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Subject: The Legend 5
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Legend V  
  ********************************************************************
(c) 1997 Spoonbender. A short story of an adult nature. Not to be read
by minors. If you don't like this   sort of stuff or you are underage
then don't read. Contains more innuendo than sex. Can be freely
distributed as long as it is not changed, including this heading. If
it is to archived on a fee paying   archive then please email me first
for permission.  
  Please email me with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you
want put into words etc. Don't   flame me if you don't like the
content or you don't like my style as I'm still learning the craft.  
  *********************************************************************  
  The three soldiers called for  another bottle of Vodka.  
  "Stolynycha, not the diesel fuel you usually serve." Shouted Dmitri
goodnaturedly to the plump,   scowling, waitress.  
  "Only the best for our heroes." She sneered.  
  "Come the revolution." Olev said under his breath.  
  This brought a howl of delighted laughter from his comrades. For
hadn't they, the gallant troops of   the Tula Regiment, not thwarted
the plans of the crazy coup leaders and saved the elected President
Yeltsin. Thereby preventing the new revolution from ever happening.  
  "He stayed in this very hotel." Said Micael.  
  "We know, we know. You've told us a dozen times already." Laughed
Dmitri, rolling his eyes   theatrically.  
  "But he did! Boris Yeltsin, President of Russia, stayed here. In an
ordinary room too!". Protested   Micael.  
  "Ok my friend. Ah the Vodka." Dmitri poured a generous slug for each
of his friends then raised his   glass. "To Boris." He shouted.  
  "To Boris." They echoed, downing the Vodka in one, followed by the
pink fruit juice of indeterminate   origin. The food may be lousy
here, but at least the Vodka was good.  
  Outside the windows of the 'nightclub' the twin tannoys of the
Railway Station and Bus Depot blared   competing fiercely, in the hot
Russian night, with the roar of the military lorries.  
  The Policemen sitting in the foyer glanced in their direction, as
they slammed their glasses onto the table, then went back to their
talking.  
  "Hey old man." Dmitri shouted at the weatherbeaten figure who sat
clutching his glass like it may   suddenly fly up if he relaxed his
vigilance for a second. "Drink a toast with us, for now we will have
democracy."  
  "And a Car."  
  "And a refrigerator." Muttered his comrades hopefully.  
  The old man looked across at them and said, scornfully. "And what
have you brave soldiers done?   Captured Berlin?" Suddenly he cackled
manically, his single, snaggled tooth like a rotting  signpost   in
the ploughed, brown, field of his face.  
  "Haven't you heard?" Smiled Dmitri, it would take a lot to make him
angry tonight. "We have stood   by the President, we have saved the
White House. Now we shall all be free. It is a glorious day. And   all
because of the glorious Tula Regiment <He tapped his chest> us!"  
  The old man shrugged. "Was it a glorious battle? Did you lay down
your lives for Rodina? Did many   of your comrades die?"  
  "No, but we would have died." Exclaimed Micael hotly.  
  "Easy." Said Dmitri laying his hand gently on his comrade's arm. He
had noticed the order of Lenin   on the breast of the Old man's
Jacket. "Maybe we didn't die but we upheld the honour of our City.
Now when people speak of Tula they will speak it with pride."  
  Tula, a dirty little Industrial City of some four million souls,
with only two restaurants and home to   the Black Kremlin, needed all
the help it could get.  
  "They used to speak it with pride before." Mused the Old Man. "But
not because of its menfolk." He   lifted his lip in a grimace at the
happy, self satisfied, soldiers lounging before him.  
  "What do you mean Old Man?"  
  The Old Man drew himself up in his rumpled jacket and they caught a
glimpse of the man he had   been before, in the prime of his youth, as
his eyes twinkled in rememberance.  
  "It was not the Men of Tula of which people spoke in pride about,
it was the women."  
  The Soldiers looked at each other in blank incomprehension.  
  "The Women?" Queried Dmitiri.  
  "It was before your time. In the great Patriotic war."  
  "So? What about the women?" Dmitri insisted.  
  "You have not heard the legend?"  
  They shook their heads.  
  "How quickly they forget." He muttered. Then, slyly, he raised his
empty glass. "Talking is such   thirsty work, comrades."  
  Quickly they filled his glass, which he quickly downed, distaining
the offer of the fruit juice, then held   it out for a refill before
continuing.  
  "In the great Patriotic War, we held the German Army here. We stood
and fought and turned back   their Sixth Army. The Army that conquered
France in just a few short days. It was here. We saved   Moscow."  
  "So?" Shrugged Dmitri. For it was common knowledge that the Germans
had been halted here in   their headlong advance towards Moscow.  
  "Don't you see? It was the women."  
  "The Women? How?"  
  "It was a secret then. On the express orders of Comrade Stalin
himself. Their tale could not be told at   that time because of what
they were doing and what they had done. Then, when we pushed the
devils   back, the glorious victory was lost under the weight of all
the other victories our army forged."  
  "What tale? And what has this to do with the Women?" Dmitri asked,
extending the bottle towards   the Old Man.  
  "Don't you see?" He glared balefully. "It was the women that held
them, shamed the men into turning   and fighting."  
  "Women Soldiers? Fighting?"  
  The Old Man cackled. "Not Soldiers. Pilots. Women Pilots."  
  "They beat off the attack from the air?"  
  This seemed to increase the merriment of the Old Man. "No they
didn't have any aircraft. They used a   more basic weapon."  
  "What?" Dmitri queried in interest.  
  "Their bodies."  
  "Their bodies?" Micael broke in. "Tell us Old Man."  
  "Yes. You see Comrade Stalin himself had ordered that Women should
join the glorious struggle for   the Motherland. But not as common
Soldiers, but as Pilots. Sturmavich Pilots. So they were training
the first of these all female regiments just south of here when the
German Army over-ran the front   line. No-one warned these women that
the Fascists had broken through so the first they knew of the   attack
was when the shells, from the heavy armour, started pounding their
barracks. The fight was   short, but bloody, with the Women fighting
as hard as the Men. But the odds were too great."  
  He paused for breath and took the opportunity to gulp another slug
of Vodka before continuing. The   soldiers gaped at him in silence.  
  "Finally all there were left were twenty three Women under the
command of a young Captain.   Ludmilla Stenovitch. Maybe you have
heard the name." They shook their heads and he glared at   them.  
  "We're sorry. Please go on with your tale Old Man."  
  "My name is Josef. Like the man of steel himself. If I were thirty
years younger I would teach you not   to call me Old Man." He said,
puffing his scrawny chest with pride.  
  "Sorry Josef." Smiled Dmitri.  
  "That's better. Now where was I? Ah yes. The women were holed up in
one of the caverns, in which   they were to have housed the aircraft,
as the fascists closed in. They were low on ammunition and they
could see the Germans were bringing up their 88mm guns to finish them
off. So they had a meeting.   The Captain, she was a pretty little
thing by the way, but with a backbone of sprung steel and the balls
of an elephant. She wanted to surrender, to spare them from the
massacre. The NKVD politico was   completely against it saying that
they should fight on and die with the name of Stalin on their lips.
The other girls were understandably nervous. On the one hand they
would almost certainly die, which   was not a pleasant prospect to the
girls, many of whom were still in their teens. On the other they had
heard how the Germans treated their Prisoners of War."  
  He paused and pulled out a crumpled packet of Cigarettes. He offered
them around and they all   accepted one as they waited for him to
continue. He waited, knowing he had them in the palm of his   hand.
Finally one of them cracked.  
  "So what did they do?"  
  "Patience, young man. I was about to tell you. Is that bottle dead?"  
  Dmitri ordered another bottle and after taking a healthy swig the
Old Man continued.  
  "The Captain won in the end, she explained her plan to the girls and
they all surrended."  
  "Ah." The  soldiers said collectively.  
  "But that is not the end. Because when the officer was marched in
front of the Colonel in charge of   the Panzer spearhead she made him
an offer. She had never wanted to be a soldier but was a simple
peasant girl who simply wanted to go back to her farm. So too were the
others. In return for certain,   er, favours could the Officer see his
way to letting them all go? The nature of the offer was made plain
when she peeled off her tunic top to expose her glorious, ripe
breasts. The legend says that the   German Officer then asked her to
confirm that in return for the promise of freedom she, and the rest
of her girls, were willing to have unforced sexual intercourse with
his men? She said yes."  
  "What happened?" Olev couldn't contain himself.  
  "I was coming to that. What the pretty little officer didn't know
was that there was a complete   regiment of hardened troops out there
in the gathering gloom. Over five hundred men, who hadn't   had sex
since they left their barracks, weeks earlier. She found out soon
enough. " He cackled again,   then started coughing.  
  It was some minutes before he could continue his tale.  
  "Three whole days and nights her, and her gallant girls, toiled on
their backs. Whittling down the lust   of the men. The Spearhead
dissolved into a Party. The Colonel rationalised it by telling himself
that   he had to wait for his supplies to catch up anyway and the
break was good for the men's morale. And   didn't they deserve some of
the fruits of victory too? And in those three days our local NKVD
officers   regrouped our forces and on the last night we attacked. The
Germans just fell back reeling as we   smashed their armour and poured
over them in waves. The rear echelon troops pulled back in disarray
and we slaughtered them to a man. It was a glorious victory and the
turning point of the war."  
  He leaned back in his chair satisfied with the impact his story had
had on them.  
  "What happened to the Women? Did they all die?"  
  The Old Man laughed. "No my friend you underestimate the strength of
our women. They survived   and went on to fight at Kursk. Ah! I'm
sorry my friends I must leave you as my wife is calling me."   
  A small, dark, rumpled woman, hardly worthy of a second glance,
beckoned him from the doorway.  He stood up and, as he did so, Dmitri
grabbed  the sleeve of his jacket.  
  "I must know. What happened to the Captain."  
  "I married her."  The old man said with a grin.  
  Arm in arm, the old couple shuffled into the gathering gloom.   
  Just ordinary little people going about their ordinary lives.  
  ********************************************************************   
   FOOTNOTE: I'm looking for a lady who enjoys my type of writing and
who is prepared to collaborate   with me on future stories. You will
naturally share the credit, such as it is. If you are her and you want
to help weave your own fantasy. Then please email me at
thoedore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk   
   Theodore Spoonbender.  


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