The Russian Resistance

by Simon Brading

  ‘Why?’ Abby looked around the group. ‘Why does it make things more complicated? It’s not as if we didn’t know they would send more fighters. And who cares that it’s the Barons? They’re just another Prussian squadron, better than most, yes, but we’ve beaten them before and we’ll do it again.’

  She glared at them all, daring them to contradict her and when they didn’t, she nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Right then, buck the hell up, because we have work to do if we want to be back in the air in time to make a difference when the Barons, and whoever else they brought with them, start escorting the bombers over.’

  One by one, Gruber removed the photos from the box and pinned them to the wall of his new office. As he did so, he took a few seconds to look at each of them, following the superb lines of the Misfit aircraft on them, lines that he knew by heart after staring at them for hours on end.

  The photos were bad quality, dim and grainy, unfocused and poorly framed, taken from a camera concealed in a hat, but they were good enough to get a clear idea of the new machines. He still didn’t know what the British had called them, but he could easily imagine how they handled - the smooth lines and sleek forms slipping through the air as he flew them in his imagination, in his dreams. They were remarkable machines, each showing Gwen Stone’s unique touch, and copies of the photos were already being analysed by Herr Blume to see what could be learnt from them for the next generation of Blutsaugers.

  He had been looking forward to burning at least a few of the photographs that day, anticipating being sent other trophies to go with the ones hanging in the mess in Bertha, but he’d been disappointed and instead he had to arrange for a box containing a red tailplane to be sent across the river.

  He’d send it to Murmansk, though; it wouldn’t do to let the other Misfits know he was aware of the location of their base until he turned up to raze it to the ground.

  Chapter 23

  True to Abby’s prediction, the Prussians immediately sent a bombing raid up. They were accompanied by two squadrons of MU9s and another of HH190s.

  The Misfits’ aircraft were too beaten up to do anything about them, though, so, while the Wolfpack and a recently-reassigned squadron, an all-female squadron equipped with Polikasparovs called the “Night Witches”, were sent out to intercept them, they spent their time patching holes, replacing Duralumin panels, Hawk’s airscrew and the glass of Dove’s canopy.

  The afternoon brought with it surprise guests in the form of a fast scout aircraft carrying Dorothy Campbell, whose negotiations had finally concluded, as well as Freddy Featherstonehaugh and the photographer, Mr Jones.

  While Mr Jones immediately began taking photographs and the sky commodore greeted the Misfits, the journalist barely stopped long enough to say hello before rushing to see Chastity, who was awake and recovering, but on bed rest for at least a couple of days.

  Campbell shook her head as she watched him running at full speed around the corner of the mess hall, heading to the medical centre. ‘He hasn’t sat still the whole flight up. At one point I thought I was going to have to throw him out the door just to get him to stop asking me if the aircraft was going as fast as it could.’

  Abby smiled. ‘I knew those two had something going on, but I thought it was just a bit of a fling.’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s fairly serious. There’s no ring involved or anything yet, but he did get her a pretty expensive gift in St. Petersburg.’ Campbell grinned. ‘Bet you can’t guess what it was.’

  ‘A Fabergé egg?’

  ‘Not even close. He somehow got her measurements and persuaded Anton Petrov to make her a flightsuit.’

  ‘Oh!’ Abby’s eyes widened.

  Kitty nudged Gwen in the ribs to catch her attention. ‘Who’s Anton Petrov?’

  ‘He’s the man who made my flightsuit and Abby’s. He makes arguably the best performance flightsuits in the world.’

  Bruce overheard her and shook his head with a grin. ‘Nah, that’s Cobber Brown, down in Aussie - best Rooskin suits you’ve ever worn!’

  Gwen chuckled. ‘Well, if you don’t fancy wearing a flightsuit made from Kangaroo leather or particularly feel like going all the way to Australia to get one, Petrov’s suits are the next best thing. Mine is a bit of an antique - my parents got it for me for my sixteenth birthday, but Abby’s is only a year or so old by the look of it, which is why she has controls for her lenses in her gloves and connectors for aircraft systems, which I don’t.’

  Kitty nodded slowly. ‘OK... I’m guessing a flightsuit like that would be expensive then.’

  Abby nodded. ‘My flightsuit was a gift from the King - he gave it to me when he gave the Misfits permission to wear non-uniform flightsuits. I would never have been able to afford one otherwise and lord knows how Freddy did, but his timing is superlative; I’m fairly sure they had to cut Chastity’s flightsuit off her.’

  ‘I’ve always felt a bit bad seeing her in that bloody awful RAC monstrosity while we look so fabulous in our custom-made suits.’ Scarlet said with a grin.

  Abby gave her a scathing look. ‘Quite apart from that, she’ll be able to better use Dove’s capabilities now, without the risk of blacking out.’

  ‘That’s what I meant.’ Scarlet crossed her eyes at Abby and flounced away towards the mess, to the laughter of the rest of the Misfits.

  Abby shook her head with a smile and turned back to Campbell. ‘We were just about to take a break for dinner. Would you care to join us?’

  ‘I’d love to, but please tell me there’s a shortage of beetroot up here in the north.’

  ‘No such luck I'm afraid.’

  ‘Oh well, never mind...’ Campbell sighed then looked around and dropped her voice. ‘Um. Do you think you can find us a table in a quiet corner so I can let you all know what’s happening?’

  ‘Wolfpack are still up, so it should be just us in there.’

  ‘Good. Because the Tsar doesn’t want the rank and file knowing how badly things are going.’

  Gwen shared an alarmed look with Kitty, then together they joined the suddenly sombre procession into the mess hall.

  Once they had gotten their food and were settled around a table in the corner of the mess hall near the fire, where the crackling and popping of the wood would cover their words a bit, the Sky Commodore began to fill them in on what was going on with the war on the Eastern Front.

  They hadn’t heard much of what was happening beyond their own theatre in the north, but what little had been filtering through had been generally optimistic. The reality, according to Campbell, was much different.

  ‘The few successes you’ve been enjoying up here are the only one we’ve had. Greece, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Rumania, the Ukraine, the Baltic territories, they’ve all fallen and the Prussians have been pushing forwards along an eight-hundred-mile front. They’ve all but shot the Muscovite Air Service out of the sky and have been making deeper and deeper incursions for the last week or so.’

  ‘Can the Muscovites hold them?’ Abby leaned forward, propping herself up on her elbows and speaking barely above a whisper.

  ‘The short answer is no. They have troops, millions of them, and they have the will, but they don’t have the weapons. Only a few places are managing to hold out and most of those are the ones that have our tanks and guns, the rest are being overrun and the Prussians are driving towards St. Petersburg and Moscow.’

  Campbell glanced around again to make absolutely sure that nobody was close enough to overhear her. ‘The Tsar is making preparations to evacuate his family to the east.’

  Mac growled. ‘If he’s buggering off, why the hell are we still here fighting for him?’

  ‘Because the winter will stop the Prussian offensive further south, just like it will here. When that happens, the Muscovites will have at least a couple of months to build armaments and, combined with the supplies we bring in, that should be enough for them to mount a better resistance. But only if we keep these northern passages open to bri
ng those supplies in. If the Prussians push us out of Murmansk there will be no way for us to help and Muscovy will most likely be lost.’

  Abby nodded her understanding. ‘So, what you’re saying is that the Muscovites are throwing sticks and stones at the Prussians, trying to hold them back long enough so they don’t conquer the whole damn country before winter comes and we need to hold on here so that we can bring in more weapons for the spring.’

  ‘Essentially, yes. There is one good thing to report, though, and that is that the Ottomans have barricaded themselves in and insist on remaining neutral, which means that the route into Muscovy through Persia is closed for the Prussians, at least for now. We’re looking at opening that up as a supply route as an alternative to the north, but we need to make headway in North Africa before we can do that and the Italians are making that bloody difficult at the moment. Plus, the Prussians are pushing hard towards Tsaritsyn and the Caspian Sea in the south to try to cut that route off before we can open it, so we may need the northern route for a bit longer than we thought.’

  Campbell looked around the group before settling once more on Abby. ‘And what about you? Are you going to be able to hold on here for a few more weeks?’

  ‘If you’d asked me that question yesterday then I would have said yes. Definitely. Today, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Because of the Barons?’

  ‘Yes. Their presence means we can’t keep attacking the reinforcement columns like we need to. Any other squadron we’d be able to take care of and still do damage to the Prussian ground forces, but them...’

  ‘Is it only the Barons you’re worried about, though? There’s nothing else?’

  The sound of the Wolfpack returning from their patrol came from outside the hall and Campbell stared pointedly at Abby.

  Abby’s lips briefly twitched into a snarl. ‘Things would probably be easier if we were working with a more disciplined squadron, but in the grand scheme of things I don’t think it would make much difference.’

  ‘Alright.’ Campbell nodded and forked the last of her meal into her mouth, grimacing slightly as she chewed then swallowed, washing it down with a mouthful of kvass. ‘Bleurgh, I can’t wait to get home. I certainly hope the Arturo’s got some proper British stores left for the trip back, even if it’s just bully beef and spam.’ She wiped her mouth with a napkin then sighed. ‘Well, I’ve got to get moving; I need to get to Murmansk before it’s dark. I’ll be liaising with command there and hopefully we can work something out to delay the Prussians a bit.’

  She stood up and gazed around the group, giving each of them a warm smile. ‘Just keep doing what you’re doing and I’m sure we’ll come through this fine.’

  The Misfits accompanied Campbell outside to see her off. Abby was mildly annoyed to see that an autocar had been provided for her, whereas she had had to make do with a bike messenger, but she said nothing, only put on a big smile and waved with the others.

  Once the Sky Commodore’s vehicle was out of sight, the pilots went back to their aircraft, joining the fitters who were just getting back from their own meal.

  At the end of the day, the only aircraft that weren’t yet airworthy were Raptor and Jaguar, which would require a long night of work by the fitters to finish. Supplies of paint had long since run out, though, to the horror of the Wolfpack pilots, and most of the fighters had to be left with unpainted panels spoiling their colours. In fact, the only aircraft which was still completely as it had been when it arrived, apart from Hummingbird, Vulture and Bloodhound, which had seen no actual combat, was Dragonfly, a testament to her pilot’s skill.

  The Misfits woke the next day to a world which had turned completely white. Snow was falling in thick fluffy chunks and had settled, covering the airfield and buildings in a pristine blanket.

  Gwen rubbed the sleeve of her dressing gown on the window to clear the condensation off and looked outside. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Kitty leaned over her shoulder, taking full advantage of the opportunity to put her arm around Gwen, who looked around to make sure that nobody was watching before snuggling against her. ‘Yes. It is.’ The tall American turned away from the view to gaze into Gwen’s eyes. ‘And so are you,’ she whispered. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  Gwen smiled up at her, but at a discreet, and at the same time knowing, cough from Scarlet, they separated and started getting dressed.

  The night of the party they’d gone straight to the barracks, but unfortunately, they’d only had a few minutes alone together before some of the other pilots arrived. However, Gwen found her pulse quickening when she recalled the feel of Kitty’s hard body under her hands as they’d fumbled at each other’s clothing, the feel of her silky skin and the way she’d gasped as Gwen had...

  ‘You don’t half look gormless with that big grin stuck on your face, Gwen.’

  Scarlet’s laugh snapped Gwen out of her daydreaming and she realised that she had been standing motionless with her shirt only half-buttoned, staring at Kitty. She gave the irrepressible Irishwoman a happy grin, but winced inwardly; slip-ups like that were fine around the Misfits, but if she did something similar in front of Drake, he would know that she had as good as lied to him.

  She resolved to speak to him as soon as she could, then hurriedly finished getting ready and followed the rest of the squadron outside, joining them in their delight in the novel circumstances.

  Baryshnikov was with his squadron, preparing for takeoff. He had lost several pilots the day before, intercepting the bombing raid, and replacements had arrived just before midnight. The Wolfpack was going up with the three instructors on a training flight before breakfast to get the new pilots used to the Harridans so that they wouldn’t be out of their depth when they went into combat, which meant it was just the Misfits on standby for any Prussian raids that came over that morning.

  They wandered over to him and Abby asked him the question they were all thinking. ‘Are you flying in this?’

  He frowned as if he didn’t quite understand the question. ‘Of course! Why not?’ He looked around them, at their fur coats hugged tightly around their bodies, silk scarves around their necks and uniform hats pulled low and laughed. ‘Oh, my naive British friends, this is not winter! This is just, how do you say it? A bit of “brisk” weather! If we didn’t fly in weather like this we would never fly. It would be like you British refusing to go up in the rain!’

  He grinned at their doubtful expressions. ‘Do not worry my friends, a bit of snow has never killed anyone. Except the Swedish. And the French.’ He trailed off and walked away, laughing.

  ‘Morning all.’ Pemberton wandered over with Howard and Drake in tow, their aircraft prepped and ready.

  Gwen nodded to Drake who gave her a dazzling smile in return.

  ‘What do you think of flying in this weather?’ Abby asked the squadron leader.

  Pemberton grinned and dropped her voice so that the Wolfpack couldn’t hear him. ‘If the bloody Russkies can fly in it, so can we, what?’

  The Misfits chuckled and Abby nodded. ‘Indeed. I’m sure we’ll be up soon enough as well, unless of course the Prussians decide that they want to stay at home and build snowmen. Have a good flight.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  Pemberton nodded and went back to her machine, followed by Howard, but Gwen screwed up her courage and grabbed Drake to stop him leaving.

  He looked at the hand on his arm and grinned. ‘Did you change your mind about that dance, Goosy?’

  Gwen smiled. ‘Not exactly. I just need to speak to you about something.’

  He laughed and gestured at the line of Harridans behind him. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m supposed to be flying into a snow storm in a minute. Is it important or can we leave it for when I get back?’ he frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, no, nothing’s wrong.’ Gwen quickly waved away his question, not wanting him to be worried about her when he was in the air. �
��It’s not urgent, we’ll talk when you get back.’

  ‘Alright.’ Drake nodded. ‘Get the cooks to smoke me a kipper would you? I’ll be back for breakfast. We can speak then.’

  Gwen couldn’t help but laugh; they’d had sleepovers a few times in each other’s houses and he’d always insisted on kippers for breakfast, even though she hated them and couldn’t stand the way they smell. She wouldn’t be able to get near enough to speak to him properly if he was eating them, not to mention how bad his breath would be. She shook her head and punched him on the arm. ‘Not on your life, Digger. See you soon.’

  He winked, then turned and jogged off to his aircraft.

  Gwen watched him go, dreading the conversation to come, then hurried into the warmth of the mess.

  Freddy Featherstonehaugh was supporting Chastity as she hobbled in to join them at breakfast and saw her settled before he sat down himself. There was a thick bandage around her head and she was moving with exaggerated care, but she had a better colour to her skin and no longer looked like death warmed up. She wouldn’t be fully recovered for a while but had been released from the medical bay after a good night’s sleep during which Featherstonehaugh had refused to leave her side.

  ‘Interesting coat, Mr Featherstonehaugh.’ Abby pointed at the journalist’s brown thigh-length jacket, which he had hung from a peg on the wall next to the long row of Misfit furs. It was of an unusual cut, with a particularly striking and complicated geometrical pattern of threads and beads decorating its front.

  ‘Mr Jones and I were presented them by the Inuit during our mission for Imperial Geographic. They’re caribou skin lined with wolverine fur.’ He grinned. ‘Which, I suppose, is a little bit of a coincidence, Wolverine Leader.’

  ‘Let’s call it a good omen, shall we?’

  The journalist laughed. ‘A good omen, I’ll make a note of that.’ He looked around the group. ‘So, did I miss much?’