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Subject: {ASSM} (Rewritten and Serialised) Butterfly and Falcon (Part 23) By Katzmarek (Hist, rom,Mf,MF)
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Date: Sun, 08 Jan 2006 06:10:02 -0500
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 Part 23

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<1st attachment, "Butterfly and falcon23.txt" begin>

BUTTERFLY AND FALCON (Part 23)

   By KATZMAREK (C)

   --------------------------------

   Author's note.

   This is a work of fiction based on fact.  Opinions and interpretations
of events expressed are my own and as such are entirely contestable.

   This remains my property and may not be used for gain without my express
permission in writing.

   -------------------------------------------------

   "You will be travel down to Minsk," Rhykov was saying, "there, you will
be taken to an airfield.  We have two planes prepared, specially adapted
MiGs.  You will learn to fly these planes.  They are very fast, everything
has been stripped from them, guns, armour, everything!"

   "They both have special engines," added Lieutenant Colonel Chernagovka,
"with superchargers.  Very special engines.  It's important that they don't
fall into German hands."

   "Both planes are to be fitted with demolition charges," continued
Rhykov, "with delayed fuses.  They will be set to destroy the aircraft
automatically in the event of a crash.  You understand this is important?"
John Greenhaugh and Jana Ivanova both nodded.  "And especially as some of
the technology is not Russian."

   "What?" John asked, "whose technology is it?" Both senior officers
looked at each other.  Jana hadn't seen this before.  Rhykov, an admitted
GPU Agent, and Chernagovka, suspected of working for Military Intelligence,
the GRU; both in the same room and apparently cooperating on the same
secret mission.

   "The engines...  are British," Rhykov said to a shocked silence from the
two pilots.  "We have...  some special contacts with the British Secret
Services.  But this is top secret."

   The third man spoke up.  He wore civilian dress and, like Rhykov, called
himself only by a surname, Sokolev.  He told them that, if captured alive,
they were expected to commit suicide with a Cyanide pill each of them were
to carry.

   "This, of course, won't happen," added Rhykov, "because you are such
fine pilots!"

   "Of course!" said Sokolev.

   The fourth man said he was from the Air Force's Cartographical Service
and wore the uniform of a Captain.  He pointed to a map spread on the
table.

   "Bialystok!  We believe there has been a build up of German forces in
the past few weeks.  Agents on the ground have not been able to penetrate
German security in the area.  It is important that we know what has been
established by way of airstrips, vehicle parks, depots, that sort of
thing."

   "But particularly Fighter Units," Chernagovka interrupted.  "Contacts,
from the French and British have indicated that several key German Fighter
Groups have been removed from France.  Where they've gone, we don't know.
It is important that we find these squadrons."

   "Yes," added Rhykov, "some suggestion has been made that they're in
Poland.  If so, it's vital that we know.  It could mean that their
timetable is very advanced."

   "Is that why the British are involved?" asked John.

   "We've always had some exchange of information with the English," Rhykov
said, "but lately they have displayed more willingness to cooperate.  We
think this is significant."

   "You've *always* exchanged information?" Jana asked, incredulous.

   "At some level," confirmed Rhykov, "only when it suits, of course.  We
leave the bullshit to Governments and get on with our business."

   "We've carefully plotted a route for you avoiding all known German
concentrations.  However, the information we have is not totally reliable.
There may be anti-aircraft sites, airfields that we're not aware of,"
Chernagovka said.

   "You need to be at a very low height," added Rhykov, "the lower the
better.  These squadrons, if they're there, will be heavily camoflaged. 
The MiGs are fitted with high resolution cameras, thanks to our British
Intelligence friends, which are rigged to the gun button on your control
sticks.  Both the English and ourselves are desperate for proof and we need
photographs.  That is why you have been chosen.  You two are regarded as
the best stunt plots in Russia.  If you succeed and obtain this information
you'll be heroes.  If you fail to get anything, ok, but someone else will
have to try.  If you disappear, we know nothing.  That is the way of it. 
You must study these charts and memorise them, routes, search area, until
you know them in your sleep."

   "It's a very wooded area," Chernagovka said, "you must stay below the
treeline as much as possible to give you a chance.  Remember the MiGs are
very fast..."

   "How fast?" John asked.

   "Over 600 kmh...  in excess of 400 miles per hour!"

   "Christ!"

   "They have Rolls-Royce Merlin engines with fuel injection and
superchargers, perhap 16, 1700 horsepower?"

   "We would like to build them," Chernagovka told them, "but they are a
difficult motor to build in Russia.  Besides, the English won't let us and
without their technical assistance we'd be wasting our time."

   "The MiGs have a superficial resemblance to the Messerschmitt," Rhykov
continued, "we think, with the element of surprise, you will be mistaken
for friendly aircraft.  That's why we selected these aircraft.  The MiGs
have their national markings painted over and finished in not unlike a
standard Luftwaffe camoflage scheme.  Their people will not like the
deception," he chuckled, "not like it at all."

   "We thought," smiled Chernagovka, "that you ought to have a unit marking
painted on the nose, like German fighters.  For you, John, it must be a
puppet, no?  But Jana, we can't decide what your's ought to be."

   "A prancing horse!" she said, "wild, free!" They all looked at her in
surprise.

   "Very well!" Rhykov shrugged, "I'll pass that on.  Mare or stallion?" he
asked, glancing at John.

   "It doesn't need to be that detailed," laughed Chernagakov, "we leave
something to the imagination, yes?" They all laughed.

   -------------------------------

   As the Summer of 1941 rolled on, tension was high on the German/Soviet
border.  Rumour and speculation abounded and concerned Officers worried
about possible incidents between the nervous border troops.

   The Soviets had extensive networks of agents inside Poland, but during
1941 the SS, Gestapo and the SD had embarked on a terror campaign to root
out Communist sympathisers.  Many innocents were caught up, but also most
of the Soviet spy rings were neutralised.  Polish woods rang with gunfire
as the SS went about executing anyone suspected of spying for Russia.

   But something was happening.  Despite secrecy, long trains of war
materiel, road convoys, new construction of camps and depots and the
preparation of airfields couldn't go unnoticed.  Units were spirited away
from France and this information was conveyed to the Soviets through
Communist networks and to the British by the Resistance.

   However, it should be noted, that Communists in France had been ordered
by the Comintern not to participate in aggressive activities towards the
occupying German army.  In return, the SS left the Communists unmolested,
although they were watched carefully and dossiers kept on their members.

   There were accusations that Communists had informed on members of the
French Resistance and cooperated with the SS.  This caused almost
unsurmountable impediments when the Resistance and Communists were
eventually compelled to work on the same side.  Even then, French
Communists continued to further Soviet interests rather than the Allied
cause as a whole.

   Soviet/British intelligence cooperation before the German invasion is
shadowy and speculative.  That some sharing of information happened is
true, but how far such contacts went will probably never be known.

   -------------------------------------

   John and Jana studied the charts and material carefully as they were
flown down to Minsk.  There, they were driven out to the secret airstrip,
buried deep in the forest.  It was too small to land a large aircraft, only
large enough for the special MiGs to take off and land.

   The airfield was heavy with NKVD and Police security.  The aircraft were
hidden under the trees with camoflage netting spread over them.  They'd
already been painted in the fake Luftwaffe scheme but still sported the Red
Star on the fusilage and wings.  It wouldn't do to be shot down by nervous
anti-aircraft troops during training.

   They were only allowed two days in which to become familiar with the
MiG. So different from a standard MiG 3 was this plane that it hadn't been
allocated a type or service designation.  The engineers informally named it
the MiG 3bis (super) or just 'Super-MiG.'

   It featured the characteristic long snout of the MiG 3, but the prop was
a standard British Rotol.  The rear of the fusilage had been lengthened
about half a metre and the fin increased in area.  The big Merlin was
heavier than the Hispano-Suiza-based engine of the original aircraft so the
centre of gravity had to be moved back to prevent the aircraft from being
'nose-heavy.' Its guns had been removed and the leading edges of the wings
fared over.  The wingtips themselves had been 'clipped' or 'blunted' in an
effort to reduce drag.  The effect was not unlike a Messerschmitt Bf 109E
model.  Unlike the Messerschmitt, however, the cockpit was set back level
with the trailing edge of the wing.  The Pilot's view downwards was still
restricted, as John had complained back in late 1939.

   The British Merlin engine was wider than the M105 of the original plane.
Consequently the closely cowled engine flared upwards in a bulge around the
cylinder heads.  Additionally, it had a lengthened spinner and wider,
longer airscrew.  The undercarriage oloe legs had to be longer accordingly,
to keep the prop tips from hitting the ground on take off.  The effect
wasn't asthetic and John wondered how he could possibly see out of the
cockpit when taking off on the short field.

   "We thought of that," said an enthusiastic engineer, "there will be
marker posts every 500 metres on the edge of the runway, to stop you
overshooting and going into the trees.  We have calculated carefully, you
will achieve rotation speed in two thirds of the distance, even with an
additional fuel load."

   "We need to test that," Jana told the man, sceptical.

   "Of course!"

   John climbed into the cockpit of one of the planes.  With the hood
pushed back, he leaned out peering past the huge bulk of the engine.  With
his bottom off the seat, he could just see forwards.

   "Shit!" he muttered.

   -------------------------------

   Accomodation in the forest airstrip was rudimentary.  A camp of army
tents had been erected in a nearby clearing among the vehicles.  Tankers
full of aviation gasoline were uncomfortably close and the whole camp stank
of it.  Engineers slept in the back of their lorries, some of the enlisted
men made bivouacs under the trees.  The NKVD security slept away from
everybody else in tents near their posts.  John and Jana went into the
forest by themselves with an army tent and made themselves a little camp by
a stream.

   A campfire would have brought the guards swarming.  It was forbidden,
but they obtained a little kerosine stove called in the Red Army, 'Stalin's
pipe.' It was so-called because it rarely worked properly, just as Stalin
was always seen re-lighting his pipe continually.

   Alone with just the twittering of the forest wildlife and the distant
laughter of the men, they nestled down together on a single straw mattress.

   They hadn't made love for some weeks now; hadn't even been alone long
enough to share a kiss.  They missed each other, the intimacy, and the
warmth and comfort of those nights in John's apartment.

   This could be the last days that they might ever have.  The mission was
dangerous with a strong possibility of not returning.  They would have to
be extremely accurate with their flying; so low down and at high speed. 
One mistake would see either of them crashing with no chance of survival.

   They spent a long while just watching the spluttering 'Stalin's pipe'
struggle with the feeble breeze.  It hissed and flashed when draughted by
the slightest puff of wind.  John watched transfixed as it tried to boil
water for some tea.

   "You will follow me," she told him, suddenly, "a kilometre behind."

   "Why?" he asked,

   "I am better pilot.  If I make mistake and crash into tree, you will see
it and avoid."

   "No!  I've been doing this all my life.  You follow me, right on my
tail."

   "I'm senior, John.  You do this please.  I don't want to order you.  You
must carry on if...  Is stupid to be close together.  We could both end in
same tree.  Don't be rival, John.  And don't look out for me!"

   "I will look out for you," he told her, "you can't ask me not to do
that!"

   "Let's not argue about this?" she said, "it's not what we should be
doing at this moment."

   "Oh!" he smiled.  She kissed him, long and passionately.

   Later, as John lay on her with his cock firmly wedged inside, she
whispered something inaudible.

   "What?" he asked.

   "I said I wish we could remain like this for ever."

   "I know."

   "I have never felt this way over a man before, you know that?  You need
to know...  I would die for you, John.  I never say that before...  to
anyone!" John, speechless, crushed her to him.  He buried his face in her
neck, flattening the breasts he loved so much.  "You *must* come back."

   "Don't die for me," he mumbled into her beautiful skin.

   ----------------------------------

   The training went apace the next morning.  Despite John's anxiety the
MiG *did* lift off at the appointed distance.  But, as he predicted, he
couldn't see a thing forward unless he leaned right out of the cockpit. 
This he decided to do routinely, braving the slipstream, with the canopy
pushed back.  Once airborne, he was able to close the 'lid' quite easily
with one hand.

   The MiG's acceleration was spectacular.  The Merlin's supercharger
kicked in, whistling, at 1800 revs sending the speed climbing rapidly.  In
addition, the climbing speed of the MiG was unbelievable.  Super light, it
shot up like an anti-aircraft shell.  Both he and Jana had broad grins when
they touched down afterwards.

   Landing the MiG was difficult and John used the same technique as taking
off.  He slid the canopy back and leaned out.  Even so, the MiG slammed
down quite hard as, with speed falling away, the MiG dropped like a brick.
No doubt this was because of the reduced lift from the shortened wings. 
Jana attempted a technique keeping the throttle up further on landing.  But
touchdown was still unpredictable.  It either hopped along the ground in a
series of swoops, or flopped sullenly onto the runway.  With more time the
wing flaps could've been modified, but that wasn't possible.

   -----------------------------------

   "Stop nudging me like that, Puppetman," the radio said, "I see your long
snout behind me again, as usual!"

   "Sorry Cossack leader.  You wagged your tail and I forgot everything."

   "Typical!  2k on my six, copy?"

   "Copy!  2k from the target!"

   "Not yet, big boy.  Kissing the table now, copy?"

   "Right on top of you!"

   "Just let me up for dinner, ok, Puppetman?"

   "What on Earth are they talking about?" the man in the corner said in
English.  He watched puzzled as his two Russian hosts giggled at the
exchange on the radio monitor.

   "Code!" laughed Rhykov, "Russian code!"

   "Damned strange code to me," the Englishman muttered.  He thought it
strange the Russians would send a woman pilot on such a dangerous mission.
But then, nothing about these Russians surprised him.  They were just too
damned casual about things, too casual by half.

   "Coming 'round, Puppetman, see you on the other side of the fence!"

   "Good luck, Cossack leader!"

   "You too, Puppetman!" There was a further exchange, interrupted by
static.

   "What did she say?" asked the Englishman, "it was something like, 'I
love you,' is that what I heard?"

   "Not sure," shrugged Rhykov.  He looked at Chernagovka who shrugged too,
grinning.  "Well?" he said, "that'll be it for half an hour.  We won't hear
any more until they come back over the border.

   Chernagovka rose and fetched a vodka bottle.  He poured three glasses
and handed one each to the other two men.  "This, I can't stand...  never
could!" he sighed.

   ---------------------------

   John watched Jana flatten out in the distance in front of him.  They'd
reached a compromise, she would lead them in and he out.

   The MiG was still a hard plane to fly despite modifications to the tail
and wings.  It flew, though, like a rocket with its big prop and powerful
engine.  But it wasn't too keen around it's axis, horizontal ot vertical.
Out of the turn, the aircraft accelerated back up to speed in a flash,
however.

   'But what speed!' thought John.  He'd never gone so fast in his life in
level flight.

   The border was a barely defined slash across the forest green.  The
ground would change soon to pastoral land with villages.  These they hoped
to avoid before passing back into forest near their search area to the
North of Bialystok.

   The two aircraft would make one Hell of a racket across the countryside
at this height.  For this leg, they hoped that observers would mistake them
for Messerschmitts.  If not, their sheer speed should ensure they'd get
away, hopefully, with the important evidence.

   In 12 minutes they had covered the distance from the border to the
target area, some 60 kilometres.  Jana wagged her wings as signal for the
search pattern and John swung East.

   They hadn't seen anything unusual up to this point.  Just some civilian
traffic, a train, and some marching troops.  Once again into the forest,
however, was a different story.  John could see new roads and signs of
activity.  There was nothing, however that looked like an airfield. 
Nevetheless, he thumbed the knob on the control stick every time anything
looked remotely suspicious.

   A shallow forest valley caught his eye.  He looked briefly for Jana and
saw her emerge not far off out of the trees.  It wouldn't do for them to
investigate the same ground and their areas of search had been clearly
defined.

   John passed low along the valley.  As usual, some roads had been cut. 
But then, this area had extensive milling.  Brush lay thick on the valley
floor, but John noticed something instantly, it shouldn't be there!

   The valley floor was covered with large river stones with the treeline
coming down to the edge.  But brush doesn't grow that densely in stone. 
John thumbed the button of his cameras again.

   Passing out of the valley, something else caught his eye.  It was green,
but with straight lines.  John instantly knew it was the wing of an
aeroplane.

   John arrowed the MiG towards the rendezvous with Jana.  She was right on
time and, wagging his wings, he took the lead and headed her back towards
the border.

   But John suspected their little scheme had been discovered.  5 minutes
into the return trip, John spotted 4 Messerschmitts about 1000 metres
higher and 10 kilometres to the North.  These were turning in their
direction.  Had Jana seen them?  He didn't know, but he thought that radio
silence now was irrelevant.  They were at full speed, low and straight,
and, if they kept going, the Messerschmitts would find it hard to keep up.
But he *had* to warn her.

   "Cossack leader," he called, "company, North, 1000 metres, copy?"

   She didn't answer but she *must* have heard him.

   -----------------------------------

   "Fuck!" said Rhykov, looking at his watch.

   "Maybe they're early?" suggested Chernagovka, hopefully.

   Looking again at his watch Rhykov told him the couple couldn't be at the
border yet.  "Trouble?"

   "What's happening?" asked the Englishman, "what was that message?"

   "Split up, split up!" crackled the radio.

   "Who was that?" demanded the Englishman, but Rhykov got up and ran
outside.

   The minutes ticked by slowly as Chernagovka ran out to join Rhykov. 
They strained their ears for several minutes more until they heard the
distinct drone of an aircraft.  Suddenly, a roar echoed from a nearby hill
and a MiG thundered overhead to circle around for landing.  They all stood
and watched it touch down.  Before it stopped, groundcrew and the
intelligence officers ran out to meet it.  The aircraft had a puppet
stencilled on the nose.

   "Where's Jana?" John asked, "she here?" They all shook their heads. 
John jumped down and kicked the undercarriage of the aircraft.  The
Englishman, as if some realisation had dawned, asked if it was normal for
Russians to take their wives on a mission.  "Fuck off!" John snarled at him
in English.

   The Englishman recoiled as if slapped.

   ----------------------------------------

   KATZMAREK (C)




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