index


Message-ID: <52694asstr$1135624862@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Reply-To: katzmarek@excite.com
From: "Katzmarek" <katzmarek@excite.com>
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Subject: {ASSM} (Rewritten and Serialised) Butterfly and Falcon (Part 12) By Katzmarek (Hist, rom,Mf,MF)
Lines: 534
Date: Mon, 26 Dec 2005 14:21:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


 Part 12

_______________________________________________
Join Excite! - http://www.excite.com
The most personalized portal on the Web!

<1st attachment, "Butterfly and Falcon12.txt" begin>

BUTTERFLY AND FALCON (Part 12)

   By KATZMAREK (C)

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

   John stood and watched Benin for a little while.  He was dressed in a
Soviet Naval Lieutenant's greatcoat complete with epaulettes and a fur hat.
Benin sat on a deckchair below the after bridge house tightly wrapped in a
grey blanket.  John thought she looked miserable.  He went to her, smiled,
and put a hand on her shoulder.

   "You look the part," she told him without looking up.  Her voice was
dull and lifeless.

   "Rhykov gave it to me.  He said it would be better if I wore a uniform,"
he explained.

   "Did he?" she replied, uninterested, "is he turning you into a Russian?"

   "No, just until we reach Leningrad."

   "Then what?  What is Rhykov planning for you?"

   "Not sure," he shrugged, "don't know much about the place.  Maybe get a
job flying somewhere?"

   "Huh!" she looked away.  Turning to look at him, she stared straight
into his eyes.  "Do you honestly thing you'll have any sort of choice about
what you do?  And what about me, John?  Did you ever spare a thought about
what I wanted to do?"

   "Of course!  I...  we had no choice.  You couldn't have walked over the
Pyrenees..."

   "You carry me out of the hospital, put me on a plane that nearly killed
me.  Then you set me on a Russian cruiser heading for Leningrad!  I trusted
you, John, I put myself into your hands believing I could trust you.  Well,
you've just proved what I should have known all along.  I should never put
my faith in any man!"

   "I don't see the problem.  If we don't like Russia we can go someplace
else!"

   "Oh, John, you really are a fool!  In Russia you have to have permission
to travel to the next city, let alone leave.  And do you know something,
John?  Do you know why there are no Anarchists in Russia?  Do you know why
there aren't any supporters of Trotsky?  Syndicalists?  Republicans? 
Democrats?  Do you know why?  Because there's not allowed to be, that's
why. You can't belong to any organisation unless the Communist Party says
it's ok.  That's what you're dragging me to, John!"

   John Greenhaugh found a spot on the deck to look at.  "We'll be all
right," he said, "Rhykov said he'd..."

   "Rhykov, huh!  That man's sucked what little sense you had out of your
brain.  You know he works for the GPU, don't you?" John nodded.  "And you
know what the GPU is, don't you?"

   "They're like a secret intelligence service."

   "They're a department of the NKVD, the security police.  They're
Stalin's goons, John.  They do all the dirty work the Soviet Politburo
tells them to do.  They murder opponents overseas as well as in Russia. 
Anyone who earns the displeasure of Josef Stalin gets put into the hands of
the NKVD.  They are the controlling arm of the Party, John, answerable only
to the big man himself.  And you trust such a man as Rhykov?  He's using
you, John.  I don't know what for, but men like Rhykov don't spit unless
they're ordered to so if Rhykov told you anything it's because he's been
told to."

   "I think you're wrong, Benin.  Rhykov's not like the others.  And
Admiral Gorshin seems like a decent fellow."

   "Maybe, but he didn't make Admiral by not following orders."

   "That's not what I heard.  The other Officers say he's quite a
maverick..."

   "What other Officers?  You can't even speak their language.  How do you
know what they tell you?"

   "Rhykov translates for me."

   "Oh, shit!" she said, rolling her eyes, "I give up!"

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

   The 'Tchervonya Ukrainiya' had met with its tanker 'Alma' and support
ship 'Anadyr' off Lisbon and the three ships sailed together to meet two
Soviet freighters and escort them past the Nationalist Naval base at El
Ferol.  The small convoy was then to head back to the Baltic and home.

   Admiral Gorshin was glad this tense mission was at an end.  He
understood that such a delicate operation required the judgement of a
trusted senior Admiral.  An error by a mere ship's Captain could've
involved the USSR in a confrontation with, not only the Axis powers, but
France and Britain.  But Soviet interests had to be seen to be defended. 
It would not do that Blum, Chamberlain, Hitler and Mussolini should be
shown that the Soviet Union had no teeth.  Not do at all.

   Men like himself had seen Russia similarly torn apart in a brutal civil
war.  And, as in Spain, foreign powers had rushed in to protect their own
interests with little idea, or sympathy for, the complexities of the
situation.  The end result has always been to pour petrol on the fire and
ratchet up the stakes.  It's always the little people who suffer.  Those
with no means of getting away.

   He'd been fortunate in chosing the winning side in the Russian
Revolution.  What charms he had to avoid the shifting fortunes of society
and the navy he didn't know.  He did know, however, that he'd been lucky
to, not only survive, but to prosper when so many people he knew had not.

   Could he have ever had such a fortunate life in the West?  He'd had the
opportunity on many occasions but it would've meant leaving his beloved
Katka and their children behind to face the fury of vengeful authorities.
In any case, he'd never seriously considered abandoning his homeland.  He
was Russian, and his life was irretrievably grounded in the soil of the
Motherland.  Like the Baltic pine, he may be uprooted and refashioned, but
always his essence was from the very soil that gave him life.

   The Admiral saw the two refugees as he was making his daily rounds. 
He'd always done this since his first command way back in the days of Tsar
Nicholas.  He'd speak to as many of the crew as he could, show interest in
their duty and career.  It was the cotton that bound the fabric of the crew
together.

   The Spanish woman reminded him of his very own Katka.  She was not
dissimilar in appearance, too thin by half, and dark.  She was miserable,
he could see, about being separated from her home.  Like Katka, who was
Latvian, she could probably never return home.  Like Katka as well, she'd
been 'stolen' by a man utterly devoted to her well being.  The Admiral
grinned at the memory.  Not all felonies have unhappy consequences.

   And this man?  He was from a country on the other side of the World from
just about everywhere.  From a country where most people would be at a loss
to find in the atlas.  An adventurer who'd staked his fortunes,
deliberately or not, in a hopeless cause.  A man who tries to make the best
out of every situation, who'd never contemplated wandering around a Soviet
warship on its way to Russia with his reluctant fellow traveller.  The
Admiral watched him standing by the handrail, looking out to the ocean,
dressed in a Soviet Lieutenant's uniform Rhykov had fetched for him.

   He had little idea what was in store for him, little idea of Russian
society, culture, and the State.  But he plays his cards calmly with the
hand he's dealt.  'That boy will survive,' he thought, 'of that I'm sure.'
He only hoped his Anarchist lady finds the truth in what she has.  Because,
the Admiral thought, it's only through their love and passion can they find
a purpose in a grey World.

   "Good Morning," he told them in English, the little English he knew.

   "Admiral, sir!" John saluted.  Benin nodded sullenly and looked away. 
Unable to communicate further, the Admiral smiled then continued aft.

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

   "Benin is not happy," John told Rhykov at dinner.  Rhykov observed that
John had taken to the little customs of the mess.  He'd done his best to
blend in with the crew in most respects.  And that without knowing a word
of Russian.  The man was remarkable!

   "She is afraid, perhaps, of what happens when we get to Russia?" Rhykov
suggested.

   "I think so.  She thinks she'll be arrested and put in prison.  And, I
think, she misses home."

   "Ah, I can understand her homesickness.  It is a hard thing to be
separated from all you've ever known.  But you must tell her that Spain
will shortly change from the society she knew to one she wouldn't want to
live in.  Tell her she is more likely to spend her life in prison there
than in Russia."

   "Is she right, though?  Will she be in trouble in Russia for being a
'Mujeres Libres'?"

   "I'll tell you plainly, John, no bullshit, right?  There is a risk,
sure! If she wanted to stand on Nevsky Prospekt handing out leaflets
suggesting Stalin is an idiot and we should all raise the red and black
banner over the Kremlin, she will be picked up quickly by the militia.  No
doubt she will spend time in the Lyubyanka at the Party's pleasure.  This
is something you can't do in Russia.  But if she obeys the laws as they
stand, there will be no trouble.  You know something, John?" he continued,
"the way to thrive in Soviet society is by patronage, you understand?"

   "Um, no!" John shrugged.

   "Ah, you see, I'm this big shot, ok?  I need someone to protect my arse
so I take John Greenhaugh under my wing.  John proves himself very reliable
and a devoted friend.  So when I get to go places, I take John with me.  I
get the top job so I never forget the friends who've helped me.  I make
sure they're ok.  I use my power to protect their interests just as they
protected mine.  That's how the system works.  Gorshin, he bullshits for me
and I bullshit for him.  But if I ever fuck him up, then I know I'll be
shovelling snow in Irkutsk for the rest of my life.  Make no mistake, the
Party knows this and has little sympathy for someone who betrays their
boss, whatever the circumstances.  Loyalty, above all else, is the most
important thing."

   "I see."

   "And Benin?  You must see that she is happy.  You must see that she does
not want to rock the boat and cause trouble.  If she does, she will not
only cause problems for yourself, but the Admiral and me as well.  You
protect our arses, see, and we will look after you both."

   "How do I do that?" John said, "she doesn't listen to me."

   "Fuck her, John!  Fuck her day and night and don't give her time to
think.  You think you can do that?"

   "Umm," John replied, embarrassed.  He looked down at his plate trying to
conceal his discomfort.

   "This is the task I have set for you," Rhykov said, grinning, "your
orders!"

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

   Many of the GPU agents had abandoned the cruiser for much more
comfortable quarters on the 'Anadyr.' The support ship had spare
accomodation for relief crews.  This eased the problem on board the
'Tchervonya Ukrainiya.' There was now more space available and the senior
Officers returned to their own quarters.  Rhykov elected to stay on board
the cruiser.  The Admiral regained his day cabin and John was given
quarters of his own.

   The cabin normally accomodated two Officers but, in this case, the other
bunk was empty.  It was smaller then the day cabin, just one room, but it
had a small metal desk and a shared shower and toilet.  On any warship,
privacy was rare, and John considered himself fortunate.

   But he wasn't alone for long.  Little did he know but Rhykov had seen to
it that Benin was evicted from the medical bay.  There was now no need for
her to be under constant care.  The Doctor had removed the last of the
shrapnel from her legs and her broken ribs had begun to heal.  Still sore,
she walked with difficulty on crutches and wore a brace around her chest.
Two orderlies escorted her to her new quarters, much to John's surprise.

   "Hi, Benin, you well?" he said, smiling.  She shrugged.

   "Which one is mine?" she asked, nodding at the two bunks.

   "I guess that one," he indicated, unless..."

   "No, that'll do." She eased herself down onto the bunk with John
hovering.  She told him she didn't need his help, she was not a child.

   John felt awkward.  He didn't know what to say or do.  Benin lay on the
bed and closed her eyes.  He sat on his bunk and watched her.  "You
painting a picture?" she said, eyes still closed.

   "I..." he swallowed, "I...  love you, y'know!"

   Benin opened her eyes and looked across.  "Idiot!" she said, slowly
shaking her head.

   "Benin?" he said.  She didn't respond.  "Benin?  I'm sorry for... 
everything."

   "I know that," she murmured.  Opening her eyes, she looked at him again.
His eyes were downcast.  He reminded her of a child being reprimanded by a
parent.  "John?  When are you going to grow up?"

   John stared back into her eyes.  He remembered what Rhykov had 'ordered'
him to do.  He grinned at the thought.  He stood and knelt beside her and
brushed a lock back from her face.  "Don't!" she told him, half-heartedly.

   Benin felt herself responding to his nearness.  Despite her resentment,
her anger, at what he'd done, she knew it would always be so.  She did, and
always will, feel a powerful sexual attraction for him.  She felt herself
drawn to his presence but, at the same time, she wanted him to suffer. 
When he bent to kiss her she kept her lips pressed together.  She didn't
want to show him how she was really feeling, how she wanted his big strong
arms around her and the intimacy of his body against hers.

   He withdrew his face and Benin shut her eyes against his deepest blue,
full of passion and longing.  He kissed her again, much longer this time.
He remained there, his lips pressed to hers, moving, seeking a response she
was determined not to give him.  She put her hands to his face and tried,
weakly, to push him away.  Instead she held his face, trembling at the feel
of his skin.  She wanted him so badly it hurt.  With a sudden heave she
strained against his face till her ribs protested with searing pain.  She
cried out and John sprang back in panic.

   He opened his mouth but she shushed him.  "I'm all right!" she said,
wincing.  He laid his head gently on her shoulder and nuzzled her neck. 
Benin absently stroked through his blond hair.  After a few minutes she
became aware he was sobbing.  She screwed up her eyes as, hers too, began
to moisten.

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

   Benin woke to find John's arm thrown over her.  He was sound asleep
beside her on a collapsible bunk that had materialised from somewhere.  She
looked over and found his own bunk, bolted to the deck, had had its
mattress and blankets removed and shifted to the new bed.  She didn't think
about where the new one had come from.  She grinned to herself and pulled
his arm tighter around her body.

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

   "Well?" Rhykov asked at dinner, "how did you get on?"

   "I...  I think everything's going to be all right," he told him,
embarrassed.

   "Good!" he slapped John on the back.

   "Hey!" an Officer said in Russian, "that's not fair.  He's the only one
on board who's getting any!"

   "He's only following orders!" Rhykov said, grinning.  There was a gust
of laughter from those around the table.  John looked around bemused, not
understanding.  Looking at John, Rhykov suggested that he ought to learn
Russian.  John shrugged.  He wasn't that good at languages.  He'd had a
hard enough time with Spanish.  Benin, he said, was much smarter.  "Ah,
then she should go the Foreign Language School in Leningrad.  Perhaps she
could teach Spanish there?"

   "I'll mention it," John replied.

   "And you," Rhykov continued, "I'm sure Naval Aviation or the Air Force
could do with an experienced combat flying instructor?  But you will need
to be fluent in Russian.  That's your next task," he smiled, "there's no
choice there I'm afraid." John shrugged.  "Another thing?" he continued,
"do you have a Communist Party in New Zealand?"

   "I...  I dunno, why?"

   "You have and you have been a card carrying member since 15 years old.
Your Father was a member too, it is a good working class tradition in your
family."

   "It is?  He was?" John replied, confused.

   "Yes, I have your membership card in in my pocket.  At some stage you
will need to join the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.  Your New
Zealand membership card will help your candidacy.  I will look after it for
the time being.  I don't think there will be anyone who'll argue against
your suitability to become Soviet citizen.  If that's what you want, of
course."

   "I'll need to talk to Benin?" John said, stunned.

   "Of course," he grinned, "'talk' to her as much as you want." Rhykov
winked at John who blushed.

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

   Strolling back to his quarters, John decided he rather liked his new
role.  Even though the uniform wasn't his, it gave him status.  There was
nearly 550 sailors on the ship and he 'outranked' over 3 quarters of them.
There was much more formality in the Soviet Navy than there had been in his
squadron.  In all, he decided, he quite liked the respect he was given.

   He went into his cabin.  Benin had just finished eating.  She'd never
been invited to the mess but she'd wouldn't have accepted anyway.  Instead
a mess orderly brought her meals to their quarters.  John took off his
greatcoat and hat and pecked her on the cheek.

   "No salute?" she said, sarcastically.

   "Only to superiors, Benin."

   "Huh!"

   "Would you care for some wine, my dear?" he said, conjuring two bottles
from behind his back.  "It's Georgian, a fine vintage I'm told."

   Benin looked at the bottles.  Even if it was shit, she thought, it'd
been a long time since she'd tasted a grape.  "Are you trying to get me
drunk?" she eyed him suspicously.

   "Would that be so bad?"

   "No!" she smiled and reached for a mug.

   A little later they were both giggling like children.  The wine wasn't
exactly the finest.  Benin suggested battery acid had been added to it. 
John told her, grimacing, that he was beginning to doubt Rhykov's honesty.
Nevertheless, they both poured a second mug.

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

   Meanwhile, far away, columns of Nationalist infantry made their way in
triumph into the town of Lerida.  Lerida, the centre of a network of
canals, should have been easy to defend.  But Franco's soldiers, moving in
from Aragon, found the town had been evacuated of Government troops.

   To the Northeast of Barcelona, on the main road to the French border,
the town of Gerona was wrenched from its Anarchist defenders.  The Lenin
Division, formerly all members of the POUM, was sent North to rescue the
situation.  The Division was decimated in dozens of running fights South of
Gerona and the surrounding valleys.

   To the South, Modesto suddenly evacuated Tarragona almost cutting off
Miaja's Army of the Ebro from its retreat North.  Miaja's passage was
orderly, however, thanks to remarkable inertia on the part of the
Nationalist General Moscardo.  It appeared at the time that the
Nationalists intended the Republicans to withdraw to Barcelona so they
might 'put a cork in the bottle.' But that wasn't the case.  Moscardo was
simply let down by bad intelligence.

   'Oz' Callaghan was one of the 40,000 or so soldiers of the Ebro that
trekked in long columns towards Barcelona.  The troops were continually
harrassed by aircraft of the Condor Legion and the road was soon littered
with wrecked transport.  In the main those walking, the vast majority, kept
off the road and streamed through fields of ripening corn.  The army soon
became a strung out mass of men, straggling along some 30 kilometres of
coast.

   Nationalist Cavalry harried the rearguard, who kept them at bay with
skillful guerilla tactics.  Moscardo's men feared every ditch, every barn,
lest there be a squad of the despised 'Rojos' lying in wait.  Even if there
wasn't, there was a good chance that booby traps had been left behind made
from artillery shells, rifles fired by trip wires, or dozens of other
deadly innovations.

   Meanwhile, 'Oz' asked around about routes through the Pyrenees.  The
most popular, he was told, was up the Llobregat river, over the pass at a
place called 'Puerto de Tosas' then up the valley of the Segre and into
France.  The most popular, he considered, was generally not the safest as
clearly the route would be swarming with Falangists.

   Otherwise, by boat was a 200km journey in open waters to the French port
of Port-Vendres.  It was known the Italian 'Legiero' bombed and strafed
anything on the water, sometimes under the very noses of British and French
warships.  Only when inside French territorial waters would the French Navy
offer any sort of protection.  Even so, there were numerous violations of
sovereignty by raiding Italian aircraft and numerous protests to Rome,
which were all ignored or referred to General Franco.  The Italians, of
course, were officially 'volunteers' and Rome insisted they had no
authority over them.

   'Oz' walked on.  He figured he'd get to Barcelona then work something
out.  Besides, there were all those French sheilas just waiting to hear of
his adventures.

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

   "Ouch, you big lunk," said Benin, "careful with your elbow!" They were
sitting together on their bunks with their third mug of the evil Georgian
wine John called, 'Russian rot-gut.' John eased his arm once again over her
shoulders, this time with more finesse.  Benin accepted his kiss, then
touched her forehead to his.

   The wine had drained the tension from her.  She even felt a little
aroused.  She pushed her lips at him and he responded with passion.  Benin
had missed having sex with John but her injuries still hurt.  A deep
shrapnel wound to her thigh still throbbed and a dull ache accompanied her
every intake of breath.

   She slid down alongside him and he followed, still kissing.  Her hand
ran down over his back and over his strong thigh.  His hand cupped her
arse, his fingers trailing until they began to explore between her legs.

   Still uncertain whether she was up to making love, nevertheless, she
felt the front of his trousers to assure herself he was as aroused as her.
She gently squeezed the hard ridge of his cock.  Yes, she thought, he
wanted her.

   John began to pull at the buttons of her shirt.  Soon he'd opened it to
her waist and she gasped when she felt his cool lips on her bare breast.

   "John...  oh baby, I..." she started to say.  He kissed her again,
open-mouthed and tongues sparring.  "John!" she gasped, "I don't think... I
can take your weight!"

   "Doesn't matter!" he said, pulling at the belt of her trousers.  "I just
want to feel you."

   Her hand continued to rub him, then undid his belt and fly buttons.  He
lifted up and pushed down his trousers and underpants in one go.  His penis
sprang into Benin's hand, warm and slick with arousal.  Her trousers he
eased down, taking care of her bandages, and she kicked them off so they
fell on the deck.  He ran his hands over her warm thighs resting in her
dark, moist fur.  Benin gasped and put her leg carefully over his.  "This
way," she whispered, "like this!" she repeated, pulling his cock towards
her.

   Benin brought his erection to her pussy and maneuvred so the tip was
poised at her entrance.  John cupped her bare arse and gently pushed until
her was buried inside.  He allowed her to wriggle against him until she
moaned for him to push.

   "Go, harder!" she urged, "do it!" He leg locked around his, trapping
him. He thrust as hard as he could from that position as Benin urged him on
with cries of pleasure.  "Oh!...OOOHHH!" she cried, clamping herself to his
body.  "OHH...  fuck, that hurts...OOOHHH!"

   John exploded months of frustration deep inside her.  Benin held his
head until he'd ceased grunting.  "Jesus!" she moaned, "I...  can hardly...
breathe!" She looked at the panic on John's face.  "I'm all right!" she
tried to smile, "just...  give me a moment."

   Later, Benin suggested they should dispense with clothes at bedtime. 
John agreed, smiling.  She told him that making love had been painful, but
it had been worth it.

   "Only," she added, "maybe not every night!  Perhaps later when I'm
feeling better, we can..."

   "Sure!" John smiled, "if they are your orders." She gave him a funny
look but decided to let the comment pass.

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

	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
	This post has been reformatted by ASSTR's
	Smart Text Enhancement Processor (STEP)
	system due to inadequate formatting.
	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

	
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+