Tamsin Beech Ch. 05: Conwy

2062, the Warwickshire town of Atherstone. Tamsin Beech and the others ducked back under the cover of the old Aldi supermarket as two sleek Sukhoi Su-57 jets roared overhead, staying in tight formation as they banked off to the south.

"Shit," Leonid Denisovich cursed, "Volk's sending in his jets to make sure they got us all."

The vast mushroom cloud boiling into the evening sky where Novaya Nadezhda had once been dominated the skyline, drawing the eye like a magnet. Tamsin hugged her mother Merida tightly as they both stared in horror at evidence of the Coalition's latest atrocity - a nuclear weapon deployed in anger on British soil, "I d-didn't think even Volk c-could do something this bad mum. Ev-everyone we knew ... everyone in the canyon, they're all gone."

Merida stroked her daughter's hair reassuringly, "I don't think this was all down to Volk this time sweetheart."

"Meri, Tamz. We better get going," Ross interrupted, "if I know Volk this place will be swarming with ground troops within the hour."

Tamsin turned, eyes blazing, "WHAT'S THE FUCKING POINT DAD? THE RESISTANCE IS GONE! They're all dead!"

Ross clenched his jaw, "There's every point. There are ten of us still alive ... meaning the resistance is still alive. Now ... pick up your gear and get moving soldier."

Tamsin glared angrily at her father for long seconds, then turned sharply away and snatched up her things.

McTavish crouched on the crumpled roof of a bus, watching the road to the east for any sign of Volk's ground forces as Ross, Merida and their four man bodyguard gathered their gear. Tamsin, Leonid and the explosives expert Cooper shrugged their rucksacks back on and checked their weapons.

"Any ideas where?" Merida asked. She glanced uneasily at the mushroom cloud as it began to disperse, the strengthening wind blurring its edges into tattered streamers across the sky. Though it was the best part of fifteen miles away, she guessed there would soon be fallout. Better a quick death by Coalition bullet than a slow, lingering one by radiation poisoning she thought.

"Well we can't go west towards that," Ross lifted his chin, "we can't go back east. Which leaves us with one option ... south. But, we've managed to stay hidden in Novaya Nadezhda all these years because no one thought anything could survive there. The resistance hid out in a place the Coalition least expected."

"What ... are you suggesting?" Leonid asked, looking anxious. Tamsin too guessed what her father was about to say, but it still made her blood run cold when he opened his mouth and spoke the words ...

"We head north. Towards Reiver territory ..."

CHAPTER FIVE: CONWY

Seven years earlier, late summer 2055.

PART ONE: BE THE BEST

Merida crawled across their rumpled bed and handed Ross a mug of steaming coffee, "You better make the most of this, we're almost out."

Ross sat up and blinked sleep from his eyes, looking horrified, "What? No more coffee?"

Merida shook her head solemnly.

Her husband looked crestfallen, "Will it never end? First a pandemic, then Thanatos, a fucking invasion, and now ... no more coffee?"

Merida stripped off the oversized t-shirt she wore to bed and climbed naked back under the covers, "I can think of other ways to get you up in the mornings."

Ross's eyes widened as he took a sip of his coffee, "That I can believe. Why are you so damn unbearably cheerful this morning?"

Merida grinned, "One of our bodyguards, Robson ... has reliably informed me the votes are in. It's obviously not official yet. But it looks like we ... have been elected as two thirds of the new resistance council. I guess the King Ross and Queen Merida tags we had up in Berwick have stuck."

After Craster's massacre of Novaya Nadezhda's resistance leaders a month earlier, Merida and Ross had moved into the dead Sir Kenneth Turkle's quarters - a spacious Eddie Stobart container lorry that had somehow survived the destruction of Birmingham and plummeted into the canyon's depths. A double bed and wood burner sat between towering book cases groaning under the weight of thousands upon thousands of books, leaflets, maps and box files.

Careful not to spill the priceless contents of his mug, Ross leaned over and kissed her, "Told you. With your looks and my brains."

Merida scoffed. Despite her bright and breezy outlook, Ross could still see the pain in her eyes. It had been weeks since he'd told her and Tamsin that their son John, Tamsin's brother, had been killed when the Reekies had taken Berwick Upon Tweed. He'd expected some kind of meltdown but it appeared that both the Beech women were made of stronger stuff and in a way had already prepared themselves for just that eventuality. John Beech would never be forgotten, but with a foreign power occupying British soil, now was not the time to grieve ...

She continued, "They want me to look after the welfare of civilians in Novaya Nadezhda ... food, sanitation, shelter and so on. You'll be in charge of operations here against the Coalition."

Ross nodded. He would be no use out in the field with only one arm. Exactly what he'd expected, "There've always been at least three council members. Who's going to be the third?"

. . .

"I WON'T FUCKING DO IT!" Tamsin yelled. With numb fingers she slipped the rucksack off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Then on legs quaking with fatigue she squelched and stumbled back up the slope towards the road bridge.

"Britanskiye devushki ne imeyut chertovski vynoslivosti," Leonid Denisovich sighed. Perhaps he was expecting too much of an eighteen year old girl. After all, only a month earlier she'd been living a life of comparative luxury - a prisoner of General Volk in Lindisfarne Castle. Now she was being expected to run repeatedly across knee deep mudflats carrying a rucksack full of rocks. She was certainly fit enough, but lacked the self discipline and willingness to take orders.

Leonid shrugged and waved as he spotted a few of the local Conwy fishermen watching curiously from the quay, "Gyda'r nos, bois," he called, then trudged up the slope after his charge. The locals seemed to appreciate that he was making an effort to learn a few basic phrases of Welsh, but spoken in a Russian accent his words were often unintelligible to them.

It was late afternoon. Probably time to stop anyway. The evenings were growing darker as summer became autumn, with a noticeable chill to the air. Behind Leonid, like a mound of bleached giant's bones, over a hundred smashed wind turbines lay twisted in a rusting heap against the cliffs of Great Orme, the peninsula that had shielded the nearby town of Llandudno from Atlantic storms. It hadn't been able to shield the seaside resort from Thanatos however. Meteorite strikes had utterly destroyed Llandudno, Bangor and Rhyl leaving Conwy as the only major settlement along that stretch of coast.

The Russian liked the Welsh. They were a hard working, plain speaking people who didn't stand any bullshit. Despite Wales having been virtually ignored so far by the Coalition's forces, the local community leaders had been mistrustful and even threatening to a degree when he'd first shown up with Tamsin in tow. But the gift of two Scandinavian Kalashnikovs and various seeds for planting had swayed them. In return for shelter in one of the town's numerous vacant properties, Leonid and Tamsin helped out when and wherever they could, tending the goats and crops in what had once been Bodlondeb Park, helping repair the thirteenth century castle that guarded the only road from the east, or fishing in one of the town's small fleet of boats.

He snatched up the girl's discarded rucksack and followed Tamsin's muddy bootprints back to their accommodation. Through Castle Square where a small market was winding down, then along Rosehill Street before turning off - the town's towering stone walls a constant presence along the way. Still one of the finest medieval walled towns in Europe, Conwy had once brought in thousands of tourists. But in recent years it had attracted desperate refugees from as far away as Liverpool and south Wales. In the aftermath of Thanatos it soon became apparent that civilisation would never be the same again, and with a few capable fighters, the town of Conwy would be defensible against marauders, bandits and maybe even Reivers - should they ever stray that far south. A safe haven, it was as good a place as any to settle. Or hide.

And now it had attracted an ex Coalition major who'd been branded a traitor by his own people for showing a scrap of humanity, and the teenage granddaughter of the invading army's commander in chief. If the people of Conwy ever discovered their true identities they'd both be thrown out before their feet even touched the ground.

. . .

Tamsin stormed into the cottage and slammed the front door, her feet leaving lumps and smears of black river mud on the flagstone floor. Fuck it, she thought, let the Russian clean it up. With burning thigh muscles, she kicked her boots off and began lighting the Aga. Having to boil water to wash in herself had quickly become tedious.

Shivering, she stripped down to her underwear. There was no sense in standing around wearing wet clothes.

Why was Leonid such an unbearable ARSE? He'd kept her at it all day long. First a run along overgrown footpaths to what had once been Llandudno, then map reading and unarmed combat, followed by running up and down the mud flats carrying a bag full of rocks. She was cold, she was wet, and she was covered in bruises, scrapes and nettle stings.

The battered old whistling kettle made a faint fizzing sound on the range. It would be a short while before she had hot water. Why had her parents agreed to this? What did it matter whether or not she stayed in Novaya Nadezhda? The Coalition hardly ever ventured that far west. Tamsin looked up as Leonid walked in, having to bend slightly to avoid banging his head on the low door frame.

He glared at her.

"What?" Tamsin demanded. She'd been itching for a fight all day. To be honest she was itching for a fight most days. Ever since leaving Novaya Nadezhda. Ever since her father had informed her that her brother John had been dead for the last four years.

"You need to learn patience young lady, and some respect," the Russian told her. He placed his AK12 carefully, almost reverently on their battered coffee table.

Tamsin wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, silently cursing the kettle for taking so long to boil, "I don't have to learn anything from you. First thing in the morning I'm leaving and going back to my parents in Novaya Nadezhda."

Leonid raised an eyebrow, "Oh? And how do you plan to get there?"

Tamsin felt suddenly awkward, "The s-same way we got here. I'll walk."

Leonid sighed as he calmly spooned herbs and dried nettles into two mugs for tea, "You do remember the trouble we had getting here? The scavengers in Shrewsbury? You'll end up raped, murdered or stewed before you get half way to the canyons."

Tamsin gritted her teeth, "I'm w-willing to take my ch-chances. I won't stay here with you another m-minute longer than necessary."

Leonid fixed her with a steady gaze, "I made a promise to your parents. I would hide you from Volk and your grandfather. I would protect you and teach you how to fight the Coalition. And ... I can't do that if you're not willing to meet me halfway Tamsin."

What was it about the way the Russian spoke her name that made her feel butterflies in her stomach? Trying to hide the blush rising up her cheeks, Tamsin turned to the Aga and snatched up the kettle. It should be near enough boiled by now, surely.

"Owch," she squealed, remembering never to pick up the hot kettle with her bare hand. It clanged as it hit the cracked flagstone floor, splashing scalding water over her feet, "SHIT!"

Leonid reacted instantly, lunging forward to pour a jug of cold water over her legs, "Hold still!"

"I'M ALRIGHT! Stop fussing!"

Leonid looked up at her, his face creased with concern, "Tupaya devchonka! You stupid girl. How do you expect to walk alone all the way to Novaya Nadezhda when you can't even boil water safely?"

Tamsin slumped into one of the cottage's sturdy dining chairs with tears of pain and frustration stinging her eyes, as Leonid wrapped a towel soaked in cold water around her feet, "I ..."

Leonid blew out his breath, "I'll make a deal with you. I'll teach you to navigate, forage for food and hunt. I'll teach you to use a bow and build a shelter. When I think you're ready, when I think you're capable of making the journey to Novaya Nadezhda alone ... you can go. With my blessing. Does that sound reasonable?"

She was in no position to refuse. He was right, she wouldn't survive a day out on the road alone. Through blurring tears, Tamsin looked down at him and slowly nodded, "Y-yes."

Leonid grinned, "Now. Get yourself washed and dressed while I get a fire going. Then ... you can clean up all this fucking mud you walked in."

. . .

The tiny terraced cottage Tamsin and Leonid had requisitioned comprised of just four rooms. A basic but functional ex-holiday let next to a boarded up pub. On the ground floor a living room and kitchen area with a separate bathroom that wasn't currently plumbed in - the people of Conwy were organised, but not that organised. Upstairs two bedrooms, both with ancient leaded windows looking on to the front street. Surprisingly much of the furniture had survived not only Thanatos but the terrible winters that had followed when firewood had been worth its weight in gold.

Tamsin had the option to hang a blanket over the curtain pole for privacy, but chose not to. She preferred to look out at the night sky as she lay in bed, seeing the Milky Way stretch across the heavens without the glare of pre-Thanatos light pollution. Every evening, once the last candle or oil lamp had been extinguished, Conwy was plunged into total darkness.

Fifty yards to the west at the end of Chapel Street lay one of only six gaps in the town's medieval walls. If they needed to make their escape, they would be able to do so quickly.

Tamsin stared at the ceiling as she waited for the elusive spectre of sleep to claim her. It had taken them a fortnight to trek to North Wales, the best part of a day of bargaining with the town's leaders to allow them to stay, and they'd already been in Conwy for a further fortnight. Despite the hard work, the gruelling training regime and Leonid's taciturn demeanor, she realised she was thoroughly enjoying every minute of it.

If only she had someone her own age along to make life in Conwy more bearable. Someone like Craster. After the brief, but intimate experiences they'd shared Tamsin realised how much she missed him. There was no way she could've predicted the terrible events in Novaya Nadezhda's council chamber. But what he'd done had been for the sake of his family, not out of a sense of duty to the Coalition.

Tamsin slowly pressed a hand against the muscles of her abdomen, marveling at how toned her body was becoming after just a couple of short weeks. Her feet itched from the episode with the scalding water but she knew that Leonid's swift action had meant the injury was only minor.

Leonid Denisovich. If only he wasn't Russian, she thought. A barely perceptible tingling sensation spread warmly through her as she caressed the soft skin of her belly with fingers made strong from digging in Conwy's fields.

He was tall, blond, blue-eyed and, she supposed, fairly handsome in a strange sort of way. The Slavic cheekbones gave his face a kind of fierce angularity. But he was at the very least ten years her senior. What would an ex-major from the Coalition's elite Spetsnaz want with a teenage girl who, he had quite rightly pointed out, couldn't even boil water safely.

Tamsin's fingertips grazed the elasticated waistband of her underwear as she pictured his smile, imagined what the sound of his laughter might be like ... how it would feel to kiss him. She pushed her panties down over her hips as she reached a hand down between her thighs, alarmed and slightly embarrassed at how wet she already was.

Leonid was only in the next room ...

On the other side of the wall not ten feet away. A short distance that may as well be a thousand miles considering their differences, she thought. Tamsin wondered how he'd react if she walked in at that very minute and just climbed naked into bed next to him. Would he be furious and demand she leave immediately? Would he wrap her tenderly in a blanket and ask what was troubling her, talking long into the night? Or would he ease her gently onto her back and make love to her until they fell asleep sated and sweating in each other's arms?

Tamsin rolled onto her stomach and angrily punched the pillow. What good were stupid girlish fantasies? They were in Wales for a reason. She was training to fight the Coalition, not jump into bed with them.

. . .

Next door, Leonid Denisovich too was having trouble sleeping. He couldn't get the image of Tamsin Beech standing soaking wet and mud streaked in her underwear out of his head. He'd stormed back to the cottage ready to tell her just what he thought of her attitude, until he saw her standing there shivering in the middle of the kitchen.

The lustrous red curls she'd inherited from her mother framed her oval face, the slender limbed, toned body with hardly an ounce of excess fat. The virtually flawless skin marred only by a smattering of freckles. Under ill fitting hand-me-down clothes, Tamsin Beech had looked every inch like a pampered rich girl who'd been thrown in out of her depth. But virtually naked it was obvious that beneath had been hiding an extremely beautiful young woman.

Her parents' trust in him was fragile to say the least. He'd offered to keep Ross and Merida's daughter safe and teach her a few useful skills. How would the resistance view him if he seduced his charge?

He remembered the droplets of water trickling down the curve of her spine, the outline of Tamsin's nipples straining tautly against the wet material of her bra. And in doing so realised just how hard his cock had become underneath the covers. Leonid rolled onto his stomach and angrily punched the pillow.

. . .

Over the following days and weeks, Tamsin threw herself into whatever training Leonid Denisovich saw fit to provide as well as the day to day chores they performed around the town to earn their keep.

Crops needed to be harvested, fish smoked and dried, winter feed stored for the animals, enough logs split and stacked to provide firewood through to the spring. Tamsin got to know many of the townspeople, particularly the black haired local children who seemed fascinated by her red hair. The Evans sisters who reminded her of Aunt Jessamy's daughters Phoebe and Ada went out of their way to work alongside her in the fields. Others would bring her small gifts of fresh fruit when the 'scary Russian' as they put it wasn't around.

And on top of that Tamsin learned how to navigate, forage, recognise edible plants from ones that may potentially kill her, build a shelter, start a fire ... and how to shoot. With limited ammunition for the Grach she'd stolen from Nasilnikov's twitching corpse, weapons' training usually centred around bow and crossbow in the surrounding woods. But with Kalashnikovs in more plentiful supply Tamsin learned how to strip, clean and reassemble one.

"Never assume you'll find ammunition," Leonid warned, "the Coalition aren't as well supplied as you think."

Tamsin nodded. It was inevitable that ammunition would eventually become scarcer and scarcer. Her Aunt Jessamy had once pointed out that soldiers of the British Army had resorted to crossbows well over twenty years before.