Chapter 34

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.

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.

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.

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.