Tamsin Beech Ch. 08: Kirkwall

Keaton was for some reason harbouring Beech and however many friends she'd brought along. So reporting it to the militia was out of the question. Something was afoot and Dougal decided there and then to go straight to the top.

A Russian BTR armoured personnel carrier roared over the narrow causeway of the nearest Churchill Barrier from Lamb Holm, slowed up ahead and parked beside another, outside an imposing stone built house. A century before, at the height of one of the planet's bloodiest conflicts, Italian prisoners of war had been forced to construct the barriers between the southernmost islands of the archipelago, to prevent enemy submarines entering Scapa Flow, the then safe harbour for much of the British navy's surface fleet.

Thousands of prisoners had moved over 50,000 huge concrete blocks into place using the most rudimentary of equipment, creating not only the so called Churchill Barriers but a vital road link built on top of them joining the islands of South Ronaldsay and Burray to the main island and its capital, Kirkwall.

Dougal hated history. What was the point of knowing what had gone before when all that mattered was whether or not you'd eat tomorrow?

And the trouble with history was that every day there was more of it.

Dougal hadn't been this far south of Kirkwall for years. But the enormous red star fixed to the wall, shuttered windows and machine gun emplacement covering the road confirmed that this was surely Zmelya's headquarters. Two Coalition guards with Kalashnikovs raised their weapons threateningly as he approached, "Ne podkhodi blizhe. Proyti mimo, mraz' ..."

He couldn't understand word for word what they'd said but he could guess the gist of it. Svoloch, they usually called him. Scum.

"I ... need to speak with Governor Zmelya. It's urgent," Dougal felt breathless and a little light headed after walking over twenty miles on an empty stomach. With his damaged face his voice came out sounding slurred.

One of the guards threw his zabveniye cigarette down and took aim, "Otoydi ili ya strelyayu. Svoloch!" he growled.

"What's going on here?" called another voice from the APC. A tall, gaunt man, completely bald, strolled over peeling off leather driving gloves. He wore body armour and MTP like the others but the colonel's gold rank slides on his Coalition uniform were unmistakable.

"Begging your pardon sir," Dougal gasped, "I need ... to speak with Governor Zmelya. It's urgent."

The man looked Dougal up and down, making no secret of his distaste, "I'm Zmelya. Whatever you say had better be worthwhile or I'll shoot you. Is that understood?"

Dougal swallowed hard. How important was it to the Coalition that a fugitive bounty hunter had shown up on the island after almost twelve years? In the grand scheme of things probably not very important at all.

Governor Zmelya drew a Grach handgun and chambered a round, "Speak!"

It was too late to back out now. What information could he possibly have that might save his skin? Dougal racked his brain.

Zmelya pressed the Grach's barrel against Dougal's forehead ...

"Kim Napp Gylan's killers!" Dougal exclaimed, "I know where they are."

. . .

At the Kirkwall Hotel, after Keaton's staff had dutifully cleared away the plates and cutlery of their evening meal, Tamsin and Leonid opened one of the old sash windows wide to peer out over the harbour and outlying islands to the north. Above them, behind tattered wisps of cloud, the Milky Way gradually appeared, something Tamsin had never seen so clearly before. What she had assumed to be a particularly big cloud stretching across the entire sky resolved into millions, then billions of sharp white pinpoints of light surrounded by glowing clouds of stellar gas.

"Wow!" she gasped, her breath escaping in a white fog, "we never saw the sky this clearly, even down in Northumberland."

"Light pollution in built up areas used to make it impossible to see it, plus the air was always so much clearer up here in the north," the Russian wrapped their thick duvet around her shoulders as she leaned on her crutch, "there's more to see ... if you're prepared to wait a while longer. You cold?"

Tamsin was absolutely freezing with the window open, but didn't want to appear weak in Leonid's eyes. She shook her head, pulled the duvet tighter around herself and gazed at the incredible night sky unfolding above them.

"When are you going to speak with McTavish?" he asked.

"In the morning," Tamsin answered, "do you think he'll agree?"

"It's an audacious plan, that depends on the co-operation of many individuals. It only needs one to refuse to help and it will fail. Do you know," Leonid abruptly changed the subject, "the light from these stars takes so long to reach us that we're seeing them as they were millions of years ago. We can see the light but the star that made it may not even be there anymore."

While Tamsin pondered that, the sky to the north over Shapinsay flickered. Then seemed to gradually brighten as if the sun was rising not in the east, but in the north in the direction of the outer islands. But this was no sunrise of warm oranges and reds. The northern sky was turning a bluish green, bright, but somehow dark and muted at the same time. Some kind of freak weather pattern caused by Thanatos? No, this seemed too benign. The flickering continued as Tamsin watched, intensifying, tendrils of paler green and turquoise now snaking across the sky like beckoning fingers.

She laughed out loud as a luminescent green curtain of light billowed suddenly across the sky above them, pulsing and growing one moment then flickering and shrinking the next, "This is amazing!"

"Yes," Leonid grinned, "I used to watch it from the aircraft carrier Lenin during the voyage from Russia. It's caused by charged particles from the sun hitting the upper atmosphere apparently. The Northern Lights, Aurora Borealis. Or as they call them here on Orkney ... the Merry Dancers."

"Merry Dancers ..." whispered Tamsin, "I prefer that, it sounds ... friendlier, somehow," she grinned at him, "thanks ... for showing me this."

Leonid gently turned her to face him, suddenly serious, "You remember what I told you in Ayr?"

Tamsin nodded. How could she possibly forget?

"You no doubt think it was something I said in the heat of the moment. Instinct. After all ... I'd just been shot."

Tamsin searched his eyes, keeping her lips firmly closed.

"When you came back to the boat on Kerrera covered in blood I had never felt so helpless. I thought I was going to lose the one good thing in my life ... the one reason to carry on fighting. I ... meant it Tamsin Beech. I love you. I knew it from the moment I first set eyes on you back in Scarborough. And that's why I couldn't bring myself to execute you or your mother."

"That sounded really sweet ... until that last bit," Tamsin smiled and let the crutch fall as she wrapped her arms around the Russian's neck, "but I was hoping you were going to say something about it."

"Why?"

"Because," Tamsin gazed around the room over his broad shoulders, "to be honest, I never wanted this to happen. If we start putting each other's welfare before the cause ... we're both likely to end up dead. I don't have a crystal ball Leo, so I have no idea what will become of us after all this is over. But if this night is all we ever have and we both die tomorrow, I just want you to know, need you to know ... ya tozhe tebya lyublyu. I love you too."

"Moya dorogaya Tamsin," Leonid grinned, "you've been practising!"

Tamsin nodded, and took one final look at the billowing green curtains of light outside as Leonid, conscious of his stitches, carefully lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

. . .

In the next room, Phoebe lay awake listening to the soft rattling of Hamnavoe's breathing. She'd had to witness the embarassing spectacle of her mother Jessamy scolding him like a child. It wasn't so much that he'd volunteered to sail all the way to Lindisfarne to open a second Soteria bunker, it was the fact that he hadn't consulted her.

She knew that inside, her mother was everything but angry and only had his best interests in mind. But it seemed the most feared bounty hunter in the country was showing her human side when faced with the possibility of losing her second husband. Anger, at Hamnavoe's illness, their situation, and her own inability to do anything about it had made Jessamy storm out of the hotel to 'check on McTavish and the boat' as she'd put it. Hamnavoe had awkwardly apologised and fallen asleep minutes later.

Phoebe punched her pillow into shape and drew the duvet upto her neck, studying the pattern of stains on the ceiling. It still felt strange being away from her own room on Kerrera, surrounded by familiar things. Her collection of animal skulls, jars of herbs and ingredients for homemade remedies, random pieces of metal waiting to be filed into weapons or arrow heads.

Above her, Keaton's bed creaked as the old man stirred in his sleep. She seemed to be surrounded by old men here, Keaton, her uncle, her stepfather. The only younger man who was halfway decent looking was Leonid Denisovich, and he'd already been snatched up by her cousin Tamsin.

Tamsin. Images of the redhead naked in the abandoned cafe on Kerrera fluttered enticingly through Phoebe's memory. Pale, freckled skin pressed against her own as they strove to pleasure one another. She'd be asleep next door now, Phoebe supposed, wrapped in the handsome Russian's muscular arms. Damn.

She hesitated, pressing her ear against the adjoining wall. She'd heard something, almost like a faint gasp.

Phoebe waited for long seconds. Surely she'd imagined it? The old building creaked and groaned every night as it settled. It couldn't be what she thought it was.

There it was again.

Phoebe held her breath, listening to the blood pumping through her ears, as her suspicions were confirmed. Tamsin Beech and Leonid Denisovich, despite their injuries, were having sex only a couple of feet away on the other side of the wall.

She felt a pang of jealousy. But whether for her cousin or her lover she had no idea. All she knew was that they were in the next room pleasuring one another while she lay in bed alone listening to her stepfather's wheezing.

Alone.

Before Hamnavoe's illness first manifested back on Kerrera, she'd overheard him and her mother having sex on a fairly regular basis. It had never aroused her or disgusted her. It had simply instilled her with a warm sense of security, knowing that she was cared for by two people who were still very much in love.

Phoebe wondered how Tamsin and Leonid would react if she wandered into their room and suggested joining them. She was twenty years old! Wasn't it about time she discovered what sex with a man was like? She huffed. It was a stupid idea. They'd both probably laugh or tell her to grow up. Through the wall the rhythmic sound of creaking bedsprings being put through their paces brought a flush of colour to Phoebe's cheeks, "Oh ferfucksake!"

For just a moment she contemplated holding a pillow over her head to block out the sounds. Or at least until they'd finished. Her cousin's moans and sighs rose in pitch as the creaking of bedsprings sped up.

"Shit," Phoebe muttered. There was only one way she was going to be able scratch this particular itch. She leaned out of the bed and grabbed the fat tallow candle from its holder on the dresser. Then pushing back the duvet, slid the smooth, melted head of it beneath the fabric of her panties. As she listened to the muffled sounds of frenzied fucking she rubbed the silky waxen shaft very gently against her stiffening clitoris, drawing in her breath through her teeth.

Phoebe remembered Leonid's face well from the time spent onboard the Kerrera II - angular cheek bones and deep set, smouldering eyes. She pictured the rest of him in her mind's eye - tall, slender but muscular, quick and energetic in his movements, "Jeez, I bet he's good wi' his tongue."

That thought sent a little delicious shiver running through her. How would it feel she wondered, having a man go down on her? The idea was so vivid in Phoebe's mind she felt a warm dampness gathering between her legs.

"Ohyes ... ohyes ..." Tamsin's breathless voice seeped through the wall as the headboard of their bed tapped a staccato beat against the plaster.

Not caring that her stepfather was asleep just across the room, she pulled her panties down to her ankles and nudged the smooth head of the candle between the moist lips of her sex. It was thick, and she wasn't quite wet enough for it to enter her easily. She returned to stroking her clitoris.

"Fuck me harder," murmured Phoebe, pressing the slippery tip of the candle against her aching vulva. She wondered if Leonid would be a good lover? From what she could hear the answer was probably yes. An elite soldier like him might always be trying to prove something to himself. Phoebe imagined him naked, his angular face looming above her. If a man that big took it into his mind to do something to her, anything, she wouldn't be able to stop him. The thought made her squirm and she tried again to insert the slippery candle into her aching vagina. She was extremely wet now and after a little resistance it slipped in easily, filling her.

Phoebe squeezed at the slick shaft with her inner muscles and lay back in the bed, imagining her legs wrapped around the tall Russian, her ankles crossed at his back, very gently touching her clitoris with her other hand. She was imagining him holding one of her wrists in each hand as he fucked her, so that she couldn't struggle.

As the cries from the next room reached a crescendo, she kicked with her legs and moaned in delirious protest as instead she pictured Leonid thrusting deeply into her helpless mouth with his taut, thick cock. As the thick candle slid to and fro, faster and faster, Phoebe could almost hear Leonid gasping as he drove into her or alternatively, his cock thrusting so deep into her mouth that the velvety glans touched the back of her throat.

As her orgasm brimmed up and filled her she plunged the candle deep, deep into her moist passage, and her fingers worked busily between her legs. At the moment of climax her imagination switched between Leonid jerking and groaning as he came inside her body, and simultaneously his thick cock pulsing and twitching between her lips, filling her mouth with his salty, delicious cream.

Phoebe slumped back onto the lumpy mattress, panting. After a moment she withdrew the candle very gently and pulled up her panties, shaking a little. From the next room there was now only silence. Had they heard her? She doubted it. Phoebe once again pictured Leonid and promised herself that one day, she'd have a taste of what her cousin was getting ...

. . .

Tamsin awoke with a start from a disturbing dream of nuclear fire, snuggled into Leonid with the bedclothes tangled around her bare legs. She guessed it was a little after dawn, possibly later. The sound of footsteps pounding down the polished wooden staircase outside their door, followed by a door opening and muffled shouts. Then finally the roar of a large vehicle screeching to a stop somewhere close by awoke Leonid beside her.

"Chto eto?" he asked and bounded naked out of their bed. Tamsin never ceased to be amazed by that. How Leonid could go from fast asleep to alert and combat ready in the blink of an eye. He clutched at his wound as he peered through the curtains at their room's back window, "we have company. An APC. Zmelya I'm guessing. Get dressed."

With Tamsin's splint keeping her leg straight, it took her a few attempts to pull on underwear and trousers as Leonid quickly dressed. Someone pounded loudly on their door.

"WHO IS IT?" Tamsin called as Leonid silently snatched up one of their SA80s and aimed at the doorway.

"It's me. Keaton. Someone must have called Zmelya. He's surrounding the hotel. You have to get out!"

Wrestling her wounded arm into a t-shirt, Tamsin limped over to the front window and peered out through a gap in the curtains. Fishermen readied their boats to put to sea, while traders moved to and fro setting up market stalls. A few children walked to Kirkwall's school in animated conversation for their half day of lessons. She immediately spotted the little blonde girl in the white sheepskin jacket, dawdling some distance behind the others. Now a familiar sight.

The girl happened to glance up, spotted Tamsin and waved.

"Keaton's winding us up," Tamsin waved back and watched as the townsfolk went about the business of starting a new day, while a fine mizzle turned the view northward a murky grey, "I can't see anyone out this side ... no, wait."

Two uniformed figures ducked down behind stacks of fish boxes across the road. Coalition soldiers, effectively covering the hotel's entrance, "Shit. Spoke too soon ... they're here."

A second armoured personnel carrier suddenly roared too fast around the corner, worn fat tyres squealing on the wet road surface. Tamsin's eyes widened, about to shout a warning ... but with only a second to react it was already too late. As the driver braked, the steel plated nose of the APC slammed into the little schoolgirl and knocked her flying.

She was dead before her broken body hit the ground.

"BASTARDS!" Tamsin slapped her hands against the glass, furious as more Coalition troops clambered out of the vehicle, "you murdering bastards!"

A tall, bald man wearing colonel's rank slides glanced dispassionately over at the dead girl then up at the hotel. Fishermen, market traders and Keaton's militia had all witnessed the event and almost as one stopped what they were doing. In silence several ran to the dead girl's side while her school friends stood around frozen to the spot or sobbing. But it was no use.

Hamnavoe and the others hurried into the room, still pulling on jackets and fastening belts.

"Where's Aunt Jess?" Tamsin demanded.

"Still onboard the boat wi' McTavish," Hamnavoe leaned against the wall, visibly trembling. His illness was reaching a stage where even the tiniest exertion was too much.

"This is nothing to do with me," Keaton stated from the doorway.

Tamsin nodded in agreement, "Then who?"

Keaton shook his head.

"We're surrounded," reported Leonid, "APCs front and back. I count at least twenty troops armed with AKs and one or two RPGs."

"Fuck!" Tamsin punched the wall next to her, "must be one of the hotel staff. RPGs! How the hell are we going to get out of this? We're outnumbered, outgunned and neither me or Hamnavoe are exactly up to running for it."

Outside in the street, Zmelya and some of the Coalition troops spread out, watching warily as Kirkwall's townsfolk edged closer, angrily demanding an explanation for the death of the girl, "She was just a peedie girl!"

"I suppose he'll put her down to collateral damage," stinging tears gathered in Tamsin's eyes as she watched a couple of Orcadian fishermen gently cover the dead girl's body with a coat, "I don't know this Zmelya but I've already got a powerful dislike for the guy."

"ATTENTION IN THE HOTEL!" Zmelya shouted, "you are surrounded. I have information linking you to the assassination of the North Koreans' leader Kim Napp Gylan. You will disarm and surrender immediately."

"Like fuck we will!" Ross smashed the grimy bedroom window with the stock of his SA80 and let loose a measured burst at the APC parked below.

TAKATAKATAK!

The Coalition troops immediately took cover and unleashed a barrage of their own. Tamsin and the others threw themselves to the floor as bullets ripped window frames, curtains, light fittings and ornamental plaster cornices apart, "For fuck's sake dad! Why did you have to do that?" Tamsin yelled, her good arm held protectively above her head.