‘Not half!’ grinned Scarlet. ‘Mac and Bruce have got girlfriends following them around the country.’
The journalist’s eyebrows shot up at that. ‘Really? That sounds absolutely terrifying.’
The Misfits laughed and Mac blushed in embarrassment, but Bruce just grinned proudly. ‘We met a couple of lovely Sheilas in St. Petersburg and they’ve been posted to Murmansk.’
‘They requested transfers here?’
‘Nah! They were in St. Petersburg finishing their training as something called “morale officers” and when they graduated, they asked to be assigned here.’ The Australian shrugged. ‘They got their choice no problem; it seems that nobody else wanted to be sent here. Don’t know why, the weather’s gorgeous!’
The pilots laughed again, all except Mac who was now scowling into his porridge.
‘Remarkable! And you’ve been seeing these girls on a regular basis?’
Mac growled at Featherstonehaugh. ‘Why the hell are you so interested in our love lives all of a sudden? Don’t you know there’s a war on?’
The journalist was taken slightly aback by the Scotsman’s vehemence, but recovered quickly. ‘I do apologise, Mr MacShane, but this is precisely the kind of thing I have been sent here to report on. The British people know about your successes in the air, they have heard of them over and over and never tire of them, but what they have never heard is who you are, what you are like as people. A story of this kind, a romance like this, a meeting of two cultures, so to speak, is something that will capture their attention and bring this war into their hearts, not just their homes.’
‘Very well then, write your damn article,’ Mac grumbled, not happy, but smart enough to see his point.
Featherstonehaugh gave him a bow. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He turned to Bruce, correctly assuming that he would get more out of him than Mac. ‘Considering the sensibilities of the British people, is there anything that I might be able to report that isn’t more suitable for the bordello?’
‘Not much!’ Bruce grinned happily, to further laughter from the pilots. ‘Oh, there is one thing you might put in - the girls insisted on a tour of the base.’
Scarlet blinked at him in shock. ‘We thought that was just a euphemism!’
Bruce grinned at her. ‘Well, she didn’t exactly call it a “tour”, but there was this one thing that Natasha did with her tongue...’
‘Back to the story, please, Bruce.’ Abby interrupted hurriedly, not particularly wanting the Australian to go into lurid details while they were eating.
‘Right oh, boss.’ He grinned at her, before turning back to the journalist, who had paused in his scribbling to look up at him. Bruce gave him a wink. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later, eh? You can teach it to Chastity.’
‘Bruce!’
Chastity looked horrified and had turned a bright red. Featherstonehaugh, though, was trying very hard not to laugh and waved for Bruce to go on.
‘Anyway. The girls, both of them, mind you, insisted on a tour of the whole base. I think they’re fans of the squadron - a bit like the civvies we met at the hospital, you know? Natasha says that Muscovite papers reported on how the war over England was going and they printed the stories that the British press reported on us. Apparently, they made us out to be even bigger heroes than they did back home, held us up as examples to follow or some such.’
Abby rolled her eyes. ‘I bet that impression didn’t survive very long in your company...’
Bruce grinned at her. ‘Actually, she was quite impressed with me later on when I...’
‘Yes! Thank you!’ Abby interrupted him again, putting her head in her hand and sighing. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what that poor girl sees in you.’ Bruce grinned and opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly pointed a finger at him to forestall him. ‘Do NOT answer that! Just get back to the story.’
Bruce shrugged. ‘There’s not much else to tell if you don’t want to hear what happened in the barracks later. We just had a look around the base, admired the aircraft for a while, then found a nice quiet spot to... you know.’
Featherstonehaugh finished scribbling with a flourish. ‘Excellent! The readers will love this, adds a wonderful human touch to what you’re doing here.’ He smiled. ‘Is there anything else? Scarlet, I hear you’re learning a fair amount about their culture, dancing and singing and whatnot. Is that right? How are you doing? Have you been learning the language as well?’
The Irishwoman grinned at him. ‘I’m pretty fluent in swearing, would you like to hear some?’
The journalist returned her grin with delight. ‘I would love to!’
Scarlet took a deep breath in preparation, but before she could begin to insult him, his lineage, his domestic animals and his dress sense, she was interrupted by a young soldier bringing two messages for Abby.
Silence fell as all eyes turned to the group captain.
Featherstonehaugh looked around. ‘Is it the order to scramble?’
Mac huffed at him, still not quite having forgiven the intrusion into his private life. ‘D’ya think we’d still be sitting here if it was?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘You’ll know when it’s time, lad; there’ll be a bloody awful klaxon fillin’ yer ears if they want us.’
Abby read the two messages, then looked up at them. ‘This is a radio message from Owen. The Crimson Barons were spotted over the border five minutes ago, carrying out ground attacks on the troops stationed along the river. He had them on radar the whole time, but didn’t know it was them until the Muscovites gave visual confirmation.’
Owen had been up in the air since well before dawn, watching for Prussian movements. With the snow coming down, the optical system in Charles’ Vulture was almost useless, whereas Bloodhound’s radar was unaffected.
‘So, he knows where they are based.’
Abby nodded at Derek, who had seen the implications of the message before everyone else. ‘He does. They’ve set up shop at the same airfield we attacked with the bombers.’
‘So, why weren’t we put into the air to stop them and when are we going to go and shoot the hell out of their aircraft?’ Mac spoke through gritted teeth, his clenched fist banging the table to punctuate his words.
There was very vocal support of his suggestion from most of the pilots around the table, but Abby just shook her head.
‘It wouldn’t work; they have too many fighters now and they won’t ever be all landing at the same time, low on tension. Also, I’m fairly sure they’d be ready for something like that. As for why we didn’t intercept them, it’s because they’re not a priority target.’
‘Of course they bloody are!’ replied Mac. ‘They shot down Penny, they...’ He stopped, panting for breath, slowly bringing himself under control. ‘I’m sorry, Abby. Why? Why aren’t they a target for us?’
‘Simply put, because the destruction of a single fighter squadron, even the Barons, will do nothing to save the Muscovites and we are better used against bombers and ground targets.’ She waved the second piece of paper. ‘So, at least for now, we’re under strict orders to avoid any engagement with the Barons.’ She looked around the group, making sure that everyone had understood, then glanced at the clock on the wall above the door. ‘Come on, finish eating, then go get your flightsuits on; I doubt the Prussians are going to wait around much longer.’
The Misfits had just enough time to admire Chastity in her new Petrov flightsuit (it was white to match Dove and she looked absolutely stunning, especially with the Tsar’s black fur over the top) before they were scrambled to intercept a Prussian bombing raid heading for Murmansk.
The snow-laden clouds were thick, but low, and above them was clear blue sky as far as the eye could see. They found the Polikasparovs of the Night Witches waiting for them at thirty thousand feet over the city and turned with them towards the approaching bombers.
There was something very familiar about the situation to Gwen and she smiled when she realised what it was - aside f
rom the heavy clouds and the sun that was still low on the horizon, despite it being hours after dawn, the situation was very reminiscent of the interceptions they had flown over England; they were heavily outnumbered and being sent to attack bombers that were heading for a city.
She just hoped that the outcome would be the same as the majority of those interceptions.
‘Wolverine Leader, this is Pinpoint, come in please.’
Gwen grinned at the callsign that Dorothy “Dot” Campbell had chosen for herself and there was laughter in Abby’s voice when she responded. ‘Pinpoint, this is Wolverine Leader, reading you loud and clear. I’m told you have some business for us.’
‘Roger, Wolverine. One hundred plus aircraft, heading two eight zero. Fifty miles out at angels twenty-five.’
‘Just like old times, Pinpoint.’
‘Roger that, Wolverine. Prioritise bombers, please, repeat, prioritise bombers.’
‘Roger, Pinpoint.’
‘Thank you, Wolverine. Happy hunting.’
‘Thank you, Pinpoint. Wolverine out.’
As soon as Campbell signed off Abby came over the squadron frequency. ‘Right, you heard her, Wolverines, we’re going for the bombers. Break straight through the fighter cover, only taking shots if they present themselves, then concentrate all fire on the bombers. When the fighters try to engage, do what you have to, but do not follow if they break off. Understood?’
Eight British and ten Muscovite pilots acknowledged her, but then they flew on in silence, heading almost due west towards the enemy formation, each of them preparing for battle in their own way.
The combined squadrons intercepted the bombers more than twenty miles before they reached the city and dived as a single unit, forming a solid wedge that they drove through the covering fighters, scattering them to the winds and destroying two, one by Abby and the other shared between Kitty and Derek, before cutting into the bomber formation. Several bombers went down to the concentrated fire of the Misfit pairs and the Muscovites accounted for two more, their four large calibre machine guns in each wing doing good work on the Prussian aircraft.
After having spent so much time attacking ground targets, which was very two-dimensional work, the attack on the bombers came as a welcome change for Gwen, a return to the freedom that was what she had loved so much about flying and that had made her want to dedicate her life to it as a child. She felt truly alive again for the first time since the raid on the fighter base as she followed Abby in and around the bombers, using the greater speed of their new springs to make longer runs than they had done previously and outrunning the fighters each time they tried to cut them off.
All too soon, the bomb bay doors of the bombers opened and they dropped their payloads. For several seconds, ironclad death fell screaming into the clouds far below, but then, as one, the Prussians turned and dived for home.
The Misfits pursued, the Polikasparov fighters with them, and they destroyed several more, but the bombers went into the clouds after only a couple of minutes and it became impossible to follow them, so they were forced to break off. They were more than happy with the morning’s work, though, as more than a dozen enemy aircraft were littering the countryside for only a single Muscovite fighter downed in return.
The snow had worsened and visibility was very limited when the Misfits arrived back at Vaenga. The base was impossible to pick out from the surrounding countryside and if it hadn’t been for a couple of flares, one placed at each end of the airfield, they might have missed it.
Landing was quite dicey; a foot or more of snow had accumulated on the ground and that provided a drag on the wheels that threatened to tear them off first, then, when that failed, tried to tip the aircraft nose first into the ground. The Misfits had been forewarned of the danger by Staff-Captain Polikasparov, Baryshnikov’s second-in-command, before he took off, but they weren’t quite ready for how bad it was and it was only by some judicious use of throttle and ailerons, that they were able to avoid disaster.
As soon as they had handed their aircraft over to the fitters for rewinding and refitting, they slogged through the snow to the mess hall, seeking to warm up over a cup of tea and a snack and found the four pilots of C flight inside.
‘Owen? Shouldn’t you still be up?’
The Welshman nodded at Abby’s question. ‘I did tell Campbell that I could stay up for longer, but she ordered me down, just in case the weather worsens more.’
‘That’s sensible, I suppose, but we won’t have any warning if another raid come over.’
Owen shook his head. ‘She told me to tell you that there wouldn’t be any more interceptions.’
Abby blinked in surprise. ‘Really? Why?’
‘Apparently, very little damage was done to military installations this morning because the bombs mostly fell on civilian areas of the city. The generals are happy with that and feel that their resources are better spent against ground targets, which are a much greater threat.’
Abby stared at him coldly. ‘And she agreed?’
‘Yes...’
Owen was interrupted before he could say any more by swearing and disgusted comments from many of the pilots and he sat impassively, waiting for the chance to continue.
‘Pipe down, everybody.’ Abby’s command was quiet and barely audible over the hubbub, but it was instantly obeyed nonetheless. ‘Go on, Owen.’
‘She said she agrees with their tactics in principle because the Prussians have to make a move soon and that will be with ground forces, so we have to weaken them while we have the chance. However, she also said that she doesn’t agree one bit with the callous way the Muscovites are treating their citizens.’
Abby stared into her tea for long seconds, deep in thought, but in the end, however much she hated it, she could only come to the same conclusion. ‘They’re right.’
Her words caused another uproar and she held her hand up for silence so that she could explain herself.
‘We saw this in France and we saw this in Britain. Yes, air power can soften a target and destroy the ability to make war, but without troops and mechanised brigades on the ground you cannot hold or take a territory.’ She looked around the group. ‘Our job here is to prevent the Prussians from gaining and holding this territory, so, logically, our best chance is to weaken their ground troops as much as possible and if that means leaving the bombers alone, then so be it.’
She held her hand up again before her pilots could protest. ‘The first time I met him, I told the Muscovite General what I thought about him putting civilians in danger and it didn’t do a blind bit of difference, so nothing we say now is going to change anything. At the end of the day, though, if the Prussians cross the river into the city, the result will be a lot worse than the dozen or so bombing raids that we may or may not have been able to prevent. So yes, while I don’t like it any more than any of you do, I agree with the necessity and in the long run it will probably save more lives.’
She took a deep drink of her tea, then met the eyes of her pilots one by one. ‘Anybody got anything to say? Constructive, that is, and not just swearing.’
Before anyone could answer her, though, there were several almighty clangs from outside, like metal collapsing in on itself, that made everybody jump. There was a moment of silence and then mugs and chairs crashed to the floor as the pilots raced to the door.
At first they thought that the Harridan lying on its back only yards away had merely fallen victim to the snow and tipped over, but then they saw the holes in it and the blood dripping from the pilot as he hung limply from his straps, far too much of it to have just been from the impact.
Chapter 24
For one awful moment, Gwen thought that the man in the Harridan was Drake; his face and body were covered with blood, obscuring his identity, and, since they had run out of paint, the new recruits were flying unpainted Harridans, just like the instructors. However, a quick glance at the roundels told her that it was one of the Muscovite machines and she w
ould have sighed in relief if it weren’t for the fact that there was a man dying in front of her, full of bullet holes that shouldn’t have been there if Wolfpack Squadron had stayed out of trouble like they’d supposed to.
More Harridans appeared as ghostly forms in the snowy sky and it became clear that the first wasn’t the only one with damage. There was only one more mishap on landing, though, when the pilot of an aircraft with its undercarriage and almost half of its left wing missing tried to land on a single wheel instead of just pancaking. The stub of the wing inevitably dug into the ground and sent the aircraft into a spin that broke pieces off, but surprisingly didn’t rip the sturdy Harridan apart. The pilot walked away from the experience bruised and dizzy, but in one piece.
Baryshnikov and Polikasparov landed easily, their experience with similar conditions telling, as did Pemberton and Howard. Another pilot got down safely after them, but had to be carried off to the medical centre with bullet or shrapnel wounds.
Of Drake and the final five Muscovite pilots there was no sign.
Pemberton leapt out of her Harridan as soon as it came to a halt and went storming through the snow towards Baryshnikov, tearing her gloves off as she went and Abby’s eyes flew wide in alarm.
‘Stop her, for pity’s sake!’
Mac, Bruce, Monty and Wendy immediately sprinted as best as they can through the snow and grabbed the small woman only yards before she reached the Russian, and dragged her back to Abby.
‘Let me go, damn you! Let me go right now! I’ll have you bloody court-martialled with him if you don’t BLOODY. LET. ME. GO!’ Pemberton was only a couple of inches taller than Scarlet, but she was powerful and the four pilots were having trouble holding her back as she kicked and struck out at them, trying to get away.
‘Squadron Leader!’
The pilots released Pemberton and Abby’s commanding voice brought her up short before she could charge off again.
‘Explain yourself, Squadron Leader. What the hell happened up there?’
The Russian Resistance Page 32