Tamsin Beech Ch. 07: Kerrera

. . .

Leaving Merida and McTavish guarding the boat, Hamnavoe and Ross had trekked up to the boatyard searching for useable timber. The Novaya Nachalo's hull had indeed sprung a leak when they'd landed on Kerrera. But a small patch applied to the outside at low tide would prevent the hole from getting any worse. Tamsin and Phoebe helped them acquire the necessary materials and they began walking back towards Slatrach Bay, the two women sharing sly smiles and meaningful looks, but Hamnavoe and Ross Beech seemed thankfully oblivious to what they'd been up to.

. . .

Far to the south in the town of Ayr, Major Cho saluted his commander in chief, "Sir, we've looked at every harbour, quay and jetty large enough to take a fishing boat of that size. They're not anywhere on the island of Arran or the Mull of Kintyre peninsula."

Kim Napp Gylan ran a hand through his neatly trimmed black hair, "Shit. Very well. How much aviation fuel do we have left?"

"Enough for another couple of hours' search, sir. No more. Not enough for us to fly back to the Baekdusan. But apparently General Volk will soon arrive here with reinforcements and extra fuel."

"Volk and our Russian allies," Kim Napp Gylan studied the faded maritime chart of Scotland's western islands,"where would we be without the illustrious General Volk and our brave Russian allies?"

"Back in Pyongyang sir?" Cho quipped.

"Ha. Very good. Keep our friend Volk appraised of where we are."

"Yes sir."

Kim Napp Gylan hunched closer to the map, "Hmm ... so where would our resistance friends go? An island with a landing stage and shelter that's also isolated enough to have escaped our notice? Islay or Jura? ... too big. Always a chance they might already be occupied by Reivers or refugees. Mull? ... no, our scouts flew over it years ago. It's virtually uninhabitable. So ... where?"

PART THREE: PREPARING TO DEPART

That evening, Leonid Denisovich joined them in the kitchen.

The others had all spent the afternoon transporting containers of diesel from the boatyard across the island to Slatrach Bay. Back breaking work, and they were all ravenously hungry. Realising that she'd perhaps been a little too opinionated the previous night, Jessamy had slaughtered one of their chickens and prepared a simple roast dinner as a way of making amends. But she'd also made it clear that she hadn't changed her mind. They weren't welcome on Kerrera.

As expected McTavish had been asked to stay with the boat.

"How are you feeling?" Tamsin asked as she passed a bowl of buttered new potatoes across the table to Merida. She caught sight of Phoebe sitting opposite her watching them both curiously.

Leonid gingerly patted the gauze dressing on his side. He looked pale and drawn, "I'm much better, thankyou. Still sore though," he turned to Tamsin's aunt, "Jessamy, thanks for what you did and ... can I just say what an honour it is to meet you in person."

Jessamy waved a hand dismissively, "Pfft. We don't stand on ceremony here. Eat your food while it's still hot."

"But ... you're a legend. Ty legenda. Your actions at the battle of Truro ..."

"Yeah yeah," Jessamy butted in, "and if you believe ALL the stories, I'm ten feet tall and shoot lasers out of my arse. Please, eat your food. You look like you need it."

Hamnavoe poured glasses of his homemade cloudy cider, apologising profusely that there was nothing stronger. They'd had what they thought was the last surviving bottle of Tobermory single malt from Mull. But that was long gone.

"So Major Banavie," Tamsin addressed him in a conversational tone, "when were you going to tell us your real identity?"

At the head of the table, Hamnavoe raised an eyebrow as he exchanged a shocked look with his wife. Then he smirked, "Ye found me out. Ye're a canny lass an' no mistake."

Ross watched them uneasily.

"Don't thank me, thank your wife. It's okay Angus," Tamsin continued, "I ... know why you didn't mention it. But why my dad ..." she fixed Ross with a hard stare, "... didn't mention it is possibly a matter for further discussion though."

"Tamz," Ross interrupted sheepishly, "there didn't seem to be any point. We thought Angus and your Aunt Jessamy were both dead."

Tamsin watched her father, enjoying the spectacle of making him squirm, "We'll talk about that later. Another thing, Major Banavie ... Uncle Angus, Hamnavoe or whatever the hell your name is today ... have you ever heard of something called Project Chronos?"

"Chronos? No, why?" Hamnavoe's fork hovered halfway to his mouth.

"We found some weird lab in the basement of the university in Ayr. It seems like the kind of hush hush thing you might know about. I picked up a binder of papers and brought it with me."

Hamnavoe nodded, "I'll take a look if ye like lass. But it doesnae ring a bell."

Tamsin reached down beside her chair and drew out the Project Chronos ring binder she'd rescued, "See what you make of it uncle."

Hamnavoe flicked through the paperwork, peering closely at graphs and pages of charts, pulling a disgusted face when he reached photos of the failed test subjects.

"Well?" Tamsin asked.

Hamnavoe coughed, then scratched his grey stubbled chin thoughtfully, "Temporal displacement. Well I was never really into Star Trek and that kinda shite but as far as I know temporal displacement translates into what plebs like me'd call ... time travel."

"Time travel? Are you fucking serious?" Ross sneered, "you're telling me university students in Ayr had invented a fucking time machine?"

"Judging from the state of some o' these mouse test subjects," laughed Hamnavoe, "I'd say no, they havnae. It's more like a fuckin' blender."

"What's a blender?" Phoebe asked.

"Before your time sweetheart," said Jessamy.

With a regrettable shake of the head, Hamnavoe handed the ring binder back to Tamsin.

"So if you don't know what Chronos is, what do you know about the Soteria bunkers?"

Phoebe reached across the table for the binder as Hamnavoe cleared his throat, "Their locations ye mean? I can tell ye where they are but it'd be a waste o' yer time. Ye willnae be able to get inside."

"Since you can't help us, that's my problem, not yours."

"Okay lass. I don't know them all, but the Gloucester Cathedral site will have been ransacked by Jack Aubrey years ago. Durham Cathedral suffered a direct meteorite hit so that's out too. St Paul's in London ... well ye ken what happened to London. Portsmouth Guildhall I've no idea about. So apart from Lindisfarne Castle and the Glasgow Necropolis ... which is in Reiver territory, they're probably all ..."

"What did you say?"

Hamnavoe raised an eyebrow, "About what lass?"

"Lindisfarne Castle."

"Aye lass," Hamnavoe cleared his throat, "there's a bunker there. Under the floor. Not exactly sure where, but the entrance will be a big slab ... possibly made to look like marble, and should carry the same inscription as all the others. A quote from Dylan Thomas ..."

Of course, the Ship Room! It had been there under her feet all that time, with the inscription clearly etched into it, "Do not go gentle into that good night; Old age should burn and rave at close of day ..."

"... Rage, rage against the dying of the light," finished Hamnavoe, "but ... if your President Zakhvatchikov realises what it was ye stole, and he finds out there's a bunker there ... it'll be guarded better than a nun's knicker drawer."

. . .

"You sure you've got enough space?" Tamsin asked. Phoebe's bed was narrow and only just wide enough for her and Leonid to sleep side by side. Now that he was on the road to recovery she'd decided to spend the night in the cottage. She guessed that her cousin was once again sleeping out under the stars.

What Tamsin really wanted was time alone to digest and process what she'd shared with her cousin. It had been incredible. She'd never have thought that she'd enjoy sex with another woman so much. And she found the memory of it scary, as well as arousing.

"Yes," answered Leonid in a hoarse whisper, shifting his weight to get comfortable on the lumpy old mattress, "but if you turn on your side I could spoon up behind you."

Tamsin grinned in the darkness, "And would that involve me taking my pants down?"

Leonid sounded apologetic, "Yes, it would. But it would do wonders for my morale. I've been bored."

Tamsin squeezed his thigh, "Ain't gonna happen. Any sudden movements and you'll burst your stitches. What have you been doing up here alone?"

"Best not ask."

Tamsin propped herself up on one elbow, peering down at him in the faint moonlight streaming through the curtainless window, "Seriously ... what?"

"Reading."

"Reading? You, the Coalition's elite?"

"Yes," Leonid nodded, "your cousin has an impressive collection of erotic fiction stashed under her bed. I've found it most enlightening."

Tamsin reached under the bed and drew out a dog-eared paperback, "What's this one? 'Watching Eve.' Really?"

Leonid snatched the book away from her, "You'd like it. It's about a man who becomes obsessed with spying on his beautiful neighbour. But she blackmails him into letting her have lesbian sex with his girlfriend."

"L-lesbian sex ... uh, really?" Tamsin felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

Leonid nodded, "Mmm. I found it quite a turn on to be honest."

Was the Russian toying with her? Had he somehow guessed what she'd been up to with Phoebe? "So ... is that the kind of thing you'd want me to do?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, "perhaps. But not right now. Any sudden movements and I'll burst my stitches remember?"

Tamsin relaxed. Her secret was safe, "Go to sleep."

. . .

As the first light of dawn brought the island's birdlife twittering and chirping from their nests and hidey holes some hours later, Tamsin awoke with a start. She'd heard something. A faint sound, conspicuous by being manmade amid the tranquil chorus of nature. She strained her ears. Had she imagined it?

THOKKA-THOKKA-THOKKA!

"Fuck!" she swore and leapt out of bed.

Beside her Leonid stirred, "Wh ...?"

"Helicopter," Tamsin blurted, pulling on her trousers, "coming this way."

Leonid sat up - too quickly, and yelped as he clutched at his wound, "We need to warn the others."

Tamsin struggled into her boots, "I'll do it. Get dressed in case we have to make a run for it. Meet you downstairs."

Somewhere high above the cottage, the clattering racket of the helicopter grew steadily louder, then gradually faded away to the north. Tamsin stumbled down the narrow stairs and burst into the kitchen.

"What the fuck have you brought down on us?" Jessamy Beech shouted accusingly, brandishing an SA80. Merida and Ross were already there, peering out fearfully through the old sash windows.

Hamnavoe stepped back in through the front door, "They flew north. I'm guessing they'll set down at the Ardantrive boatyard. It's the only flat area that's wide enough on the entire island."

Jessamy chewed her bottom lip, "Any idea who it is?"

Hamnavoe shrugged, "Trouble. North Korean markings as far as I could tell. Looks like all that about a Coalition invasion is true."

Jessamy glared at Merida, Ross and Tamsin, "I realise your past record of looking out for my daughters hasn't been exemplary, but have any of you seen Phoebe?"

Tamsin shook her head, "I think she slept out again last night."

Jessamy slammed her fist down on the table, "Dammit! Angus, can you take Merida, Ross and the Russian back to their boat. We have too many traps out there for them to make it by themselves. I'll go find Phoebe."

"You're making us leave NOW?" Merida demanded, incredulous. Leonid limped into the room, holding onto the wall for support.

"It'll be safer than staying here," Jessamy explained, "the cottage is camouflaged from the air, so it's possible they don't even know we're here. But just to be on the safe side ... I think you should go."

With tears forming in her eyes, Merida nodded.

"What about me?" asked Tamsin.

Jessamy looked her niece up and down as if seeing her for the first time, "You're with me. You can show me if you can actually fight ... or if you're all just talk."

With Ross and Merida hoisting Leonid's arms across their shoulders, Hamnavoe slammed a fresh clip into his own SA80 and led the way out the cottage's front door, "Let's go."

. . .

As her parents and Leonid Denisovich followed Hamnavoe along the booby trapped path towards Slatrach Bay, Tamsin jogged after Jessamy north east towards the great crag of Carn Breugach. Despite her aunt's age, she found herself struggling to keep up, "Are ... you sure ... she'll be up there?"

Jessamy looked back over her shoulder, "Phee likes to watch the stars. At about 600 feet, it's also the best lookout spot on the island."

Through knee high heather and gorse, they scrambled off the main path onto the uneven footing of the hillside. Early morning mist beaded on her jacket and dew made the undergrowth wet and slippery, so by the time the sun began to crest the mainland's hills to the east she was sweating and her trousers were saturated.

THOKKA-THOKKA-THOKKA!

"Shit," Jessamy swore, ducking down, "sounds like they've dropped off their troops and are coming back this way."

"If Phoebe's up there she's a sitting duck," Tamsin hissed.

Jessamy shook her head, "That's my daughter you're talking about. Don't underestimate a Beech."

They both ducked behind boulders as the North Korean Mil MI-24 swooped low overhead like some monstrous malevolent dragonfly.

"It's heading towards the cottage," Tamsin cried.

"They must have some kind of thermal imaging sensor. Lucky we got out when we did," Jessamy could only watch as the helicopter banked around in a wide circle and began its attack run on the little whitewashed cottage. On either side of its scratched fuselage orange fire bloomed as rockets streaked towards their target ...

KA-BOOM!

Roof slates, blocks of stone and splintered timbers exploded high into the air as Jessamy's home for the last eleven years was destroyed in an instant, "Motherfuckers!"

Tamsin grabbed her arm as the older woman raised her assault rifle towards the helicopter, "NO! We need to hide."

"Like fuck we do!"

"Aunt Jess, you can't take down a helicopter gunship with an assault rifle! Let's at least check that Phoebe's okay first."

Jessamy chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, "Alright," she muttered through gritted teeth.

The Mil circled westward out over the sea behind them as the two women reached the flat top of Carn Breugach. Tamsin knew that if the North Korean pilot spotted Leonid and the others out in the open they were as good as dead.

When they found her, Phoebe Beech was crouched beside the summit cairn, cranking back the throwing arm of what looked like a half size medieval mangonel. Tears streaked her face. The poor girl must've just witnessed the only home she'd ever known being destroyed, Tamsin realised.

"What the fuck is that?" Tamsin asked her, pointing to the timber siege catapult.

"Never mind," Jessamy replied curtly, "you got a firestarter?"

Tamsin nodded and drew out the flint and steel she used for campfires. The mangonel's six foot long frame creaked as Phoebe increased the the tension even more.

"Light this," Jessamy threw Tamsin a green glass bottle two thirds full of a yellowish fluid. A filthy rag protruded from its neck.

"Molotov cocktail? What good will this do?"

"Here they come," Jessamy lifted the assault rifle to her shoulder and took aim as Phoebe hooked a trigger line to the mangonel's restraining rope.

THOKKA-THOKKA-THOKKA!

A fat spark from the firestarter ignited the oil soaked rag in Tamsin's bottle. Phoebe grabbed it and placed it in the catapult's wide leather payload bucket as Jessamy opened fire, "Die you piece of shit!"

TAKATAKATAK!

"This isn't going to work ..." Tamsin muttered as the North Korean Mil descended towards them, picking up speed. Most of Jessamy's shots went wild, spraying harmlessly across the sky as the helicopter approached. One or two plinked off the armoured cockpit.

Tamsin prepared to dive for cover ...

"NOW!" Jessamy screamed.

With a practiced movement, Phoebe yanked hard on the trigger line. With the restraining rope released, the mangonel's arm twanged violently upward and its flaming payload launched skyward over the catapult's crossbar.

Burning oil exploded across the Mil's nose as the bottle hit. The helicopter swayed slightly as the pilot reacted but stayed airborne.

"It didn't work!" Tamsin shouted.

Jessamy grabbed her shoulder, "Watch!"

In the next instant, flames and burning oil were sucked into the gunship's engine intakes. With a mechanical sounding cough, black smoke belched from vents under the rotor assembly and the craft began to drop, spinning out of control from the sky.

"The old ways still work," Phoebe patted the mangonel as they watched the North Korean helicopter smash into a disused farm building below and erupt in a billowing orange fireball.

Without wasting a second, Jessamy threw down her empty weapon and picked up a loaded crossbow, "There'll be ground troops. We don't know how many. I'll head to Slatrach Bay to check on Ross and the others. Phoebe, you and Tamsin head up the middle of the island ..."

"They'll flank us," Tamsin warned, interrupting, "I had a guided tour yesterday. I know where your traps are. I can cover the east side ... alone."

Jessamy nodded, "You sure? Good call. Phee, you okay with that?"

Phoebe nodded and drew her mother's old Glock handgun.

"Then let's go. There's nothing for us here now ... so we'll meet at your boat."

Tamsin unholstered her trusty Grach and with long strides plunged back down the hillside towards Kerrera's coast path, the air thick with the smell of burning aviation fuel.

. . .

Kim Napp Gylan and the five surviving members of his squad froze at the edge of Kerrera's boatyard as a dull whump echoed off the hills around Oban's bay. Major Cho immediately pointed south to a billowing column of black smoke, "They've taken out the helicopter sir. This has got to be the right island."

Kim Napp Gylan clenched his jaw. It had been a lucky guess. They'd spotted the stolen fishing trawler from the air only minutes earlier but had had to search for a wide enough space to set down. He addressed his men, "If Tamsin Zakhvatchikov is here I want her taken alive. Split up. Two men towards the boat we spotted on the way in. Two down the centre of the island. Cho, you're with me. We'll head towards the smoke."

Cho nodded.

"Our enemy is ill equipped and unprepared. We don't know the terrain but neither do they. The resistance dies here ... today."

PART FOUR: THE BATTLE OF KERRERA

Leaving the mangonel behind, Phoebe Beech scrambled stealthily down the rocky side of Kerrera's highest point towards Lochan na Circe, a small tarn hidden away amongst the hills. It had been Hamnavoe's idea to build the mangonel after finding a book on medieval siege tactics back at the bunkhouse. It had still been undergoing tests but she and her stepfather reckoned they could hit any target crossing the strait to the island.

Taking out a heavily armed helicopter gunship was beyond her wildest expectations.

Phoebe slowed as she reached the water's edge. She stooped and quickly drank a cupped handful of the cool mineraly tasting water. The sun was higher now, obscured a little by brownish smoke from the burning helicopter but still warm on her back.

She would carry on north past the lochan until she could overlook Ardantrive and the boatyard. It was doubtful any of the North Koreans would come this way when there were perfectly serviceable paths along the coastline. Swallows swooped aerobatically amongst the bog cotton, hunting gnats and midges as Phoebe advanced one careful step at a time.