PROLOGUE

The roof of Number 6 Hangar sagged, splintered and generally collapsed under the weight of Olga's mount which had broken up and wedged its remains firmly among the supporting joists.
Bits of debris and torrents of fuel rained down on to the hangar floor while she swung from the cockpit remains supported by a single frayed harness strap.
Never one to betray her innermost sensitivities, before ensuring her own safety, she carefully worked her way to the shattered after fuselage and retrieved the still intact nest containing the Variegated Siberian Rock Throstle fledglings. Tenderley, she tucked them under her battledress blouse and proceeded to descend, joist by joist, until safely able to drop on to the wing of an SB2 parked beneath.
Dreading the prospect of receiving Stalin's wrath for bungling the air display routine, she determined that 'perishing in the flames' would be the only way to avoid retribution.
From a nearby workbench she siezed a copy of Pravda and quickly rolled it into a torch shape, then soaked one end in the fuel which was rapidly spreading out over the hangar floor.
Fumbling for her Zippo lighter, she lit the torch and lobbed it into the cascading petrol and turned to dash for the side door to avoid the blast.
Not quite quick enough though as the searing heat scorched away the '5 o' clock shadow' on one side of her face.

Furtively, she made her way out past the airfield boundary to the nearby NKVD HQ which was esconced in the luxurious dacha of the recently shot tsarist sypathiser, Erik the Vile. The officials therein were far too busy watching there own backs to pay any attention as she hastily provisioned and equipped herself for the forthcoming escape plan.

Soon she was on her way, taking the time to place the fledglings in the branches of a tamarisk bush and while waving a tearful farewell, fancied that she could she the parent birds approaching from the direction of the major conflagration that had once been a magnificent hangar. Within one hour she had arrived at the troop embarkation junction of Litlappnin and was concealed among the hundreds of stinking westbound troops....

COMING SOON:

A FISTFUL OF ROUBLES.