by CW Hawes
“Do we have any intelligence on where to begin our search for the fleece?” Karl asked Branson.
“Mr Hall has his people working on it,” Branson answered. “The Italians found the fleece in a cave north of the city of Poti; which may have been the location of ancient Phasis, a one-time capital of Colchis. Although scholars generally think Jason went up the Phasis River, now known as the Rioni, to Aia, what is now known as Kutaisi, and found the fleece in a sacred grove there.”
Dunyasha said, “If the real fleece had magical power, wouldn’t the King of Colchis want it near him?”
“Makes sense,” Karl said.
“So how did it get to Phasis?” I asked.
“Maybe when Phasis became the capital,” Branson said.
“Or maybe the Italians found a fake,” I said.
“I’m with Dru,” Dunyasha quipped, “and this is just a goddamn waste of time.”
Karl asked, “Do we know if the Georgians have moved the fleece?”
Branson answered, “Mr Hall’s sources seem to think they moved it to Kutaisi, where they’ve set up a provisional capital.”
“How strong is the Georgian Liberation Army?” Karl asked.
“Not sure,” Branson said. “Somewhere between three and ten thousand fighters.”
Dunyasha finished her second Mimosa and signaled the steward for a refill. “And we have six,” she said.
“Seven,” Branson corrected. “You forgot me. Eight, if we count you.”
“Let’s add Dru and the two Feds,” Dunyasha said. “The Magnificent Eleven. Shit.” Her Mimosa arrived and she drank half the glass.
Branson touched her arm and Dunyasha looked daggers at him, then relaxed. Trouble in Paradise? The rest of the breakfast passed in relative quiet. After we were done eating, Karl and Branson took coffee. Dunyasha and I, tea.
When breakfast was over, I said I needed to speak with Dunyasha in private. She and I went to our cabin and I closed the door.
She stood facing me, eyebrow arched. “You going to tell me I’m drinking too much, as well?”
“No. Why? Are you?”
“Branson seems to think so. As if he was my mother.”
“I see. Well, I hope you take care of my friend. That’s all.”
She said nothing. Her face asked the question.
“You, Dunyasha. You’re my friend.”
She seemed to soften a bit. “Thank you, Dru. So what did you want to see me about?”
“I want to give you your birthday presents in private.”
“Really? You got me something for my birthday?”
“I did. Here, sit.”
She sat and had the air of a five year old at Christmas.
I gave her the box of chocolates, first. She smiled and murmured “Thanks.” Next, I gave her the rosewood box and a long narrow box with it. She opened the wood box and a big smile spread across her face. She held the box up to her nose.
“Ah, heavenly. Thank you ever so much, Little Kitten.”
She opened the narrow box and laughed. “Now, I get to look like my precious Dru.”
She took the ivory cigarette holder out of the box and put it in her mouth.
“A cigarette holder becomes you,” I said.
She put the holder back in the box. “I am very sorry I have to wait to try out my present.”
“You’ll get to do so soon enough. Unless you let the Army boys hang you out the window.”
She laughed. “They’d love that.”
“I bet they would. Hold on. We’re not done.”
“No?”
“Last, but not least.” One by one, I set the bottles of champagne before her.
“Oh, my God. Dru…” Her voice faltered and tears began running down her cheeks. She wiped them away. “You are so sweet.” She stood and took me in her arms and hugged me. Then she kissed me lightly on the lips.
She sat and I sat next to her. She took my hands in hers. “I wish you would make love to me, Dru.”
“Not Branson?”
“He’s nice. He really is. Far too bossy, though, for my liking. He thinks he needs to protect me and that I’m ‘his’. I’m an independent woman. Like you. I don’t need a man to protect me from anything and I’m certainly not ‘his’. I have the Baron, if I want that. You and I are equals. Our love is the love of equals. I wish you’d say yes. Just this once, Dru. For my birthday.”
“Dunyasha, I love you. You know I do. You also know I, I just can’t.”
“Karl.”
“Yes. Karl.”
She sighed. “Very well. But know this, Dru Drummond, I’d give up any man for you. You, my Little Kitten, are my soulmate.”
I kissed her cheek. “Thank you. That means the world to me.”
We rejoined our fellow Argonauts in the lounge, chatting until lunch.
When Chief Steward Ransome announced lunch was to be served, he said in addition, “It has come to my attention that today is the Lady Bobrinsky’s birthday. In her honor, we are having a special meal consisting of a couple of the Baroness’ favorite dishes.”
There was a round of applause. We took our seats and the stewards brought out the borscht. After the soup, we had cabbage rolls and mushroom sauce. The meal concluded with a salad and dessert. The dessert being an applesauce cake with “Happy Birthday” written on it in white frosting.
After lunch, Branson brought out his record player and we had music and dancing until tea; took a break, and then continued until cocktails before dinner.
When dinner was over, I noticed Branson and the birthday girl were not around. A look in my cabin and she wasn’t there. After a time, though, they rejoined the group and we played Canasta until midnight. Dunyasha and I trounced the professors, Karl, and Branson.
I bid everyone goodnight and went to my cabin. The steward had been in and made up the beds. I undressed, got into my nightgown, and climbed into bed. A few minutes later, Dunyasha entered with two glasses.
“What? You’re not spending the night with Branson?”
“No. We had our tête-à-tête. You and I are going to drink champagne.”
“It’s late.”
“So?”
She opened a bottle of the 1945 and filled our flutes. “To my best friend, who I love more than even myself,” she said.
Our glasses clinked and we drank. We sat on my bed, made girl talk, and drank champagne. When the bottle was finished, Dunyasha stood up and slipped out of her clothes. She stood there naked. At forty-two, Dunyasha has a fabulous body. No fat. Well shaped. Curves in all the right places. Her bosom is still fairly firm, although time and gravity have weighed in.
She announced, “I’m sleeping with you, Dru.”
“Dunyasha.”
“No sex. I just want to sleep with you.”
“It will be cramped.”
“I don’t mind. I hope you don’t.”
“Very well.”
I got in bed and she followed. We lay facing each other. I kissed her and we said “goodnight”. After a minute or so, perhaps it was the champagne, I asked her a question.
“Dunyasha?”
“Yes, Little Kitten?”
“Klara is going to be moving out. Would you like to live with me?”
There was silence and I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I touched her cheek and my fingers came away wet.
“Dunyasha? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You don’t have–”
“Yes, Dru. I want to live with you.”
“Friends will be enough?”
“May I kiss you and hug you and sleep with you? No sex?”
“Yes.”
“Then friends will be enough.”
“Good. I’m glad. Although I’m frequently gone on assignment.”
“I will go with you.”
“Okay. I think that can be arranged.”
“This is the best birthday I have ever had.”
She snuggled agai
nst me like a little child and went to sleep.
How odd this all is, I thought to myself. I love Karl and I love Dunyasha. Two very different and yet very intense loves. I just hope I can make them both work.
Fifteen
Where, Oh Where, Has The Golden Fleece Gone?
Over Turkey
Early Morning
Friday, 16 April 1954
The excitement of the flight nearing its end was apparent. Dunyasha and I were up early and, when we entered the lounge, we found everyone else had preceded us.
Dunyasha said, “I see we’re fashionably late.”
“I guess so,” I replied.
Karl and Branson were at a table with Doctors Franzen and Rodman and Mafeking Smith. Karl waved to us to join them, which we did. We exchanged greetings and sat down.
“I was telling the group here,” Karl began, “I got a message from Mr Hall. We are going to land at Zugdidi.”
“Which is preposterous!” Franzen exclaimed. “Zugdidi is no where near where we must begin our search.”
“That may be,” Karl replied, “Zugdidi, however, is firmly in Italian hands. Whereas Poti is tenuous.”
“Poti is back in Italian hands?” I asked.
Branson chimed in, “A two day bombardment using hundreds of German buzz bombs, forced the GLA to withdraw, and the Italians pushed in. They have a force of five thousand soldiers and two hundred tanks.”
“The Georgians aren’t giving up, however,” Karl said.
Branson added, “They continue to lob mortar rounds and small rockets into the city. The Italians are also encountering a lot of snipers.”
“Nevertheless, Poti or Kutaisi is where we need to go,” Franzen said.
“We shall,” Karl replied, “just not by airship. Admiral Rosendahl is not going to risk the ship anymore than he has to.”
“Any further word on where the fleece is located?” I asked.
“Mr Hall has reports of the fleece in both Poti and Kutaisi,” Karl said.
“Maybe it’s in neither place,” I replied.
Mafeking laughed. “My position as well, Lady Hurley-Drummond. I think the Georgians have it safe and sound and that is where no one would think to look.”
“What good would that do them?” Doctor Rodman asked. “After all, the fleece needs to be in proximity to the person who wishes to have its benefits.”
“Exactly,” Doctor Franzen said. “It does the Georgians no good to hide it.”
“Maybe they don’t have it,” Dunyasha said. “Maybe someone else has it and the Georgians are only playing a ruse.”
“A good possibility,” Mafeking added. “And the other party is keeping their possession a secret to throw everyone off.”
“In other words, there is a good chance we really don’t know anything,” I said.
“True,” Karl noted. “So when we land at Zugdidi, we will have possibly conflicting intelligence to sift through.”
“Are we meeting someone?” I asked.
“Yes,” Karl replied. “Someone from Hall Media.”
“Do we know who?” I asked.
“No. He or she will make contact with us,” Karl said.
Dunyasha laughed. “Just like a spy organization.”
Karl smiled. “Indeed.”
“Until then, and even after, we may not know anything more than what we know now,” I said.
“Our sagacious Dru has spoken,” Dunyasha said, “and she is right. I was involved in clandestine operations for years. We have an abysmal lack of information. If the Hall Media agent is not able to point us in a reasonable direction, then we’re walking to Moscow in the middle of a blinding snowstorm.”
Chuckles rippled through the group.
Karl said, “We’ll make a final assessment when we are on the ground.”
With a half-hour remaining before breakfast, I got up and went to a window and looked out at the Turkish countryside. Dunyasha and Karl joined me, standing on either side of me. The scene below looked tranquil.
Mafeking and Dorman stood behind us looking over our shoulders.
“The scene will be quite different north of here,” Mafeking said.
“You’re referring to Georgia?” Karl asked.
“Yes,” Mafeking replied.
“I wouldn’t rule out an interruption of tranquility anywhere,” Karl replied. “Tranquility seems to be the exception, rather than the rule.”
Mafeking nodded and said, “That it does.”
Sixteen
Attack
Over Turkey
Morning
Friday, 16 April 1954
Our breakfast was nearly over when we heard a machine gun firing. Surprise, shock, and “What the hell?” looks were on everyone’s faces until a window pane exploded in a shower of glass. Then everyone hit the floor.
Dunyasha said, “Now this adventure comes to life!”
With the roar of a plane’s engine fading, Dunyasha and I sprinted to our cabin. Branson yelled for Sergeant Sax and Corporal Hill to follow him and Sax in turn ordered Privates Ajax and Denham to join them.
In our cabin, Dunyasha and I grabbed our suitcases and opened them. She pulled out her Luger P08 and I grabbed my Colt Pocket Positive and Sauer 38H. We heard more machine guns firing.
“Is this gas bag armed?” Dunyasha asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Because that wasn’t only the planes shooting.”
“Knowing Mr Hall, as I do, I’d say Argo is armed.”
“I love that man,” Dunyasha said with a huge smile on her face. “And those bastards better not hurt my champagne.”
We ran back to the lounge, opened a window on the starboard side and looked out. Argo’s engines were roaring and she was on a steep climb.
“The Admiral’s going to try to get us above their ceiling, but I don’t think that’s possible,” I said.
The airship turned a bit to starboard.
“No, Dru,” Dunyasha corrected, “I think he is heading for those clouds.”
More machine gun fire and below us was a biplane.
“That looks like a Polikarpov I-15.”
Dunyasha said, “Russian? In Turkish airspace?”
“Russian plane. Anyone’s guess who’s flying,” I replied.
A second biplane appeared and opened fire. Bullets hitting above us.
“They’re going for the gas cells,” I said.
“Operation Barbecue,” Dunyasha said.
“Probably not. It’s pretty difficult to shoot down an airship. Even one filled with hydrogen.”
I took careful aim and, as the plane banked to avoid hitting us, emptied the magazine of the Sauer. Dunyasha did likewise with her Luger. A futile attempt. The plane was too far away. More machine gun fire from the bow of the airship. At least we weren’t going down without a fight.
Branson and the Army fellows returned. They were carrying four machine guns and the soldiers began setting up two on each side of the gondola.
The Argo was still in a steep climb heading for the clouds. I think the pilots realized what Rosendahl was trying to do, hopefully lose them in the clouds, for the planes came in on the port, aiming for the gondola. Machine guns opened fire. The sound in the lounge was deafening. Bullets slammed into the gondola. Then a cheer went up from the soldiers. Dunyasha and I raced to the window. A biplane, with smoke pouring from the engine, was heading for the Turkish countryside. A parachute opened. The pilot had bailed out.
The other Polikarpov came in for a strafing run. The soldiers opened fire and the biplane dived under the ship. Coming up on the port side, the Army boys who had just scored one victory opened fire a split second after the Argo’s machine guns began firing at the plane.
Dunyasha and I watched the Soviet built biplane begin to smoke and then start to burn. The plane went into a roll and then a dive, finally slamming into the ground. Cheers went up all around.
The Argo leveled off. The lounge was a mess. The floor was littered
with glass from broken windows, plates, cups and saucers, and food.
Karl asked, “Those were Soviet planes?”
“Of Soviet manufacture,” I replied. “I think we’re beyond their range if they were sent by the Soviets to stop us.”
“Which means they must’ve taken off from Turkey,” Doctor Franzen said.
“Probably,” I replied.
Karl nodded.
Branson called out, “Aside from Private Young, is anyone hurt?”
It seemed Private Young had been grazed by a bullet and hit with flying glass.
None of us seemed to have suffered any injuries. Rather miraculous, that. We were just a bit shaken by the episode.
Dunyasha quipped, “Aside from ringing in my ears, my blood appears to still be on the inside.”
Laughter rippled through the group, which helped to ease the tension.
For me, the funniest sight of all was Chief Steward Ransome. He was armed with a broom and a look that was meant to kill.
Seventeen
On the Ground
Zugdidi, Georgia
Morning
Saturday, 17 April 1954
Seventeen of us watched the Argo head back out to sea. We and our equipment had been dropped off quite a distance outside of town to minimize potential problems. What those problems might be, none of us really wanted to know.
Dunyasha broke the silence. “Now we get our asses shot off in earnest.”
No one laughed. Perhaps because we realized the truth in her comment.
The sunlight glinted off the silvery skin of the zeppelin. She was bound for Bucharest and repairs. Admiral Rosendahl estimated a week to get the airship as good as new. Once repaired, she’ll fly back to Georgia and wait off the coast to pick us up when our mission is completed. We’ll radio the Argo when we’re ready.
Smaller and smaller the airship became until she disappeared from sight. With nothing to distract us, we turned our attention to the equipment that had been off loaded from the dirigible. Most of our personal possessions were left on board. We each had a backpack, weapon, and ammunition. The soldiers had extra gear to carry. The crate belonging to Mafeking Smith was unopened. It was very large and very heavy.
