BUTTERFLY AND FALCON (Part 34)


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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Benin and John's apartment was in a block that had been faithfully restored to its original, pre-war condition. It had magnificent views of Veliky Yaroslav's palace complete with the half-dozen or so Orthodox churches within its grounds. Part of Novgorod State University occupied the palace now, particularly the Faculty of Antiquities.


Benin looked out of the window at the twin onion domes of the Church of the Asumption. It was floodlit, the white light gleaming on the polished gold. Where once the Orthodox cross perched atop the spires, now the Red Star shone in the artificial beams.


The domes themselves had been labouriously dismantled as the Germans approached in 1941 and stored for safekeeping. Their resurrection in 1946 was an occasion for festivities. Benin smiled as she recalled the teams of gymnasts and militiamen going about their drills while red flags waved and an orchestra played. As everything in Russia, it had propaganda value and she wondered what pious old Yaroslav would have made of it all.


Below her was Lenin street leading to October Square. A brass statue of the founder of the USSR stood in typical pose, arm outstretched, appealing to the masses. Kniaz Suvurov, the warrior-monk of ancient Muscovy, gazed West, as if his very stare would whither the invader. Soviet iconography settled like a dust over ancient Russia, she thought, and lay uneasily upon its History.


Through the bedroom she could hear the muffled sounds of Jana and John reacquainting. She smiled to herself and took a final sip of her wine.


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Opening the door to the bedroom Benin stood still in surprise. There on the bed lay John and Jana wearing nothing but smiles. They were completely uncovered, both on their backs and with their legs spread.


John lay sipping wine, his chest glistening with sweat and his dick, semi erect, rolled against his tummy.


"Hi, honey!" he said to her, the merest hint of guilt in his voice.


"Hi!" she replied, waving.


Jana's skin, too, glistened from exertion. Her big breasts wobbled on her chest, her nipples puckered and engorged. Between her legs, he reddish hair  was damp and her pussy gaped. For Benin, two more sexier sights couldn't be imagined.


Slowly, Benin undid the buttons of her blouse. Jana stared straight at her, eyes full of mischief, licking her lips.


"What took you so long?" Jana asked. Her voice was husky and throbbed with lust.


"I get to have him every night," Benin replied.


"Ah, but *I* don't have *you* every night," Jana told her.


John's dick began to stir as he looked from one woman to the other.


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77 Squadron, Royal Australian Air Force had arrived in Korea in late 1950. It was clear by the end of that year that their aircraft, North American P-51 'Mustangs,' were not up to the opposition. Their arrival had coincided with the that of the Soviet 64th Fighter Aviation Corps based near the Yalu River. The 64th FAC, consisting of the 50th, 151, 324th and the 303rd Guards Fighter Divisions, were all equipped with the new MiG-15. The Korean War signalled the end of the era of the propeller-driven fighter.


77 re-equipped with the Gloster Meteor Mk-8, a twin jet fighter-bomber designed towards the end of WW2. While the USAF took on the MiG-15 challenge with the F-86 'Sabre,' the Australians had to fight back with a heavy jet fighter already nearing obsolescence.


When 'Oz' Callaghan arrived in December 1951 for his 9 Month tour of duty with the 77th, morale was at a low ebb. 14 of the Squadron's 'Mustangs' had been shot down before the Australians converted to 'Meteors.' By the time 'Oz' arrived, 5 'Meteors' had been lost, mostly to Russian ace Kojedub and the crack Soviet 324th Fighter Aviation Division.


The 64th FAC was technically based across the border in China. In reality, most of the Corps' forward bases were in North Korea. The Corps was led by General Lobov, one of the foremost tacticians in the V.V-S. The MiG-15 was nicknamed 'Stalin's Falcon' and the 64th was one of the first all jet Fighter Corps in the V.V-S.


But going into 1952 the stunning dominance the MiG had in the skys over Korea was starting to run out of steam. Firstly, the Kremlin was anxious to shift the burden of the air war from Soviet pilots to the Chinese and North Korean 'Popular Unity Air Defence Corps of the People's Army.' Secondly, the USN's F9Fs, the USAF's F-80s, the RAAF's 'Meteors' and other clearly inferior aircraft were being withdrawn or directed to other, less vulnerable, tasks. The F-86 'Sabre' was very nearly an even match for the Soviet fighter and, in the hands of the USAF pilots, gained a tactical superiority over the hastily trained 'PUADC' pilots.


The Chinese admitted to losing around 240 MiG-15s in combat. The North Korean losses are unknown but are probably at least as high. Soviet losses were much less and well below the 700 or so claimed by the USAF. Soviet 'kills' were inflated too, according to Lobov after the war, by as much as a third. American sources claim a 1 to 10 ratio in their favour, but 1 to 5 seems more probable. In all, MiG losses rose spectacularly following the withdrawal of the 64th FAC, their replacement by PUADC, and the advent of the F-86.


Secret tactical and technical reports were all sent to back to Russia for analysis. New tactics were evolved, as did the MiG-17; designed to remedy the perceived shortcomings of the MiG-15.


By January 1952, 77th Squadron had switched to pin point bombing. A hiatus had developed in the bombing campaign, due to the vulnerability of the USAF's B-29s. The 'Meteor,' with its rugged construction, could take a lot of ground fire and still fly home.


But, at grass height, an experience 'Oz' shared with John Greehaugh, meant taking on the well-trained flak batteries. The North Koreans had developed a speciality in Anti-Aircraft Defences, thanks in part to the training imparted by the attached AA personnel of the 64th FAC.


It was in mid January, during a raid against a bridge over the Yalu, that 'Oz's' 'Meteor' was hit by flak. With his hydraulic lines punctured, he realised it was only a matter of time before his aircraft became unflyable. Ejecting, he quickly fell into the hands of the North Koreans.


At the time, Colonel Ioann Khrinov, alias John Greenhaugh, was Vice-Commander of a Fighter Aviation Division in Western Russia. The Division had only partially converted from propeller-driven aircraft to jets, thanks to the priority of the Korean War. Nevertheless, news of the war was scarce and Russian involvement barely mentioned. Already, Cold War rules were being observed.


So, at the time, he had no idea that American and Commonwealth prisoners were being held by the Koreans and, indeed, some had found their way into Russia under the 'care' of the KGB.


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The branch line cut deep into the Stanovoy Khrebet leading to the mines at Chulman. From there a road of sorts led the 800 kilometres North to Yakutsk, believed to be one of the coldest places on earth in Winter.


But life in Eastern Siberia was harsh regardless of where you were. The climate, isolation and the unrelenting boredom had sent many out of the wits.


The prisoners of GULAG 145H had heard that the Korean War had finished, or, at least, had passed into a continuous truce. 'Oz' had been shown a three Month old copy of Tass by a sympathetic GULAG guard. That would've been, what three years ago now? 'Oz' had no idea why they were still there. The Guards had no idea either but orders were orders.


But this captivity was better than being in the Pyongyang shithole where he first ended up after being shot down. His memories had faded and now lay like a nightmare in his subconscious to plague him at night.


First there was the arsehole they call 'Billy the Brute' who liked to wire people to a hand generator. But even *that* you got used to, until he attached electrodes to your dick. 'Oz' had never felt pain like it. The mere thought sent bile rushing towards his throat, even now.


It wasn't obvious what the North Koreans wanted out of him. He was an Australian serviceman fighting for the United Nations. He was doing his duty. What the fuck else did they want?


So there he had been, building a railway in the middle of Siberia. The line was finished last year, what? That would've been 1955? The prisoners had built their own huts, using timber from the forests, and lived on the meagre supplies the GULAG gave them.


But now that the railway was finished at least they could go out and fish in the river. Sometimes they'd lay traps for game; they all did, even the guards; anything to counteract the unrelenting tedium of men stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do.


John flickered like a distant beacon of hope to 'Oz'. He had tried for years to persuade one of the guards to take a letter, but all had refused. It would be more than their life's worth, they told him. But one day, 'Oz' thought, one day, he'd find someone who'll do it. That thought kept him going.


Like many things in Russia, much was rumoured but little really known about. The system discouraged questions and praised loyalty. Indeed there was a long tradition of not meddling in things that didn't concern you. 'If there were such things as labour camps, there must be a reason and, in any case, was none of my business.' 


But 1956 was a signal year for the GULAG system. Many political prisoners received amnesties and were released. Camps were dismantled, however, the system didn't disappear officially until the late eighties. The small group of Korean War prisoners, though, had a problem. Because they weren't officially acknowledged as existing, to release them would be an embarrassment to Moscow.


No reliable figures exist for that reason. Every Mother who had a son listed as 'Missing in Action' might well cling to the hope that he's alive somewhere and being held by the Soviets. There was never as many claimed by, in particular, the US, but rather more than even the most liberal Russian reformist would admit.


But was 'Oz' a victim of some secret Soviet policy of prisoner 'rendition' and interrogation or an accident of wartime? Probably both, or maybe the answer was something far simpler?


General Lobov was Commander of the Soviet 64th FAC and responsible for training the North Koreans and Chinese pilots who, it was hoped, would replace Russian pilots in the air war over Korea. Lobov had been a fighter pilot in the Great Patriotic War and, with air ace Kojedub, had got to know many Allied pilots during his time in Germany. Both of them developed a profound respect for American, British and Commonwealth pilots who, after all, shared a common cause against Nazi Germany.


Both he and the charismatic Kojedub, both Heroes of the Soviet Union and, in Kojedub's case a three time holder of this highest honour, were deeply disturbed at the conditions under which Allied pilots were being held in North Korea. Acting to the very limit of his authority he may have managed to obtain the release of a few of these prisoners into the hands of the NKVD and later, the KGB. That this good deed would've had unexpected ramifications for 'Oz' and his fellow prisoners couldn't be forseen. It is unlikely Lobov had any idea of their subsequent fate and, in all probability, expected them to be released once the truce was signed.


But the Soviet Union was engaged in a bitter propaganda war with the West. Officially the USSR was not an active participant in the Korean War. The MiGs of 64th FAC were forbidden to operate below the 38th parallel for fear they could be shot down and the Russian pilots presented to the World. For that reason it was politically undesirable to have to admit that there were any Korean War prisoners in the Soviet Union.


At first 'Oz' was sent to a labour camp run by GULAG. Following the completion of the mining railway, however, things began to marginally improve. The GULAG 145H was officially closed but the very isolation of the community made release into the outside World problematic. While other Political camp inmates were transported back to civilisation, 'Oz' and five of his comrades were left where they were. The authorities, apparently, had no idea what to do with them.


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In Townsville, Queensland, Australia, Catalina had been lobbying the Federal Government since the war ended for news of her husband. 'Oz' had been seen to parachute to safety and was presumed to be in the hands of the North Koreans. However, with the release of Australian prisoners, no word was forthcoming about 'Oz's fate. Sure, some of his fellow prisoners from Pyongyang had seen him being marched away by North Korean guards but the prevailing opinion, and that of the Australian Government, was that he'd probably been executed.


That wasn't good enough for Catalina. She wanted confirmation and a body to grieve over if he'd been killed. She pestered the Government until, at last, they sent an intelligence officer to see her.


The Officer, Stapleton, was dressed as a Captain in the Army. He told her that he'd served in Korea and, if anyone understood that country and its conflict, he was that man. He expressed sympathy and told her that, unfortunately, the only way to get anything done was to get in the face of the officials.


"I am required to tell you, however," he said, "that the Government is doing all it can."


"And what is that?" Catalina demanded.


"Not much," Stapleton shrugged. "There is a standing committee at Panmunjom and we make frequent enquiries about the fate of UN serviceman believed to be held by North Korea. Their standard response is, 'we know nothing.' There are 'back channels,' as we call them, and we have some theories..."


"What theories?"


"Some prisoners," He explained, "are believed to be held in Russia. The Soviets won't admit to them being there, so the Government has to tread carefully. The fear is that, if this should get into the newspapers, then the Soviets will clam up. You understand this is a very delicate matter and..."


"So you're asking me to shut up?"


"I wouldn't quite put it that way, but yes, for Squadron Leader Callaghan's sake it would be best. In return, we promise to let you know the minute we hear anything."


"There is someone you might ask," Catalina said, thinking. "There is an old friend of 'Oz's who he fought alongside in Spain. He's a New Zealander, I have his name somewhere... 'Oz' used to talk about him all the time..."


"How would this man help" asked Stapleton.


"Well he became an Officer in the Soviet Air Force. 'Oz' was posted to his unit for a time."


"In Russia?" replied the intelligence man in surprise.


"Yes, in Russia. The RAF sent over some Squadrons to serve alongside the Russians."


"Yes, I heard. So 'Oz' was there... and this New Zealander?"


"Yes."


"Can you give me his name?" Catalina told him all she knew and the man promised to look into it.



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Stapleton, who'd been a Police detective in Melbourne before World War Two, was not a man who easily gave up a promising line of enquiry. When he reported Catalina's information to his boss at ACIO, however, he was told to drop it.


They knew about John already, but he was 'one who'd jumped the fence.' A person who, it seemed, the merest contact with sullied one with the mark of a traitor. He was an embarrassment to the New Zealand and Australian Governments and Stapleton was instructed to have nothing to do with him.


But Stapleton knew the intelligence attache at the Australian Embassy in Moscow. Secretly, he sent him a private note asking the whereabouts of John and the possibility of establishing some unofficial contact.


A week later the reply duly arrived;


'John Greenhaugh (Ioann Khrinhov) formally of Hawera, Taranaki, New Zealand.'


'Officially listed as defector some time in 1938. Enlisted in the Soviet Air Force early 1939 and currently holds the rank of General. Married to Benin ? formally of Barcelona, Spain and a known Anarchist. They have four children'


'Current address uncertain but believed to be in Novgorod. Greenhaugh is Director of the V.V-S Tactical School, Ilmen Ozero, Veliky-Novgorod.'


Stapleton's friend had added;


'He's a difficult man to reach both because of his rank in the Air Force and   because of Departmental policy re defectors. I suggest we might try a 'back channel' through the KGB. I have a mate over there and we do favours for each other from time to time.'


Some time later in one of the ennumerable small parks that dot the centre of Moscow, two men sat together one day feeding the pigeons. The men appeared to be in their fifties, but solidly built as men who kept themselves in good physical condition.


"So, Ralph, what do you want with the General?"


"Canberra wants to get in touch, that's all I know, Rhykov."


"You think they want to snatch him back?"


"No, you can have him. We don't want a treason trial... bad for morale."


"It has to be unofficial, you realise?"


"Of course! No-one wants this to come out, especially our side!"


"Aha!" laughed Rhykov, "perhaps we need an article in Tass... one of your, 'human interest' stories, maybe? 'Ioann Khrinov, Hero of the Soviet Union, formally of New Zealand, speaks out about Soviet achievements...'"


"You dare!" the other man said, aghast, "your Cold War will get a little cooler."


"That's the trouble with you Australians," Rhykov said, laughing, "no sense of humour."


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At that moment, in far away Novgorod, John Greenhaugh and Jana Ivanova strolled into the bedroom of Benin and John's spacious apartment to get 'reacquainted.' They both had Benin's blessing, for things had changed considerably in the 11 years since the Great Patriotic War had finished.


John had been stationed with his Fighter Aviation Regiment in Austria. Under the shadow of the Tyrol, his mixed group of La-7s and 9s had practiced low level tactics through the mountain passes. But things were going to come to an end there soon.


Under the terms of the 1943 Moscow Declaration, Austria was to become autonomous, although divided, like Germany, into four occupation zones. That arrangement came to an end in 1953, when all allied troops were withdrawn and Austria became truly independent and neutral.


Benin had visited him there on leave from the NKVD. They'd just rented a chalet up in the mountains for the weekend and were preparing to leave when a transport plane landed. Piloting the plane was none other than Jana Ivanova.


She came striding over to the couple dragging her flying kit. John, whose fearlessness in the skies was noteworthy, appeared to be suffering from a panic attack. As Jana approached he could barely speak and it was up to Benin to introduce herself. Both women were amused by John's discomfort. Jana couldn't help but tease him.


"Reporting as ordered, Colonel sir," she said with mock formality.


"Ordered?" John's mouth gaped ineffectually.


"Ordered?" repeated Benin, trying to keep a straight face.


"Yes sir, Colonel sir!" snapped Jana. "Your orders were to report to you personally for a debriefing, sir." 


"Debriefing, John?" Benin eyed him suspiciously in such a way that it was plain she'd picked up Jana's double entendre.


"I didn't, I never..." pleading John.


"Perhaps," interrupted Benin, "she ought to report to the NKVD first?"


"What? You? Why?" John babbled.


"Perhaps we ladies *do* have some debriefing to do?" Jana contributed, helpfully.


"Perhaps," agreed Benin. The two women walked past John arm and arm and made it to the office before dissolving into laughter.


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KATZMAREK ©



