Chapter 24

The three intelligence men, the groundcrew and engineers watched helplessly as John paced the airstrip. He was beside himself and refused anything to do with anybody. It had been half an hour since he'd returned from the mission and there was still no sign of Jana Ivanova.

Two technicians carefully removed the film from the two cameras the MiG carried. The negatives were reeled into a can, much like a cine camera, and these they carefully crated to be sent for processing.

Rhykov hadn't been able to talk to John. There was no getting any sense out of him in his present state. Ordinarily, Rhykov mused, if it was a man under his command who'd fallen into that condition, he'd slug him. But, he thought, such a big man as John might slap him back!

He saw all this as a possibility. That's why he'd argued against using both of them together. If it'd been John who hadn't made it back, then no doubt Jana would've been in a similar state. It all violated the most elementary rule, be it an ordinary military operation or espionage. 'Never send lovers on the same mission together.'

But he needed John to debrief. He had to know whether the mission had been successful so he could report to Moscow. And, he thought, he wanted to get this irritating Englishman off his back.

He walked out towards John. He was sitting on a log by the side of the airstrip, one of many that had been discarded when the workers had constructed it.

"John!" Rhykov said, sternly. There was no answer. John refused to look at him. "John," he said, more softly, "please, you must tell what happened. Maybe we look for her, yes? But we need to know what happened."

John turned slowly around to look at him. His eyes were red, and wild with panic. He lifted his eyes slowly until he stared Rhykov straight in the eye.

"It was Jerry," he said, "4 high on our 9. Messerschmitts! I told her to split."

"I heard."

"But, maybe she didn't hear, I don't know!"

"So, these planes attacked?"

"Dived. But we were too fast. Fired their cannons at long range, but they were miles off. Couldn't catch us unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless we maneuvred. The MiG loses speed quickly in the turn. If she'd gone straight and hard, they wouldn't have got anywhere near us."

"And they did?" Rhykov asked.

"Jana must have turned to draw them off. I don't know... didn't see a thing. First she was there and then she wasn't."

"John," said Rhykov, "I know this is hard. Especially for you. We all liked Jana, even old arsehole like me, yes? But you... she loved you... thought your arsehole shit diamonds, no?" Rhykov chuckled briefly then was serious again. "If you say is true, then she wanted you to get back ok. This is true, I know. For love she did this, as well as duty. She is a hero and we will recognise her as such. But she will want the mission completed. You need to debrief, Jana would want this, not true?"

John nodded slowly. Yes, he knew Rhykov was correct. Slowly, he rose and followed Rhykov to the main tent. Some of his groundcrew nodded and smiled in encouragement. The Englishman stood impatiently outside the tent.

Later, after listening carefully to all John could tell them, Rhykov carefully folded his report and placed it in a brown satchel. He yelled for the courier and sent him off quickly.

"You may stay here for a day or so," he told John, "but after that, they will want you back." John nodded briefly. "But now," he sighed, "the Englishman wants to talk to you. Be, ah, careful about what you say. Chernagovka will sit in, just in case, ok?" John nodded again.

"Call me Ryan," the Englishman said, upbeat. "Well done. It's been a very worthwhile exercise, I think." John was silent. He merely looked up and managed a weak smile. "Tell me," he continued, "I'm curious. Are you English?"

"You need not answer," Chernagovka told John in Russian.

"Is it a secret?" John asked. Chernagovka shrugged. "I'm a New Zealander," he explained to the Englishman.

"A Red, eh?" John shrugged. He didn't care what the Englishman labeled him. "How come you're in Russia?" the English spy continued. Chernagovka, again, shot John a warning glance. John looked at him and decided it was all right to answer.

"I came here from Spain."

"Ah! The Russians brought you back?" John nodded. "And you're happy here?" John nodded again. "Y'know," he dropped his voice, "we can, perhaps, see if we can get you out?" Chernagovka looked like he was about to speak. The Englishman looked in his direction.

"He doesn't want to leave," the Russian said quickly, "you heard him say he was happy here in Russia."

"Perhaps if I could speak to this man alone?" the Englishman asked, "he is, after all, a British Commonwealth citizen."

"He's Russian citizen!" Chernagovka said, his voice rising, "and a soldier in the Soviet Military Forces. You have no claim on this man!"

The two men faced off across the table with John in the middle, sullen and dispirited. He wished they'd take their argument outside, he'd no wish to be part of it.

"Perhaps he has family... he might want to send a message. They may not have heard from him."

"Is this true, John?" asked Chernagovka, "you might like to send letter to your family?"

"Perhaps," he shrugged, "mum, dad."

"But it must be subject to Military censorship!" insisted the Russian.

"I have a friend... from Spain, an Australian," John said suddenly, "perhaps you might know where he is? We had to leave him behind."

The Englishman agreed to make some enquiries and convey it back through intelligence channels.

John had to leave the following day. The airstrip was to be decommissioned and the staff loaded up everything onto lorries. A staff car arrived with an NKVD man to convey him back to Minsk. Evidently, Rhykov was taking no chances of his man running off distractedly around the forest.

It was a long slow journey to Minsk. John thought they'd never arrive. His minder barely uttered a word the whole way. He couldn't believe any one could keep so quiet for so long.

At Minsk he was whisked straight out to the airfield and a Tupolev ANT6 transport. There, he was handed on to another NKVD minder and flown back to Novgorod.

The squadron were devastated upon hearing the news about their squadron commander. John, though, was immediately promoted to take her place with the rank of Major.

'Oz' Callaghan officially became the first 'double ace' at Duxford with his 10th kill.

It had been an uninspiring little 'scrap.' He'd spotted a Bf 110 on the 'deck' and harried it until it crash landed in a wood. 'Like shooting a duck!' he claimed. This time, there was no party, just another swastika stencilled below the cockpit of his 'kite.'

He was 'up there' with Douglas Bader and Robert Stanford-Tuck, but the congratulations were mute. Too many young Australian boys were not going to return home. Many of the 'old crew' were gone. 'Oz' counted 5 of the squadron who were there when he'd joined. The rest were dead.

The squadron was no-longer purely Australian. The kangaroo emblem still decorated their Spitfires but replacements had come from whoever was available. Now, English boys flew alongside them, as well as a Canadian and an American volunteer from Washington State they simply called the 'Yank.'

Catalina found a job with some Intelligence Unit. A job she couldn't even tell 'Oz' about.

Benin at all but moved in with Professor Shapashnikov. Their relationship wasn't particularly passionate, nor in fact sexual. Although Benin sometimes shared his bed, they'd never made love. The most that'd happen between them was to wake up in the morning still holding hands from the night before. They appreciated someone to hold.

Rhykov hated meetings. He leaned back in his chair trying to get the attention of the Stenographer. She remained imune to his gaze, however, and, head down, scribbled in her pad.

"So what is our response?" asked someone from the Interior Ministry. Rhykov couldn't care less. 'Make something up? Are you so lacking in imagination?'

"The usual," said the representative from the Foreign Ministry, obviously bored rigid like Rhykov. "We will tell them it was a navigational training exercise and..."

"We always use that!" said the man from Interior. Apparently he was the only one taking any interest in the exercise.

"So, what?" replied Foreign, "they know its bullshit, we know its bullshit. That's the whole point!"

"It said," continued Interior, "'blah, blah... two aircraft were intercepted by the Luftwaffe deep inside the Reich Province of Poland and... "

"It did!" interrupted Rhykov, excitedly.

"Ahem," Interior continued, ignoring him, "... escorted to the border..."

"Escorted!" cried Rhykov.

"Comrade," sniffed Interior, "have the Sercurity Intelligence Services something to contribute?"

"No," said Rhykov, "nothing at all!" He then rose and ran out the door. He trotted down the long corridor and burst through into an office. "Get me Novgorod," he told the startled secretary, "Lieutenant-Colonel Chernagovka.!