Chapter 28

In May 1942, as far as can be ascertained by trolling through German and Soviet sources, the defending Generals of Moscow, Zhukov, Timoshenko and Konev, could call on 13 Soviet Armies, including over 2000 tanks, to defend the capital. If these figures are correct, and there's room for doubt, the Red Army had total numerical superiority over the Germans in the Moscow area. The majority of the tanks were the then new, T34, which, together with the German PzKw VI 'Panther, ' were the best tanks of the war.

By contrast, to the South, known to the Germans as the Kharkov front and to the Russians as the Don, Red Army forces were spread thin. Stalin, backed by Voroshilov, believed the signs of a German build up in that area was a feint designed to draw forces away from the vital Central and Northern fronts. He believed, too, that the Wehrmacht was spent, that it had thrown its best dice, and was confident of a great victory in the Spring.

The Wehrmacht, though, had taken some heavy hits over the period between June and December 1941. The Winter, too, had sapped manpower and equipment. They'd failed to take their objectives, Moscow and Leningrad, and the Blitzkrieg had turned into a slugging match, a war of attrition, which even Hitler conceded they couldn't win.

Well aware of the task before Moscow, and the mass of Soviet forces that awaited the expected attack, Hitler's 'intuition' again came to the fore. The Caucasus, where Russia received most of it oil supplies, could be cut off by an advance from Rostov. The Railway, so vital to Russia's war effort, could be severed by an attack towards Voronezh and the Volga, an essential supply line, could be removed from the table by the capture of Stalingrad.

Stalingrad, the city named after the Soviet leader, would be a huge propaganda boost for the Nazi war affort. The 'Great Crusade against Bolshevism' was losing its appeal for some of Hitler's allies in Europe. Still obsessed with his 'Historical Role' in defeating the Slav, Hitler saw himself leading a European coalition under the leadership of Nazi Germany.

The Kharkov front had been reinforced by Rumanians, Hungarians and the Italian 8th Army. These troops had taken a hammering over the Winter due to poor equipment and indifferent leadership. The German Generals had little confidence in them but they made up the numbers. The attack was to be spearheaded by the German Panzer Armies with their allies providing a large portion of the infantry.

The Kharkov front was to receive the assistance of Luftflotte IV with its 4000 odd aircraft, including 600 fighters. But Luftflotte IV also had responsibility for the Central Front as well and would achieve its dominance by diverting aircraft South. Already, Hitler was starting to rob Peter to pay Paul.

Statistics on the Soviet side are unreliable. Some 'revision' appears to have taken place to account for Stalin's oversight in neglecting the defence on the Don front. The Red Army, though, was spread thinly and the Red Air Force, although the Russians later grossly underestimated its strength, had their airfields far too near the front line. So great was the loss of aircraft in the Don offensive that it set back the Red Air Force rebuilding program a year. It had been caught napping, just as in June 1941, and had handed the Luftwaffe air superiority from the outset.

That morning Jana Ivanova lay thinking. She still tingled from her night of love making with John. The man himself lay beside her, naked as she, and mumbling in his sleep.

Jana knew that soon Voroshilov will want to be flown back to Moscow. She felt keenly, however, that her place was right here, beside John, flying with him and sleeping by his side. She ran over all the things she could do to persuade Voroshilov to re- assign her to the 400th. Short of promising to sleep with the Marshal, she had few practical ideas.

Voroshilov's headquarters was nick-named the 'Monastery' because of the strict moral climate the Marshal insisted upon. Unlike some of her postings, co-workers were banned from 'forming liaisons.' The Marshal himself, unmarried as he was, lived like a monk. It was said he refused to take mistresses for fear he'd be betrayed by one of them. It was an understandable position in light of the 1938 purge of the Military by Stalin and his NKVD head Beria. Many top men had had their mistresses forced to spill the beans on them.

She'd never felt happier than when she was flying alongside John. He reminded her of a boy showing off in front of his friends. She remembered, back in Novgorod, how he used to fly so close to her that he almost touched her wingtip and he'd flash her cheeky grins. It was almost as if he was saying, 'here I am. Bet you can't do this!' It was so boyish, so immature and unprofessional, but she knew he was in complete control all the time. John Greenhaugh knew exactly what he was doing in the air at all times, of that she was sure.

His sheer joy at being in the air, his childlike cheek and impertinance, his capacity to ignore instructions and standing orders if he saw fit, were some of the things that attracted her. Not to be ignored, though, was his powerful sexual magnetism that had all the women who met him, of whatever age, wanting to breed. That he was largely unaware of it was, again, one of the many things that drew her to him.

Back at Kazan, she thought she'd have a chance of purging John from her system. His letters to her were sparse and devoid of real emotion. He had no idea how to write a love letter, she grinned to herself, but in other ways he could surprise her.

In bed they were sensational together, for instance. He knew how to play with her, build the tension between them to explosive point. He could tease her, aggravate her until she was ready plant her boot fair in his sweet balls. Then with a word he'd pull the rug out from underneath her, leave her naked and vulnerable, her emotions uncovered and exposed for him. She'd never revealed so much of herself to anyone before. Russians didn't do that, they were far too guarded in thought, deed and feeling.

This went beyond the mere physically taking of one another. It pushed Jana to a different level, one she didn't know existed or had been afraid to enter.

Her body felt sticky. Carefully she eased John's hand from over her breast and gently rolled out of bed. Nearby was a bucket and tap, rather a luxury because she was sure the enlisted men had no such refinements. She padded over, fetched a cloth, and turned on the tap. The water was freezing and she gasped when it touched her skin. She dabbed at the places where John's semen had dried, around her pussy and over her stomach. She ducked her head under the water to wash her hair. John really had splashed her everywhere, she grinned to herself.

Her body was soon shivering and her skin a mass of goosebumps. She felt his eyes on her and turned around. Sure enough, John was wide awake and staring.

Jana stared back, aware that, with her wet and hanging below her shoulders, her bare skin running with rivulets, and her nipples stiff and prominent from the sudden shock of the cold, she appeared mouth-wateringly sexy to him. She dabbed the cloth over her body, delighting in the sexual power she had over him. He was dry-mouthed and hungry for her and it turned her on.

Slowly he pulled back the covers until her lay naked for her, on his side like some artist's model. He grabbed his erect cock in his hand, as if showing her how clever he was. He knew the effect he had on her. He knew she liked that.

"You... ah... must be dirty," she told him, the words almost choking in her throat. "Here! You... ah... want to wash?" she suggested, proferring the cloth. He nodded and she moved over to the bed carrying the bucket of water.

Kneeling beside him she dabbed at his face. He reached up ith his hands and tried to pull her down. After a brief struggle she relented and allowed him to kiss her.

Jana washed his chest, marvelling at his well-muscled torso honed by wrestling with unmanageable aircraft. John played with her breasts and, after a brief decent period of reluctance, she ley him carry on. Not that she was averse at him touching her, but this was her game and she wanted it to last. Too often she'd given in and handed control to him.

She shuffled down to his stomach. He still held his cock in his fist, aware of his machismo, aware of his power and daring her to succumb. He lifted his hand and cupped her sex, brushing the damp hair and seeking out her pussy. She wriggled as he probed her with his finger. Smiling, she removed his hand and continued to wash him.

Jana tried to ignore the great stiff thing staring her in the face. Instead, she concentrated on his thighs and down his leg. Only after what seemed like an excrutiatingly long time, did she deign to pay attention to his balls. He rolled onto his back and she climbed over him, straddling his legs. John released his dick so she could wash it.

He jerked as she squeezed the cold water on it. It didn't shrink, though, not one iota. She hefted it in her hand, playing with it. Again he tried to pull her down onto him. She resisted and, instead, bent and licked his chest.

Her tongue trailed up towards his neck. He put his hands around her, tunning his fingertips along her spine. Her stiff nipples grazed his chest, her pussy hair tickled his balls.

"You have a sister?" he asked.

"No. Why?"

"I have a friend..."

"This friend as delicious as you?" she asked.

"Don't know," he replied, "I... ah... don't have a woman's appreciation."