The Russian Resistance

by Simon Brading

  Neither of them had mentioned the fact that Mac was leaving in a few short hours until they were walking back to the base.

  ‘Come with me. I can talk to Dot Campbell; I’m sure one more person on the ship won’t make any difference.’

  Katerina sighed and shook her head. ‘I can’t, William.’ She refused to call him Mac and had almost hit Bruce when he’d referred to him as “Mad Mac” one night. ‘I have to stay; my country needs all the soldiers it can get.’

  ‘But one soldier isnae gonna make a difference!’ Mac always made an effort to enunciate properly when he was with her, because of her difficulty with English, but in his consternation, he slipped back into a more familiar way of speaking.

  She stopped, pulling him around to face her and stared into his eyes. ‘How can you say that? You are a Misfit - you know what one person can do.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m a pilot, I have an aircraft.’

  ‘And I have just a gun, is that what you’re saying?’

  Mac took a deep breath and shook his head, knowing that he was getting into an argument that there was no way of winning. ‘No, of course not. You are much more than the gun that you carry.’

  She nodded curtly. ‘Too right, mate.’

  Mac winced, chuckling as she tried to imitate his accent and failed dismally, ending up sounding more like Bruce, which wasn’t particularly flattering. She’d known it would make him laugh, though, and had done it to try to lighten the mood. It had worked and he put his arm back around her as they started along the path again.

  ‘We will write to each other and then, when the war is over, maybe you can come in your aircraft and carry me away to Scotland.’

  Mac smiled. ‘I would love that, Kat. No matter how long it takes, I promise - I’ll come and get you and then we’ll make a home together.’

  ‘And I will teach you to make vodka.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes. I’ll make vodka with you. I’ll probably be chucked out of the clan, but I’ll make vodka with you.’

  ‘Good, because we will need it to wean the babies.’

  Mac stumbled to a halt as what she’d said caught up with him, but then grinned widely. ‘Aye, lass, we’ll need it for the bairns.’ He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms and locked his lips to hers.

  She pulled back fairly quickly, though and slapped his roving hands away. ‘Stop that, William! You know I can’t arrive back to barracks after curfew, not even for you. Not even on our last day together.’

  ‘I know, lass, I know. Sorry.’

  They began walking again, slightly faster than before, but still arm in arm, heading towards the buildings and the main gate.

  Light flared twenty yards in front of them as someone came out of the communications shed and they both shielded their eyes and squinted, trying to see who it was.

  ‘Tasha?’ Katerina called something out in Russian and the shadow, clearly female, despite wearing one of the shapeless but incredibly warm grey parkas that the Muscovites had all been issued with, turned towards them.

  There was a faint whir and Katerina sagged back against Mac with a sigh. He caught her, staggering slightly as he took her full weight, but then there was a hammer blow to his head and all he knew was darkness.

  Chapter 31

  Mac opened his eyes and groaned. His head hurt like he’d emptied an entire barrel of whisky and washed it down with a bottle of vodka.

  Vodka...

  ‘Kat!’ He rolled over, fighting against a wave of dizziness and found her lying beside him. ‘Kat! Kat, darlin’!’

  He pulled her to him and went to pat her cheek, but stopped. Her eyes were sightless, the light of the full moon making them glow with a life that they would never have again.

  ‘Oh, Kat, my sweet darling...’ Mac groaned as he softly rocked her back and forth, clutching her to him tightly as if he could squeeze life back into her. ‘My bonnie wee lassie...’

  He wanted nothing more than to stay there with her, to hold her to him and weep, but there would be plenty of time for that later.

  After he got revenge for her.

  He kissed her, then laid her gently back down, pulling her hood forwards over her face, before pushing himself up and staggering towards the communications shed to raise the alarm, taking great gulps of air as his head spun.

  Two men were stationed in the communications shed at all times, even with the party going on, but they were both dead, shot, and Mac spared them only a quick glance before lunging for the button which activated the klaxon that sent the squadrons into the air.

  Nothing happened.

  He thumped it with his palm several times, swearing when it refused to work, but then saw that the wires leading to it had been cut, as had the ones connected to the radio.

  No help was going to be forthcoming from the shed so he would have to find it elsewhere.

  He stumbled to the door and back out into the night, already breaking into a shambling run towards the guard post at the gate beyond the hangars, more than half a mile away, praying that the men there were still alive and had some means of summoning help.

  What was Natasha doing, though? Why kill everyone who saw her? She had a legitimate reason for being on the base, she didn’t need to sneak around.

  Unless...

  Unless she was getting rid of anyone who wasn’t deep in sleep or too drunk to stop her before carrying out some plan.

  Which implied that it could be stopped.

  Mac growled; his head hurt too much and his thoughts were just spinning around in circles, not making much sense. He just needed to put one foot in front of the other and find someone who would know what to do. Then he could get back to Katerina.

  The mess halls were silent, no lights on in either the eating areas or the kitchens, nor were there any mechanics or fitters working late in the machine shops. However, a faint light was shining through a crack in the blackout curtains of the hangar where the Misfit fighters were kept and Mac veered in that direction, hoping that perhaps one of the squadron’s fitters had snuck back to do some late-night adjustments, something that they often did.

  He pushed his way through the curtain and looked around, squinting in an effort to see in light that was only just brighter than that provided by the moon outside.

  Movement to his side made his pilot’s eyes flash in that direction and he caught sight of a shadow moving among B flight’s aircraft. He opened his mouth to call out, but immediately stopped when he realised that whoever it was, they weren’t acting like a pilot or a fitter, they were being altogether too stealthy.

  The figure disappeared momentarily from his view as it went under Hawk, but then, when it came back out the other side and moved to Jaguar, he got a better look and he snarled when he saw that the figure was blonde and wearing a Muscovite parka - it looked like he’d found Natasha.

  She had no idea he was there - he could sneak up on her and stop her himself.

  He padded as quietly as he could across the hangar, pausing only to grab a spanner from a workbench and snuck up behind the person as they bent to go under Dove.

  When she straightened up again, he was ready for her and he hefted the tool. ‘Natasha.’

  She whirled around and Mac swung the spanner.

  Almost too late he realised that it wasn’t Natasha, it was Polikasparov.

  He pulled the blow, only just managing to stop the heavy metal before it impacted with the man’s head.

  ‘Sorry, I thought you were, you were...’ Mac stuttered and came to a halt when he noticed the metal ball in the man’s hand and registered the one hanging from the wing of Dove - the balls were identical to the ones that Scarlet had used to destroy the Prussian aircraft.

  Polikasparov saw the direction of Mac gaze and knew that the game was up. He dropped the explosive and shoved his hand into his coat pocket.

  Before he could bring out his gun, the spanner struck him on the temple and he fell to the ground bonelessly, like a sack of spuds.

 
‘What the hell is going on?’ Mac muttered to himself, frowning down at the Russian pilot.

  A sound from outside, a high-pitched whine followed by a chuff, answered his question. It was the unmistakable sound of an aeronautical steam engine starting up.

  Mac bent down and grabbed the man’s gun from the ground and, as an afterthought, searched him for the small radio that sent the signal for the balls to explode; hopefully without that Polikasparov wouldn’t be able to destroy the aircraft if he somehow managed to regain consciousness before he could be secured.

  Mac staggered back outside and started running towards the next hangar in line. ‘I’m too old for this...’ He paused at the corner of the hangar, panting for breath, tired beyond all measure, and threw the detonator into the bushes between the buildings; he didn’t want to risk it falling back into the hands of the saboteurs and just had to hope that they didn’t have another. He gulped down deep breaths of the cold air, blinking to clear the sparks from his vision, and then willed himself to stumble on.

  The next hangar in the line was where C flight’s machines were kept. It was dark, but the doors were wide open and the blackout curtains pulled back, as if an aircraft were about to take off.

  The engine noise increased suddenly, changing in pitch and, to Mac’s horror, Owen’s radar aircraft, Bloodhound began to nose its way out.

  Mac reached deep inside, summoning what little energy he had left for one last sprint.

  He ran for the back door of Bloodhound, reaching it just as the aircraft started to turn onto the taxiway and began accelerating towards the end of the airfield. He fumbled with the latch, but lost his grip when the aircraft bumped over the uneven surface. He gritted his teeth, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the machine for very long and lunged for it again. This time the door swung open, almost sending him flying, but he recovered quickly and he dived inside, falling full length inside the compartment that held the radar apparatus.

  He lay there panting, fighting to get his breath back, being rocked back and forth as Bloodhound raced down the taxiway far too quickly - whoever was in the pilot’s seat was playing with fire, risking everything to get the aircraft off the ground before someone could stop them.

  With no time to lose, Mac forced himself to get up and staggered down the gangway towards the cockpit, breaking into a half-run, going as quickly as he could among machinery which jutted out unevenly on all sides, all the while swearing at how absurdly long the aircraft was.

  He was almost at the cockpit when Bloodhound decelerated, braking hard at the end of the taxiway with a loud squeal, and he stumbled, taken by surprise, and clutched at a bank of monitors to regain his balance, but was thrown sideways into one the bulkhead and tumbled to the floor as the aircraft veered sideways, swerving onto the runway.

  He gasped as something snapped in his chest, but adrenaline surged and he pushed himself back to his feet, clinging onto one of the engineer’s seats as the machine came to a halt and the airscrews on the steam engines started cycling up to full power for take-off.

  He was out of time.

  He took the last few paces to the cockpit at a sprint.

  ‘Stop! Shut down the engines!’

  He stood in the doorway of the cockpit, hanging onto the frame, fighting for breath through the pain in his side, but holding the pistol steady, pointing it at the woman sitting in the pilot’s seat.

  Natasha slowly turned to look at him.

  She took in the gun, then met his eyes coldly. ‘You will not shoot me.’

  ‘I bloody well will if you don’t shut down the damn engines.’

  Her eyes narrowed as if she were assessing the truth of his words. Finally, she nodded. ‘Very well.’

  She turned back towards the instrument panel, but then suddenly spun back towards him. There was a whirring noise and Mac flinched as something whined off the bulkhead next to him.

  Out of reflex, he fired.

  Natasha’s eyes went wide and her hand spasmed, the gun dropping from it to hit the floor with a clang. She frowned at him, seemingly puzzled, then slumped and rolled slowly out of the seat.

  Mac hurried forwards and started the engine shutdown process. He only just managed to complete it before darkness finally claimed him.

  Mac regained consciousness up when the medical staff tried to put him on a stretcher to carry him out of Bloodhound. He waved their hands away irritably and struggled to his feet, then moved to the door that was just behind the pilot’s compartment and looked out.

  He snorted in amusement; it was just as well that the Prussians had stopped sending bombers over at night because every single one of the base’s lights was on and the airfield was lit up as bright as day. Brighter, in fact, considering the weakness of the sun in winter at such high latitudes.

  The entire base had been roused by the sound of the engines, everyone not unconscious from drink anyway, and there were soldiers rushing around everywhere.

  ‘Mac!’

  Mac looked to his right to see Owen coming around the nose of the aircraft.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you on your feet, when I looked in on you, you were out cold and snoring to wake the dead...’ Owen went white as he realised what he had said. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mac, really. I wasn’t thinking...’

  Mac shook his head. ‘Dinna fash yerself, man. Kat was a soldier and we both knew that either one of us could die soon enough. I just didn’t expect...’ Mac broke off as a lump rose in his throat and he brushed away a tear angrily; he hadn’t cried for more than twenty years, he wasn’t going to start now. ‘Polikasparov!’ He said, suddenly remembering the saboteur. ‘He was putting explosives...’

  Owen held up his hands to forestall him. ‘He’s in custody and Scarlet is disarming the bombs as we speak, although things are still a bit hairy. Apparently, the detonator is missing. Neither Polikasparov nor Natasha had it, so people are worried that there’s some other bastard running around who might set the bombs off at any moment.’

  Mac shook his head, wincing at the pain the movement provoked. ‘I took it off Polikasparov and chucked it into the woods so that he couldn’t use it if he came around too quickly. I suppose I’d better go tell that to Abby. Sorry about the mess I made in your cockpit by the way.’

  Mac gave Owen a weak smile, then stepped down from the doorway, but stumbled, gasping at the pain in his ribs. ‘Dagnabbit....’

  The medical staff, who had been loitering, watching him warily, immediately leapt to grab him and he had to slap them away again. ‘Gerrof! Go bother someone who’s actually hurt!’

  Even though they didn’t understand his words, they understood his tone perfectly and backed off as Mac stomped away towards the base buildings a few hundred yards away. They followed him at a safe distance, though, keeping an eye on him and Mac didn’t say anything; he was feeling increasingly light-headed and short of breath and had no idea if he was going to be able to make it all the way.

  Thankfully, the rest of the Misfits saw him coming and rushed over to meet him.

  ‘Mac! You look bloody awful! Rough night?’

  Mac snarled at Bruce in reply, but saw the pain in the man’s eyes and realised that the humour was just his way of trying to cope with the crushing blow that he had also received, his feelings manipulated and his trust betrayed.

  Mac reined himself in, his expression softening slightly and he nodded sympathetically at his friend, then looked at Abby. ‘The detonator’s between hangars one and two. I chucked it into the woods. You can tell Scarlet she doesn’t need to brick it; she’s safe.’

  Abby nodded. ‘That’s good to hear. Well done, smart thinking.’ She glanced at Chastity. ‘Run along and let her know, please.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Chastity nodded and sprinted off towards the hangar.

  Abby frowned as she watched Chastity go. ‘I wasn’t actually telling her to run...’ She shook her head with a sigh. ‘That girl...’

  She grimaced then turned back to Mac. �
�The Muscovites wanted to take Katerina away to put her with the rest of the dead before they send her home for burial, but I wouldn’t let them until you’d woken up and had a chance to see her. She’s in the medical shed.’

  Mac nodded gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And while you’re there, get yourself patched up for pity’s sake.’

  Mac grumbled, but didn’t argue, instead he asked the question that had been on his mind since the moment the woman who had come to mean so much to him had died. ‘Why? Why did they do this?’

  Abby shrugged. ‘It’s too early to know. Polikasparov is already on his way to St. Petersburg for interrogation at General Popov’s orders, so we have no idea of his motives yet, but we found a camera disguised as a button and a small shortwave transceiver of Prussian design in Natasha’s kitbag on Bloodhound, so it looks like she’s been working for the Prussians for a while.’

  The words registered with Mac, but the more he tried to grasp their meaning, the more it slipped away and he swayed, blinking rapidly in an attempt to remain focussed on the group captain even as his eyes kept wanting to slide off to one side.

  Abby saw and stopped speaking, shaking her head. ‘Stubborn man.’ She waved to the medical staff, who were still hovering and they immediately came forward. ‘Go to the med centre and get your wounds seen to.’

  He automatically began to brush the men off, but Abby stopped him with a growl. ‘That’s an order, Mac.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Mac sighed and, with a great show of reluctance, let them lie him down on their stretcher. ‘But only because you insist; I don’t really need the help.’

  Abby smiled at him fondly. ‘Of course you don’t, Mac.’

  It was only weeks later, after Polikasparov had been thoroughly questioned, that he revealed why he had betrayed his country.

  When Polikasparov was growing up, his father had travelled the world, working in various aviation companies. One of those companies had been based in Bavaria and Polikasparov had gone to school there for a year. He had befriended another boy and, even after Polikasparov had left, the two had continued to correspond as they grew into men, sharing ideas as well as ideals.