everybody to bed, announcing that they were going to take some time off to visit Lady Penelope in hospital before returning to Badger Base to begin the rebuilding process.
Most of the Misfits had gone to bed happy and with a smile on their faces, but Gwen had been troubled and had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, wondering if she had been right to allow Gruber to escape. He was an ace many times over and would keep killing - it was possible, probable in fact, that she had condemned many of her fellow pilots to death via her actions, perhaps even some of the friends and colleagues sharing the suite with her that night.
When she had finally managed to fall asleep, that awful thought and the guilt it engendered had cast her straight into the alcohol-fuelled nightmare, where her subconscious mind had punished her for her honour.
‘So, what was it?’
‘Uh...’ Kitty was still leaning over Gwen, staring into her eyes, her face only a foot or so from hers and Gwen was starting to find it slightly disconcerting. She couldn’t help but remember the last time the two of them had been so close and her eyes flicked involuntarily to Kitty’s lips, recalling the feel of them pressed against hers, how surprised she’d been, how excited...
She thought she saw those lips twitch upwards at the corners and tore her gaze away to look back into Kitty’s eyes. There seemed to be a glint of amusement in them, but she couldn’t be sure, since the only source of light in the room was directly behind the American and she dismissed it as her imagination; after all, the woman had been incredibly drunk and hadn’t remembered the kiss afterwards. ‘It was Gruber. I was dogfighting him again.’
‘Oh? I would have thought you would enjoy dreaming about that; you did win after all!’
Gwen grimaced. ‘Not in my twisted version I didn’t.’
‘Ah. You poor thing.’ The American shook her head and smiled sympathetically her warm smile banishing the last of the cold left over from the nightmare.
‘Will you two please shut up!’ The usually gentle Irish-accented voice of Scarlet was rough with sleep, irritation and the aftermath of a night of heavy drinking as she lifted her head up to glare at them from the spare bed which had been set out for her at the foot of theirs. ‘Do I have to pull rank to get you to let me sleep in peace?’
Kitty pulled back from Gwen and smiled sweetly at the red-haired woman who was their friend and roommate. ‘No, ma’am!’
With a last wink at Gwen, the American went back to her own side of the bed.
With a grunt, Scarlet collapsed back down and replaced her sleeping mask. ‘Bloody junior officers, no respect for their betters...’
Kitty raised an eyebrow at Gwen. Thinking the same thing they picked up pillows and threw them as hard as they could.
Chapter 1
Abby made the rounds of the bedrooms at eight the next morning, waking her pilots. In most cases it took only a knock at the door and a simple order for the pilots to grumblingly and grudgingly leave the comfort of the luxurious mattresses. However, in the case of Mac and Bruce, both of whom were dead to the world, snoring loud enough to rival Dreadnought’s powerful steam engines and so firmly ensconced in sheets and blankets as to resist casual pokes prods and shakes, she was forced to gather reinforcements in order to assault their position.
Seven Misfits assembled in line-abreast formation along one side of the mattress that the two men were sharing, while Abby and Owen, as senior officers, took the high ground on the other side, standing on armchairs, armed and ready to pick off the stragglers as they retreated.
With a shouted order from their commander, the seven pilots heaved together, tipping the mattress on its side, sending the enemy tumbling from cover, while simultaneously the artillery opened fire. Streams of soda water hit the two thus-exposed targets and, amid much spluttering and coughing from the enemy and triumphant laughter from the victors, the day was carried.
At eight-twenty the Misfits trooped down to breakfast together in various states of wakefulness and with their day uniforms in wide variations of neatness.
Gwen sat at a small table with Kitty and Scarlet. She shared a pot of tea with the Irishwoman while Kitty ordered coffee, taking advantage of the supplies that The Dorchester had procured for its patrons at great expense.
She glanced around the room while she sipped at her tea and munched on a piece of toast. The Misfits were as boisterous as ever, even Mac and Bruce, who were obviously feeling the effects of the night before. She had expected nothing less, though; it was peculiarly British to be cheerful in the face of danger and death and it seemed that that attitude had rubbed off on their allies. That attitude apparently extended to the guests sharing the dining room with them as well; despite the heavy bombing of the day before, which admittedly had been heaviest on the eastern part of London and hadn’t quite extended to the West End or the centre, they were showing no signs of fear or any desire to hurry their breakfasts and leave London in case there were further attacks. The British stiff upper lip was in full force, at least among the well-heeled, and the attitude was still one of resistance in the face of tyranny.
‘Don’t you agree, Gwen?’
Gwen blinked and glanced at Scarlet, who was watching her with an eyebrow raised and a smirk on her face. ‘I’m sorry, what? I was miles away.’
‘I was saying that perhaps I should ask for my old room back and leave you two alone.’
‘What? Why would you...?’ Gwen’s brain eventually caught up with her mouth and she felt her face heat as she looked from the smirking Scarlet to Kitty, who was peering at her in exaggerated innocence while she forked scrambled eggs - real, not powdered - into her mouth.
‘I... I don’t think that’s necessary.’ Gwen stared down at her plate, but didn’t miss the brief flash of disappointment in the young American’s eyes that she instantly hid behind a smile.
The Irishwoman had picked up on an attraction that had been between Kitty and Gwen from almost the first moment that they had met, and by the way Kitty had looked when Gwen had turned down Scarlet’s idea, it seemed like she wouldn’t be adverse to taking things a step further, but Gwen wasn’t sure yet if that was the best idea.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to the American, because she was, very, and enjoyed her company immensely. Nor was it because Kitty was a woman - even though Gwen had never imagined being with a woman that didn’t mean she rejected the idea completely and, while polite society frowned upon two people of t
he same gender being together, they didn’t condemn it.
The reason was that she didn’t know if she was ready for any kind of relationship.
After the death of her husband, Richard, she had completely cut herself off from all emotions except for her hatred for the Prussians. She had rejected ties to anyone and even gone so far as to not make friends with the pilots in her old squadron. It hadn’t been until she had joined the Misfits that her resolve had started to weaken and then, after her fight with Gruber, she had come to a decision to finally let go of her husband and try to move on. She had been meaning to tell her friends, and especially Kitty, about it, but she hadn’t been able to; either it hadn’t been the right time, or they had all been too drunk.
She took a deep breath, then looked around, making sure that there was nobody within earshot before beginning. ‘That’s not necessary, thank you, but you never know what the future might bring; I took the photo frame out of my cockpit yesterday.’
Kitty beamed happily at Gwen before sharing a glance with Scarlet; there was no need for Gwen to explain any further because they both knew what the purpose of the frame was and what it meant that she had removed it from her cockpit - on missions Gwen placed a photo of her Richard in the frame and it was there not only as a symbol of her lost love, but also, they were fairly sure, of an unexpressed desire to join him as quickly as possible.
The two women reached out to put their hands on Gwen’s where they rested nervously on the table. They didn’t need to say anything; weeks of fighting and living together had given them an understanding that went well beyond normal friendship.
After a few seconds Gwen smiled and the women drew back their hands.
The Russian Resistance Page 1