Once more, Wellington found himself in the guest room aboard Admiral Kuznetsov. Peter was kind enough to serve him tea and biscuits, like usual, but this time the atmosphere was tense. There was no talk about deep battle, or manoeuvre warfare or even girls; instead, a heavy silence permeated the room. Wellington was losing his patience.
"OK, Peter, this is getting silly, why did you call me?"
Gordost's captain had a frown rarely seen by the glorious strategist. Wellington wasn't scared, but he wasn't exactly relaxed either. After leaving the question unanswered for a few moments, Peter looked Wellington straight in the eye. "Our spy is the boy you call Zhukov," he said. "I wash my hands of him; punish that incapable fool as you see fit."
After a few more seconds of silence, Wellington raised an eyebrow, then burst into laughter. Peter expected his guest to be surprised, to exclaim in realization, to be angry, not roll on the floor holding his stomach. "That was sudden!" Wellington said between guffaws. "Why tell me now?"
Wellington's calm was vexing and caused Peter's scowl to depend. He had just revealed that Eton had a spy in their midst, yet their commander barely reacted. Someone as choleric as Eton's glorious strategist should have cussed or at least frowned, but there was no such reaction from Peter's guest. "He has failed me. I don't even want to keep that card up my sleeve."
Slowly coming out of his laughing fit, Wellington let out a short sigh. "You really don't give a tinker's cuss about him, do you?" His smile gave in to melancholy. His stare lost into the distance, he remembered the past. They used to be like brothers. With Richard in Germany, Wellington spent time with a still young and impressionable Zhukov. They talked the day away, best of friends, rarely apart. But all things must come to an end, and there was no point to dwell on the past. The sour gloom that filled Wellington's mind turned to the bittersweet of nostalgia, then pragmatic acceptance. Once more, he sighed. It was fun while it lasted, but it was time to move on – now his friend was his own man. Wellington's gaze refocused, he glared at his host. "You're spy was not incapable, Peter, simply careless. Zhukov has many flaws, but a fool he is not. I simply had him in my pocket." A smug smile crept on his face, reflecting a satisfaction like that of a poker player revealing a royal flush.
"So he lied to me all along…" Peter muttered.
"Not at all. He was honest, but he only knew what I allowed…" Wellington adjusted his position in the chair. He had gotten away easily. The real spy's identity was not in peril.
But his mental celebration was short lived. Peter was not satisfied. "Who is your spy?" he asked.
"What spy?" Wellington asked, feigning innocence in the most obvious way, as if taunting his host. He couldn't hide Beka's existence, but at least he could hide her identity. Sarcasm was his final weapon, and he enjoyed using it against Peter's interrogation.
"Don't try to fool me, Wellington."
"All the business of war and indeed all the business of life is to endeavour to find out what you don't know by what you do. That's called guessing what is at the other side of the hill," Wellington shrugged.
"There's guessing and there's knowing. How did you get access to information only available to my squadron commanders?" Peter cried.
Wellington flinched. His eyes grew wide. "What?" His reaction was so genuine it even weakened Peter's confidence for a moment. Beka was kind enough to provide plans that Wellington presumed had been distributed to everyone. They were indeed very detailed; he had asked himself why Peter had briefed his crews so early before the match, but ultimately dismissed it as a simple mistake.
"Is the spy from the Night Witches? Did Richard seduce one of our girls? But when? He barely visited. On the side?" Peter kept asking in vain, hoping some sort of divine inspiration would reveal the answers to him. It wasn't the first time he was babbling, and he wasn't any closer to discerning the spy's identity.
"We've already been through this," Wellington said. "Even if there was a spy, why the bloody hell would I give away his identity?"
"So it's a boy! No… can't be. They wouldn't betray Gordost. That would be treason!" Peter cried, reopening in Wellington's heart a wound that had just been closed.
"And what you had Zhukov do is not?" Wellington asked, irritated for the first time in the evening. Peter didn't answer. "I should be even more pissed. He was my friend."
"Everyone in the club is my friend!" Peter cried. "I care deeply for everyone! It has to be a girl. But only Natasha knew… and she wouldn't."
"It was Beka!"
Out of nowhere, the soft yet aloof voice of Natasha Saburov rang. She had entered the room while they were arguing and was leaning on the back of Wellington's chair, letting her long platinum hair fall on his shoulders. The boy looked up and gave her an inquisitive look that was left unreturned. Natasha's head loomed over him, but her disinterested stare was instead aimed at her brother. Peter was as silent as a tomb, however – as if his mind had stopped working, or the opposite, was overloaded with thoughts.
"Where did you get that idea?" Wellington asked.
"Stop denying, Gospodin Wellington, I know!" Natasha said. She looked down at him and winked, with a confidence that would have flustered the boy had he not remember how she behaved around Richard.
"Bollocks," Wellington said. He was unwillingly giving himself away, since he only cursed when he was stressed, but as luck had it, nobody at Gordost knew that yet.
As Wellington argued with Natasha, Peter stared confused into the distance. "How did Beka get a hold of the plans?" he asked. The more he thought the more it bugged him. "No, it couldn't have been her. Besides, how would you know she's the spy, Natasha?"
"Because I allowed it," Natasha said.
Wellington's jaw dropped, he stared wide-eyed at the girl. Peter, on the other side, simply chuckled for a second, before giving his sister a glare. "Don't be silly Natasha, I'm not amused," he said. "Whoever sent Eton those plans is a traitor to us all and I will have their head!"
"I gave Beka those plans, brother, and asked her to send them to Eton!"
"What?!" Wellington cried.
"You've been too involved in Sensha-dou lately, brother, more so than with any of the private tournaments. You love it more than you love us… more than you love me," Natasha said. With every word, her confidence slowly waned, her voice started subtly shaking, but she continued. "Your pride consumed you, so I had to hurt it like it hurt me!" Natasha cried. Her rant finished, she stood straight, ready to take on her brother's counterattack… It didn't go as expected.
"You spoiled brat! You cost us the tournament!" Peter shouted. He jumped to his feet and slammed his palm into the table.
Natasha had underestimated how angry Peter would be. His yells left her gaping, what little confidence she had left shattered. Large tears started rolling down her eyes. "Baka nii-chan!" she cried and ran out of the room, bawling her eyes out.
Wellington looked at the door, than at Peer, then back at the door… It was the second time he heard her speak Japanese. Normally, she'd just speak English mixed with some occasional Russian, go full native when she was angry enough to lose control, but when she was truly shaken, she'd switch to Japanese, for some reason. Her brother's anger had ravaged her.
The traces of anger on Peter's face vanished. His frown softened as he realized what he'd done to his sister. He didn't want to admit it, but he regretted he lashed out at her, whether she deserved it or not. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said. "Maybe I was too hard on her… She has a point… even if her revenge was a bit exaggerated."
"Just a bit?" Wellington asked.
Peter got up and offered Wellington a handshake. "Congratulations. You've won the information war and my respect."
"Your respect? Just now?" Wellington asked.
"I respect you more now."
On the flight back to Eton all Wellington did was reflect. It all made sense – all the pieces of the puzzle came together.
Even before the tournament officially began, he knew that, of all his potential opponents, Gordost and Roosevelt were the most dangerous, so he and Richard promptly started looking for ways to infiltrate them. Roosevelt's isolationism made progress nigh impossible, but, soon after the battle with Pravda, Richard found out that an old friend from Germany had recently joined Gordost. That friend was Beka.
It was obvious she was a potential way in, and, for a short time, Wellington considered contacting her, but ultimately decided against it. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't bring himself to ask her to betray her schoolmates. Richard agreed, not only because of the moral implications, but also because he was reluctant to face his past. So they didn't contact her, and Beka remained ignorant to their plight.
They started looking for other ways to infiltrate Gordost, until Beka herself knocked on their door, shattering Richard's hopes of avoiding her. He refused at first, but there was only so much pressure he could take until finally agreeing to organize a rendezvous. After a short while, the girl even befriended Wellington, giving him further reason not to ask her to betray her people. He had come to respect the hot-blooded redhead, despite Richard's dismissive attitude towards her.
With no other apparent option to infiltrate, Wellington was ready to give up. Then, out of nowhere, Beka offered to be their inside agent of her own volition. The offer came as a massive surprise to both him and Richard, leaving them utterly speechless, yet they accepted.
Wellington was suspicious at first, but ultimately chalked it up to coincidence and a dislike for Gordost. Of course, he wasn't about to take Beka's word at face value. Richard vouched for her honesty, both because of their past and because he sensed she wasn't lying, and he was right. Beka was indeed telling the truth, the info they got by hacking into the school's network showed as much. Behind a weaker defence than Roosevelt, breaking in was a breeze for Monty, even without a bug. They couldn't access everything, so Beka's info was still valuable, but it proved her loyalty, or so Wellington thought. It had never crossed his mind that Natasha was in on it, having allowed it, let alone having ordered it in the first place. Whatever fight Natasha had with her brother must have taken place during the time Beka was meeting him and Richard. Wellington doubted the girl planned it from the start. The idea probably occurred when Beka told her commander in passing about Richard. Yes, that was the most probable explanation.
The aircraft was getting close to Eton. Wellington let out a short sigh. It didn't matter anymore. He had one more trial to past, then he could wash his hands of Sensha-dou. One more match and he would be free.
A little girl ran through the halls of the snow-covered mansion, her platinum hair bouncing around. Outside, the wind was howling, attacking the windows and walls with all of its might, but the warmth of the house protected those inside.
"Brother, brother, look what I made!" the little girl cried. She ran to her brother with a paper in hand, a little green tank scribbled on it in crayons.
"Not now, Natasha. I'm busy," young Peter said. His tone was as cold as the winter gale that assailed their home, but the girl loved him dearly, so she didn't hold a grudge.
The morning sun shone its light on the shy snowdrops that had popped their heads from under the snow, crowning them with a faint glow. Inside, the little girl got up from the floor. She had stumbled and fallen. Her knees were bruised, he eyes overflowing with tears.
"Brother, I've hit my knee," the little girl whimpered. Her brother was the first person she sought, her beloved brother for he she cared most.
"Go to Sofia, don't bother me!" Peter said. Rejected again, Natasha walked away. She loved him so she couldn't complain.
The years passed and they grew. Natasha became an elegant young woman. Friends came and went, but family remained the most important thing in her heart.
"Brother, brother, I want to drive tanks too!" the teenage girl cried. "Take me with you!"
"Maybe next time, Natasha," her brother said. The girl's patience waned, but at least he wasn't as cold as before. She was angry, but she endured. Yet endure she could only do as much. In time, the young girl started boiling. It wasn't long until she had release all her pent up anger.
"Brother, why won't you help me train!" the young lady asked. Surely there was at least a little time Peter could spare for his little sister.
"Next time, Natasha, I have work to do," Peter made another empty vow.
"It's always next time! I can't stand it anymore!" Natasha cried and waved her hands around. "If you won't help me now, I don't want to see you again!"
"Natasha!" Peter yelled. "Learn to accept a no."
"I have for such a long time! I'm done! I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to have time for me! You love your comrades in the Sensha-dou club more than your family! I'll take the girls and make my own club! I'll show you want it means to treat me like this!" Natasha voiced echoed through the empty room. She stormed off, not looking back. Her brother will eat his words; she'd make sure of it.
Thus, the Night Witches were born, and for a while, the boys and the girls walked separate paths. Unlike their male counterparts, the witches were underfunded, but they endured like the motherland that gave them life. Peter occasionally tried to get back into his sister's graces, but never invested enough time to win her back, until Gordost's participation in the National Tournament was announced. His patience ran out and he made his sister a top priority. After several weeks of courting, the girl finally gave in, and the boys and girls of Gordost were reunited.
Natasha was ecstatic at first. Her beloved brother was finally giving her the attention she wanted, but it didn't last. Not long after the clubs merged, Peter returned to his normal cold self, breaking his sister's heart anew. She went through denial, then spent nights crying herself to sleep. She even considered braking away with the witches again, but that was not right. She could not buy her brother's affection. No, she had to teach him a lesson.
As soon as Wellington left, Peter went to check on his sister. The girl was crying, her face shoved in a pillow. He sat next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Natasha…" Peter said. "I'm sorry…" The girl didn't react. She kept bawling her eyes out. He hadn't seen her like that since they were children. It was unbearable. He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the bed and into his arms, and hugged her as tightly as he could. "I love you, sister. Of course family is more important than Sensha-dou. I'm sorry."
The girl embraced him with all her might. Tears still rolled down her cheeks like the Svislach and Nyamiha flew through Minsk, but she held onto her brother like she hadn't for years. "Baka… nii…" she cried between fits, still choking on her tears. She barely mustered enough strength to hit Peter's back with her fists, but Peter endured and held her tight.
"It's OK, Natasha," he said. He kissed her head and caressed her hair. "It's OK."
