Chapter 6

Yelka:

We – Kira. Polina, Katya and Mariya and myself – were the last to be collected. I can’t say I was madly happy to have ‘my’ motorcycle ridden back home, not to mention Matches meeting my family for the first time; that had potential for being somewhat uncomfortable. It made perfect sense to me for me to escort the girls to Mason’s Farm, though, even if that wouldn’t be necessarily a permanent arrangement. I was still uncertain about any relationship with a man, though I had to admit to some attraction to this one. I distracted myself from the possible ramifications of his arrival at Woodside Lodge by engaging the girls in conversation.

Wheels within wheels. As far as I could work out, the Albanians had quite the organisation to get illegals into Britain, but what we’d run into wasn’t quite that. It was, apparently, a deliberate sideline. Teenaged kids, mostly female, mostly Russian, jumping out of the frying pan of central European regimes, into the fire of illegal immigration. The two-hour (ish) drive was broken once to make use of some discreet bushes, there being nowhere else.

The girls were obviously accustomed to very late nights, but were drooping by the time we rolled up at Mason’s at about five in the morning. Betty Braithwaite was up and about – it wasn’t much earlier than her usual time – with light refreshments for them. Once it was apparent that they were fairly comfortable, I departed to next door for my own bed.

Mama Sally was in the kitchen as I entered through the back door, she dried her hands quickly and wrapped me up in a hug that was healing and restoring as well as welcoming. She loosened the hug without releasing me. “You’ve been up all night,” she stated.

“I have,” I agreed. “I’m planning on falling into bed right now.”

She nodded and smiled, releasing me. “You go and do just that, daughter.”

Warmth blossomed in me as she named me ‘daughter’. It never fails to do that. I left the kitchen, visited the bathroom, went to the room I share with Lena and began to strip. Lena stirred, and once I was nude, lifted the duvet to invite me in to bed. There she wrapped me up, rather like Mama Sally did. She mumbled something which might have been, “Love you, Sis,” as I fell into sleep in her arms.

The sound of Oscar arriving at the front of the house didn’t wake me.

Matches Bryant:

I can ride a motorbike. We all had to learn that skill, though it’s not something which really appealed to me before enlisting. Happily, the weather was good. I could wear Yelka’s helmet, but not her armoured jacket and trousers, nor her boots and gloves. Her gear I bundled up and strapped to the pillion seat with my own bag. I left the hotel after breakfast, probably nearly nine o’clock by the time I got everything strapped down and the bike started. I remembered that Yelka had mentioned avoiding motorways, and with the help of Google Maps took a route of about seventy-five miles. I took my time. Again, Yelka mentioned riding at fifty to sixty miles an hour, and I learned, first hand, just why. As it happened, most of the way it wasn’t really practical to ride much faster than fifty even when the speed limit permitted, but even so the vibration was much more than I’d been used to in the modern multi-cylinder bikes I was more accustomed to. Similarly, I’d asked ‘why stop every hour?’ Answer, to stretch, get away from the vibration, and get a hot drink.

As a result, I rolled up at Woodside Lodge nearer to mid-day than eleven, and the gate opened as I stopped at it. Why? Gate opener in the tank bag. So I thumped my way up the drive and stopped in front of the house. I parked the bike on its stand, removed the helmet, and walked up to the front door ... which opened to reveal ... an attractive, late thirties, naked woman. Naked, that is, but for a leather collar round her neck.

“Hello!” She smiled at me. “I am Sally. You must be Yelka’s friend Matches. Come along in. Lunch is nearly ready.”

I did as I was told, and was steered into a comfortable lounge, where a pretty girl was playing a piano. “Please, take a seat. Would you like coffee? Or tea? Beer?”

You’ll notice I didn’t mention speaking. That’s because I had no idea how to respond. But I had to answer. “A black coffee would be lovely, please.”

“Very good! It will be just a few minutes.”

She left, and moments later a man entered. I stood. He held out a hand and we shook. “Welcome to Woodside Lodge, Sergeant Bryant. I’m Jerry Smallbridge. If you’ll come to my study I’ll try to explain a few things.”

He led the way and in a small room lined with books, containing a desk, computer and so on, we settled in a couple of comfortable chairs. “We’ll wait on starting,” he said, “until Sally brings our coffee.” It didn’t take long – just long enough for a couple of mugs of coffee to drip through a cone. Sally entered, still nude, carrying two mugs of coffee, which she left with us.

I sipped mine, as did Jerry. “Excellent coffee,” I declared.

He chuckled. “If you’re here long enough you’ll find that everything Sally does is excellent.” He paused, and frowned. “I inherited this place from my great-uncle, who ... well ... he was in SOE during the second world war...”

“The bunch who Churchill told to ‘set Europe ablaze?’”

“That’s right. He specialised in covert operations and assassination. After the war he was taken up by a ‘black’ group under Military Intelligence, doing much the same thing. He restored this place as a refuge between missions. But after he retired he encountered Sally, rescued her, and she cared for him in the last decade of his life. I won’t go into details now, but she was devoted to him and devastated when he died. I inherited this place, as I said, and Sally came with it. I’ll warn you that she’s very skilled in unarmed combat and with firearms – she trained Yelka and her sister. Me as well, actually. Anyway, it’s too long a story for now, but we got caught up in sorting out a sexual abuse ring and over several years have acquired several young ladies who needed a home away from further involvement in that black world. We rescued Yelka and Lena during one of the missions.”

He paused there for a sip or two of coffee, and I followed suit, having neglected mine as I listened. After a couple of minutes silence, I ventured, “She’s very special ... Yelka.”

“She is,” he said. “I probably don’t need to warn you about hurting her. You’ll be aware that she’s capable of looking after herself.”

“She absolutely is!”

“You’re the first man she’s shown even a passing interest in.”

“Oh? We’re friends. She helped me get fit, I’ve helped her learn climbing. But I suspected there was something in her past, so I haven’t pushed.”

“Wise. If ... I say if you’re interested in a relationship, be very careful.” He was watching my face as he spoke. “She doesn’t need to be damaged any more than she is already.”

I nodded. “You have my word, sir.”

“Good enough.”

We finished our coffee, and chatted about the Lakes, the inheritance, the farm next door. He offered to let me use his firing range, “Heard you were an armourer: I’ve a selection of interesting weapons.”

About then, Yelka knocked on the door and entered. “Hey, Matches! Papa Jerry. Mama Sally says wash up for lunch.”

“Marching orders,” Jerry said.

“Thanks for bringing Oscar over,” Yelka told me.

“Any time,” I responded, though riding any motorcycle isn’t my favourite activity. I was shown to a downstairs toilet where I could wash my hands, then we all congregated in the large kitchen. It was clearly a ‘farm kitchen’, the centre of family life in the past, and still the same today.

Jerry Smallbridge:

The arrival of Sergeant Bryant on Oscar was not a complete surprise as we’d been warned by Alex, explaining that Yelka was accompanying some girls they’d rescued as a side-effect of raiding some houses in Burnley. This was in the way of following up on Stasia. Stasia had been brought to us by Nadiya Collins to put her out of the reach of a gang. (The background may be found in Nadiya’s story.) Anyway, as Yelka was riding with the girls to reassure them, Bryant was ferrying Oscar home for her. Now, I was aware that this situation was not exactly straightforward. Yelka had mentioned him several times, in the context of training and climbing, but he was the first male she’d mentioned other than en passant, so to speak. I wanted to get a feel for his character, and I have to say that, firstly, I was impressed by him, and, secondly, it appeared that he was as interested in Yelka as she was in him. Further, when Alex had asked her if there was anyone at The Lodge who she’d trust at her back, ‘Matches’ was the name that came to her lips. So, yes, a degree of concern, much reduced by talking to him. Not to mention body-language.

When Yelka came to fetch us out, I watched her carefully. Yelka? Yep. Confident. Assured. Friendly. But her eyes scanned him, and me, and, in the kitchen, Lena and Sally.

Sally’s lasagne, garlic bread, salad. Followed by apple pie and cream – cream from the cow kept by Bill and Jake. General conversation, which Matches joined in with. Actually, he was the subject of curiosity from the girls, particularly Lena, but he resisted talking about himself all the time and commented on Sofia’s piano playing. She glowed. But, yes. A sociable, bright man.

As we ate our apple pie, Yelka commented, “I’ll need to stay here a day or two at least to help the girls next door.”

“I suppose I need to find my way back to The Lodge,” Matches offered.

“I asked about that,” Yelka said. “The Major said you’re in line for some leave.”

Her eyes met mine and I cocked my head in query. She smiled a little smile and nodded. “This is good place to take a break,” I suggested, “and you’re welcome to a bed while you’re here.”

“If I’m not imposing...”

“Not at all,” I said, noting Yelka’s smile again. “Perhaps, Yelka, you’d like to show your friend the range?”

Yelka:

It could have been uncomfortable, but neither Mama Sally nor Papa Jerry grilled me about Matches. I gather Papa grilled him somewhat. Clearly there was a positive outcome from that as Papa suggested I show Matches the range.

He was duly impressed. I suppose that might be expected; an underground, ventilated, secure range, after all. And the weapons...

“This is a pretty good selection,” he commented. “No wonder you had no trouble with the Kalashnikov. What’s this?” He held the large rifle he’d lifted out of the rack in the gun safe.

“Boys,” I answered. “Pre second war, intended as anti-armour. Oh point five-five inch calibre. Want to try it?”

“May I?”

“Of course. Try any of these, as long as you clean them after!” I didn’t give him time to be offended, as I went on, “As I’m sure you would anyway. I think that one’s the most unusual of the collection, other than the hand-guns. Like the Webley revolver, or the Luger.”

It’s quite a long range; amazingly long considering it was dug out of the hillside, but not really in comparison to the range and power of something like the Boys. However, we do have targets sized to simulate longer distances. I found some sized for five hundred yards. Showed him.

“Perfect. Got a mat for prone shooting?”

“Of course.” I walked down the range to place the first target, then offered him a mat as he fitted the bipod to the weapon. Then, ear and eye protection. He settled on the floor as I checked the spotting scope. My eyes are good, but it’s a small target. “The line is hot!”

The ‘crack’ of the weapon. “High and right.” I said. He fiddled. ‘Crack’ again. “Bull,’ I said, smiling. He then proceeded to put a further three bullets in the same hole, before clearing the weapon and standing up.

“Thank you,” he said. “Quite the thing. I don’t know that I’d want to lug it around, though.”

“Mama Sally’s used it ‘off hand’,” I said.

“No!”

“Yes. For real. She put a bullet through the head of a man driving a van for a bunch of mercenaries. It went through the windscreen, his head, the bulkhead behind him and the back door of the vehicle. We never did find the bullet.”

“Wow!”

“Yes. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of Mama Sally. She’s the one who taught me to fight, and to shoot.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

I laughed. “You do that!”

Matches explored the collection, mainly the items which were not in his usual experience. He had them stripped on the cleaning table between sessions of shooting. I took the opportunity to shoot the hand-guns – the Webley, the Luger, the Tokarev – as well as the rest of the rifles and carbines. The range is set up for individual shooters, logically enough. Originally it was for ‘Captain Jeremiah’ to maintain his skills between missions. Once he retired, he didn’t let them slip, but until Mama Sally came on the scene, then Papa Jerry, then Lena and I, followed by Anna and Jakub ... Jake, that is, it wasn’t necessary to accommodate more than one shooter. Two is possible.

We passed the afternoon like that. Matches did give me some tips about tuning weapons. We, the Smallbridge family, that is, had basically learned to use the weapons as is, but Matches talked about smoothing the action, lightening the trigger pull, that sort of thing. “I’ll talk to Jerry,” he said. “See if he’d like some tools and a little instruction.”

“Good idea,” I agreed. “Before we go back, though, I’d like to practice with my longbow a little.”

“Oh? Perhaps you could give me some instruction?”

“If you like.” We finished cleaning the firearms we’d used and I collected a longbow and target arrows. The target for a longbow is straw or foam – ours are straw – which we fix a paper target to with ten concentric rings, and it’s usually called a ‘Butt’. I shoot for practice at the one hundred yards of the range when indoors. The longbow, depending on the arrow used and the strength of the ‘pull’ can be lethal at as much as four hundred yards, even through plate armour. As I was thinking this, I was wondering how effective modern Kevlar and ceramic would be against a war-bow shooting bodkin tips. So I set up a butt at the far end of the range, and proceeded to place three arrows in turn in the bullseye. I retrieved the arrows and handed the bow to Matches.