“What shall we do?”
“I suggest we take all the food we can and go back inside the forest. We need to rest and recover our strength. Tomorrow, we could go to the outskirts of Kamensk town and see who is in control there. Or we might be able to find the White Army forces in the woods…”
Rufus, however, is pointing across the field. At the far side, several figures are approaching. Even at this distance we can see the red sashes and collars. All are armed with rifles.
We grab every loaf of bread we can, and go out through the back door of the kitchen. This side of the office is hidden from the approaching guards. But the airfield is a huge open space. If we try to get back across the field to the fence, we’ll be seen. I point towards another door in a much larger shed.
“Let’s hide in there.”
It’s dark inside the big shed: we can see nothing, but there is a strong smell, like kerosene. For a moment I’m reminded of the burning cottage at Ivangorod. But a dim light is filtering through cracks in the planks of the walls, and my eyes become accustomed to the light.
“Well, well.” Rufus’s voice is oddly warm. “This is a surprise.”
25
Faith in Comrade Lenin
An enormous, angular shape fills the gloomy space above and around us. It juts above our heads, and extends off into the furthest areas of the shed. But we have no time to look at it. Axelson whispers and points to a corner. “Those stacks of paper – let’s hide behind them.”
We’re only just in time. Behind us, the door is opening. We hear voices: it’s obvious they are unaware of us.
“So, we are now in control of this airfield. Is the White Army airplane completely unpacked now?”
“Yes. It was stuffed full of Tsarist war propaganda. It looks like the Whites were flying on a circuit through Siberia, landing at the principal townships and delivering batches of leaflets. A quick way to distribute it, more efficient than sending it by rail. The stacks of leaflets are in that corner. Of course, we will ensure they are all burnt.”
“What about the airplane itself?”
“It’s in working order, fully refuelled and ready to go. I have sent a telegram, and a small plane will fly out here to Kamensk, with a pilot who can fly it back to our base. He’s arriving tomorrow.”
“Good work. Guard the plane carefully overnight. The White Army seem to have retreated far into the forest. We’ve seen nothing of them for several days. But they may still have scouts and spies around here. If they can’t recapture their airplane, they might try to destroy it.”
“One of our men saw a boat, sir, down in the canyon.”
“Where exactly?”
“It’s beached on the river bank, by the Stone Gates. It looks abandoned, sir.”
“So the boat may well have been used by White Army scouts – and they might be in the forest nearby. Keep a good look-out – all guards must be alert for any sign of them.”
“We will, of course, sir.”
The voices die down, and the door slams. Immediately, the professor hisses.
“We must keep our voices low.”
“Of course, Prof—”
“It’s your voice I’m worried about, Mr du Pavey. Because I know what you are going to suggest – with your usual enthusiasm.”
What little light there is catches in Rufus’eyes, as he stares wide-eyed at the enormous shape above us.
“It’s a Handley Page Type O/100. I’ve had dreams about this airplane.”
I can’t help smiling to myself: Rufus’s boyish eagerness is infectious. He can’t keep quiet. “Before the war, I was good friends with Jack Alcock: I’ve heard he’s piloting O/100s now, based in Greece. He’s been bombing German battleships in Istanbul harbor. Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck behind a desk in St Petersburg, writing garbage.”
Axelson can’t resist laughing at Rufus. “You played the part you were asked to play in the war effort, Mr du Pavey! After all, is there not an English saying that the pen is mightier than the sword? Now let’s be quiet – until darkness falls.”
It’s the professor who wakes us, whispering in my ear. But his first words are to Rufus.
“Now, we can make our plans. It’s getting dark outside. So while you were resting, I took a look around. With great caution, I peered out of the hangar to see what the Red Guards are doing. It appears that they are not very interested in standing guard for hours. Instead, they are all sitting on the grass outside the office, drinking vodka. Except for two of them, who are burning more leaflets.”
Rufus grins. “So we’re going to try it?”
“Of course. And you are the pilot, Mr du Pavey, so Miss Agnes and I are reliant on your expertise. Should we make preparations to fly at first light tomorrow? Or, could you take off and fly by night?
“Night. We should go at seven hours before dawn. Even in the dark, I will be able to see enough to clear the trees at the far end of the airstrip. After that, day or night makes no difference. It will be navigation by compass. But I will need a map, of course.”
“Why seven hours?” I ask.
“The guards said the airplane is fully refuelled. Its range is about seven hundred miles, or in terms of time, about eight hours. I said we should take off at seven hours before dawn, because I’ll need an hour of daylight to spot our landing place and touch down. It was Jack Alcock, actually, who once summed up being a pilot – ‘Flying’s easy; any fool can do it. It’s coming down again that can be tricky.’”
We smile, but Rufus’s face is serious. “The question is, of course, where can I fly the airplane to? I need to look at maps.”
The door rattles and opens. A guard comes straight in. Rufus’s voice… was it too loud? My heart’s in my mouth as the man walks towards the stacks of papers that conceal us. But then, he seems to have second thoughts. He walks away again, towards the airplane. Does he suspect we are here – is he trying to catch us out?
The figure climbs up a rope ladder into the cockpit. I see him saluting to imaginary comrades, looking forward, reaching for the joystick. He’s pretending to fly the plane. Like so many of these men, he’s just a boy, playing at wars. Then he climbs down from the plane and comes over to the stacks. I shrink down behind the papers, and hold my breath. But the guard just grabs an armful of leaflets and leaves the hangar, banging the door carelessly behind him.
I breathe, then say “We need to find a better hiding place in here.”
We find space behind some heavy packing cases, and, through a narrow gap between them, we watch a succession of men taking piles of papers out to be burnt. Every few minutes, the stack of papers diminishes, marking the passage of time.
Finally, it’s completely quiet. No guards have come into the hangar for an hour. The professor whispers.
“Miss Agnes. I would never wish to propose anything which would put you in danger, but we are all—”
“I agree. I was going to suggest it myself, because I’ll be quieter than either of you men. I’ll go and look, and try to see what’s happening out there.”
My task is easy. After five minutes I return to the airplane hangar.
“They are all inside the office now, lying in a circle around empty vodka bottles. Every one of them is sleeping like a baby.”
Rufus goes over to the cockpit of the airplane. I rummage around the hangar, and find a flashlight, which I pass up to him.
“Thanks Agnes. I’ve found flying goggles for us all. And there is a map in the cockpit, but it’s no use to us. It shows only the local area.”
“Could I look at it, please, Mr du Pavey?”