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| A Russian Countess. |
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brass Hats and Gold Doorknobs
The train next to ours was laden with trouble, of a kind I wasn’t too well-equipped to deal with. As we approached, a clump of high-rankers scuttled back up the steps and into our command car.
“Well, thanks for the flight.” I told Squadron Leader Powell. “Go get some lunch.”
I went in to see what was up. In the car, I tossed my flight helmet onto a side table, and began to peel off the layers. They all sat around the long table and watched silently.
“Lady and gentlemen.” I began. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine morning?”
“This is the Countess Svetlana Kuteznetsovna.”
Bowing low at the waist, I kissed her hand.
Johnny Salmond handled the introductions.
“Boom you know, Brancker, Keynes, Bernie, meet Will Tucker.”
There was a good dozen of them, but some preferred to remain anonymous. One of them kind of crowds.
“So what’s all this about, then?” I murmured graciously, more politely than I felt.
“We’d like you to co-ordinate with Belgian Intelligence.” Said Brancker. “And we did request an inspection.”
 |
| Sefton Brancker. |
The Belgians were holding a tiny corner of their homeland. The ‘Powers That Be’ threw them a bone once in a while. There was no question of French Intelligence getting involved. The Countess sat there batting her big long eyelashes, studying me.
“What about that landing?” Asked Trenchard.
“Sorry, Boom. The ground is just a little spongy.” I explained. “And it is a short field, after all. Maybe Powell touched the long grass slightly too fast. No big thing. Maybe he should have tried the three-pointer. Maybe he should have put more back-stick on it when we started to go over. Maybe he should have throttled up and tried another takeoff. Maybe he should have stayed in bed this morning.”
Boom was grinning by this point.
“We’ll check the plane out before anyone else flies it again.” I assured them. “That particular machine was a spare, and they are expendable.”
“We’re not here to cause problems for you, Lieutenant-Colonel.” Began Brancker, who was a nice enough guy, once you got to know him. “We’re actually quite impressed. No one’s ever done this before, you know?”
I was in no mood to beat around the bush.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said impatiently.
I jumped up and moved to the open window. The stress of the last ten or eleven weeks was beginning to show.
“Turn that damned music down.” I barked through the curtains.
The outer world suddenly grew a tad more silent.
Boom’s eyebrows rose.
‘Very impressive,’ his expression seemed to read.
“His master’s voice.” He joked to the silent room.
“I’m sorry, but my bark is worse than my bite.” I responded peevishly.
“It’s just that no one has put an entire frickin’ aerodrome on a train before, Tucker.” Sefton Brancker patiently explained. “We didn’t think it could be done. You’ve got men, machines, tools, and spares, and parts, and food, knowing you, some booze, and fuel, and ammunition...”
I supposed he was right.
“How long did it take you to get here?” He went on. “Once you have your mind made up, there’s no stopping you, eh?”
We had the pretty fair nucleus of three squadrons on one little train.
Never thought of it that way. Or one big squadron, from his antiquated point of view. My close-up view, and personal responsibility had blinded me to the unique achievement that we had achieved.
“We had a hard time finding you, and a hard time catching up with you.” Brancker added.
You catch on fast, I was thinking. When the smart pills begin to look like dead flies…but you get the idea. (I’m halfway to a cure?—ed.)
“We drove around for three hours trying to find your aerodrome at Norwich.” He murmured.
He wasn’t exactly angry. Just an odd look on his stern visage.
“Sorry, sir. I thought you guys were here to give me shit for something.” I told him simply.
My nerves were beginning to settle down a little. We had just crashed, after all.
 |
| Boom Trenchard. |
“Have you had lunch yet, my brave young hero?” Asked the Countess.
The blood rushed to my neck and face, so I bit down and tried very, very hard to keep my mouth shut. What the heck was her problem? She’s after something. I can always tell.
“I’m fine.” I assured her.
I preferred to wait until they all left.
“Allow me to offer the hospitality of my dining car. Our chef is one of the finest, and quite frankly, one of the most famous, in the world.” She promised regally.
Boom was making eyebrow signals at me like I should take it and I had no choice. But I really don’t do politics and I don’t do diplomacy. Not on my pay.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” I stood up to dismiss them all. “I was just going to have a can of soup at my desk and keep working on my all-encompassing plan of world domination.”
“Harrumph.” Began Trenchard.
“And I could use some fuel tankers, of the lorry-type I mean.” I harrumphed right back.
I sat down. So they weren’t leaving yet, eh?
“How many do you require?” Asked Sefton in a conciliatory tone. “I’m sure we could get two or three fairly quickly.”
“That’s what you fucking said last week, and the week before.” I barked, jumping up again.
“Turn that music up a little.” I bellowed out the window.
Technically, I was in sole charge here. If they want to fire me, they have to go back to London and get a piece of paper. And some other fool—
Slowly, the sound outside the window began to creep up again. I could hear Sergeant Jaeckl move the men away from the window, and he must have started up another game.
Cricket it sounded like, this time.
“Sorry about that.” I muttered feebly. “This should be top secret, I guess.”
I gave a meaning-filled look at the Russian lady.
“Don’t you worry about the Countess. It was very kind of her to let us use her train.” Trenchard explained. “She’s just been dying to meet you.”
“Sorry, ma’am. You must think I’m very rude.” I just wanted to get rid of them.
I had to get some sleep, before we cleared out of there in the middle of the night. After more chit-chat, they began to stand up and shamble off in the direction of the door.
Everyone was very pleased with my progress, everyone was rooting for me, or so it seemed. ‘Big fucking deal,’ I was thinking. If this goes bad somehow, it’s my ass and mine alone. Out on a limb and with all of you termites gnawing at the tree.
They trooped out on the way to lunch next door, in the flashing train cars with The Imperial Eagle of the Czar and all the Russias painted upon its polished and waxed sides. Howard-Smythe came in and handed me an envelope.
“She must have done some recon work ahead of time.” He marveled. “She passed it off as she went by.”
Opening it, and quickly perusing the contents, it seemed he was right.
Dear Lieutenant-Colonel Tucker,
‘I am sorry to have dragged all the boorish officer class along with me, I quite understand your feelings. I had no choice, but that is war.’
‘Please allow me to feed you. It is the least I can do to honor your brave and noble sacrifice, etc, etc, etc.’
‘The Countess, etc.’
“Holy, schmoley. She doesn’t give up easily.” I commented ruefully to the Adjutant.
“Why don’t you have dinner with her? She’s not bad-looking.”
Howard-Smythe’s fatherly advice was distinctly unwelcome.
No, she wasn’t. But there was Jennifer to think of.
“Her handwriting is nice.” But I just shook my head in impatience.
I was just too damned busy, and we were supposed to be leaving later that night.
“Heard anything from our foraging party yet?” I asked, but apparently not.
He stooped to stir the fire. It was February, after all. Somebody knocked at the door. Howard-Smythe opened it up to a guy with a tray. Thank God. Lunch time. Apparently the foraging party hadn’t checked in yet. We worked through my lunch. Presumably he had already eaten.
“What time is it?” I finally gasped.
Half past two. Was it any wonder that the nerves were jangled?
“The motor transport is checking in.” Howard-Smythe advised. “They have to go through the process.”
At least they all made it without a breakdown or an accident.
“That’s funny, they didn’t notice the train.” I mentioned gleefully. “But of course roads have checkpoints. It’s a good thing the Fritzies don’t attack by rail.”
He smiled at that one. The military police don’t normally flag down speeding trains to check, ‘zee papers.’ What with all the paperwork, last minute details, and inevitable questions, questions, questions, the afternoon passed quickly enough.
I had a good, long nap, and when I woke it was dark. The men were being fed from our field kitchen. Grilled pork chops, beans with mustard and onions, boiled new potatoes, and some bread with butter. Lots of tea.
“That ought to stick to your ribs, sir.” One of the older, more mature troopers chaffed as we ate.
He must have a son somewhere, and daughters too.
We sat on wooden boxes, a couple of benches, crates, whatever the lads could find on short notice. The small number of folding tables allotted didn’t seem to go very far. The food was good, as food in the outdoors often is. We all seemed to have a keen appetite, from my own observation. After eating, I quietly gave instructions to the sergeant to keep the men on the train after supper, and break out a few bottles of rum. After the supper dishes were washed, the crew on kitchen detail began heating huge vats and kettles of hot water. Howard-Smythe came out of my office-car and brought me yet another, familiar perfumed note.
“She’s asking you to go over for dessert and a drink, now.” And I’d just about had enough by this point.
You had to admire her persistence, though.
“All right, I’ll go see the lady, if only to get her off my back.” I said, sighing deeply.
***
It was an encounter with a she-cat.
For the most part, all the Brass types were gone. When I entered the car, it turned out to be an ornament, a rococo delight in mirrors, carved wood, gilt frames, velvet on all the furnishings, and it was pretty overwhelming. I thought we had it good on our little train. One or two guys sat there having coffee and conversing in some foreign language. After one look, they ignored me. They looked like minor functionaries, or flunkeys.
“Bureaucraps,” I call them.
I kept moving through the train, having entered at the back, a logical choice, and moving forwards. Presumably she had a dining car, or private dining compartment. The next car was a long hallway. All polished wood panels and oriental rugs, with a lot of locked doors. All of a sudden a door on my left opened and there was Bernie. He gave a furtive look back into the room, and a guilty start at the same time. I could hear muffled voices from behind other doors up the way. Behind us a door slammed, but I ignored it.
“I promise not to tell the wife.” I said, brushing past, not even glancing in.
“Tookair. May I have speaks with you please?”
He grappled with my elbow, as I twisted it out of the way, and cross-checked him, fairly gently, into one of the mirrored panels of the wall.
An adjacent oil painting almost fell off its hooks and he momentarily juggled with it before catching hold and firmly replacing it.
“Tookair. Tookair. I must have speaks with you.”
Finally I eased up. We sat in a booth in the next car. Looking around, it seemed to be a games car, or maybe a study if the person who owned it traveled and hunted big game extensively and expensively.
Bernie carefully adjusted his mustaches.
 |
| "Too-kair. I must have speaks with you." |
“Well, we are supposed to coordinate with Belgian Intelligence.” I relented somewhat.
“Thank you.” He sputtered. “I realize that we dropped in unexpectedly this afternoon.”
“Here’s the deal.” I offered, the milk of human kindness. “Howard-Smythe will show you, on a map, where we expect to be tomorrow morning, and you could have those fuel trucks there by noon, if you wished.”
He nodded vigorously.
“Myself and Lieutenant Hastings are in fact detailed to take care of that very thing.” He explained.
“Oh. Well, good.”
“Be nice to the Countess.” He advised. “She is on our side, even though her nation has collapsed.”
“Yes, I understand.” I told him. “What else do you need to know?”
“Boom and the others have moved on.” He offered. “People like that always need an entourage, you know?”
Bernie wasn’t too far off the mark on that one. I felt myself warming up to the funny little man with the noggin-shaped head and the bizarre, wax-tipped twirling mustaches, curling with every puff and zephyr of the breezes. He was at his most fawning. In that suit, he’d better be.
I can be ingratiating too.
“Who’s your tailor?”
He wrote it down for me. Now I know where not to go when I need a suit. His green eyes stared at me in a disconcerting way. It’s like he was doing some deep psychological analysis. That’s always annoying, for some reason. As I pointed out earlier, there were a lot of people who seemed to be depending on us, for all their own reasons. It gave me new sympathy for the silly bugger. He seemed like a nice enough guy.
“Basically, we’re going to assemble all our planes.”
I tried to explain it all patiently.
“Then we’re going to hit them hard. Once we do that enough times, they’ll retaliate.”
“And then?” He asked.
“We’ll be gone, somewhere down the line, and then we hit them again. Pretty simple, really.”
“And then?” He prodded as I sat introspectively, mulling it out.
“Then they’ll start coming to us. They’ll keep trying to put us out of business.” I allowed.
“And sooner or later.” Bernie mused. “They will have little choice but to send the very, very best against you.”
Sounds like somebody told you about the plan, eh? I wonder who that could have been? The game is afoot…
“Something like that.” I reckoned.
He sat there, looking me over pretty thoroughly.
“I understand that your plans must remain, er, fluid.” He murmured. “But my job is to help you in any way I can.”
He tilted his skull in a characteristic flounce, and gazed intently into my inquiring stare.
He nodded, thoughtfully.
So did I.
I nodded thoughtfully.
“Yeah, I know. But have you ever wondered why they would use a foreigner? Nothing personal, but hasn’t it occurred to you that the Army, and the Navy, are just trying to fuck up this mission?”
A little light went off in his head. I could see it from where I sat.
“Ah.” He said. “But surely your superiors also thought of that?”
He had the oddest little gleam in his eye.
“Hey. You fucking bastards.”
The man was a plant or a ringer, probably selling information three different ways.
They all thought he belonged to them, but men like that don’t belong to anyone.
Interesting. Bernie was the only one among us with any objectivity.
“By the way, one or two of your soldiers look familiar.” He noted with a certain relish. “A wanted bulletin, somewhere along the way, on the post office wall.”
Someone had told me that Bernie, or, ‘Hercules,’ which is what his real fake name was, was a police officer before the war, a gendarme in the Surete Belgique, or whatever.
“It’s possible.” I conceded diplomatically.
My poster has no picture. But there is a description.
Learning, learning all the time. Besides, it takes all kinds to make a war.
“Anyway, I have to go and see the lady, and get my milk and cookies.”
I was almost forgetting the true purpose of my sortie tonight.
“We’ll-a be-a there-a tomorrow-ah.” He told me by way of goodbye. “At-a noon-ah.”
“Yeah, whatever-ah,” I acknowledged.
***
Finally I came to what had to be it. She probably had two or three cars all to herself.
There was a pair of tall doors, carved and embossed with the Imperial coat of arms.
I pulled one open and went in. The door was ajar…the gold doorknob felt warm in my palm.
I stood in the doorway, drinking in the scene. It was quite the little set-up, a lavish tableau. One put on for my sole benefit, and others before. And others after, no doubt.
They say, ‘woman is a riddle, a mystery wrapped in an enigma.’
She had gone to the trouble of having a snack laid out on a small dining table, set with candles, and two places. I had my doubts about this woman, let me tell you.
Inside of every woman is a conspiracy.
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| Promise you won't go back to Russia... |
Other than that, some chic Italian designer went to great lengths.
It looked like a Persian harem. Silks hung from ceiling to floor, dividing up the space, and rugs and pillows were scattered all around the place in profusion. One little alcove seemed more like a nest, or the den of some wild she-cat.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” I called in a high falsetto voice, feeling kooky and impulsive.
‘Spontaneous,’ that’s it. I carefully made my way past a bizarre, hookah-pipe rig on a table of its own. It looked expensive, and I wouldn’t want to break anything.
Then a smaller door at the far end popped open and she entered the room.
It fair took my breath away. She stared deep into my eyes. Then, inevitably, I scanned her into my memory cells. You can’t blame a man for looking. Guilty thoughts of my Jennifer, kind of hung heavy on me like dread for a half a second. Then my heart began to thud, thud, deep and strong in my chest.
The Countess was wearing sheer, very sheer harem pants, clinging at the ankles, cut from waist to ankles on the outside, and from crotch to ankles on the inside. They were a kind of purply-mauve colour. The front and back pieces were held together by strings at the knees. I gazed upon her.
The lady had slender little calves, and beautiful toes and feet. Thankfully she didn’t have big, honking, hairy, funny-looking feet. Nice knees.
She had on a kind of headdress, and a lacy veil. Her eyes looked huge in the limpid light of the chandelier, which somehow automatically turned itself down. I heard the door lock behind me. Perhaps there was a servant there? But I couldn’t tear my eyes away, anyhow they were gone. Music began to well up from somewhere. I’d heard of concealed gramophones before. Her breasts weren’t huge, but they were perfect. She stood at about five foot three inches in height, and looked to be about a hundred and five pounds.
She had blue eyes and thick, straight, medium-length, flaxen blonde hair. Her navel gazed at me from the middle of her tummy. She stood in front of me, practically naked to my eyes and I could say not a word.
I just swallowed and stared at her.
Why not?
She obviously didn’t mind.
She wore golden-hooped earrings, and rings on her fingers and rings on her toes. She had on a see-through teddy-like garment. Her lips were a pale, pale pink, all shiny and glossy. Bracelets and ankle bracelets jingled and jangled as she walked barefoot.
She had on a golden belly chain, I remember that. A big, red ruby, right in the middle of it.
“Lieutenant-Colonel Tucker. I am so grateful to have your company tonight.” She purred.
Her aroma tickled my nostrils, and I did say the train was loaded with all kinds of trouble when it first pulled into the yards. Right?
I thought, ‘What the hell?’
Lust is a many-splendored thing.
“Would you care to sit down?” She asked, ever so demurely, and damned if I didn’t just plop my arse down on the only other chair in the room.
She poured a drink, and I had a quick sip of it, more like a breath mint than anything. There was a faint hint of some vaguely familiar musky odor, clean and perfumed as her body was, but I couldn’t place it…hmn?
Standing very close, her pretty little breast was outlined through the sheer thin fabric where it hung down, backlit by a wall-mounted sconce. It looked good enough to eat.
“I have a small gift for you.” She said, straddling my knees, which I was keeping close together in some defensive reaction, and she kissed me.
She barely had to bend at all, because I’m pretty tall, and I was sitting up straight in my seat, as you can imagine. The kiss went on for a long time, and she shoved her tongue in my mouth. This left little doubt about what was in store. The sound of that locking door, left little doubt. She wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.
All I could do, really, was to put my arms around her and kiss her in return.
I know that sounds like an excuse. Her veil was over the top of my head, I thought.
The curtains are closed, I thought.
But it’s not an excuse. Sometimes you’re just defeated on the battlefield.
Then she pulled away, and holding my hand, she led me over to her little she-cat den. I sat on a blanket, with pillows all around us. She began to take off my shoes. She was really stunning, and there seemed little point in resistance.
Then I had an idea.
Now it was the trousers, but it was just so surreal.
“You shall be first among my concubines.” I told her grandly. “But first…”
I grabbed her and pushed her across my knees, so that she was sort of on all fours, looking up at me in total astonishment.
“So, where are you going after this?” I asked.
“Unhand me, you brute.” She squealed, as I put one hand in the small of her back and one hand up on the nape of her neck.
She couldn’t get away now. I gave her a quick little smack on the bottom. Her flesh was smooth, firm and warm under my fingers.
“Yipe.” She said. “Why you…”
I didn’t let her finish. Smack. And another, smack.
Tears started from her eyes, more in surprise than any real pain.
“…big meanie.”
“Whack.”
She got the message. I’m a lot bigger and stronger than she is.
“I’m going to Paris, to do some shopping.” She blubbered.
“Yeah? Where are you going after that?” And when she didn’t answer quick enough, I gave her another little spank.
“Zu-zu-zurich.” She quavered through her rage.
She was really squirming around in my lap, and it was pretty arousing.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
“After that maybe I go to Germany. We are not at war with Germany anymore.” She cried.
“No, but I am.” I told her. “Who are you going to see in Germany? Why are you going to Zurich? Do you need to get your watch fixed?”
Oh, I was tough on her, all right.
She cried some more, but wouldn’t give up any names. This merely confirmed my suspicions. Anyway, I was having fun. The harem pants were obstructing my view. I went over to my trousers and got out my buck knife, very sharp, and carefully and gently cut the strings at her waist, and then cut them off totally. I cast them aside. Then I cut the fine string at her neck, and then she was mostly naked. I was having a little trouble breathing. Pounding heart, either guilt or excitement, not too sure which. She was sniffling and weeping, but not objecting so far as I could hear. And she crawled right back into my lap when I sat down.
“Why are you going to Germany?” I asked, hand raised to smack her again.
I thought she was going to answer, but she waited too long.
Smack…smack…smack…
 |
| Together, we can defeat the Bolsheviks... |
“We must fight the Bolsheviks.” She cried. “Together we can beat them.”
“Ah, for fuck’s sakes.” I sputtered in dismay.
I let her go then. She lay across my legs, blubbering and moaning something fierce. Her veil and headgear were lost somewhere. She can buy another. And when did we take off my pants?
“All right, all right.” I said, and picked her up in my arms.
Standing, it was no big surprise when her arms came up and round my neck. She looked up at me with shining eyes as I carried the blonde little Countess to the love-nest amongst the pillows. I drew the curtains around us. There was like a little Roman couch in here, double width. How much did that cost?
Upon a surmise, I put her down gently and opened up one of the tiny little drawers of the miniature bureau beside the divan. Sure enough, soft silken cords, two pairs of handcuffs…nice. Another drawer held condoms, and in the big bottom drawer, a blanket.
I quickly hog-tied her hand and foot, leaving short little piggin’ strings about a foot long. She wasn’t entirely helpless.
“Promise you won’t go back to Russia.” I pleaded. “They’ll just put you up against a wall and shoot you.”
I told her. God, I hope she was listening.
She seemed subdued, just putty in my arms. She grabbed on when I came close, and began kissing me all over the face, neck, and ears.
“I promise.” She said.
But I didn’t believe her. The train gave a funny little lurch under us. We never paid any mind. It appeared that I was in enough trouble. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“I’m serious.” I said sternly. “No matter what they tell you, no matter what lousy promises they make, don’t go back to Russia.”
She stared up in wonder.
“Take off my underclothes.” And she complied.
Her graceful fingers undid my undershirt buttons, removed my briefs, and I was soon more naked than she.
“Socks, too.” I added.
She complied. All of a sudden she went down on me. For a moment, I plunged my finger into her wetness. She moaned in ecstasy, but kept plunging up and down. It was effective.
“No. Bad girl.” I said, and gave her bum another little smack.
I made her open up a condom packet and put it on me, still gasping and crying a little. (Her, not me.)
She was hyperventilating. I kissed her deeply, then spun her away from me and as quick as a wink entered her vagina from behind.
Now, I was totally in control. In the champagne light of the chandelier, she was magnificent. It is really something to see virtually every square inch of a woman, from the tips of her toes to top of her head, all of her back, legs, bottom. One arm under her neck, left hand holds and strokes right breast, other hand busy down in her crotch. She writhed around, but she couldn’t escape, even if she really wanted to. For some reason, I had no worries about controlling myself, and plunged into her roughly and deeply.
I just enjoyed watching for a while, potent in this new-found power. A kind of editorial detachment.
She moaned, and squirmed, and squealed and gasped. Nibbling at the nape of her neck, chewing on her ear, sticking my tongue in her ear, drove her wild. She twisted and turned and came up for more kisses. Her right hand, the only one that could reach, wrapped up around my head and neck. She pulled me in close, her gasping breath hot on my face.
“Oh, my God.” She said.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I returned a little unkindly.
We kissed, deep and hard. Tongue pushing on tongue, wrapping around like snakes fighting. Every time I went in, my hips and abdomen slapped up against her bum, and it jiggled in such a pretty way. I could watch that all night, but I had a train to catch. I liked doing it with the lights on. I decided right then and there. Finally I just decided to let go, and relax, and go with the flow. Then she turned around and kissed me some more, and I didn’t mind at all.
The two of us subsided into each other’s arms. She actually snored, as I had a quick shower in her bathroom. I kissed her on the cheek, and put a blanket on her. She looked so innocent. A child, really. What the hell was she doing, going around playing at spies?
***
On the way out, a servant gave me a package. It looked to be about the size and weight of a cake box. It dragged my arm down, or was that just fatigue?
“Whew.”
Made it back to my own turf. Howard-Smythe looked up when I entered.
“How was it?” He asked in unconscious irony.
“Best damned milk and cookies I ever had.” I muttered.
Thankfully, he didn’t ask for details.
“What’s that, cake?” He asked.
“I don’t know…hopefully it’s not a bomb.”
That’s all I could say.
“We’d better have a look.” He said.
“Tell me about it later. I need a nap.” I told him in a mellow, dreamy voice.
Some of the tension and stress were gone, and for that I was grateful. That, and a vision. A mental picture that would last the rest of my life. If I made it that far. I could have loved that woman. I think a lot of guys got recruited that way, and ended up in Murmansk fighting the Bolsheviks.
END
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