The Russian Resistance

by Simon Brading

  ‘Wolverine Leader here, go ahead Beetroot.’

  ‘Wolverine Leader, Hammer Squadron is twenty miles from you, heading two five zero, altitude five thousand feet.’

  ‘Say again please?’

  Gwen frowned as Beetroot repeated the message; five thousand feet was very low, the Muscovite bombers should be at twenty thousand feet at least, otherwise they would be easy targets for any anti-aircraft guns that they passed. They would even have been better off at five hundred feet, at least that way they would have cut down the amount of time they were visible to each gun position.

  ‘Thank you, Beetroot.’

  There were a few seconds of silence then the radio came back on. ‘Leader to Nine.’

  ‘Nine here, Leader.’

  ‘Would you mind checking in on the bombers, please; I think I’m losing something in translation.’

  ‘One moment, coming about.’

  There was a short silence during which Gwen could almost picture Owen banking Bloodhound around, the long-winged machine making a stately turn to point its radar in another direction.

  ‘Wolverine Leader, I have thirty plus aircraft on screen. They... They’re at angels five! What the hell are they doing so low?’

  ‘Leader, I see them, eleven o’clock low.’ As usual, Kitty’s sharp eyes had picked out the aircraft before the rest of the pilots and there was a pause as the Misfits slotted lenses in place over their goggles.

  ‘What the...?’

  Gwen would have laughed at Bruce’s typical breach in protocol if it wasn’t for the sight of the Muscovite aircraft.

  The reason for their low altitude was immediately apparent - they just weren’t capable of climbing any higher.

  The bombers were relics from the First Great War - huge six-engined biplanes, almost as large as Dreadnought, with open cockpits and wooden wings held together by struts and wires. They were painted a solid dull grey, as if nobody could be bothered to give them more than a base coating and didn’t even have roundels. The only defence they had was completely inadequate - two gunners, sitting back to back in the middle of the fuselage behind what looked like extremely small calibre guns that pointed out on opposite sides of the aircraft leaving very wide dead zones which neither of them could cover.

  ‘Poor bastards.’

  Mac expressed what they were all thinking; if the Prussians managed to get even a single fighter off the ground it would be a slaughter, especially if it were one of the larger MU10s.

  There was worse news to come, though, when the Wolverines got close enough to get a good look at them. The bombers had so much trouble keeping their own weight in the air that they couldn’t carry much in the way of a payload and there were only eight very small bombs, most likely two hundred and fifty pounders, hanging under each aircraft. They were totally inadequate for the job and would have to score a direct hit to do any lasting damage to an aircraft, something that was quite unlikely.

  The aircraft were flying at their top speed, but that amounted to less than two hundred miles per hour and at that rate, the Prussians would have fifteen minutes warning from their troops along the border that a raid was on the way and would be able to scramble at least a few of their fighters again before the bombers got to them.

  ‘Damn that General.’ Abby’s voice was low, but it came all too clearly over the squadron’s private comm frequency and they knew exactly what was going through her mind - an already risky mission was going sour even before it had started and something had to be done before the whole outing failed dismally and lives were lost. ‘Wolverine Leader to Nine, come in please.’

  ‘Nine here, Leader.’

  ‘What is the Prussian fighter squadron doing?’

  ‘They are approximately ten miles from their base. I’m going to lose them in the ground clutter soon, but they should be on the deck in the next five minutes.’

  ‘Thank you, Nine.’ There was a click as Abby switched to the general frequency. ‘Alright, Wolverine Squadron, listen up. This plan isn’t going to work, so I’m changing it...’

  ‘Is that wise, Leader? The plan has been discussed and approved by Imperial command...’

  Abby cut Baryshnikov off as soon as she could. ‘Thirteen, you know as well as I do that any plan of war need to be flexible. Don’t worry, I’m not changing it too much, just enough to ensure that we have a chance of carrying it out and getting home alive.’

  ‘Very well, Leader. Thirteen listening.’

  ‘Thank you, Thirteen...’

  Gwen grinned; she could almost hearing Abby’s eyes rolling.

  ‘As I was saying: change of plans. We’ll be crossing the border in a few minutes, which means they’ll be able to see us, even if they haven’t got some other kind of early warning system set up. At the speed the bombers are going, they’ll have time to rewind at least a few fighters and get them back into the air, so Badger Squadron will go ahead and make sure they can’t do that, while Wolfpack Squadron stays with Hammer Squadron, just in case there are any surprises. Got that Wolfpack Leader?’

  ‘Got it. But I must say I would much rather be going on ahead and leaving you doing the babysitting.’

  Abby laughed. ‘I know you would, but the Harridans can handle these low speeds better than my B flight aircraft. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty for you to do once you get to the target.’

  ‘I certainly hope so, I would like some medals to send to my mother!’

  There were a few chuckles at that, but silence quickly fell again; the pilots were nervous, knowing that they would be in danger soon.

  ‘Right then, Badger Squadron on me, full climb to angels twenty, let’s get above the cloud cover and try not to give the ack-ack any more warning we’re coming than we have to. Badger Ten, follow as best you can.’

  As Dragonfly surged ahead and tilted its nose up, Gwen pushed her throttle forwards and Wasp, who had definitely been sulking at being restricted to such low speed, came alive again under her touch.

  ‘Nine, anything on your scopes?’

  ‘Negative, Leader, the Prussian bombers are now home and there is no sign of any fighters being scrambled to meet you yet.’

  ‘Roger, Nine. Let me know if that changes, please.’

  ‘Roger, Leader.

  The cloud cover was thick, hiding the Prussian fighter base, but every one of the Misfits knew how to navigate and weren’t taken by surprise five minutes later when Abby broke the tense silence.

  ‘Alright. Badger Five, you’re going down first. Take B flight and buzz the airfield. Take a look at what’s what, please. If you see a target of opportunity, take it, but don’t waste ammo; we might need it. A flight, we’re circling here until they report.’

  ‘Roger, Leader. B flight, break into pairs and dive on my mark... Mark!’ Derek’s voice came over the radio just before the four aircraft of B flight peeled off neatly to either side of A flight and disappeared almost vertically down into the clouds. His orders were quickly followed by a howl as Mac did his own impression of the Wolfpack battle cry, but the Scotsman ruined the effect somewhat by breaking down into laughter half way through.

  ‘Radio silence now, please, Seven,’ snapped Derek, not amused.

  ‘Sorry, boss.’

  ‘Leader, this is Five. Twenty plus aircraft on the ground in the open, in a line next to the airfield. None of them are moving. Hang on, I see pilots running for machines. One moment, please, Leader. Six, the airscrew on that MU9 at the end is turning, let’s try to change his mind about taking off.’

  ‘Roger, Five.’

  The sound of gunfire filled the airwaves momentarily before Derek’s voice came back, emotionless and business-like as always. ‘Good shot, Six. Leader, this is Five. One enemy destroyed and at least one has a few more holes in it than is healthy. We’re under heavy anti-aircraft fire, though, I count at least eight flak guns and they have another dozen or more heavy machine guns as well. Withdrawing.’

  ‘Roger, Five, loiter out of range for n
ow and well done.’

  A new voice came over the radio now. ‘Badger Leader, this is Wolfpack Leader. We are fifteen miles out. Taking heavy fire. Two bombers down. Request permission to engage ground forces.’

  ‘Permission granted, Wolfpack. Happy hunting.’

  ‘Thank you, Badger Leader.’ Baryshnikov followed his words with something extremely excitable in Russian, then Gwen winced as an ear-piercing howl from the entirety of the Russian squadron, much louder than Mac’s, made the small speakers in her helmet distort and squeal.

  ‘I really wish they wouldn’t do that...’ Abby said, real annoyance in her voice. ‘Right then, all Badgers listen up. We have to clear a path for those bombers. Badger Five, in two minutes start make full speed runs on the guns at the airfield, see if you can’t take a few out, but keep an eye on the fighters and engage any that make a move. Ten, stay up here in the clouds for now, but when the bombers arrive feel free to go down and give the Prussians hell. A flight, we’re going to fly the bombers’ path and try to get the anti-aircraft gunners to keep their heads down until the bombers get past them... diving now.’

  Gwen watched her wingman’s yellow aircraft roll and dive, giving it a heartbeat to get ahead of her before following, not wanting to be too close when they went into the cloud.

  Chapter 19

  Gwen took a deep breath as she watched the altimeter plunging, but there was no time for anything else before Wasp burst out of the cloud and into the grey world beneath it.

  It had been calm and peaceful in the sunshine above the clouds, but here the world was shadow and chaos.

  Guns flashed from hundreds of positions on the ground, all pouring death up at the marauding aircraft.

  Flak burst everywhere, innocuous-seeming puffs of grey that blossomed in the sky, sending shard of sharp metal pinging and whining off metal fuselages.

  Tracer rounds reached up for grey aircraft, tearing large holes in them, ripping them apart one by one. Several columns of black smoke marked the path that the raid had taken from Muscovy, funeral pyres for the bombers which had already fallen.

  Colourful Harridans screamed out of the sky, firing streams of metal at the ground targets.

  A small ammunition stockpile next to a gun exploded, sending the twisted metal of the gun itself rolling along the ground, bowling over everything in its path - trees, vehicles, sandbags. Men.

  There was a woman’s screaming in Gwen’s ears and she winced as she saw the wing come off a yellow and red striped Harridan. The voice cut off abruptly as the aircraft hit the ground and cartwheeled, flying apart, flinging debris every which way.

  Gwen stared, her eyes wide and mouth dry, her gaze darting from one fresh horror to the next, unable to tear her eyes away, but at the same time wanting to block it all out. This was her first experience of a ground war, the other pilots, including Chastity, had fought in France, but she had only known the war over Britain, which had been solely an air war.

  She froze.

  It was only for a second or two, but that was enough for her to lose Abby.

  Gwen searched and found her wingman almost half a mile away, already opening fire on one of the large flak guns. Small puffs of earth flew up into the air as Abby walked her machine gun rounds towards the gun, using them to sight, but then, when sparks began to fly from metal, she opened up with her cannon. The difference was immediate, as gaping holes appeared in the shielding around the gun and ripped apart everything around it.

  The gruesome sight was almost immediately obscured by a mist that was earth brown tinged with red, but there had been more than enough time to see the result of large projectiles striking soft material and Gwen shuddered as the sight was burned into her mind for eternity. She swallowed bile and breathed deeply, trying to keep from vomiting as she banked Wasp hard and tucked in behind Dragonfly’s wing.

  ‘Welcome back, Two.’

  ‘Sorry, Leader, lost you in the cloud.’

  There was a brief silence that told Gwen that she hadn’t quite been believed, but Abby didn’t comment, she just got back to business. ‘The bombers are nearly there. We have to draw some fire and make sure that as many of them get to the target as possible. Try to stay with me this time, please.’

  ‘Roger, Leader.’

  Abby took Gwen on a dipping and swooping ride, parallel to the path of the bombers. Dozens of guns that would have targeted the Muscovite bombers instead opened fire at them, but agile aircraft avoided it all with ease, confusing and confounding the gunners by darting this way and that, almost as if they were playing with the enemy.

  Things became deadly serious over the airfield, though.

  Derek hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the aerodrome was heavily defended - there were a dozen or so guns in emplacements around the perimeter fence and at least twice as many in the nearby forest. Their combined had been far too much for B flight to handle on their own and had barely survived the couple of runs they’d made, but when the bombers came within sight of the airfield, most of them switched targets from the fighters to what they perceived as the true threat.

  They were still several miles out, but their altitude made them easy targets. One by one the lumbering grey aircraft began to tumble from the sky and it was immediately apparent that, if the Misfits didn’t do something about it, the mission would fail. Thankfully, though, with the majority of the guns now otherwise occupied, it wouldn’t be so dangerous for the fighters to engage them.

  ‘All Badgers, pick your targets and engage. Ten, we could really use you about now, please.’

  Abby didn’t wait for the acknowledgements to finish coming in before switching to the channel that just she and Gwen shared. ‘Two, I’ve used too much ammo already. Take the lead and go for the big gun at one o’clock. You saw how I did it, now it’s your turn.’

  ‘Roger, Leader.’

  Gwen dipped her right wing and banked towards the gun, lining up the shot whilst continuing to twitch and jerk Wasp about the sky with slight movements on her stick and rudder pedals.

  She aimed slightly low, intending to walk the machine gun shots to the gun before opening up with the cannon just as Abby had and moved her thumb over the firing button.

  Through her reflector sight she could see the men manning the gun frantically trying to swing it around towards her, their eyes wide in alarm, showing white, but they were too slow, they wouldn’t be able to do it before she got to them.

  She pursed her lips, judging the range and stopped her juking to fix the enemy in her sights. Her vision narrowed until it was just her, the men, the gun that was seeking to end her life and her thumb caressing the button on her stick.

  ‘Pull up, Two! PULL UP!’

  Abby’s panicked shout broke Gwen out of her trance and she screamed as she saw the ground filling her vision. She yanked back on her stick, narrowly avoiding the gun she’d been aiming for, but it was too late; a tree loomed large, directly in front of her, its hooked and burnt branches reaching for her, seeking to drag her from the sky.

  With a lurch, Wasp clipped the very topmost branches and faltered, her airscrew sending splinters flying in all directions. The aircraft was going fast enough to burst through, though, and was free again, but the tree had slowed her down and pulled her nose below the horizon. Wasp was close to stalling and only yards from cold earth.

  Gwen swore and gritted her teeth, clenching anything and everything that could be clenched as she threw her throttle into emergency power and teased back the stick, simultaneously opening her flaps and lowering her undercarriage.

  Wasp hit the ground and bounced, her wheels barely out in time, then fell and bounced once more, before finally responding to the power of her airscrew, shaking off a fine coating of sawdust as she levelled out and gained speed. The frozen earth raced by, only feet below and Gwen caught an impossible glimpse of a man’s face, right in front of her, frozen like a deer in a hunting lamp as she bore down on him. She yelped as she jerked the stick back and the man d
isappeared, replaced by the solid grey of the clouds - in her panic she had pulled the nose of the aircraft into an almost vertical position. She pushed the stick forward and levelled off, just in time to prevent Wasp from stalling again, then withdrew her flaps and wheels and left the aircraft to fly herself, not giving a thought to her surroundings while she panted for breath and tried to clear her head.

  ‘Gwen! Gwen!’

  Gwen slowly became aware of the shouts in her ears and looked to her left to find Dragonfly on her wing. They were flying in a straight line and judging by the fact that there were no other aircraft around and no sign of the airfield, they had been for some time. Thankfully, though, as low to the ground as they were, they made very difficult targets for any isolated anti-aircraft guns they came across.

  ‘I’m here. Sorry, Abby, I just... I don’t know what happened.’

  That was a lie, she knew exactly what had happened.

  It was far too easy to think of the men she shot down as being just their machines, but what Abby’s cannon had done to the men around that first gun... She didn’t know if she could do that to anyone, not even the hated Prussians.

  ‘Go back to base, Gwen, I can’t have you here if you’re just going to freeze, you’ll just get yourself or someone else killed.’

  Before Gwen could answer, Dragonfly pulled up and banked sharply, heading back towards the flashes and smoke that filled the mirror above Gwen’s head.

  It was Abby’s disappointed tone more than anything else that brought Gwen back from the brink of disgrace and mostly likely grounding and expulsion from the Misfits.

  A trickle of sweat ran down her cheek from under her helmet and she swiped the back of her glove across her face under her goggles then snarled at herself. ‘Buck up, Stone, don’t be a baby.’

  She had no choice. She couldn’t abandon her friends and her allies. She had to pull her weight and do what she could to ensure the survival of the remaining bombers.

  She pulled the tightest turn she possibly could and headed back for the fight.