BUTTERFLY AND FALCON (Part 17)


By KATZMAREK ©


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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.


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As the comrades approached Perpignan they encountered more and more Spanish refugees who'd made the trek over the mountains by other routes. Most often, they weren't particularly political, just groups of ordinary people terrified for the future or had their livelihoods wiped out by the war.


There was, though, still a fair number of militia and Popular Army soldiers in the column and the French authorities were determined they weren't going to cause trouble in France. 'Oz' and the comrades encountered road blocks manned by French 'Poilu,' who searched them for weapons and explosives. In contrast to the Basques, the French troops weren't friendly towards the Spanish and those suspected of being Communists or Anarchists received particular attention.


The men and women were separated and locked up in compounds for 'processing.' Little 'processing' was done, however, and, after a few days they were released one by one. The dispirited and disoriented Spanish were then received by the local émigré community who found them temporary accomodation. After a while, the Spanish slowly began to disperse throughout France or moved on to other countries. Anywhere, in fact, that would accept them without harrassment.


There were strong Left Wing movements in France. Syndicalism had its origins there and they had the largest Communist Party outside of the Soviet Union. But, as in Spain, rival movements spent more time feuding with each other than fighting the 'class enemy.' The influx of Spanish radicals fueled the fires and within days of the fall of Barcelona, Anarchists, Communists and 'Trotskyists' began squabbling with each other. Some street fights took place between the factions and shots exchanged. Weapons, despite the French authorities' precautions, were smuggled in and the French Government feared the groups were arming themselves.


Catalina was a French citizen but by association she was treated the same as the Spanish. No allowance was made for 'Oz' either and he was promptly arrested along with the comrades. They were taken to a compound run by the French Army at their main camp in the area, the Arsenale Roussillon.


Conditions were primitive and the only shelter was some tents provided by the army. There weren't enough to go around so most just lay down in the open. From experience, the French army separated the Communists and Anarchists by a low barbed wire fence and an armed guard. Earlier, fights had broken out between the two. Nevetheless, some took to shouting insults across the divide until they grew bored or were shooed away by the guards. Again, by association, 'Oz' was lumped in with the Anarchists. He had, after all, arrived as part of an Anarchist unit.


Catalina was locked up with the women on the other side of the sprawling army camp. The French intended that this should 'tame' the volatile situation. Beni told 'Oz' that this was typical, that the French authorities could only think with their dicks.


For the two days of their stay at the Arsenale 'Oz' moped. Something had gone out of his life and had been replaced by a grey depression. Even the efforts of the comrades to cheer him up just got him irritated. In the end, they let him be.


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A developing sexual tension or 'frisson' between John and Jana became plain the next day. They'd shared a kiss, and not merely a peck between good friends, and neither could answer the question, 'what happens now?'


John had spent most of the night thinking about her as Benin lay in his arms. He'd imagined her undressing for him, imagined the euphoria of first sex, saw her naked body thrusting at him and her mouth smothering him with hot kisses. Then he looked across at Benin and waited for the wave of guilt. He tried to rationalise, to make excuses, and to dream up a situation where it would be all right for him to make love to Jana; that Benin was ok with it, that she even encouraged him.


But, of course, he knew Benin better than that and knew exactly what would happen if she ever found out should he and Jana consummate an affair. What would his friend 'Oz' say? 'She'd have his nuts for nougat.' 'Damn right she would,' he thought, he'd be dead.


And what sort of man would go behind his pregnant 'wife's' back anyhow? His Father, he knew, would disown him. His Mother would take to her bed in grief. This was not the way they do things in Taranaki. At least, that's what he'd been led to believe.


He was becoming increasingly aware, however, of the sexual power he had over women. He'd never 'played the field' when he was growing up. He'd been too shy to ask a girl to dance let alone invite her for a roll in the barn. Maybe if he'd had, things would be different? Perhaps he could have 'got things out of his system?' Instead, out of the corner of his eye, he'd watch the girls as he strolled through the parks of Novgorod in his uniform. He noticed them staring, their jaws sagging or trying to catch his eye. Yes, even with Benin by his side!


He knew Jana would be game, he could tell without asking her. Hell, most of the RAFTRAWI staff were convinced they were screwing anyway. Jana knew that and she didn't care. Fuck it! If they believed he was stealing the cake, he might as well have a lick of the icing.


There was just one little problem he needed to solve and that was the hard part, living with himself afterwards. With or without Benin.


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When Jana arrived at work the next day, she instantly knew something was troubling John. He wouldn't look at her, he pretended she wasn't there. Even as they rode out together in the car to Testing Field 2, he looked the other way as if something interested him on the perimeter. She thought it all a bit childish and it bemused her.


She wanted to play with his mood and watch him squirm in discomfort. Hell, if he wasn't prepared to face her and be honest, then he deserved to be teased. She thought their friendship counted for more. So, they betrayed a little desire for one another? Jana thought it was cute. They hadn't fucked so what was the big deal? It happened to her all time and, she was sure, John too. She couldn't believe such a hunk as John had never been smooched by a female colleague before. 


Actually, she thought, his attitude was beginning to annoy her. It made her feel a bit like a Jezebel, when she *knew* he'd been as keen as her to touch lips. He really *did* need a sharp lesson in maturity.


They arrived at the field and walked to the hangar for the briefing. The ground crew were there scrubbing the aircraft but the technicians were still on their way. John opened the access door and went inside, Jana followed. When they were out of sight of the ground crew she came up behind him and groped his arse.


He jerked as if stung. Jana laughed and he spun around and confronted her. John advanced, backed her against the wall, and kissed her fully on the mouth. She hadn't expected this. Putting her hands on his chest she tried to push him away, but he was too strong and had her fully pinned. And, he kissed her beautifully, thoroughly, and she lost interest in trying to fend him off. If they hadn't heard the car arrive with the technicians, Jana felt he would've had her pants off and fucked her against the wall. And, she knew, she would've let him.


He backed away when he heard the car and she was left panting and trying to regain her composure before the technicians came through the door. She had been all but seduced by a man she thought she had the better of. John, she smiled to herself, was a dangerous man for her!


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When it was 'Oz's' turn to be called up before the French authorities, he had the impression they knew a fair bit about him already. He was brought to the room, a converted barracks, and before three men seated behind desks. He understood the routine already. Word had already gone around among the 'detainees.'


The first man was a military officer, a full colonel in the French army. The second was a uniformed officer in the French State Police. The third wore civilian dress, claimed he was from the Immigration Service, but the detainees were certain he was from French Military Intelligence.


The Policeman did the talking, the Colonel looked bored and the 'spook' just looked at him.


"Mister Callaghan?" the cop said in accented English, "what are your intentions in the French Republic?"


"To leave!" he told them. He was in a slow burn about his treatment. He just wanted out of this place, to a bar, find his friends, especially Catalina, and leave Perpignan.


The cop had grinned, the colonel looked insulted and the spook just continued to look on, expressionless.


"No doubt," the cop chuckled.


"Have you any intention of engaging in political activity during your stay in France?" the colonel asked.


"Nope!" 'Oz' answered in complete honesty.


"You wish to see the British Consul?"


"Nope!" 'Oz' bristled at the thought of his treatment by the British back in Barcelona. The last person he felt like seeing was a bloody Pom.


"You have somewhere to stay?" the cop asked.


"Nope, not yet." The cop shrugged as if he didn't care anyway. No doubt 'Oz' could sleep in the street as far as he was concerned, providing it was far away out of his jurisdiction.


The cop stood, the guard took 'Oz' by the elbow and escorted him out. He marched him to the main gate of the camp where a pile of belongings had been stacked ready. 'Oz' retrieved his gear, the guard told him to go, that was that!


He wandered around the fence towards the women's camp. Outside, an unruly mob of Spaniards were hurling abuse at a line of very young French soldiers. 'Oz' couldn't see the women's camp, it was too far down the road but he could see more squads of troops lined up behind the fence. 'That's what you get,' he thought to himself, 'when you separate a Spaniard from his woman.'


He thought there was going to be serious trouble. The French soldiers were beginning to crack, he could see, and one or two of the Spanish had produced revolvers. It wasn't a good place to be at that moment and 'Oz' retreated back the way he'd come.


He bumped into Beni and another of the comrades as he walked back. He told them about the trouble outside the women's camp and Beni shook his head in frustration. He invited 'Oz' for a drink. He had nothing better to do so he followed them.


They went to an Anarchist bar full of Spaniards and a few French supporters. They sat outside by the street playing with their frothy brews of French beer. 


No-one felt like talking much. They watched some of the drunks carousing and arguing among themselves. Someone started singing a revolutionary song but it eventually petered out from lack of interest. Nothing was ever going to be the same, 'Oz' thought. He wished they were still on that road from the mountains. He wished they'd never reached their destination and remained walking and laughing for eternity.



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The modified Yak 1, the Yak 3, had been rolled out and fueled. A small crowd of techicians, administrators and Air Force people had come out to have a look. Dr. Yakovlev was there, as was Dr. Mikhulin, the engine designer. They'd all come to see the display, a 'dogfight' between the two prototypes.


There was a serious purpose, of course, and the aircraft were cluttered with testing equipment. But, most of all, the audience expected a good show, with the two best aerobatic pilots at RAFTRWI.


John and Jana busied themselves with the preparations. This was a serious business, one in which you had to have a complete focus. If either pilot made a mistake they could have a mid-air collision. They were professionals and didn't let their personal lives intrude.


They sat together out on the field while Chernagovka went over the diagrams. The times were clearly marked and Jana made sure John completely understood the timing and sequences of the display. In this, she pulled rank. She was to call the shots and was the logical choice to lead. There was no room for egos in such a dangerous business and John completely understood.


Preparations were completed. Jana took the new plane, the Yak 3, and John, the Yak 1. As they taxiied out to the runway, Jana waved to him before sliding her canopy shut. They took off without further ceremony and climbed in formation to the assigned height.


"John, you read me, test!" she called over the radio.


"Reading, channel 2, check," he answered.


"I'm heading North now, John, 5 kilometres, your 6, copy?"


"Copy! North, 5 kilometres, Jana. Turning South over Field, you ready?"


"Ready, John. Coming now, max revs on my mark... now! Diving!"


John had one eye on the timer and another in the mirror, trying to pick up the Yak diving on him. The mirror was useless, it was too small and shook too much so he relied on the timer. He counted the seconds until the needle hit the first mark then pulled back hard on the stick. He still hadn't seen Jana, but, unless they'd screwed up, she should be flashing past underneath him.


John went up in a loop. At the top, when he was inverted, he looked quickly around for her. There she was, climbing, right where she should be, John relaxed. He went into a roll until he was rightside up, then looped again into a stunt known as a split 'S'. Jana should be coming straight down on his '12' now. She was, and John began to truly enjoy himself. The display was going off like clockwork.


If John had any doubts before, he had none now. Jana was a very good aerobatic pilot.


For the Yak was designed as a fighter aircraft, not a thoroughbred aerobatic aeroplane. It was bigger, much heavier, and far harder on the muscles. As the display continued, John's arms began to ache from the strain. He imagined Jana would be feeling the same, but still she snap-rolled the heavy aircraft, precisely on cue, exactly as planned.


They landed side by side, their wheels touching down practically simultaneously. They taxiied towards the apron and John saw the audience clapping. He was on a high, they hadn't screwed up, and the big shots were pleased.


Climbing out of the cockpit, John saw Chernagovka running towards them beaming. He'd no doubt just received another feather to go into his cap. 'Perhaps he'll be a *Major* Chernagovka tomorrow?' John thought.


"Marvellous!" he gushed, crushing John in an unmilitary embrace. "Wonderful!" he attacked Jana, sweeping her off her feet and planting kisses on her cheeks.


All their audience were excited and wanted to shake their hands or kiss their cheeks. Dr. Yakovlev was delighted. John smelt alcohol on his breath when he hugged him. Either he'd been celebrating early or trying to calm his nerves, John wasn't sure.


Eventually, Jana appeared in front of him and extended her arms. She was grinning broadly, she kissed him on the cheek, and hugged. 


"Well done, stud!" she breathed into his ear. John felt a wave of embarrassment, but it quickly passed and he followed everyone into the hangar for lunch.


Vodka was produced and it became obvious work had finished for the day. He sat next to Jana, they both bathed in the congratulations and were on a high. Jana squeezed his hand, it was something she'd done before but now, for John, he felt it had a special significance.


John placed his hand on her thigh. She was warm and he stroked it. She looked in his face, Jana's expression was fixed in a grin. She mouthed 'no' to him and shook her head slowly, still grinning. John assumed she wasn't serious so kept his hand in place. With an angry flick of the wrist, she dislodged him, then turned back to the others.


Later, the party had broken up and the two of them were the last to leave. As Chernagovka staggered to his vehicle, Jana leaned over to John and told him she wanted to see him back of the hangar. John, tipsy with alcohol had convinced himself he was going to get a 'lick of the icing.' However, when he turned the corner he was greeted by a well aimed punch to his midriff.


John staggered back, half the air expelled from his lungs. Jana sure had a punch!


"Fuck you!" she screamed, "how fucking dare you?"


"What?"


"How dare you grope me in front of the others. You think I'm a whore? Who the fuck do you think you are?" She siezed him by the collar, John recoiled in the face of her fury. "Arsehole!" she continued, "I'm a Captain in the Airforce of the Soviet Union, not some slut you can fool around with. How fucking dare you? You do that again and I charge you, arsehole. I see you in military prison!"


"Ok," said John, helpless, "sorry!"


"You fucking sorry? I make you sorry!" She tried to punch him again but he caught her by the wrist. She made a couple more stabs at him but he held her, vicelike. Her eyes moistened in frustration. She tried to aim another blow with her free hand, but John caught that too. He then pulled her against him to prevent her swinging at him again. "You let me go!" she told him, but her voice was weakening, "please!"


He did, and she straightened, stepped back, and fiddled with her hair.


"Maybe we should talk?" he suggested, apologetically. He felt crushed inside. He had come to work positive the beautiful Jana was his for the taking, and now...


"You fucking don't talk, you assume," she said, her voice calmer. She stalked past him and towards the car. John walked back to the administration building. It was a good 4 kilometres but he needed the time to think.


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As the afternoon dimmed towards evening, 'Oz,' Beni and the other Anarchist were still seated outside the bar. They had barely drunk and were stone cold sober.


More former detainees had arrived, the bar was at bursting point and the patrons had spilled out onto the road. 4 of the comrades had turned up, the other had been taken away by the police and no-one knew why. Beni said he'd go to the Police Station tomorrow and find out. One of the others suggested he'd probably had an outstanding arrest warrant in France.


One of the patrons got up onto the table. He was drunk and teetered alarmingly. He began to speak.


"Comrades," he said, "fellow patriots of the Spanish Revolution..." The comrades looked up, there not being much else to do. "... Beneventura Duretti once told me after... after... our heroic defence of Madrid..."


"He was shot, you fool!" someone shouted, "I was there... by the river. A sniper nailed him from the University. I was there and he never said a fucking thing accept, ouch!" A few people laughed and someone threw a glass at the orator. He jumped down shouting, tables crashed and beer went flying.


"C'mon, boys," said 'Oz,' "here's when the bullshit starts. Let's move on." They all agreed and got up to go.


"I guess it's always the same," shrugged Beni, "people feel a need to cement their place in History. 'No matter that we lost, I was there with the heroes and I did my part'."


"Did you do your part?" asked 'Oz,' "was it worthwhile?"


"I was there at Brunete, at Gerona, at more skirmishes then I can count," he said, "did I think it was worthwhile?" He paused, thinking, before answering. "It's not finished yet. This was just an episode. Many workers are going to be called upon to put their lives on the line in the years ahead. They must not shrink from the task. We can't let the bastards beat us, 'Oz.'" They passed a group of Communists who shouted abuse, brandishing their red arm bands. "But," Beni sighed, "we need to put our own house in order or we deserve nothing."


Up ahead they heard cheers and singing. A parade was marching up the street. They saw it was the women from the camp. The French had relented and released them all. At the head, and singing the loudest was Catalina.


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KATZMAREK ©
