Tamsin Beech Ch. 14: Portsmouth

"You're too late!" Rosomakha punched Tamsin in the head. Not a powerful enough blow to cause injury as he was standing too close to swing, but Tamsin knew she was in trouble. His experience and superior strength were overwhelming her.

With blurring vision, Tamsin lifted a knee, desperately hoping to hit the Russian in the genitals, as she struggled for breath. But again he sidestepped. This Major Rosomakha bastard was as slippery as fish guts.

Then the Russian hesitated. He glanced down ...

The North Korean woman Yeonmi had left for dead had seized hold of his leg, tugging at his ankle.

As Rosomakha furiously drew back one booted foot for a kick, Tamsin grasped his head and pressed both thumbs tightly into his eye sockets.

"ARGH! Bitch!" the Russian slammed a fist into Tamsin's midsection as she threw her weight against him. With one foot still an inch off the ground he teetered backwards and fell - hitting the cold ground heavily with a thump. Winded.

Gritting her teeth, Tamsin scrabbled up beside his shoulders. Wrapping an arm around his neck, she grabbed the side of Rosomakha's head with the other hand and twisted.

Neck snapped, Rosomakha's limbs twitched and went limp. His eyes rolled back in his head.

Tamsin slumped onto her back, taking a few seconds to force air back into her lungs. Had anyone heard? The heavy snow might be muffling sound to some degree, but surely Jessamy's escort would be back soon wondering what was keeping their major.

She snatched up her Grach, relieved to feel the cold metal in her hand once more. The North Korean woman had saved her life. Given her a chance. There was certainly no love lost between them and the Russians. But just how far might that enmity go?

Tamsin crouched beside the woman, "Th-thankyou. I have ... to stop the launch."

The woman stared up at her impassively. Could she even understand? The woman hadn't done it to help the resistance. She'd done it because like so many other North Koreans, she hated Volk and the Russians.

As Tamsin wrestled Rosomakha's body out of his black Spetsnaz overalls, she had an idea, "Missile room, where?"

The North Korean woman's words were faint, heavily accented as to be almost unintelligible. Judging from the vivid bruises, Tamsin suspected she might have a bruised larynx and a broken jaw, "Gappan ... uh, d-deck? Deck three. C-cor ... corridor B."

Tamsin nodded her thanks. If the woman was lying, she'd be walking into a trap and this would all end here. It was a risk she was going to have to take. Shivering, she tossed down her jacket as she quickly changed, "This will help keep you warm until someone finds you."

Rosomakha's uniform was huge on her. Tamsin turned up the legs and sleeves but the Russian had been built like an ox. She pulled the velcro tabs on the Kevlar body armour as tight as she could and tucked extra folds of material behind it. It would have to do. She tugged Rosomakha's cap on. Her red hair and tattooed face she could do nothing about but perhaps the Baekdusan's lightning might be turned low to conserve power.

She certainly hoped so. With herself, Jessamy Beech and in all likelihood Yeonmi here in the same place, Tamsin Beech had the feeling that the fates of a great many people would be decided tonight ...

. . .

"Joheun jeonyeok," a young officer nodded to Yeonmi as he pressed back against the bulkhead to let her pass. She smiled, hoping that the peak of her stolen cap and the Baekdusan's dim red emergency lighting would hide her identity. She couldn't risk being recognised just yet. After a year away no-one would expect her to be even still alive, let alone sneaking onboard her own flagship in the dead of night ...

"Joheun jeonyeok jungwi," she replied sweetly, then added, "chuun bam ipnida."

It was after all what everyone in the UK seemed to be obsessed with. The weather. The lieutenant smiled and carried on his way, none the wiser.

Yeonmi had managed to cross the hangar deck without incident. Weaving past cargo containers, stores, dismantled vehicles and hundreds of sleeping crewmen in makeshift bunks, she'd made her way to the base of the aircraft carrier's control tower. Every corridor, every stairwell - stank of body odour, mould and decay. And desperation. Rust and black mould streaked every bulkhead as she ascended with her AK12 at the ready. With its supply ships and tankers vapourised, the Baekdusan and its crew were now in dire straits. Food, fuel and ammunition - everything would be in short supply and rationed.

The captain's quarters were situated two decks below the bridge. Several more crew members passed by as she made her way there. The suites of rooms she'd had with her brother when he'd been alive were two decks below that. At the heart of the ship - armoured and well protected. Yeonmi guessed the new president would have moved in there.

'DAECHWA SOGJOE GEOMI' read the worn stencilling on the door in choson muntcha characters. Captain Sogjoe Geomi. The wood may have once been polished Japanese zelkova when the Baekdusan was first launched. But the panelling was scuffed now and grimy, like everything else. The carrier's captain would have no reason to lock himself in at night. With a quick glance around to ensure there was no-one around to see, Yeonmi twisted the handle, eased open the door and stepped inside.

PART TWO: THIS HAS TO END ...

The sun had risen on another bone-numbingly cold day as Phoebe Beech moved quickly south west through the ruins of Inverness. Years of hunting across the wild hills of Kerrera had made her fit. Though whether she'd have the stamina to keep up the pace all the way to Drumnadrochit was another question.

Hamnavoe had told her of the time before Thanatos when thousands of visitors had flocked to the vastness of Loch Ness hoping to catch a glimpse of or even photograph some mythical beast that supposedly lived in the dark, silty waters. Phoebe muttered angrily to herself for not bringing a net.

The A82 paralleled both the River Ness and the Caledonian Canal. If she followed it for sixty miles it would take her all the way to Fort William on the west coast. Drumnadrochit however was barely a quarter of that distance away. Tourist coaches from all over Europe, narrow boats and yachts, and even massive trucks carrying lumber had been torn apart and thrown carelessly across her path like broken toys. Rusting, rotting. It seemed the meteorite impacts from Thanatos forty years earlier had wreaked havoc even in the Great Glen. Parts of the road had been gouged away, landslides creating treacherous slopes of mud and scree that needed careful traversing - or risk a plunge into the ice rimed black waters of the loch to her left.

By the time Phoebe had travelled the thirteen miles from the outskirts of Inverness it was already late afternoon and growing dark. Silence and blackness cloaked the landscape as she reached Urquhart Bay and Drumnadrochit. Using the faint luminescence of the snow she followed the road to the outskirts of the village and stopped.

A toothed head on a long, serpentine neck loomed out of the weeds choking an overgrown car park to her right. Phoebe's hand was already halfway to her weapon before she realised it wasn't real. A fibreglass or concrete mockup of how the so called Loch Ness monster might have looked guarded the entrance to what had once been the village's more obvious tourist attraction.

Farther on, the road split at a T junction. Phoebe considered her options. The ruin of Urquhart Castle on its promontory a mile down the road would give her a commanding view up and down the entire loch. The old pub down in the village however might provide her with an easy escape route into the surrounding hills should the Reivers show up. But the dilapidated hotel at the head of the junction would allow her to hightail it back to Fort George undetected.

Tiptoeing across piles of broken glass and mounds of dead leaves, Phoebe Beech approached the scantle fronted Drumnadrochit Hotel.

. . .

"Ohh Captain Geomi. Wakey wakey," Kim Yeonmi Gylan whispered in a sing song voice. She crouched patiently in the darkness next to the Baekdusan's commanding officer. The old man awoke with a start, feeling the cold muzzle of Yeonmi's handgun pressed against his temple. Though she admitted discharging the weapon would be a last resort, there were few men who could ignore a gun held to their head.

"Wh ... who?" disoriented, Geomi scrabbled for the bedside lamp.

Yeonmi hissed a warning, "Don't."

"Who are you?" asked the captain again indignantly. The short, stern looking North Korean, with his thick, bushy eyebrows and mop of greying hair was used to having his orders obeyed, his questions answered straight away.

"Tut tut. You don't remember me?" Yeonmi sat on the edge of his futon, forcing Geomi to wriggle backwards, "you've betrayed our country by serving the Russians' new president and you don't even recognise your own rightful leader?"

Sogjoe Geomi drew a sharp breath in the darkness, "Kim Yeonmi Gylan. Y-you're alive!" he blustered, his voice betraying surprise, relief and fear in equal measure, "w-we all thought you'd ... been onboard the Lenin when it was vapourised."

Yeonmi smiled. Though she doubted the captain could see her face in the dim light, "Sorry to disappoint ... my dear Captain Geomi."

Geomi shook his head, "N-no. It's ... it's just a surprise that's all. How did you get onboard? Where have you been?"

Yeonmi holstered her handgun and reached forward to flatten an errant lock of Geomi's hair, "I believe the saying goes 'sleeping with the enemy?'"

"Oh," Geomi laughed nervously, "h-haha."

If only the old man realised how true her words were.

Yeonmi took off her stolen uniform cap and folded her arms, "So, Sogjoe. You don't mind if I call you Sogjoe do you?"

Geomi shrugged, sitting up, "Uh, n-no ma'am."

"What are President Volk's plans?"

"Volk?" Geomi began tentatively. He was taken aback by Yeonmi's directness. The DPRK's secret police had been known to use all kinds of tricks to trap dissidents into incriminating themselves. But the old captain had realised months earlier that he no longer cared, "he's ... he's unhinged. H-he's becoming more irrational since the fleet was destroyed. He's ..."

Yeonmi nodded her understanding, but flapped a hand impatiently, "I didn't ask about his mental state Sogjoe. I asked what are his plans?"

Despite her earlier warning not to, Geomi clicked on the bedside light and reached for his spectacles. He sat up straight, in red silk pyjamas, and looked Yeonmi in the eye, "I think once the Baekdusan's repairs are complete, he means to launch the rest of our nuclear weapons. Destroy specific targets across the UK. And then leave."

Just as she'd thought. A last extravagant gesture by Volk, to teach the citizens of Britain that resisting the Coalition came at a heavy price. Yeonmi stood and paced across the cabin, her unprotected back to Geomi, "Can't you just go into the missile room and change the launch codes?" she spun around to face him, "you are still the captain of this ship ... are you not?"

Geomi shook his head, "Impossible. I no longer have authority. W-we've been denied access. The access codes have been changed and Volk has the m-missile room guarded by his own S-spetnaz bodyguards."

"Where exactly do your loyalties lie Captain Geomi? The truth now."

Geomi sat up straighter, "To the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. To my crew. A-and to you, my leader."

Yeonmi had no idea which targets Volk might have chosen. But as long as her daughter Jag-eun Neughdae was with the resistance, she could take no chances, "Good answer Sogjoe. Very good. I ... want you to spread the word. Quickly. To your most trusted officers, no-one else. That I'm alive and I plan to regain control of the Baekdusan ... and remove Volk and his Russian changnyeo jenjang once and for all. But, as long as 'the president' has control of the missile room ... we must proceed with the utmost caution."

Geomi nodded.

Yeonmi smiled. Her brother would have cajoled and threatened Geomi into compliance. But she'd discovered while living at Fort George that gentle persuasion often worked just as well, "Now tell me. How many bodyguards does Volk normally have with him at any one time?"

Geomi thought for a moment, "Two outside his quarters and usually one with him. He's ... he's taken a shine to a British girl. One of Zahkvatchikov's waifs and strays that the Russians trained."

Yeonmi scoffed, "One girl, pfft."

"Called Ada."

Yeonmi looked up, "What?"

. . .

Phoebe laid snares around the hotel's overgrown car park then made herself comfortable on the upper floor beside a modest fire. A gap in the south wall allowed smoke to escape and meant that the flames might be visible from the Inverness road but not to any Reivers approaching from the west. If the snares did their job she might even get some breakfast come morning.

Hundreds, thousands of miniature Loch Ness monsters filled the hotel's gift shop below. Nessies. Plush toys, plastic miniatures, mobiles. Calendars, keyrings. Ornaments in shattered display cases. Scotland's favourite plesiosaur represented in every way, shape and form for the delectation of the tourist hordes. Was it even real, wondered Phoebe. Or had an entire industry been created to suck millions into the local economy?

Mythical monsters no longer mattered. There were plenty of real ones to worry about. Words like tourism and economy were irrelevant. Only survival. After a last look down the main road, Phoebe squirmed into her sleeping bag fully clothed to catch an hour or two's sleep ...

It could have been an hour later or it could have been six. Phoebe had no way of telling. She'd been dozing one moment, then aware of a gun barrel pressed against her cheek the next.

. . .

"So, in the morning or perhaps the day after ... the Baekdusan will be ready to leave this khrenovyy little country behind," President Volk explained, "I have Captain Geomi's assurance that the repairs will be complete and our stores sufficiently replenished," he sipped his wine and leaned back in the missile room's only chair.

Ada Prizrak didn't know quite what to say. What was left of the Coalition would be leaving the UK. As part of Volk's Spetsnaz bodyguard she'd be going with them. Leaving behind everything and everyone she'd ever known. She looked up at Volk, looking resplendent in his dress uniform, "A-and you still intend to launch the missiles?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Why indeed? Launching the Baekdusan's entire nuclear arsenal would leave the carrier defenceless. Volk would no longer be able to threaten and cajole to get his way once the missiles were gone. But none of his recent decisions had been particularly rational. He was becoming more unpredictable, dangerous.

Every time she was alone with Volk, Ada expected him to make a move. He'd made no secret that he found her attractive - especially wearing the dresses and shoes he kept providing her with. Skimpy, sleeveless, figure hugging dresses that showed off her legs and cleavage a little more than she was entirely comfortable with. She was a professional soldier for fuck's sake, not some officers' whore.

But how do you say no to a president? Every day she joined scavenging missions into Portsmouth city centre, Gosport or nearby Southsea. And every day she spent that time thinking. Psyching herself up. Deciding how she would react when Volk's hand 'accidentally' slipped under her dress. Or 'accidentally' grabbed her breast. Any other woman might feel flattered by the attention. But deep inside, Ada found the very thought of it repulsive.

As was their custom, she and Volk had dined together in his quarters. Solyanka followed by selyodka made with some delicious but unidentifiable fish. He'd spoken of his childhood in Moscow before Thanatos. Of his time as a junior officer acting as an attache to the former president Zakhvatchikov. Conversation had meandered from one subject to another, touching on this and that until eventually it landed on the Baekdusan's imminent departure.

And the proposed targets for the missile launch.

Among them - Lindisfarne, a place Volk had thoroughly detested. All the years he'd been posted there as jailer to the late president's granddaughter Tamsin Zakhvatchikov. Scarborough, the scene of the Coalition's first major defeat at the hands of the resistance. And Fort George, the former holding facility in Scotland where Ada had grown up. In a couple of days' time all those places would be nothing but a memory.

"I ... feel as if ... in a way, we've become friends. You and I," Volk said abruptly. He set his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Oh fuck, thought Ada. Was it possible that tonight was the night she'd be expected to spread her legs for the old man?

"Thank you mister president," was all Ada could think of saying, "um ... Alexei," she corrected. Volk had insisted she call him by his first name but the formal address was a tough habit to break.

"And, I'd like to think it's time we took that friendship a stage further," continued Volk in a serious tone.

Ada swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She doubted this would have been part of her duties as presidential bodyguard if she'd been a man, "I ..."

KNOCK-KNOCK.

Volk clenched his jaw, "Oh for fuck's sake. What now?"

. . .

Deck three. Corridor B. That's what the North Korean woman had said. Wasn't it? With most of the signage so faded as to be illegible, Tamsin Beech found herself navigating the bowels of the Baekdusan purely by guesswork and gut instinct.

What if the woman had lied?

Tamsin had crept across the aircraft carrier's collosal hangar undetected. But it was an experience so nerve wracking that she swore blind that she'd never attempt such a thing again for as long as she lived. However long that might be.

Hundreds of crew members and refugees had set up camp in the hangar, between obsolete Mikoyan MiG-29 jets and what may have once been helicopter gunships, all now cannibalised for parts. Keeping to the shadows and ducking out of sight whenever she spotted a patrol, she'd passed a mess hall and an armoury, before descending a couple of decks.

"Now which way?" she asked herself. Around her, rust and black mould streaked every identical bulkhead in the dim light.

The answer came suddenly. Jessamy Beech's furious voice shouting, "YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" from farther along the corridor to her left. Tamsin raised her Grach in a two handed grip and hurried towards the sound.

. . .

Ada Prizrak looked on as the missile room's armoured door swung open, revealing another of Volk's Spetsnaz. This one dressed in regulation uniform and body armour, not a ridiculous sequinned cocktail dress and stilettos. Ada let out the breath she'd been holding. A short stay of execution ...

"President Volk," began the soldier - a sergeant Ada knew by sight but not by name, "Major Rosomakha's men have apprehended a civilian woman attempting to get aboard the Baekdusan."

"Well?" Volk flapped a hand impatiently, "have her shot."

"Uh, sir. The woman says she has a message for you. Major Rosomakha ordered us to bring her here."

"Whatever for? Who the fuck is she?"

"Sir. She's Jessamy Beech."

On hearing the name, pins and needles crawled across Ada's scalp as blood rushed to her head. Heart pounding, she craned her neck trying to see past the burly Spetsnaz in the doorway to the prisoner standing in the corridor outside.

Average height. Blonde hair worn as long dreadlocks draped over one shoulder of a tatty sealskin jacket. Alert, piercing eyes the colour of glacial meltwater. And an intricate celtic knot design covering one entire side of her face. A face she knew ... vaguely. A face that visited her every night only in dreams because the waking memories of it were so fleeting and so few.