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Subject: {ASSM} (Rewritten and Serialised) Butterfly and Falcon (Part 26) By Katzmarek (Hist, rom,Mf,MF)
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Date: Sat, 21 Jan 2006 16:10:01 -0500
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 Part 26

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<1st attachment, "Butterfly and Falcon26.txt" begin>

BUTTERFLY AND FALCON (Part 26)

   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.

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

   It was a particularly harsh winter, that of 1942/42.  It hit the Germans
hard, partly because they didn't expect to have to endure it.  The
temperatures were some of the lowest on record, but for the Russians, this
was their country, their climate.

   Like the others, Benin wore felt boots without metal studs.  The metal
caused frostbite, a lesson the Germans were slow to learn.  The troops at
Novgorod were issued with Winter uniform of white snow suits and fur hats.

   Flying was possible on clear days.  The Russian aircraft were fitted
with skis and all their engines had heaters to prevent the oil from
freezing.  The Luftwaffe resorted to lighting fires under their's and most
of the aircraft still wore the green summer camoflage.  Thus they stood out
like sore thumbs against the white snow.

   The Germans had been using a synthetic oil and their tyres were made
from a rubber substitute called 'Buna.' The oil froze solid and the tyres
went brittle and fell to pieces.

   Teams of mostly women kept the Russian airfields free of snow.  The
'ready' aircraft were kept in steam heated hangars and could be got into
the air in 10 minutes.  The Luftwaffe, on the other hand, was practically
immobilised and snow piled up over the parked aircraft.

   The Germans had failed to take their objectives in 1941 and were now
debating what to do after the spring thaw.  The Generals wanted to continue
with the push by Army Group North against Leningrad and an encirclement of
Moscow.  Hitler, however, had settled on a plan to attack to the South and
to capture a city on the Volga known before the revolution, and today, as
Volgograd.  However, in 1931 it had been renamed after the Soviet Union's
Secretary-General of the Communist Party, Stalingrad.

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

   With the Winter, both John and Benin were given furloughs.  They decided
to travel to Gorky, some 700 kilometres East, to visit Garcia.  While
there, John had been asked to check out a new fighter, the Lavochkin La 5.
It was the Soviet equivalent of the US's Republic P 47 Thunderbolt, a great
big brute of an aircraft.

   There was talk of John being promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel and given an
Air Regiment of his own.  Soviet practice, however, meant that his job
would tie him to the ground.  Benin, too, was suggested for Officer's
School in Moscow.  There was talk of a staff job, perhaps even a job with
the Military Intelligence Service, the GRU, because of her skill with
languages.  She was reluctant, however, telling John she'd feel too much
like a turncoat.

   "You should," he told her, "Garcia needs his Mother and, with both his
parents fighting, he may be left an orphan."

   "So?" she said, "you're his Father and I don't see you keeping yourself
safe."

   "Perhaps," he conceded, "we maybe should think more about our futures
and that of Garcia?  I know my reactions aren't as sharp as they once were.
I'm being outflown by boys as young as 21."

   "You sound like an old man," she replied, "these boys are only 6 years
younger."

   "I know," he shrugged, "I'm not sure how I can keep going, though.  The
odds of me surviving till next Winter are practically nil.  The older I
get, the more interested I am in the future, that there must be a future.
I've had enough glory and now I want to survive.  I wish Rhykov was here,
he'd tell me what to do."

   "But, John, Rhykov is *not* here and I don't think you're likely to see
him again.  Men like Rhykov have no futures, they only have the present. 
Death stalks them, is their constant companion.  You, on the other hand,
have a future if you're willing to sieze it.  You don't want to die, I can
see that.  I *will* take that job in intelligence, if for no other reason
than I can be a Mother to Garcia when the fascists have gone.  I'll do this
if you accept promotion and be grounded from combat."

   "I'll think about it," he shrugged.

   Benin felt as close to John on that train as she'd ever felt.  He put
his arm around her protectively, just like the old days, and her head
rested on his shoulder.  The carriage was cold and he wrapped them both in
a blanket.

   The carriage was reserved for Officers, but John had bullied the train
guards to let her on.  'John sure knows how the system works, now,' she
thought.  It was a mixture of aggression, status, and the knowledge that,
at the end of the day, the Guards would do anything to stay out of trouble.
John convinced them they would be if they refused his request.

   For 700 kilometres there was nothing but endless steppe, buried in a
carpet of snow.  The train rolled on through unrelenting sameness, broken
only by passing troop trains and isolated villages.  The enormity of what
the Germans were trying to do hit home.  From Gorky it was still nearly
1000 kilometres to the Urals and, beyond that, the vastness of Asiatic
Russia.  This country gobbled armies whole, surely Hitler was aware of
that?

   In December, Siberian troops had arrived in Moscow and driven the
Germans out.  Finally, Stalin was convinced that the Japanese weren't going
to attack Russia.  Only after they'd stormed into the Pacific, however. 
Unlike the Red Army in June, the German retreat had been orderly and they
settled into Winter quarters.

   Moscow was safe, and Stalin continued to build up forces for an
offensive after the thaw.  His Intelligence Services were telling him that
the next attack was likely going to be in the South, from Kursk, Kharkov
and Rostov; against Voronezh, Stalingrad and into the Caucasus.  Stalin,
though, was convinced the Germans were going to renew the offensive against
Moscow and Leningrad.

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

   The temperature was hovering about 15 below when they arrived at Gorky.
The sky was dull and gloomy, deep snow lay everywhere.  They trudged to
Professor Shapashnikov's along paths freshly cleared by women and children.

   The apartment was just two rooms, it was far too small for Benin and
John to stay there.  But the Professor organised another apartment in the
same block with a family whose sons were away in the army.

   The family were delighted to host an air force Major as well-decorated
as John.  They gave up their bed; no, there was to be no argument.  Garcia
slept in a crib beside the bed.  Already he was too big for it and his feet
stuck over the end.

   Food was rationed but they managed to scrape together a celebratory
feast lubricated with a bottle or two of good vodka that John had access
to. It was well into the night before Benin and John flopped into bed. 
They were so tired after the journey they went straight to sleep.  John's
arm came over her and she hugged it.

   Benin woke in the early hours feeling her body awash with hormones. 
John was spooning her, his body pressed hard against her back.  Memeories
flashed through her mind; memories of lustful nights and mornings when they
made love spontaneously.  It had to be over a year since she'd had sex.

   She could feel the ridge of his cock pressed between the lower cheeks of
her bottom.  His hand was clamped over her right breast, having found its
way there in his sleep.  John appeared to be hard and Benin wriggled her
arse against him.

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

   Squadron Leader Reginald 'Oz' Callaghan suspected something was up when
he was requested to attend a meeting at the office of Air Commodore
Harland, base Commander.  Besides the senior officer, there were three
others present.

   Two wore civilian clothes but with Military precision.  The third was an
Army Staff Colonel, rather a 'John Bull' type.

   "Squadron Leader," Harland began, "these two are from the Ministry of
War, Ryan and McGaskill, and this is Colonel Bullock from Military
Intelligence.  They...  ah...  requested an interview with you about..."

   "Sir," interrupted the one called McGaskill, "I understand you were in
Spain during the troubles there?" 'Oz' nodded, confused.  He had a natural
distaste for anonymous Ministry men and Staff Officers.  They always
brought trouble and bullshit.  "Tell me," McGaskill continued, "while you
were there, did you meet Mr Antonov-Ovseenko by any chance?"

   "No, sir!" 'Oz' replied, clearer.  Antonov-Ovseenko was Russian Consul
in Barcelona and the GPU's main man in Spain.  Everybody there knew of him.
If these Ministry men wanted to find out whether he was a Russian spy
they'd have to work for it, 'Oz' decided.

   "Tell me frankly, Squadron Leader," Ryan spoke up, "are you a Communist
sympathiser?"

   "Why did you enlist in the Republican Air Force?" asked McGaskill.

   "First, sir," replied 'Oz,' "I'm not that interested in Politics. 
Secondly, I enlisted in the Spanish Air Force because they paid good money
for experienced pilots and I was out of work.  I knew nothing about Spanish
politics at the time, sir."

   "I see," Ryan said, "so you were a mercenery, fighting for money?"

   "If you like, sir.  But when the Germans started bombing cities and
Franco began murdering civilians, it kind of became personal, sir."

   "Ah, is that why you stayed behind to fight on the Ebro?" asked
McGaskill.

   "Honestly, I don't know why I stayed behind.  I had a friend who was
looking for someone.  He needed help, so..."

   "This wouldn't be John Greenhaugh, by any chance?" Ryan asked.

   "Yes, sir," 'Oz' replied, startled, "can you tell me what this is all
about?"

   "And can you tell me where he is now?" Ryan continued.

   "No, sir.  He...  ah...  got away, sir.  Haven't seen him since.  I
thought he may have gone to England but he never made it."

   "Would it surprise you to learn that we know where he is?" Ryan looked
into his face, trying to judge his reaction to the news.  "Or at least,
where he was 9 months ago?"

   "Yes, sir, where?"

   "He's gone over to the Reds.  Does that shock you?"

   "Yes, sir," 'Oz' replied, "I doubt he'd much say in the matter, though."

   "Why do you say that?"

   "He helped a Russian get back to his ship, sir.  They must have kept
him. It's all I can think of.  John...  he's not a great thinker," he
grinned wryly, "I don't think he knew what he was getting into...  probably
didn't care either."

   "So, you're saying John Greenhaugh wasn't a Communist when you knew
him?"

   "I don't think he was anything...  didn't think about it.  He was only
interested in flying.  If they told him he was going to fly, I think that
was all the persuasion he needed."

   "We believe John Greenhaugh is a Major in the Red Air Force, now," said
McGaskill, "I understand he's a highly decorated Soviet fighter pilot. 
Does all this surprise you?"

   "Well, sir, if John's in Russia...  no, it doesn't surprise me.  He's a
very good pilot...  instinctive.  It's all he thinks about...  except..."

   "Except?" asked Ryan.

   "Except for this woman?"

   "Ah...  you mean...  ah" Ryan looked at a piece of paper in front of
him, "Jana Ivanova?"

   "No, sir.  He fancied a Spanish woman called Benin...  something.  He
went to look for her on the Ebro.  She went with him on that Soviet ship."

   "She a pilot too?" McGaskill asked, sceptically.

   "No, sir.  She was an Anarchist...  with the Mujeres Libres."

   "A woman Anarchist!" All four men looked at each other and chuckled.

   "Listen," McGaskill said.  "we have received a request from the Russians
for assistance with their fighter defence.  The Ministry of War has agreed
to send a squadron of Hurricanes from the RAF to Russia.  We would like you
to command it, if you're interested.  You speak Russian?"

   "Not really, just a few words I picked up."

   "That's good.  We're trying to persuade the Russian side to let us have
John Greenhaugh as a liaison..."

   "It's important," piped up the Army Colonel, "that this...  ah... 
experiment goes off without a hitch.  The Russians are complaining that
we're not doing enough to help them.  The British Government hopes this
token will shut them up.  Bloody cheek, if you ask me, all the effort of
the Navy and the Merchant chaps to get those convoys to Murmansk and
they're still belly-aching."

   "Quite!" agreed McGaskill, "but the fact remains that we need the Red
Army to beat Hitler.  If the Russians should make a separate peace..."

   "We can't give them any excuse to bail on us," added Ryan.  "The
Americans may take some time before they can come into the war completely.
Then they have the Japanese to contend with.  I tell you, Squadron Leader,
right now, Britain needs the Russians more than they need us.  These... 
signs of cooperation are very important to keep them in the war on our
side."

   "Imagine," said Harland, "the RAF Hurricane chaps fighting alongside
their boys.  Maybe from the same airfield?  Russian, British...  all
mucking in, what?"

   "Yes, look, Squadron Leader," continued Ryan, "we all know that 12
Hurricanes are not going to do a Hell of a lot against what they're up
against.  But it's a symbol.  Who know's, maybe we can show them a thing or
two.  A bit of healthy rivalry, what?"

   "You interested?" asked Harland.

   "I'll do it, sir!" 'Oz' said.

   "That's the story," said the Colonel, "maybe you and Greenhaugh can seal
British/Soviet relations over a pint or two, what?"

   "I imagine vodka, sir," 'Oz' replied.

   "Never touched the stuff," said the Colonel, sneering.

   "You would, sir, if you've tasted their beer!"

   "Perhaps we should send over a crate of Watneys?" smiled Ryan.

   "I wouldn't, sir.  Unless you want the Russians to break off diplomatic
relations?"

   "Quite!" Ryan replied, mildly offended.

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

   John's first sensation as he shook off the shroud of sleep was the
feeling of Benin's warm body moving against him.  He was still spooning
her, her lovely slim figure was pressed tightly to him.  She squirmed
again, rhythmically, Gradually it dawned on him what she was doing.

   Beneath the soft wool of her long, neck to knee underwear he could feel
the sweet nakedness of her breast in the palm of his hand.  It aroused him
and he gently squeezed it.

   Benin was thinking of those early mornings when he thought she was still
asleep.  He always awoke with a hard on, it would be bumping against her as
he moved.  Softly, he would stroke her arse then gently ease her panties
down.  Sometimes she would tease him and pretend to be asleep, just seeing
how far he would 'molest' her.  At other times, she was just too horny to
contain herself and she'd turn over.

   But was John still dreaming of Jana Ivanova?  Was it, perhaps, any
available receptical?  She could feel him, now, hard and urgent, but she'd
no way of telling whether he was responding to her.

   His hand now found the point where she'd undone the buttons of her
underwear and she held her breath as his fingertips touched her skin.  She
drew her hand free of her crotch as he snaked downwards.  Then his fingers
found where she'd been playing and stroked her.

   After a few minutes he rolled her over onto her back.  Gently, he placed
her lips on her's seeking a response.

   "John?" she whispered.  Her tongue was thick with desire.

   "Mmm?" he replied, kissing her neck.

   "You don't have to."

   "Have to what?"

   "Make love."

   "Do you want to?" he asked.

   "Maybe...  do you still want me?  What about Jana?"

   "I...  I've always wanted you," he said, "Jana?  I...  I just don't
know. Y'know, one of their intelligence agencies put us together.  I've
never felt like it was ever more then a set up."

   Benin knew he was lying, she could see it in his eyes.  But, she
realised, she wasn't that interested in the answer anyway.  She put up her
arms and he fell on her, kissing.

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

   RAF Fighter Command and their Russian counterpart decided that Southern
Russia was the most profitable area for the Hurricane Squadron to be based.
It was easier for them to pass through Persia and up through the Caucasus.
A dispersal field somewhere near Stalingrad was suggested and one Soviet
and one RAF Squadron would be based there.

   Both the Russians and the British hand-picked some of their best pilots
for the exercise.  Certainly, it was difficult flying and the British could
say they needed experienced pilots to handle the conditions.  But, above
all, this was a propaganda exercise and it wouldn't do for the pilots to
let down the show.

   Some of the Russians at least were familiar with the Hurricane.  Some
had been shipped to the Russians as part of Britain's contribution to the
Red Army's war effort.  But they were surplus, mostly obsolete models and
the Russians didn't like them.

   Similarly, the US contributed some P40s.  But the Russians thought they
were too fragile and little better than what they were flying already. 
Besides, these foreign aircraft caused maintenance headaches for the
Russian groundcrews.

   There was one exception, the Bell P39 Airacobra.  The P39 was unusual in
that it had the engine mounted in the fusilage behind the pilot.  An
extension shaft ran underneath the pilot's arse less then half a metre from
his balls.  This was done so the uncluttered nose could be fitted with a
heavy armament, but it wasn't a general hit with the US Army and Marine
pilots.  They worried, too, about where that big Allison V12 motor behind
them might end up in a crash.

   But the Russians loved them.  They were rugged, fast and maneuverable,
and could take a lot of extra ordinance.  Some 5000 P39s were shipped to
Russia under Lend/Lease and Bell designed an upgrade, the P63, specifically
for Russian requirements.

   As a legacy of the Cold War, however, it's extremely difficult to find a
photo, or even a mention of the Bell Airacobra in Russian service.

   John had seen several Airacobra squadrons.  The Russians called the
Squadrons, 'Amerikaviks,' a play on words.  To be an 'Amerikaviki' was
considered an elite occupation.  Air aces flying the Bell, however, were
generally credited in the History books with flying a Russian aircraft,
such as the Ilyushin Il2.

   However, when John received his orders he was still in Gorky.  The
orders merely explained that he was to be part of a joint operation with
the British and he would be given the temporary rank of Lieutenant Colonel.
This was supposed to both impress the British and to insure John had the
authority to deal with the locals.  It wasn't, as yet, a permanent
promotion.

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

   As the terrible Winter of 1941 ground on the Generals of Germany's OKW
must have realised the potential disaster that Hitler's 'intuition' might
be leading them.  The Wehrmacht had suffered unprecedented casualties in
the first 6 weeks of the invasion of Russia, some 60,000 dead alone.  Many
more German troops were dying in the ice and snow.

   The German front line had doubled in length as it had advanced deep into
Soviet territory.  Defences had to be kept manned as well as attack forces
assembled.  The beginnings of a manpower shortage were confronting the
German Staff.

   The Nazis presented the invasion to the rest of Europe, the German
occupied countries as well as those still outside their control, as a
'crusade against Bolshevism,' the great evil.  They actively recruited
troops from throughout Europe to fill the gaps.  Spain sent a Division, and
the Hungarians, Croatians, Latvians, Estonians, Italy, etc all sent troops,
more or less willingly.  There were also minuscule and wholly insignificant
contingents from France, Scandinavia, Greece and even a dozen or so
bewildered British.

   But all this didn't disguise the fact that, unless the Blitzkrieg could
be put back on track in the Spring of 1942, then the result would be a war
of attrition in which the Soviets would have an overwhelming advantage.

   But the Nazis had created a system of leadership which didn't encourage
such doubts to be presented to the Fuhrer.  His genius, after all, had not
failed them in the past.

   -----------------------------------
   KATZMAREK (C)

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