Tamsin Beech Ch. 15: Cromarty

Hemswell in Lincolnshire, 2062 ...

While McTavish, Cooper and the others set up camp in one of the old hangars - away from the prying eyes of patrolling Coalition gunships, Tamsin Beech and Leonid Denisovich decided to do some exploring before it was fully dark.

"What was this place?" whispered Leonid. Despite their Reekie scout's assurance that the area was deserted, the Russian carried his AK12 unslung and ready to fire. To one side, vast aircraft hangars rusted, sheets of corrugated metal peeled from their disintegrating framework creaking eerily in the wind. To the other side, rows of identical squat buildings arranged between strips of wild growing scrub and cracked walkways.

"McTavish says it used to be an old air force base or something," Tamsin answered. She drew her Grach and used her toe to nudge open the door of one of the buildings.

After resting up through the following day, her resistance team would still have fourteen miles of open ground to cover. From the outskirts of nearby Gainsborough all the way to Lincoln. A laminated list of names held in the Coalition's document archive might just hold the key to defeating Zakhvatchikov's forces. But first there were minefields, razor wire fences, booby traps and a battalion of the president's best troops to get past.

"You realise we could both die tomorrow," said Tamsin stepping into a musty smelling corridor beyond.

"There's a sobering thought. For the sake of one sheet of paper," Leonid responded sardonically as he kicked a dessicated rat corpse out of the way.

She shook her head, lustrous red curls bouncing as she did so, "For an ideal. But that sheet of paper - if it exists, could be just what we ... fuck."

Tamsin had frozen, staring wide-eyed into the room before them. Paintings, books, furniture, silverware, pottery. Every conceivable kind of antique filled the room from floor to ceiling, separated by narrow aisles barely wide enough to walk along.

Leonid glanced into another room across the corridor, "This one's the same. I've never seen so much pre-Thanatos stuff in one place."

"D'you think it's some kind of archive? A store?"

Leonid picked up a particularly grotesque toby jug from a dust covered mahogany dresser, "No. Everything has a price tag on it. All of this stuff was for sale."

Money. Her parents had told her all about it. How people's lives before Thanatos had been ruled by it. Or by the lack of it. Tamsin glanced out at the fading light through one of the cracked windows, "This place must have been repurposed as some kind of giant antique shop. We've got time. Shall we take a look around?"

Tamsin was astounded by the workmanship that had gone into some of the items. Skills that were no doubt lost after Thanatos, "I'm surprised this place hasn't been looted."

"What would be the point? You can't eat any of it."

"No. But the furniture would make great firewood," Tamsin ran a fingertip through the thick dust coating a Georgian bow-fronted writing desk.

"Maybe the locals still like to hang on to a few scraps of the old world."

"Maybe. If any of them are still alive," answered Tamsin. She gazed around, squinting in the gloom. Oil painted portraits of people who'd already been dead hundreds of years before Thanatos looked back at her, "do you think the world will ever be the way it was again?"

Leonid shook his head, "It'll be better. We'll learn from our mistakes and hopefully get things right."

They reached a clearing, between ornate wardrobes, tall boys and Welsh dressers - where a thick pile of rugs had been stacked on top of one another. Tamsin smirked, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I wasn't. But I am now," he let out a low chuckle and set his AK down in easy reach, "ty nenasytnyy."

"Shut up Major Denisovich. And fuck me."

The rugs weren't nearly as damp or dusty as Tamsin had expected. She lay down and quickly unfastened her canvas trousers.

She expected Leonid to climb on top of her and simply shove himself inside. But instead, the Russian tossed his jacket aside and got down on his knees in front of her. He crouched down, used his hand to part her thighs, then thrust his face right in between them.

Tamsin squealed, then conscious of being as quiet as possible, automatically bit her lip, "Ohshit, yes!"

Leonid began to lick and nuzzle at her, his lips clamped around her clitoris and sucking away as if his life depended on it. It took only seconds to give Tamsin a first shuddering orgasm. The sensation immense, addictive and leaving her wanting more.

Had her moans been audible outside?

She found herself no longer caring. Tamsin grabbed at Leonid's blonde hair and forced him to stay where he was - his comfort no longer of any consequence beside her pleasure. She jammed her vulva as hard as she could against his face, as a second orgasm exploded within her almost before the first had faded.

Leonid clamped a hand over her mouth before she realised she'd screamed with the power of it.

Eventually Tamsin fell back, gasping. Leonid lifted his face from between her thighs and squinted blearily at her, tears in his eyes. Not of emotion, but pain where she'd almost pulled his hair out.

"Ohno! I'm so sorry Leo," she apologised, "I got carried away."

Leonid's face was wet as he grinned up at her, smeared with her juices, "I'll have to think of some way you can make it up to me," he knelt beside her, and ran his hands through his dishevelled hair, as if checking that it was still attached to his head, "that hurt."

Moving to crouch beside her, Leonid leaned over and kissed her soundly on the lips. Tasting herself on him, faintly salty, Tamsin responded more than a little enthusiastically. Between them they tugged her trousers and underwear the rest of the way off. And seconds later, Tamsin was once more on her back, with Leonid on top of her.

He felt big in her questing hand, warm and firm. Certainly adequate for filling her as much as she wanted filling. With a bit of shuffling and guiding on the pile of old rugs, it was only a moment or so longer before Tamsin felt him push inside her.

"Ty chuvstvuyesh' sebya chertovski khorosho," Leonid muttered, not moving at first, but just settling himself inside her, relishing her slippery heat.

Tamsin slapped the Russian's bare ass, "D'you know, I'm going to learn Gaelic just to piss you off."

It was such a delicious feeling, just lying there for a moment getting her breath back, feeling stretched and filled. For precious moments Tamsin was able to forget the war. Forget the almost insurmountable task ahead of them. Wrapping her legs around Leonid, she clasped his buttocks with both hands, feeling the taut, toned muscle there.

His cock seemed to swell even more as she embraced him.

Then slowly, Leonid began to rock their bodies together, not thrusting, but getting the same effect in a subtler manner. His body knocked against her as they made love amongst the relics of the old world. Tamsin felt her clitoris absorb the impact and her vagina clench around him. It felt so damn good. Leonid felt so damn good.

Unable to hold back, Tamsin once more let herself go. She climaxed again, her nails sinking involuntarily into the muscular globes of Leonid's buttocks. It was the signal he needed. She felt him pulse deep inside, flooding her.

After a moment in which any kind of rational thought proved impossible for either of them, Leonid flopped onto his back and pulled her against him. Tamsin snuggled in close and lay her head on the Russian's heaving chest.

"Ya lyublyu tebya," Leonid murmured into Tamsin's hair.

"What does that mean? If you're going to whisper sweet nothings at least do it in English."

"Nothing. I'll tell you one day."

Tamsin reached down to tenderly stroke his slowly shrinking cock, "What do you want do after this?"

"How do you mean?"

"After the war," she answered, "if we ever beat Zakhvatchikov and kick the Coalition out."

Leonid gently curled his fingertips in her hair, "Don't say 'if' my krasivyy lyubovnik, say 'when'. When we beat Zakhvatchikov. Think positive. When all this is over I want to settle down with a stunning redhead, raise fine, healthy children and see some more of the world. Travel."

"Then that's what I want too," Tamsin pushed herself up to look him in the eye, "stunning redhead eh? D'you have anyone in mind?"

Leonid pondered for a moment, as if in thought, "As a matter of fact yes. She's stubborn, brave and uh, upryamyy ... headstrong. But she's ... beautiful, an inspiring leader, and ... incredible in bed."

"I can live with that," Tamsin lightly kissed his cheek, then sat up and began adjusting her clothes, "cummon major, let's get back to the others before they come looking."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: CROMARTY

Three years later, Tamsin Beech hugged baby Angus close and turned as she heard footsteps crunching towards her on the wet shingle, "Anything?" she asked Yeonmi.

The North Korean had seen the look before. Hope. It was a dangerous thing, and when ripped away could be more painful than any physical wound.

Jageun Neughdae reached up to grab a hank of her mother's black hair as Yeonmi shook her head, "No. We only managed to get one of the Baekdusan's drones in the air. But it returned some pretty clear images of Drumnadrochit and the road west. No sign of life."

Tamsin frowned, "Not even Reivers?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry Tamsin."

Leonid Denisovich had been gone for a month. Everyone at Fort George assumed that Jessamy Beech's daughter Phoebe had gone with him. There'd been no sign of them since.

Biting her lip, Tamsin turned away and stared out across the narrow strait to North Sutor and the dark hills beyond. The sea was flat calm as it so often was at Cromarty. Lapping gently at the shingle and golden sand farther around the bay. The tiny village on the tip of the Black Isle commanded views across to the main road north through Invergordon - once the home of an enormous maintenance depot for oil rigs, and eastward out to the Moray Firth and the North Sea beyond.

It was a good spot. Remote, sheltered and peaceful. But only a ten minute boat ride from Fort George just around the headland of Sutors Stacks to the south. An ideal place to set up home and retire. Only the brooding presence of the aircraft carrier Baekdusan anchored just offshore upset a picture of perfect tranquility.

All that effort. All that chasing across the country in pursuit of Yeonmi now seemed so utterly pointless. Leonid was gone. On returning home weeks earlier, Tamsin had literally leapt ashore from one of the Baekdusan's RIBs - sprinting up the beach at Fort George. Unable to contain the excitement of being reunited with Leonid and her baby son for even a second longer.

Merida and her father had hugged her tight, handed over Angus wrapped snugly in a handknitted blanket, then told her the devastating news. They'd explained what might have happened to the Russian. About the Reiver scouts moving up through the Great Glen. About Phoebe leaving after an argument - though no-one would say exactly what it had been about.

A month. A whole month. Someone as resourceful as Leonid Denisovich would surely have found a way to communicate or return by now, Tamsin reasoned. She gently kissed her son's head as she gazed out over the gigantic crumpled wrecks of North Sea oil rigs in the distance. Slowly but surely letting the reality sink in. Accepting. That her son's father wasn't coming home.

That Leonid and Phoebe Beech were both dead.

"How ... is the patient?" ventured Yeonmi.

Grateful for the change of subject, Tamsin wiped her nose with the back of her hand, "Uh ... oh, she's fine. Still complaining that we're going to too much trouble. But frankly I think she deserves it. Everyone does."

Yeonmi nodded, smiling. Tamsin led the way through clumps of early daffodils along the grassy verge bordering Shore Road. After a brutal winter the like of which none had seen since Thanatos, spring was finally on the way. They crossed the single track road to a small but solid stone built cottage. Volunteers from Fort George had travelled across on the fishing boat Girl Flora to offer their services renovating the place.

"We've salvaged windows from other abandoned properties in the village, repaired the roof, replaced the doors and storm shutters, and put in a range and a woodburner. It's better than any of the accommodation in Fort George," Tamsin explained in a loud voice over the sound of hammering from somewhere inside.

"And she likes it?"

Tamsin laughed - the sound at once sounding alien to her ears, "She better. She'll have a fair sized garden, be able to spend all day baking and have space to keep as many dogs as she wants. Of course she likes it."

Yeonmi clutched Tamsin's elbow and squeezed, "And you? What are you going to do now Tamsin?"

Tamsin watched for a few seconds as an osprey swooped down a hundred yards offshore and deftly snatched a fish from the water. She shook her head, not entirely sure how to respond, "I don't know. Be a good mother to Angus I guess. Make sure he grows into someone Leonid would've been proud of."

The newly appointed leader of what remained of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea nodded, "He would have been proud of you too."

Tamsin squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her every hour of every day it seemed, "Listen, Yeonmi ... about the launch this evening. You couldn't ask your Captain Geomi to do me a small favour could you?"

. . .

It was a cool, clear evening. Merida and Ross, a few North Koreans from the Baekdusan including Yeonmi and Jageun Neughdae, and many others gathered expectantly along Cromarty's shoreline in the gathering dusk. Tamsin guessed there would be a similar scene at Fort George only five or six miles away, with Finlayson and everyone else from their community thronging the ramparts to watch the evening's entertainment.

Tamsin had made her request. Yeonmi had sent word to the carrier and Captain Geomi had agreed.

Angus pointed and burbled something unintelligible as one of the Baekdusan's RIBs motored in towards the shore. Dressed in her customary black Spetsnaz overalls, Ada Beech waited until the boat's bow had run aground, then jumped nimbly down onto the shingle.

"Good evening," Tamsin called.

Ada waved as she spotted them and strode up the beach, "Dobryy vech ... uh, I mean good evening."

Tamsin smiled wistfully, "Speaking Russian's kind of a hard habit to break isn't it?"

Ada Beech nodded. She gently tickled Angus's cheek, "Da. Shit, I mean yes."

Spending over half her life amongst Russians, it was inevitable that Ada Beech would end up speaking with a subtle accent. But despite that, Tamsin could still sense an underlying nervousness in her cousin's voice, "Everything okay? Come to watch the fireworks?" she asked.

Ada straightened her back as if formally addressing a superior officer, "There's ... something I need to ask you."

Feeling slightly concerned, Tamsin nodded, "Go ahead."

"When the Baekdusan leaves, I'd ... like to stay," Ada blurted out, "here I mean. I ... have skills that I know your community will find useful."

Relieved, Tamsin slapped a hand on her cousin's shoulder, "By all means. You're more than welcome. And to be honest ... I'm glad."

"Glad?" Ada frowned.

"Because you haven't met our guest of honour for this evening."

As if on cue, the front door of the newly renovated and renamed Hamnavoe Cottage behind them swung open, and a familiar figure limped out. Leaning heavily on a wooden crutch she flapped a hand impatiently as one by one everyone along the street began to spontaneously applaud. She'd lost a few pounds in the month since Portsmouth. A few more grey hairs had crept into her long blonde dreadlocks. But the fire in Jessamy Beech's pale blue eyes burned as fiercely as ever as she beckoned to her daughter.

"MUM!" scarcely able to believe her eyes, Ada Beech covered the distance between them in seconds and flung her arms around her mother, sobbing openly. Jessamy Beech returned the hug, wincing slightly as her daughter squeezed a little too tightly.

"Ty zhiv! Ty zhiv!" Ada repeated over and over again, "you're alive! I thought you died!"

"I did," Jessamy grinned through freely flowing tears, "twice as a matter of fact. Once in the missile room and once on the operating table. You didn't stick around while your cousin gave me CPR."

Ada was quiet for a long minute, sobbing into her mother's dreadlocks, "B-but I thought y-you were dead!"

Jessamy lifted Ada's head to look her in the eye, "Technically I was. For almost a minute each time. I've had transfusions and grafts and all kinds of stuff. Until the North Koreans were sure I'd make it, we didn't want to put you through that again sweetheart. So I asked Tamsin and Yeonmi to keep it a secret."

"And you've been onboard the Baekdusan all this time?"

Jessamy nodded, "In the sickbay in intensive care, until a couple of days ago. I wanted to come ashore and see what a mess they're making of my place."

Ada glared reproachfully over at Tamsin and Yeonmi with red rimmed puffy eyes, but it was clear that her anger lacked any conviction. Jessamy kissed her daughter's cheek, "It's just a fucking shame that Phoebe can't be here too."

"Still no word?"

Jessamy shook her head.

For the duration of the voyage north, Ada had been grieving for a mother she thought she'd lost. But now it seemed she'd lost a sister instead, "I know it's not much consolation mum, but ... I've decided to stay here when the Baekdusan leaves."

Jessamy's eyes widened in surprise, "You have? That's great news."

"Oh and I've ... got something of yours back in my cabin."

Jessamy pulled a face, "Cabin? I thought you were sharing a bunk."

Ada didn't think it was the time or place to ask her mother how she knew that. Unless of course she'd been keeping tabs on her while laid up in the Baekdusan's sickbay, "Yeonmi thought I deserved a reward for killing Volk. Enemy of the state as they put it. And ... I'm no longer Private Prizrak. I'm Corporal Beech."

"Promotion too? I'm impressed. So what do you have of mine?"

"Your old Glock. I found it on Major Rosomakha's body," Ada told her, "I've cleaned it and it's good as new."

"Thanks sweetheart," Jessamy shifted her weight on the crutch. So much of her abdomenal muscle had been shredded by Volk's bullets, she still found standing unaided uncomfortable, "but I won't be needing it. Like Yeonmi said there's been enough killing. I never want to pick up another weapon as long as I live."

. . .

At precisely nineteen hundred hours, all eyes turned towards the aircraft carrier Baekdusan. At Captain Geomi's command, each of the thirty four MZKT-79221 missile transporter trucks lashed to the warship's deck elevated its Topol ICBM up into a firing position.

To Tamsin Beech the moment signified the end of almost fourteen years of struggle. Fourteen years since President Vladimir Zakhvatchikov and the forces of the Coalition had invaded the UK searching for a safe place to call home. The resistance had lost a good many people. Leonid, McTavish, Hamnavoe and so many more. But now with only the growing Reiver threat on Scotland's west coast to worry about, Britain's people could finally start rebuilding.

Hamnavoe Cottage - a home for the woman who'd sacrificed so much to save them all represented the beginning of the monumental task ahead of them.

One by one, each of the ICBMs thundered skyward on a pillar of smoke and fire, arcing eastward out over the North Sea towards the ruin of what had once been Moscow. Fading until they became mere specks of light indistinguishable from the millions of stars dotting the inky blackness above.