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Subject: {ASSM} (Rewritten and Serialised) Butterfly and Falcon (Part 16) By Katzmarek (Hist, rom,Mf,MF)
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Date: Fri, 30 Dec 2005 10:10:06 -0500
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 Part 16

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<1st attachment, "Butterfly and Falcon16.txt" begin>

BUTTERFLY AND FALCON (Part 16)

   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.

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

   As Europe entered the last year of the 1930's decade, it seemed obvious
to most people that a war was inevitable.  Whether the conflict could be
contained, no-one knew.  Certainly, Prime Minister Chamberlain of Britain
was one who thought a general European war could be averted.  Nevertheless,
even Britain was furiously arming itself to the teeth, just in case.

   The Soviet Union, too, had been rearming its immense military.  But,
unlike Britain whose armed forces were relatively small and could rely on
the efficient Royal Navy to ward off invaders, Russia had long and
vulnerable land borders to protect.

   Hostile neighbours snarled at her.  First, the Japanese, old enemies
from the turn of the century, lay just across the border in Manchuria.  The
Japanese Empire claimed ludicrously large chunks of Soviet territory in
Eastern Siberia, claiming they were the inheritors of ancient Chinese
claims.  They hadn't gained their wish list in the Peace of Portsmouth in
1905 and many in their military-led Government hankered for another chance.
In 1938 Japanese forces clashed with with their Soviet counterparts in a
brief and obscure exchange over the Amur river.

   To the North West lay Finland.  She was in a semi-covert alliance with
Germany, more of an 'understanding' than an international contract, and she
had the potential to bottle up the Soviet Baltic fleet in its harbour.  In
addition, her border lay within a good spit of Leningrad and, in the Soviet
view, was a dangerous springboard for enemy forces.  The Red Army had
little respect for the minute Finnish army, but feared Germany.

   Then there were the Baltic States of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. 
Like Finland, they were former Tsarist provinces that the Soviets had not
been able to re-incorporate into the new USSR.  The States were insecure,
to say the least, about their vast neighbour and had leaned towards Germany
as a counterbalance.  In Latvia's case, she'd even gone so far as to
embrace Nazi philosophy, complete with the swastika symbol.

   Another former Tsarist province was Poland and neither country had
forgotten the Red Army's invasion in 1922.  In that case, the skilled and
intensely nationalistic Marshal Pilsudski had rallied the Poles to a
historic victory over Trotsky's Red forces.  Moscow had never been
satisfied with the peace, claiming the Poles had gained territory that was
historically Russia's.  The border was too close to important industrial
centres, the Soviets claimed, and could be used as a springboard for
invasion by, of course, Germany.  That the Poles were equally hostile to
Nazi Germany didn't interest Stalin.  Poland was a Capitalist dictatorship
and thus could enter into an alliance with other Capitalist distatorships
at any time.

   Romania was another country flirting with Fascism and she hankered after
pieces of the Ukraine.  Hungary, too, was hostile as was Bulgaria,
traditionally the closest of Russia's friends but, like the other
countries, had territorial claims and showed themselves to be brazenly
opportunistic.

   In 1939 Russia seemed isolated and beset by packs of wolves probing for
signs of weakness.  At least, that was the view of Josef Stalin and his
opinion was all that mattered.

   Russia's rapid industrialisation and re-armament had put incredible
strains on, not only society at large, but the scientific and technical
communities.  They were the ones who had to come up with the advances, with
the inventions and developments that were to equip the rapidly expanding
Soviet military.  The huge Red Army demanded standardisation of equipment,
the industrial complex that supported the Red Army, too, needed decisions
so they could tool up and begin production.  Short runs drained resources,
were inefficient, but the wrong choices of equipment could mean that the
Red Army was stuck with thousands of tanks, for instance, that were useless
to them.

   14 plants made aero engines, for instance, and their capacity was huge.
The Soviet Government had settled on two basic types, more for political
than practical reasons, and, like it or not, the aircraft designers of
Russia were stuck with them.  In 1941 the Luftwaffe caught much of the Red
Airforce's Frontal Aviation sitting on its airfields but those Russian
fighters they encountered in the air were easy pickings for the
Messerschmitts.

   But Russia had the basic airframes, the technology, and the industrial
capacity to produce vast numbers of specialised and very capable aircraft.
All they needed was Western technological advances from the foremost
companies, such as Bristol's, Rolls Royce, Wright's and Pratt and Whitney,
and this came in an avalanche after the ink was dried on the treaties in
1941.

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

   In 1939, however, the Red Airforce struggled under immense pressure to
equip itself and train its pilots for the future conflict.  There were
shortages of everything, except young, enthusiastic recruits.  Its R and D
establishments sucked up everything they could get to give them an
advantage.  Anyone with any experience at all of air combat, especially
against the latest western aircraft, were siezed on, feted, coerced, or
co-opted into the struggle.  And those that helped willingly, such as John
Greenhaugh of New Zealand, via Spain, were looked after very well, as long
as they produced the goods.

   That John was an exceptional, intuitive, pilot there was no doubt.  That
he had experience fighting the Messerschmitt Bf 109, then the feared
nemesis of the Red Airforce, was on record.  That he also, like any good
pilot, could look at an aircraft and evaluate it wasn't always appreciated
by those who'd staked their reputations on it.  But his opinion couldn't be
ignored and, at the end of the day, the young Dr Mikoyan was sent back to
the drawing board to redesign the MiG 3.  John Greenhaugh had not liked his
product and Mikoyan's bureaucratic supporters quickly looked to preserve
their own arses.

   The test pilot fraternity at the Red Air Force Tactical Research and
Weapons Institute at Novgorod were delighted.  Pilots are an exclusive
club. Even enemies are respected as associate members.  Like all exclusive
clubs they socialise and work together and share the same opinion about
those whose feet are rooted to the earth.

   They loved John and treated him as one of themselves.  He, in turn,
enjoyed the comradeship and respect.  As his Russian improved, he was able
to communicate more easily and appreciate the subtleties of the
conversation.

   Jana Ivanova liked him too.  She was nothing short of gorgeous; a
talented aerobatic pilot, blonde, beautiful, and could fill out a flying
suit in such a way that stopped male ground crews in their tracks.  And, at
least technically, she was John's superior, a full Captain at the tender
age of 26.

   Her personal life was something of a mystery but it was known she was
never short of lovers.  It was known, too, that she had no intention of
settling down with anyone.  She lived for flying, as they all did, and had
no room in her life for a demanding man.  Domestic chores were a bore and
she couldn't see herself as anyone's housewife.

   John, though, had a distinct advantage over all the men that interested
her, he wasn't Russian.

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

   Meanwhile, far away in a remote French valley in the Pyrenees an old
friend of John's was contemplating his future.  'Oz' Callaghan, an
Australian from the, then, mainly rural State of Queensland, had fallen in
with a bunch of Anarchists.  He had all the qualities normally associated
with people from that part of the globe.  He was adaptable, practical,
self-sufficient, a born cynic and a talented story-teller.  He was also
lean, strong, a quick thinker and knew his way around firearms.  Why he
attracted the attentions of the passionate, French-born Anarchist, Catalina
he had no idea.

   He would tell everyone how she 'pissed him off.' He'd tell them that
'she'd bore the pants off a gallah.' Her singing, he'd say, was 'worse than
a donkey with its balls caught in a gin trap.' She was, he said, 'a fucking
nuisance,' but the comrades rarely saw him without Catalina in tow.

   She could drink him under the table.  She could knock him on his arse
with one punch.  She could pop the cork out of a bottle of wine from 100
metres away with her antique Russian rifle.  She was as strong as an ox and
no-one had bested her at wrestling.  In short, 'Oz' thought she was
wonderful.

   'Oz' had no intention of remaining in the Pyrenees.  The Basque
community here were poor and, although generous to a fault, 'Oz' didn't
feel right about living on their charity.  Some of the comrades were happy
to stay and join the guerilla war against Franco's soldiers just over the
border in Spain.  But, as far as 'Oz' was concerned, there was little point
anymore.

   The CNT, the Catalonia-based Anarchist Trade Union movement, had deep
roots here.  The Basques had blended the philosophy with their own bid for
political independence.  Already word was circulating through the mountains
of yet another Basque guerilla group.  One of dozens, they were called ETA,
'Basque Homeland and Freedom,' and they would burst onto the towns along
the Biscay coast in a long campaign of bombings and assassinations.  Even
striking at the very heart of Falangist Spain, Madrid.

   But the Basque's struggle was not 'Oz's.' Nor was it Catalina's anymore
and she knew that she'd only be a liability to the Basque guerillas who
were born in these mountains and were familiar with every rock and crevice.
To the Basques, in any case, a woman's place wasn't with the fighting men.

   Some half a dozen of the comrades decided to head on down to Perpignan
and join the émigré Spanish Anarchists there.  They'd been barely tolerated
by the French authorities but now there were so many Spanish refugees
drifting into France from the war that they either had to be absorbed or
there'd be serious unrest.

   'Oz' and Catalina joined them.  A big party was held the day before they
were to leave and no-one was left sober.  So it was with a pounding
headache that 'Oz' set off with the others.

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

   In Novgorod, Benin went shopping for baby clothes.  Money was plentiful
for the couple, the Soviets were ensuring they wanted for nothing.  One
thing they couldn't get was a car.  Benin was in no doubt it was to stop
them driving off over the border.  But that wasn't a problem in Novgorod.
There were few cars anyway and public transport was convenient and cost
next to nothing.

   Compared to Leningrad, Novgorod was staid and bucolic.  But the town was
ancient and picturesque, featuring fine museums and art galleries.  There
was an intellectual community there with a University of Fine Arts.  And,
to Benin's delight, there was a Ballet theatre with a permanent company,
the Medvedev.  The city authorities had not permitted the establishment of
a jazz scene, however, but the local musicians had produced their own
version of the American music by adapting local folk tunes using
traditional instruments.  The watchdogs could have no quibble with that. 
The musicians knew how to push the limits without incurring official wrath.

   The Pravda was all but empty, Communist Party bosses seemed unavoidably
detained in Moscow.  The staff still came to work, however, even if there
was little to do.  They drank and smoked in the staff areas or signed on
and disappeared for the day, returning at night to put in their time
sheets.

   But a cook was always on hand to rustle up a meal for John and Benin and
the floor attendant took away their laundry.  At the end of the day, they
were proud of the Pravda and the service it offered, even if there were no
guests.

   Benin spent her spare time during the day studying Russian.  A course
was offered at the University for foreigners and Benin seized the chance.
The class was small but the tuition was of a high standard.  Consequently
Benin's skill in Russian took a quantum leap until she was able to converse
fluently in day to day exchanges with the locals.

   John still struggled, however.  He wasn't motivated as much as Benin and
couldn't be bothered studying.  His Russian was seeded with Air Force slang
he picked up at RAFTRWI, most of it crude and offensive in 'polite'
company. Consequently he had difficulty making friends outside the
military.

   Not that it particularly bothered him, however.  The dozen or so pilots
at RAFTRWI were all the friends he wanted.  Whereas Benin was communal and
delighted in meeting people, John was an individualist content with his own
company.  Unless, of course, the word 'aeroplane' was mentioned in the
conversation.

   As their first month passed in Novgorod, Benin realised they were
drifting into separate lives.  John would leave in the morning and come
home at night and she knew, or understood, little of what went on in
between.  She'd tell him about her day, and he'd 'indulge' her by
listening, but he had little real interest.  She began to long for the days
in Leningrad when they'd go dancing together at the clubs and she'd watch
him arm wrestle.

   They still made love and he was exciting and tender as always.  He was a
sexy man who could arouse her with a look and Benin couldn't imagine a day
when she wouldn't enjoy watching him undress for bed.  If she wondered why
John still developed a hard on when she stepped out of the shower, it
didn't stop her enjoying the attention.

   But one day, as he breezed in the door, he called her 'Jana' when
answering a question.  She'd bristled, he'd got defensive and said he was
tired and it was 'just someone I work with now and again.' She wasn't
totally convinced but knew no better.  Even so, she felt some of the trust
had seeped from their relationship.

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

   John and Jana had both been assigned to the Yak 1 project.  After each
test they would have to prepare long reports to accompany the results from
the testing equipment fitted to the aircraft.  The Yak 1 became the Yak 3
after modifications, until eventually the basic airframe became the Yak 9,
one of the best fighters in the Soviet arsenal.  John and Jana were
intrinsic to its development along with Dr.  Yakovlev and a dozen staff
assigned to his bureau.

   Paper work was a burden, but necessary.  John struggled with Cyrillic
and needed Jana to help him with with his report.  Only a fellow aviator
could translate technical terms to him and, after all, they flew the same
prototypes so had an instant understanding.  Eventually, John mused, he saw
her more often than he did Benin.

   It was inevitable they they grew very close.  Fellow workers remarked
they made a handsome couple and began speculating about just how close they
*really* were.  In was inconceivable, they thought, that such a gorgeous
couple weren't screwing each other bandy, particularly working so closely
together.

   Jokes went around and Jana was aware of them.  John, less astute
socially, began to catch the drift also but they didn't mention it between
them.  Instead, all was business until the project was finished and the
aircraft could be passed for full scale production.

   Not, Jana thought, that she wasn't averse to an affair with John.  The
man excited her like few men could.  She had a high standard for her men
and John met just about every criteria.  Firstly, he was incredibly good
looking, big, strong and very male.  Secondly, he was a very good pilot who
had a *feel* for aeroplanes, he was clearly brave, a marksman, who had been
tested in real combat against a tough adversary.  Another point in his
favour was that he was absolutely unaware what a catch he was.  Thirdly, he
respected her as a skilled pilot regardless of her gender and didn't try to
'compete' as many of her male contemporaries would.  Lastly, he was not
Russian, with all the baggage that went with that.

   For Russian men, in Jana's opinion, were all 'mummy's boys.' What they
looked for in their women was someone to constantly reinforce their frail
egos.  They wanted someone to cook, clean, bear their kids, iron their
clothes and be ready to open their legs when their men felt the urge. 
Russian wives had to be prepared to be there after their husbands had been
out boozing to the wee hours, be prepared to clean up the vomit and to tuck
them into bed after they'd fallen down the stairs.  They had to be prepared
to be bullied by the Mother in Laws and beaten by their husbands.  Jana had
seen all that as a child and was determined that would never be her
destiny.

   Russian socialism had offered her the chance to alter the script with
its lip service to gender equality.  It was written into the Law that
discrimination in employment was illegal.  But the reality was different
and it had still been a struggle to be accepted by her male peers.  Now
she'd made the grade, she wasn't going to be dragged down by any man, no
matter how attractive.

   The biggest negative about John was his 'wife' Benin.  She was Spanish,
Jana understood, and, although she hadn't met her, she knew the reputation
Spanish women have.  Jana had no intention of been caught in a triangle
with a ferociously jealous Spaniard.  No man was worth personal injury.

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

   Beni led the group down the road to Perpignan.  He was their leader by
popular acceptance and 'Oz' had never seen anyone quibble with his
authority.  Some people, he thought, are simply born leaders and all the
democracy in the World would never alter that.  Beni just knew what to do
and everyone followed.

   They all wore the clothes provided by their Basque hosts.  They were
more practical in the climate than the clothes they wore on the trek over
from Spain.  They were woollen, warm, yet allowed free movement for
climbing or hiking.  Because, to Perpignan they had to walk because there
was no transport to be had.

   Nevertheless they all felt good.  They didn't have to watch for
Falangist patrols, they were free in a free country.  But most of all they
had each other and the intimacy of shared hardship and experience.

   Catalina had stopped at one point and serenaded a mountain.  They all
laughed and even 'Oz' had to admit it was pretty funny.  She was a born
comic, a goof, who could send herself up mercilessly.  She was vital,
passionate and larger than life.  She could fill a hall with her energy and
'Oz' adored every thump of her boot on the gravelly mountain road.

   "Fuck off!" he told her as she grabbed his arse.

   "What's this?" she laughed, "prime beef?  Huh!"

   "Steak's better when it's lean," he told her.

   "It's scrag!"

   "It does the business!"

   "Not *my* business!"

   "I haven't a pole long enough."

   "Don't spoil my fantasy!"

   "Hey!  You two!" Beni called, "in the name of the revolution can you
find a cave and fuck!" They all laughed, Catalina too, and 'Oz,' after
she'd thumped him on the back.  It was a wonderful time, that walk to
Perpignan.  One they all remembered in the dark days to come.

   The private joke between 'Oz' and Catalina was that they hadn't so much
as seen each other naked, let alone 'fucked.' The comrades were convinced
they'd been 'at it' every chance they could, but they hadn't.  It never
quite seemed the 'right' time.

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

   Jana was strapping herself into the Yak before John realised he hadn't
informed her of the 'miss' in the motor at 1100rpm he'd experienced the day
before.  He'd reported it Dr Mikhulin, who'd paid a visit to testing field
2 to observe the flight.  Mikhulin suggested it was just some condensation
in the fuel lines and not to worry.  It would, he said, work itself
through.

   But John wasn't completely satisfied and thought he'd better tell Jana
before she went up.  He jogged over to the aircraft and yelled up to her.
The engine was idling and she couldn't hear a word so John leapt up on the
wing.

   She was startled when John tapped her on the shoulder.  She'd been
absorbed in her preflight and hadn't realise he was there.  John bent close
to her face to talk over the noise of the motor.  Their noses were almost
touching.

   The exhaust stacks crackled, spitting back gusts of hot air.  Jana
peeled back her headset so John could talk into her ear.  Their cheeks
pressed together, whether deliberately or by accident was unclear, but
neither seemed inclined to draw away.

   John gave her the news and she understood by nodding vigourously.  She
was touched by his concern, particularly after Mikhulin had given the all
clear.  She turned her face to his and mouthed 'thank you.' That's when she
kissed him, completely on impulse and with no thought for the consequences.

   John had been startled, had looked around to see if anyone had witnessed
the indiscretion.  The three ground crew had been off talking to themselves
by the hangar about 200 metres away and couldn't have seen anything even if
they'd bothered to look.  John turned back to Jana and smiled.  Jana melted
before his smile, touched his cheek tenderly, then nodded for him to get
down to the ground.

   Once he was clear, she looked again at him, smiled, then slowly opened
the engine throttle.  A groundcrewman ran up, pulled away the chocks from
her wheels, and the Yak began to move towards the concrete taxiway.

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

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