The Russian Resistance

by Simon Brading

  The Wolfpack pilots demonstrated a widely varying proficiency with their new machines, from Baryshnikov and Polikasparov, who did perfect three-point landings, to the couple who landed so heavily they bounced almost twenty feet back in the air. The Harridan was very forgiving, though and none of them quite managed to do any damage, no matter how hard they seemed to try.

  Abby had left Sergeant Potter in command of both the British and Muscovite fitters while she’d been away, and he met the wagon as it arrived.

  ‘Good work putting the Harridans together, Sergeant.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘How did you stop them from putting their awful decorations all over them, though?’

  ‘I didn’t, ma’am. They had this bloody great box full of pipes and cogs and all sorts ready to stick on them and I was working myself up to try to stop them, but then a message came through early yesterday and it was like they all went into mourning. They packed away the decorations and went into a sulk. I’d give anything to know what was in that message so I can use it the next time they try to do something stupid with my machines.’

  ‘Well, I think Gwen can fill you in on that, but you have to remember that they’re not your machines anymore, Sergeant; they have been bought and paid for by the Tsar.’

  Potter grumbled. ‘They’re mine until I’m satisfied their fitters can take care of them.’

  Abby laughed. ‘Very well, but you’d better certify them soon because you’re going to be more than busy taking care of our aircraft.’

  Potter nodded. ‘Right you are, ma’am.’

  Further conversation was rendered impossible by the arrival of the taxiing aircraft and Sergeant Potter hurried off to do his job.

  Almost before her aircraft had come to a halt, though, Pemberton, jumped out and stomped over to Abby, her face like thunder.

  ‘These damned Russians! They won’t bloody do as they’re told!’

  Abby raised an eyebrow. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘This was their first flight as a complete squadron so I gave them orders not to engage the enemy; we can’t have them charging in on the Prussians until they know how to use their aircraft properly. It would just be a waste of machines and pilots.’

  ‘Of course not. And I take it they disobeyed those orders?’

  ‘Too bloody right!’ Pemberton spluttered, her face going through several interesting shades of red until it reached purple as she watched the Russian pilots come together outside of the mess hall and begin jumping around in celebration, doing some extremely athletic dancing involving lots of shouting and clapping. ‘There was some chat in Russian between Baryshnikov and some fool on the ground and they just abandoned the exercises and headed straight for the raid, without even a by your leave!’

  ‘Did they have any success?’

  ‘Well... yes.’ Pemberton grumbled reluctantly. ‘They bagged five or six and the three of us got another four... but that’s not the point! They disobeyed orders and gave away that we’re here on the first bloody raid over! I want the blighters court-martialled!’

  Drake and Aviator Lieutenant Howard had come with Pemberton and had been watching her rant with expressions that could only be described as “amused”, but at the Squadron Leader’s insistence on punishment they both frowned.

  Abby looked at them. ‘What’s your impression of them?’

  The two exchanged a glance, then looked at their commander, obviously reluctant to contradict her.

  ‘Speak freely.’

  ‘They’re damn good pilots.’ Howard said.

  ‘Just as good as any of our chaps.’ Drake nodded agreement, then grinned cheekily. ‘Although, they’re not up to Misfit standards, obviously.’

  Abby chuckled. ‘Sucking up will get you nowhere with me, Lord Drake... But you’re right of course.’

  While the Misfits laughed, Abby turned to Pemberton. ‘I think it’s safe to say that the Prussians know that the Muscovites have Harridans now, correct?’

  ‘Thanks to the damn Wolfpack, yes.’

  ‘Then we need as many aircraft in the air as possible and it would counter-productive for us to ground them, wouldn’t it?’

  Pemberton stared long and hard at Abby, but she had enough sense not to try to continue the argument and eventually she just nodded, then stomped away to the ready room to get changed.

  Abby watched her go, shaking her head, then turned to address the other instructors. ‘My people know that I don’t condone disobeying orders in the air - it’s the one thing that will get them kicked out of the squadron, but I can see we’re going to have to give the Muscovites a little leeway. I fully expect them to do their own thing most of the time and chase after kills whenever the opportunity presents itself.’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t get any of us killed.’

  Abby nodded at Owen. ‘Indeed.’ She looked around the group of British pilots. ‘We have to look after ourselves here, because our allies aren’t going to. Let’s do our job as best as we can, shoot down a few Prussians, and then make sure we all get home safely.’

  Ah, that explains everything, thought Gruber as he read his spy’s report of Misfit Squadron’s activities in St. Petersburg. It explained the missing Norwegian scout aircraft in the Arctic Circle, and it explained the report from the day before of colourful aircraft in the skies over Murmansk - the Misfits had taken the northern passage into Russia and were lending themselves to the resistance there. It seemed that the murder of their ambassador had come too late to delay the British in their relief efforts.

  He pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards him and wrote out a formal request for the Barons to be sent back north to deal with them. Even though they had only just arrived in the Ukraine and were supposed to be helping with the push into southern Russia, he doubted there would be much resistance to his request on the part of high command, especially once they started losing aircraft to the Misfits. They would have to leave Bertha behind again, of course; it was too cold for her, but that was no real hardship and they would make do, just as they had in Norway.

  He signed the paper with a flourish and grinned, happy at the prospect of facing Misfit Squadron again, far earlier than he had expected.

  Life was about to become interesting again.

  Part 3

  Resist

  Chapter 17

  The Muscovites had no radar system in the north, but the Misfits had the one in Owen’s Bloodhound as well as Charles’ Vulture to scout for them visually and over the next two days the two men took it in turns to keep an eye out for incoming raids. It wasn’t a perfect system and it meant the two men were in the air for hours on end, but it worked.

  During those two days, the bombers came in small raids without a fighter escort, apparently confident that they would meet little resistance and, wanting to keep the presence of the Misfits secret a little while longer, Abby ordered the Wolfpack intercept them on their own.

  The Muscovite squadron did better than anyone had expected, even themselves, revelling in their new aircraft and getting nine kills over three engagements. They had two pilots shot down in return, but both bailed out and made it home and there were plenty of replacement Harridans to get them back into the air with.

  However, on the morning of the third day, Charles spotted a much larger raid of almost thirty incoming bombers at twenty thousand feet, this time with a fighter escort, so Abby decided it was time the Misfits got into the fight.

  The Misfits scrambled with the Wolfpack, but while the Muscovites flew directly at the bombers, the British climbed up to thirty thousand feet, out of sight in the sun. Then, once the Wolfpack had engaged (with howls over the radio that had half the Misfits laughing and the other half cringing in shame that they had to fight with such people) and had gotten their complete attention, the Misfits dived on the enemy formation.

  The Prussians were taken completely by surprise and lost half a dozen aircraft in the initial pass and another eight in the subsequent fighting befor
e turning for home in a panic.

  It seemed that the Wolfpack needed less excuse to throw a party than the Misfits did and that evening they insisted on celebrating the first success of the two squadrons together. There didn’t seem to be much difference between a normal evening meal and a party, though; there was perhaps a bit more singing and certainly more dancing, but the food was the same and there were the same prodigious quantities of vodka imbibed by the Muscovites.

  Scarlet showed off the things that she had learnt in the hall in St. Petersburg, joining in some of the songs and dances and swearing with the best of the Muscovites, astounding and delighting them in equal measures, but the rest of the Misfits were far more subdued, knowing that they were only at the start of the campaign and the Prussians were only getting started.

  They left the party at ten to go to their barracks building and sat on their beds to analyse the day’s fight before sleep. It was something that Abby had liked to do in France, shortly after the squadron had formed when they were still getting used to their tactics and machines, but it hadn’t been necessary in Britain with the squadron firmly established. However, with all the changes they’d made before travelling to Muscovy, she felt that it had become necessary again.

  Abby started things off. ‘Well, I’m loving the extra speed and acceleration I’m getting out of the new springs and the change in tactics is good against the bombers, but the MU9s are a damn sight easier to deal with as well. Not to mention that Wendy’s cannon are pretty effective against everything the Prussians put up against us. Any thoughts, Gwen?’

  ‘I’d dearly love the chance to tweak my airscrew a bit and the profile of Wasp’s wings needs changing slightly to take full advantage of the extra power, but I agree that the new springs are really making a difference.’

  Abby nodded, then looked at the next Misfits in the squadron order. ‘Bruce, Monty, how were Sable and Raptor?’

  The two men looked at each other briefly, then Monty nodded, and Bruce turned to Abby to answer for them both. ‘They’re brilliant machines, Boss, but we’re still not using them a hundred percent because we keep trying to slip back into our old tactics. We’ll get the hang of them soon enough and then we’ll show the Fleas what for!’

  There were murmurs of agreement from the Misfits, who were all very eager to make up for several weeks of inactivity by taking the fight to the Prussians and Abby gave him a nod of thanks, before grinning at the new leader of B flight. ‘Derek? Had any backchat from your flight yet?’

  Derek chuckled. ‘Not yet, but I know it’s coming.’

  ‘Too right it is, chum!’

  There were laughs at Mac’s comment, but everyone quietened again quickly, knowing how important it was for the squadron as a whole to sort potential problems out while they were on the ground, not in the air.

  ‘Kitty? Anything?’

  The American shook her head at Abby’s question. ‘Nothing. All good.’

  Abby nodded. ‘Mac. How’s your wing-mate doing?’

  Mac smiled at Chastity before answering. ‘Fine and dandy. She’s an excellent pilot, an excellent wingman and an excellent shot.’

  ‘Good. Give her a few more sorties to get settled in, then let her take the lead a couple of times, please.’

  ‘Right you are, Group Captain Lennox, ma’am!’ Mac flashed her a grin and a sloppy salute, causing more laughter.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mac.’ Abby looked at the last member of B flight. ‘Chastity, how are you doing?’

  The woman smiled. ‘Good, thank you, ma’am.’

  Abby waited for a second to see if she would add more, but when she didn’t, she nodded. ‘Right then. Well, if C flight doesn’t have anything to add...?’

  Abby’s tone of voice told them that she wasn’t expecting there to be anything, but Wendy immediately spoke up. ‘When am I going to get a crack at the Fleas, Abby? I’m itching to try out my new toys and you owe me a bit of excitement after that bloody state dinner.’

  Abby had grounded Dreadnought, maintaining that there would be far better ways to use the big aircraft further down the line than just intercepting raids. Wendy hadn’t been twiddling her thumbs in the meantime; Kitty, the squadron’s expert on all things electrical, had helped her iron out all the kinks in the systems needed for her rockets, like remote ignition and release, and she had been busy fitting racks for them to the underside of her aircraft. That didn’t mean she had enjoyed watching everyone else going off to fight that morning without her, though.

  Abby laughed, not unkindly. ‘I'm sure you’ll get your chance; the Prussians will undoubtedly be moving troops up to try to cross the border into Muscovy and we’ll undoubtedly take part in the attacks on them.’

  ‘I hope they come soon.’ The big woman grumbled.

  ‘Patience, Wendy. And the same goes for you Scarlet; take the opportunity to get as much rest as you can because you’ll probably have a lot of sleepless nights scouting around in Finland.’

  The Irishwoman nodded. ‘I’ll be ready; I’m already studying maps of the ground over there.’

  ‘Good.’ Abby gazed around the group, meeting their eyes one by one, assessing their mood. They were confident, cheerful and very eager, just as they had been before France. She just hoped that the outcome wasn’t the same. ‘Right, let’s get to bed, then; you know how the Prussians like their early starts, and we need to be rested if we don’t want to be shown up by the Russkies!’

  Monty and Bruce simultaneously blew raspberries at that notion, then laughed and pointed at each other.

  The meeting broke up and the pilots wandered around getting ready for bed. They had been assigned a single barracks block with just one bedroom and bathroom for both sexes, not just because it was the only one available, but because that was what the Muscovites were used to - they made no distinction between their soldiers and saw no need to provide much in the way of special arrangements for them. Abby had worked out a system which gave them some measure of privacy, though and the men went off to use the bathroom while the women undressed, before swapping over.

  The men and women of the squadron had been separated for the sake of decency before, but the Misfits hadn’t really needed such considerations and whenever it had been necessary they had been set aside; the group had always been very close and it wasn’t as if their flight suits left much to the imagination. However, with a new member, adjustments had to be made, at least to start with.

  It still remained to be seen whether Chastity would adapt to the squadron as well as Gwen had, though; being “excellent” in the air wasn’t the only quality needed to make someone a Misfit.

  Another Prussian raid was spotted building up just after dawn the next day and again the Misfits scrambled with the Wolfpack. This time they didn’t get to engage, though, as the bombers dropped their payloads on the Muscovite forces on the border, almost a hundred miles away, rather than striking Murmansk as they had the previous days, then immediately turned back and raced for safety.

  In the afternoon, Abby was called to a meeting with the local commanders and she was taken to Murmansk as a passenger in the sidecar of a swift, spring-powered motorcycle.

  The city had been struck by several raids, but the small numbers of bombers hadn’t done much damage and Abby was shocked by how the people seemed to be continuing with their everyday lives; in France, the civilian population had fled at the first sign of the Prussian advance, before the first bombs had fallen, but the Muscovites showed no sign of going anywhere.

  It was almost as big a surprise to find that the military commanders hadn’t set up their control room in some hidden location in the forest somewhere, but rather in a room that looked like it had once been a wine cellar or something similar, underneath one of the larger municipal buildings in the very centre of the city.

  A huge table with a map of the surrounding country took up most of the damp and dark, low-ceilinged room which was so long that the far wall was lost in darkness. The rest of the space was tak
en up by a row of telephonists sitting behind a row of narrow desks against the side wall, standing by to relay the orders of the dozen or so generals who were gazing down at the table and sipping from glasses of vodka, a glass of which Abby was offered as soon as she came in, but refused.

  The map extended from Murmansk in the north as far south as Moscow and from Archangel in the east to the far border of Finland in the west. The forces arrayed against each other were represented by beautifully carved figures of men with outmoded uniforms and muskets, artillery pieces that had gone out of date more than a century ago, and cavalry officers on rearing horses. The ones in Norway, Finland and the Baltic region in the south, representing the enemy forces, were carved from a lovely deep red wood whereas the ones arrayed against them were much lighter, almost golden in colour. She had no way of telling how many men and machines the figurines represented, nor what the Cyrillic written on the standards that each carried meant, but it was clear just by the fact that there were almost twice as many red figures as yellow that the Muscovites were heavily outnumbered.

  She searched out Murmansk while she waited for the generals to notice her, wondering what her squadron was facing, and her mouth went dry when she saw exactly what the situation was.

  The Muscovites had naturally concentrated most of their forces around the main population and industrial areas that were Moscow and St. Petersburg, leaving only a thin line guarding the border and very limited forces in the north. Either they didn’t think that the Prussians would send much against Murmansk or they had an inflated opinion of what the Misfits would be capable of doing. Whatever the case, the Muscovites on the northern border were already outnumbered by the advance forces of cavalry and infantry markers and there were perhaps ten times more Prussians on the way.