Drake couldn’t help but grit his teeth, showing his frustration; the insistence of the British press on reporting things that should remain hushed up, at least until they bloody well didn’t matter, could very well have dumped him in hot water.
A look of satisfaction at Drake’s reaction briefly passed across Gruber’s face, but again it disappeared quickly and returned to his amiable mask.
While Drake was annoyed, he couldn’t help but be puzzled as well; he had no idea how his relationship with Gwen could possibly be of any interest to Gruber. He nodded reluctantly. ‘You’re right, Gwen and I were friends a long time ago, but we lost contact with each other. Before the Arturo we hadn’t seen each other for more than a decade.’
‘Then you must have had a lot to catch up on.’
‘Yes. We did.’ Drake nodded, then looked back down at his plate. He delicately placed some of his remaining fried egg onto a piece of toast, then cut a small mouthful of it, before spearing it and delivering it to his mouth without displacing a crumb. His mother would have been proud, but, at that moment, manners weren’t what were important to him - it was the time he was taking over them which was giving him a chance for his racing mind to frantically run through everything he knew about Gwen, to see if there was anything he shouldn’t reveal. For the life of him he couldn’t find anything.
With the food still in his mouth, he looked up at Gruber again and found the man leaning back in his chair, watching him, his hand wrapped around a large cup of black coffee. There was a confident smile on the man’s face, as if he knew something that Drake didn’t, and he tried to keep his chewing regular, even as his heart skipped a beat.
Unable to delay any more, he finally swallowed. ‘Why are you so interested in Gwen? I would have thought you’d want to know more about Abby, or Owen, or even Scarlet.’
‘You’re right, of course; as a pilot she isn’t up to much...’
‘She beat you.’ Drake couldn’t help throwing the comment out, then kicked himself; the last thing he should be doing was provoking Gruber, but he found he couldn’t just sit by and let the man disparage his friend.
Surprisingly, Gruber didn’t take offence, but nodded in acknowledgement. ‘That is perfectly true, but,’ he held up a finger to punctuate the word, ‘that was because of her aircraft, not because of any superior skill on her part. I assure you that it was an anomaly and it won’t happen again; I now have the superior machine. You have seen Hölle in action - even you must admit that it is far superior to Flamme, better even than Wasp or Dragonfly.’
‘Perhaps, but I still think you are underestimating Gwen’s talents as a pilot.’
‘Perhaps.’ Gruber threw the word back at him. ‘However, today we begin our assault on Murmansk itself. I have no doubt the Misfits will be there and we shall have ample opportunity to find out.’ He tipped his head back, draining the dregs of his coffee, then wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on the table. ‘Well, this has been pleasant, but I’m afraid I have to go. We will speak again, perhaps over dinner tonight? I’m sure there will be plenty to celebrate.’
Gruber stood and gave Drake a smile. ‘Until later, then.’
He walked out without a backwards glance and Drake wasn’t surprised when two heavy hands descended on his shoulders.
He smiled up into the faces of the two scowling guards and waved a hand at his plate. ‘Would you mind awfully waiting while I finish?’
Chapter 9
With Gruber gone, Drake’s status had evidently reverted back from guest to prisoner and the guards hadn’t felt like standing around while Drake enjoyed the rest of his meal. They all but pulled him out of his seat and began shoving him towards the door, but the disdainful sniff of the steward, who had served the two pilots, held them at bay long enough for him to help Drake into his coat. He barely had time to give the man a grateful nod, before he was propelled to the door and out into the cold.
The MU9’s and 10’s were long gone, but the doors of the fourth hangar were open and Drake caught sight of men working within on the red aircraft of the Barons, preparing them for the morning’s sortie. He tried to linger to get a better look, but the guards were having none of it and hurried him back to his cell with only a quick detour to the medical centre for an injection.
Tanya was already there and, by the way she was sitting on the edge of her bed, biting her lip, Drake could tell she had something to tell him and it was most likely not good. Her news had to wait, though, because the guards made Drake change out of the ersatz RAC uniform and back into the red jumpsuit first.
When the Prussians finally left the room, Drake sat on his bed and looked at her inquisitively, but she motioned for him to wait and tilted her head, listening. It was only when the footsteps of the guards had completely faded away and the door at the end of the corridor had slammed shut, that she smiled at him. ‘Sorry, I didn’t want an audience.’
‘Why? What’s wrong? I assume from what Gruber told me you were having breakfast with fellow Muscovites, right?’
‘I was, yes. Although, cabbage stew isn’t exactly my idea of breakfast.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She waved away his apology. ‘It doesn’t matter. While the food was disgusting, it did mean that I could catch up with what’s been happening while we’ve been wandering around in the forest.’
‘Hang on. Before you start...’ When he’d put his coat back on after getting changed he thought he’d felt something and he put his hands in his pockets and found several objects. From his right he pulled out several chocolate bars, Belgian, thankfully, and not the awful Prussian stuff, which he threw on the bed, but in the left he found a napkin knotted around three jam-filled Danish pastries.
Tanya squealed and leapt from the bed. She snatched one of the pastries and immediately bit into it, groaning in ecstasy. Too late she realised what she’d done and looked at him. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
For some reason it was far more endearing when Tanya spoke around a mouthful of food than when Gruber had done so.
‘Not at all.’ Drake shook his head and held out the rest of the pastries with a grin.
‘Thank you!’ She smiled happily as she snatched them and took them to her bed.
After his huge breakfast, Drake wasn’t hungry, so he contented himself with watching her, silently thanking the steward for his kindness, and only spoke when she started work on the last one. ‘So, what was the news? Let me guess. The Prussians have overrun the border and are pushing on Murmansk.’
Tanya glared at him, pouting in mock irritation as she swallowed a last morsel. ‘If you know everything alreadyI’m just going to catch up on the sleep I missed taking care of you.’
Drake chuckled. ‘I’m sorry. Please. Tell me what you found out.’
Tanya grunted, tossing her head exaggeratedly and turning away from him. ‘I’m not sure I want to.’
‘Please? I’ll buy you something even nicer when we get to England?’
She turned back and grinned at him. ‘Alright!’
Drake laughed as she leapt off her bed again and flopped down next to him.
Her happiness at the prospect of more expensive gifts from an English Lord vanished, though, when she began her report. ‘A couple of days after we were shot down, the Prussians crossed the border. They blasted straight through our lines as if they weren’t there and drove deep into Muscovy. Almost half the Muscovite troops were killed or captured in the initial push and the rest were forced to retreat in disarray. So many of my countrymen have been captured in fact that they don’t have anywhere to put them. The ones on this base are overflow from Prussian army camps, waiting for transport to more permanent facilities in places like Finland and Poland.’
‘That’s not good.’
Tanya raised an eyebrow at his very British understatement. ‘No, it isn’t, but that’s not the end of the story. Most of the soldiers here were captured during that initial attack, but there are a few that were brought in later
and they have a very different story to tell.’ She grinned. ‘Apparently, the Prussians had no idea how to deal with the cold and got bogged down after only a day or two. Some of the soldiers I spoke to had stones and canteens thrown at them because the enemy’s rifles wouldn’t work and there are also reports of entire patrols being found frozen to death in the snow.’
Drake smiled at her glee, understanding it completely; the Prussians were getting what they deserved: the same treatment every other invader of Russia had received over the centuries - the vengeance of the land itself.
‘Unfortunately it didn’t last very long. The Prussians learnt fairly quickly and they were supported by Finns coming up from the south - the ones we found in the bunker were probably left behind to secure their rear. The Muscovites were forced to retreat again, but this time it was far more organised. A few of the men and women I spoke to were part of the rearguard and they said that the majority of the remaining forces had made it across the river and were going to concentrate their forces at Murmansk. They’re fairly optimistic that they’ll be able to hold out because they have the Misfits to support them until the weather closes in, which is supposed to happen sometime in the next few days.’
Drake nodded. ‘Let’s hope they’re right, otherwise the Prussians will have their hands on the northern passage and all this effort will have been in vain.’
‘Yes.’ Tanya nodded sincerely. ‘Oh, one last thing - all the Muscovite prisoners are dressed in blue jumpsuits, we’re the only ones in red.’
‘And they’re all soldiers? No pilots among them?’
‘No. None whatsoever.’
‘Well, it no longer looks like we’re going to be summarily executed just for being pilots, but now we have the mystery of why we’re being segregated from the other prisoners and why we’re the only ones in red.’
‘I guess we’ll find out sometime.’ Tanya shrugged, not seeming too concerned. ‘So, how was your breakfast? Did you find out anything else apart from that they’re attacking Murmansk today?’
‘My breakfast was much tastier than yours by the sound of things, but I must say that the company left much to be desired.’
‘I can imagine.’ She nodded, sincerely. ‘I’ve never liked Gruber, even in the films where he was supposed to be playing the good guy; he’s too smarmy, too sure of himself. I prefer British films, where the star is shy and doesn’t know he’s a hero, even when he wins.’ She winked. ‘A bit like you, really.’
Drake shook his head. ‘I’m no hero.’
‘See?’
Drake stared at her, searching for traces of sarcasm and was quite shocked when he didn’t find any. He didn’t consider himself a hero, but he knew that many people back home saw fighter pilots as such, especially since the events of the battle in the skies over Britain, when the newspapers had made it sound like the only thing keeping the Kaiser and his hordes at bay were a few men and women in small, fragile fighter aircraft.
He had no idea what to say in reply, but he was saved from the necessity when the whir of airscrews cutting through the air came from outside.
As one, they leapt up onto Drake’s bed to peer through the high-level window.
By squashing their cheeks against the window and craning their heads they could make out a small slice of the airfield beyond the neighbouring brick building and they were just in time to see flashes of red as the Barons took off.
The sound of the airscrews faded quickly and Drake stepped off the bed, but Tanya stayed in place just long enough to spit a few words in Russian. He raised an eyebrow at her when she sat back down and she shrugged. ‘I wished them well in their mission.’
The laughter Tanya’s comment provoked didn’t last long and the conversation petered out not long after as exhaustion made its presence felt. The Muscovite woman soon went back to her own bed and the two of them wrapped themselves in their coats and fell asleep.
Drake woke some time later to the noise of first the MU9’s and MU10’s coming back, then to the return of the Barons. He wasn’t positive, but each time it seemed that each time there were far fewer aircraft returning than had taken off and the thought gave him some small comfort.
At midday, two metal plates were shoved under the door. This time they both had the same food - bread, water, sausage and, to Tanya’s disgust, more cabbage. Drake didn’t mind the cabbage too much, though; it reminded him of school dinners. They supplemented the meal with the last of Drake’s rations from the survival kit, leaving it completely empty apart from a few scraps of bandages, empty flasks and the penknife, and shared one of the Belgian chocolate bars as dessert.
With nothing better to do, they slept the whole afternoon into the early evening and were only vaguely aware when the fighters went up again.
A few hours of fitful sleep weren’t nearly enough to make up for almost a week of walking the nights away and shivering through days, though, and Drake wasn’t feeling particularly rested when the lights flared on, the cell door banged against the wall and guards burst in.
Tanya was pulled out of bed and shoved against the wall out of the way by one of the Prussians, while another held out a pile of clothes to Drake and told him to get changed. This time it was a dress uniform they had brought him, which went a long way to explain the care with which the guards gave it to him and their unusual patience while they waited for Drake to put it on. Once more, the uniform wasn’t quite right: the material was slightly rougher than the official one he’d gotten from his tailor on Savile Row; the RAC insignia on the breast of the long, form-fitting tunic was a cheap, brassy copy and not the gold-plaited one he’d paid extra for, as were the buttons; the purple band on the top hat wasn’t quite the right shade; the shiny black riding boots were about a half-size too big; and of course he was without the medals he’d won in France and Britain. It did fit him almost as well as his own did, though, thankfully, and he shuddered to think what he would have looked like if the, already tight, riding breeches hadn’t been exactly the right size.
There was no mirror handy for him to check his appearance, but Tanya’s admiring look was all the confirmation he needed that he made a dashing picture and he gave her one of his most charming smiles as he was grabbed, surprisingly lightly, and rushed from the cell.
Drake was met at the door of the pilot’s mess by the steward from breakfast, who welcomed him with a short bow and helped him out of his coat. He thanked the man, holding his eye a fraction more than was necessary to make sure he knew it wasn’t just the current service he was grateful for. The steward gave him a corresponding fraction of a nod in return, before disappearing with the coat into an adjoining cloakroom. When he returned a few seconds later he dismissed the guards with a cool nod then preceded Drake into the room.
Gruber was in his armchair by the fire, perusing a newspaper, but as soon as he caught sight of Drake, he tossed the paper to one side and came towards him.
The Prussian was likewise wearing dress uniform for the evening and it was as impressive as it was imposing. His tunic was black and form-fitting, giving him wide shoulders and a slim waist, and had silver buttons in a single line down the front, each embossed with death’s heads. A crimson lanyard went over his right shoulder under the stiff, gold braid-covered rank board and the same iron cross on red ribbon was around his neck and in addition there were more than a dozen medals, of various sizes and shapes, pinned to his breast, which made Drake feel the lack of his own ones even more acutely. Finishing off the ensemble were pressed black trousers, which were much tighter than they should be, tucked into highly-polished black calf-length boots that reflected the candlelight in the room like mirrors.
‘Welcome! Thank you for joining us tonight, on this most auspicious of occasions.’ Gruber smiled widely and grabbed Drake’s hand, shaking it heartily.
Drake extracted his hand from the man’s clammy grasp as soon as he could and raised an eyebrow. ‘Auspicious? What are we celebrating? Some Prussian festival that I’ve never heard of? As
far as I know it’s not October...’
‘Ha ha! Such wonderful British humour!’
Drake was amazed when the man actually seemed to genuinely laugh at his feeble joke; either he had already started on the schnapps or something had happened to make the man overlook any digs that Drake might make at him.
‘No, no, I will not spoil the surprise. First we will eat and drink, then all will be revealed later. Come!’
Gruber put his arm companionably around Drake’s shoulder and pulled him further into the room.
The mess had been transformed since breakfast. Gone were the small tables and chairs and in their place were the two long ones, pushed together to make a single dining table. They were covered with a white lace cloth and laid with expensive-looking china and silverware, including very distinct, very ornate, silver candelabra, which seemed vaguely familiar to Drake.
Gruber saw the direction of his gaze and grinned. ‘Ah ha! I knew you’d seen my movies! They’re the candlesticks from the wedding scene of “The Baron and the Princess”, replicas of course, made by a silversmith in Berlin; the ones in the flick were only chicken wire and tin foil. Don’t worry, I won’t be whipping out my sword and cutting the candles in half tonight, but only because decent candles are far too hard to come across out here in the wilds!’
He laughed heartily and Drake smiled politely, all the time wondering if he should tell the man that he’d never seen any of his pictures and that the only reason he’d recognised the candlesticks was that they’d featured quite prominently on the poster that had been plastered all over every cinema in England during the run of the flyvie. He decided it was better not to say anything, at least not before dinner, and instead looked around at the other men that would be joining them for the meal. They were all pilots, but dressed in the more usual storm cloud grey dress uniforms of Die Fliegertruppe. Drake was interested to note that only six of them had a red lanyard like Gruber’s, evidently marking them as Crimson Barons - it seemed that they had been whittled down a bit since he’d faced them, probably by the Misfits.
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