Hesitantly, not quite believing what she was doing, she held out her hand and smiled in invitation.
As Rudy had said - she should be living her life as best she could.
Chapter 22
Sergeant Jenkins and Wendy worked through the night and the next morning Wasp was back in one piece and had four thin silver tubes hanging underneath each wing, smaller versions of the rockets that were mounted on Dreadnought. Gwen rejoined the squadron and for the next three days the Misfits cut a swathe across Finland, terrifying the Prussians, who never knew when or where they would strike. They destroyed several more supply columns, but also a couple of mechanised ones, made up mostly of tanks. There were even a couple of heavily armoured Walkers in one of the columns - rare and incredibly expensive machines which were essentially boxes on legs, used primarily for carrying troops across rivers and minefields - and they made sure to obliterate them, knowing that they were almost irreplaceable.
Gwen soon found that the rockets were very inaccurate and that it was best to fire several of them in quick succession against grouped up targets. However, thanks to the explosive chemical formula that had been given to Wendy by a friend in the Chemists’ Guild, a single hit was easily enough to destroy even the most heavily armoured of vehicles. Seeing her success, the other pilots clamoured for Wendy to install racks for the rockets on their machines, even volunteering to remain back from missions to give her time to do so, but Abby refused to allow it and so, for the time being, Gwen remained the only one with them.
Throughout it all, Gwen made sure not to think about the men she was killing. It was easier when she was attacking tanks because they were like the aircraft she shot down - she could convince herself she was just destroying the machines, but the times that they were sent against an infantry column she couldn’t use that trick and she did her job, used her ammunition as best as she could, then emptied her guts as soon as she got back to base.
During this time, the Wolfpack was doing much the same as the Misfits, but seeing far less success and losing pilots as fast as the instructors could train them. The situation was so bad that the only surviving pilots from the ones who had greeted the Misfits when they had arrived in Muscovy were Baryshnikov and Polikasparov.
They were also running out of Harridans to put into the air, but when Abby commented on it in one of her daily calls to Dorothy Campbell, who was still stuck in St. Petersburg, she was told not to worry. Apparently, Whitehall had expected that to happen and were sending more fighters with convoys that were already scheduled for after winter.
On the fourth day everything changed.
First thing in the morning, the Misfits flew out to destroy a particularly large and tempting supply column, almost a hundred miles behind enemy lines.
The column was composed mostly of supply wagons, with no infantry or mechanised units, and was trying to rely on speed to reach defensible positions before they could be intercepted, but the attempt was in vain and the Misfits pounced on them like a cat on a ball of wool.
They played havoc with the Prussians, destroying numerous vehicles with every pass, but never once did they stop to think that it was too easy, that the convoy might have been bait in a trap.
Gruber grinned as he dived towards the childishly-coloured aircraft swarming around the tasty morsel he’d placed before them, like rats around poisoned fruit.
He was using their own tactics against them, the exact ones they had used against him in Northern England, and the fools had no idea of the red death descending upon them.
The sixteen red aircraft passed through five thousand feet, screaming down in a steep dive at much more than four hundred miles per hour. Hölle was actually outpacing the Blutsaugers of the rest of his squadron by some margin, moving through the air much more efficiently, but he didn’t care one bit; it just meant that they wouldn’t get in his way when he made his first kill.
And as to that kill...
His sharp eyes, aided by Swiss-made lenses had already picked out his two primary targets: the yellow Dragonfly of the leader of the Misfits, Abigail Lennox, without whom the Misfits would likely disintegrate, dissipating like so much smoke; and the absurd pink and black Wasp of Gwenevere Stone, the woman who’d had the temerity to defeat him then release him like a stream-caught fish, daughter of the designers of the Harridan that was causing his country so many problems.
Both would die under his guns, but the question was which to kill first.
He nudged his rudder, lining his sights up on first one, then the other, both blissfully unaware of him.
Which deserved to die in a heartbeat and which would he like to play with for a while?
‘BREAK!’
Charles’ shout gave them less than a second of warning, but it was just enough to save the Misfits from disaster.
Gwen kicked her rudder and threw her stick to the side instantly, but Wasp still lurched as her wing took a strike from something heavy.
‘What the...?’
Her question was answered before she could fully express it when a blood-red machine flew past her, so close as to buffet her with its wake. She instantly slammed her stick in the other direction, reversing course and trying to get on its tail, but she had been going far too slowly, attacking ground targets and it was already gone. Two more red aircraft appeared in her vision, points of light winking from their wings and she threw Wasp into a twisting roll, substituting sky for ground for sky again in quick succession as she evaded their fire and they swept by, just as fast as their colleague and just as untouchable. Abby, however, had somehow managed to snap an impossible shot off and one of them went spiralling out of control, straight into one of the supply wagons below.
Gwen searched the air around her while she continued her manoeuvres, pinpointing the enemy fighters. There were more than a dozen of them, but they had all passed right through the Misfits and were climbing back up, a couple of miles away, regaining their height advantage. They weren’t close enough to immediately affect her, so she disregarded them for the moment and turned her eyes upwards, searching for anyone still lurking overhead. When she found nobody, she stopped juking and took a deep breath, trying to calm her pounding heart.
‘All Badgers, regroup on me.’
Even while she had been tossing Wasp about the sky, Gwen had never strayed far from her wingman and the rest of the Misfits joined them seconds later.
‘Report.’
Gwen glanced out of her cockpit and winced at the gaping hole in her right wing - a cannon round had struck the red lion on her roundel dead centre, as if it had been an archery target, and there was nothing left of it. It wouldn’t impair Wasp too much, though, so there was no need to report it as real damage and she kept the radio clear for the others.
‘Badger Four. I have damage to my port-side aileron and controls are sluggish.’
‘Badger Seven. Rudder’s out.’
‘Badger Six here, I’ve lost my starboard airscrew.’
Gwen immediately looked to Hawk, searching out Kitty, making sure that she was alright, but beyond her obvious frustration at her aircraft being damaged she seemed to be unharmed. The American met her eyes and smiled weakly, giving a thumbs up that Gwen returned, relieved.
‘Badger Eight... I... I...’
Gwen’s eyes lifted beyond Hawk and gasped when she saw Dove. Her cockpit was holed in several places and there was blood pouring down Chastity’s face.
‘Eight, what’s wrong?’
‘I...’
As Gwen watched, unbelievably, the young woman seemed to shake her shock away. She lifted a glove to her head, but dropped it immediately.
‘Nothing, Leader. I... took some damage, but I’m fine. Badger Eight, Roger.’
There was a brief silence as Abby considered their options, but it lasted no more than five of Gwen’s extremely rapid heartbeats. ‘Right then, we need to get home as quickly as we can, but we’re going to have to stay together and protect our injured. We’ll stay as low
as we can and make them come to us. If the Barons dive on us then turn to face, if not, continue course. A flight, form up on Four, B flight, form up on Seven. We’ll let them lead our turn as best they can, then we’ll all form on Six. Ready? Execute.’
The two flights formed up on their two most damaged members and slowly turned towards home. Monty had the most problems changing course and he slewed around the sky like a drunkard as he tried to keep Raptor under control, but eventually they were all pointed east towards the border and then it was Kitty’s turn to dictate their speed. She put her remaining airscrew to full emergency power, using her remaining spring tension at a prodigious rate, but even then, she was barely able to make two hundred and fifty miles per hour.
Once they were settled, Bruce asked the question that was on all of their minds. ‘Did anyone get a good look at Gruber’s aircraft? I didn’t see a triplane.’
‘He was in the first aircraft down, the one with the black check pattern on its nose,’ Abby said, ‘and yes, I got a pretty good look while he was trying to kill Gwen. He’s finally decided to catch up with the times, although he hasn’t been very original while he’s doing it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that his new aircraft shares several design similarities with Wasp and Dragonfly. Gruber is trying to beat us by copying us.’
Gwen laughed.
There was a long silence before finally Abby came back over the radio. ‘Two? Is there anything you’d like to share with the class?’
Gwen grinned and looked across at her wingman. ‘Well, we’ve improved our machines since he last saw them and as soon as we get the chance, we’re going to improve them even more. His lovely new aircraft is already obsolete.’
Gwen laughed again and this time was joined by the rest of the Misfits, but Abby soon put paid to their good spirits and brought their minds back to the task ahead of them. ‘Roger that, Two. But it won’t matter very much if he kills us now, will it?’
‘Leader, they’re coming down.’
‘Thank you, Five. Seven, Four, turn us around please.’
‘Pull up and return to six thousand feet.’
Gruber gave the order to break off the run on the Misfit aircraft when he saw them turning. He really didn’t want to go head to head with the British aircraft; he had read the reports and seen pictures of the damage their guns had been doing, ripping through even the thickest of tank armour. His aircraft would be blown from the sky with no guarantee that they would destroy any of the Misfits in reply.
A month ago, he wouldn’t have cared and would have sent his men anyway; the pilots had been new and unproven, but after two successful campaigns they had come together as a unit and with replacements so far away he didn’t want to waste them unnecessarily.
He gazed down on the British Squadron, who were turning back towards the Muscovite border, still out of sight beyond the horizon, but only twenty minutes of flight time away and ground his teeth; unless he did something soon, they were going to slip away yet again.
Gwen squinted up into the clear sky. With the sun so low on the horizon, the Prussians couldn’t hide in it as they had over England, but the sky was still bright and relatively painful to look at and she had slotted tinted lenses into place to cut down the glare. ‘They’re still up there, Leader.’
‘Roger, Two.’
‘What are the bastards waiting for?’ The strain was showing in Mac’s voice as he fought against a machine that was more and more out of his control with every second; it seemed that it hadn’t been just his rudder that had been hit, but some of his control wires as well and every so often they twitched in his hands as strands of the wires frayed and broke, making Jaguar act more like a skittish house cat than a predator.
‘I don’t know, Seven, but the longer they wait the better for us.’
The fifteen black dots high above swirled, moving in relation to each other and Gwen slotted more lenses in place, magnifying them. They were on the move. ‘Leader, they’re splitting up. They’re coming down, but...’
‘But what, Two?’
Gwen watched for a couple of seconds to make sure that the Barons were doing what she thought they were before replying. ‘They’re not diving straight at us. It looks like they want to get into a proper fight.’
‘Dammit. I was afraid they’d finally work out what they had to do. Took Gruber long enough, though!’
The Misfits knew that they were in desperate straits, but even so, most of them chuckled at the thought of the leader of the Barons and the reputation he had in the British press of being a good-looking but half-witted figurehead for the Fleas. It was a reputation that was completely unfounded and not particularly credible, but the British propaganda machine insisted on spreading it to keep the spirits of the people up.
‘Alright. We’ve got no choice. Mac, Kitty, Monty, hold this heading and make best speed for home. Everyone else, let’s try to buy them time.’
Even though every single one of them knew that Abby might well be condemning the three wounded aircraft, there were no protests at her orders; there was nothing further they could do for their friends and the only chance they had was to make a run for it and hope that none of the Barons chased them down. Not that the remaining Misfits would have it easy, though; they were outnumbered three to one.
A glint of light, the sun reflecting off something up high in front of them, caught Gwen’s attention and she looked up, dropping lenses over her eyes, seeking the source of the flash.
She smiled. ‘I think I might have a better choice for you, Leader.’
‘D flight, take the lame ducks, make sure they don’t get away. Everyone else, on my mark, split into pairs and engage. Three. Two...’
‘Sir!’
Gruber growled at his wingman’s interruption. ‘What is it? You have your orders, just carry them out!’
‘Incoming enemy fighters, two o’clock high! I count at least ten, maybe more.’
‘What? Of all the...’ Gruber fumed and punched the instrument panel in front of him, his airspeed indicator shattering in a very satisfactory manner. There was nothing for it but to disengage; even though the Muscovite fighter squadron based nearby was reportedly nowhere near as good as the Misfits, their entry into the fight would tip the balance heavily in the favour of the British.
‘Break off and head for base.’
Gruber slung Hölle onto its wing and jerked the control yoke into his lap, pulling the maximum G forces the aircraft would take, wanting the momentary taste of welcoming darkness it would give him.
‘Badger Leader, this is Wolfpack Leader. We heard that you needed a bit of help.’
For once the Russian squadron was a very welcome sight. ‘Yes, thank you, Wolfpack Leader. Can you escort us home, please?’
Baryshnikov laughed. ‘Of course! It would be our pleasure. Coming down to you.’
‘Negative, Wolfpack, stay up there, just in case the Barons come back.’
‘Barons? Those aircraft belonged to the Crimson Barons?’ Baryshnikov’s voice had changed from jovial banter to something that was almost anger. ‘Your man, Isaacs, didn’t say that the Prussians attacking you were the Crimson Barons!’ He swore in Russian, repeatedly and loudly. ‘If I’d known...’
‘What? What would you have done? Gone after them?’
‘Of course!’
It was Abby’s turn to swear, but she at least had the decency to turn her radio off first and she only came back on the air once she had calmed down. ‘I’m sorry. Next time we’ll let you know and we can handle them together.’
‘Good. Do that.’
The Russian signed off and the two squadrons flew on in silence, broken only by fire from a single battery of anti-aircraft guns, which Abby and Gwen peeled off to deal with, and in less than fifteen minutes they crossed the border into safety.
Abby had called ahead and Medical staff were standing by when the Misfits landed, which was just as well, because Chastity made it only two st
eps from Dove before her legs gave way beneath her and she collapsed face-first to the floor, going into shock from blood loss. Not only did she have a shard of glass in her head, but the entire left side of her RAC flightsuit was peppered with small holes from where her cockpit had shattered and sprayed her. The suit had protected her somewhat, but the damage had added up and the blue fabric was soaked with red liquid. She hadn’t said anything about being so badly hurt and Gwen wondered whether she’d actually been fully aware of her injuries with the shock and the blow to her head or if she just hadn’t wanted to worry them.
While the medics took Chastity away on a stretcher, the pilots stood in a loose group, staring at the aircraft that were being wheeled into the hangars.
The three heavily damaged aircraft had gotten down safely, although there had been a terrifying moment when Monty had lost control and for a second it had looked like his left wing was going to hit the ground and send him into a cartwheel, but he had managed to recover just in time.
Only a couple of the other aircraft had escaped unscathed, but it would have been a lot worse if Charles hadn’t warned them when he had. They were also fully aware that if the Wolfpack hadn’t been in the air already and Charles hadn’t been in communications range of them, then things would have turned out very differently.
‘So...’ said Mac. ‘It looks like the Barons are here.’
Gwen frowned. ‘I would have thought they’d be on one of the other fronts where the fighting was the heaviest.’
Bruce grinned. ‘Maybe they heard we were here and thought they’d come and say g’day.’
Monty rolled his eyes at his wingman. ‘Whatever their reason for turning up, they’re here now and it complicates matters somewhat.’
The Russian Resistance Page 30