It wasn’t what Patricia had expected to find and she remained motionless for a second with a bemused expression on her face before entering the room and kneeling to check under the bed. She didn’t know what she expected to find but she didn’t know where the hell else her pilot could be. No USAF pilots were hiding beneath the springs and she stood, the light from the penlight illuminating the sketchpad as she did so and Patricia did a double take. There was a full length nude study of the Russian girl, impressive in its capturing of Svetlana’s features and of the expression on her face, it was also extremely graphic, the pose was obviously post coital but Patricia’s attention was snatched away from it as the distant barking sounded once more. Stepping to the window she opened the curtains to see that their neighbours lights were on, which in itself was a very unusual event for a farm at this time of night, but also there were the headlights of at least three vehicles beside the building too.
She left Caroline’s room at a dead run, turning along the corridor to the back of the house and racing for Svetlana’s room. She didn’t slow when she reached it, just barged the door open before stumbling to halt inside. Svetlana and Caroline were together on the bed, their faces turned towards her in alarm before the tangle of naked limbs hurriedly unravelled. Patricia ignored the nudity and the confirmation of a relationship she had only suspected a few minutes before on seeing the sketch pad, her pilot was ashen faced and seemed to be trying to find the right words but Patricia no time
“The militia are searching all the farms…get dressed!” Caroline opened her mouth to speak but closed it again as she realised what she was about to say was as inane as it was futile. Svetlana was already moving, pulling on underwear and jeans, so Caroline followed suit.
The commotion had roused the elderly couple who had appeared on the landing outside their room and Patricia managed to make them understand that they could not switch on the lights and that herself and the other two young women were leaving, she then retrieved the satellite phone from its hiding place in the orchard, sending a brief sitrep before placing it in a rucksack.
Although their few belongings had been kept packed for a quick exit should it be necessary, it still took several minutes for them to gather downstairs. Caroline removed the laptop from its hiding place and replaced it with a bottle of good vodka, as an excuse for the hiding places existence if a search should discover it. Svetlana came down last, having ensured that there were the odd items left in the bedrooms and bathroom that would reinforce the farmers story that a niece and her friends from Moscow had been staying, but had decided it was safe now to return to Moscow, and had left the previous day. She kissed first the wife and then the farmer, wishing them well and promising to visit once the war was finished. For her part, the farmer’s wife hugged and kissed all three before shooing them out into the darkness with a prayer for their safe journey.
Svetlana took from Patricia the Beretta and also the lead, walking point as they headed back the way the American had come. She set a fast pace that had them breathing hard by the time they reached the van and the, by now, extremely anxious driver.
Once they were concealed within, their contact pulled on a pair of PNGs and off they moved, back towards the forest, but only for a few hundred yards. In the dark confines within the van they were alarmed at the sudden stop the van made, followed by its reversing fast and then turning sharply. The smooth surface of the road gave way to ruts and holes as the contact backed into a field and concealed the van behind a high hedgerow before switching off the engine.
The Russian and the USAF aircrew had no way of seeing out of the vehicle and could only sit in the darkness with beating hearts. At first they could hear nothing at all, just the sound of their own breathing, but then came sound of engines and the clank of tracks on the road surface.
A pair of BMP-1 fighting vehicles passed by the field without stopping and then came a third BMP leading a convoy of three trucks, which also drove by without stopping or slowing.
Further down the road the leading pair turned off the road, demolishing a section of fence and driving across the crops so laboriously planted and tended by the farmer and his wife, to take up positions where they could intercept anyone fleeing from the farmhouse.
After a few minutes their contact left the van to listen, but apparently satisfied that there were no more militia following on he returned to the cab and the journey resumed.
An apologetic marine lieutenant shook Henry Shaw into wakefulness, but at least he had the decency to have a mug of java in his hand.
There was no contact yet between the Red Army and the forces charged with denying them easy access to the autobahns, and neither Equalizer nor Guillotine had reached critical mass. Henry would need his strength and wits about him when that happened. Accordingly he had taken the opportunity to return to his bunk after the President, under protest, had been ushered off to bed by his doctor for a minimum four hours sleep. The Presidents’ blood pressure was sky high prompting an immediate ban on coffee, and the prescribing of beta blocking drugs. The doctor was an admiral and didn’t give a damn that his patient was the leader of the free world. He had left his private practice and put on the uniform again to replace his predecessor, killed in Washington DC like so many thousands of others. The President had tried charm and bullying, all to no avail in his attempts to get the physician to leave him alone.
In the end, when the coffee embargo had been declared the President had asked the admiral outright why he was so persistent in making his life difficult.
After a moment the admiral had answered.
“Perhaps I’m just pissed because I voted for the other guy last time around, or maybe I just think your wife is too nice a lady to be a widow….but to get back to the business at hand Mr President, if I see you with coffee one more time I will dump the entire stock down the John, and throw whichever guy or gal who gave it to you in the brig.”
Concerns in the shelter were naturally for the President’s health and welfare, but becoming collateral damage in the caffeine conflict was truly alarming for some of the dedicated worshippers of the little brown bean.
The mug in his hand was at least an assurance that the Java tap had not been turned off in the intervening hours.
“Mr Jones is waiting for you in the conference room, sir.”
Henry straightened up, rubbed his eyes and ran a hand over his chin. There were the first signs that he should shave again at the first opportunity before the heads of the bristles that were just beginning to appear had a chance to develop into a five o’clock shadow.
General Shaw had never had the good fortune, or looks, that had early bristles looking ‘cool’ on him, they always appeared more disreputable than ‘designer’.
Terry Jones looked up at the electronic buzzing that heralded the arrival of the United States Marine Corps top soldier.
“Good morning Mr Jones.” Henry mumbled, a portable electric shaver restoring order for the time being.
“Pardon me but a chin follicle massacre was required.”
He silenced the device with a flick of a switch on its side and ran fingertips over his lower face, inspecting the results.
“I remember the very first flop house hotel I stayed at.” Henry said conversationally.
“On my first ever weekend pass from Parris Island I caught a bus over to Beaufort where I could get gloriously drunk and sleep it off in peace. The landlady pushed the register over the desk for me to complete and asked if I had a good memory for faces?…well I naturally asked her why and she replied…”