THE BONOBO EXPERIMENTS - 9, Rev.
Copyright 2009, 2012 by Carl Mason
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "The Bonobo Experiments" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Further, as in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at email@example.com
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This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.
(Revisiting Chapter 8)
Within a very few minutes, Captain Büchner uttered the famous cry, "Schiff hoch!" Much as on their arrival, the giant dirigible quietly lifted from its mooring pad and rose into the night air to the strains of the Deutschlandlied played by a German Navy band, crossing searchlight beams, and the cheers of a large crowd.
(Continuing Our Story: Walls of the Kremlin)
Flying at 114 mph, the Graf made an easy trip of the 1297 miles from Frankfurt am Main to Moscow. Immediately on entering Russian airspace, they were joined by several jets emblazoned with their familiar red stars. In excellent weather, Captain Büchner flew the last 100 miles at a dramatically lower altitude. The result was a triumphal procession over Russian villages with their cheering and waving inhabitants, all accompanied by the faint but audible sound of tolling bells. (How different their reception of the Germans in late 1941!) Finally, the buildings of Moscow were sighted. After a short tour of the city, the Graf swung around to the north where the relatively new "International Airport Moskovia" was located.
Once again, a vast crowd had gathered to watch their arrival and landing. All was perfection. (Disdaining automation, Büchner was magnificent! Randy felt that he performed more like the conductor of a large, world-class symphony orchestra than the Captain of a massive airship. Even the control car officers and crew applauded him once the Graf had settled down like a feather on the tarmac. Appreciatively, he smiled slightly and informally saluted them by raising his hand towards the visor of his cap.)
All seemed to be well when he and his senior officers returned to the ship from the official airport welcome. Their greeting had been cordial...if measured. Air Force personnel would provide security for the Graf during her stay in Moscow. Come late afternoon, all officers and men of the airship were invited to a Premier League [top level] football game between FC [Football Club] Dynamo Moscow and FC Rostov, the 2076 League Champion. Transportation would be provided to Dynamo's massive new stadium. [Author's Note: Due to the weather, Russian league play takes place in the summer rather than the spring.] At its conclusion, Russian President Kirillov would host Russia's official welcome in the magnificent Georgievsky Hall of the Great Kremlin palace, historically the Moscow home of the Tsars, today used for state and diplomatic receptions and official ceremonies.
In a quiet conference with Commander Patterson, Büchner indicated that he felt the best course of action lay in soothing the Russian bear...insofar as possible. They did not need an "incident" at the very beginning of their trip. For example, it would be disastrous if one of the Siberian lads were recognized by a Russian officer at the Sports Palace affair. (He added wryly that some officers...in all counties...read official "wanted" notices!) He suggested that: 1) His XO, plus the Siberian lads and the Commander serve provide internal airship security during the evening ahead, 2) Four members of his crew be informed about the information on the Siberian crisis that was being collected for both the German and U.S. Governments. He named the four, including Kapitänleutnant Durr. 3) During the course of the evening's festivities, they would quietly inquire into: a) the nature of any major resistance to Russia selling Siberia to the United States, and b) how far the Russian military might go in opposing either the sale or any significant degree of Siberian autonomy. Though the Commander essentially agreed with Büchner, he was somewhat surprised that his Siberian lads had been consulted. The four names that the Captain had proposed also met with their strong approval.
The evening on the airship was quiet, even boring. The Graf was moored in a well lighted area. The gangways were kept open; the XO made sure that he was seen on several occasions by the Russian guards on their rounds. (They could not fail but note that the XO and his five guards were armed.) The Frustrated Six learned only later that the game before 115,000 screaming partisans had been fantastic. They also learned that however boring such events usually are, President Krillov's State Reception in the magnificent Georgievsky Hall of the Grand Kremlin palace had been something else again! Though Captain Büchner pointed out that it was a significant courtesy to their country, the lads seemed far more taken with the beauty of that which in earlier days had been the Moscow home of the Tsars. They couldn't stop talking about the 24.6-feet (7.5m) ceilings and the great chandeliers whose light was reflected in a parquet floor that incorporated twenty different kinds of wood! Named after the Order of St. George, the highest Russian military decoration, they were also impressed by the marble plaques whose golden inscriptions honored the names of Russian units that had distinguished themselves in battle, and of officers and men awarded the Order of St. George. Büchner said, a bit sadly, that perhaps his country had gone "a bit far," for nothing like that could be seen in Germany of the late 21st Century. It was also the case that President Kirillov had been the soul of courtesy, personally shaking the hand of every officer and many of the men and inviting them to return to Russia. Further, a good many Russian officials and high military officers joined their President in what seemed to be very sincere, warm greetings. Naturally, those who had been "stuck" on the airship also heard (ad nauseam!) of how vodka had flowed like water and how the food had never stopped coming!
The Commander, the Captain's #2, and the four airshipmen who had pitch hit for the Siberians (who were also present) met as soon after the lads could be torn away from their buddies and their stories of a great evening. Randy recorded the debriefing in order that his written report could be as complete and accurate as possible. Qualitatively, the data they had collected appeared to be every bit as rich as the evening's experiences. Tongues, perhaps loosened a bit by the vodka - even among men accustomed to keeping their own counsel no matter how much they drank - gave up comment after comment on U.S. and German concerns about Siberia. In brief, the Russian military seemed overwhelmingly opposed to giving up another square inch of the Rodina [the Motherland] and were already moving air, army, and naval units into place to forcefully oppose that which they saw as high treason. In such matters, separating fact from bluster and, occasionally, from misdirection is always difficult, but Randy felt he had what he needed for a good first section of his report. Parenthetically, he promised the Captain's XO a copy of his draft plus the tape of the debriefing.
The small reception the next morning onboard the Graf - primarily for a relatively small number of important figures in the Moscow community - went smoothly. Once Captain Büchner had scanned his guests - and surmised that several were FSB agents - he promptly stashed Randy and his lads in an available (and almost inaccessible) storage compartment in the far reaches of the massive ship. Perhaps sympathizing with what they had missed the night before, he had a tray of goodies and several bottles of beer smuggled in to them by sure-footed individuals who were never identified!
At long last, nothing remained to be accomplished other than receiving the Russian observer who would join them for the journey across his country. It was not a happy prospect, and Randy wondered what effect it would have on the safety of his men. They waited...and then they waited some more. Finally, at nearly 1500 hours (3:00 p.m., local time), a hand-carried message arrived from the Kremlin. The Commandant of the Moscow Air Defense District apologized to Captain Büchner, but his personal representative had been involved in a serious accident. Securing another qualified individual would inevitably result in a further delay of no less than one day. His Command - and the President's Office - was well aware of the heavy number of inflexible arrangements that had already been made. Consequently, papers - and individual transit cards for the officers and the crew - were enclosed that gave them permission immediately to proceed on the route already approved and coordinated with the Air Defense Command. He wished them a happy journey. Needless to say, everyone expelled his breath and set about getting out of Moscow as quickly as appearances allowed!
Perhaps slightly more than two hours after leaving Moscow on the way to Yekaterinburg (also spelled Ekaterinburg; pronounced yeh-KAT-ur-EEN-boorg;), Captain Büchner, Commander Patterson, and others were sitting in the lounge, enjoying an after dinner drink and the piano artistry of a gifted airshipman. Suddenly, there was an explosion of yelling and scuffling as two of the airship's internal security men dragged a compact midteen into the room and dumped him in front of the Captain. No one could begin to explain how this stowaway had managed to board the Graf. He appeared to be a good looking lad...perhaps 5'3", muscled, black hair...but only on his head, dressed in nothing more than a pair of minimal shorts that concealed little and a tattered shirt that appeared to be made of the rough, bleached cloth used for flour sacks, probably smooth with an extremely pale skin...though he was so filthy as to make that questionable. His body odor was so putrid as to make the smells of a middle school locker room seem akin to a bed of roses. More importantly, he was absolutely terrified, apparently to the point of being inarticulate. He made no sound other than an occasional moaning grunt.
A longish discussion among the officers established that he would be turned over to Russian authorities in Yekaterinburg. When the boy finally caught the drift of the conversation, he began screaming in terror as the tears ran down his face. Suddenly, he tore his flimsy shorts and shirt from his body and threw them on the floor. Crawling over to the Captain on his belly, he rubbed his face on the officer's shoes before beginning to rise on his knees. Emitting a crooning sound while cupping one hand on Büchner's genitals, he used the other to begin unzipping his trousers. In pure shock, the officer yelled and kicked him several feet across the floor. As the XO hurried over to the Captain, Randy, accompanied by the redhead, knelt over the stowaway, trying to quiet him. Unaccountably - for he rarely allowed his emotions to show in public - Jiri was in tears. When the shaken officer regained his poise, he turned the boy over to Patterson. He requested that the boy stay with the Siberians, at least for the time being.
As the Graf neared Perm [pronounced: Pairm], the industrial and research center of nearly 1.5 million inhabitants on the mighty river Kama, Randy had occasion to pass the open door of Jiri's cabin. [Author's Note: The Kama, the main tributary of the Volga, drains the water from much of the western slope of the Ural Mountains. Had darkness not fallen, they would have seen the approaching "saddle" of the Urals that historically had been Russia's main entrance to the Siberian lands that lay to the east.] The naked lad lay on the redhead's bed - apparently as close as possible to those spots where Jiri's scent was strongest. As the redhead stood for a moment in the doorway, the youngster raised his head, showed his teeth, and snarled softly. Randy jumped as Jiri suddenly appeared behind him in the passageway and warned him to be careful. Looking at his redhead's arms and hands, he noticed that they bore the marks of several deep bites, plus many scratches. His #2 made his way around him, went over, and sat down quietly on the side of the bed. Gently stroking the lad's hair and body that had received a much needed shower, Jiri signaled for him to approach... carefully. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to the redhead as the latter hummed a tune that he had never heard. As the boy smiled, Jiri placed Randy's hand on the side of the lad's face. "Softly," he directed, "and smile." When the stowaway smiled in return and moved the hand to the back of his neck, he could no longer resist asking what in hell was going on. "I wish I didn't have a clue...not one clue," his #2 responded. "In truth, sir, I don't 'know' much, but I am getting some ideas. I'm calling him 'Sergei'. He may be a true Russian hero. Unfortunately, he may not have developed human speech. Give me a few more hours with him, and I may be able to tell you more." Gently, the Commander smiled at the boy and stroked his shining black hair. In a move so fast that his eyes could barely follow it, Sergei grasped his hand, inserted a finger into his mouth, and sucked on it suggestively. Jiri sighed as his lover bent down and tenderly kissed the lad's forehead - before turning and kissing him with a love that needed no words.
(To Be Continued)