It had been no more than thirty seconds since her near brush with death, but in that time, she had travelled more than two miles from the battle and she used the opportunity to take stock of what was happening.
A cold wave ran through her as she did a rough count of the number of large aircraft making their final approach to the airfield and came up well short. There were less than half of the thirty or so bombers that they had brought with them left to make their bombing runs, not nearly enough to carry out the objective and destroy all of the fighters.
A mile out, she took Wasp up to a hundred feet over the tops of the trees and picked her first target, but before she could even turn towards it a dark shadow rushed almost directly over the top of her. Gwen flinched and looked up as Wendy’s whoop of joy filled her ears and her jaw dropped involuntarily at the sight of the enormous Dreadnought in a full power dive, swooping down like a gigantic bird of prey, going even faster than Wasp.
White hot fire lanced from Dreadnought’s wings as the big aircraft reached the edge of the airfield. It impacted with something on the ground and a fireball, as big as the cathedral in St. Petersburg and shining just as brightly, sprang into being, rocking Wasp with the shockwave, even though she was still half a mile away.
Dreadnought pulled up from her dive, but couldn’t avoid plunging into the roiling smoke and flames caused by the rockets and Gwen held her breath, unsure if even the big aircraft could survive such punishment. Not only did she survive, though, but she came out the other side with her guns firing, pouring an immense amount of metal down on the Prussians.
An explosion rocked Wasp again, a puff of grey smoke sending metal shards pinging off her left wing and she flipped the aircraft into an evasive barrel roll while she searched for the ack-ack gun that was targeting her. It fired again, betraying its position and she banked hard towards it and lined up her shot.
This time she didn’t hesitate and Wasp juddered, slowing almost imperceptibly at the recoil from her cannon.
The gun disappeared below her and Gwen searched for her next target, not bothering to look at the result of her shots - she didn’t need to; she knew she had hit it and hit it hard. The next gun was almost directly in front of her, one of the smaller machine guns, and it took only a couple of nudges on the rudder to bring it into her sights. She only had time to give it a two-second burst before it flashed past beneath her, but that was more than enough to put it out of commission.
‘Welcome back, Two.’
Gwen glanced around and found the yellow Dragonfly on the other side of the airfield, climbing away from the smoking ruin of a large gun.
‘Thank you, Leader. Forming up on you.’
‘Negative, Two, do not cross the airfield at this time.’
Gwen opened her mouth to ask why, but immediately got her answer when the first of the Muscovite bombs finally detonated among the Prussian aircraft on the field. In the confusion and with the threat from the guns, she had almost forgotten that their actual target was the enemy aircraft and she took the brief respite provided by the bombers to check their status.
The wrecks of two MU9s lay abandoned at the end of the field, shot to pieces just before they took off, but the rest were still in the line that Derek had described. There was a gaping hole in what had been a neat and typically Prussian formation, though - a shallow crater, surrounded by twisted aircraft parts was all that was left of the six or seven fighters which had been obliterated by Wendy’s rockets. Several of the machines nearest to the explosion had been tossed aside by the blast and were out of action for the near future, but around two dozen aircraft remained, completely undamaged, and as she watched, two MU10s detached from the surviving winding machines and leapt forward, accelerating almost before they had turned onto the airfield.
‘Badger Three, there are two bandits taking off, heading in your direction. Intercept please, but be careful crossing the perimeter of the airfield; bombs are still falling.’
‘Roger, Leader.’
In the end, there was no need for Bruce and Monty to intervene because by some stroke of luck a bomb struck the aircraft on the left, knocking out its right engine. Suddenly unbalanced, it skewed and veered directly into the path of its wingman, which could do nothing to avoid its fate and ploughed straight into it, finishing the job on both of them.
Direct hits destroyed two more fighters in the line and a couple of others were rocked by near misses, damaging them, but then the explosions stopped.
The guns had ceased firing while the bombs fell, their gunners blinded or taking cover, and an unnatural silence fell on the airfield as the loose earth, tossed skywards by the munitions, settled slowly to the ground.
‘Is that it?’
There was a mixture of disappointment and anger in Wendy’s voice that echoed what all of the Misfits were thinking, that the men and women in the bombers had made a huge sacrifice in an attempt to deprive their enemy of a precious resource, but their valiant effort had been in vain - they had done their part, but their leaders had given them inadequate tools for the job and more than half of the enemy fighters were untouched.
‘Wolfpack Leader to Badger Leader, Hammer reports that they are out of bombs and turning for home.’
‘Roger, Wolfpack Leader. Escort them, please.’
‘Negative, we need to destroy the rest of those aircraft.’
‘Badger Squadron can take care of them.’
Baryshnikov laughed. ‘We’re not letting you get all the glory! Wolfpack out.’
‘Dammit, Wolfpack...’ Abby growled. ‘Alright, Badger Squadron, the sooner we take out the rest of the fighters the sooner we can get back to the bombers. Engage at will.’
Eight colourful aircraft immediately converged on the airfield from all directions, followed only seconds later by the large shape of Dreadnought, which rose above the trees to the north like the shadow of the Dark Scythesman himself.
The Prussian aircrew and fitters had finally realised that they had no hope of getting any of their aircraft off the ground and were streaming away from them, desperately searching for cover, when the first of the Misfits hit.
The Misfit fighters took it in turns to pepper the aircraft with machine gun and cannon fire, ripping holes in them, but it was Dreadnought which did the most damage once more. Wendy didn’t have any rockets left, but her multiple gun turrets, each of which held at least two cannon, if not four, were just as effective against the soft targets and as she flew parallel to the line of aircraft they made good practice and literally tore them apart. She didn’t escape unscathed, though, because the few remaining anti-aircraft guns opened up on that most tempting of targets, pinning her in a crossfire that tore holes in her tailplane and caused one of her engines to flame and die.
The enemy fire didn’t last long, though, because the Misfit aircraft quickly targeted then silenced them.
Just in time for the Wolfpack to arrive.
The Russians were left with nothing to do, but it didn’t stop them from wasting ammunition by liberally spraying everything in sight, including the hangars and barracks, but all they likely managed to do was ruin the Prussians’ breakfast and shoot a few holes in their mattresses.
‘That’s it, good job, Badger Squadron, let’s get to those bombers.’ Abby deliberately said nothing to the Russians, showing her disapproval of their behaviour by ignoring them.
The Misfits broke off and headed east, searching for the Muscovite biplanes.
They found them only minutes later. There were three left.
‘Damn you, Wolfpack...’ Abby swore again, but this time under her breath and only on the Misfit channel, using a few of the colourful words that the squadron had been learning from Scarlet. ‘Badger Squadron, let’s clear a path. Engage any ground forces you see. Use all the rest of your ammunition if you have to.’
For the next half an hour, the Misfits raced ahead of the bombers, trying to draw the fire of any gun in their path and destroying them when they found them.
They did the best they could, but ultimately, they couldn’t get all of them and the bombers were just too easy a target to miss. Two were destroyed by puffs of grey smoke that ripped apart machines and men in open cockpits alike and the last took a machine gun fire in one wing, putting two of its three engines on that side out of action. It struggled on valiantly, losing height all the while, but finally crashed into the ground only yards from the river marking the border, in plain sight of Murmansk.
Disheartened, the Misfits pushed their throttles to the stops and went home.
Chapter 20
Gwen and Abby were among the last to land and, by the time their aircraft had been pushed into place in their hangar, the Wolfpack pilots were already gathered in front of the mess. To the surprise and disgust of the British pilots, they immediately started celebrating, downing vodka as they sang and danced.
Abby, followed by every single one of her pilots, immediately descended on them.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing up there? How dare you disobey my orders and leave the bombers to fend for themselves!’
A British officer who did something to cause a superior to say such words to them would at least stop what they were doing and, when invited to do so, explain themselves and try to justify whatever decision they had made.
Baryshnikov, however, only stopped laughing and joking long enough to shrug and give Abby a smile. ‘The mission was successful wasn’t it?’
He turned away from her and began to clap, shouting encouragement as a couple of his men started doing cartwheels around each other, but Abby grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back around.
That got his full attention, but also that of his pilots and they stopped what they were doing to form a silent group behind their leader.
‘On your toes, Misfits.’
Mac’s muttered words were unnecessary, as every single one of the pilots was already moving to surround Abby. Most of them had never been in a brawl in their lives, but they were more than willing to jump in to support their friends if they had to.
The two groups glared at each other, waiting for their leaders to make the first move.
Abby looked at the Russian pilots, then at her own, before rolling her eyes. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake. Come on.’ She waved for Baryshnikov to go with her then stomped away out into the middle of the airfield without waiting to see if he would.
Baryshnikov said something in Russian to his pilots, dismissing them with a grin, then swaggered after Abby.
The Russians shot glares at the Misfits, but said nothing and just wandered away into the mess hall, where the sounds of laughter and singing soon rang out once more.
The British pilots turned to watch their leader, most of them wondering whether their circumstances were going to change in the next few hours.
‘I’d give anything to be able to hear what they say.’ Bruce whispered.
‘Well, if you shut up, we might be able to make it out, yer big numpty!’ Mac countered.
The Misfits did as he said and strained their ears, eavesdropping with all their might.
Abby watched the Russian stroll towards her, taking his time, an insolent grin on his face. He came to a halt in front of her and slouched, crossing his arms, waiting for her to make the first move.
Her anger had disappeared, but in its place was a white-hot rage and if before she had wanted to punch that smarmy, smirking face, now she wanted to see it disappear in ignominy. She wanted to see the man standing before her reduced in ranks and forbidden the skies, although, she thought, it might be poetic to see him pilot one of the bombers he had so casually discarded. She wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone, though; it was as good as a death sentence.
‘How many pilots did you lose?’ She spoke to him calmly, coldly, using a voice that her pilots knew only too well and feared hearing.
The man shrugged, oblivious to the thin ice he was treading. ‘Only four.’
‘Only?’ Abby was horrified at his cavalier attitude to the loss of his pilots.
‘That is a very small price to pay for such a great victory. Our victory, Group Captain.’
‘And what of the bombers? More than thirty aircraft destroyed and a hundred men and women dead. An entire squadron, gone in a single morning.’
Baryshnikov gave her another of his grins. ‘You don’t think the plan was actually for them to destroy the enemy fighters, do you? Command knew they wouldn’t be able to, they were only there to provide us with enough of a distraction to complete the mission and get out with minimal losses.’
‘They were...’ Abby swallowed, her mouth dry and her tongue a dead weight in her mouth. Her voice, when she found it again, was barely more than a croak. ‘Did they know?’
‘Of course they did! But they still went willingly.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Put them out of your mind; they were inconsequential, barely trained and there are plenty more where they came from. Russia is a very large country and this has always been our way - sacrifices are made to ensure that the Empire survives.’
The fire which had died down at the thought of the poor men and women in the bombers knowingly going to their deaths, roared back into life and she took a quick step closer to Baryshnikov, putting her face only inches from his and, despite knowing it was beneath her, she couldn’t help but feel gratified when he flinched. ‘Whether those bombers were there just as a distraction or not is immaterial. Your insubordination is not. The Tsar put me in charge of the air defences in the north and if we’re going to work together, then you’re going to have to obey my orders, because they’re as good as his.’
Baryshnikov gave her a small bow, smiling enigmatically. ‘Very well, Group Captain. But we shall have to see if we work together again, won’t we?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘No matter.’
He waved away her query, then reached out and took her upper arms in his hands. For a horrifying moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he smiled at her and shook her once, as if he were speaking to a beloved comrade, not a superior. ‘We shall have a party tonight and perhaps you will find a strong young Russian man or woman who takes your fancy and you will forget about all of this for a while, like we Russians do.’
He shook her once more and smiled broadly, then turned and walked away past the Misfits and into the mess where he was greeted with wolf howls by his squadron.
Abby waited until he had disappeared, then wandered back to her pilots. ‘I suppose you heard all of that.’
She sighed at their nods. ‘Much as we don’t like what happened today, I’m just happy none of us got killed.’
‘At least we destroyed their fighters.’
Abby glanced at Bruce. ‘You and I both know that there are plenty more of them to come, but yes, we have to make sure we take full advantage of the brief window that the waste of so many lives has bought us. Let’s go and see how our aircraft are, because at least a few of us have taken damage.’ She looked pointedly at Gwen. ‘Then I’m going to speak to command, see if I can find us a few targets; I really need to blow something up.’
‘Gwen. A word please.’
Abby’s cold voice stopped Gwen in her tracks and sent a chill running through her. She slowly turned to face her commander, the woman who had pulled her out of prison and given her a second chance. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint her, but she had and it showed as she glared at her.
‘Look, I’m sorry, I...’
Abby shook her head, cutting her off. ‘All I want to know is - will it happen again?’
‘No, it won’t. Definitely not.’
‘Good, because we can’t afford that kind of thing; you almost got yourself killed this time, next time it might be me, or one of the others. Consider yourself warned - if it or anything like it happens again, then you are out on your ear. Understood?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Good.’ Abby nodded, her scowl still in place. ‘Well, now that my duty as your
commanding officer is out of the way...’ She sighed, her expression softening, and moved forward to envelope Gwen in her arms.
Gwen stood stiffly, for a couple of seconds, not quite sure what to do, but then returned the hug, squeezing Abby tightly.
Eventually, Abby pulled back. She smiled wryly, then jerked her head in the direction of the hangar. ‘Come on, let’s go have a look at what kind of mess you’ve made of squadron property.’
Every single one of Misfit Squadron’s aircraft had sustained some damage or other. It was mostly just scratched paint, but there were a good few deeper scores and even a couple of holes which needed a bit more care than a polish and a coat of paint.
Wasp was one of the least damaged of the aircraft, her time away from the fight protecting her from much of the enemy fire, but her guns and airscrew would have to be dismantled to clean them of the wood shavings which had found their way into everywhere, a task that would require the rest of the day and much of the night to complete.
The only aircraft that would need grounding for any real length of time, though, was Dreadnought. Many of the brand-new panels of her fuselage and wings would have to be replaced, along with the destroyed engine and most of her tailplane and rudder. Thankfully, though, none of her crew had been hurt, mostly because Wendy had installed more shielding around the guns after having lost several of them during the ill-fated attack on the French ports.
Wendy was looking very upset about being grounded yet again, but she soon bucked up when Abby spoke to her about fitting her rockets to other Misfit aircraft as soon as possible and Gwen was particularly happy when the big woman looked directly at Wasp, which was already being dismantled, and decided to start with her. The two engineers immediately started discussing plans, basing them on the ones that Wendy and Kitty had developed for Dreadnought, already debating how to install the necessary controls and wiring.
Abby watched the two women talking animatedly with a grin; as soon as she had given them something to engage their brains, they no longer cared so much that their machines were out of action, but more importantly Gwen had forgotten her traumatic experience.
The Russian Resistance Page 28