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## Shortfall to Equilibrium

## A novel by

## Lloyd R Martin

\--- oOo ---

Copyright © 2013 by Lloyd R Martin

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

No reproduction is allowed without permission.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means; electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, MP3, MP4, or otherwise, without permission in writing, from the author Lloyd R Martin.

Contents

Malaya, 1965. Operation Claret

RAF Bruggen, Germany

1966

0535 31st March 1966

0656 RAF Geilenkirchen, Germany

0730 Domededovo, Moscow

0800 Over the Denmark/Germany border

0800 Denmark

0835 British Embassy, Copenhagen

0930 Over the Kategatt

10.00 Moscow

09.50 Malmo

Paris, six years earlier

11.00 Inside the Headquarters building, Riga

11.20 Malmo, Sweden

11.20 Two and a half miles off Riga

11.45 Ystad Harbour

12.00 Outside the Headquarters Building, Riga

12.23 Inside the Headquarters Building, Riga

12.33 Baltic Sea

12.34 Baltic Sea

12.34 Street behind the Headquarters Building, Riga

12.38 Quayside, Riga

12.45 Baltic Sea

12.42 Aboard the Ekranoplan

12.55 Baltic Sea

12.55 251 feet above the Baltic Sea

15.40 Dive Site

15.45

15.55
Chapter One

The 1960's

Those were the days when geo-political problems in the Far East were dealt with quietly; like Malaysia for instance:-

Malaya 1965. Operation Claret

Captain Steve Steele jumped down from the dark grey Sikorsky-Westland S-55 Whirlwind. As he turned back to the helicopter he saw that it was carrying a homing torpedo slung in a recess under the belly of the machine.

'And just what are you going to do with that?' he asked the pilot as he descended the six steps down from the cockpit.

'Gardening old boy. If dropped from above 2,000 feet it can clear enough trees for me to land.'

Steele made his way to what looked like an indigenous hut made out of local produce.

Inside the hut, known as regional headquarters, was laid out a map with so little detail as to make the gathered military men to wonder if this was to be any use at all.

'Whose turn is it to dry the dishes?' Steele joked. 'I have seen more detailed maps in a school Atlas.'

'That is just where it came from.' Came a voice from behind him.

As Steele turned he saw the imposing figure of Captain David Howard Kennet MC and bar. His shock of pure white hair made his complexion look even more ruddy than it already was.

'The salient features on here are the two rivers here, and this short bit of shore. The rest is just jungle. What is of interest to you gentlemen, are the details I am about to put in.'

The assembled group was only five soldiers. Steele did not recognise any of them; some did not wear insignia or badges of rank.

'But first I think I had better do the introductions.' Dave Kennet was Army through and through, and it was customary always to introduce people to each other before a meeting begins. But these people were all Special Forces, so the introductions were a little different.

'Going round from my left: Dave SAS, Steele SBS, Jimmy SBS, Blondie RM, Seb SAS.'

This group was therefore representing the Special Air Service, the Special Boat Service, and the Royal Marines

The assembled men then began with comments like:

'Pleased to meet you' and

'My pleasure, dear boy.' There was even one

'At your service.' Which was quickly followed by

'Two sugars and the handle on that side if you please.'

'What we have here is a major insurrection by the North Kalimantan National Army. According to Intel they are approaching Brunei town. We sent a couple of Belvederes over at 5,000 feet to have a look. In gaps in the clouds all they could see were three build-ups; here, here and here.' The Captain made three crosses on the almost blank map.

'We intend to drop in three teams further upstream with boats. Your objective is to harry and harass the enemy. Contact is expected, but we just don't know how strong these forces are. It is your job to find out.'

'How many do you want in each team, sir?' asked Jimmy.

'No more than five. There just isn't room on the Whirlwind for more with a boat.'

Dave from the SAS and Jimmy from the SBS were paired up, Blondie and Seb became part of another team, that left Steele to be leader of the third team.

When they left the tent they met up with men from all branches of the armed forces.

Steele was introduced to two other men, John-Michael, an ex-Legionnaire known as JM, no one knows his surname, he says it is Foch, but there has never been proof of this. The other team member was Para Dickie Hampton. These three men were to take on whoever, or whatever they encountered in the jungle.

They went up country in a Royal Navy Whirlwind helicopter with their greenish brown inflatable dingy.

Landing was not an option in the heavy jungle, so the boat was dropped, then the small team absailed down ropes to the muddy bank alongside the brown river they will be using to navigate the country.

The SBS light craft approached the far bank of the river. If you were watching this on TV you would think the sound had gone. There was not a sound. Steve Steele was first out of the vessel. Even though the water came up to his knees he made no noise as his boots touched the muddy bottom and he gripped the mooring rope with one hand and his GPMG with the other. First one, then the other of the two soldiers in the boat disembarked into the water. The water lapping at the inflatable made little sound as it was carefully dragged into the mangroves. They stood watch on either side of Captain Steele as he hid the camouflaged boat behind the all-encompassing greenery. Still without a sound being issued the three men moved off into the jungle. In this jungle there were no maps, no roads, even the tracks were haphazard to say the least. A new track laid down last week could be overgrown by next week. So it was very much a matter of dead reckoning from the compass combined with any recent helicopter observations. And it was this very intelligence that they were now acting upon. All they knew was that there was an enemy incursion about half a mile on a course of 085. The enemy in this case is the North Kalimantan National Army, (TNKU). They had begun an insurgence, known as the Brunei Revolt. The British did not know that there were only about 4,000 of them, and they were very lightly armed and poorly trained. The TNKU's objective was to Capture the Sultan of Brunei, seize the oil fields and take hostages.

The SBS soldiers communicated by hand signals, then moved off in a direction indicated by Captain Steele who had to keep referring to his compass to ensure that they were an the right bearing, the jungle can be very disorientating. The skilled fieldcraft learned by these men came during their training to become Special Forces members now came to the fore. It is not easy to travel through dense jungle quietly, but these men move silently – in keeping with their motto 'By Strength and Guile'.

As they edged slowly forwards all senses were on full alert. They never use soap to wash, the enemy can smell 'perfumed' soap from 100 yards. When visibility can be as little as 10 feet, this gives them an edge. The three men were more or less in a straight line with Steele in the lead. Next came JM. His job was to keep watch on both sides at once. 'Dickie' Hampton brought up the rear. He was responsible for the trail; they must leave no trace that they had been there to prevent ambush from behind. There was no need to try to remember their route, the compass would take them back if they needed to return the same way. Dickie also had to keep vigil to the rear just in case.

If he saw movement ahead Steele would give a hand signal to alert the others to it, then alter course slightly to come upon the possible contact with all three in a position to fire. Several animals cause practice of this manoeuvre on a regular basis.

After 40 minutes of this crouched patrolling they were surprised when the jungle seemed to explode all around them. Bullets were flying everywhere, hitting trees and slicing through leaves. The three men hit the deck and gave return fire immediately. It seemed as if the whole of the TNKU were on to them. But they soon realised that there was one machine gun and two or three rifles firing almost blind.

'Dickie, see if you can outflank them.' Steele called as he put down more covering fire. As he saw Dickie move off to the rear to begin his circling manoeuvre he jumped up and dived to his right firing the General Purpose Machine Gun at the same time. Then he ran away from their original position to take attention away from Dickie. JM also opened up with his own GPMG to give cover for his leader. Steele fell over the undergrowth and rolled on to his belly to continue firing at the machinegun. Then to the left he saw Dickie appear as he took the Indonesians by surprise. The Indonesians saw him just as a grenade landed in their midst and Dickie took cover. The resultant explosion sent three soldiers flying, the remainder were cut to ribbons by the fragmentation of the grenade.

The jungle fell quiet again. Dickie and Steele joined with JM.

'Anyone hurt?' Steele asked.

'I'm OK.', 'Me too.' Came the replies, 'you Skipper?'

'I'm OK.'

'I think we had better move away from this bloody mess.' Steele said in a whisper. He consulted his compass. With a simple hand signal he indicated the direction he thought they had better move in, and off they went in the same vein they had before.

The British Special Forces soldiers moved off 90o to their original course. Steele led them in a gentle curve to the left, so that they could regain their original course in due time.

Soon they came upon an enemy position directly in front of them. With dense undergrowth to either side they were left with little choice but to halt because there was no moving forwards in this dense greenery. Just as Steele, JM and Dickie were preparing to assault the group the distinctive crack of an AK47 came from their rear. Steele took to the bushes to the left, JM and Dickie dived for cover to the right. Using hand signals Steele and the other two established that the firing had come from a trail that ran parallel to the one they were on. Then Steele had an idea. Carefully he moved to a certain spot on the trail; neither of the enemy positions could see him, and he could not see either of the enemy. But he knew the position up front would still be there because it was a static post, the other he had to guess that they would be in the same position as he jumped up shouting and firing at the static post before diving for cover again. The result was that the soldiers on duty, already alerted by the shooting, let loose all they had in the direction of where Steele had jumped up. Of course, Steele was nowhere to be found by the hail of bullets that flew his way. Bullets flying through jungle do not stop until they hit something solid. In this case the solid objects they found were the seven-man patrol that had fired on Steele and his men. An officer of the TNKU stood up in the observation post and raised his binoculars in the direction of the fall of shot. There was no movement, so he concluded that the immediate threat was dealt with. He congratulated his team just as three grenades sailed into his position from three different directions. Three explosions within two seconds covered the position in smoke as two Brits and a Frenchman reversed their pincer manoeuvre in silence.

The small group was now travelling almost due north towards the coast. It was time to avoid action, it would not only bog them down, but it would bring them unwanted attention. They had a job to do further on. As night began to draw in the patrol found a safe place to rest, they knew the night would be very dark, there would be no moon, and the jungle is almost impossible to travel silently in under such conditions.

Captain Steele volunteered for first sentry stag, then JM for two hours, leaving the last stag to Dickie Hampton.

There is no 'first light' at dawn in the jungle, like there is in more temperate zones. There is pitch dark, the sun rises, but has no effect in the dense jungle at first. It rises quickly close to the equator, and the light bursts through the green canopy like a light being switched on.

These Special Forces men knew that they had to be switched on themselves before the light hit them.

Upon moving off again the patrol found that the ground was rising slightly, but noticeably. By 0930 they were some 350 feet above the start point. Every now and then they could see glimpses of the South China Sea. When the trees thinned out a little and the ground began to fall away Steve Steele ordered a stop and posted his men as sentries. He scanned the area through binoculars. There was no doubt that this was an important military base being used by the TNKU. Steele dipped silently behind cover before he was spotted – they did not want to mix it with this large force. JM was carrying the radio, which Steele now switched on.

'Jupiter to Tomahawk. Jupiter to Tomahawk. Green 453, I repeat, Green 453. Over'

'Tomahawk to Jupiter. Roger Green 453, Green 453. Over and out.'

'Jupiter out.' With that Steele sat back and waited.

20 minutes later two dots appeared far to the left quite low in the sky. Steele knew what this meant.

'We are in for a show now, boys.'

The dots drew nearer, but still made no sound. They began to take on the clear shape of Royal Navy Sea Vixens. The high tail and twin boom layout was unmistakable. By now they were almost in front of Steele and his crew, but still no sound.

'They must be almost on the speed of sound.' Noted Steele.

Whiffs of smoke emitted from below their wings as they let fly with hundreds of rockets, then the sound of approaching jets began to grow from the left. It is a natural reaction to look that way, but the men in the trees knew the sound was from the jets in front of them. Travelling at close to, or just above, the speed of sound the first thing the North Kalimantan National Army knew of the attack was when rockets began exploding in their midst. The aircraft also dropped 500 lb. bombs onto the installation, thereby destroying all of the military base completely.

The twin-tailed heavy fighters returned to HMS Victory in the South China Sea.

  * oOo -

Upon return to the UK Steele was called into the office of Sir John Rimmer on Horseguards Parade.

Sir John was born in Scotland in 1920, brought up a Scot in England, he attended Cheltenham College, then went on to the Royal Military Academy, Woolwich before joining the Royal Artillery on Operation Torch. This was the invasion of North Africa at Tunisia. The operation was a joint allied effort, but many forces were dressed in American uniforms to make it look like an American action. This was Sir John's first experience of military deception. On the drive through North Africa he copped an unfortunate wound, and was returned to hospital in Cosford. Upon release from hospital Sir John was sent to the Staff College at Camberley. This set him up for a role in Military Intelligence under the Ministry of Economical Affairs. Then came work with the fledgling SO2.

He sat opposite Steele in the embassy secure room,

'Ever flown a fast jet, Steele?'

'I was cleared to fly the Twin Pin (Scottish Aviation Twin Pioneer) out in Malaya, sir. But modern jets, no.'

'Well, here's the plan. I am going to send you to HMS Falcon at Hal Far, Malta for a crash course on flying the Canberra. Don't take the title too literally. '

Sir John stopped to light his pipe.

'Upon completion of this course you will be promoted to Commander and transferred to M.I.6, Navy Branch. They want someone to work with the RAF in Germany; you will be posted to RAF Germany as a Squadron Leader where you will complete your conversion training to become a Canberra bomber pilot. The boys in blue are preparing to toss-bomb atom bombs into the Soviet Union. Do you know about the toss-bombing procedure?'

'Toss-bombing? Sounds a bit precarious to me.'

'The Canberra is sometimes referred to as the electronic bomber because of the advanced weapons release systems it employs. It is this suite of electronic equipment and the sheer performance of the jet that makes it possible to release a bomb in a tossing manoeuvre from a high speed climb with a high degree of accuracy.'

'I don't see where I come into this, sir.'

'They want you to monitor what is going on over there. The last thing we want is for the RAF to start a war on its own.'

'Is that likely, sir?'

'RAF Germany is still part of the RAF, but not entirely, and there are people in the intelligence community who are worried that the links to the higher echelons may not be good enough.'

'I see. Well, if I can be of service.'

'There is a Hastings flying out of Abingdon the day after tomorrow, here is some light reading for you on the way.'

With that Sir John passed a copy of the pilot's notes for the Canberra to Steele. They shook hands and parted.

The Hastings transport aircraft took Steele to RAF Wyton where they were flying the Canberra bomber. Here he would have a crash course in flying fast jets in preparation for his deployment to RAF Germany.

  * oOo -

Chapter Two

RAF Bruggen, Germany, Three months later.

Going home was the last thing on Squadron Leader Steve Steele's mind.

Airfields are nearly always windy. Even here in the middle of West Germany Steve Steele was being blown about on his bicycle as he pedalled along the perimeter track at RAF Bruggen. He had just been promoted to Squadron Leader, and transferred from England to 16 Squadron who were flying the English Electric Canberra B(I)8. As a newly-arrived, newly-promoted Squadron Leader, Steve had not yet had chance to sort out his transport needs, he would be getting a car soon, but right now he needed to get around the airfield, and an RAF bicycle was the means of choice around the station. RAF Bruggen is vast because jets need a lot of room. With a landing speed close to 100 mph, and weighing in at about 12 tons, Canberras need a lot of grass to run on to if something goes wrong. With a wingspan of 64 feet they need an area about the size of a football field to turn round.

The wind was coming at Steele from slightly to one side, but it felt as if he was battling into the teeth of a gale head on; occasionally the side effect of the wind would give him a big blast, sending him wobbling across the tarmac. He was riding a standard RAF bike, this made it heavy going too; these machines had wide tyres, you could ride across wet grass without sinking into the soft ground. But at this moment Squadron Leader Steve Steele had his head down over the handlebars, the bottom of his number one uniform trousers tucked into his socks, black, issue airmen for the use of. His well-shone black rubber-soled standard issue shoes were gripping onto the rubber-faced pedals as he pushed and pounded to maintain forward movement, direction and balance. His Officer's cap was crammed into his jacket, he hoped not to make the peak dull because of the perspiration. A quick jerk of the handlebars countered a quick drop in wind pressure from the right.

'All jolly good practice in wind prediction.'

He thought to himself. Steele was about to turn 21, and his father had promised to buy him a sailing boat. Although he would not be able to use it whilst on duty in Germany, Steve knew it would be waiting for him upon his return to the UK.

As he turned the bike to the left he saw his new Squadron Leader's bars on his sleeve. This filled him with pride, and disquiet; although he was actually in the Royal Navy he had been given such an elaborate cover story he wondered why there should be need of such a fastidious level of detail. According to the treatise, he joined up in 1963 after learning to fly with the University Air Squadron at Woodvale, which is near Southport. This was convenient for him whilst attending University in Liverpool. By the time he got his degree he was qualified to fly Chipmunk and Bulldog aircraft solo, and had excelled in cross-country navigation. After basic training at RAF Brampton, the fictitious Pilot Officer Steele was posted to RAF Finningley to continue navigation training on Beagle and Valetta aircraft before being posted to RAF Valley for conversion to fast jets.

Steele's first posting on Canberras was to RAF Marham where he surpassed all training targets to prove himself to be an above average Canberra pilot. This is why he was promoted to Squadron Leader and posted to a front line Squadron only minutes flying time from the Soviet Bloc border.

As the pounding, perspiring pilot passed the Quick Reaction Alert pens he saw RAF groundcrewmen pointing at him and shouting. But he could not hear them because of the howling wind. It was not uncommon for RAF personnel to be seen cycling around the base, but he knew he must have cut an unusual sight, being in his number one uniform. Two of the big bombers stood in the QRA pens, these were on standby and were armed with nuclear bombs in the event of hostilities as the pointed end of the NATO deterrent.

Last curve now as Steele moved more into the head wind and he pushed harder, he was now able to keep to the dotted line down the middle of the peri-track. He could see people around the dispersal area. They were pointing at him and waving too. What is it with these people?

The Squadron Leader prepared to turn left towards the hangars when he reached dispersal. He let the bike drift towards the left side of the track he was on. Just then the clouds parted and a giant shadow covered him as a massive wing tip fuel tank glided past his head. This was attached to the Canberra bomber that had been taxiing behind him.

  * oOo -

Chapter Three

1966

Think what the world was like in 1966.

29 nuclear tests. That is 29 nuclear bombs being exploded which included; 9 by the USA, 9 by the USSR, 6 by France and 2 by China. As well as this, there was the partial meltdown of the Fermi nuclear reactor in Detroit.

But technology was not all bad; the space race was well under way with the Soviet Lunar 9 making the first soft landing on 31st of January. By Christmas they would launch 5 Lunar unmanned missions. February 3rd saw the world's first weather satellite. The USSR was also running its Kosmos programme, along with Venara 3, which was the first man-made object to reach Venus. The USA was running its Gemini programme where men were launched into space two at a time, hence the title Gemini, from the astronomical galaxy Gemini the Twins. By the end of the year the US would launch 4 Gemini missions. Apart from the manned missions they also continued with programmes such as Surveyor 1 and 2 to the moon, OAOI was the first orbiting observatory, a forerunner to the Hubble Space Telescope. Explorer 33, Saturn 1, Orbiter 1 and 2, Pioneer 7. Then there was the very French sounding Diapason D-1A. But let us not forget the British Prospero satellite, developed at Spadeadam, tested on the south coast and launched in French Guinea – and still going today!

Headline news that year included the crash between a Boeing KC-135 Stratotanker and a B-52 near Palomares, on the coast of Spain. The B-52 was carrying nuclear weapons, it took exactly three months to find the bombs in the Mediterranean Sea. On April 23rd there was the first official meeting between the Roman Catholic and Anglican Churches for over 400 years. An interesting ruling on March 25th came when the US Supreme Court ruled that Poll Tax was 'unconstitutional'.

Some countries were in difficulties and changing status in 1966. These included Syria, Uganda, Ghana, Indonesia, Rhodesia, Berundi, Nigeria, Betchuanaland, Lesotho and Namibia. But the most reported by far was the struggle between North and South Vietnam. By March the US had 215,000 troops in theatre, the next month they sent B-52 to bomb the north.

  * oOo -

Chapter Four

0535 31st March 1966

Dark of night somewhere over the middle of England a USAF transport aircraft is making its approach to Mildenhall.

'Flight 505 Heavy to Coningsby Tower. I am leaving your airspace now.'

'Roger that, 505 heavy. Contact Mildenhall on Channel 106, 115.9'

'Roger Coningsby. Thank you. Flight505 heavy out.'

USAF Captain Will Penswick switched the transceiver to channel 106 and called up the Air Traffic Controller at the USAF base at RAF Mildenhall, Suffolk.

Will and Gene Harrison were flying along flight path TB5, due south of Conningsby ATC on a direct flight from Griffiss Air Force Base, Oneida County, New York. They were part of a 5 man crew on board a Douglas C-133B Cargomaster for the long flight. Their cargo was a complete Atlas ballistic missile for deployment to Central Europe under the control of EuroCent.

Will looked out of the cockpit side window. On the right hand side, he could just make out the snow covered fields far below the clouds. The moon had set some time ago, but there was still sufficient light to allow him to see the tops of clouds as they caught the first rays of the rising sun.

'It's been a long old night.' He remarked as he pulled back a little on the four throttle levers to slow the Pratt & Whitney turboprop engines down and allow the big transport aircraft to gradually lose height.

They had started out nearly 11 hours ago, and had covered 3 time zones.

'What time will it be down there?' asked Gene, who had not visited the UK before.

'About 05.35.'

'Anyone like coffee before we land?' the galley steward, Dwayne peered into the cockpit. He had felt the reduction in engine power and knew they would be landing soon, but still had enough time for coffee.

'Sure, how about you, Gene. I could use a caffeine shot right about now.'

'Yeah,' Gene replied, 'I would just hate to fall asleep half way through my first landing in England.'

'Shit. I thought this was Japan.' Will had landed in Japan last week.

'Just look out the window will you? Don't you know what the Azores look like?'

Dwane was used to this kind of banter.

'I will go get the coffee. Will you two try to work out just where we really are before I get back?'

'Be quicker than usual, or we will be over France.' Came the retort from Will.

'Typical cock-a-maimy officers.' Dwayne remarked as he left for the galley to get the coffee.

After coffee had been drunk, Dwayne cleared the stuff away in preparation for landing.

'Mildenhall Tower to 505 heavy. Mildenhall to 505.' The air traffic controller called over the radio as the big four-engined transport approached the beacon that was situated somewhere down in dark pre-dawn north Suffolk countryside.

'505 heavy to Mildenhall.' Gene replied.

'505 we now have you on radar. Continue on present course until you see the 'field. Then descend to 1,000 to join the left handed circuit.'

The throttles were pulled back a little more, until the engines were only producing 50% of their power.

The controller called with a small alteration to their flight plan,

'505 we have you slightly to the north now, turn on to course 185.'

'Roger Mildenhall, will co.' Gene gave the response as Will put in a little right rudder.

15 minutes later Will saw the lights of Mildenhall Air Base on the horizon.

Will gave Gene the instruction,

'Flaps 20.'

'1,000 feet 130 knots, flaps 20' Gene advised his captain as the required height was reached.

'1,000 feet, gear down, flaps 30.' Will now began to put the aircraft into a gentle turn in order to join the circuit.

'Full flaps. Call height and speed on finals.' Will gave the final instructions to Gene, from here on in Will was to concentrate solely on landing the aircraft safely.

At 1,000 feet Will could see the runway lights out to the left as he flew the downwind leg. As the last of the threshold lights dropped out of sight he kept on the same course for a further three minutes before executing a perfect 90 degree turn to the left, and the runway lights came into view again.

'Flaps fully down.' Called Gene as they straightened out on to the base leg.

Both pilots watched as the two straight lines of runway lights gradually came round to face them. Just before the lights straightened out on the left side, Will dropped the left wing, and entered his final turn. Progressively the lights moved from the side window to the front. As they approached about 45 degrees off the nose, the first row of lights became a very straight line, then the centre lines of lights became straight and the two outer lines became the same shape dead ahead.

'900 feet, 110 knots.' Gene began calling the heights and speed. This allowed Will to concentrate fully on flying visually and by the seat of his pants.

The big aircraft bounced a little in the early morning air as it unceasingly lost height. The airfield seemed a long way off, and the lights did not move towards the cockpit at all quickly.

Will was concentrating on the far end of the runway that appeared only where the three sets of lights converged in a point.

'600 feet, 95 knots.'

Will's hand looked as if it was resting on the four throttle levers, but every time the aircraft bounced or rocked, his hand never left the levers.

Gene glanced out of the side window into the blackness around them. The sun would soon rise, but all was darkness now, and he could not see anything, no land, no sky, nothing but blackness.

Will moved the throttles back a little as they flew on through the blackness.

Gene checked the instrument panel above their heads, he looked at Will as the Captain moved the control wheel slightly to counter the little bumps. This was not necessary because the C-133B is a very stable aircraft, but Will always did this as a matter of habit.

Somewhere below in the dark Suffolk countryside was the boundary fence.

'150 feet, 92 knots.'

Will pushed forwards slightly on the control wheel to stop losing more speed.

Now the threshold lights were rushing towards them.

The piano keys at the end of the runway became clear, even in the darkness as the first of the threshold lights swept past them.

'85 knots.' Gene knew not to complicate the situation at this critical stage by giving height readings when the pilot's skill is more accurate than the altimeter at this low height.

Just then the stationary main wheels touched the tarmac; smoke emitted from them as they began to rotate. The hydraulic rams between the wheels and the aircraft telescoped, the oil within them came under tremendous pressure, thereby cushioning the sinking down as weight is transferred from wings to wheels.

Will and Gene felt the welcome rumble of the ground replace the more gentle undulations of flight.

The toe brakes were applied as the nose wheel came down on to the ground. Will knew he had plenty of room to stop on the 9,219 feet of runway, so he was gentle with the brakes as he said to Gene,

'Raise flaps.'

Gene reached down and returned the flap lever to the closed position.

'Mildenhall Tower to 505 heavy, welcome to the UK. Taxi to the end of the runway, turn right before the piano keys on to the peri track and continue across one junction. Turn left on to the ramp after a left bend on to the ramp. Stop as you enter the ramp area, you will be met by a bus with the ground crew who will sign for your aircraft. Have a nice stay. You ok with that?'

'505 Heavy, roger, will co. thank you, over and out.'

It was usual procedure for a Ground Movements team to take charge of transport aircraft; they had to be manoeuvred from one place to another before being readied for their next journey.

Only the rudder pedals were needed to steer the big transport aircraft round to the ramp. Will skilfully positioned the aircraft on the edge of the well lit area know as the ramp. As the aircraft stopped Will announced that he was now shutting down number one engine, he and Gene went through the engine shutdown procedure. Then the same with the number four engine. The inner pair of engines were left running on idle to provide electrical and hydraulic power.

'Bus approaching on the starboard beam, Captain.' Noted Gene as the grey bus drew alongside.

'Dwayne, prepare to welcome boarders.' Will called to the main cabin through his mike before removing his earphones and straightening his cap.

'OK, let's get out of here.'

Bounding up the aircraft steps came Lee Felton, a Master Sergeant loadmaster. He peeled off a smart salute as Will met him at the entrance to the aircraft. '۔

Morning Sergeant. You have some paperwork for me?'

'Yes Sir.'

Three signatures each later and the responsibility for the aircraft and cargo was transferred to the stocky sergeant from Pennsylvania.

'So long you guys, have a good day's rest. The PX at building 250 will be open in 45 minutes.' Felton called as he waved and closed the forward access door. Will, Gene and crew left on the bus to get some well-earned rest.

Felton climbed into the pilot's seat and called the Movements Controller. It was 0547 hours.

With a twist of the transceiver knob he immediately re-tuned the device to the Ground Movements Station.

'Heavy 505 to Movements.'

'Movements.' The R/T discipline was not as strict on the ground as it is in the air.

'505 to fuel.' M/S Felton transmitted more a statement than a request.

'505 take Bay Four. How much fuel do you need?'

'45,000 lb at .77 SG JP4.'

'Roger that 505 45,000 JP4. Authority 1275 Tango Alpha. '

Bright lights shone out from all over the ramp at Mildenhall as Lee Felton bent across to open both inner throttles slowly. The turboprop engines, half jet and half propeller, whined reassuringly as the props bit into the cool morning air.

Felton checked the instruments for correct readings. Then he looked all round to ensure the area was clear to taxi as he took the parking brake off and the grey and white aircraft gradually began to move forwards.

The sun began to rise behind him as he approached Refuelling Bay Four. The cockpit fell silent as he shut down the engines in accordance with refuelling procedures. As the big four bladed propellers smoothly wound down, Felton slid open the side window to greet Jon Wizachanski as the fuel operative wheeled a set of portable stairs towards the waiting aircraft.

'Hi, Wizzo. You got 45,000 on 1275 Tango Alpha?'

Jon stopped the stairs to consult his paperwork.

'Yeah Buddy, 45, 1275 Tango Alpha. Flight 505 in from Griffiss. You got it.'

Master Sergeant Lee Felton did not allow anyone else on board whilst the refuelling took place. By 0650 the refuelling and the external engine checks on the four turbo prop engines had been completed.

In building 553 the unloading crew were putting the finishing touches to unloading another C-133. As the rear ramp began to raise, Loadmaster Will Stringer, known to all as 'Banjo' called across to Farrell Ellis who was on the far side of the big hangar.

'Hey, Barrel, is the fork lift out of there?' He pointed at the aircraft's large empty fuselage.

'No, Banjo. We gonna train it to be a pilot, you dumb shit.'

Preston Randall was standing in the aircraft near the rear ramp. His left hand was holding up the lever that controlled the raising and lowering of the ramp. With the whirling of the machinery it meant that he could hear nothing of the playful repartee outside. The ramp eventually closed and Preston was left in the dark empty interior of the big transport aircraft. He returned the lever to its neutral position, locked and secured it, before closing the cover. He turned round and walked to the small entrance door and leaned out.

'All clear in here boss.'

'Ok.' Banjo then turned to Zak Samuels and asked him 'Can you get someone to move this heap of tin, and bring the next one in.'. As Zak disappeared, Barrel and Preston joined Banjo.

'Just time to grab a coffee before the next one.' Banjo said as he wiped his hands on a cloth.

Presently Zac returned with his arms outstretched.

'Ain't no airplane out there, man.'

Banjo went across to the desk that was covered with paperwork of all descriptions. 'There must be a Movement Order here for it somewheres. Yeah, here it is.' He waved the paper in Zac's direction.

'Zac, you have the distinction of losing Flight 505.'

On refuelling Bay 4 Lee Felton prepared to start the engines.

Jon Wizachanski removed the refuelling gear, and his crew moved the engine starting equipment to the number one engine.

Presently all four engines were started.

Felton punched the transmit button on the consul.

'505 to Movements. Requesting clearance for compass swing.'

'505, you on bay four?' the movements operative asked.

'505 affirmative.'

The sergeant on movements shrugged his shoulders without even consulting the day's scheduled movements.

'OK 505. You will have to cross the main runway, so contact Air Traffic on stud 106.'

'Roger Movements. Out.'

This meant that Felton had severed communications with Ground Movements in order to contact Air Traffic, they had the responsibility for any movements across the main runway.

'505 Heavy to Mildenhall Tower.' Felton called the ATC people with more than his usual informality.

'Mildenhall Tower to 505 Heavy. We read you.' Came the reply.

'505 Heavy to Mildenhall Tower. Leaving Bay 4 to taxi to the end of 029.'

'505 Heavy, you are clear to taxi. There is no movement on the runway. You are clear all the way.'

'505 Heavy, thank you. Out.'

Felton then removed the head-gear and began to taxi to the far end of the airfield.

Upon reaching the end of the main runway he swung the big transport round to point into wind, straight along the long runway.

He opened up the throttles whilst holding on the brakes. As the power reached maximum the aircraft started to move against the brakes. Felton released the toe brakes, and the aircraft hurtled down the runway. The time was 0705.

  * oOo -

Chapter Five

0656 RAF Geilenkirchen, Germany.

Squadron Leader Steve Steele was on a routine crew exchange with the RAF fighter station at RAF Geilenkirchen.

'Paint it Black' Steele was trying to make a constructive suggestion.

'Can't sir. AP and Handling Notes state that no paint is to be applied to the fibreglass cone.' Corporal Mick Nelson replied.

They were standing in front of English Electric Lightning F-Mk 2A XN726 of 19 squadron in RAF Germany. The pointed cone in the air intake at the front of the aircraft contained the powerful radar. This emitted strong electronic pulses that had to pass through the thick fibreglass nose cone. These pulses can produce a lot of heat, and they can burn holes in the cone. The solution to this is to apply something like plastic cellulose filler. This tended to look like chewing gum, and there was a tendency to want to paint it.

Squadron Leader Steve Steele knew it was not allowed, but just thought it worth a mention to test the airman's mettle.

'Well, don't forget to rub it down, we don't want a disturbed airflow in the intake.'

'Sir.'

As he was about to leave the hangar the Squadron Leader was nearly knocked over by a group of ground crew as they burst in.

'Haven't you heard sir?' at least three of them called.

How could he, he had been here in the hangar for the last hour.

'There has been a runner from Mildenhall.' Most of the moving throng seemed to call out.

'What's the rush in here?' Squadron Leader Steele asked, 'The kites on QRA will be the only aircraft called upon, if any.'

Airman Darren Houghton brushed past him saying,

'They are being used, but they also want a T5 to photograph the interception. '328 is going.'

He turned and called to Steele,

'They are looking for a bod to take the pics and navigate, why not get your name down sir, but be quick. The pilot is to be Flight Lieutenant Ben Henderson. And he is getting kitted up now.' With this he continued on his way over to the silver two seat Lightning T5.

Steve Steele did not waste any time. He went straight over to Flight Ops, there he met Ben Henderson, who was consulting the charts for the area in question.

'We are scrambling a tanker from Waddington right now.' The Boss, Wing Commander A.J. Busfield explained to Ben.

'Binbrook sent the two Lightnings they had on QRA, but they had no tanker in place, so they had to return. By the time things had been sorted out, he was too far away from the UK. We are now closer.'

He turned and pointed to the pale blue air navigation chart on the wall.

'Your job is to intercept the rogue aircraft somewhere over the North Sea. The Americans say that it must not be allowed to cross into Soviet airspace, at any cost. To quote their liaison chap, 'We don't care if we don't get it back, just don't let it get to the Soviets.''

'Sir.' Squadron Leader Steve Steele, Canberra pilot, strode up to the pair, 'Do you require a photographer with navigational experience?'

The Wing Commander turned to Steele and recognised him immediately,

'Yes, Steele. Get dressed.' Then he turned back to the chart.

'We have followed him along TL6, we think he will turn north on to UA37. That takes him right between Air Refuelling Area 6 and Carol Air Refuelling area.

before skirting the Temporary Restricted Airspace here.'

Ben looked at his watch,

'Yes, the restrictions come in at 0700.'

Just then the other two Lightning pilots who were to fly the mission joined them.

'He has a 15 minute start on us,' explained the Boss, 'and we have to wait for the tanker, that will arrive in area 6 by 0715. And we want this photographing in case there are International repercussions.'

'Do we know anything about this aircraft, sir?' asked Ben.

'All I know is that the Americans reported the incident 10 minutes ago, saying that they have nothing that can catch him, and can we help.'

Ben looked bemused, 'What aircraft is it? If it's an F-4 with that much head start, we will not catch him.'

'No,' the Boss replied, 'I believe it to be a transport aircraft, you will be updated on your way there as the information comes in.'

Steele was in the meantime down at the Flying Clothing Section. Because the sea temperature was below 500 he had to wear special equipment to prevent hypothermia. This consisted of an anti-exposure suit, to be worn over the air ventilation garment that blows cool air over the body to prevent overheating. As he donned the thick rubber immersion suit, the airman messenger from Photographic came in.

'Your camera, sir. It's been modified to take cine film, and has a motor drive so that you don't have to wind on, just press the shutter and it will take a picture every 1.5 seconds. There is enough film for 250 shots, so if you just keep pressing on the shutter release you will run out of film in less than six minutes.'

'OK, thanks.' Steele replied as he pulled on the pressure trousers that would prevent him from blacking out in high-G manoeuvres. He buckled on the leg restraints as he reached for his life preserver waistcoat, known as the Mae West. This contains a radio beacon to locate him, mini flares, oxygen tube and connector that plugs his equipment into the ejector seat. His helmet had been prepared by 'Hutch' and contained the latest communications equipment available. With the camera in one hand, helmet in his other he realised that he had to pick up his maps yet. He walked into the map room backwards because of all the things he was carrying.

'These are all you will need, sir.' With that Corporal Colin Rae passed a small bundle of maps and charts to Steele, who put down what he was carrying to inspect the maps. The 'En Route High Altitude' chart was folded in such a way that he could see what he needed. There was a clear cover on the right thigh pocket. The Operational Navigation Chart went into the other thigh pocket.

There was no time to waste, he turned and left the map room as quickly as he had entered.

Bursting into the Flight Ops room, Steele found three pilots dressed in green like himself, and the Boss in standard blue RAF uniform. The boss was just concluding his briefing when Steele entered.

'Steele. You will be flying with Flight Lieutenant Henderson, he will fill you in on the mission. Good day gentlemen, good luck and a safe flight.'

With that he left the pilots to their duties.

Flt Lt Keith Hartlepool was flying lead on this mission, he was on quick reaction alert with Flt Lt Les Carter.

In the Flight Ops room Keith was first to move, he held his hand out to Steele saying,

'Keith Hartlepool, we will have to get our skates on now.' He turned to Ben Henderson,

'Can you brief him on the 'brake'?' Keith referred to the aircrew bus.

'Provided I get to point at the map first.'

Keith extended his hand in a welcoming gesture,

'Be my guest.'

'Squadron Leader Steele, Steve isn't it?' Ben turned toward the pale blue chart on the wall.

'Our quarry came from here, Mildenhall. He is here now.' As he pointed to the Suffolk coast.

'We think he is going to go up here, UA 37. We will have a tanker here in AARA 6. OK?'

'OK, - Ben isn't it?' Steele had never met Ben before, and here he was explaining how they may be going to war.

'Yes, good to have you on board. Let's go.'

With that the four men left the Flight Ops room and made their way to the small bus used to carry aircrew and associated people to and fro around the airfield. Already on the vehicle were Corporals Jim Britton and Tom Bennett from Safety Equipment. There were already many men from their department at the aircraft, but these two extra hands would be needed during final preparations due to the number of pilots involved.

Steele looked up at the sky as they moved out to their transport. It was a typical March day in Germany, the sun had been up for less than an hour, but no-one on the ground had seen it yet. There was a 10/10ths cloud cover of a pearly grey hue. But these four men would soon punch through it to see the sun.

Steele and Ben were first out, with Tom, the Safety Equipment man they entered the hangar where the Lightning T5 was waiting to be towed outside for engine start. The aircraft had been prepared as a QRA (Quick Reaction Alert) aircraft, so that the pilot need do as little as possible in order to get away as fast as possible.

The 'brake' then continued with Keith, Les and Jim to the QRA shelter.

As the 'brake' pulled up the ground crew greeted the pilots. Leading Airman Mike Jackson took Keith's helmet off him while he began a very quick and expert walk round the aircraft. They had already given the fighter a thorough pre-flight check, but the pilot has to sign for the aircraft on the RAFfo 700 and it is his final responsibility to check things are as they should be. This is the well known 'Kick the tyres and light the fires' routine.

Unlike the Battle of Britain, pilots do not now just run to the cockpit and trust that everything is secured and serviceable. Keith checked panels to ensure they were secure, and for hydraulic or fuel leaks. In the case of fuel leaks, if a Lightning has no fuel leaks, that means it is empty; this is an unavoidable consequence of high-speed flight in the very cold air at altitude. The heat differentials between ice-cold air and friction heating of an aluminium airframe induce severe demands on an airframe. This, coupled with heat from engines, thrust and vibrations, plus break-neck manoeuvring all combine to force demands on mere metals and construction techniques that were developed in the 1950's and make it inevitable that liquids will be difficult to contain. Keith was careful as he quickly walked round the jet due to fuel on the tarmac making it slippery. The walk round done Keith turned to the ground crew. Mick Jackson handed Keith his helmet as he began the climb up the 12 foot high ladder, ducking to avoid the flight refuelling probe. As he climbed into the small cockpit Keith is careful not to catch any switches or controls. The Martin Baker Mk4 ejector seat has a familiar and comfortable feel to it. Corporal Jim Britton was by now at the top of the ladder, ready to help Keith strap into the fighter. The Lightning is relatively easy to strap on, with combined seat and parachute harnesses. Jim then removed the safety pins from the ejection system, all but two; they are left for the pilot, who then places them alongside the ones removed by Jim in the left-hand side of the cockpit coaming. It is essential that all holes in this device must be occupied to ensure that all pins are out and the system will work satisfactorily if required.

All of the switches needed to start the engines are grouped under a single bar, meaning that all the pilot needs to do is to toggle one bar and all the electrics, pumps and hydraulics are live and primed.

Keith moved the throttle on the number one engine forwards to the first stop. This opened the low-pressure fuel cock. He then pressed the starter button to allow the AVPIN gas starter to turn the engine and give ignition. As the engine instruments flickered and jumped into life, Keith released the starter button for the number one engine. Whilst watching and listening he pressed the starter for number two engine. Once this has started he checked that number one is idling at about 30%, checked the instruments again, set number two to fast idle of about 60%. He then looked outside and waved the chocks away. All this activity can take as little as 15 seconds. At the same time Les Carter had performed the same tasks 2 seconds slower than Keith had.

Keith looked across to Les as he taxied out of the shelter. Both fighters hold before entering the perimeter track.

'Taurus One to Geilenkirchen Tower. Clear to taxi three aircraft. Over.'

'Geilenkirchen Tower to Taurus One, clear to taxi. Runway is 09, wind 035 at 25 knots, QFE 1013, no other traffic, you are clear to take off when ready. Over.'

'Taurus One to Geilenkirchen Tower, thank you. Out.'

Keith looked toward the hangars in time to see the two seat Lightning begin taxiing. Alongside him Les Carter was following his every move in his own aircraft.

'Taurus One to Taurus Two, you ready Les.'

'Taurus Two, ready.'

With the wave of a gloved hand from Keith the two Lightning F 2A interceptor fighters both advanced their throttles slightly and began taxiing along the perimeter track. Judicious dabs of the brakes were needed to prevent the aircraft from exceeding safe taxiing speeds as they made their way the short distance to the 'live' runway.

At the same time Ben Henderson and Steve Steele were beginning to their taxi their aircraft about quarter of a mile behind them.

Keith and Les halted briefly at the end of the perimeter track. They looked both ways to be sure, even though they had clearance to take-off from ATC, there was always the possibility of a stray light aircraft without radio on approach.

Keith gave another gloved wave, and the pair turned left and entered the long runway.

Before them stretched 10,009 ft (3,051 metres) of tarmac. They would not need all of it. The dark green jets sat alongside each other as both pilots did one last instrument check from left to right. Central Warning Panel clear, pins all in place, canopy closed, straps tight. Keith looked across at Les. He raised one finger on his right hand and twirled it round, Keith's left hand was on the twin throttle levers, so was Les's. The sound gradually rose from a gentle roar to a deafening sound that pulsated on the body as they gradually walked the throttles right up to the stop. Holding the aircraft hard on the brakes as the thrust built up to a power almost equal to the aircraft's weight, both men knew they would begin to slide before long. Just when the thrust reached this critical level Keith raised his left hand, let it drop, and they both released their brakes at the same time.

As the aircraft shot forwards both pilots rocked the throttle levers out towards the cockpit wall. This ignited the afterburners. The pilots felt a considerable kidney-crushing punch in the back as their aircraft raced forwards along the runway.

The high-pressure tyres transmitted the runway surface irregularities through the airframe. This could be felt as much as heard. The same can be said of the air rushing in at almost supersonic speeds from the nose intake, through the trunking directly under the pilot's feet, only inches below the black shoes resting on rudder pedals. As the air passed through the trunking it narrows, causing it to speed up, and the vibrations increased in intensity before it entered the two engines.

Within seconds the pair had reached 140 mph. Time to lift the nosewheel off the ground with gentle back pressure on the stick. At 165 mph the aircraft leave earth. Keith keeps them low along the runway. As the unstick speed is reached they retract the undercarriage and allow speed to build to 300 mph, then 400 mph. Keith looks across at Les, who is still in formation, exactly where he was before take-off in relation to Keith, some 24 feet away, wing tip to wing tip.

'Climbing on three. One Two Three.' Keith called.

Both aircraft rotated like ballerinas in unison. The climb-out began at 60 degrees , but soon became vertical. They had used less than half of the runway, and were at 20,000 feet before crossing the runway end.

It was less than one minute from sitting on the ground as Keith and Les chopped the throttle and levelled off to wait for Ben and Steele, before turning left to head north.

Now there were three interceptors in the air at 20,000 feet and a tanker on the way. Less than 20 minutes had passed since Lee Felton had taken off at Mildenhall.

During the climb-out Ben took the chance to explain as much as he knew to Steele,

'It would appear that one of our American Cousins has decided to take an air craft off towards the Soviet Union. We don't know what is on board, but it is obvious that the Yanks don't want this baby flying into Russia. They say they can't catch it, so we have been asked to intercept it.'

'Have we been authorised to shoot it down?'

'We have indeed, but we need pictures to show that we didn't accidentally pop off one of BOAC's crates.'

As the Lightnings were lining up on the runway in Germany, the big transport flown by Lee Felton had just crossed the Suffolk coast and was climbing. Felton had now reached 10,000 feet, which is where he levelled out as he steered due east.

He was hoping to find the aerial corridor known as UA 37. He knew enough to know that it passed between two air refuelling areas on the left, and seven or eight restricted flying areas on the right. He wanted to go further north than these restricted areas would allow him, So the Master Sergeant began to make a detour to avoid the areas, they are normally occupied by armed and dangerous aircraft. He continued into the area of the North Sea for some 200 miles before turning east again to head out towards the Baltic, over the tip of Denmark; this was the plan.

Geilenkirchen lies some 50 miles as the Lightning flies from the German coast. Their target would be another 50 miles further on, so will their tanker. With the amount of fuel used up on take-off and transiting to the area they will be in need of a drink pretty soon – in fact, before they even begin searching for their quarry.

A Vickers Valiant K1 tanker left Waddington before the Lightnings in order to allow it time to get to the rendezvous point before the interceptors ran out of fuel. Normally two tankers would be scrambled, just in case one had a problem. But this time there were no second strings available.

The Vickers Valiant V-bomber was on station in Area Six loaded with fuel in place of a bomb load. It was just about to begin the race-track pattern so well known by all tanker pilots when Keith called,

'Dylan Three from Taurus Formation. Dylan Three from Taurus Formation. Are you on station yet?'

'Taurus from Dylan Three, we have just arrived. Turning north at Sierra Delta two five Echo.'

'Dylan from Taurus, can you make that a turn to the south? We are to the south of your position.'

'Dylan here, roger that. Turning right now.'

Four minutes later the men in the Lightnings spotted the familiar shape of a Valiant tanker.

By the time all three fighters had taken on fuel the time was 0728.

  * oOo -

Chapter Six

0730 Domededovo, Moscow.

Don Chabo Bothermea did not like operating the radio equipment at Domededovo military airport, near Moscow. He was not well versed in the system as a whole, but it was the brusque attitude of the pilots on the other end that really got to him.

'Dacha Seven, say again. What are your intentions?'

'Dacha Seven. I will push this aeroplane up your orifice when I get back.'

'Not a pleasant chap, this Dacha Seven, probably a throwback to Prussia.' Thought Don.

Just then the door to the radio room burst open.

'Thank you, comrade.' Kommissar Georgy Natarova said to Don as a big brute of a bodyguard gently removed the headphones from Don's head.

'Da??' was all that Don could say as his chair was spun around by another bear in a suit.

'Thank you comrade, Georgy repeated. We have a rather delicate matter we would not like you to be burdened with. You are stood down, your supervisor will be in touch when you can return to your post.'

Georgy Natarova was a tall, imposing man with less hair than other men of his age. He covered this premature balding by having the rest of it clipped very short indeed, the top of his head was nearly flat. His nose was strong, but looked as if it had had a punch or two in the past. Dark, heavy eyebrows covered the narrow eyes, more full at the top than at the bottom, they gave the appearance of half set suns - but there was no fire in them. As he removed his officers cap the wrinkles at the back of his neck briefly rippled, then returned to their original creases.

Don did not need any encouragement to leave, but he knew that that is exactly what the two bears were there for; one of them even held the door open for him.

Evgeniya Kaspova took up the position on the radio equipment, and immediately began twisting various knerled knobs and switches.

'Dovo Control to Burgermeister, Dovo Control to Burgermeister.' She called into the microphone.

There was no reply.

'He must be still out of range.' she said.'

'Neit,' the Kommisar responded, 'These signals are being routed through our friend in Denmark.'

'Dovo Control to Burgermeister.' Evgeniya repeated, waited nearly two minutes, then turned to the Kommisar.

'Is there any other reason we can't reach him?'

The Kommisar thought for a minute.

'There are many possible reasons. He may be too low, his radio may be broken, he may be broken, or the whole mission may be broken with the aircraft at the bottom of the North Sea. We do not know for sure that he set off, or in the right direction. He may be a ham-fisted idiot like the one we just threw out of here. There are many reasons, but the only thing we can do now is wait and keep trying.' With that he gave Evgeniya a friendly nudge on the shoulder.

She was very experienced in this kind of situation. For the next 10 minutes she called Burgermeister until he answered.

'Burgermeister to Dovo Control. Reading you. Over.' Master Sergeant Lee Felton called his controller for the first time.

'Hello, Burgermeister. Good to hear from you.' Evgeniya looked at the Kommisar, 'I have someone here who wishes to speak to you.' With that she passed the microphone to the Kommisar and switched the speaker on.

'What is your situation, Burgermeister?'

'I am at 10,000 approaching the Baltic. Should I lose some height?'

'No, stay at that height, we will see you on radar soon, and can then watch you and give you directions.' The Kommisar didn't say anything that might have scared him, he also did not mention that they would also be watching his back for anyone chasing him, the sensible thing for him to do would be to lose height and dive for cover now, just in case. There is no seeing what is behind you in a transport; the best thing to do was to hide.

Listening stations in Denmark, Germany and England picked up the brief radio exchange.

  * oOo -

At the same time, in London.

The Viper Committee was called to an emergency meeting at a secret location near the War Office.

'He is obviously flying over water,' Rear Admiral James Gold addressed the hastily convened meeting, 'so there may be something we can do.'

Seated around the large oval table were Commander Gilbert Fairbanks, RN, Major-General Scott Sanderson, Russell Hornby, Mi6, Air Vice-Marshall Sir Christopher Wilson, RAF. All had at least one aide each, plus the occasional advisor. Russell Hornby had three people with him. They very rarely spoke, but one of them seemed to only communicate in French. One of the others also had a strong foreign accent.

Commander Gilbert Fairbanks pointed out that the Royal Navy had an aircraft carrier heading for the suspected area.

'The Hermes is steaming towards the area from exercises.' He added, 'This may sound like a futile effort, to send a ship sailing at about 30 mph after an aircraft flying at some 300 mph, but it meant that naval aircraft would soon be coming within striking distance of the area.'

'What other resources can we call upon?' asked the co-ordinating officer, Major-General Scott Saunderson.

'If he comes down in water, as we expect him to,' Rear Admiral Gold replied, 'We can deploy a submersible and tender with support vessels from around the Skaggarak.' He looked at Hornby, who nodded once.

The Admiral wanted to know more about the assets available if things continued the way they were.

'Exactly what can we do with the ships we have in the area if we have to go in and retrieve this device?'

Fairbanks replied,

'It depends if it is in International waters, or Soviet Territory. Also how much time we have. It takes a long time to assemble the kind of equipment needed.'

Hornby then offered,

'Don't you think that the Russians have equipment already prepared? They knew this was likely to happen. Gentlemen, we have no time to ponder and prevaricate here. There are international shipping assets ready now, they will be on their way as soon as we know the location – be it in International waters, or Soviet waters.'

The Admiral raised an eyebrow in surprise.

'What we need is a man on the spot in case the whole thing gets into Soviet waters. What I am saying is; will need someone flexible and capable in theatre,' added James Gold, 'have you anyone available, Russell?'

Russell Hornby was head of the clandestine anti-conspiracy unit referred to as The Clan.

'We have someone in Germany who is keeping an eye on things for us. We also have someone who can be deployed on to the Hermes to look things over.'

'Commander, can you deal with that?' asked the Maj-Gen, turning towards Gilbert Fairbanks.

The Naval Commander then turned to Russell Hornby,

'Can you get your man down to Yeovilton?'

'For a start, it is a woman, she's at Upper Heyford at the moment, playing with the Yanks.' he turned to Air-Vice Marshall Sir Christopher Wilson,

'Can the RAF help, Chris?'

'How many people are we looking at transporting, and is there any equipment?'

Gilbert and Russell looked at each other,

'I only have one in mind at present, we don't want to set the world on fire yet, do we?' Russell said.

'I think there is a spare Twin Pin at Brize we can send off to Upper Heyford. That should suit your bod, what about equipment?' the RAF man added.

'I will arrange that end at Yeovilton.' Russell turned again to Gilbert,

'Gil, if we can work together on this I think we can pull it off before my woman gets down to Yeovil.'

'Certainly, I just have to liase with the Chief Quartermaster at Yeovil and we should have it all sewn up.'

'Right, I will dispatch our own Quartermaster to supply any special equipment.' Russell said.

The Maj-Gen tapped his pen on the table thoughtfully. Then he turned to look at Gilbert,

'How do you propose to get her from Yeovilton to the Hermes at sea?'

'Gannet, sir.'

The Fairy Gannet was a carrier-borne anti-submarine and early warning aircraft used extensively by the Royal Navy.

'Very well gentlemen. That seems to have covered all the options we have at present, we shall reconvene to review developments in 3 hours; let us make that eleven hundred hours.'

Maj-Gen Saunderson thereby closed the meeting.

07.30

20,000 feet above the North Sea the three Lightning fighters now began searching for the missing freighter.

Keith Hartlepool was leading the formation as they began their search. He called the other two aircraft, 'Taurus One to Taurus formation. Ten mile spread, Over.'

Taurus Two and Taurus Three acknowledged the call and the three aircraft then moved away from each other on parallel courses until they were ten miles apart, flying on a course slightly to the right of north. All their search radars probed the airspace ahead across 30 miles of airspace, they were heading for the northern tip of Denmark, expecting Felton to fly low over the sea around Denmark to evade radar.

And the United States Air Force Europe have not been idle

F-102A Delta Daggers are in process of being deployed to Aalborg in northern Denmark from Bitburg and Ramstein air bases.

SAAB Drakens of the Swedesh Air Force have also been put on to full alert.

In the vast expanse of the North Sea the Soviets have a secret radar picket ship deployed to watch the exercises that HMS Hermes was involved in. The ship that became the prototype for the MOMA class Soviet spy ship, the Anemometer was positioned between the Hermes and the fleeing C-133. When the British carrier left the exercises abruptly, the Anemometer turned and tried to keep ahead of the carrier. They were about 100 miles apart to begin with, but the Hermes was faster. However, the Anemometer managed to get within radar range of the three Lightnings, and picked them up on it's radar tracking system. The Zampolit (Russian political officer) on board the Anemometer did not know what to make of this, so he reported the find to his superiors in Moscow.

Sergei Solomov was tasked with decoding these messages and pass them on to interested parties in the Politburo. One such recipient was none other than Komissar Georgy Natarova. He had only just returned to his office when he got the message about the 'Anemometer'. He lost no time leaving his office and rushed down to the radio room where Evgenya Kaspova was waiting, monitoring Felton's progress.

'We seem to have some activity over and on the North Sea.' He informed her. 'A British carrier is moving towards our friend.'

'Is it travelling at 300 mph?' she asked sarcastically.

'No, but it carries Sea Vixens that can travel at twice that speed. But that is not our immediate worry. There are three fast jets at 20,000 feet searching for our boy. And one of our submarines has detected movement from inside Germany to the tip of Denmark. We think it could be the Americans preparing to stop Burgermeister.'

'What do you think we should do comrade? If we try to warn the American he will probably panic and turn for home.'

'Tell him we are entering the next phase. Make it sound as if we have pre-planned this, and it is part of the scheme.'

'Then what?'

'Get him to a much lower altitude, 500 feet. Then, when he is off radar, make a right turn through 100 degrees. We shall take him across the base of Denmark at it's narrowest point. He should be able to get into Soviet airspace within an hour.'

Evgenya called Felton,

'Burgermeister, the next phase requires you to lose some altitude. Descend to 500 feet and await instructions.'

There was no code system available between the US airman and the Russian, so it had to be passed in plain language. The Kommisar had foreseen this. He sent out a coded message to a small, innocent looking fishing boat just off the western coast of Denmark. This boat had a very weak transmitter; it could only work line-of-sight for about 50 miles. It was not possible for receivers in England, Germany or Denmark to pick this up. He was gambling somewhat that the Lightnings were on their own frequency. This was not too much of a gamble because the frequency the Russians were using to contact Felton was pre-arranged, and the fighters would need to be notified of it. No such notification had been heard by any Soviet listening station, ashore or afloat.

When Felton reached 500 feet he called on the radio to inform his control.

Then control handed him over to the remote ship with the short-range radio. A strange Russian-sounding voice then came over the radio,

'Burgermeister from Dovo One, Burgermeister from Dovo One, over.'

'Burgermeister to Dovo One, over.'

'Dovo One to Burgermeister, Change course to one two zero. Repeat, one two zero. Over.'

'Burgermeister here, ok. Changing now, I will have to gain some height to be safe.'

Felton did not like this low flying, he knew that if there was a problem he was not experienced enough to sort it out given the reduced time allowed by flying low.

The three Lightnings were still flying at 20,000 feet in a north-westerly direction when they got an unexpected call, 'Taurus flight from Sentinel.'

It was the Royal Navy's aircraft carrier HMS Hermes calling the Lightning flight.

Keith looked up the current call signs and found that Sentinel referred to the carrier HMS Hermes. He responded,

'Sentinel from Taurus flight, go ahead.'

'Taurus flight, taking over controlled interception. Reduce altitude to angels five. Over.'

This told the Lightning pilots that the carrier HMS Hermes was now running the interception. Angels five referred to 5,000 feet.

As the Lightnings entered a slight dive they quite quickly reached a speed of 1,000 mph, despite reducing throttles.

At 8,500 feet altitude Steve Steele with Ben Henderson, flying on the right of the spread-out formation picked up a radar contact far out to the east. The English fighters were still travelling to the northwest; their new acquisition seemed to travelling in a north-easterly direction at about the same height as they were. Then it was gone. The new target on Steele's radar had disappeared.

'Taurus Three. New radar contact. Bearing 050, height eight, now lost.'

'Taurus One to Taurus Three, investigate that, would you Ben? It isn't likely to be our chap, going the wrong way. But have a look just be on the safe side.'

'Taurus Two. Roger, Wilco.'

With that Ben banked the two-seat fighter a little to the right, maintaining their height and speed. The other two Lightnings continued to lose height as per instructions.

The controller on board the Hermes had by now lost the two Lightnings on his radar display because they were too low at 5,000 feet. When he notified his captain of this the captain decided to launch a Gannet AEW3 flying radar platform. The Gannet flew out and headed for Denmark at about the same speed as Felton in the stolen transport, which had by now reached 500 feet, well below the horizon and out of radar reach. He had been given his course change, so was therefore flying on a course that will take him to the border between Denmark and Western Germany.

Squadron Leader Steve Steele then got a new contact on his radar. It was coming straight at them at a closing speed of nearly 2/,000 mph. Before Steele had even chance to notify Ben the pilot, the blips were on them. A scant few seconds later two MiG 21s shot past them before they even had chance to call on the radio or intercom. Steele began twice, the second time he was interrupted by another two blips on his radar scope.

'Taurus Three to Sentinel,' Steele called the carrier,

'Two MiG 21s, I now have two more contacts.' Then they shot past him,

'Saab Drakens this time.' He explained.

'Taurus Three, I have them.' Replied Keith.

'Sentinel from Sentinel One. Hostiles inbound. Suggest interception.' This was the Gannet radar picket aircraft.

'Sentinel here, roger that, Sentinel One. Will advise.'

This request from the Gannet for action to protect him meant that the carrier HMS Hermes would be required to authorise live firing.

Two Sea Vixens were then launched and sent towards the rapidly approaching Russians and Swedes. No firing orders had yet been issued. But they carried four Firestreak infra-red homing missiles each.

A shore radar station near Lech, Denmark then reported the radar return of a large airliner. The contact was flying very low, especially for that type of aircraft, and headed straight for them at 250 mph.

Sentinel, the carrier, was notified of this via the UK radar reporting system.

'Taurus aircraft from Sentinel, We have your bogie at position Copenhagen two and a half whiskey. Five hundred feet. Over.'

'We have two MiG fighters in the area.' The Russian fighter controller told Lee Felton in the C-133, but this was only partially true. They were in the area all right, but going in the wrong direction with two Drakens hot on their tails. And now there were Sea Vixens and Lightnings in the area too.

'Wait.' The Kommisar turned to the controller, then turned to look at the wall map, 'In five minutes our new comrade will be flying over Denmark and Germany. They will not dare shoot him down over friendly territory, not with what he has on board. No, they must put him down in the water if they intend to stop him now. That gives them a problem. Just the other side of Denmark, if we get him to steer a little to the right, south a little, he will be in Soviet airspace.'

'But we don't want him over our part of Germany.' The controller added, 'remember he is still flying in an American aircraft with American markings. There are a lot of Air Force people in Germany we do not have in our confidence, so to speak.'

'You mean they are not part of our organisation?'

'Quite.' The controller replied.

'Then we shall put him over the Baltic for most of his journey to our base.'

Keith Hartleypool then received the position of the C-133 from the Gannet radar picket.

The carrier then gave the Lightnings permission to engage,

'Taurus aircraft, You are cleared to intercept. Authority for live firing has been approved.'

'Sentinel One from Taurus One, we will clear your problem first.'

This meant that the Lightnings would not be leaving the Gannet to face the MiGs on its own, and they would not be turning their tails to the Russian fighters, thereby giving them an advantage.

The Lightnings then climbed to 5,000 feet above the Gannet and watched the Drakens chase the MiGs off. They expected the Russians to dive and head for friendly territory.

Keith and Les consulted their maps to find that the big transport aircraft had indeed given them the slip. It was now about 70 miles to the south of their position, travelling away from them.

He gave Ben and Steele the same course, even though they were some 20 miles away from the main formation. Ben and Steele would see the coast of Denmark first, then could turn south and end up in the same area as the rest of the flight.

Once the manoeuvre had been completed Keith ordered an increase in speed.

'Taurus One to Taurus flight, increase speed to Mach 1.5.'

This would put them right where the chart reference said the missing transport should be in less than four minutes.

Ben was flying the side-by-side two seat Lightning jet fighter at over 1,000 miles per hour with the engines still in dry condition, this being without the use of afterburner in an effort to preserve fuel. With a clear dark blue sky above the blue-grey North Sea, there was a stripe of pink over to his left on the horizon as the sun rose in the eastern sky trying to penetrate clouds that covered Denmark in the distance. Below him the clouds began to gather like boiling porridge, more soon appeared. He called on the radio,

'Taurus Three to Taurus One. Clouds growing over here, climbing to Angels Ten.'

'Taurus One, OK Ben.'

This was standard procedure, it doesn't matter that they can't see where they were going, they couldn't see where they were going anyway; at Mach 1.5 they were covering over 20 miles a minute. Radar is essential at these speeds, to let them know that the area ahead is clear. The real danger in clouds is the turbulence putting strains on the airframe at high speeds can cause catastrophic failure.

As Ben brought the aircraft up to a higher altitude Steele concentrated hard on his radar scope.

'Contact. Bearing Zero One Two, very low, range three six. Losing it in ground clutter now.'

Ben replied, 'Yes I saw him briefly.'

He throttled back and gently eased the nose down as he called Keith on the radio,

'Taurus Three to Taurus One. Contact Zero One Two relative. Going down to have a look.'

'Roger Taurus Three.' Not much chatter now to allow Ben and Steele to get on with their task with no distractions.

The two seat Lightning now entered a shallow dive towards the last place the radar contact was seen; there was too much ground clutter coming from the sea only 500 feet below Lee Felton in the C-133 Cargomaster. At this height Felton could not see the land mass that was Denmark some 25 miles ahead of him, but he knew it to be there, that he should get there in less than five minutes. He didn't know about the three fighters bearing down on his position, but the Kommisar did.

Back at 5,000 feet with both engines on idle Ben and Steele were looking for the C-133 on radar below their feet. With both men staring into their radar scopes, the fighter was still travelling at the speed of sound when it entered the cloud they didn't see. All they wanted to see was a sharp blip in the midst of all the clutter coming from the sea. The aircraft rocked gently from side to side, the engines were almost silent, most of the noise the men inside could hear was due to wind passing over their cockpit canopy only a few inches from their heads and air entering the air intake -

75 seconds after entering the dive the two seat Lightning dropped out below the clouds, just then both men shouted

'There.'

Steele readied his camera; the contact was only four miles away, moving from right to left some 2,000 feet below them. That meant that they could be mounting a supersonic interception.

Ben opened the airbrakes to slow the aircraft slightly, then banked to the left to bleed off more speed; they needed a close look at the target. Ok, to paint him with a sonic boom would be nice, and would guarantee to get his attention, but was not the main aim of the exercise at this moment.

  * oOo -

Danish ground radar stations had picked up the C-133, as big as an airliner, flying at 500 feet heading for their western coast. They in turn alerted the Americans, who were surprised because they had moved all of their alert forces to the very north of the peninsula.

Major General Hunter James Covey rang the commander of the USAF base at Bittburg from his own base at HQ USAF Europe (HQ USAFE),

'Brigadier General, the missing C-133 has now appeared in your back yard. What resources do you have to intercept it?'

Gene Goldsboro had been working on the situation since he got the first alert, five minutes after Felton lifted off the Suffolk runway.

'Well, sir. We have scrambled our alert aircraft and sent all 12 F-102s to Aalborg to intercept him as he came through the Skagerrak. We are now preparing another 12 fighters for rapid alert.'

'What state are you at for a General Quarters Alert?'

'We have been at General Quarters since this thing broke, sir.' Gene was surprised that his superior did not know this.

'The C-133 will be over the coast of Denmark in five minutes, can you stop him before he gets over land?'

'Which airfield would you like him to put down at, sir?'

'He ain't gonna land, Brigadier. We shall have to bring him down forcibly. Have you any elements in the air right now?'

'No, sir. We can launch in 30 seconds from Aalborg, but by the time they get on to the target he will be well over land.'

'Launch anyway, head them south, we have a possible threat from the west at 20,000 feet. The Brits have elements on him, so we shall leave it to them.'

'Yes, sir. I will scramble the F-102s from Aalborg immediately.' With that the Brigadier General hung up the phone and picked up another,

'Ops Controller, this is Brigadier General Gene Goldsboro calling from Bitburg. This is not a drill. This is not a drill. Scramble six F-102s from Aalborg. Standing Patrol. Please repeat.'

'Scramble six F-102s from Aalborg. Orders from Brigadier General Gene Goldsboro. Yes, sir.'

  * oOo -

Meanwhile, preparations were well advanced at Nueruppin air base, 25 miles north of Berlin in East Germany to send additional escorts for Felton in the shape of nine MiG-19s, NATO code-name Farmers. These were supersonic twin engined fighters; each one was armed with four heat seeking missiles.

The first three were now lined up on Runway 28 in a 'V' formation with their throttles on idle. They waited until the next set of three was in position almost alongside them on the perimeter track, and the final three aircraft were in position behind them. With 2,400 metres of concrete in front of them they opened up their throttles and kicked up smoke and dust as they began their take-off run. When the first three aircraft moved off in unison the second trio opened up their throttles to allow their aircraft to move forwards. They turned right on to the main runway in the remnants of the blast from their comrades. No sooner had they stopped their wheels turning and checked that they were all lined up as the V formation with equal spacing, the leader signalled to GO! With that these three began thundering down the runway before the lead formation was even half way down the strip. The wheels of the lead section began retracting as the second V began accelerating, then the third section moved forwards. They also turned right on to runway 28, and with no reference to the other six aircraft in the sky they simply opened up and released the brakes. By now the first group was nearly over the end of the runway, undercarriage retracted travelling at 300 mph they began their climb out.

'Treblinka Formation.' The ground controller called over the radio as soon as the fighters were airborne,

'Steer course 320. Climb to 15,000 feet. Good hunting.'

  * oOo -

Chapter Seven

0800. Over the Denmark / Germany Border

'Under my thumb I have found a switch that says 'Cargo Neutralise', Felton was sounding concerned.

'This means that with the flick of this switch I can scramble the electronics in this missile making it a useless lump of scrap.'

The Kommisar was quick to reassure Felton that all was under control.

'Burgermeister from Control. You have no need to worry. We have ships and aircraft out and ready to look after you. Even as we speak, there is a squadron of our best fighters travelling at supersonic speed to greet you, and protect you.'

'I see land below me, I presume this must be Denmark.'

'Neit, Comrade, that is Northern Germany. We are taking you through to the Soviet airspace on the other side.'

Just then a two seat Lightning screamed past Felton's cockpit.

'American cargo aircraft C-133 from Taurus Three. Please state your intentions.' Steele called on the frequency passed on via HMS Hermes, from Fleet HQ at Scapa Flow, who got it from the Admiralty in London. They received it from the Government Communications Headquarters at Cheltenham.

This surprised Felton. He was using what he thought was a secret radio frequency. It was obvious what his intentions were; yet here was this Brit asking him nicely what they were.

'Highly classified cargo from Maastricht.' Felton replied.

'State your destination.'

'My destination is Berlin Tegel Tango Golf Lima 112.3.'

Felton was gambling that the American/British communications system was as secretive as ever, with both sides reluctant to share any more than they had to.

Hermes then called Keith, 'We have been requested to avoid landfall by your quarry. He must not be allowed to reach Sweden, they will shoot him down to prevent Special Weapons overflying their airspace. Be aware that there are Drakens in the air to the south of Sweden. Original authority to fire still stands. Over'

'Taurus one to Sentinel. Message received and understood. Out.'

HMS Hermes was now about to become directly involved in the action. The Russian spy ship Anemometer's political officer, Sergei Salimov, the Zampolit, was in the radio room. He had sent out the radio operators and all other crewmembers to be on his own. After making sure there were no eavesdroppers in the vicinity he re-tuned the radio to a secret frequency only he knew.

'Salmon to Kommisar.'

'Kommisar receiving loud and clear. Are we secure?'

'Yes, comrade. The Hermes has sent up a Gannet and two Sea Vixens. We picked up two MiG 21s followed by two Draken fighters, probably from Sweden. What instructions do you have for us?'

'Salmon from Kommisar, you must prevent Hermes from getting any closer to Denmark. We have elements in the air enough to deal with events over there, but do not want the carrier any closer. Do you understand? Over.'

'I think so. What was the purpose of the MiGs? Over.'

'We wished to test their capabilities, The Drakens were a surprise, but the mission was still a success. Now we need the Hermes delaying.'

'Very well, Kommisar, I will see to it at once. Out.'

The radio was re-turned to its original settings and Sergei made his way to the bridge.

'Captain, I want you to sail right in front of the carrier. In the name of Mother Russia.'

'You wish to make her change course, comrade?'

'Yes, and prevent her launching any more planes.'

'We have a tactic used against the Americans. They skim off our bows and end up going in another direction.'

'Only about ten degrees I think.' Replied the Zampolit.

'Possibly, how much off course do you want to put her?'

'At least eighty.'

'Not so easy, especially with such a big ship.' The Captain looked worried. He walked across to the charts showing their relevant positions.

'If you were to assert yourself athwart her, she would have to veer off.'

'You mean a direct collision course?'

'This is very important. If you were to be travelling from her port side, she would be forced to alter course to the North to pass behind you, a big ship like that will take quite a long time to return on to her original course. By then you can place yourself in another location to harass her again. If we can keep that up long enough, not only will she not be able to launch any aircraft, the ones she has in the air will be put in jeopardy.'

'Very well, we shall try this tactic, but we are dealing with the Royal Navy here, they are very astute – we must resolute.'

Ten minutes later the 'Anemometer' was in position. Moving at 8 knots she was in perfect position to intercept the course of the Hermes.

On the carrier's bridge the Captain knew exactly what was happening.

'Signaller, signal that ship in plain language that we are coming through. Make the message as clear as possible. Use any terminology you think fit.'

'The signaller replied, 'Yes, Sir.'

He then went to his Aldis lamp in a position forward. He flashed out using the flapper lever in Morse code and plain English the following message:

'GET OUT OF THE WAY. WE ARE NOT PISSING ABOUT, WE ARE COMING THROUGH.'

The loud clattering and banging of the shutter lever could be heard even over the howling of the almost gale force wind as the signal was sent.

A signaller on board the 'Anemometer' reported the message to the Captain and Zampolit. They looked at each other and smiled. The Captain said,

'Standard procedure, not standard language, but standard procedure nonetheless.'

Hermes was steaming at full speed, moving through the water at over 30mph, weighing 28,000 tons; she would take some stopping. 'Anemometer' did not change course or speed. Hermes caught her just behind the centre of the hull. The massive V shaped bow of the carrier carved in to the thin metal of the converted trawler. The 'Anemometer' rolled over away from the Hermes and broke into two parts, The rear mounted funnel angled crazily towards the Carrier, it belched forth smoke and steam as the engine room flooded.

Russian sailors poured over the sides, many of whom were swamped by the bow wave of the Hermes.

'Launch the Whirlwind search and rescue, Number One.' The Captain ordered.

HMS Hermes kept on her course as the helicopter fished out as many men as it could, then landed them on the deck. Amongst the survivors were the Captain and Zampolit.

  * oOo -

The MiG 21s were indeed sent to test reactions, but they were sent over Swedish airspace. The Swedes do not appreciate these incursions, so they launched two SAAB 35A Draken fighters to chase the Russians off. Now they threatened the Gannet. Slow and cumbersome by the MiG's standard, the Fairy Gannet AEW3 was powered by a Bristol Siddeley Double Mamba turboprop engine driving a contra-rotating propeller. Short and stocky, the little flying radar outpost was not made any sleeker by the addition of a large bulged radome underneath the aircraft. There were three men carried inside the tubby fuselage, as well as the heavy electronics needed to operate the radar and communications. There was no room or possibility of defensive armament. For protection the little fat Gannet relied on it's own early warning systems and the fighter cover provided by the parent carrier; in this case, this was the two Sea Vixens previously sent out. The Gannet was not sent to mix it with the MiGs, but here they were. This would normally become a strange aerial ballet with each side testing the other to see what their respective capabilities were. But the Russians were obviously playing a very different game now.

The lead MiG picked up the Gannet on his nose mounted radar at 15 miles. The propellers on the front of the Gannet helped give a good radar return at the extreme range of the Russian radar as the jet dipped its nose down a little, speed increased to Mach 2. The Kommisar was in touch with the MiGs; he radioed the latest developments and instructions,

'This is the Kommisar speaking. Faceplate One, what is your name and rank?'

'Faceplate One to Kommisar, we are not allowed to give that information over the radio sir.'

'No, quite right. The situation has changed comrade. They have sunk one of our ships. It is now time to take the gloves off. And this great privilege falls to you to strike the first blow for the great Soviet Union. Shoot the little plane down in the name of Mother Russia.'

'Faceplate One. It will be an honour sir.'

Inside the Gannet, Alan Dobson called back to the carrier,

'Sentinel One to Sentinel, we are being painted by the MiG's search radar, he has now switched to acquisition mode and has armed his weapons.'

The reply came,

'Sentinel to Sentinel One. We have fighters on their way to you, how long before you estimate contact being made?'

'Sentinel One, seconds.'

Illya in the lead MiG held on to the firing switch. There were no communications with his comrade. The 'Target Acquired and Held' light glowed bright in front of him. At this speed he could not delay for long, the speed difference was alarming, he and his wingman were approaching the Gannet from a slight angle to the side. They were still moving at Mach 1.5; the dot of a few seconds ago now took on the shape of a prop-driven aircraft with straight wings and a big radar dome underneath. Illya flicked the 'Launch Switch' to 'Fire'. Nothing happened, well, not exactly nothing. The clamps holding the missile in place on its rail had let go.

'Failure to launch,' called Illya, 'We must be going too fast.'

Then the hapless Fairy Gannet flashed past beneath them.

Illya and his wingman executed a climbing turn to both lose speed and to return to a firing position. Just as the MiG-21s rounded out about 2,000 feet above the Gannet and half a mile beyond him, the Russians began to lose speed. The speed of the jet fighters soon dropped to 500 mph, as the Royal Navy radar spotter swung into view the missile that didn't want to launch then decided it was now slow enough to allow it to accelerate down its launch rail. With a large bright white flash the AA-3 Anab guided missile slid down the rail and accelerated to Mach 2. The Gannet was outside the missile's narrow acquisition cone, so the long trail of pale grey smoke that marked the missile's path arched over the grey Gannet, some 1,000 feet above it's cockpit canopy. As the now errant infra-red guided missile continued its search for heat two more aircraft came into 'view', as it were. They were not in its 'Target Acquisition Cone', but it was certainly headed for them. The two supersonic fighters operated by the Swedish air Force were headed for the area with two MiG-21s headed for them. The MiGs looked angry; they had just launched a missile at the neutral Swedes, that may have influenced their decision to enter the fray. The MiGs continued their turn to starboard with a view to intercepting their original prey from behind and to the right. The sleek Drakens peeled over to their right. The Gannet could just be seen on their radar screens travelling very slowly from right to left. The MiGs were no longer facing the Drakens, they were concentrating on their original task, to get the Gannet.

Alan Dobson, from deep inside the Gannet called to his pilot,

'Two more contacts coming from the south-east.'

Then came a welcome radio call from Keith Hartleypool,

'Taurus One to Sentinel One. We are approaching you from the south east. Where is your threat?'

Dobson replied,

'Do you have our position accurately?'

'Yes, but there seem to be four other contacts. Which are the hostiles?'

'Hostiles turning to make another attacking run.' Alan Dobson seemed almost detatched and uninvolved.

Two very pointed and clean highly swept delta winged supersonic fighters were now homing in on the MiGs as they manoeuvred into a firing position. As they did so they presented their flank to the Swedes. The Drakens were still turning to their right, then they banked to their left and came in at the Russians from their port quarter. The lead Draken was being flown by Captain Helmut Danielsen. At half a mile range Helmut got a good tone in his headphones as the missile heat seeker got a good lock on the hot engine of the lead MiG. One of the four Sidewinder missiles carried by the two Drakens was then released. A white smoke trail snaked it's way towards the silver jet. Helmut's wing man, Mikka was also taking aim. He then fired a Sidewinder at the second MiG. The two missiles hunted their way across half a mile in eight seconds. The both hit their prey at the same time, and in the same place, four feet forward of the single jet exhaust. As the missile's warheads exploded the two MiGs split in two at the transport joint, where the trailing edge of the wing meets the fuselage. Fuel lines immediately ruptured, high powered pumps kept the fuel flowing through pipes nearly 1 inch in diameter, directly on to the hot engine as the aircraft began to break up. The resultant explosions completely destroyed both silver fighters simultaneously.

In the Royal Navy Gannet the radar operator had been following the brief fight on his radar screens. Now he could also see two more blips coming from their right, the direction of the carrier Hermes.

'Looks like we have more company, skip.' Leading Seaman Alan Dobson called to the Gannet's pilot on the intercom, 'Two contacts from 180 of our position. Must be our escort.'

'Roger that, Alan.' Lieutenant Tom Finn replied from the cockpit. He then radioed the Navy fighters,

'Sentinel One to Leadley Flight,' he then called the Sea Vixens who were about to arrive on the scene,

'Be notified that we have two friendly Drakens in our vicinity, there is no threat, I repeat there is no threat. Over.' This tells the recipient, Leadley Flight, that a reply is expected.

'Leadley One to Sentinel One. Received and understood. We will hang around just in case this turns nasty again. Over.'

'Thanks, Leadley One. Over and Out.'

The five aircraft then joined up to make a strange and impromptu formation. The Gannet with its contra-rotating propellers and straight wings contrasted with the very sleek delta winged silver Drakens on either side, these were flanked by the twin tailed Sea Vixens, then two powerful dark green Lightnings joined as Keith and Les entered the area. The whole seven ship assortment flew along in a 'V' formation for some five minutes whilst Alan Dodson searched for more radar contacts. The four Saab Drakens to the south of Sweden had returned to Sweden. The formation was maintained during this time for their own amusement too, no-one else saw it, then the Drakens had to return home for fuel, and the Lightnings had to find their tanker before they continued with their work, so they left the Sea Vixens guarding the Gannet. The time was now 0810.

  * oOo -

Chapter Eight

0800 Denmark.

'I am waiting for him to clear Denmark.' Ben called across to Steele in the small cockpit of the Lightning T5. There had been no reply from their earlier radio call to Lee Felton - but they hadn't expected one.

The aircraft was flying on a 25% throttle setting with the nose high in the air to keep as slow as possible. They were half a mile behind and 1,000 feet above Lee Felton and the C-133 Cargomaster.

The Kommisar saw this on reports from a radar equipped spy ship in The Skagarrak.

'Kommisar to Burgermeister, you have a fighter behind you and 1,000 feet above. Can you see any cloud in your vicinity?.'

'Yes, there is a bank over a big island to my left, but I don't see how this is going to help me, they have radar.'

'Trust me, I think they will not wish a blind engagement in Danish airspace. We have a squadron of fighters on their way to meet you, all you have to do is hang on for five minutes. Over.'

'OK, changing course now to 040. Over.'

'Can you return to your original course as soon as you get into cloud?'

'Yes, will comply.'

This had a surprising effect on the Lightning crew. As they entered the cloud at the same time as Felton, they became disoriented. Lightnings do not like to fly slowly, being so close to the edge of the flight envelope Ben had to concentrate more than usual on flying the fighter.

'It's no good,' Ben called to Steele, 'I'll have to find a way out of this cloud.'

With that he opened the throttles and climbed whilst turning left. As they came out of cloud at 6,000 feet he returned to the original course of 040, then noticed that Felton was drifting away from them because he had now returned to an easterly heading, so turned a little so as to follow a parallel course.

'Taurus One to Taurus Three.' Keith called on the radio.

'Taurus Three answering. Over.' Steele replied.

'Taurus Three, we have you one mile distant, will formate on you.'

'Taurus Three to One, we have our chap, he has just entered a bank of cloud, we couldn't keep down with him, so came up here.'

'Taurus One to Three, I see him, ground clutter does make it difficult to take a blind shot, and we are getting close to Soviet airspace.'

These four men knew they had to pursue their quarry, even if it meant violating Soviet territory in the air. They didn't know about the 'Anemometer', or the two MiG-21s or MiG-19s.

Three minutes later the three Lightnings were together again. Between them they had six Firestreak infra red homing missiles. The two single seaters also had four 30mm cannons each.

At 0805 Felton was about to cross the border to Soviet airspace, with nine MiG-19 Farmers 4 minutes away. They were armed with 2 infra red guided missiles each, plus three cannons, but no radar, they will be relying on ground controlled interception (GCI).

'Taurus Three to Taurus One. As soon a he breaks cloud I will fly in front of him in an effort to shepherd him away from Soviet airspace, at the same time giving Steele here chance to get some decent shots with his camera.' Ben told Keith.

'Roger that, Taurus Three. We will give you top cover. I have an idea there is something lurking over there.' Keith was keeping a close watch on his radar. The MiG-19s had not shown up yet, but they soon will.

0806.

'There he goes.' Keith and Steele called almost together as the C-133 broke cloud cover five and a half thousand feet below them and to their right.

'Down you go, Three, good luck.'

'Three here, thanks.'

Ben banked the two seat Lightning on to it's side and opened the throttles to Max Dry (maximum throttle without reheat). Keith and Les saw the pale grey underside with aluminium belly tank flash by as Ben streaked down towards the big transport.

Felton was sweating profusely as he hauled the C-133 round in a turn to his right to make a run for Soviet territory. Something caught his eye out to the left in his peripheral vision. There should be no sharp objects out there, only clouds and blue sky. The sharp dark outline of a Lightning fighter on it's right wing tip caught his eye, he turned his head to the left and watched it, mesmerised as it slid silently from one cockpit window to the next, then the next. He could clearly see the RAF blue and red roundels on the wings, so there was no doubt that it was not of Russian origin.

Suddenly Steele cried,

'Bandits, I have control.'

Ben immediately let go of all the controls. He knew that Steele was an expert in low flying, and that was what was required. Ben called up the other Lightnings,

'Taurus Three to Taurus formation, bandits,' he consulted his radar display, 'bearing one two zero, angels one zero.'

'Taurus One, I have them, but am losing you in ground clutter.'

'That's the idea. I have a Canberra pilot on board who is used to looking up at trees.'

'Trees?' Steele looked across at Ben, 'I look up at birds – even if they are walking.'

They were at about 750 feet above the water, with the aircraft standing on its right wing tip when Steele took control. He quickly flipped the aircraft upside down and dived for the sea. With a narrow strip of the Fehmarn Belt flashing past the top of their canopy Steele and Ben were hanging on their straps when Steele decided that they were low enough. That should be high enough, because Steele was calculating if there was enough air underneath them to allow a quick half flick roll to get the right side up again. He could see a beach in front of his windscreen, so he decided to turn right side up before making landfall. The Russian radar controllers had lost sight of him, and presumed that you don't just drop off a radar screen that quickly without something drastic happening. The fighter was close to the transport aircraft when it dropped off the radar screen; maybe they had touched. The controller had no communications with Felton on the C-133, his fighters, the MiG-19s, were too far away, all he could do was watch and wait.

He didn't have long to wait, the other two fighters now split up in order to divide the oncoming fighter force. Keith went to the north, Les went to the south.

Steele and Ben were now over East Germany with their belly tank less than 20 feet off the ground, travelling at Mach 1.3. This equates to about 850 mph at that altitude. Steele had been trained to fly like this, and not much slower, in a big Canberra bomber in a training ground in Libya. But in Libya there were no towns, they were now quite close to Rostock, so Steele had been forced to climb to 100 feet. He reduced their speed to just below the speed of sound until his radar showed him that the enemy fighter force had passed. These had by now split up into three groups of three. One group was heading for Keith, one for Les, and one for the C-133.

Keith looked at his radar display, and what he saw gave him a shock.

He had six aircraft coming from East Germany, four from the direction of Sweden, and a positive swarm coming from the north. As long as he could avoid getting into a dogfight the ones from the north would not catch him (if they were hostile), but he dare not turn his back on the four up near Sweden. He had a job to do, so he went for the C-133. He was immediately set upon by six MiG-19s. He turned hard left, then hard right to throw them off their aim. As he did so, one flashed across his nose and he let go with two of his cannons. Two shells hit the MiG, which started to smoke. Three of the Russian fighters dived down to escort the C-133. Keith turned the Lightning on to it's side and pulled a rate 3 turn that pushed him down hard into his seat. By looking through the top of his canopy he could see that a MiG was moving into view. He could see the back of the aircraft clearly as he armed one of his Firestreak infra red homing missiles. When he got a good tone from this he fired. The missile went right up the jet pipe of the Russian fighter, which then exploded as Keith continued his turn to avoid the debris.

The MiG that Keith had hit with his cannon was still airborne, but smoking heavily, he then left the arena with his wing-man escorting him.

Ben was handling the missile systems in the two-seat Lightning. Steele had positioned them right behind and below the formation of three that were about to attack Les. The Russian radar controller in East Germany was just warning these three when Ben fired his first missile. Another MiG-19 exploded. This was the one on the left of the 'V' formation. His opposite number saw the explosion and felt the blast wave. This knocked him off course. Just then Les came within cannon firing range of the formation. The RAF pilot let rip with all four 20mm cannons at the lead aircraft. Three shells went down the air intake; one took the pilot's foot clean off, the other two exploded on the face of the engines. The other MiG didn't bother looking to see what had happened.

'Taurus Three here. What is happening to our north?' Ben was watching his radar display. On the extreme edge of its range he could see a group of four aircraft intercepting a much larger force.

Keith looked into his radar scope.

'Taurus One. Looks like some kind of diversionary activity. Let us return to the task at hand.'

All three Lightnings were quite close to each other now, so Keith took time to assess what was left. There was no talk of this over the radio, lest the enemy gain a tactical advantage.

He could see the two-seater had only one missile left, and no guns.

Les had both missiles, but his guns had been fired.

He knew he had fired two of his four guns and one missile.

Lee Felton in the C-133 was by now just south of Bornholm Island, and about to reach the Baltic Sea. He now had three MiG-19s flying escort for him, they were told of the three Lightnings bearing down on them; to counter this the outer two lit up their afterburners and climbed to meet the Lightnings, one from each side.

Keith and Les turned to face the enemy head-on. Their missiles cannot be used head-on, there is not enough heat coming from the enemy aircraft to allow the missile to lock on to it, and it made them a smaller target for a shorter length of time. When they passed each other all the fighters turned with all their might in the classic dog-fight.

'Taurus Three, escort number three heading north in a hurry.' Steele called on the radio as the MiG-19 remaining with the transport turned north and engaged his afterburners. Just then Felton turned the transport south and headed for land.

Before either Keith or Les knew what was happening the other two MiG-19s also shot off in a northerly direction. They gave chase, the Lightning soon accelerating to Mach 1.9. The range closed rapidly, they only had three missiles between them, and the range was too much for guns.

'OK, Les, let em have it,' Keith said 'on three. One. Two. Three.'

All three Firestreak missiles fired at once. Three white trails sped towards the running MiGs. The first missile to hit went into the jet pipe of the MiG that had been the last escort. The second missile hit the wing of a MiG, blowing it off. The aircraft fell like an autumn leaf. The pilot was ejected automatically. The third missile missed and crashed into the sea, but the aircraft it was aimed at decided enough was enough and he stood his fighter on it's right wing tip and dived for speed.

Then the Lightning pilots found what the MiGs were rushing towards. With a closing speed over 2,000 mph a swarm of Convair F-102 Delta Darts approached the Lightnings, then shot right past them, headed for the C-133 Gargomaster transport and Lee Felton.

Ivan Smirnov, not a man to give up so easily, flew one lone MiG 19. He had by now executed an almost complete circle about eight miles wide. With full afterburners on, the MiG 19 was pulling serious G-forces on Ivan, but now he was almost facing the same way as before, nearly a full circle, this was approaching a 350 degree turn, and it put him right behind the Lightnings and 10 degrees off to one side. Because Ivan had the sense to dive to pick up speed he was now keeping pace with the British fighters. At 820 miles per hour he knew that he was way beyond the design maximum speed for the aircraft, he also knew that the missiles would probably not launch at these speeds. But he had the option of using his guns; it had been shown that they still worked at speeds beyond missile launch capability. This was not going to be easy. He knew the Lightnings had no rear radar warning, and only limited rear visibility. But at these speeds his aircraft was shaking quite violently. Ivan switched the gunsight on. The three Lightnings were now less than two miles in front of him, he still had his right wing down a little from the horizontal as he slipped in to the rear of the formation. His ground-based controller was calling him up on the radio, but Ivan was in the zone. He could now see along the right wing of Ben Henderson and Steve Steele's two seat Lightning. Ivan knew that wing was swept back at 60 degrees - half a mile now. The Russian eased the stick forwards a little to gain some speed. The Brits did not seem to know he was there. As he dropped below the height the Lightnings were flying at, Ivan brought the gunsight to bear. The outer of the four ranging rings was now on the tail of the Lightning. 'Not much deflection from this angle.' Thought Ivan as he tried to steady the MiG 19. At Mach 1.4 indicated the target did not seem to be getting any closer, so he pressed the trigger to fire the three 37mm cannon. Miraculously all three fired at once. But the one in the port wing root stopped firing after only three rounds, the other two kept firing, but the vibrations were so great that Ivan could not see at all. Even his instrument panel in front of him was just a blur.

The first Ben and Steele knew was a massive bang from somewhere behind them. The number two engine (the lower one) had taken a direct hit and began throwing itself out of the back of the aircraft in a constant shower of burning metal. Another cannon shell had hit the port wing near the undercarriage bay.

'Shit, we're hit' Ben didn't mean to be poetic. 'Number two has lost all power. Hydraulic pressure dropping.'

'Turn hard right and aim for land.' Keith called, 'we will cover you.' With that he turned his Lightning on to its tail, the looked through the top of his canopy to see a little silver MiG 19 about quarter of a mile behind the smoking two seat Lightning.

'I see your problem. Single MiG. I will see him off.'

Ben put in right rudder and banked gently so as not to stress the airframe too much.

Les, in the other Lightning, assessed the damage.

'You have a hole in your port wing, and another in the lower fuselage, just in front of the elevator.'

'We lost quite a lot of fuel before I shut off the number two engine.'

'You can't land with the damage to the port wing.' Les was having a closer look at the underside of the empenage. 'The shell went in to the undercarriage bay. That wheel will not work. You are going to have to eject.'

'Ok. When we get over land I will point the jet out to sea and leave it.'

Meanwhile Keith was pulling 4Gs as he performed a looping manoeuvre to catch Ivan. But the MiG pilot was not having any of it. He saw the Lightning begin to climb vertically, then began to arch inverted. It was then that the Russian pushed his stick into the bottom left corner of the cockpit, diving way to the left. Speed built up to Mach 1.9 and the controls became very unresponsive. Keith put in a little right rudder whilst inverted, at the same time he switched all four cannons to 'live'. Both men were watching each other through the roofs of their canopies, but now Ivan was having to squirm more as Keith began to drop in behind him. Ivan then reversed his turn to the right. A microsecond later Keith followed suit, but at these speeds that meant that his position was lost, and the Russian began to move away to the right. In this situation it was very difficult for Ivan to see exactly where Keith was; he knew the RAF pilot was nearly within gun range, and there was a great risk that he might be able to get a quick shot off. So the Russian again reversed his turn back to the left. This brought him directly in front of Keith. The Lightning F2 had two cannons mounted in front of the windscreen, and two below the nose. All four cannon ports spat flame as Keith opened up at extreme range. A half second burst sent less than a dozen shells out towards the Russian; but that was enough. Two explosions hit the MiG in the right wing, one either side of the red star, and one in the rear fuselage. The unfortunate Ivan was automatically ejected before he knew what was happening. The MiGs had automatic ejecting systems; as soon as the system detected a dangerous situation the pilot is ejected from the aircraft. If he had had any choice he would not have ejected where he was. As the canopy flew off, his seat rocket pack began to ignite. There was a Lightning fighter gaining on his position, and the trajectory of the ejection seat was right in front of the speeding jet. Keith saw what was likely to happen when the MiG's canopy flew off, so took evading action by rolling to the right. The last the RAF pilot saw of Ivan was what looked like a wave as his unrestrained right arm flailed about in the rocket smoke.

Ben Henderson was fighting to keep the two seat Lightning straight and level as they headed north towards Sweden. The hole in the port wing was causing severe turbulence. There was smoke pouring out of the fuselage hole; engulfing the rear of the aircraft. Les Carter was keeping a very close eye on the situation, any sign of fire, and the crew would have to eject over the Baltic.

Ben looked out to their left. They were now flying at 9,000 ft, and he could just make out the shape of Bornholm Island.

'We must have drifted to the east.' He said to Steele as he put in a little left rudder.

Les kept close station, all he was looking at was the rear of the two seat fighter.

Three minutes later Steele saw the land mass of Sweden appear on the horizon.

'Ben, you have flames coming from the centre fuselage, get out now.' Called Les Carter.

'Roger. Thank you. Out.' Ben wondered if Steele would be able to get out ok. Ben looked to his left to see an empty cockpit where Steele once was.

Steele had pulled the face blind down to initiate the eject sequence. His seat rockets fired as advertised, and the seat slid up the rails and clear of the aircraft. The Lightning is not known for its legroom. The normal seated position is with knees just below the instrument panel. If you don't push your bottom into the back of the seat when ejecting, you will suffer for it. Ben Henderson forgot this essential procedure. In order to prevent spinal damage it is imperative that the coccyx is pressed into the back of the seat. There was also was a small gap beneath his legs just above the knees. When the seat went off it came up so fast that it smashed both of Ben's femur bones. Then the instrument panel took quarter of an inch off his kneecaps, then went down and skimmed the same off the front of his shins. Leg restraints pulled his feet back to save them, but Ben was not conscious when he hit the airstream. Seat separation and parachute deployment are automatic in the Lightning's Martin Baker ejection seats, so Ben would have survived the decent to the cold salty Baltic. Would have, but for the compression strain put on his lower spine and the impact of his legs being broken and smashed by the explosive ignition of the rocket powered ejection seat. The shock of the spinal compression and severe bone damage meant that Ben Henderson died before fully leaving the stricken aircraft.

Steve Steele hung from his parachute. He had no idea of Ben's predicament. The yellow survival pack box dangled below him, this had been stowed underneath the seat, and had dropped into position as Steele separated from it. This hit the sea first. Steele pulled it towards him as his Mae West automatically inflated. He then pulled the lead to inflate the one-man life raft, which almost exploded into life. Les Carter watched this and reported back,

'Taurus Two to Taurus One. Taurus Three is down. We have two in the water. One is waving like a loon, the other looks in a bad way, he has not moved yet.'

'Taurus One, ok, I will see if we can get him out of there. Stand by with co-ordinates.'

'Roger, but I will have to get some fuel soon.'

'The tanker is on its way. If necessary we can land at Aalborg.'

The relevant information was relayed back to Hermes. The captain then consulted with Viper Operations in London.

He spoke to Rear-Admiral Gold, 'We are too far away to fish them out. You will have to find another element closer to the survivors.'

'Yes, I agree.' The Admiral confirmed, We shall find a ship or something. Now let's get this straight. So far we have one spy ship sunk and six Russian aircraft shot down, plus one of ours. Casualties are probably into double figures, but the main target, the C-133, is still plodding along it's merry little way?'

'That is correct as I see it, sir'

'Right. I will now contact the rescue services to see about getting these men out of the drink. Whilst they are about it they may be able to rescue the whole bloody mission.'

It was found that the Dutch had a Grumman Albatross amphibious flying boat being operated by some strange French unit flying out of Simnshamn in southern Sweden. When this unit was alerted they immediately set off in search of the downed RAF pilots. Les Carter was able to guide them to the spot just south of Trelieborg. They alighted on the sea alongside Steele, and then they went looking for Ben, whose emergency signal beacon had automatically become activated by contact with seawater.

They had some difficulty finding him at first; he was only a head bobbing about with his Mae West life preserver keeping him afloat.

Steele was first to spot the white flashing light on Ben's shoulder. All the safety equipment had worked perfectly, but too late.

'Look at see water.' Exclaimed one of the Frenchmen on board. The sea around Ben was reddish with pink tops. This is always a bad sign. As they dragged him into the flying boat's hull it was obvious from the amount of blood and the way his legs bent in an awkward and unsettling way that something serious was amiss.

'We must take the body to the medical authorities in Copenhagen, and you also need to be looked over.' The French captain flying the aircraft said to Steele.

So they took off and turned right to head to Copenhagen.

  * oOo -

In the American formation two Delta Darts peeled off and positioned themselves behind the big transport plane still being flown by Lee Felton at 500 feet above the Baltic. From quarter of a mile away each fighter launched two missiles. Four thin white smoke trails streaked towards the four-engined aircraft as the Delta Darts climbed out of the way.

One missile missed. One hit the port outer engine.

Another missile hit the wing between the starboard engines and the other missile hit the resulting fireball.

As the port outer engine began to disintegrate the starboard wing folded up. Felton felt a bang as the engine exploded, then a massive shadow came across the cockpit window as the right wing rose up. At the same time the horizon tilted crazily to the left, then the starboard wing sliced the tail off the fuselage. The whole mess then crashed into white foam as the hapless Felton tried to regain control. The time was 0812.

  * oOo -

Chapter Nine

0835 British Embassy, Copenhagen

'It isn't easy,' Sir John Rimmer swivelled his chair round to face Steve Steele, 'I am going against The War Office by telling you this.' He pulled on his pipe again, but no smoke came out, so he lit one of his lighters and relit the tobacco. Sir John smoked Pure Latekia, and he knew the smell was not to everyone's liking. 'You may smoke if you wish.' He waved the stem at Steele as a sort of invitation.

'No thanks, Sir. They wouldn't let me smoke with the aqualung on, so I didn't bother starting.'

Steel had been able to change out of his wet flying suit into some dry clothes, but did not get chance to have a medical - he had been whisked away to the British Embassy for this high level meeting.

'Jolly good. Good man.' More smoke than ever spewed from the pipe, Steele was glad this was a big, draughty office.

'The Americans seem to have misplaced one of their aircraft.'

This was not news to Steele, he was in on the mission.

'Yes, sir. But did they lose it, or throw it away?'

'Good point. Well, they actually shot the damnned thing down themselves. Bit of a cock-up there, I'm afraid.'

'Really, sir. I can't see that being too much of a problem, they have so many aircraft they are always losing one or two here and there. Did anyone get out?'

'No, but that's not the problem. You see they didn't lose this one like they tend to lose them.' Another drag on the pipe to prevent extinction of the fire. 'This one they shot down themselves.'

Steele's neck jerked stiffly as he turned full gaze at Sir John, his eyebrows raised, the dark brown eyes wide and serious now. After leaving the area he and Ben had to get fuel in a hurry, so didn't know the final result.

'That's good,' he said in sarcasm, 'Were there any casualties on the ground?'

'No. thank goodness it was over water.' Sir John got up and looked out of the window. 'Unfortunately it was in Soviet airspace.'

'Oh, I see. That would be difficult to explain away.'

'This is where it gets sticky.'

'You mean there's more?'

Steele knew about the MiGs shot down, but nothing else.

Sir John turned, placed his pipe on the ashtray and leaned forwards with his knuckles on the desk.

'Oh, yes. There is quite a lot more. The War Office have called in 'Viper', they don't know where to turn next.' The pipe was retrieved, poked at, then relit.

'You see, the aircraft was not just a training type that got lost. It was a transport, and a bloody big one at that.' More pipe waving, pointing the stem at Steele,

'Ever heard of the C-133 Cargomaster's mission, Steele?'

'No, sir. Apart from flying about like any other aeroplane, only further and with more coffee machines aboard.'

'Well, these 'coffee machines' as you so flippantly call them are going to give you a lot of trouble I'm afraid.'

'Oh really, sir. Don't tell me they want them back.'

'Yes they do. You see, the main reason for this large aircraft is to transport complete Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles to bases around the world.' Sir John sat down again, and faced Steele as he pressed a button on his desk,

'and this one had a full missile on board, complete with warhead.'

A man opened the office door and stood in the doorway, holding the door.

'Sir John?' he said in very formal tones, Steele thought he may have been a butler.

'Would you ask the gentleman to come in please?'

'Certainly sir.' With that the 'butler' left the room, and closed the door behind him without a sound. Five seconds later he returned with a smart dressed young man behind him. The 'butler' left the room and closed the door silently.

'Come in, have a seat.' Sir John placed his pipe down again as the man took a seat by Steele.

Turning to Steele Sir John said, 'May I introduce you to James.' He took a half turn to his left and swept his hand towards the man in the Armani suit,

'James, this is Commander Steele of the Navy Section.'

Hands were shaken and pleasantries taken care of, then Sir John asked James,

'If you would like to give us your report please.'

'We have been following the activities of a Russian officer known as 'The Kommisar' for some time now. We have good reason to believe that he may well be a renegade following his own agenda.' James reached into his pocket.

'Do you mind, sir?' he asked Sir John as he proffered a strange looking pack of cigarettes.

'Not at all. Do carry on.' The pipe was interrogated again.

James offered the pack to Steele, who just shook his head. Whilst James took a cigarette from the pack, he asked him,

'Do we know who this Russian gentleman is?'

James looked at Sir John, who nodded, then at Steele.

'The man's name is Georgy Natarova, also know as The Kommisar, we have no idea how far this man's influence spreads, but it seems he has some very powerful resources.'

He took a long drag on the black cigarette with the gold tip.

'Just after the C-133 was stolen we sent three Lightning fighters to intercept it from RAF Germany, then turned the Hermes to give support. This they did by sending a Gannet flying radar platform. This was intercepted by two MiG-21s – we still don't know where they came from, but we know where they went, into the North Sea courtesy of the Swedish Air Force.' He tapped the ash from his cigarette before continuing,

'Then the Russian radar surveillance vessel the 'Annometer' tried to stop the Hermes. That didn't work either. The Royal Navy fished out as many of the crew as they could, their ship went to join the MiGs.'

Steele looked astonished. Sir John noticed this and said,

'You can see why The War Office is worried.'

'They aren't the only ones.' Steele replied.

We have established that the Kommisar has some ugly people in support.' James took some photographs from his jacket pocket.

'Dmitri Lischenko, originally known as R2 to us; a nasty piece of work. Thrown out of the Spesnatz for cruelty, he is the muscle behind the organisation. Comrade Doctor Maximova, R17, he supplies the labs and scientific support. Igor Ivanova, R10, is the engineer and logistics department. Vadim Magnivod, R13, came out of retirement to organise the armed forces in this operation. We think he has assembled a large unit of what we might call marines. Some of these are ex-Spesnatz, submariners, paras, and all tough nuts. Sergia Tarasova, R22, and Alexandr Avietsova, R9, are very much in the background, we don't know much about them, but Sergia here had been seen in the Volga estuary area of the Caspian Sea and Riga on the Baltic with Igor Ivanova. It looks like they are cooking something big up there, but we have not been able to find out what.'

James took the pictures back and returned them to his own pocket.

'This man's authority doesn't end there.' he continued, 'a squadron of MiG-19s was sent out to escort the C-133 into Soviet airspace. The Lightnings took them on, and the USAF shot the transport down into the Baltic.

We know where it is, I have been down to have a look. The fuselage is broken into four parts, the biggest section contains the missile. It lies on it's roof, and it looks as if the restraints used to prevent the cargo moving about have done serious damage to the main body of the ballistic missile, but the warhead seems intact. That is what they want back.'

'Well, sir.' Steele responded, ' I think I will need some help with this one. Like someone who knows how to detach the warhead.' He glanced across at James with an inquisitive look.

'Don't look at me. I will be chasing this character down wherever he is to try to work out how far his influence goes into the Soviet Union. There are some hard-liners resisting the changes that are coming their way, but our diplomatic people believe that they are dinosaurs who can be sidelined. But if this Komissar gets his hands on nuclear fissile material, that will not happen.'

'What James is trying to say, is that it is more important that we prevent the Soviets from acquiring this missile than returning it to it's rightful owners.'

James then withdrew a drawing from his inside pocket.

'This is what I found.' He unfolded the paper to show a rough sketch of the centre fuselage of the wrecked C-133 upside down

'There appears to be only one restraining strap connecting the warhead to the floor of the aircraft, so the fastenings that hold it on to the main body are all that are stopping it falling down to the inverted roof.'

'How much does this thing weigh? Do we know?' asked Steele.

'According to our American friends it weighs about 3,000 pounds as it sits. But we have little idea how much it weighs in the water; it's displacement, so to speak.' Sir John tried to reassure Steele, who was still looking worried.

'You won't be on your own on this, you know. The Americans are sending two of their Navy's Sea, Air, Land Team personnel, they call them Seals, who have experience in handling these things.'

James folded the drawing up and offered it to Steele, 'You may like to keep this. You will not be on your own on this. We are also arranging for a small team to meet you at a place called Ystad in Sweden. And there they are sending a submersible and support vessels.'

'This is beginning to sound workable.'

'I will be watching your back for threats.'

'Threats, what threats?'

'Well, we know this Komissar is well connected and influential. He is also desperate to get hold of what he almost got delivered in one piece. The missile body is almost certainly of no use or value, but the warhead has plutonium in it, and there are various nuclear switches, triggers and safeguards that the Russians have not yet perfected. Without these very advanced electronic devices it is not possible to develop and deploy nuclear warheads of any kind. There will be an offensive / defensive element with you for close in protection in case of trouble. They are all experienced divers, too.'

'What about the nuclear material itself?' asked Steele, 'is it safe to be near?'

Sir John put down his pipe and said in a reassuring voice,

'Oh, yes. It is quite safe to be near. Our scientific people assure me that the exposure risk is extremely low, there will only be enough Plutonium to hold in your hand. The warhead is about six to eight feet across. Most of this is shielding and safety triggers.'

Sir John looked at his watch, so did James.

'Right, gentlemen, if that is all? Are there any more questions Commander Steele?'

'My original orders were to proceed to the Hermes. I presume this changes all that?'

'From Copenhagen you will be taken to Imager Vest where a Royal Navy Dragonfly will deliver you to a small field alongside the E65 in Sweden. Then you will be taken by chauffeur driven Bentley to Ystad. We know it's a Bentley, because it belongs to the Ambassador.'

'That seems to clear everything for me, Sir John.'

Sir John nodded his satisfaction. He turned to James and they shook hands.

'Thank you Mr Bond.' Sir John immediately realised his faux pas. He looked aghast at the agent.

'I don't think we need worry about that Sir John.' Responded the MI6 man in understanding tones.

  * oOo -

Chapter Ten

09.30. Over the Kategatt.

'High and dry,' Steele shouted over the noise of the Dragonfly helicopter as they left Copenhagen behind and began gaining height over the 20 mile stretch of water known as the Oresund. 'I hear they plan to build a bridge across this.'

'That would be one hell of an engineering project.' Lennox Bird replied,

'I just wonder how the hell they would make it high enough to get the shipping through; ships are getting bigger all the time.'

She was wearing the uniform of a First Lieutenant in the Royal Engineers. The number twos, not the posh uniform used on parades. The khaki uniform was filled completely, but she was not fat; First Lieutenant Lennox Bird was more muscular than you would expect for a woman.

'How much have they told you about this mission?'

'Not a lot,' she replied, 'Underwater salvage of part of an aircraft or something.'

Steele began checking the equipment that had been sent.

'That is not exactly correct; it isn't even close. Yes, we are going on an underwater salvage mission, and yes it is part of an aircraft.' Another box opened, he rummaged inside before continuing, and 'they missed out the most interesting bits.'

She looked surprised. The noise of the massive petrol engine and gearbox drive of the helicopter made listening difficult. She turned one rounded cheek toward him to better hear the interesting bit.

'Have you got any civvies with you?' he asked.

'Yes, here in my overnight.'

'Well, I suggest you put something on to cover the uniform up. We may be arriving in country in a military helicopter, but we do not want to attract too much attention as we get nearer the dockyard.'

'Ok. Will do.' With that she began looking through her kit bag.

'I don't know why I packed this. Probably because it was about all I could fit in the bag. She held up a small mini-skirt.

'It will have to do.' He said, 'Do you have anything to cover the top part of your uniform.

She withdrew a neatly folded plastic Mac,

'This should fit the bill.'

'I will just have a word with the pilot.' He moved forward, from the front windows he could see the land mass on which Malmo sat, and beyond it the dockyards at the town of Ystad.

Bird removed her khaki trousers and uniform jacket. She looked at the brownish green army uniform shirt she wore, then the Mac, which was Kingfisher blue.

'That ain't gonna match.' She shivered in the draughty helicopter as she removed her shirt and folded it into the bag. A red blouse was held against the Mac.

'Definitely not.'

'How are you getting on back there?' Steele called.

'Just a minute.' The blouse went back into the bag. A white polo neck came out.

The diminutive Lieutenant hurriedly put the miniskirt on, then slipped the thin sweater over her head. She folded the Mac over her arm as she called to Steele, 'Right, now you can tell me what we are doing here.'

He returned to see Lennox Bird standing in the small helicopter hold with her Mac over her arm as if she was waiting for a bus. The aircraft swayed a little and she reached for something to steady herself. The gentle movement of the machine meant that a lady-like stance was not possible. Steele could see that her legs were not slender, curvier, as was her general appearance. He couldn't tell if she had a waist with the sweater being fairly loose, apart from in the breast region.

'Right, let's get down to brass tacks.' He said as they retook their seats.

The rough canvas seats now felt uncomfortable to the back of Bird's legs, the skirt being too short to give any protection.

'Apparently the Americans have shot down one of their own transports as it flew into Soviet airspace.'

'Have they not got the hang of shooting down aircraft yet? The idea is to shoot down the bad guys.'

'This probably was a bad guy. He had stolen the aircraft from Mildenhall, and was attempting to fly it to somewhere in the good old Soviet Union.'

'I don't understand why the Yanks would want it salvaging. I presume it is somewhere near the Baltic?' then a thought occurred to her. A more serious look came across her round face. She looked at Steele sideways, 'It isn't another bloody B -52 is it?'

'No, it isn't a B-52 this time. It is a big transport called a C-133 Cargomaster.'

'And what exactly is so special about this transport? What was it carrying, Let it be Harold Wilson, please let it be Wilson – and his whole bloody cabinet. Yes, that would be nice.'

'I rather think that is optimism being the father of hope. Not exactly a head of state, we do have a head of sorts to salvage. This is the warhead that comes with an Atlas ICBM.'

'Interesting.'

'What makes it even more interesting is that it is fully operational.'

'Does that mean that we have to salvage a fully active nuclear warhead?'

'Not exactly fully active. There are safeguards and shielding involved.'

'Oh, well that makes it ok then. Any more surprises?'

Steele looked out of the helicopter window and saw that Malmo was coming into view. 'Yes. The warhead is still attached to the missile.'

'Oh, that is just bloody peachy. And what are we supposed to do with that? Do you have a hacksaw in your kit? Cause I haven't.'

'Just wind your neck in a little will you? There are two US Navy Seals who have experience in this field. Plus a submersible and support.'

'Well, put like that, how can we fail? You don't work for the army do you? We have to rely on training and initiative – these two elements tend to work against each other. And a mission like this has you wondering which one to use.'

'I know what you mean. Do as you are ordered and fight. And you may get chance to do that too. MI6 have arranged for an escort party to protect us.'

'PROTECT US. Why the hell should we need to be protected? I thought this was just a simple fishing job.'

'Not quite. You don't know the half of it yet. The aircraft went down in Soviet waters, and there are some powerful people who have ordered this whole shipment and its support elements. They know where it went down, and they know someone will be going to try to get it back.'

The Dragonfly began to lose height on the outskirts of Malmo. It landed in a field alongside to E65. In a secluded corner of the field was a gleaming Bentley. As Steele and Bird began unloading their kit from the helicopter the car drew over to them. It seemed an incongruent sight to Steele; one of the finest cars in the world travelling across a field meant for tractors.

After the kit was transferred from the dark grey helicopter to the gleaming Bentley, the chauffeur passed an envelope to Steve Steele. He opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper, on it was written the words:

  * oOo -

Proceed to café in Karl XIIs Gaten where you will be met by an operative who will then take you to meet the rest of your escort group. Be there by 10.15 local time.

The submersible support ship 'Breda' is in dock now. You will be operating from her.

Authority: SJR

Steele showed the address to the diver,

'Can you take us there?'

'Very good, sir. I can drop you off at the given time, then continue to the dockyard with your kit.'

Seven minutes later the Bentley silently drew into the small tree lined square. Steele and Bird thanked the driver.

The uniformed chauffeur replied, 'The sea front is just down there, sir. You can't miss it. Good luck.'

The café Gaten had a few tables and chairs outside. Steele indicated one in the shade of the massive trunk of an Elm.

They sat and ordered coffee. Behind them was the blank wall of an industrial works he couldn't pronounce the name of. In front was the café, so they could see anyone coming or going there. A man in a raincoat began walking by the works' wall. A bus pulling in at a nearby bus stop distracted Steele. Raincoat man sheltered his head against the wind as he lit a cigarette. Suddenly a taxi stopped at a crazy angle, not really close to the kerbside. Steele looked back to the bus; the passengers were dismounting at a usual leisurely pace. As raincoatman emerged from behind the shelter offered by the large collar, Steele saw that he had not been lighting a cigarette, he held a gun in his hand, and was pointing it in their direction.

'Down.' He called to Bird. At the same time he turned the little round table on to its edge whilst he drew a small colt automatic from under his jacket. He fired just before raincoat man dodged behind the tree and missed the target. The taxi door burst open and a man let rip with an AK47. He deliberately aimed high. The purpose of the burst was to alert the bus passengers and allow them to gain some cover.

Steele realised that the cover they had was not sufficient for two.

'Make a run for the bus, I'll cover you.' With this he fired two shots in the direction of the taxi, then two in the direction of the tree. One of these hit the bark of the tree that splintered and flew into raincoat man's knee. This caused him to fall out into the open. Steele knew he was in great danger of being caught in cross fire with an AK47 fully automatic assault rifle, and only a flimsy wooden table for cover. Bird got on to the bus just as it pulled behind a building. Steele fired at raincoat man; one in the torso, one in the head as he dashed for the cover of the tree. He knew he couldn't last for long here, the position didn't do raincoat man much good, but here he was, facing an AK47. As he lent his back against the tree he heard a voice calling to him,

'Monsieur, monsieur. See gun, see gun. Kick it over to me.'

One of the bus passengers was sheltering in a shop doorway across from Steele. The man pointed at raincoat man's gun, now lying on the ground.

'Monsieur, over here. See gun.'

Not knowing why, Steele kicked the firearm across to the doorway as he fired in the direction of the taxi, but it was too far away for the little Colt to have any effect - but not for a heavy assault rifle. A loud burst sent the little table scurrying across the square, splinters flying off it. Then Steele heard more firing. He looked across to the shop doorway where the other man was, just in time to see him running towards the AK47 and the taxi. A gun in each hand, he was firing wildly as he went to a doorway that was in range of the taxi. Just then the taxi gunman realised that there was someone else firing at him, so the AK47 sent a burst into the shops on that side of the square. Windows smashed, shells went into properties and smashed into stock. Steele saw his chance. He left the cover of the tree and dashed down to the side of the taxi. He could now see the man through the open driver's window. Where the driver was he didn't know, the machine gunner could be him, but that didn't delay Steele. He took careful aim as the man began turning. When his head was in straight profile Steele fired directly into his temple. He only had one shot, and that was all he needed. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, dead before his gun hit the ground.

From a shot-up shop doorway opposite emerged the man with two guns.

'Well done, monsieur.' He said as he replaced his own gun into a holster on his belt. He approached Steele with his hand held out

'Captain Steele, I presume. I am Jaques Brel of the French Foreign Legion, sent to meet you here. We thought they might try something, they have been following the Ambassador's car for days. But where is your compardre?'

'She went to get on the bus you arrived on. I saw it go behind those buildings, so she must be safe.'

'On the contrary, Captain. As I left the bus I had to lay one of them out, otherwise we would have been facing fire from three sides. He was still on the bus when it drove away.'

  * oOo -

Chapter Eleven

10.00 Moscow

'The more I see you, the more I am convinced that you can supply the support fleet we need.' The Komissar was sitting behind his large oak desk when the news came in. As he replaced the telephone he turned to Falco Reinhardt. 'At least we will not have to pay the greedy American. This is not unforeseen.' He was referring to the loss of the C-133 and the potential forfeit of their cargo.

'We are now in a situation that requires us to enter into plan 'B'.'

Falco was a large Scandinavian with a shock of very light blond hair, almost white. His beard was darker; he put this down to the cigars he was fond of.

'What do you require from me, Kommisar?' he said whilst withdrawing a cigar from it's box. He obtained these from a source on the island of Los Palmas in the Canaries. His many seafaring contacts meant that he obtained these hand rolled smokes at cost price tax-free.

'We shall be needing your friends with their equipment to help us retrieve our lost consignment.'

'What equipment do you refer to, Kommisar? And how did you lose it?' it would appear that Falco was not fully informed.

'We had a very important and expensive item lost in transit. It was being flown in over the Baltic when it was overtaken by a tragic accident. It went down in this area.' The Kommisar indicated an area on a pale blue chart with a dagger shaped letter opener. His pointer moved along the contour that marked water at a depth of 200 feet. 'It lies here in the wreckage of the aircraft that was carrying it.'

'So you have not lost it, you know where it is.'

'Quite so, comrade Falco.' He returned to the desk, sat down and took out one of his Black Russian cigarettes. He lit this with deliberate slowness. 'Let me tell you about the task.' Falco looked at the Kommisar as both men produced clouds of smoke. The Russian continued, 'It is a large cone-shaped electrical instrument. In air it weighs approximately three thousand pounds. The width of this thing is about eight feet, and it stands some twelve feet high.'

'It will still weigh 3,000 lbs., even in water. There is very little air trapped within electrical equipment to give it buoyancy.' Falco drew on his cigar thoughtfully. 'We will need at least three vessels, a dive support ship, a floating crane, and a small submersible support boat that carries the equipment needed to move such a large object.'

'We shall be providing an armed heavy support ship that will be carrying a submersible, also a very useful torpedo boat that can double as dive support. We only need the ability to be able to lift the cargo from the seabed. Do you have such equipment available?'

'It is what you paid for.'

'You were supposed to be held in reserve, but now we need you and your fleet. How soon can you be in this area?'

'It will take the floating crane fifteen hours from Karlskrona, but the other two are ready to sail within half an hours' notice.'

'Get your men into action as soon as possible,' he pushed the telephone across to the big Scandinavian, 'there are other people who have an interest in our payload.'

Falco took the receiver, and paused, 'Is that likely to be a problem?'

'Not as big a problem as the one you will have if you don't get this operation moving now.' The Kommisar looked threateningly at Falco as he jabbed the dagger into his desk.

Falco looked at the big heavy Russian phone in his hand, and considered smashing it over the Russian's head. But reason prevailed as he began dialling from memory.

'Preben Johansen please.' Short pause. 'Preben, this is Falco. I need you to weigh anchor and proceed to position 149 east, 546 north as quickly as possible. Can you get the others involved?'

'I have no contact with Lonis Postens Ulricksen with the crane, but my crew will be ready to leave by twenty-three hundred.'

'Right, you get along and I will contact the other crews.'

Falco began another call, 'Markus Moren? Falco Reinhart here. You and your crew must leave as soon as you can, as arranged. Preben is planning to leave at twenty-three hundred. You are heading for position 145 east, 547 north. Thank you, I will see you there.'

Falco looked at The Kommisar, 'Now for the crane. The other crews will have a lot of work to do before he arrives, but the crane is very slow, we will be lucky if she can make 5 knots.'

'5 knots? Where is it coming from?'

'Karlskrona, there is a large dockyard there, and this type of equipment is very hard to come by.'

'There must be 300 miles to cover. Can't you get a faster one?'

'No, Kommisar. That is fast for a crane. They are built for lifting loads that you would not believe in conditions that you would not think possible. They are not designed for speed at sea.'

Then into the phone,

'Ulricksen? That you?'

'Yes, I presume that is Falco Reinhart. We are just about ready.'

'Yes, this is Falco. The support vessels are leaving at twenty-three hundred. When can you leave port, Lonis?'

'I doubt we could get out before twelve, Falco.'

'The area you are aiming at is 149 east 546 north, if you left at twelve, what time can you get there?'

Falco covered the mouthpiece as he looked at the Kommisar, 'If he can't get there by three a.m. we shall employ another ocean-going tug, there is one in port which

will give us another one point five knots.'

Ulricksen came back on the line,

'Of course it all depends on the sea state, but with the conditions we have now, if we leave at twelve noon, and a fair wind. I think we should arrive at the given location by two o'clock tomorrow morning.'

'Don't let me delay you any longer, thank you, Ulricksen, and good luck.'

Falco replaced the receiver and looked the Kommisar straight in the eye.

'We are on.'

'What time do you expect the first to arrive at the dive site?' asked the Kommisar, 'It is the best part of 150 miles from Karlskrona.'

'Yes, and these are support vessels, not built for speed. They will sail as a pair, so the fastest will adjust his speed to keep with the slowest. The submersible support can probably manage only fourteen knots.' He looked at his watch.

'That would put them in the area at about eight o'clock tonight.'

'They may not be alone by then.'

'Is that not a good thing? We are going to need all the help we can get.'

'I think we can safely say it is not going to work out like that.' The Kommisar reached for his hat, 'Come, we must get to Riga, I have something to show you.'

The two men walked out to the bright, clear morning. Falco was surprised to see their transport was to be an old bi-plane. The Antonov An-2 had one wing below the passenger cabin, and another on top of it, with struts between them. Falco noticed how the stark red stars stood out against the pale blue-green of the machine. Only the pilot, Falco and the Kommisar were aboard the aircraft as it left Domodedovo military airport, Moscow and flew down to Riga on the Baltic Sea.

As they approached Riga the Kommisar went to the pilot's position and shouted instructions to him. Falco was only feet away, but still couldn't hear what was said because of the roar of the Russian engine. The Kommisar returned and told Falco that he had asked the pilot to overfly the local lake, Kisezers.

The little six seat aircraft banked over the large lake. The two men looked out of the window to see a strange sight. Falco was stumped.

'What the fuck? Has there been an aircraft crash?' he shouted to the Kommisar.

'No. That is our new secret weapon.'

'Bollocks. What on God's good earth is it? As far as I know the biggest aeroplane in the world is the Bristol Brabazon. That thing must be even bigger, but what has happened to it's wings? And are those jet engines on the cabin roof?'

Falco Reinhart was looking down on a completely new form of transport. Just then a small boat sailed close to the machine allowing Falco the opportunity to gain a better scale on what he was looking at.

'Jesus, that thing is even bigger than I thought.' He turned to look wide-eyed at the Kommisar.

'How many fooking engines does that thing have? And why are the wing things so small, looks like they have been chopped off?'

The Kommisar leaned forward and almost didn't shout. As if he was giving away a secret, so didn't want anyone to overhear,

'We call it the Ekranoplan. Does not actually fly, but it skims over the water.' He demonstrated by sliding his hand through the air.

A wry smile crept over Falco's face as he looked out of the window again.

Alexandr Avetisova greeted the Kommisar and Falco Reinhart as the big radial engine was shut down. He showed them to a Zlin car.

'Comrade Doctor Maximova, Magunov, and your esteemed committee are waiting for you, comrade Kommisar.'

'Good. Have there been any developments, Alex?'

'Yes, Georgy. I'm afraid there have; and not all good. Igor Ivanova has the details.'

With that he closed the car door like a chauffeur, then got into the car and drove off.

When the Kommisar entered the room the table was already set and attended by Vadim Magunov, (R13) a man in his early middle age with progressive baldness. The high forehead now extended to half way across his head. Wearing thin silver spectacles he looked through the notes in front of him. He had undone his uniform tunic for comfort, his stomach was expanding faster than his tailor could keep up with.

Sergei Tarasov, (R22) maybe not prematurely white, Sergei's hair was white. A man in his early forties he wore a simple tee-shirt and no uniform.

Igor Ivanova (R10), known as The Kommisar, looked every inch a focussed and dedicated man. His hair was white, so were his eyebrows, which stood out in such a way as to make him look like he was frowning all the time. As the Kommisar entered the room Igor raised these famous eyebrows, this was the only way you could see his eyes. His normally fierce-looking straight mouth, with it's thin lips creased into an easy smile.

Doctor Maximova (R17) sat at the far end of the table. He was a slightly overweight man with an almost bald head and white full beard, flecked with grey.

Dmitri Leshchenko (R2) stood to one side. His uniform strangely anonymous, he seemed to be looking down at the gathering. Dmitri was one of the youngest here. His dark hair distinguished by flashes of grey at the temples. As the Kommisar moved towards the head of the table Dmitri nodded his respect, removed his hands from his pockets, and took his place at the heavy table.

The Kommisar began, 'Comrade Ivanova. You have some developments I understand.'

'Yes, comrade Kommisar. We have encountered a British element in Ystad. Our men in Sweden have been watching all diplomatic personnel for some weeks, earlier this morning they observed the Ambassador's car leaving Ystad. They followed it to find that it was meeting a British helicopter. Radios were then used to report in to their base when the shadowing unit tracked the people to a café near the docks. Three men converged in a carefully hatched and executed plan; one on foot, one by taxi, and one on a bus.'

He paused to drink some water. Others in the group doubted that it was only water.

'There were only two targets. I have received word back from our man who was on the bus. He does not know what happened in the square outside of the café, but he knows that at least one of the British group was put out of action, because he has this person in detention.'

'Where is this prisoner now?' asked the Kommisar.

'In a room outside under heavy guard, these Brits can be slippery customers.'

'Let us interview this person. We need to know what we are up against here.'

'Very good sir.'

Dmitri Leshchenko signalled to the guard at the door, who left as he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

Two minutes later he returned with another guard in full green uniform. They seemed to be carrying a short, agitated bundle of annoyed woman.

With her feet off the ground Lieutenant Lennox Bird noticed that her head was on a level with the guards'. One still had his helmet on, but the other didn't. She swayed towards helmet man, then pulled on the arms that were supposed to restrain her. Almost using the men's strength against themselves she nutted the guard just as he turned to see what the pulling was about.

Blood spurted from his nose as the bones dislodged in the crunching of cartilage. His rifle fell to the ground with a loud clatter, then was drowned out by his screams.

He let go of Bird, but her hands were tied behind her back, so she was still held by the other guard who tightened his grip.

'Let go you brute.' She exclaimed.

'She must think she is in the movies.' Joked Dmitri Leschenko. The rest of the group were shocked by the sight of this stocky young woman in a bloodstained polo necked top, mini skirt and no shoes.

'Why has this person got no shoes on?' was the only question that came from the group. Dmitri answered,

'She used them as weapons, comrade. One of my men is in hospital with a hole in his foot. It looks as if he will soon have company.' He added, nodding towards the guard who was now on one knee trying to stem the flow of blood.

Dmitri leaped to his feet and marched smartly towards Bird. The burly guard thought he was going to take hold of the other arm to stabilise the situation. He walked up to the writhing young woman and brought his knee up into her stomach. This winded her and bent her double. Then he landed a severe uppercut that knocked her unconscious.

'Dmitri Leshchenko.' The Kommisar shouted across the silent room, 'you bloody fool. She has information we need.' He pointed at the limp body of Lennox Bird. 'She is no good to me now. Take her away.'

The big guard scooped her up behind the knees and carried the British officer out of the room like a babe in arms.
Chapter Twelve

09.50, Malmo

'Stupid girl' Steele said to the taxi driver who was leaning on his car on the opposite side of the road to the train station, 'She must have forgotten to get off the bus when her stop came up. You might have seen her? A fairly short young woman in a sort of green turquoise mac and mini skirt?' A five Krona note passed to the driver.

'Ja. I saw her getting into the taxi that was driven by my friend Skoyen.'

'Could you contact him and find out where he took her, she's new to Ystad and I wouldn't like to have her wandering around a strange place on her own.'

'Ja, I understand.' Replied the driver, looking at the five Krona note in his hand.

Steele put another with it. The driver looked thoughtful, but remained silent.

'Ok.' said Steele, giving another. The driver looked up to the taxi that had just parked behind his. He waved for the driver to come here.

'Skoyen. Where did you drop the young couple just now?'

'I took them to a field by the road to...' just then they were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of an AK47 assault rifle. The taxis were raked by bullets, glass flew everywhere, the front car, belonging to the first driver, burst into flames, throwing him across the pavement. All four men dived for cover, but there was no doubt who the main target was. Skoyen was bleeding from his arm and chest. Steele saw this and quickly dashed to the man's aid. AK 47 man was still firing. Jaques took cover behind the burning taxi, Steele and the original taxi driver half dragged, half carried the wounded Sloyen into the meagre cover offered by a nearby bus stand.

'Make him comfortable.' Steele ordered the stunned driver as he withdrew his weapon and looked around him. He saw where Brel was, and that there was little he could do behind the smoke. Another burst of gunfire gave a good indication of where the enemy was positioned.

On the far side of the wide road there was a wall with the railway line behind it, Steele saw the mussle flash as more rounds were put down their way. If he could see the flash, that meant that the firer could see him, or at least his position. No good firing back, thereby confirming that he was armed and dangerous, with the unarmed and innocent civilians also here he elected to move. A silent hand signal told the driver to stay here and keep down. Then Steele was gone. Brel saw what was happening and gave covering fire, he could not see through the smoke, but knew that it didn't matter.

Steele made it across the road to the base of the wall. From there he could assess where the firing was coming from. Then a burst of automatic fire opened up from an unexpected place, - straight facing him as the wall curved to the right; meaning that he was exposed. Just then a burst came from almost above his head. He could almost reach up and grab the smoking barrel. Brel let another couple of rounds go blindly. Steele realised quite quickly that he was now in a worse position than before; either side could hit him here. Looking to his left he saw a small gateway through the wall. Half running, half crouching he made a dash for the opening. As he made it through a burst of gunfire took pale blue paint off the brickwork. The AK 47 on the bend had spotted him, and let fly. Steele found the sloping end of the platform on the inside of the wall. To his right were four gunmen. He fired at them to keep their heads down whilst he found some cover. Brel realised that attention had now shifted from him, so he decided to move to a better position. He had seen Steele go through the small gate, and the area covered by the AK 47 on the bend, so the Legionnaire made a dash for the right-hand position, not knowing how many there were behind the wall. As he ran he replaced his gun back in it's holster and withdrew what looked like a pack of cigarettes. A silver pin came out of the Players Weights, then Brel threw it over the wall where the gunman was positioned. Quarter of a pound of C4 explosive went off only two feet away from the Russian, thereby taking him out of the game, his comrade to his right was also injured and blown away from his safe position. Steele did not even have to aim as he saw a big Russian blown backwards, he was dispatched with two quick shots from Steele, who was in a prone position by the side of the platform. The other two were taken aback by the sudden developments. They began to react to the explosion, which gave Steele chance to catch the nearest one to him across the shoulders with a well-aimed shot from his Colt 45 automatic. This shot shattered the man's trapesoid muscles, making him arch back violently, at the same time throwing his AK over the wall. Brel was not going to pass up the opportunity to upgrade his armament. He dashed to the fallen weapon. The remaining Russian gunman then turned his attention to Steele, he dropped to one knee and took careful aim at the Brit, who was unable to get out of the way due to his prone position. The trusty Colt clicked on empty, the Russian grinned as he realised that he could now take his time. By springing up Brel managed to land his elbows on the top of the wall, turn the AK 47 to point at the Russian, and blast him away. The recoil of the assault rifle then knocked Brel from his precarious perch.

Steele got to his feet, looked at the sprawled set of bodies. The gunman with the trapezoid wound was caught in Brel's last burst, so there were now four dead Russians.

Brel strolled through the gate with the AK 47 over his shoulder upside down.

'Merci monsuier.' Steele held out his hand as he stood up.

'Not at all, Captain, you took all the risks

'Never mind that now, let's see what we can find out about these guys before the authorities show up.'

Steele looked through the gateway towards the taxi drivers.

'You ok over there?'

'No,' came the reply, 'I think he is dead.'

He turned to Brel, 'I will go to see what I can do.'

Brel turned to the dead Russians and began searching them.

Across the road the taxi driver was trying to attend to Skoyen, but Steele soon established that it was too late.

'Did he say anything about where he took the girl?'

'He seemed to mutter something about Tomelilla.'

'Well, it's something. I'm very sorry.'

As the two agents began searching the Russians behind the wall, there was a tremendous explosion in the railway station. Steele and Brel felt it at once, they had their backs to it, but the whoosh and crump was quite close to them. The hot gasses from the explosion made them fall flat on to the bodies they were looking at. Then pieces of debris started to fall around them as they turned to see what had happened. There was a white line of smoke almost level with the ground. This led to the smoking remains of a train that was standing on the platform. The German Panzerfaust were originally meant to be short-range anti-tank weapons for the infantry, this one was used against a train. The two men followed the smoke trail back to where it began. There was a small building off to their right. Dmitri Leshchenko hid behind this as he launched the rocket. Now he began firing an AK47 in the direction of Steele and Brel, then the sound of sirens and police horns alerted the two agents that it was time they were not there.

'Did you get anything from the Ivans?' Asked Steele.

'Not a wallet, drivers licence, passport. Nothing. Only this ticket.' he passed the stub of a Russian bus ticket to Steele.

'Looks like Riga.'

  * oOo -

Chapter Thirteen

Paris, six years earlier.

'Out of time. I'm running out of time.' Brel thought to himself as the Paris Metro approached Vincennes. Here was the headquarters for the French Foreign Legion.

As he walked up to the Old Fort he read the sign on the wall. 'Bureau d'Engagement – Legion etrangere – Ouvert jour et nuit' .'This is it. Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here.' He thought. It was May fifth 1960, Jacques Brel was about to join the legions of men who were running away from sometimes desperate situations. He knew it was going to be tough, but he felt that he had no choice. He was 19 and had just thrown away a dead-end job in the Port of Amsterdam. His father had got him the job as he left school, and took the resignation as a direct snub. A gigantic row ensued. The two men had been living together, and latterly working together, for six years since the passing away of his mother. Now Jacques felt that he needed to get away. The Belgian Army had rejected him after the first interview, the air force needed qualifications he did not have, so the Legion was his best, and last hope.

With one straightforward phone call he found that recruitment was possible here.

As Brel walked up to the massive doors he felt his past life dropping away. He banged hard on the door. Presently a genuine Legionnaire opened the gate and greeted Brel with a stern,

'Oui, monsieur?'

'I have come to join the Legion.' Replied Brel.

Soldiers of the French Foreign Legion always look impressive, the red epaulettes, white kepi, and blue cummerbund, reminded him of the colours in the French flag.

The Legionnaire stepped back on the cobbles. With a nod of his head he indicated a door marked 'bureau de semaine', a sergeant sat behind an old wooden desk. He said nothing. Eventually Brel was the first to speak. In his best French he said again 'I have come to join the Legion.'

It then dawned on him why the sergeant had not spoken before. They get so many different languages through here, and until you speak the man has no idea which language you will understand.

He replied in French with a strong German accent, not unlike Brel's own Waloon tongue.

'Why, varum?'

'A life in the Legion will allow me to serve a purpose and have a meaningful role in a very august organisation.' Brel had been rehearsing this. The sergeant replied,

'What are you running from?' without even looking up.

'Pardon?'

'What is it you are trying to escape from? What have you come here for?'

'I wish to enrol in the Legion.'

With a laconic

'OK.' The sergeant got up from behind his desk, 'Follow me.'

He led Brel up to an assembly hall. There were thirty-odd men already in the hall, sitting on benches around the walls. They looked like the dregs and desperadoes from all over Europe. As Brel found an empty piece of bench the hubbub of conversation began to rise again. The main language was definitely German, he could also pick out Italian and Spanish, he just sat there and wondered what was next.

Eventually, to Brel it seemed an eternity, an officer and two men in white coats came in and ordered everyone to undress to their underpants.

A series of rudimentary and rough medical examinations followed. The officer took copious notes from each man. When these were finished, some two hours later the three of them went back down the stairs and the thirty men were left sitting around again.

The officer then went to the bureau de semaine. This was used as a filtering system. When the officer returned, about an hour later the assembled rabble was informed in French that there would only be eight of their number required to continue the recruitment procedure. The rest can go home (although it is doubtful if most of them had a home to go to – but then again, neither did Jacques Brel.)

Luckily he was not one of the rejects.

Brel and the other seven were then led up to the top of the fort where they were issued with a rudimentary uniform consisting of battledress and trousers, boots and a greatcoat.

After a meal they were directed into a small room where a naked bulb hung forlornly from the ceiling. The room was quite bare, not even a chair or table. The walls were distempered white. No-one said anything for fear that their voice would be amplified by the stark sinister surroundings. Then a disembodied voice began booming from the loudspeaker that Brel had not noticed mounted high in one corner. It proclaimed in several languages that you were about to sign a contract for five years, and there is no turning back – once the contract is signed you are in the Legion for the full five years without the chance to come out before the completion of the term. Brel felt that this sounds more like a prison sentence than military service. This will not be the last time he felt this way.

The eight men, three Germans, two Spaniards, one Italian, one Dutchman, and Brel, filed into a small office one at a time to sign their life away. The contract was all in French, and the recruits were discouraged from reading what they were signing.

That was it. He was now in the French Foreign Legion.

Some time about now a department known as Deuxieme Bureau became involved, and stayed involved. This is a sort of military intelligence, at this early stage they worked closely with organisation like Interpol to screen the new recruits. If a recruit has something in his past it is then up to the Deuxieme Bureau to decide if the man is handed over to Interpol or hidden in the ranks of the Legion.

The Deuxieme Bureau regularly interview all of the recruits, peppering them with fast questions about their past. It is surprising how lies are eventually uncovered.

Two days later they were shipped out by train to Fort St Nicolas, Marseille. Here they were issued with work clothes in exchange for their 'uniforms'. Once again Brel felt like a convict. The new issue clothing was ragged and tatty denims. No buttons or proper fastenings; they were held together with string. Now they even looked like convicts. The accommodation was also prison-like with three tiers of bunks, and only just enough room to fit in between them.

Messing was done on a first come, first served basis. And it was pandemonium. Desperate men fighting to get the most they could get – to be at the back of this queue meant that you went hungry, then you became one of the most desperate.

Every day the whole complement is assembled on the fort battlements, then roll-call is made. After which the men are sent off on their chores, known as corvee. All the time they were watched over by a corporal with a sten gun.

They were kept on this regime for seventeen days, until a ship became available to take them to the Legion's main training camp at Sidi-bel-Abbes, Algeria.

The ship was worse than a slave ship. These ships have frequently been described as floating garbage tanks. The sanitation was nearly non-existent, the accommodation was even worse than on Fort St Nicolas.

On arrival at the training camp the accommodation was much better. Everywhere was scrupulously clean; there was room between the beds, not bunks. This time the food was ok, but there were some disturbing things about this place.

Then everyone was searched. All maps were removed from people who had any. But a worrying sight for Brel was that there were corporals everywhere.

He soon found out why.

The corporals, who ruled with a fist of iron, had the running of the training. Officers and NCOs were saluted. One chap neglected to salute a sergeant. He was unrecognisable when they finished beating him.

The Deuxieme Bureau kept up their interrogations. Any lies that come to light are dealt with by more beatings.

Exactly one month after signing on the dotted French line Jacques Brel began his basic training to become a Legionnaire.

There was a lot of singing and slow marching. Bodies already tough are toughened up even more, everyone spends half an hour a day hitting concrete with the side of their hands to harden them up. Pretty soon they are like bars of steel, a chop from one of these is nearly always fatal – tied in with the knowledge that Legionnaires are instructed in where to hit a body in order to render it lifeless. Hand to hand combat is very important in the Legion. That and hard discipline make for the strongest fighting force in the world.

The training is so extensive that the next stage, parcours de combattants, or unarmed combat, this only began when the men had been through one month of pure squalor They were fighting each other for the basic staples of life, then one month learning to do things the Legion way.

They then had to learn how to fight the Legion way. Before the basic training is finally over the whole regiment goes on offensive patrol. Eighteen weeks to turn a group of Europe's most undisciplined and scruffy barbarians into a smart, hard and efficient killing machine.

Parachute training turned out to be a continuation of the brutality already suffered, but linked with squalid conditions again. The training camp itself was nice. Run by the regular French army, the Legion were treated as guests, but before getting there the 'volunteers' had to endure some of the worst cruelty the Legion can hand out, then after training before deployment to the field.

At last Brel was posted to an outpost in the Algerian desert. The marching was merciless. The whole regiment would set off in single file across the mountainous terrain. The line of men would stretch for miles. When they finally arrived at the camp thousands of little tents would cover hills and valleys for what seemed like miles.

The enemy were the Fellagha, who were fighting for an Algeria independent from France. The Muslim Arabs had been fighting for decades now, and they knew that the war was costing France more than they could afford – this was a war of attrition of economies.

Eventually the enemy was sighted by one of the Alouette helicopters. They were scattered around a shallow valley, taking cover amongst the many boulders and bushes in the area. The quickest way in was by helicopter. Two Frelon troop carrying choppers landed behind the hill behind Brel's section. They were ordered to march to the landing site at double speed. Upon arrival there was a lance-sergeant monitoring the loading of men on to the machines, which kept their rotors turning despite churning up dust. Twenty men and their equipment per helicopter were quickly loaded. Brel was the last man on board the first helicopter, before he could close the door behind him the engines were throttled up, the rotors took the load and they were airborne, but they did not climb for long. The pilot was flying around trees and diving into valleys. The Legionnaires in the cabin were thrown about. They held on to anything they could. The lucky ones who managed to fasten a seat belt fared a little better, but on the whole they clung on to each other and pushed their backs against the airframe by lodging their boots against whatever they came into contact with. Before the whole mess became a 'Legionnaire omelette' they felt the nose coming right up, but they were not climbing. Brel kicked the door open to find a cloud of impregnable dust that immediately invaded the helicopter cabin. Then he saw the ground as the wheels touched down. Brel gathered his equipment, Pistol Mitraillete '49, a machine pistol in his hands he pushed himself out as he heard a burst of rapid heavy machine gun fire. The helicopter was raked from end to end. The pilot applied full power and shot out of there as fast as he could to save all who were on board. Unfortunately this did not include Jacques Brel.

As the dust dispersed around Brel, who was down on one knee, he again heard the dread rip of a fast-firing heavy machine gun. He knew immediately that it was a legendary German spandau MG43 in the hands of the Fellagha. The firing seemed to be coming from his right. Brel had five grenades, he threw two of them in that direction, then the other three in the other three points of the compass. As the grenades went off he opened up with his machine pistol and ran for cover. Arab fire ceased, but there was now firing from half way up the hill behind him. He spun round to assess the new threat only to see sixty men of the French Foreign Legion running down the hill towards him, firing as they ran. Having cleared the landing zone the helicopters came back at either end of the valley and disgorged their cargoes. Brel ran to join up with his 'stick' (a small group of paras).

As they began clearing the rest of the valley they heard the distinctive crack of a snipers' rifle. Brel was with two big German Legionnaires, without even looking at each other they all fell flat in case the sniper took aim at them. They knew they were not far from the shooter. The Arab had the edge on them because he was hidden in a tree, but this advantage dwindled as the men slowly got closer to him. They established that the sniper was in one of six trees some 300 yards from where they now lay. As one of the Germans took his binoculars out to scrutinise the trees they were subjected to a hail of fire from an area around the base of the trees. Machine pistols were fired back at the undergrowth and the firing stopped. Then Brel caught sight of someone moving in the tree. The sniper had lost his defensive protection, and was trying to make good his escape. A quick burst from Brel's Pistol Mitraillete '49 sent the Arab tumbling down to the ground.

  * oOo -

Chapter Fourteen

11.00 Inside the Headquarters Building, Riga

'Mothers little helper should not be treated like this.' The soldier Pytr Romanovich remarked to his colleague as they dumped Lennox Bird into the disused storeroom in the attic of the building.

'We will be standing guard outside, so she can't go anywhere.'

With that he undid the bonds from the wrists of the unconscious girl. Then they left the room and locked the door securely.

Some time later Bird began to regain consciousness; she had no idea how long she had been out for. The room was almost empty. An old desk and three chairs, one broken, were positioned against a wall. A tea chest, probably used to carry office equipment, was left by the door. The décor left a lot to be desired; the cream paintwork was peeling, a maroon line divided this from the horrible green lower walls. Bare boards looked as if they had once been painted. As she got up to her feet Bird noticed that they had not been swept for some time. She moved over to the tea chest and rummaged in it to see if she could find something that could assist her. It was empty. She set one of the chairs up and sat down to ponder what to do next.

Her jaw ached, and she had blood down her front. Upon inspection she found that it was not her blood, but it came from the guard she had head-butted.

Two reasonably sized windows on the far end of the room gave no hope for escape; they had stout old bars. But it may be worth a look. So she walked quietly over to the window. It was easy to be quiet because they had taken her shoes off her; in bare feet First Lieutenant Lennox Bird carried the chair with her, you never know what use a piece of furniture may be. The bars were on the outside, so she had difficulty finding the anchor points. She examined the bars by opening the window inwards and, by standing on the chair, reached out and felt around until she found one of the anchor points. She gave the bars a good shake. Nothing moved. They had been made decades ago to some agricultural standards. This meant that deterioration by time would not occur for some decades yet. Whilst in this lofty position Bird took the opportunity to view the surroundings. She knew she was east of the Balkans, the sea she could see lay just beyond the natural bay that had suspiciously few ships in it. As the little Lieutenant stood precariously on the chair she craned her neck to see to the far right of the bay where she could just make out the massive bow of some sort of craft. It didn't look like the front end of a ship, before she got her head out of the window all she could make out was the pointed nose section. The biggest aircraft Bird had seen to this date had been a RAF VC-10; this was a lot bigger than that, even the gigantic Blackburn Beverley could not match up to this. There were several strange things about this monster.

It was bigger than the biggest airliner of the day.

The engines emphasized the size: there were eight of them.

They were mounted on top of the front of the fuselage just behind the pilot's cabin (similar to the VC-10, but at the front, four on each side).

It was sitting on the water.

Bird reckoned that she could only see about the first twenty or thirty feet from her perilous vantage point. She wondered if there had been a crash. By wriggling round and pushing her head out to the bars she could just make out the wings. They were stubby, square and almost sitting on the water. There was no sweep-back on the wings; most modern aircraft have swept back wings. The dust and dirt on the window and bars became airborne because of her heavy breathing and made her sneeze. This in turn made the chair wobble because she was now perched on the top of the back. One bare foot felt for the seat whilst she took her weight on her arms which were resting on the window ledge. Her chin hit the window edge and she let out an involuntary cry as the bruise from the earlier punch took the knock.

The chair stabilized as Bird shared her balance between the foot on the seat, the foot on the back, and the folded arms on the window's edge. She gingerly lifted the foot from the chair back. The mini-skirt restricted this move; she had to wriggle the foot from side to side. A free hand would have been useful here.

Bird stepped down on to the floor and looked out of the window again. The front of the strange craft was just visible through the grime on the glass, but she could still see the weird engine layout.

First Lieutenant Lennox Bird stood and looked around as she straightened her clothing. The jumper had ridden up as she slid down from the window and the blood drips on it now had dirt lines running at right angles.

She went back to the window to confirm what she had seen. It was still there. The little Lieutenant sat on the chair to ponder what to do next. How to get out of this room. She could hear the sentry outside moving about, so that option was going to be difficult, if not impossible.

The table was a sturdy example of Russian workmanship. In the exposed rafters there was a small skylight, no doubt to allow access on to the roof for maintenance, but this was well out of Bird's reach.

The tea chest was made of fairly flimsy thin plywood cube some 80-cm on all sides.

Then she reasoned that if she moved the table to a position below the skylight, then placed the tea chest onto it upside down. She could then place the chair on top of it, and by standing on top of this pile, just may be able to reach the skylight. She couldn't see any locking device on it, but it probably hadn't been used for years.

The table proved too bulky and heavy to lift, so Bird had to carefully drag it through the dust, making as little noise as possible. A few scraps of office equipment were removed from the tea chest, and then this was quietly placed on the table. Every bump or scratch seemed to be amplified by the emptiness of the room. Next came the chair. She picked it up by the seat, then moved her grip to the bottom end of one of the back legs, balancing it there. By reaching and stretching she just managed to position the one leg on to the top of the tea chest, but to allow the other legs to land would mean making some noise. There was no choice. Bird tried to control the rate of decent, but a dull thud emitted from the last legs. The noise seemed to Bird like a sudden clap of thunder, but was in fact a single tap. She kept hold of the chair, not daring to move as she listened for any signs that the tap had been heard. Slowly her grip unfolded as she realised that no one had heard.

Bird then stood back to survey the pile. She decided that the tea chest needed to be further back. As she gently edged the box back a careful watch had to be kept of the chair on top of it.

Then she placed her hands on the table edge and threw up first one leg then the other. The ledge she was working on was not very wide, but she soon managed to stand alongside the tea chest. A similar acrobatic manoeuvre was then performed to get the little Lieutenant standing alongside the chair. She placed her hand on the chair back to steady herself and the stack, whilst she regained her breath. Looking up at the skylight, she saw that it would just be in reach from the chair. Taking a firm grip on the chair back Bird carefully lifted one foot on to the seat, then she slowly leaned forwards to transfer her weight from one foot to the other. As the lower foot became free she gradually moved it round to her side, at the same time straightening the other leg to a standing position. Still holding the back of the chair she looked up at the skylight and reached up – nearly there. Only a few more inches, but that meant releasing her grip on the back of the chair. With only her two feet in contact with the hazardous furniture monolith she gingerly placed her left hand on the ceiling to steady herself. Her right hand began feeling for catches in the filth and grime. Her arms were at full stretch as the dirt began falling on to her sweaty face, but no movement was transferred to her feet. Before five minutes had elapsed she had to lower her arms to allow some blood flow to be re-established. As she began scraping and scratching again she came across one catch, which became undone quite easily. She realised that a similar fastening may have been placed on the opposite side of the framework. And so it was, but this one did not want to shift. As she worked away at the miscreant fastener the chair began to wobble, so much effort was being put in to the clasp that her bare feet were now moving. Then the catch finally gave way. Bird tried gently pushing the framework away, but feared that she may be transferring too much pressure on to the furniture column, so the fixture stayed fixed. There was no way she could dismount from her high perch rummage through the office junk to see if there was anything that may help her, so it was now or never. She began gently pushing each corner systematically and listening for any signs of weakness. Eventually one corner seemed to give more noise than the other does, so she continued to work on it. Then a sudden blast of fresh cold air hit her in the face as the old framework gave way and creaked open. It turned out that the whole frame was hinged at the top, so that edge would never have given way. She lowered it down again whilst she got a blood flow back in to her hands. Then she began walking her fingertips from the lower part of the window, back slowly opening the access panel without putting too much pressure on the furniture below. Eventually the panel stood upright and her fingers were at full stretch on the glass. But if she let go it would close again. So she worked her fingers one at a time on to the wooden frame. Then she deployed her thumbs to the edge of the woodwork and pushed. To her relief the whole section began to fall backwards under its own weight. But the effort of pushing against the leverage of the window frame made the furniture unstable, the chair began to move. One bare foot left the chair seat. The chair slipped on the tea chest. As the skylight finally opened the furniture column collapsed in a clattering heap. Bird was not going to let this stop her escape bid. As the chair began slipping she made a grab at the skylight frame. When the furniture hit the ground she was left hanging from the roof. With a mighty heave she managed to haul herself out of the hole just as the guards rushed in to find out what the commotion was. They looked up in time to see a pair of bare feet disappearing into the skylight.

  * oOo -

Chapter Fifteen

11.20 Malmo, Sweden

'Take it or leave it.' Brel held out a big hard hand and swept it towards the harbour below them.

Steele looked at the Grumman Albatross flying boat that sat at the quayside.

'Where did you get that?' he asked.

'Our friends in the Dutch air force can be very helpful.'

The two men walked down to the water's edge using the long steps on the right of the steep grey cobbled road. The bollards along the steps made it impossible for the two wide men to walk alongside each other, so Steele took the lead. As they walked they looked at the cream painted houses on each side. An elderly man approached them coming up the hill. Steele kept a wary eye on him. He knew no-one in Malmo, maybe Brel did, but he himself was very wary of everyone.

The man passed them by.

On arriving at the dockside Brel introduced Steele to the crew.

'Our pilot, Captain Sommers, is on loan with the aircraft. He is here to make sure we do not damage it.'

Steele addressed the pilot and crew, 'The plan is simple. Can you fly us to Riga and drop us off there?'

'Ja, mein herr.' The pilot replied, 'I presume you do not want the Russians to know about this?'

'Preferably not, we do not have our visas stamped up. I suggest we discuss the details over coffee.'

They repaired to a nearby coffee house that Brel had previously cleared.

'What we require is a covert landing at or near Riga. How can you help us achieve this?'

'We can not land you too close to the shore; the Russians would hear our Pratt & Whitney powerplants from half a mile away.' The Captain explained, 'we can alight on the water a couple of miles out, then take you in by dinghy.'

Steele replied,

'That will be fine, there will only be one; myself.'

Jacques Brel then cut in,

'No, monsieur, I cannot allow you to go on your own. I shall accompany you.'

'Is that possible?' Steele turned to the captain.

'Why, yes, we can take as many as four in one landing if you require it.'

'That will not be necessary, we are mounting a rescue mission, not a full-bloodied invasion.'

Five men filed out to the waiting HU-16 Albatross: Captain Sommers led the way followed by his co-pilot, Legionnaire Dornac; a Luftwaffe pilot during the war Dornac was flying Ju-88s from Norway, then Italy before becoming a prisoner of war in 1943. Next in line came Theobold, probably a Dutch sailor, he was to help navigate out to open water for the take-off. Brel followed with Steel taking up the rear. They looked a motley crew: the Captain looked like he was in some kind of uniform, but the rest looked like itinerant sailors of jumbled appearance. Roll-neck sweaters, blue trousers and a mix of styles of coats and hats, but mainly caps and berets.

Dornac made sure that everyone was strapped in then joined the Captain on the flight deck for the take-off.

At 10.14am the flying boat lifted off the choppy waters of the Skaggarack and set course for Riga. Theobold spoke to Steel and Brel. In the noisy hold he explained the procedure for leaving the aircraft by dingy whilst afloat at sea. Twenty five minutes later this information was to be used.

'All personnel to be strapped in.' Captain Sommers' voice came over the sharp, high pitched intercom system, 'We are about to alight, and it is going to be choppy.'

Three men secured themselves in the hull of the flying boat. They braced themselves in by pushing their boots against the opposite seats. To the rear of their position was the inflatable dinghy. Light came in through small round windows set high on the outer walls, but they could see nothing at all of what was happening outside.

The two men in the cockpit could see only too well what was happening. The grey sea had got angry. White crests topped each wave as it lifted to three or four feet, then crashed back down into the swell.

Captain Sommers had the windscreen wipers going at full tilt. It wasn't raining, but the spray from the wind-driven sea was going to give him problems as he approached the water.

Six and a half miles away the Kommissar and his group also walked down a dockside towards an aquatic craft. But his was much bigger. The dark blue and grey lizard-like camouflage on the Ekranoplan gave it a more sinister appearance. The 350 ton craft, developed by the German glider designer of the 1930s, Alexander Lippisch, and was half ship, half aeroplane. It sat motionless in its own private anchorage. The group of Russians walked around the stubby 'wing'. High above them was the port set of four Kuznetsov turbojet engines. These were mounted just behind the cabin, on top of the fuselage, they stuck out like little winglets, and were all fitted with blast deflectors to push the jet blast beneath the wings, as were the four on the other side. As he turned to face the fuselage/hull of the strange craft the Kommissar turned his head to look towards the rear. His plate-topped cap tilted further up as he took in a sharp intake of breath.

'It never ceases to amaze me.' He said to no one in particular. The massive tail unit rose up over 80 feet in the air – higher than a four-storey building. Half way up the enormous fin another two jet engines were situated, a gigantic swept-back V-shaped tail unit topped the whole structure.

The small group were made up of the Kommisar, Vadim Magnivod, Doctor Maximova and Igor Ivanova. They made their way up the walkway on to the wide port wing of the ekranoplan. They marched round the red star in the middle of the mottled surface, then entered the hull by the side door. Inside was a narrow corridor, which led to a sliding door. As The Kommissar slid this open it revealed a massive empty hall of a hold. He then turned his attention to the roof. The pipes and conduits that ran the full length of the passenger cabin were all painted greenish blue, as were the walls. He then turned to Vadim Magnivod,

'No-one will be able to resist us when we turn up with this. Let me show you the latest development.'

He moved to the centre of the hold and turned to his left. Three of them walked towards the front of the capacious cabin; Igor Ivanov turned to go in the opposite direction, he had something to look at in the rear.

The Kommisar reached the front bulkhead; here he found a staircase that looked like it had been taken from a ship. This led to a doorway near the roof. He entered the small room beyond. As his two comrades filed in behind him, there was barely room to move until Dr Maximova sat on one of the two chairs.

'Ahh, Comrade Doctor. You have occupied the seat used by the dedicated navigator, but over here we have the latest development.' He turned to the empty seat behind him, on the other side of the room.

'Here we have the position for the dedicated offensive weapons engineer.' The two men paid close attention as the Kommisar took the seat and began switching things on as lights began to glow in front of him. 'This is the safety equipment panel.' He explained,

'Comrade Igor is at the back of the craft checking the circuits from there.'

'Now for the demonstration proper.' A small television screen slowly shimmered into life.' As he moved a small joystick the picture showed the dockyard outside in a small, but clear monochrome picture. On the top of the ekranoplan, behind the eight jet engines and the pilot's position, was a flat turret mounting two Nudelmann-Rikter 23mm cannon. These swung round as the Kommisar moved the little joystick.

On the roof of the building they had been using as an admin headquarters was mounted the plywood silhouette of a small warship. As the crosshairs on the television screen moved towards the silhouette an indistinct shape darted across the roof, emerging from behind the cover offered by the plywood ship.

'The whole aiming device was developed for our Tupolev Tu 4. It works perfectly.'

Lieutenant Lennox Bird jumped from one roof to another as the soldiers began pouring out of the escape hatch she had created from the old skylight. Inside the bare room that she had been held in there was now a rush of activity. The first two soldiers into the room found the primitive pyramid. As they tried to climb it, they soon found that it was far too unstable to take their weight. By then more soldiers arrived, and the whole squad began steadying the furniture to enable some of them to give chase. The first soldier emerged, and immediately turned to give assistance to his colleague. The third and fourth to emerge moved quickly to the edge of the plywood ship. Here they could clearly see Bird about to cross the rooftop next to theirs.

'Stop or we will fire.' He called as they both levelled machine pistols at her. She was less than 20 feet away with no cover.

It was at this moment that the Kommisar decided to pull the trigger. The twin heavy cannon on top of the ekranoplan burst into life and threw 23mm cannon shells across Riga harbour. The plywood shattered as the ordinance hit the target ship. An ugly line of holes stitched their way from bow to stern. The two soldiers helping people out of the hole were hit fair and square; one took three shells, the other, two. Their lifeless bodies were thrown across the roof, sliding down in their own blood. The next soldier took splinters of plywood in the head and neck. He fell back on to the next soldier who was about to climb out. That caused the shaky pyramid to collapse. The Kommisar was not familiar enough with the system he was operating, so the hail of shells carried on past the stern of the target. This did for the two Russian soldiers threatening Bird.

  * oOo -

Chapter Sixteen

11.20 Two and a half miles off Riga.

How sweet it is when efforts and elements come together and everything works well.

When the elements are not conducive to this, the shortfall to equilibrium is made up with skill, confidence and experience.

Captain Jimmy Sommers used all of these as he guided the lumbering flying boat in.

The distance between the peaks and troughs of the swell was estimated to be about seventy feet, or so Captain Somers estimated as he began his approach to alight on the always-moving grey sea.

The little Albatross flying boat was now lining up almost in line with the rolling waves. The tops of the waves he thought was some four to five feet from the bottom of the valleys.

'This is going to be tricky.' He said to Dornac. Mist was whisked from the crests and gave Somers good indication of the wind direction. He had to put the aircraft down precisely in the middle of the valley; one wing half way up on either side of the waves would cause the aircraft to cartwheel at something like seventy miles per hour. The engines are mounted on top of the high wing, making the whole contraption top heavy.

To make matters more challenging, the wind was blowing at almost 90 degrees to the line of the valleys. To allow for this Captain Somers had to approach with the nose pointing at an angle into the wind.

Nothing was said as he concentrated on flying towards a water runway that was moving from his left to his right. The wind was also coming from that direction. His feet pumped constantly at the rudder pedals to adjust the line of flight. The wings must be absolutely level, or the little floats on the wing tips would cause the aircraft to fall out of control in an instant.

As they dropped to the height of the wave crests the haze blew onto the windscreen, obscuring Somers' vision momentarily. Before the wipers cleared the screen Captain Somers glanced at the instruments, then back outside. The Captain had to calculate in which direction to point the nose to allow as smooth an alighting as was possible, given the conditions. His experience now came into it's own. The speed he gauged by the tone of the engines. The rate of decent he felt through the seat of his pants, the level wings he saw by watching the horizon, or remembering where it was. All the time he was making adjustments to the direction of flight to ensure an uneventful arrival on the waves – despite doing the best part of seventy miles per hour.

The underside of the fuselage of the Grumman Albatross is shaped like the hull of a boat. It was this that hit the water at sixty-eight miles per hour. Still pedalling frantically, Captain Somers held the wing tip floats away from the water until the speed dropped below forty mph. The starboard float touched first. It skipped from wave-top to wave-top as speed decreased.

When the air speed indicator read between 5 and ten the captain called on the intercom,

'Gentlemen, the Albert Ross has alighted.'

Ten minutes later Steele and Brel were deposited on a deserted beach south of Riga.

Steele looked at his watch.

'They have held her for nearly two hours now. But where would they take her in a place like this?'

'Most military action probably takes place in or near the dockyards.' Brel offered the suggestion.

'That will be easy enough to find; it is about two miles that way. I don't fancy walking that far, let's see what public transport is like around here.'

They were dressed like sailors in any port, polo necks, dark blue trousers and heavy duty jackets – they could have been from anywhere, working on a boat in dock.

As they walked ashore they came across a small road which they cautiously crossed. The next road was wider and had what they were looking for – tram tracks. Seven minutes later they found a shelter on the side of the track. Inside were three men and a small woman. Steele strode up to the group and simply said 'Riga?'

All four nodded and said 'Da.'

Steele and Brel compared currency. Steele had only Krona; Brel had a mixture of Krona, German Marks and French Francs. They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

The little group stood in silence for only four minutes before a rattling old tram hove into view.

Steele and Brel hung back to see what the locals did. There was a conductor taking fares, they opted to avoid him for as long as possible. As the electric tramcar began to move they made their way to the rear, as far away as possible. There was a hum of Russian sounding voices, Steele and Brel took seats on opposite sides and watched the bleak countryside drift past. They were less than a mile from the docks when the conductor approached Steele. The man muttered something incomprehensive as he held his ticket machine. Steele replied in rough German that he didn't understand. The man repeated the Russian for 'Fares please.' Steele rummaged in his pocket as Brel arose and made his way to the door. Steele proffered the man a five Mark note,

'Is est gut, Da?' then followed Brel as the man pocketed the foreign currency.

They alighted in a narrow street made up of square sets. One set of tramlines ran down the centre of the roadway.

Terraced houses surrounded them as they worked out which way to go. Steele pointed towards a slight hill that sloped downwards.

'This looks promising.' He remarked.

Brel nodded in agreement,

'You won't find a dockyard on top of a mountain.'

As they made their way down the slope both men kept a good lookout for anything out of the ordinary, but they had little idea what was the ordinary.

The houses on their right gave way to white fronted industrial buildings, as they rounded a slight left bend the residential feel was dispersed all together with the appearance of more workmanlike establishments. From a small café came the smell of coffee and toast. The Brit and the Belgian tried to look casual as they checked for military presence.

Military activity was obvious later when they came across armed guards, and the sounds of heavy cannon fire.

Steele and Brel crouched out of sight as they looked at their challenge. A wide straight road led over a bridge crossing the river. It was almost half a mile long, and arched slightly towards the middle.

'Not impossible.' Jacques Brel almost whispered to Steele.

'There are a couple of guards there who would like to make it impossible.' Steele replied as he began timing the routine that the guards took.

More cannon-fire came from the direction of the dockyard.

The heavily armed soldiers marched to and fro, back to each other in military precision. Steele moved a little to better observe their movements. He noticed that, as they moved away from each other they were not looking in the direction of the bridge. The British SBS agent reckoned that he and Brel could make it half way –about to the crest before the Russians would open up with their snipers' rifles and cut them down in open ground.

He called Brel across to his position.

'I have a plan.' He whispered to the Belgian Legionnaire.

With judicious hand movements he explained in subdued tones what he had in mind.

'Qui, I think that could work, monsieur.'

'If we get down to there,' he pointed, 'we could launch in the best place without being seen.'

'OK, I'm right with you.'

Steele led the way to the very edge of the cover they were hiding behind. As the guards met each other, crossed, then began marching away from each other, our agents braced themselves ready to move.

Silently, and at a slow run the men broke cover and headed for the bridge crest.

Steele watched his watch as they hurried across the big bridge. Totally exposed, Brel looked across to his left to see the harbour and docks of Riga open out to the Baltic beyond.

'NOW.' Called Steele. They were some way short of the halfway point on the unsafe bridge road. The guards were seconds from seeing them, when they smartly turned and began slowly walking back the way they had come.

Only ten paces on, the guards, who had by now moved into view, challenged them.

'Halt. Where are you going?' one guard called in Russian.

Steele replied, 'Sprechen sie Deutch?'

The bridge upon which they stood on spanned an international port, so it was not unusual to come across foreign sailors.

'Neit. Papers!' the Russian demanded as he lowered and aimed his high powered rifle at Steele's chest. His comrade took aim at Brel.

In fluent German Steele responded, 'We have no papers, we just want to take some shore leave.'

'Without papers, no-one leaves the docks. You must go back.' The message was in Russian, but the two 'insurgents' understood only too well.

'You must return to your ship at once.'

With some exaggeration the two agents, one British, one Belgian, turned with mock disappointment to walk to the docks at Riga.

Steele and Brel turned a bend in the little road they were on, to be faced by an overview of Riga. They were only some twenty or thirty feet above sea level, but the lie of the land gave them a good view out to sea over the roof-tops.

  * oOo -

Bird was pleased to find that her bare feet gripped well on the roof tiles as she climbed to the apex.

She looked back towards the holed ship cut-out and saw the men cascading down to the roof's edge. The skylight opening was now empty and black as she began her decent down the other side of the pale terracotta tiles.

She slid carefully down the side of the roof, away from the cut-out ship, not knowing what was going to greet her at the roof's edge. A brick post came in very useful as she reached the front corner. Holding firmly on to the post, Bird peered over the edge. Far below she saw the hard cobbled street. Directly below there was a shop canopy. Bird examined this carefully. Would it take her weight? What about the power of the impact? Leaning further out she tried to examine the external fixings on the building.

This is the rear of the structure; there were all manner of excrescences clinging to the walls. The ubiquitous drainpipe was close to where Bird was peering from, but this only went down as far as a small veranda, but it was better than staying up on top, so she carefully clambered round the edge of the roof, and on to the pipe. Staying as close to the pipe as possible so as not to place too much pressure on the connections, she shinned down the conduit, feeling the way with her toes. Upon arriving on the veranda the little Lieutenant instinctively clung to the wall before looking through the long windows. The room looked empty, but she didn't like the idea of going in to find some Russian waiting for her, so she looked over the edge of the veranda. There was a square apparatus that looked as if it may take her weight only four feet away and three feet closer to the ground, so over the balustrade she went. Still some twenty-five feet off the ground, Bird stood with her back to the wall as she reviewed her options. Luckily there was no-one around, they were probably all round the front looking what the gunfire was about. Below her was an arrangement of walls, like a series of yards, but it was too risky to jump on to a wall from this height. Then she saw a large flat-topped container some ten feet away, but close to the building. It meant a drop of some fifteen feet in bare feet, but it was the best option. She launched herself into the void between the veranda and the container. On landing the plywood roofing construction eased the impact as it creaked, then gave way. Bird descended into the box as two soldiers emerged from a door further along the building. They did not hear the crash as Bird entered the box, but began walking towards it. Walking casually and smoking, they were not doing sentry duty, but they were, nonetheless, fully armed with rifles slung over their shoulders, hanging by the straps, ready for use. Plus side arms and grenades, but Bird knew nothing of this; the area had been empty when she had jumped. The container had no roof now. As light streamed in she could see that there was nothing but paper in the box. The side was still two feet higher than she could reach. As she tried to re-arrange the broken plywood and paper to try to gain enough height the soldiers heard the banging and scraping. They looked at each other, then at the container. By standing on boxes the men managed to peer over the container side and saw Bird trying to get out of the box.

'Что ты там делаешь?' one of them called.

Bird did not reply.

The soldier who had spoken unshouldered his rifle. Bird just stood in the middle of the paper and plywood. She was defenceless and cornered with nowhere to hide.

  * oOo -

Chapter Seventeen

11.45. Ystad Harbour

'We can work it out.' Captain Sven Tommassen stood on the docking bridge with his engineering officer, Philip von Kerrsop, 'Falco is sending us a team of men from the French Foreign Legion. Apparently they are the only organisation in these parts that can run a deniable mission.

They looked out on the empty decks of the bulk carrier.

The twin cranes pointed at each other as if they were having a conversation, they stood almost as high as the superstructure on the rear of the 'Silver Bergen'. She was sitting high in the water, the pale blue paintwork on her hull finished four feet from the water in Ystad harbour.

'Here they come,' the Captain commented as he pointed at the group of men walking towards the ship. 'some sort of military outfit. They don't look like it!'

'Appearances can be deceptive.' Kerrsop replied, 'they could be Russians for all we know.'

'Brel comes with good credentials. But I don't think he is amongst them today.' He waved a radio message transcript.

'Anyway, we won't have them for very long.'

'Oh?'

'We are to rendezvous with another vessel out at sea. They will transfer on to that.'

As the group came closer Kerrsop brought his binoculars to bear on the small band of sailors making their way down the quayside towards their boat.

'I can tell you now that they are not Russians.' He said. 'The big blond one out in front. I recognise him from the war. Hartmann. An ex-SS NCO, he was operating with Otto Skortnesy in the defence of Berlin. Thrown out of the 21st Panzercorps for blowing things up, you will have to keep a your eye on him, Captain.'

'Well, we shall all have to pull together to make this thing work.'

'If he is on our side, we stand good chance if there is a fight.'

'And if he is not?'

'If we are lucky there will be a fight. But it is more likely that we will just find there is no boat; a fate accomli.'

'You are the cheerful one, Philip. I will make you officer in charge of walking on water, so if something happens to the boat, you can go for help.'

Hartmann led the men up the gangplank on to the 'Silver Bergen'. Officer of the Watch, Markus Lahlum, greeted them.

'Welcome aboard, gentlemen. Would you like to stow your stuff? The Captain will be on the bridge in thirty minutes to greet you.'

'Ja, bitte. That vill be most satisfactory.'

Dolfo Hartmann and Hermann Wulf found themselves in a small cabin near the rear of the ship.

'How many of us are there on this mission?' asked Wulf.

'Twenty on this ship and the one we are going to join, Captain Brel and 2 British agents, Dornat and Theobald with the crew on the dive support ship. Twenty-three Legionnaires, Two Brits, and about thirty-five ships crews.'

'Not enough to start a war, then.'

'No, but we hope it is enough to prevent one.'

'Exactly how much do you know about this mission, Dolfo?'

'We came in at the invitation of the British, who came in at the invitation of the Yanks.'

'Do we know how the opposition are doing?'

'Captain Brel told me that there are three ships heading for the crash site under Russian control. We think they are sailing from Sweden, but we have no further information.'

Hermann began opening his kit bag on the bottom bunk as he replied,

'Presuming that one of their ships is not a troop carrier we could be evenly matched.'

'Yes, it really is down to who spots who first. The first one to spot the others has the chance to choose either to fight or run or negotiate.

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The heavy ocean-going tug 'Olivia' was making good progress, for her. The skipper, Lonis Ulricksen, noted that they were now making just over 5 knots, something like a fast walk, but nowhere near as fast as a bicycle. They were towing a massive floating crane. Not the most stable of vessels, the sailing properties of the crane can be likened to an inverted iceberg; 80% of it's weight was above the water, only 20% being below. The gigantic lifting gear was stowed as low as possible, but that still left parts of it towering over the little tug. As the grey Baltic turned from choppy to rough the tug seemed to react more to the waves, but the wide crane followed it's own dance behind the 'Olivia'.

Vasloo Tiablinkova (R5) was a military seafarer, the bushy white beard fit in well with the character. He approached Lonis on the bridge.

'I hear that your air force has shot down one of our aircraft.' He remarked.

'Yes, but I also hear that someone else downed about half a dozen.' Lonis kept looking at the sea as he felt the wheel move under his hand, correcting skilfully in small movements.

'They were the older MiGs, set upon by more modern fighters. The Americans managed to shoot down one of their own.'

'Oh, really? How unlike them.'

'Da, it has been known to happen before.'

'And does this have anything to do with what we are doing here?' the skipper briefly looked across at the Russian.

'The American was delivering something to us.' Vasloo took out a pack of 'Black Russian' cigarettes, offered one to Lonis, who declined without letting go of the wheel.

'And he went and lost it, I presume.'

'Da, and we are going to retrieve it.'

'Looking at the size of the crane behind us I deduce it is not a cargo of doll's eyes.' Lonis knew full well what they were out there for; he was fishing.

'Neit, my comrade. How much do you know about the item we are looking for?'

'All I know is that it is electronic equipment of unknown size and weight, with possible difficult access. I thought we might be lifting something from a sunken ship.'

'An American cargo plane went down on its way to Mother Russia whilst carrying something for us. We are simply going to get back what belongs to us,'

'Went down? Went down? What is meant by that? Is this the aircraft the Americans shot down?' Lonis began to be concerned about the lack of information he had been given.

'Da.'

'Why would the Americans shoot down one of their own?'

'Your job is the rescue the consignment. That is what you are being paid for.'

'Yes, and that raises another question. A man from Finland paid us in US dollars. How did you Russians get involved? Who are you working for?'

'We Russians have been running this affair from the start. The Finish gentleman was a necessary intermediary.'

'Now it turns out that there is a shooting war going on. You have already lost half a squadron of MiGs, is there anything else you are not telling me?'

Vasloo knew about the 'Anemometer' incident with the Hermes, but chose not to impart the information to his new associate.

'I can tell you that we are a large powerful organisation, and you will be protected by vastly superior forces. No-one will want to tangle with us.'

'Who the hell is 'us'? Just who do you work for? Because I don't think it is the legitimate Russian State and Government.'

Vasloo moved over to the side of the bridge and looked at the grey waves below. He then turned and looked at Lonis before scanning their surroundings to ensure no-one else was close, he then moved back to the Skipper's side.

'Our leader is known as The Kommissar. You are right, we are not the principal Russian Government, merely the strongest part of it. We have taken over large sections of military and research departments, and will soon be able to quash the soft conciliatory minions who have so soon forgotten the sacrifices made by millions of our people to allow free communism to flourish.'

'It may have escaped your notice, but we were neutral during the last war. And I, for one do not wish to get involved in starting another one.'

'But you have taken our money, you are now mercenaries in our cause.' Vasloo raised his binoculars as he looked out to sea.

'You see the diving support vessel out to our port side?'

'Yes. What of it?'

'Men from the Maritime branch of the Spetnatz are aboard it. Very loyal, and quite merciless when it comes to fighting. On command from me they would board your ship, throw you under that crane, then finish the job before returning to Russia with two new vessels to add to our armoury.'

Lonis thought over his options, he was a big man, so this Captain Birdseyeonov, or whatever he called himself would not take much putting down. But Vasloo was a military man, and as such was probably armed. The Russian had now moved away from Leonis, the distance between them meant that if he took a lunge at Vasloo, there would be time to draw a weapon and end the fight before it had even begun. The Skipper thought to himself that, even if he managed to overpower the Russian, how long would it be before the Spetnaz paid him a visit?

'I have no desire to inspect the belly of the crane.' He concluded aloud, 'We are being well paid, and we are virtuous sailors who have pride in our work. We shall see the task through to the end.'

'Good, I have no doubt that we could do it without you, but it would not be easy, and I suspect that this is going to be hard enough.'

With that he left the bridge.

  * oOo -

Chapter Eighteen

12.00 Outside the Headquarters Building, Riga.

The wall that Steele leaned on had strange yellow mortar between the rough bricks. They reminded him of the rustic bricks he knew from his childhood. But some of these had been damaged recently. The sound of a Kalashnakov AK47 close by gave away how these bricks had been broken.

Steele and Brel were in front of the building from where the Kommisar operated, and had once held Bird. The rifle fire they heard was in response to young Lieutenant Bird running away, she had gone out the back way. Steele and Brel looked at the building with the damaged cut-out on it's roof.

'This looks a likely building.' Steele remarked, 'Let's have a look around.'

Brel threw down the cigarette end as they moved off in a nonchalant manner. A narrow street ran alongside the building, this they took in order to check the rear of the building. As the two 'sailors' reached the top corner of the street they caught sight of two armed soldiers, they were interested in a large metal container with sides that stood almost six feet high.

Steel indicated to Brel that they should continue across this little cross roads to get out of sight of the Russian soldiers. Upon entering the opposite street they immediately dropped back against a wall.

'We shall wait until they have gone before we reconnoitre the rear of that building.' Steele said as he slowly moved back to be able to see what the military men were doing. He could hear them talking in Russian as the taller man took his AK47 and pointed it in the bin. He seemed to be stirring something with the butt end. Then a light brown head of hair popped into view that Steele recognised.

'Christ, that's Bird.' He exclaimed as he dropped back, out of sight.

As the little Lieutenant was helped out of her self-imposed prison Steele and Brel planned quietly.

'I think the direct approach is going to be the best here.' Steele said, 'I will simply walk up as a German who has been looking for her. My German can stand that. My Russian is not good enough.'

'You have some balls, monsieur. It could work. I shall give you cover and a diversion if you should need it.'

Steele nodded, then marched out of cover along the back street, but not quite towards the trio by the container.

As he almost drew opposite he turned to face Bird. She did not recognise him.

'Achtung, vo est geghen, fraulein?'

As he called out, Brel made a dash across to the main building. The Russians were taken aback. They had hold of this soft bare-footed female, but before they had chance to question her they were interrupted by a German sailor. They did not see the Belgian legionnaire run at an angle to get closer to them. Neither did they see him draw his service automatic pistol.

'Kommen sie mit uns bitte.' Brel continued to walk towards the Russians. They looked at each other, then the soldier with his rifle on his shoulder, with the strap across his chest, decided to act. He pushed Bird towards his comrade,

'Take care of her.' He said as he began to grapple with his rifle.

Bird and the other soldier moved away from him. Steel stood his ground with his hands in his pockets.

'What are you doing?' he called in German as the Russian levelled the rifle at his head.

Steele took his hands out of his pockets to reassure the soldier that he was unarmed.

As Bird recognised Steele a shot rang out and the rifleman's cap flew off with parts of his skull still in it. He dropped dead to the ground before his mangled cranium had chance to begin oozing blood, At the same time Bird brought her knee hard up to the groin of the second Russian. As he made a grab for his gonads she took hold of his assault rifle and came up with the butt straight in his face, then a hard stab in the lower chest sent him rolling back, winded.

Steele grabbed the sleeve of her sweater and pulled her away as Brel moved up to cover the prone Russian. There was now movement within the building; having heard the shot, people were keen to know what was happening.

A side door opened out of sight of our trio. Eight Russian soldiers ran into the side street, AK47 heavy assault rifles at the ready. They turned to the rear of the building and began running.

  * oOo -

The Kommisar blamed Dmitri Lishchenko for not being able to question Lieutenant Bird. He did not yet know that she had effected her escape.

'You stupid oaf.' He admonished the ex-KGB agent, 'I was warned not to take you on because you are too volatile and unpredictable.'

'It was necessary to stop her harming my men.'

'Harming your men! Harming your men? These are soldiers in the Russian army. She is nothing but a scared little girl.'

'I have to consider the welfare of the men under my command.' Dmitri protested.

'Like you did in the Gulag?'

'What?'

'Those men were under your command too'

'What do you know of the Archipelago?'

'I know that you killed five prisoners, and, to cover your tracks, you hid the bodies in the snow. Then sent out twenty soldiers out to look for the 'escapees'. Only eight of these made it back.'

'Searching is part of a soldiers training and duty.'

'In blizzard conditions merely to cover up your own over exuberance.'

'Military discipline must be maintained.'

'Not at the expense of civilian lives. What had these prisoners done that they deserved to die at your hand?'

'They were planning subversive activities, sir.'

'Like we are now you mean?'

'No, Kommisar. These were political prisoners who were sent to Siberia for subversive activities against the State.'

'And if we fail in our endeavours, so shall we – if we are lucky.'

Just then there is the sound of a single shot outside the rear of the building.

Vadim Magnivod burst into he room, 'Excuse me, Comrade Kommisar. The girl has escaped.'

'She won't get far.' Responded Dmitri, in an attempt to regain the situation 'a bare-footed girl in western dress here in Riga. My men will soon have her back in our hands.'

'We need to examine this predicament a little before we get more involved along these lines.' Vadim interjected.

'What do you mean?' the Kommisar turned to Vadim.

Dmitri looked exasperated at this change of direction.

'Should we let her roam freely to do whatever she was sent here for? We need to find out what she was doing in Sweden, at this time. And whom was she working with, what do they know? Are they a threat to us?'

'Comrade Christ, Dmitri!' the Kommisar reeled on him, 'Have you left your senses in bed this morning? We know why these people were meeting in Sweden, they want to take our Atlas from us.'

Vadim then said 'From what I gather this woman was simply plucked from amongst the public on a bus. Can we be sure she is one of the conspirators?'

'That is exactly what we will be asking her at the first opportunity.' Dmitri said.

'I see what you mean, Vadim.' The Kommisar then turned to Dmitri, 'And what if she is an innocent tourist or student? Not all westerners are spies, you know.'

'The way she fought was not the kind of behaviour you would expect from an innocent tourist.' Dmitri said.

'We must err on the side of caution,' Vadim tried to cool things down, 'but at the same time protect our project from foreign interference.'

'I agree.' The Kommisar turned from the two men, he stroked his chin thoughtfully, then announced, 'If and when we get hold of this woman again, we must hold her securely well away from contact with outside elements. That way we can prevent any damage – we may even be able to gain some advantage from what she knows. Remember, keep your friends close – but keep your enemies even closer.' He turned to face Dmitri. 'There will be no unnecessary killing. Living agents in our hands are worth more than dead ones in the Baltic.'

Bird clung on to the AK47 as Steele led the way away from the two soldiers. Brel watched their rear as they neared the corner of the building, running to gain the cover of turning the edge of the building.

Eight green-clad soldiers exited the side door and began running towards the back alley.

Both groups reached the corner at the same time, and at about the same speed.

Bird and Steele were sent sprawling into the middle of the narrow street. As the Russians quickly took stock of their situation, Brel ran into their midst. All eight looked into their group as he shouted something resembling a battle cry. His heavy automatic pistol was used like a thrusting weapon as he hit out at the throats of two men directly in front of him. He aimed at their throats because their helmets protected their heads, but usually became dislodged from the violent thrust. Before the rest of them had chance to react, the Legionnaire chopped with his left hand sending another two soldiers sprawling. The heel of his hand was like cast iron from many hours hitting concrete, and the effect was to sever the top vertebrae of the spine. As two soldiers grasped their throats and gasped for breath, two more had their necks broken. Brel then saw that there was only one Russian between him and open space. One shot from his pistol brought the man down.

As Brel broke away from the now depleted group Steele and Bird gathered their guns. The three remaining soldiers were still wondering what had hit them, two of them took aim at Brel as he ran away from them, the other one raised his assault rifle at Steele and Bird, still lying in the middle of the road.

Brel was now clear of the Russians, but he could not run faster than a bullet. The AK47 has a very distinctive sound when fired on full automatic. More than 8 high-velocity rounds a second were fired in the small side street in Riga. Blood spread down the rough bricks with the yellow mortar between them.

Dmitri was the first to leave the room. He was half way to the stairs when the Kommisar and Vadim Magnivod reached the door.

As he descended the stairway from the third floor they were on, Dmitri called out to soldiers in the rooms on the second floor.

'You are authorised to use deadly force. This person must not be allowed to enter the dockyards.'

The Kommisar heard this and attempted to countermand the order, but his calls were lost in the commotion caused by 24 soldiers arming and preparing to give chase.

Dmitri was by the exit door as the soldiers began leaving.

'One hundred Rubles to anyone who can bring this woman back here.'

'Is that dead or alive, sir?' Asked sergeant Karpov.

Just then the Kommisar appeared on the staircase.

'It is alive and unharmed.' He turned to look at Dmitri, 'We are not animals. Bring her back here, and Dmitri will give you one hundred Rubles.'

The door they were leaving by was in the front of the building. Twelve men turned right, twelve men went to the left – and into danger.

As they approached the corner of the headquarters building they heard the distinctive sound of an AK47 on full automatic. A burst of less than two seconds was heard. The men stopped short of the end of the wall. The sound had come from around the corner they were about to move around. The group of men at the front were lead by corporal Smirnov, he leaned on the wall and carefully edged forwards. Sergeant Karpov quietly advised caution.

'Don't try to go down the street.' he indicated the first soldiers who would reach the corner,

'You two, make a dash straight across the street to the other side. That will reduce the time you are exposed. Look down the street as you run. When you get to the other side we can offer fire from both sides at once, if needed. Go.'

'I'll go with them.' Corporal Smirnov said as he took a firmer grip on his rifle and dashed across the narrow road. They looked down the street. No fire came their way; they were not exposed long enough.

The sergeant gave a shrugging motion to ask for information from the dashers.

Smirnov, indicated that there were three targets in view by showing three fingers.

He could not make signals to let the sergeant know about the pile of Soviet soldiers that had been mowed down by Bird with the captured AK47.

That had saved Brel's life. He called across to Steele and Bird as he pointed to the street opposite the headquarters building with the yellow mortar,

'Go. I have see rear.'

He then picked up an AK47 from the Russian soldiers who had been cut down by Bird. A quick burst of machine gun bullets towards Smirnov made them keep their heads down.

Then there suddenly appeared from the main group an AK with no one behind it; only a pair of arms held the gun as it sprayed bullets up the street.

Steele and Bird reached the safety of the far corner of the adjacent street. Brel dropped to one knee and selected single shot on the rifle. The disembodied AK appeared again. Before the holder could pull the trigger, Brel squeezed off one round that hit the old assault rifle in the wooden structure just in front of the breech. This sent splinters into the face of the soldier holding it. When the bullet reach the metal breech it sent the rifle recoiling backwards, breaking his hand. Blinded, the soldier dropped the now useless rifle and reeled back. Karpov ordered two soldiers to escort the wounded man back to get his wounds attended to. That left six men on this side of the building.

Brel then put the rifle back on automatic, and picked up another AK47, which he slung across his shoulder as he moved forwards. Smirnov put his head round the corner just as Steele let fly at Karpov's group. The bullets knocked pieces off the rough brickwork and stitched holes around the corner. Brel then opened up on Smirnov's group as he moved forwards. This made all three move as far away from the corner as possible. They could see that the lone man was moving forwards, and there was also firing from somewhere they could not see, so they presumed that their position was becoming untenable, and they abandoned it; moving away from the action along the front of the building.

This, combined with the firing from Steele, was what Brel was waiting for. He turned towards Steele and ran up the street. He was preparing to cross the road when he heard firing from an unexpected area. Two comrades had joined the soldier who had originally helped Bird out of the metal container, and he was now firing at Steele and Bird. They dived for cover as the rounds kicked up concrete dust around them. Brel could not see the origins of the firing yet, but continued quietly running towards where he knew the Russian must be.

Karpov then realised that he had an ally in the alley.

'You, you and you stay here, you may be needed to cover or go round the back.' He turned to the other two, come with me.' He poked his head round the corner into the street where Brel was moving towards the far end of the building. He signalled his group to move away from the headquarters building just as the other three Russians emerged from the rear of the building.

As the first soldier began to draw a bead on Brel, the legionnaire fired his AK47 from the hip. Only two rounds were fired. One of them hit the Russian in the left shoulder, the heavy assault rifle round exited through the man's shoulder blade causing him to spin around as he fell hard to the ground.

Brel pulled on the trigger again, but the gun was empty. Only the sound of the firing pin hitting an empty chamber, known as the dead man's click.

The other two Russians began preparing to fire at the exposed Belgian as he removed the spare AK47 from his shoulder. Two shots rang out.

As they neared the main entrance, the Kommisar turned to Vadim Magnivod, 'You are too important to risk being hit by a stray round. You must stay here.' He said to the intelligent looking Russian, who removed his thin rimmed spectacles, 'If I am too valuable, so are you.' He replied as the sounds of more firing emanated from around the corner.

The tall Russian officer agreed with Vadim, 'You are right, soldiers are expendable, we are not.'

Just then Dmitri appeared from an adjacent room accompanied by six soldiers.

'Dmitri,' the Kommisar addressed him, 'We need these soldiers to guard the front of the headquarters.'

'Da, Comrade Kommissar.'

'And I want at least two men at every window to repel possible intruders.'

'I will see to it at once, comrade.'

Dmitri returned to rooms at the rear of the building, here he found a sergeant and twelve men about to exit the headquarters to join the fight.

'There have been a change in orders for you and your men.' He said to the sergeant, 'I want two men at every window to guard the interior.'

'But we are only twelve men, comrade. We can only guard six windows.' The burly sergeant was not being insubordinate, merely pointing out the shortage of personnel.

'Then find more people. Begin by protecting the front, I already have some men at the rear, but they will need reinforcement.'

With that Dmitri Lishchenko exited the building via the rear door alongside the large metal container in the yard that had once housed lieutenant Bird. As he closed the door behind him he heard two shots ring out.

They were not from an AK47, he could tell from the sound they made.

Steve Steele was over fifty feet away from the Russians who were threatening Jacques Brel. He could not expect his Beretta pistol to hit anyone from this range, but it had the desired effect. The remaining Russians were diverted from attacking Brel long enough for him to bring the AK47 to bear on them. This one was not empty. But it was set on single fire; so instead of a stream of bullets at the rate of 600 rounds per minute, as Brel expected, only one round was fired. This bullet missed both soldiers, who were now faced with fire from two directions at once. The only thing they could do was to retreat back for some cover. The bloke on the floor with half his shoulder missing was completely unconscious.

So they did just that. As they turned the corner into the small street behind the HQ building they became face to face with Dmitri Lishchenco who was in no mood to be pushed back.

'Turn and face the enemy you cowards. It is only a woman. You are Russian soldiers. Get back to the fight.'

He emphasised his words with gesturing of his pistol.

'A woman?' the two soldiers asked each other, then looked at Dmitri. Russian soldiers do not question orders; they turned back just as Jacques Brel reached the corner.

Sergeant Karpov and his group now chose their moment to move from the front of the building. He had been watching Brel through a small hand mirror, and now saw his moment because the man's attentions were elsewhere.

Brel, on seeing this, signalled Steele,

'GO. I will lead them away.'

With this he fired a spray of bullets at the group, causing them to scatter and fall to the ground. He then turned on the two Russians in the rear of the building. Knowing that firing from the hip whilst on the run is an ineffective waste of ammunition, Brel gave out another blood curdling war-cry and charged directly at the soldiers. Before they had chance to recover he had hit them both simultaneously, splitting them up and sending them reeling. Dmitri looked on aghast. He was under the impression that there was only one little young woman. Where had this monster come from? By the time he realised what was happening, and he had a gun in his hand, the legionnaire had shot past them and had disappeared down the narrow street.

Upon stumbling upon an open door, Steele and Bird fell into an unlit reception area, blinking as their eyes became accustomed to the dark, they could just make out a series of doors, two of which were ajar. Steele cautiously peered inside. His eyes were becoming used to the dark, but this room was even darker; and he couldn't see anything. The windows seemed to have some sort of covering, which allowed only dark brown light in. After a few seconds he could make out that there was very little in the room, but another door beyond looked interesting. He turned to signal to Bird. The little Lieutenant was looking out of the door they had entered by.

'Psst.' Steele attempted to get her attention.

Bird turned to see only blackness.

'Follow my voice.' Steele whispered.

As they moved carefully in to the second room Bird's eyes became accustomed to the dark and she could make out where they were going. The room seemed to be some sort of storeroom, but there was nothing they could use as cover. This was not a secure place to hide.

They could hear sounds of banging on adjacent doors; the soldiers were checking every door.

Steele found another door at the rear of this storeroom. He opened the door and found a small office. There were no outside walls to this office, so it was darker than the first rooms had been. It only contained two filing cabinets, a desk and two chairs. Steele stood there, trying to make out these dark shapes in the gloom.

The pounding on doors grew nearer, then the sound of heavy boots was heard in the outer room. Steele and Bird huddled behind the desk as the sound of men entering the second room came filtering through..

'WE HAVE GOT THEM.' A Russian voice announced.

Steele and Bird gripped their weapons and readied themselves for an inrush of overpowering forces.

The sound of footsteps stopped.

One lone man entered the outer room.

'Da, они используют захваченные Кlashnekov.'

Steele looked at Bird's silhouette and shrugged, he didn't know what was going to happen next, neither did she.

'действие с другой стороны штаб-квартиры'

The man was talking into a mobile radio, telling his men to go to the other side of the headquarters building, where the action was. But Steele and Bird did not know that.

'этот блок почти ясно, мы их работающий в другую сторону.' The man with the radio told the person on the other end that this block was nearly clear. He indicated with the radio that the present soldiers should leave.

'выйти и пойти в противоположную сторону двора.'

Radioman turned to the sergeant,

'выполнить свою миссию' (execute your mission.)

The soldiers left the room and moved off back the way they had come.

Steele began to move. Bird took his arm and shook her head silently. She nodded towards the office door. Silhouetted in the dull windows was the unmistakable outline of a Russian soldier.

Radioman had stayed. Steele and Bird dared not move. They heard and felt the footsteps moving towards their room.

People tend to speak loudly into radios, and now in the confines of this deserted building his voice resounded loudly with an echo.

'мы знаем, что они командир Steve Steele и лейтенант Bird, но мы не знаем, что их миссия еще.' He said as the door opened into the last room.. Steele and Bird prepared to cut down whoever should discover them.

The figure in the doorway paused. Bird took a quick peek,

'That's Dmitri.' She whispered to Steele, 'a nasty piece of work.' She stroked her round cheek.

The footsteps grew louder as Dmitri moved closer to the desk. He seemed to be walking slower now, was he being careful, or did he suspect that there was someone in this last room? Any second now he would see at least one of them behind the desk.

He took another step towards them.

'Минуточку, вы нарушаете до.' (Wait a minute, you are breaking up..)

He turned and walked towards the exit,

'является то, что лучше?'

As the footsteps faded away Steele and Bird breathed a sigh of relief.

'Well, it sounds as if they know who we are.' Steele said as he stood up.

Bird carefully handled the AK 47, 'I know that they knew about me, but how did they know about you?'

'I don't know, but they must be pretty dim to mistake Brel for us two!'

Bird moved towards the door, 'Let's get out of here, I feel trapped with nowhere to go.'

'OK, I suggest we go north, then cut back to the dockyard.'

As the Brits carefully emerged into the street they decided to move away from the headquarters building, as they had been doing. The sound of an approaching helicopter alerted them to more dangers from a different angle.

At the opposite end of the street, corporal Smirnov and his comrade turned the corner, having moved completely around the building. They cautiously moved towards an opening. This led into an industrial entrance hall with three large wooden doors and a lot of darkness. The soldiers were quick to realise that they had to search this opening, in case their quarry be hiding in there, allowing them to emerge behind the Russians.

As they emerged they saw Steele and Bird enter another similar entrance further up the street. Steele and Bird were making their way towards them, and with the firepower available there could be an unfortunate ending for all four people unless one could get an unassailable advantage.

Smirnov signalled for his comrade to follow him as he dashed to the next opening that Brits would find as they worked their way along the street.

In the darkness of the cavernous hall the Russians felt they should acquire this advantage.

'We shall conceal ourselves in that corner.' Smirnov indicated the darkest corner of the hall.

As they moved carefully towards the corner, their eyes got more accustomed to the darkness. In the gloom they saw that the floor seemed darker than the rest of the room.

Smirnov look briefly at the entrance to check for anyone else entering.

'Damn!' he cried, 'I can't see anything now. Do not look at the light. What can you see in the dark?'

'There seems to be a big hole there.'

'Can you find a place as close to the wall as possible?'

'Just a minute.' The soldier took a coin out of his pocket and dropped it into the 'hole'.

'I think it is only shallow. I will try to find out how deep it is and what the floor is made of.'

He lowered his AK47's butt into the abyss. As he was about to give up he felt it touch a hard floor.

'It is about as deep as my rifle is long.' He called to Smirnov, 'I'll test around, but it feels like concrete. If we stand here there will only be the top half of our bodies visible.'

'Right, but be careful.' Smirnov moved very cautiously. He might as well have closed his eyes. The two soldiers sat on the edge. Their feet were only inches away from the solid concrete floor, but they weren't to know that.

It was with considerable relief that they landed on solid concrete.

They had just controlled their breath when Steele and Bird appeared in the entrance.

There was no other cover in the vicinity.

'We can wait for Brel in here.' Steele said.

With that they entered the dark hallway and began testing the big wooden doors, but they were all firmly locked.

At the third door they were as far from the entrance as they could be when they were startled by a disembodied voice saying in German,

'What are you doing? Stand where you are and drop your weapons.'

Steele and Bird heard the clicks of two AK47s being cocked.

Outside Dmitri pointed in the direction that Brel had gone, he pushed the nearest soldier to him, 'Go and get that fucking animal.' He ordered.

The two soldiers gathered themselves and gave chase after a Foreign Legionnaire who had enough start on them to make things difficult. Two streets away Brel stopped and took cover. He checked the assault rifle for ammunition, Then he saw the Soviet soldiers move closer. A short burst from the captured AK47 dispatched the Russians.

Jacques Brel then began to make his way back to the original fight scene.

In the dark industrial hallway there was complete silence. The final burst from Jacque Brel's AK47 echoed through the streets. Then the sound of distant machinery could be descerned.

'I said drop your weapons.' Smirnov repeated.

The clattering sound of Bird's AK47 and Steele's pistol hitting the ground was not the only sound heard. The sound of machinery seemed to be getting closer.

As the lift (elevator) entered the ground floor Smirnov and his comrade realised what they were standing in. The lift shaft.

The soldier was hit on the head by the decending lift and knocked to the ground. This probably saved his life.

Smirnov made a brave attempt to escape; he managed to get his hands and arms on the ledge, but was caught by the bottom edge of the lift as it passed the sill of the hole they were in. It sliced him completely in half. He made no sound as the machinery descended into the hole; his lungs were sliced horizontally in two.

Bird and Steele could see nothing in detail, but they knew that the threat to their liberty had gone, so they retrieved their guns.

As the lift doors opened a dim yellow light spilled out on to the blood stained floor. The quality of light seemed not to penetrate the black darkness, but the yellowness seemed to exaggerate the blood red of Smirnov's life as it pooled out, moving towards Bird and Steele. For seconds they were mesmerised by the sight of half a man completely still with a rich red pool creeping away from him.

Not only did the gruesome sight surprise them. So were the Eight soldiers in the lift. As the concertina door fully opened Sergeant Karpov arrived at the entrance with his men. AK47 rifles were levelled at Steele and Bird. Once more they dropped their weapons on to the concrete.

'So we meet again, my dear.' Dmitri Lishechenco emerged from between the soldiers. He smirked as he moved up to Steele, turning his head he said to Bird, 'You have caused us considerable trouble, madam. We shall have no more trouble from you.'

  * oOo -

Chapter Nineteen

1223. Inside the Headquarters Building, Riga.

'I want to tell you what is going to happen to you.' Dmitri took pleasure in holding power over Steele and Bird. 'But I won't. I will not give you the comfort such knowledge will give you.'

As interrogation rooms go, this was not too bad. Steele and Bird were tied to chairs. Dmitri had found some balls and chains from somewhere, so they each had one shackled to an ankle.

This room was set on the second floor of the headquarters building. The décor was standard Soviet late 1940s drab, peeling paint with a maroon stripe about waist height.

Dmitri Leshechenko sat behind a desk that looked to be older than he was.

'What brings you to our fair city?' he began the questions.

'We came on one of the new package tours, you should try one. The sooner the better.' Steele responded as he looked at Bird. She seemed to be holding up ok.

Dmitri looked at some notes in a folder, then directly at Steele.

'It must have been quite some disruption to Sir John Rimmer for him to move away from London in order for him to brief you.'

Steele managed to hide surprise that the Russian knew this much, but it was probably all he knew.

'You see, what I don't understand, is how did you get from an RAF base in Germany to Riga so quickly.'

'The RAF branch of BOAC.'

'Very droll Mr Steele. It was also a coincidence that we lost a shipment at the same time I suppose?'

'You lost a shipment? You should be more careful. Am I right to presume that it didn't really belong to you? We heard that the USAF branch of Pan Am wanted to join Aeroflot.'

'You didn't have anything to do with the loss of that aircraft did you?' Dmitri wrote something down.

'I was going in the other direction at the time.' Steele was honest.

'We know about you Mr Steele, but who are your friends? You, my dear we have met before. But who the hell was that with you outside here?' he turned back to Steele.

'Dissatisfied tourist?' Steele raised an eyebrow in a quizzical fashion.

'I have lost nearly twenty men at your hands. You will pay for that.' Dmitri threatened.

Bird then spoke up, 'The two men in the lift were not our doing, they just didn't know how to wait for a lift. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. So were the ones outside. The wrong place at the wrong time. With the wrong guns, pointing the wrong way – at us.'

'Let us cut through the crap here.' Dmitri took a more serious expression as he placed his pen on the desk,

'What are your plans to recover the missile?'

He knew the British obviously knew about the lost ICBM, but what are they doing about it?

'If we are to cut through the crap, as you put it, let the girl go and I'll tell what I know of the preparations to recover the missile.'

Bird looked at Steele, 'Bollocks!' she exclaimed, looked at Dmitri, then back to Steele. 'If you stay, I am going nowhere. I stay.'

'You are in no position to bargain. We would like to know your plan simply for safety. You see we have our own plans, and we would not like to get entangled.'

'You mean the clipped airliner outside?' Bird asked. She was guessing and fishing at the same time.

'So you know about our secret weapon?'

Steele looked at Bird. There was no chance for communications without the Russian hearing, so he just gave her a quizzical look. She returned the look with a raised eyebrow.

'It is not for me to decide how much information I can divulge to you right now, but suffice to say that we shall back up our plans with military strength. You have the opportunity here to prevent great loss of life on your side and ours.'

Steele responded,

'You mean we have the opportunity to help you win the battle. No dice, Dmitri.'

The Kommisar entered the room with Vadim Magnivod.

'We are about ready to convene now, Dmitri. These two can wait.' He looked at the balls and chains on their ankles, 'they don't look as if they are going anywhere.'

Dmitri rose from his desk.

'Very good.' He looked at his prisoners, 'The longer you delay giving me this information, the harder it will be for you and your people. Remember, there are two armed and angry guards outside this door.'

Bird then spoke up,

'We already know about your so-called secret weapon in the docks outside. You don't think we arrived here by accident do you? Well, ok, you brought me here, but how do you explain how he managed to get here so quick with his friends?' she nodded towards Steele.

The Kommisar took Vadim to one side and whispered,

'She has a point, you know.'

'What harm can they do us now?' asked Vadim in a low voice.

'Even less chance if we take them with us to the middle of the Baltic.'

The pair turned towards Steele and Bird.

'I would like you to know what you have touched upon. You can not know the extent of our organisation – or how small and insignificant you really are.'

He turned to Dmitri,

'Have them carry their balls to join us.'

As the Kommisar left the room followed by Vadim, Dmitri turned to Steele and Bird. He began to untie their bindings. He nodded towards the two soldiers to help him. He dodged around Lennox Bird as if she was especially dangerous.

When finished he said to the British pair,

'Pick up your balls and walk. Follow the soldiers.'

They filed into the meeting room and were placed in chairs that were not too close to the table, but they were still able to see what was on it.

'Do you believe they can be of some use to us Dmitri?' Vadim asked as they took their seats in the meeting room.

'I doubt it. We have vastly superior forces involved here. I think they are looking upon it as a simple recovery at sea. It wouldn't surprise me if they were using Jacques Coustau.'

'But these two and their comrade are a bit of a surprise, are they not?' Vadim did not seem to respect Dmitri.

'Yes, but three people against the forces we have are not much of a problem.'

Vadim took a cigarette out of a silver case and offered the case to Dmitri, who refused.

'What do you intend to do with them?' he asked.

'Take them out and dump them at sea.'

'This is you being your usual kind and considerate self is it Dmitri?' Svetlana Gremiko (R24) knew Dmitri from reports that had reached Moscow. There had been some nastiness involving him that then resulted in him being posted to Siberia.

'What use are they to us?' he responded.

'Fortunately the decision is not yours.' She flicked her long black hair to allow it to flow down the back of her orange blouse creating a striking contrast.

Next to Svetlana sat Falco Reihardt, also seated at the table were Doctor Maximova, Illya Kazakov (R6) and Igor Ivanova, known as the Kommisar.

He called the meeting to order.

'We cannot simply dump these people in the sea, for one thing, we are going on the ekranoplan; this is not a ferry. There is no way you can simply tip someone overboard at 300 mph.' He ran his fingers through his thick white hair.

'These people had help. We need to know how deep their knowledge of our affairs goes. How did they get here? And why now, at this critical time?' Dr Maximova asked.

Dmitri replied, 'I have only just begun to question our guests, but I am confident they offer no threat to our plans.'

'Speaking of which,' the Kommisar lifted his head, addressing the whole room, 'I will now, for the sake of unity and for those of you who do not have a full picture, go over the plan. You will see, Mr Steele, how futile you and your efforts are. First the original plan, then the events that have transpired to make an amended plan necessary.'

He arranged some papers in front of him.

'The original plan was to acquire a complete Atlas Intercontinental Ballistic Missile - intact. This we were to strip to reverse engineer and build their advances into our own missiles. The gigantic missiles you see paraded through Red Square are mainly for show; the real things are not transportable. The Americans have developed miniaturisation with the help of the Japanese that can enable us to produce missiles which can be carried and launched from the back of an articulated truck anywhere in the world, to anywhere in the world. We also believe from our comrades who are living in the west that they have contrived something they call The Web. This comprises a vast communications web that has no beginning and no end.' He saw that some of the group did not understand this concept.

He continued to explain,

'When you make a telephone call, you are at one end, the other person is at the other. With only one line between you it is easy for an enemy to intercept or interrupt your communication. But with a web like that of a spider, there is not only one line connecting you, in fact, you can't even tell who is talking to whom. We believe this system is built into the guidance and command designs on board these missiles. With our network of agents throughout the world the level of accuracy we could achieve will be unmatched by the west. We shall take what they refer to as their freedom and turn it against them.'

Doctor Maximova added.

'We have laboratories and manufacturing facilities here in Latvia that are ready to begin the work of developing and producing a new range of nuclear missiles that will be truly unpredictable and unstoppable.'

The Kommisar continued,

'But the real prize in this will be capturing the American trigger and safeguard devices. Doctor,'

'Yes,' Doctor Maximova rested his elbows on the table, making a cross with his intertwined fingers,

'An atomic device is, by its very nature, extremely dangerous. All bombs are fused in mid-air. There are always at least two separate lines of safety devices to prevent harm to the handlers and aircrew. The first are usually mechanical pins that are removed before flight. The second normally involves a small propeller unwinding a screw that arms the bomb. These methods are not good enough for atom bombs. The American bombs that they dropped on Japan had be fused by hand whilst in transit on board the aircraft. They dare not fit the fuses before then! Things have moved on since then. But so have the problems.'

He took a drink of water.

'Let us first examine the term 'Intercontinental Ballistic Missile', or ICBM.'

The doctor stroked his voluminous beard as he looked at the contents on the table in front of him. He picked up a long pencil and stood it on end, the sharpened tip pointing at the ceiling.

'Intercontinental means simply that they range between continents.'

He picked up the pencil and waved it around. The assembled officers and observers watched with interest.

'Guidance can be a problem with the ranges involved, but if you give it a big enough bang at the other end, that counters the lack of accuracy. It is the next word that causes more problems, Ballistic.

In order to be intercontinental and ballistic the missile must go into space. The rigors of the blast-off make rigging of safeguards to prevent premature explosion almost impossible. But these are essential for the safe operations of these machines. Having experienced the white-hot hostility of a launch, these systems must then go through the cold extremities of space. And still operate faultlessly and reliably.'

The pencil is sent down to the surface of the table, point first.

'This also goes for the final explosion. In order to acquire a full atomic explosion you have to smash together two elements that, by nature, repel each other, and the closer they get, the stronger the repelling becomes. But they have to be held together for a minimum amount of time. The act of putting these two elements together destroys everything around them, and they still have to be held together.'

His hands hold an imaginary ball and squeezed it before picking up the pencil again.

'I think you can now grasp the difficulty in designing a reliable, dependable, and stable device. Then we subject these delicate devices to phenomenal vibrations and g-forces, before the airless freezing cold of space, then white-hot re-entry. After this they have to be on target, and fully functioning. It is no good going through all this trouble if the bloody thing doesn't work, or misses its target.'

The pencil fell over.

'The Americans have used Japanese electronics experts to develop near perfect trigger and initiator devices. We want these. Back to you, Kommisar.'

'Thank you, comrade Doctor. Well, we managed to arrange for one to be delivered to us. But unfortunately the operator in charge of the shipment went and lost it.'

He looked first at Vadim, then the Doctor.

'We did not anticipate the level of tenacity they employed to prevent this machine falling into our hands. They even sent an aircraft carrier full of planes, which rammed one of our surveillance ships. Then they sent a squadron of Lightning fighters, which we managed to beat off with our superior MiGs. Our radar people reported that American fighters operating out of Denmark eventually shot the transport down, and with it our missile.'

He took a sip of water without looking at any one in particular.

'But I foresaw that eventuality, and took steps to arrange for the recovery of our precious cargo. Svetlana Gremyko has been reviewing the situation.' He waved his hand towards the black-haired young woman seated by Falco Reinhart.

'Thank you, comrade Kommisar.' Svetlana began by giving some information on her background.

'I have been diving in most of the world's oceans. And been involved in six submarine rescues, regrettably only four of which were successful. I trained with the spetnatz in Estonia before being posted to the Adriatic for clandestine underwater operations around Brindisi.' She took a deep breath, 'To the plan in question; I have not been able to dive the wreck,'

The Kommisar winced at the use of the word.

'But I am assured that it lies in diveable waters in the Baltic. We are going to need lifting equipment, I understand you have this in hand, Vadim.'

Vadim nodded, not wishing to interrupt.

'A team of ten divers, and eight support workers in boats on the surface should be able to do the job of lifting the warhead if we get a ship with enough lifting capacity to raise something that could weigh as much as five or six tons.'

She paused and looked at Vadim Maximova. He decided to take over the commentary,

'There is a little more to it than simply lifting the thing off the seabed. The original plan was to take the thing apart either in its transport, or in our workshops near Riga airport. This may still be possible. We now intend to use our secret weapon.'

He looked at the Kommisar, who nodded his agreement.

'For some time now we have been developing a new form of transport – the ekranoplan.'

Vadim unveiled a large model of the machine Bird had seen from her first room of captivity.

Steele tried to control his surprise.

'Weight 280 tons,' the Kommisar continued, 'maximum speed in access of 300 miles per hour, and the range is in the order of many hundreds of miles. Aeroplanes or ships cannot match these performance figures. This is both, you see. It operates in what is called 'wing in ground effect' by skimming over the water it has been found that far less fuel is used, but weight is not as big a problem as it is with aircraft.

The room was quiet.

Presently Falco Reinhardt spoke up, 'Exactly what do you intend to do with this thing, Igor?'

'That is where you come in, my friend. When we lift the Atlas warhead and top stage we intend to load them into the ekronoplane whilst it is at sea. That is why we need a big crane, like the one you have supplied.'

Vadim Magnivod was surprised at this. 'You mean you have already got a crane?'

'Yes, we have. And it is,' the Kommisar turned to Falco, 'what, half way there?'

'Something like that.'

'Will this be able to load a four ton lump on to the ekronoplane? 'Vadim wanted details to be correct.

Falco assured him, 'In the right conditions it can lift 1,000 tons. We have extra jib sections to allow it to reach over obstacles, so I can't see any problems.'

He picked the model up and studied it. 'Where is the entry point? This is not a tramp steamer with hatches like we are used to loading.'

The Kommisar replied,

'Doctor Maximova has overseen the conversion of the ecranoplane, I will let him explain.'

'Very well.' The Doctor looked at Steele and Bird, sitting quietly, then at the Kommisar, who nodded.

'The original design had an opening front.' He took the model and indicated the nose section, 'this whole area swings open to allow loading from the front. We will be loading at sea, so this is not possible. Because weight is not as big an issue that it is with an aircraft we were able to beef up the structure sufficiently to be able to place a fourteen-foot long loading hatch in the roof. This will allow pieces up to eighteen feet long to be loaded by sliding them in, much the same way we load torpedoes into a submarine.'

Steele then spoke up,

'You have gone to a lot of trouble, this is an ingenious plan, and it deserves to work, but it won't.'

Dmitri responded quickly, 'You will have nothing to do with it. You will not see the end, good or bad.'

'That's a good point,' continued Steele as he turned to the Kommisar, 'what is the end? What is your aim in all of this?'

This appealed to the megalomaniac in the Kommisar, he couldn't avoid boasting about his ambitions.

'This is only the first step towards our ultimate aim. The technical advancements we make here will enable the medium range missiles we control to become long range, highly accurate weaponry.'

He looked directly at Steele, 'The soft appeasers in the Kremlin who cosy up to the fascist capitalists will crumble when they find that we out-gun them and the west.'

'A petty political point? Is that what all this is about? I don't think so. Do these good people know of your real aim?' Steele looked round at the assembled group.

Dmitri butted in,

'You are making this up to further your own ends. Be quiet or you will be removed.'

Steele would have to wait for another opportunity.

The Doctor continued, 'Inside the gigantic hull, or is it a fuselage?'

Vadim replied,

'When it is resting on the water it is a hull, when it is in the air it is a fuselage.'

Bird could not resist, 'When it is only half way up it is neither up nor down.'

Dmitri turned to the Kommisar, 'Shall I?'

'Yes, I think we have had enough interruptions now.'

Two soldiers stood behind Steele and Bird. Two more joined them, then they helped the Brits pick up their balls and make their way out of the room with Dmitri leading the way.

The small group made their way down a flight of stairs. As Bird raised her ball in preparation to bringing it crashing down on Dmitri's head Steele stayed her hand.

'Wait.' He whispered. He knew the four soldiers behind them would kill both of them, even if their leader were dead. If he wasn't, he would either order it, or do it himself.

As the door closed the Doctor was visibly relieved, as he continued his explanation,

'Inside the body of this great machine we have created a laboratory and workshop. Our aim is to be able to dissect the main components of the missile without the need to remove it from our mother ship.'

Vadim was surprised by this, 'That explains the lack of ground support ashore.'

'Yes, the main components we need are the warhead and the top stage. The mercury switches and safeguards are in the pointed end, whilst the navigation electronics, we believe, are in the last stage.'

Dmitri returned to the room,

'Does this mean we will not be launching from the ekranoplan?'

Illya the Ekranoplan pilot then spoke up,

'Not if I'm aboard.'

'You have not grasped this, Dmitri.' The Doctor patiently explained, 'this thing we are recovering is only a small part of the whole missile. The complete missile is like a spaceship, capable of going into space – it is gigantic, and would melt the Ekranoplan if we fuelled it and tried to launch it.'

'I see.'

The Kommisar then said,

'There are more than workshops aboard the Ekranoplan. It is armed with two 40-millimetre cannon, which are more than a match for lightly armoured frigates. Inside we will be carrying 50 assault spetnatz troops equipped to escort the two complete dive teams. These come under the command of Svetlana Greymko.'

Falco patted her on the shoulder.

'Right.' The Kommisar stood up, 'I have been more than explicit, so there will be no questions. I declare this meeting closed. All personnel who are detailed to be on the Ekranoplan, including everyone here, must be aboard in thirty minutes. Vadim and Doctor Mavimova, please come with me.'

He turned to Dmitri;

'We shall now re-interview the prisoners.'

Steele and Bird were tied to chairs in the room below the meeting room. Vadim and the Doctor took seats on either side of the desk. The Kommisar took a chair opposite the Brits, he looked across the desk directly at Steele.

'What did you mean 'a petty political point? What do you know of our activities?'

Steele had to make something up.

'You would like your people to think that your ambitions are only inside mother Russia. But why develop a transport with that kind of range,' he turned to Bird, 'what was it? Thousands of miles?'

Bird agreed,

'Yes, many thousands of miles, if you please.'

'Why would you need that kind of range if your aspirations are internal?'

The Kommisar looked surprised, he turned to Dmitri,

'Lose the soldiers, dismiss your men.'

Dmitri looked puzzled,

'Comrade?'

'The soldiers here, send them outside.' He could have done so himself, but he knew it would undermine Dmitri's authority to do so.

Dmitri turned to the guards at the back of the room,

'Stand sentry duty outside this door.'

They exited the room, Dmitri looked at the Kommisar, then at Steele.

'I don't know where you are getting your information from.' The Kommisar stared Steele straight in the face.

Steele replied

'I would be surprised if you did.'

The Kommisar leant back in his chair, he turned to Dmitri and the seated Russians,

'It is time you got the whole plan.'

Steele thought,

'This is going to be good.' He had run out of ideas.

'The plan we went through in there is quite accurate, but that is only the first stage.' He laid his hands flat on the empty desk.

Steele now interrupted,

'First stage! You know that the real owners of the missile, the USA, will want it back. And the pressures they will exert to get it will be so great the Kremlin will force you to give it back. Provided that you actually recover it in the first place, which I doubt.'

'We shall recover it. And we shall give it back.' The Kommisar clenched a fist,

'Yes, you are right. They will exert tremendous diplomatic and every other kind of pressure short of military action to get their merchandise back. I anticipate we will have three months to get what we need.'

Steele was beginning to see what was likely to happen,

'Oh, that is brilliant. So you think you can get away with handing back an empty can after you have stolen the interesting bits?'

'The way we are going to hand it back will leave them in no doubt that it is not an empty can. You are right to point out the range of the ekronoplan to be an important factor in all of this.'

He looked around at his comrades. They were all seated bolt upright in eager anticipation.

'In the three months to June we will be stripping out the parts we need to copy and learn from, but not here, or anywhere we will be detected. The workshop we have built into the Ekranoplan will serve very well whilst we work on the warhead. The short winglets on our machine ensures that we can hide it to the north of Scandinavia whilst we do this work.'

Everyone looked pleased about this. Even Steele and Bird were surprised at the sense of keeping out of the way, and they were pleased to know where to look. Then came the bombshell.

'Upon completion of our work we shall travel to New York to demonstrate the range of our new form of transport, and unveil this fantastic new machine. When we have got all the President's men and as many powerful figures as possible on board we will detonate their weapon.

  * oOo -

Chapter Twenty

1223. Baltic Sea

Every little thing one ship does in a convoy situation will effect the other ships. The whole collection must travel at the speed of the slowest vessel.

'Knock it back a bit, Philip.' The captain of the 'Silver Bergen', Sven Tommasen said to his engineering officer, Philip Kersopp, 'We don't need to give the 'Petrel' any help, but the '4828 needs assistance, she can't manage much more than eighteen knots in these conditions.'

The dive support vessel 'Petrel I' (radio call sign Diesel) was fast enough to catch and form up with the 'Silver Bergen' (radio call sign Haversack). The much bigger ship known only as OA4828 (radio call sign Oscar) was slower, and the 'Silver Bergen' needed to drop her speed to allow the three vessels to sail east across the Baltic Sea together. These ships were heading for a location in the middle of the Baltic where the C-133 transport flown by Lee Felton had come to grief.

The 'Silver Bergen' had the lifting capacity to raise the missile in parts from the seabed, the 'Petrel I' carried the dive support boat and equipment to mount a rescue. The purpose of the OA4828 remained a complete mystery.

The 'OA4828' was captained by Mike Bellingham. His duty was only to take the vessel out of port. He radioed the 'Silver Bergen'.

'Hello Haversack, this is Mike Bellingham on board the 'OA 4828, I believe you have a relief crew for me.'

Marcus Ladlum took the call.

'We certainly do.' He smiled at Sven, they were both keen to be rid of the men they had seen on the dockside.'

The 'Silver Bergen' dwarfed the 'OA' as the four men were transferred across to the strange ship.

They did not have the Baltic all to themselves. Many ferries crossed between northern Germany, Poland and Estonia on the southern shore and Sweden, Denmark, even Russia herself in the east.

Sailing on a more or less southerly heading from Konigsberg were four ships that were not ferries. The ocean-going tug Olivia was towing the heavy lift crane Muller, they were accompanied by the dive support vessel 'Rosati' and the Kovel.

These last two were not exactly what they purported to be. The Kovel had a hidden 5-inch naval gun, and carried three submersible vehicles.

The ''Rosati'' was not really a dive support vessel, it was an ex-Kreigsmarine Snell-Boat, or S-boat. This came with complete ex-German Navy crew, and was armed with torpedoes and heavy cannon.

The strange ship known as OA4828, or just plain Oscar, caught up with the 'Silver Bergen'.

Sven Tommassen, on the 'Silver Bergen' called Paul Halstead aboard the dive support vessel 'Petrel'. He replied,

'Hello Sven, Peter here, over.'

'Make best speed to the dive site and begin your preparations if you would, Peter.'

'Roger that, Sven, see you there.' With that Peter opened the throttles on the 'Petrel' and the ship slowly drew away from the ''Silver Bergen''.

Barry Watkins and Ross Taylor felt the increase in speed as they worked in the bow of the vessel checking their apparatus.

'Damn!' exclaimed Ross, 'Broken a nail.'

'You big mahred-arsed get.' Barry's faint scouse accent showing through. 'Here, is this your lippy down here?'

These two marines were used to light-hearted banter,

'I'll smack you with my fucking handbag in a minute.' Ross nibbled his fingernail level whilst wrestling with the packaging one handed.

Barry nodded towards the centre of the ship as the frequency of the engines changed, then their little room in the bow section began more energetic plunging and rising. This made their job a little more difficult, but they were pleased to be making more progress.

'I hear this thing we are going after is in three hundred feet of water.' Barry commented.

'I thought it was more like two hundred.' Ross shrugged, he continued, 'Top and bottom of it, I don't think they really know. If it was an aircraft that has crashed, we could be searching over a vast expense of sea before we find it.' Ross shook a regulator vigorously before placing it in a bag behind him, 'So how can they know the depth of the sea where it lies if they don't know exactly where it is?'

'What if someone had already found and marked it?'

'I suppose a secret agent came here in the middle of the night and put a flag on it!' Barry smirked in disbelief, 'You are reading too much Ian Fleming, people like that don't really exist.'

'Don't you be too sure of that, mate of mine who joined up with me got transferred to the SBS. Six months later we were on exercise with the SBS, I mentioned my mate to these SBS guys, they said he went away to MI6. When I tried to push further they just said that you don't even ask about what these people do.' He placed an article in a box, then looked straight at Barry, 'These were fellow soldiers talking amongst each other – and the secrecy reached even that far.'

'Did you ever see your friend again?'

'No, our paths never crossed again.'

'What was his name? I may have come across him at some time or another.'

'You might, I would like to know how he is doing, and what he is doing. His name is Steele, Steve Steele. Sound familiar?'

'Fraid not, mate. Not an easy name to forget.'

On board the OA4828 Dolpho Hartmann stood behind the wheel when Herman Wulf handed him a piece of paper.

'Radar report, Dolpho.'

'Danke, Herman.' He turned to Theobald who was looking out of the starboard window of the bridge.

'I think you may see something out of the other side before very long.' Then turning to Theobald, 'Could you take the wheel, please.'

Theobald took the wheel as Dolpho reached for the microphone. He pressed the transmit button on the side.

'Oscar to Diesel. Oscar to Diesel. Over.'

The reply came back almost immediately,

'Diesel listening, over.'

Formally this time Dolpho transmitted,

'Oscar to Diesel, be advised, radar trace bearing ten o'clock from your position.

Paul wondered what he was supposed to do with this information.

'Roger that. Over and out.'

Accompanying him on the bridge was Dan Jagger.

'Dan, see if you can get a high vantage point. There seems to be something out at about ten o'clock. Let's see if we can identify it before we are spotted.'

With a brief 'Sir.' Marine Corporal Dan Jagger threw up a swift salute and left the bridge. He scooped up his binoculars as he made his way towards the door that led out to the raised deck around the bridge structure. Looking forward he could see a single slender mast in the middle of the foredeck. There was also a mast situated on top of the bridge structure, this was not as high, but the tall construction in front had very little to cling on to, so Jagger elected to climb the bridge mast. He mounted the short staircase that led to the bridge roof, then made his way through the rigging to the mast. Hand over hand he quickly made his way to the top of the swaying structure.

Wrapping his legs around the mast he locked his position into place as he raised his binoculars to his eyes. Compensating for the swaying of the rapidly moving vessel Jagger scanned the horizon to the left of their direction of travel. He saw nothing at first.

John Threlfall made his way past the large inflatable boat that was stowed admidships on the dive support vessel. Looking up at Jagger he called, 'Dan. Dan. Anything?'

Jagger continued scanning, then looked down at the marine below him.

'Not yet. Ask the boss if we have a range.' Binoculars up before he got a reply.

'OK.' With that the tall marine made his way to the bridge.

'Sir, Dan wants to know if we have a range for the target.'

'Not yet, but I'll see if I can get one.' He picked up the microphone. 'Diesel to Oscar, Diesel to Oscar, over.'

There was a pause, then Paul's voice crackled through the airwaves,

'Oscar to Diesel. We have it now at fifteen miles.'

Threlfall nodded acknowledgement and turned to Jagger. Cupping his mouth he shouted over the sounds of the crashing waves, 'Dan, Dan. Fifteen miles. Fifteen miles.'

Jagger straightened an arm and stuck a thumb up. Visibility may stretch out to that distance he thought, but only intermittently at best. Still, the range may be closing. He kept his vigil.

They were now ploughing through the waves at almost thirty knots. Jagger kept clinging to the mast. Threlfall stood ready to relay messages from the bridge, or from the lookout high above.

Then Marine Corporal Dan Jagger let out a sudden cry,

'Target sighted. Target sighted.' He extended his arm in the direction that was more abeam than forward of their position.

Threlfall thumped a gloved hand on the bridge window.

'Target sighted.' He called to the Captain.

'Where away?' he replied.

'Ten o'clock, sir.' Threlfall looked again at the figure of Jagger, who was by this time wrapping one arm round the mast and holding the binoculars, with the other still pointing straight out towards the object on the horizon that was still not seen at deck level.

He turned back to the bridge, 'Make that nine o'clock.' The object was now almost level with their position.

The Captain called to Threlfall, 'Ask if he can make out what it is.'

'What the fuck is it?'

'I don't know, but it is a big bugger.' Jagger continued scanning through his binoculars.

On the bridge the captain received another call on the radio.

'Oscar to all ships, Oscar to all ships. Be advised, there is another contact approaching our position from a bearing of 075.'

On board the OA4828 Dopho Harmann called the engine room, 'We are turning on to a course of one eight zero. Open the taps and give her the beans, I believe you say.'

The 'Silver Bergen', OA4828 and 'Petrel' were sailing on a course of 096. 'Petrel' had reached a position some half a mile ahead of the 'Silver Bergen'. OA4828 now turned to sail due south after reporting radar contacts towards the north east of their position.

Jagger paid particular attention to the area to the right of his original sighting. Every few seconds he would sweep back to the dull blur on the horizon. Then it suddenly dropped clear before blurring out again. He called down to Threlfall, 'It's a bloody big crane.' Just then another shape came into view well to the right of the crane. At first there was only a plume of smoke, but soon this developed into the hard shape of a ship considerably bigger than the 'Petrel', and making good speed directly at them.

Aboard the 'Kovel' the captain, Aleksander Kentorev, spoke to David Marenin,

'Are the men below prepared, David?'

'Da, comerade captain.'

'Better keep them out of sight down there until they are needed, these ships may not be belligerent.'

'Understood sir.'

The radio crackled into life.

'Kovel from Olivia, Kovel from Olivia. Come in please.' Vaslloo Tiablinkova's voice came into the bridge of the Kovel over the loudspeaker.

Kentorev answered,

'Kovel here.'

'What do you think you are doing? Aleksander?'

'Three suspicious vessels travelling in our direction. We shall execute our mission as escort. One of the ships has broken away at speed, and is now moving round to our port quarter. The small convoy has now split, a smaller ship moved away from the other two and is now positioned some half a mile closer to the crash site.'

'Do you think they are heading for the crash site?'

'They are moving away from Bornholm, heading into the open sea in an easterly direction. What else is there out there?'

'Blow them out of the water.' Vasloo said this as if it were an order.

Aleksandr responded quietly, 'If that proves to be necessary, we shall do that.'

Marcus Ladlum entered the bridge of the 'Silver Bergen'.

'Radar now has the two contacts given by the Oscar.' He reported to the captain, Sven Thommasson.

'I don't know how the Oscar got them so much quicker that we did, they must have one hell of a good electronic set-up on board.'

'There is a lot more to that boat than meets the eye.' Sven pointed out.

'Yes. We thought she was hanging back because she was a genuine slow ship. Now look at her.' He pointed out of the starboard window at the rapidly disappearing OA4828.

The 'Silver Bergen' and 'Petrel I' were sailing in a generally south-easterly direction. The OA4828 now veered off to the south and increased speed alarmingly. The threat, if it indeed is a threat, was coming from the north. As the OA4828 moved away from the 'Silver Bergen' it began to rise out of the water. A set of heavy-duty hydroplanes appeared below the vessel as the whole hull lifted clear of the sea. The ships screws and rudders were mounted on extended drive shafts to ensure that they stayed in contact with the water, at this low level they exerted force to one side or the other as steering inputs were applied. This caused the ship to lean into the right turn as she moved away from the 'Silver Bergen'. Now the turn was reversed into a hard left turn. On board the 'Silver Bergen' the captain, Marcus watched this through his binoculars as OA moved about on, or was it over, the sea.

'Christ.' He exclaimed, 'What the bloody hell is that?' he was looking down on the deck of the OA as she executed a clean turn to starboard. The arc of the turn eased a little as Harmann on the OA moved the wheel a little, carefully aiming his vessel to intercept the oncoming ship.

'Prepare to fire a shot across his bow, Donat, but don't do more than that. We don't know who they are yet; they could be the Swedish Navy.'

'Ok, will do.' Donat left the bridge and made his way forward. Here he met up with Theobald and his gun crew. They were supplied with a British 17 pounder anti-tank gun dating from 1945. This was a very good medium sized anti-tank gun that can also be used as a howitzer. The gun carriage was welded to the fore deck of the OA. The whole gun emplacement was enclosed in a small cabin. This was equipped with walls that folded flat on the deck to give the gun crew a field of fire that covered almost the whole horizon except for the rear of the ship.

The ship that was bearing down on the small British, French, German, and Swedish fleet was the 'Kovel'. Manned by Russians, this ship was to guard the assets moving south towards the crashed plane with its precious ICBM.

'Fast moving vessel off the port bow, captain.' Audrey Kuptsov reported to the captain of the bridge.

'Break out the main armament, number one.'

'Da, comrade captain.' With that Salimov left the bridge and made his way below. After descending one flight of metal steps he turned away from the outer door to continue down another flight of stairs. These brought him down to main deck level. He continued down below decks. Here he met up with David Marenin and five Russian marine spetznat soldiers.

A fountain of water rose to thirty feet off to the starboard bow of the 'Kovel'. This was the warning shot fired by the OA4828.

'That does not look too friendly.' Aleksandr Kentorev said to no-one in particular.

He reached for the ship's intercom mike.

'Bridge to forward armament.'

Marenin answered, 'Forward armament to bridge.'

'Is comrade Salimov with you yet?'

'Yes, sir.' Marenin handed the mike to Salimov.

'Salimov here' sir.'

'We have been fired upon, you have permission to exchange fire with belligerent vessel we shall presume to be en enemy. Engage at will.'

'Yes, sir.' Salimov replaced the mike and turned to his six man gun crew.

'The old man said lets go to war, so what are you waiting for? There is a ship out there firing at us, let's show him he has bitten off a little more than he can chew.'

The crew then began working with purpose. Four of them prepared ammunition and shell provision, one switched on the sighting and ancillary gear. Sergey Salimov threw a series of switches. The whole of the forward hold cover slid back. Then a hydraulic platform began lifting the whole crew and their surroundings into the daylight. The deck reached a level with their surrounding floor and the hydraulic lifting stopped. Solid hydraulic clunks secured the whole edifice to the ship's main structure.

'Gun crew to your stations.' Salimov ordered.

Three of the men mounted their positions on the 5-inch naval gun. Two others ensured the gun was fully integrated with the ship's radar and gun control equipment. The other man began loading the massive artillery piece.

  * oOo -

Chapter 21

1234. Baltic Sea.

'Don't bring me down now.' Jagger called to Threlfall, who had just appeared again after seeing the Captain.

The captain had shouted to the tall marine standing outside the wheelhouse of the 'Petrel 1'.

'Better get Jagger down from there, it looks like there is going to be some action.'

'Sir.'

John Threlfall turned to Dan Jagger who was still clinging to the mast. He had seen the waterspout from the 'OA4828', so was expecting to be recalled to a safer position, but didn't want to miss anything.

'Dan.' Threlfall cupped his hands around his mouth to make his voice travel more efficiently in the wind, and with the noise of the sea and the boat's engines.

'Dan. The skipper says you can come down now.'

Jagger did not reply, he was too busy watching things unfold through his binoculars.

The fast 'OA4828' was about a mile and a half from the Kovel when she opened fire with the shot across her bows. The truth is that that was the best they could manage from that distance. The 17-pounder was really a close-in weapon on a rolling sea.

Jagger tried to focus in on the Kovel, he could see that she was a bigger ship than 'OA', but the 'OA' was obviously much faster and, because of her smaller size, that also meant that she would be more nimble. But that applied to normal ships. 'OA4828' was not a normal ship. A 'normal' ship would be lucky to travel at speeds in the region of 25 to 30 knots. The OA4828 was now skimming through the tops of the waves at close to 43 knots.

As the 'Kovel' prepared her 5 inch gun for action the 'OA' was heading straight for her.

Jagger managed to stabilise his binoculars on the 'Kovel' just as the 5 inch let fly at the 'OA'. Because the ex-Russian navy gun was slaved in to the ship's radar the predicted speed of the 'OA' was grossly underestimated and the fall of shot fell well to the rear of the hydroplaning ship.

Aboard the 'OA' Dolpho Hartmann couldn't help but notice the development of events, the 5 inch shell whistled over their ship to explode a few hundred yards behind them. He took one look at the rapidly approaching 'Kovel' and noticed that the armament that had fired at them was on the front end of the ship, so he reasoned that the safest place would be to the rear of that craft. So he heaved the wheel over to starboard. The suddenness of the turn had the Russian gun crew slewing their turret round as fast as it would go. The 'OA's' 17-pounder let another shot go, they were much closer this time, but the swell of the sea defeated any hope of accuracy, and the shot was wide. The 5 inch took a shot without the benefit of radar guidance; this fell wide also.

Jagger saw all of this from his precarious perch on top of the mast on the 'Petrel I'. He took a closer look at the 'Kovel' when he saw the tell-tale puff of smoke given by the 5 inch gun. He was very surprised to see the enormous naval gun turret that had appeared out of nowhere.

Captain Kentorev on board the 'Kovel' knew what the 'OA' was trying to do. In order to prevent the much faster vessel from hiding behind his own ship he began to execute a turn to the left. But this was too slow, and the 'OA' managed to evade the attentions of the 5 inch gun. They now were going away from the 'Silver Bergen' and the 'Petrel I'. This was not a bad thing, because the 'Kovel' was fully occupied in giving chase – especially because the 'OA' and her 17-pounder were now heading for the Russian ships he was supposed to be protecting.

Jagger looked down at Threlfall far below.

'The bastards are firing at each other.' He shouted down excitedly.

John Threlfall smiled and shook his head, 'Any results?'

'Not yet, they are just trying to find their range.'

He could see that the 'OA4828' was now heading for the three ships on the horizon; the crane 'Muller' being towed by the 'Olivia', all being led by the dive support vessel 'Rosati'.

Then the 'OA4828' began a turn to her left just as captain Anton von Schiller on the 'Rosati' opened the throttles and turned towards the 'OA'. The 'Kovel' was still turning to try to get a shot at the 'OA'. The 'OA' now found that the 'Rosati' was approaching her from her starboard quarter in what looked like an attacking manoeuvre.

This was not the small dive support vessel that the British intelligence services thought it to be. She was, indeed, a Second World War Schnellboot left over from the Kreigsmarine. Equipped with two torpedo tubes and three 20 mm cannon, plus one 37 mm Flak 42 cannon.

Manned by German mercenary sailors who had all seen action during the Second World War.

The Captain was Anton von Schiller, veteran of the 'channel dash' by the Prinz Eugen, and later to serve on U-boats from la Rochelle, von Schiller found himself in charge of this S-boat in Danzig when the Germans were cut off. So he liberated it, and kept it and the crew, consisting of Bernd Falk, Didi Reinwald, Deiter von Goethe, Eduard Hess, Konrad Meyer, Otto Hoffmann and Karl von Gothe.

  * oOo -

High in the mast of the 'Petrel I' Marine Jagger could not move his position. He shouted down to Threlfall, 'Tell the Captain that they are now bearing down on the 'OA', what are his intentions?'

Threlfall went into the small wheelhouse and approached Paul Halstead at the wheel. He peeled off a quick salute and said, 'Sir, Jagger reports that the 'OA' is under attack by enemy vessels. Do you have any intentions?'

Halstead knew that if there were to be any action, Jagger would need a calm ship and time to dismount from his precarious perch.

'Get him down here now mister Threlfall. I will decide what action to take when we know the situation more accurately.' He turned to the horizon on the starboard quarter. There he could just make out the massive structure of the heavy-lift crane 'Muller'. All he could see of the other ships were plumes of smoke. The wheelhouse of the 'Petrel I' stands only some twelve feet above sea level, so Halstead had a horizon that was less than 40 miles away. He would have to get a more accurate picture from Jagger.

Marine Dan Jagger's heavy navy binoculars clattered on the mast as he clambered down from his observation station.

Captain Paul Halstead greeted Jagger as he entered the wheelhouse,

'Could you see what they were up to, Dan?'

'Yes, sir. What the hell kind of a boat is the 'OA'?'

'I believe it's what they call a hydrofoil, but I didn't know they made them as big as that. What kind of armament has she?'

'Sounded like an anti-tank weapon, sir. What concerns me is the gun the other chap has on board. Sounded like a bloody big naval gun to me. But the ship carrying it doesn't look like a military vessel at all, more like one of the old armed merchantmen – but none of them had a gun that big. And there seems to be more up the mast than just radio equipment, could be radar ranging for the gun.'

'When you last saw them, what were they doing?'

'The 'OA' had gone round the back of their armed merchantman. He seems to have the gun on the foredeck, so couldn't fire at 'OA' in that position. As I started down the enemy vessel had started to turn away from us.'

'Any other ships on the horizon?'

'Yes, sir. A bloody big crane being pulled along by a tug of some sort, I couldn't see much of them, they were just over the horizon.'

Halstead turned the wheel to the left as he said, 'You had better get for'd and help get the Bofors ready, if this is a light-skinned merchantman we can help out here.'

On board the 'OA4828' Legionnaire Herman Wulf contacted the bridge from the radar room, 'Radar to bridge. New contact. Bearing zero zero, range eight miles. Looks as if it is coming this way, but it is only a small vessel.'

'Roger that. Any indication as to the type of vessel?'

'Could be a fast patrol boat, similar to one of our E-boats.'

'Ok, I'll get some men on the 20 mil on the stern to take care of it if it becomes a nuisance.'

He turned to Theobald who was scanning the horizon for the boat,

'Theo, get the 20 mil prepped and ready to repel boarders.'

'Boarders? At our speed? I don't think so, but I get your drift.' With that Theo left the bridge to make his way to the rear of the ship. There he met four more legionnaires who were readying a Bofors twin 20 milimetre cannon.

By now the two main antagonists, the 'Kovel' and the 'OA4828' were level with each other, going in opposite directions. Their main guns were both positioned on the front decks, they could point out to the side, but not far beyond that, so neither could fire on the other.

The 'Rosati' was heading straight for the 'OA'. With her top speed of 43.8 knots she was moving quite quickly on the 'OA', who was now turning to her left in order to move in around the stern of the 'Kovel' at about four miles range. The intention was then to increase speed, and cancel out the 'Kovel's' own turn. This would give the Legionnaires time to pump some useful rounds into the rear of the 'Kovel' without her being able to fire back.

Hartmann's plan was to take care of the fast boat approaching him with the Bofors on the stern of his own ship. He didn't know that the fast boat was better armed than he was.

On the 'Kovel' a surveillance radar operator notified the captain, Kentorev of the approach of the 'Petrel I'.

'Vessel approaching from bearing 160, sir.'

'What range?'

'Six miles, sir. And closing fast.'

This put the 'Kovel' in between the 'OA' and the 'Petrel I', with the strong possibility that they would both be to her rear, preventing the main armament coming to bear. Not knowing what kind of vessel the 'Petrel I' was, Kentorev found himself pondering defensive manoeuvres.

He radioed the 'Rosati', which was approaching the 'OA' from her starboard (right-hand) side, ''Kovel' to 'Rosati', von Schiller, I need you to take care of the hydroplane that is directly in front of you. Do not use torpedoes, I am directly behind him, and they may not work against a hydroplane.'

'Very well, mein herr. I will now make a sharp turn on to bearing 120 in order to attack him in a location to the south-west of your present position.'

So the 'Kovel' turned the tables on the 'OA', instead of the 'Kovel' being caught between two attacking ships, it would soon be the 'OA' that would be caught in a trap.

The 'Kovel' then reversed her turn to starboard, at the same time the 'OA' was beginning to travel in a southerly direction, with the S-boat in hot pursuit.

The 'Kovel' was now going to the north-east, away from the action, with the 'Petrel I' describing a gentle arc to starboard as if to intercept the slightly slower 'Kovel'. Then the Russian vessel began to turn towards the oncoming 'Petrel I'

As she turned to port the 'Kovel' faced the side of the 'OA'- albeit at maximum range, but that did not stop the gunners on the 5 inch from opening fire. The 'OA' was travelling at nearly 58 knots by now on her hydroplanes. The gun laying radar on the 'Kovel' was not up to the task of dealing with rolling seas and a target moving so fast. The shot fell wide, the 'Kovel' continued her turn towards the 'Petrel I'.

Hartmann aboard the 'OA' radioed the 'Petrel I', 'you have one enemy heading your way. He has a heavy naval gun on the front. Suggest you evade. Over'

'Roger, Diesel. Which way would you suggest.' without radar, the 'Petrel I' was running blind.

'Suggest you turn to bearing three zero zero to draw him across me. Over.'

Roger, beginning turn to three zero zero now.'

As the 'Kovel' turned to intercept the new course she was about to run straight across the line being taken by the 'OA'.

The Russian gun crew realised this and put in three quick rounds in the direction of the 'OA'.

Hartmann had anticipated this and applied full reverse power on both engines. This made the hydroplane drop straight back onto the water, her stern raised at an alarming angle, and she almost stopped dead in the water. That made the 'Kovel's' shot fall well short of the position she was supposed to be in – and would have been in. The 'Kovel' was now broadside on to the 'OA', and well within range of the 17 pounder anti-tank gun. The first shot flew clean over the Russian, but the second one hit in front of the bridge, just behind the 5 inch gun. The next round hit the rear of the ship, starting fires. The gun was unable to traverse because of deck buckling.

By now the S-boat had caught up with the slowed down 'OA'. Gunners on the rear decking of the 'OA' gave engaging fire from the Bofors twin 20 millimetre cannon as the rear began to drop, and Hartmann began to apply power to regain forward speed.

The S-boat carried the same forward armament as the 'OA' had at the rear. Both ships exchanged 20-mm rounds with little effect. The 'OA' was briefly raked with cannon-fire, but nothing vital was hit, although the hull now had quite a few fist-sized holes in it. This was of no consequence as long as it remained out of the water. Then the S-boat veered off to port, allowing the Brits to rake the ship with cannon fire. Eduard Hess was killed outright, Didi Raginwald and Otto Hoffman were wounded, and the starboard engine began pouring out smoke and losing power. Then the British gunners saw why the S-boat had made such an odd error. The 'Petrel I ' had turned towards the little battle and was heading straight for the S-boat with her front gun firing. They knew they had no chance of hitting the German in such heavy seas and at such speed, but it got his attention, which was the aim.

Von Schiller knew that he was finished if he continued such an uneven battle, so turned to face the same direction as the 'Kovel'. A message then came to the bridge of the 'OA' from the radar room, 'Radar to bridge. The contact we just hit is now heading for the ''Silver Bergen'.' This was important news, because the cargo vessel was completely unarmed, and sailing in a straight line. The 'Kovel' could still fire the 5 inch gun, but aiming would not be easy. But all Kentorev had to do was point his ship at the cargo vessel, the 'OA' was too far away to assist this time as Kentorev steamed placidly towards the helpless ship being joined by the S-boat 'Rosati', which was armed with two torpedo tubes facing forward.

  * oOo -

Chapter 22

1234. Street behind the Headquarters Building, Riga.

'Tomorrow never knows if it is going to exist.' Brel pondered to himself as he waited for the Russians to round the last corner he had negotiated in the back streets of Riga, 'and for some of these poor bastards it will not exist.' He finished as the first of the group emerged. Brel waited until six had emerged from the cover of the building before opening up with the heavy assault machine gun. All six of them died instantly. The rest of them stayed back.

The Russian soldiers that were chasing Jacques Brel through the wakening streets of Riga thought they were doing well. They were processed and toughened on the training grounds of the Red Army. They can run. Corporal Jacques Brel of the French Foreign Legion was different. He had been trained to run over hundreds of miles, usually over rough terrain, quite often all night long, then through the next day when they thought they had finished. He could run faster than the Russians and for longer. They were lagging behind as he reached four blocks away from the waterfront. Without even breaking stride he turned right on to a street that ran parallel with the headquarters building, towards where he had last seen Steele and Bird.

His footsteps echoed from the four storey buildings on either side as he effortlessly ran a distance equivalent to the length of the HQ. As he came upon the street that ran up from the side of the HQ he stopped upon recognising the thoroughfare. He looked behind to ensure that the chasing soldiers were not in sight, then risked a glance down towards the dockyards and the HQ. The street was empty. He was barely out of breath as he pushed on down towards the water. He had gone less than one block when he saw a large group of soldiers moving out from a narrow street opposite. The Belgian took cover in the next street before they saw him. Jacques Brel held the AK 47 close to the dark blue coat as his head touched the rough brick wall.

Slowly he moved to a position where he could see round the corner. He had not been seen. As he stood with his back to the brickwork he looked at the building opposite. There was an iron ladder on this side, the lowest flight was raised to the horizontal; it was presumably meant to lower as people entered from the first storey stage and placed their weight on the metal stairs. Brel noticed that there were several large waste bins in the area. He knew that the chasing group would soon find him, he could not go forwards, so his only option was to go up. With a quick dash he bounded across the street, gripping two of the bins he swiftly moved them under the metal trelliswork. Another bin mounted atop these two meant that he could climb up and reach the iron stairway.

He slung the AK 47 across his back and mounted the bins. They did not take kindly to having this moving weight assaulting them, but before they could give way he was up and on to the stairs. The bins fell away with a clatter that sounded louder than Brel was comfortable with. This spurred him to climb quickly to the first stage. As he gained the static position represented by the first floor landing stage the spring-loaded ladder that he had used to get there returned to the horizontal.

Brel wasted no time, without even looking round he dashed up the next stairway. If he had looked around he would have seen the lead element of the soldiers who were chasing him appear at the end of the street. They broke stride to look down the narrow street, but neglected to look up. The fire escape Brel had climbed had by now returned to its normal resting position, the bins come to a rest leaving no clue to the fleeing Legionnaire who was moving with surprising quietness given his speed.

The two groups of Russians began to join together.

Dmitri spoke to the joining group as he roughly moved Steele and Bird,

'Where is the other one?'

'We followed him this way sir.'

'Well, where is he then? You think we have taken him?' Dmitri was sounding very impatient, 'Find him now. You lost him, you find him or else.'

'Sir.' With a quick salute the lead soldier peeled away and collided with the next soldier to emerge around the corner.

Brel looked down in time to see this. He shook his head as he gained access to the highest of the landing stages on the top floor. The AK 47 slipped a little, he adjusted its position as he eyed up the drainpipe that ran along the side of the stages. This was just what he needed to gain access to the roof where he could gain some cover, and move around to see just what was going on.

No one saw him as he clambered over the guttering on to the reddish terra cotta tiles. Below him the chasing soldiers found the toppled bins. They speculated as to why this should be. They kicked the bins to be sure no one was hiding in there. Upon looking up they saw that there was no one up there, the perpendicular fire escape was out of reach, so they moved on.

Brel made his way across the roof to the apex. He peeked over the ridge tiles to see laid out before him a massive dock containing an equally massive ship that looked more like an aircraft floating on the water. He slid down the side roof to enable him to look down to the street below. There he could see a large group of Russian soldiers coming from the side street opposite. Then he saw two people in the midst of this throng who were not Russian soldiers. Brel took up position lying along the edge of the roof as he unshouldered his AK 47.

For a few seconds he watched the events below unfold. The soldiers seem to be taking their captives, whom Brel had now identified as Steele and Bird, towards the dark threatening water of the dock. The AK 47 assault rifle was not a sniper's weapon, but it was accurate enough in the right hands to double in these circumstances – after all, all he had to do was avoid hitting the good guys. He took careful aim. The rough line of people stretched at an angle to him. He dare not shoot at the lead element in case the fall of shot should hit Steele or Bird. To fire at the rear part would expose the danger of ricochets bouncing up towards the Brits. He had to risk it. Jacques Brel took careful aim at the rear of the group. He knew that as soon as he opened fire the whole group would react to engage him on the roof, if they could find him. This would be the opportunity that Steele and Bird will be looking and hoping for.

A gentle squeeze on the trigger sent 28 bullets into the Russians. Four men dropped with multiple wounds. They were dead before they hit the ground, behind them seven men were wounded, some by bullets that had passed through their comrades. The rest of the group almost scattered. Dmitri pointed his revolver at the two nearest soldiers, 'If they escape, you die.' He then turned his attention to where the gunfire seemed to come from. The confines of the high buildings and the narrow streets made it difficult to pinpoint the exact location by sound. Brel had ducked down out of sight by now.

The remaining Russians trained their weapons on the roofline around Brel. Steele and Bird were unable to move because two Russian soldiers held them at gunpoint with the safety catches off. The guards were visibly shaking.

One said to the other, 'If they escape, we die. But what if we shoot them to prevent escape?'

'I don't think Dmitri is expecting us to send him Christmas cards.'

Just then the Kommisar and Vadim Magunod walked around the corner.

'Bring them here, now.' The Kommisar called across to Dmitri.

Dmitri looked at the two petrified guards,

'You heard your commanding officer.'

With that he waved his pistol to indicate that they should move as requested.

Brel had changed his position; he could see the two Russian officers. His training had taught him that to shoot officers usually brought good results He did not know the value of the two below him, he only knew that he could not shoot Dmitri because he was too near to the Brits he was trying to assist in rescue. Slowly he cocked and checked his weapon without taking his eyes off the Russian officers. He could not see any of the other Russians, which meant that they could not see him. The foresight of the captured AK 47 crossed the chest of the nearest officer, which happened to be the Kommisar. Four rounds exploded in rapid succession. Dull red terra cotta tiles flew up in small clouds of dust as 23mm shells exploded around Brel. Two of them hit him; one in the head, one in the upper chest. The result was that he was thrown off the roof spraying blood all the away to the ground.

The guns on the top of the Ekranoplan gave two small wisps of smoke as the gunner used his binoculars to check for anyone else on the roof.

  * oOo -

Chapter 23

12.38. Quayside, Riga.

'Not a second. Time is of the essence.' The Kommisar was expressing the need for urgency to his men as another unit rushed past with their attentions on the roof. They saw the lifeless body on its way down.

Six more Russian soldiers ran out of the rear of the headquarters building, turned to their right, then made their way to the corner just as Brel's bloodied body came crashing down amongst them.

Steele and Bird were restrained forcibly by their Russian captors as they threw them against the wall in an effort to give them some measure of protection. But there were only four rounds fired. The sounds of these rounds hitting tiles, brickwork and body reverberated around the narrow streets as the Kommisar and Vadim Magnivod made their way to the protection of the headquarters building. As he entered the building the Kommisar turned towards Dmitri and the guards and beckoned them to follow him with the prisoners.

Steele and Bird were pushed roughly into the HQ building as Dmitri manhandled them into a reception room. The Kommisar turned to look at them.

'What do you think you could achieve with your pathetic attempts against my organisation, Mr Steele?'

'We have stopped you getting your grubby little mitts on what you paid to have stolen. That's a start.'

'That is about to be remedied. How do you know that it was not part of my original plan to avoid the unpleasantness of having a greedy, money oriented American loose in or around my dominion?'

'Oh, yes, that is just about all you megalomaniacs care about isn't it? How big is my empire?'

The Kommisar glared at Steele as he replied,

'And you British can teach me all I need to know about running an empire I suppose? Running one into the ground more like.'

Bird then interrupted, in a fine cut-glass English accent she said

'You can not possibly run an empire with the meagre resources you have.'

Dmitri then responded angrily,

'You know nothing of our resources.' As he moved to within inches of her face, his voice adopted a menacing whisper, 'And what would you know about resources from your wretched little island?'

The Kommisar added proudly,

'Our resources are the highest quality Russian patriots who do not like the way our beloved Mother country is moving towards western decadence.'

'Oh, don't give me that crap about how you could run the country better than anybody else.' Steele responded.

'The only way to run a country the size of Russia is by running it for the people, not for the capitalist money-grabbing methods we can see in the west. The old, weak men giving in to an American-led system that rewards greed by making a few men rich must be stopped.'

'And the way to do that is to kill thousands, maybe even millions of innocent people, is it?'

Dmitri stepped back in; he emphasised what he said with the menacing waving of his pistol,

'There are no innocent people in New York. They are all greedy money-worshipping capitalists who give adoration to the almighty dollar.'

'Megalomaniac.' Bird faced Dmitri as she rattled her shackles in frustration.

Steele turned to her and quietly said,

'His type never win, that is why he is so angry.' He nodded towards Dmitri.

The Kommisar interrupted to regain control,

'This is getting us nowhere. The stranger on the roof may have had friends, we must now begin the next stage of our operation at once.' He turned to Magnivod, 'Is the ekranoplan ready?'

'Da, comrade Kommisar, all is prepared aboard to move forwards.'

Dmitri nodded to the nearest soldier to Steele and Bird,

'Put these lackeys in the dock, with their balls and chains.'

Bird turned to Steele and said,

'I don't fucking believe he just said that.'

The Kommisar stepped in by addressing Dmitri directly,

'They must not be harmed.' He turned to Steele and said, 'You are my guests. I will be taking you aboard the newest type of transport. You know nothing of this Russian development, it will astound you.'

Steele responded quickly,

'We refer to it as the Caspian Sea Monster. That was where it was developed, was it not?'

The Kommisar looked surprised,

'Yes, mister Steele, we developed this transport system by the Caspian Sea, but what we put in ours is very different from the prototypes that flew on the Caspian Sea.'

'That makes little difference to the main problems you will encounter; the whole system is doomed to failure, as are you.' Steele seemed to know what he was talking about.

Magnivod then asked a question,

'What are these problems to which you refer?'

'It's your machine, you must work out your own problems, but have you tried turning through 90 degrees over rough seas with the wind gusting as you turn into it?'

Magnivod raised an eyebrow,

'And where did you get this information, may I ask? I can understand that you may have seen the KV-01 and development types. We have known about your Canberra and B-45 Tornado missions for some time. We chose not to react to them in order not to alert you to the sensitivity of any particular area.'

Steele answered,

'You mean you didn't wish to intercept in case we were merely testing your ability to intercept, which you knew was ineffective at best.'

'We could have shot you down at any time.' Magnivod said with little conviction.

'Enough!' shouted the Kommisar, 'Whatever you know about our machine can only be guesswork from pictures taken from a long way away. Here in Riga the conditions are rarely good enough to allow good results, so we can presume that you don't know about the developments we have made since being here. You will be pleasantly surprised, Mister Steele.'

With that he told the soldiers that they should escort the prisoners with them.

'We should make most haste, there may be more danger lurking out there.'

Like a mother duck leads her brood across the road, the Kommisar led twenty soldiers, Vadim Magnavod, Dmitri Lishchenko, and two British prisoners across to the dockyard. Here the group snaked to the right and headed for the strange looking aeroplane come ship that lay in the nearby harbour.

As the group rounded the last corner the sight that greeted them came as a shock as it exposed one mystery after another. The structure that gradually emerged was immense, painted in a lizard-like colour scheme of metallic blue mixed in with darker blue and white. The front was a strange shape, the result of crossing an aeroplane and a ship. Atop the pilot's cabin were mounted four of the biggest jet engines Steele had ever seen, he presumed there must be another four on the other side.

He turned to Bird and said in a quiet voice,

'This can't be for real, can it?'

She looked surprised,

'I thought you knew all about this, you told him you did. What did you call it? Caspian something or other?'

'Yes, the Caspian Sea Monster. But we only have a few blurred images of the one in the Caspian Sea, this looks like a development of it.'

The soldier behind gave him a rough shove in the back to remind them that they were not on a sightseeing tour.

As more of the gigantic machine came into view Bird said to Steele,

'How could they develop such a big thing without us noticing?'

'From 50,000 feet altitude, even this thing is quite small. - Bloody hell!'

He had just caught sight of the colossal tail structure. The massive tail fin rose to the height of a five-storey building. On the side was mounted another of the jet engines, the top carried a gigantic swept-back v-shaped wing that made the whole structure look even more impressive.

'Can't see where the wings are.' Steele said to Bird.

'They are stubby little things that sit on the water.' She replied.

'How do you know that? I thought you had never seen this thing before?'

Bird nodded towards the headquarters building behind them,

'I was held on the top floor for a while.'

The Kommisar stopped by a small gangplank,

'Mister Steele, and madam. If you would step this way.'

Steele looked around to make sure Dmitri was not within striking distance; he didn't trust him.

Then he stepped on to the walkway,

'It should be Ladies first, but I will lead the way.'

The Kommisar was already on the wing of the strange machine, with soldiers on either side. These guards and two on the dockside had levelled their rifles to produce a make-shift hand rail effect to dissuade the prisoners from 'falling' into the dock. Steele looked at this possible opportunity to escape; he looked at his shackles, and decided against it.

It felt strange to be stood on the wing of this monster machine. He found that it was quite a large area; as he approached the red star in the middle of the wing he noticed that he was about fifteen feet from the water on either side. That made the wing some thirty feet wide, and a bit more in length.

The Kommisar had by this time arrived at the entrance door to the interior of the beast. He beckoned Steele and Bird on board.

There were only about half a dozen small windows along the side of the fuselage, noticed Steele. This was evidenced by the lack of natural light inside the thing. They were led down a narrow corridor to what looked like a wooden door, but Steele found that it was cold to the touch – metal painted to look like wood. Magnavod entered the room beyond and waited. The Kommisar indicated that Steele and Bird should follow him, the Kommisar followed with two soldiers and Dmitri, who closed the door behind them. They were in a small windowless room with only a door at either end.

'This is where the interesting bit begins.' The Kommisar said as he opened the other door and stepped through.

It was like walking into a metal cathedral. Steele and Bird just stood there and stared in awe at the vast space before them. There were tables and cabinets positioned around the open floor space, and other rooms opposite them. These had double doors and windows that looked out onto the open space. Pipes and conduits covered the walls, but none on the ceiling.

'On a fine day we can open the whole roof.' The Kommisar explained, 'of course that is also useful if we have any indivisible loads to take on board. Like a missile warhead, for instance.'

'This is where we shall be dissecting the weapon when it arrives.' The Kommisar explained.

'And just how do expect to get away with that?' asked Steele, 'You can hardly hide a thing this size in the open sea. The real owners will hunt you down long before you have had a chance to even start work. My people know we went to Riga, so you can't go back there.'

'That is correct, mister Steele. We have no intention of remaining at sea, either. We have a fjord in Northern Norway waiting for us. We have no need of external supplies or contacts; we could go anywhere at 300 miles per hour. By the time your search operations could get under way we will be hundreds of miles away from the rescue site.'

'I don't think I am dressed for Norway.' Said Bird, holding her arms out to show her mini skirt.

'You will not be walking around the glaciers.' Pointed out Dmitri, 'but later we shall be taking you to New York where you will be warmed up a little. Along with everyone else.'

A young man in naval uniform approached the Kommisar; 'We are ready to cast off now, sir.'

'Very well.' The Kommisar turned to the assembled group, 'Let us go to the control centre.'

He led the way back to the strange room with two doors and no windows, then back along the corridor, past the entrance door that was now closed. Steele had a good look at this as they passed it, just in case.

'I don't think they are going to go anywhere now.' The Kommisar said to Dmitri, 'I think it is safe to remove these shackles.'

At the far end of the corridor they all got into an elevator, and were taken up.

The elevator doors opened upon an area that looked like a cross between a ship's bridge and an airliner's cockpit. In the centre there were controls and dials around four seats. Steele thought they looked like ejector seats.

Dmitri took the Brits to two seats in the rear of the area and told them,

'Sit still there, and do not touch anything.' He turned to the two soldiers who came with them, 'If they move, shoot them.'

Steele and Bird could not see the front of the ekranoplan, where two tugs were pulling the gigantic machine out of the confines of the dockyard.

The people who appeared to be the flight crew donned leather helmets with wires coming from them.

Orders, commands and requests were bandied about in Russian. Then the eight jet engines on either side of the top of the machine started one by one. As each one reached self-sustaining speed, more information was relayed in staccato monotones. And the noise level rose until conversation was impossible. Steele and Bird held their hands over their ears, but the noise seemed to be entering their bodies by vibration.

They felt the whole machine begin to move. Steele looked out of the windows in the front of the cockpit/bridge and saw that they were, indeed moving slowly.

The gigantic machine quickly picked up speed as they left the harbour area and headed out to sea. The craft was now fully airborne, albeit at a low height. The Kommisar gave a command, and the jets on the top were throttled back. The noise level decreased noticeably, and Steele and Bird could lower their hands. The Kommisar looked across at them,

'We are now powered by the engines on the tail, flying at 50 feet and accelerating past,' he referred to his instrument panel, 'one hundred miles per hour.'

  * oOo -

Chapter 24

12.45. Baltic Sea

Good vibrations were felt from the engines of the 'Silver Bergen' as she steamed quietly on a course of 105 degrees. First Officer Marcus Ladlum could feel the gentle throb of the distant engines powering the bulk carrier as he stood on the roof of the bridge with Philip von Kersopp. He lowered his binoculars and pointed out to sea over the port side,

'Smoke at about eight miles, Mister Kersopp.' He called.

Kersopp swung around to look in the direction Ladlum was pointing.

'Could be coming this way.' He observed.

The smoke was coming from the port engine of the S-boat ''Rosati'' as she joined forces with the 'Kovel' in a joint attack on the allies' main asset.

'Better get below and let the captain know we may have company soon.' Ladlum said.

'Will do.' And von Kersopp made his way down the external steel ladder to the bridge. He entered to see the captain, Sven Tommasson was already looking out to the left, port side.

'Yes, I see it, Mister Kersopp. Get on the radio and see if it is the 'Petrel', or the OA4828, if you would.' The captain said.

'Sir.' von Kersopp lifted the mike, pressed the transmit button and called, 'Haversack to all vessels, please give bearings, over.'

He turned to the captain as he waited for a reply,

'What course do you think they are on?' meaning the as yet unknown vessel giving smoke.

The captain looked at his compass, then out to port again, then back to the compass,

'Somewhere around two four zero, I would say.'

von Kersopp wrote this on the back of his hand, followed by the letters P and, below it O.

The radio crackled into life; he had put it on to loudspeaker to allow the captain to hear the information too.

'Diesel to Haversack, present course three four zero.' von Kersopp wrote alongside the letter P the numbers 340.

'Oscar to Haversack, present course two seven zero, coming round to one eight zero.'

Alongside the letter O von Kersopp wrote 270-180. As he walked across to the map table, the captain called to him,

'No need to plot them, Philip; they are not the ones heading for us. For a start there are two of them.' He had seen another vessel alongside the smoke.

The First Officer looked concerned. He asked of his captain,

'What do you propose to do?'

'Not much we can do. When they get a bit closer I will turn into them, but if they are belligerent, then we are stuffed. We can't fight with fire hoses and only a hand-full of sailors, most of whom we need to sail the ship.' He shrugged as he raised his binoculars, whilst keeping hold of the wheel with his other hand.

'Smoke turning.' He noted. 'Looks like he is moving to his port.'

The S-boat ''Rosati'', being faster than the 'Kovel', was moving towards the front of the 'Silver Bergen' as if to move into the area of sea she was headed for.

'That is to prevent us from making a run for it. But, judging from the way that smoke moved, I suspect he is a lot faster than we are.'

With that the captain spun the wheel hard to port and held it there. He looked down at the compass as the sea around them turned. The two ships coming at them were slowly swinging from left to right. But this was too slow. The 'Kovel' moved slightly to his left in order to line up the 5 inch gun. The ''Rosati'' swung round to her right to line up the torpedo tubes mounted on top of her bows.

The blunt black bow of the ocean-going tug 'Olivia' cleaved a way through the choppy Baltic Sea at what was little more than a fast walking pace.

'Can't this old tub go any faster?' Vasloo Tiablinkova was getting impatient, 'I can walk faster than this.'

'Not if you were dragging a hundred and fifty tons of crane you couldn't.' the Captain, Louis Postens replied without taking his eyes off the silvery-grey sea in front of his ship.

Tiablinkova had been trying to make sense out of the radio traffic coming from the engagement that was happening to the south of his position. Every now and then he heard what he thought could be gunfire. There was smoke here and there on the horizon, but they were too far away for him to be able to assess what was happening.

On the crane 'Muller', Clive Klokken had climbed the rear jib supports, the highest part whilst at sea, with the biggest binoculars he could lay his hands on he attempted to see as much as he could.

Around the base of the structure upon which he clung were John Synnove and the cook, Bjorn Sommer.

There was not much he could report; when he saw a ship he had no idea which ship, or who's side it was on. Here he was trying to see people out there trying kill each other and sink ships. He had seen the menacing, sleek lines of the S-boat earlier in the day, and then thought to himself

'That is one hell of a dive support boat'. The hydroplaning 'OA4828' could be made out mainly from the massive white wake it left behind itself at speed, but the 'Kovel' still looked like any other steamer out on the high seas. He could not see from this distance, even through the 10 x 50 naval binoculars, the 5 inch gun mounted on the fo'casle. He occasionally saw puffs of smoke emitting from that area. Then quite a few seconds later he heard a crack, but there were so many cracks and creaks coming from the metalwork of the crane and its lifting gear he never managed to work out if he could hear actual gunfire or not. He tried to relay this to his small, but eager audience below.

Vasloo looked back at the crane with abhorrence, as if it were keeping him from the action. Then he noticed that there was someone with a higher vantage point. He turned to the nearest man to him on the bridge of the 'Olivia'. This happened to be Randi Muri, third officer – cum dogsbody. It was his responsibility to see that the ship was running properly, from shipping ballast, to ordering coffee.

'Who the hell is that?' Vasloo brusquely asked, pointing at the jib support with Klokken perched atop it.

Both the Captain and Muri squinted in an attempt at identifying the spotter.

'Looks like Klokken.' Muri said as the Captain offered him his binoculars, which he duly used.

Then he confirmed, 'That's Clive Klokken.'

'Can we get him over here?' asked Vasloo of both men.

'Yes.' The Captain replied, reaching for the radio mike. He depressed the transmit button. ''Olivia' to 'Muller'. Over.'

Captain Johensen replied,

'Hello, Louis, Preben here. What can I do for you?'

'Can we possibly borrow one of your men, Preben?'

'Certainly, Louis. Who do you want?'

'Clive Klokken is requested on board here a soon as possible.'

'OK, Louis. I will send someone to find him.'

'I can help you there, Louis. He's on top of the support jib. That's why we want to see him; we want to know what he has seen from up there.'

'That sounds interesting, mind if we have a word before sending him?'

Preben glanced at Vasloo, who returned the look with disdain.

'Get him here as soon as you can, Louis. Out.'

Klokken debriefed his Captain, then had to make his way across to the 'Olivia' via the towrope.

On the bridge of the tugboat a rather acerbic Vasloo Tiablinkova confronted him.

'What exactly have you found about the action?' the Russian strode towards the Dutchman.

'Not much.' He responded, glancing around the room at the others gathered there, all anxious for news.

'There seemed to be some gunfire, but I couldn't hear much for the rattling of the chains.'

'What happened to the enemy ships? Did you see any go down?'

'No, one ship began giving off smoke, but at this distance I cannot see any details like fall of shot, there seemed to be more automatic fire.'

'But I thought you said you couldn't hear for the chains?'

'Automatic fire has a distinctive sound that lasts long enough to be picked out from the clattering and banging.'

'Where were they when you last saw the ships involved in the action?'

'They all turned on to a southerly heading, the one giving off a lot of smoke was this side of the scene, so I couldn't see much after that.'

'So they all went off on courses that takes them away from us?' Vasloo seemed relieved at this.

'Yes, there is no threat to us now.' Klokken gave a little good news to end his report.

Vasloo still wondered,

'I wonder what the 'Kovel' and 'Rosati' are up to now?'

Captain Aleksandr Kentorev knew exactly what he was up to.

'Call the 'Rosati' and tell them to give her both torpedoes at once, minimum spread.' He shouted across to Audrey Kuptsov on the bridge of the 'Kovel'. He looked out of the front window at the distant ship on the horizon.

'That's got to the enemy's main asset.' He scrutinised the two deck-mounted cranes facing each other.

'Kuptsov, ask radar if there are any other ships in the vicinity. The course that ship is on will take it directly to the crash site; it must be involved. But we had better make sure. If there are no other ships in the area, it must be the enemy – it certainly isn't one of ours.'

'Da,comrade Captain.'

Kuptsov picked up the mike and said into it, 'Bridge to radar room.' He waited for an answer.

'Radar.' Was all he got back.

'Captain wants to know if there are any other ships in front of us apart from the one we are aimed at.'

'Don't think so. Wait, I'll just make sure.' There was a slight pause. 'Neit. The area is clear. There are no other vessels going in any direction in an eight mile radius.'

'Thank you.' Kuptsov turned to the Captain, who had heard the conversation on the loudspeaker, but it was his duty to make the report in person.

'Radar reports the area is clear of other shipping, comrade Captain.'

'Thank you comrade seaman. We don't want to unleash this kind of treatment on an innocent ship. Any news from the 'Rosati'?'

'Da, Captain. She is having to run on half throttle on one engine and can't stop giving off smoke, the other engine is ok, and they can easily keep up with us. Both torpedo tubes are loaded with homing torpedoes, minimum spread should see both of the them such a long target.'

The 'Silver Bergen' was, indeed a long ship. As a bulk carrier she was over 200 feet long, which meant that she was not good at turning to avoid any attack.

As the 'Kovel' and 'Rosati' closed in on their prey, Kentorev called to Kupstov again, 'Gun crew to action stations, number one.'

'GUN CREW TO ACTION STATIONS.' The officer barked down the radio mike as he selected the loudspeaker mode.

The gun crew were already on the gun, they were trying to rectify the damage done during the previous action, make the gun safe to fire, and maybe gain some movement in bearing allowing them to aim the gun. They had so far managed to gain ten degrees to port, and eight degrees to starboard. With a ship as long as the 'Silver Bergen' this was good enough.

They loaded the first explosive 5 inch shell into the breech, followed by the propulsive charge. The breech door was closed, and locked, the gun was ready to fire as they moved to two miles range.

The Captain on the bridge cried out the order, 'OPEN FIRE!'

The first shot landed short. The crew loaded another shell into the breech. The 'Rosati' opened throttle to get closer to give her torpedoes better chance of hitting the target ship.

Then a massive explosion rocked the 'Kovel'. She almost rose out of the water with the force of the blast. The engine room flooded in seconds, and then she took on a list to port, that rapidly increased almost to the point of capsizing.

The Captain of HMS Oboe, 28-year-old Lieutenant-Commander Tim Robbins turned from the periscope and said to Lieutenant Aaron Mercer, his number three Officer,

'Prepare the gun crew, Mister Mercer. We are about to go hunting.' He then turned to Number One, First Lieutenant Owen Watkins,

'Prepare the ship for surfacing, Number One.' He folded the handles up and announced,

'Down periscope.'

As the submarine broke the surface the 'Kovel' was heeling over on her port side and losing speed. The S-boat 'Rosati', on the other hand was not. Captain Anton von Schiller opened up the throttles when the 'Kovel' took the torpedo hit, and began manoeuvres to attack a submarine.

Robbins was ready for this. Through the boat's asdic and passive sonar he and the First Lieutenant had been identifying and tracking the two ships from their cavitations.

The gun crew took the gun parts from their underwater storage positions and prepared them to be fitted on the four-inch forward gun when they had surfaced.

The 'Rosati' began a hard turn to their starboard. The 'Silver Bergen' was now forgotten – this was a fight to survive. von Schiller called out to Konrad Mayer, 'Get to the rear and set up for depth charging, there must be a submarine down..' he stopped in mid-sentence as he and Mayer watched HMS Oboe emerge from the grey waves.

'Shit! Belay that order.' The Captain exclaimed, 'Man the forward gun.'

This was a twin 20mm cannon, lethal enough, but no match for the 'Oboe's' four-inch naval gun, especially at range.

The old S-boat was now turned to face the British submarine. The injured engine was belching smoke, but von Schiller had no choice but to keep it at full throttle, he was now a mile and a half away from the sub, out of range for his guns.

Captain Robbins was standing in the control room of HMS Oboe, he made a radio call to the gun crew in their ready room above his own position as the submarine broke the surface.

'Engage target on port quarter giving off smoke when ready. Fire at will.'

The 'Safe to Emerge' light glowed green in the ready room. Petty Officer Jamie Taylor, usually the Stoker Mechanic, was first to break out into the bright sunlight. Well he thought it was bright sunlight – in fact it was a fairly grey day, typical of the Baltic in March. He began drying off the four-inch piece as Leading Seaman Richard Rushby brought the firing mechanisms out and fitted them on to the gun. Within one minute twenty seconds Rushby nodded to the Petty Officer and called out above the sounds of the waves washing up on the bulbous side tanks of the grey submarine, 'Gun ready to fire.' With that Rushby unlocked the locking mechanism, allowing the gun to be swung and elevated. At the same time two seaman ratings rushed out with the ammunition.

Taylor spotted the powerful little S-boat; he could hardly miss it with the thick pall of black smoke hanging over it. By looking through the gun's sighting mechanism he estimated the range to be just over a mile, and closing rapidly.

Rushby slammed the breech door closed and called,

'LIVE AND CLEAR' to let Taylor know that the gun was ready to fire. Taylor took aim and fired. The shell whistled over towards the 'Rosati'. Then fell well short and to starboard of the target.

The Captain of the S-boat altered course slightly in the direction of the tower of water thrown up by the four-inch shell. He knew that the submarine out gunned him – Robbins was expecting this.

Rushby pulled the breech door open, ejecting the smoking brass shell casing. This rattled down the wet grey casing and fell into the foaming sea as Rushby slammed the door closed on another shell.

'LIVE AND CLEAR.' The S-boat was closer now. A short, loud rap was carried by the wind as Rushby fired.

On the 'Rosati' von Schiller saw the puff of smoke from the four-inch gun, so he knew another shell was heading his way. Only one hit on the light, old torpedo boat would finish it off. The experienced ex-Kreigsmarine Captain knew that naval gunnery was difficult at extreme ranges whilst on the move in a rolling sea. But within another three shots the submarine will be in range for an effective shot.

'The gunner is getting his eye in.' he remarked to Karl Beckett, 'we had better do something about this.'

He altered course to the right. The smoke trailed behind like a long black veil.

Taylor fired again, this time it landed to the right as Taylor looked at it.

As Rushby reloaded the gun the S-boat did something nobody expected. She turned away from the submarine. Taylor adjusted the sights to take aim again, and fired. This time the shell landed only thirty feet off the starboard bow. Water from the waterspout cascaded down over the boat as she continued the turn. Captain von Schiller kept the wheel over to the right as the rear of the boat disappeared behind the smoke. He then closed the throttle and shut down the wounded port engine. He retarded the other throttle to idle. All that could be heard as he straightened up the wheel was the lapping of the water on the side of the rapidly slowing boat, and the gentle burbling of the remaining engine ticking over.

And the sound of another shell whistling over from HMS Oboe. Then the loud crash at it erupted on the sea a couple of hundred yards off the port stern.

'That's taken his eye out.' von Schiller said with a satisfied grin. He could no longer see the submarine; there was a pall of smoke hanging on the water about 400 yards to his right. They were moving very slowly along the line of the obstruction.

Taylor kept sending shells in their direction, but his aim was well off by now. He moved away from the gunsight to focus his binoculars on the curtain of smoke that concealed the S-boat.

'Bastard!' he exclaimed. 'Any ideas, lads?'

Captain Robbins called down from the top of the conning tower,

'Do you want me to slow down, number three?' Aaron Mercer had appeared to oversee the firing.

He thought for a second or two, then turned to Taylor,

`'What do you think, Jamie? Would it be useful to you if we lost some way?'

The gunner turned to the officer,

'Not really, sir. Best keep on till we get through this smoke.'

Mercer cupped his hands round his mouth and called up to the Captain,

'No thank you, sir. Let's get through this smoke. He isn't going to do any damage now.'

'OK, number three.'

The British submarine was nearly two hundred yards away from the curtain of smoke when they heard the distant sound of diesel engines being brought to life and opened up to full throttle.

The gun crew on the Oboe were exposed on the foredeck as the smoking S-boat broke through the black cloud in a position much further to the right than the submarine crew expected.

At full throttle the torpedo attack boat threw up vast waves from the sharp bow as it rose up in the water and the boat rushed towards the Oboe. The twin 20-millimetre cannon will be in range before the four-inch gun can be trained on them.

  * oOo -

Chapter 25

12.42 Aboard the Ekranoplan

'She's not there.' Even Steele's basic understanding of Russian allowed him to know what the soldier was saying in panic.

The Russian had been sent to guard Lennox Bird who had requested to go to the toilet.

Steele shook his head and smiled.

Dmitri glared at the other soldiers on the bridge,

'Find her, she can go nowhere.' He singled out one soldier, 'You. You watch him. If he moves, kill him.' This was explicit enough for Steele, who just lifted his hands from his lap to indicate that they were empty and harmless – much in the same way a magician might show you that his hands were clean and clear.

'Da.' Was all the soldiers said as Dmitri and the five men rushed towards the rear of the ekranoplan. They moved methodically through the pale blueish green corridor, briefly pausing to examine the place she had disappeared from. There was only one way she could have gone, so they moved through the bulkhead door towards the rear hold that held the laboratory.

The vertical tunnel that supported the turret was closely examined, and then a major bulkhead door that led past the girder-like structure that fed the power from the eight jet engines mounted beside the bridge floor.

The windowless corridor then took them to the part of the craft that can be split from the nose section to allow for large objects to be loaded. That meant another bulkhead, and a big ugly join on the metal floor. Soon they came upon a series of doors on their right that led to the workshops and offices which, in turn, led on to the open space that awaited the missile warhead.

Dmitri looked at the soldier closest to him and indicated the first door,

'Check in there.'

So on to the next door, then the next one. Until eventually there was only one door left. Dmitri went through this to search the room beyond. After doing this he continued out into the vast hallway that was the cavernous hold of the strange craft. By then all of the other soldiers had done the same and were searching the empty hold–cum workshop.

Meanwhile, back in the toilet area Lieutenant Lennox Bird appeared from beneath the metal floor plates.

'That leads nowhere.' She thought to herself. Having heard the soldiers pass by in their search she knew which way to go.

On the bridge were the Kommisar, Vadim Magivnod, Dr Maximova and the pilot, along with one soldier who was nervously watching over Steele.

So when Bird burst back into the room there were not that many people there.

They were all startled by the appearance of the little Lieutenant. The soldier standing by Steele was first to react. He moved towards Bird. Steele saw his chance; he leapt to his feet and landed a karate chop on the back of the man's neck, killing him instantly. Bird was alert to the situation, she grabbed the guard's AK 47 and aimed it at the most important looking piece of machinery she could find.

'I wonder if this thing can fly with all this lot blown to hell.' She said, more to the Russians than anyone else.

Vadim spoke first,

'No, you are quite right. We are only thirty feet above the tops of the waves. We, here, are further from the bottom of the hull than the hull is from the water. Each wing is about thirty feet long. Can you imagine what would happen if one wing should dip say, fifteen degrees?'

'Can you make any sense out of what he is saying?' Bird asked Steele, who was removing articles from the dead guard.

Vadim was calm. He raised his voice a little,

'What I am saying, my dear, is that if we lose control for long enough for a wing to tilt by the smallest amount.' He held his arms out to illustrate, 'One tip will hit the water at.' He looked at the instruments, 'Two hundred and thirty miles per hour. Now, what good would that do your mission?'

Steele butted in,

'Our mission is to stop you. I'd say that we would have achieved our aim.'

'Radar has contacts, sir.' The pilot reported to the Kommisar as normal.

Steele looked at him in amazement, then at the Kommisar, who then in turn looked at Bird.

'Could that be ours?' she asked Steele.

The Kommisar answered the question.

'It will be all of them, yours and ours. We are too far away as yet to be able to differentiate between individual ships.'

Then the rear entrance door near to where Steele and Bird were originally seated, burst open and in burst Dmitri and his five men. Dmitri almost fell over the body of the soldier he had left on guard, he was surprised to see Bird, he was even more surprised to see her holding a loaded AK 47 assault rifle in the middle of some very sensitive equipment.

Because he was off balance, trying to step over a dead body, as well as trying to take in what was happening, all he could do was shoulder charge the back of Lennox Bird. The impact caused her to lunge forwards, the gun went off, pumping 28 rounds into the roof.

Sparks flew, smoke began to build, then a few fires erupted. The occasional fire extinguisher went off to add to the cacophony of sounds.

Steele took hold of Dmitri and smashed him into the hard metal of the seats in the middle of the bridge. The pilot continued flying as if nothing was happening, he was totally focussed on his duties as Bird fell onto the back of his chair. Vadim took hold of the barrel of the AK, even though it was hot. He knew which way to twist it in order to remove it from her grasp without it going off again.

Steele let Dmitri fall between the two rows of seats, and turned his attentions to the soldiers who had come with him. Luckily there was not enough room where he was to allow them to mount a multiple attack on him. He took a large knife, which he had removed from the first soldier, and sliced the throat of the next soldier through the door.

The one behind him was given a stab under his left arm as Steel ducked to avoid being shot at. Steele then thrust backwards to catch Dmitri with his elbow as he emerged from between the seats. Bird saw that Vadim had both hands occupied holding the rifle, so she came up with a knee in the crotch, which sent him reeling, still gripping on to the rifle.

Visibility was getting worse with the smoke and fire extinguisher foam. Steele noticed that there were now three dead bodies preventing the remaining soldiers from getting involved in the fight. He turned to Bird and called,

'GET TO THE SEATS, BACK ROW.'

He hoped she had understood as the Kommisar joined in the fight by catching Bird with a glancing blow to the right cheek. She responded by taking hold of his arm and throwing him across the bridge, to land in a heap on top of Vadim.

Dmitri was sent reeling by the force of the blow from Steele's back elbow. He lost his balance in time to crack his head on the back of the pilot's head. He then reeled to his left, and landed on the spot where Bird had been standing seconds before.

Steele saw that there was space between him and the front of the bridge. Through the smoke he saw, out of the windscreen, ships on the horizon. He thought they must be ships this far out. What they were was the tug 'Olivia' and the crane behind it. As he raced forward, Steele said to the pilot,

'Excuse me.' As he knocked him out with a karate chop to the side of the neck. There was not enough room to make this a killer blow, but it was not necessary. In the same movement he took hold of eight throttle levers that were situated by the pilot's left leg, and moved them all completely up towards the window.

As the noise of the powerful engines spooling up began to fill the air with vibrations and sound the Kommisar and Dmitri both realised at once what Steele had done.

They launched towards him from opposite sides. The Kommisar's eyes were red with the smoke, Dmitri's eyes were red with rage. Steele glanced towards the back of the bridge, where he hoped Bird had managed to get to.

'Strap in.' he called to her, then he turned and took on the Kommisar and Dmitri. Somehow, the Kommisar had replaced his round Russian officer's hat back on his head. He could hardly see, so Steele quickly removed this and smacked Dmitri across the forehead with it, so he couldn't see either. The Kommisar spun round and just caught sight of a dark blur that was Steele. The Brit had hit Dmitri with the hat in his right hand, which was now at almost full stretch by his own left elbow. He dropped the hat and slashed his right hand into the right side of the Kommisar's throat. This usually broke the larynx, or neck. But this time it was not central enough to do either, so the Kommisar just dropped, choking from the blow and the smoke. Dmitri glanced out of the windscreen to see the ships on the horizon were getting closer. The Ekranoplan was intended to 'fly' with the power of the two jets on the tail fin. The other eight jets were only used for take-off, to get air under the wing and lift the whole 280 tons away from the water. Now these ten engines in all were powering it along. The speed was now reaching 400 mph, the height had increased to 75 feet, but they were heading straight for the 'Muller, with its jib support raised this was nearly 120 feet high. Steele also saw this as the Kommisar's head dropped from his blow. Steele knew that Dmitri was just behind his left shoulder, and that he would be coming at him, so without hesitation he reversed the travel of the hand that had just hit the Kommisar, made it into a fist, and Dmitri simply ran into it. The Russian reeled back as the Ekranoplan hurtled towards the crane at nearly 150 feet per second. Steele then dived to his right, found eight interlinked levers on a quadrant with degrees marked on it by the unconscious pilot's right knee, these he pulled down to the lowest setting. As the nose of the craft began to rise he made a dash to the rear set of seats. Bird had already arrived in the left-hand one; he took the right one. He called to her without looking, 'Strap in quickly!' he was not looking at her because he was busy finding his straps, and fastening them.

The pilot lolled unconscious in his seat. Dmitri was lying on the ground behind him, covered in fire extinguisher foam. The Kommisar and Vadim were trying to extract themselves from the right hand corner of the bridge as they all felt the floor begin to take on more of a slant towards the rear. In all the noise and smoke they couldn't at first understand what was happening.

Then they heard a loud series of bangs. It was impossible to identify where they were coming from. Then the whole area was flooded with light, the smoke and dust cleared immediately, but their heads didn't. Another series of bangs, then hot, searing, red heat seeming to come from the rear of the bridge as Steele and Bird left the craft on the rear two ejector seats.

They left as the eight jet engines reached 80% thrust; the deflectors on the rear of these were set at full downwards; thereby lifting the front of the ekranoplan through 25 degrees as they ejected. Then at 30 degrees the massive machine was not gaining any height; it weighed 280 tons, and was not intended to fly. As the angle reached 45 degrees the tail became dangerously close to the water. The men on the crane and the tug could see the underside of the gigantic monster as it seemed to be preparing to strike like a cobra.

The speed dropped dramatically when the port wing began to drop. A small eruption of smoke above the front meant that it had become a little lighter, but it made no difference. The tail and the port wing hit the sea at the same time. The speed had not decreased too much. As the wing caught at 260 mph it began to disintegrate as it dragged the rest of the flying ship in a huge cartwheel. The four engines on the top of the cabin hit the water, the force of this causing them to break off. Still running they continued on for a quarter of a mile in all directions as the nose section hit the Baltic Sea.

When the front hit the water the main body was not quite level with the waves, causing the nose to take on the full impact. It was only 60 feet in front of the 'Olivia'. Vadim, Dr Maximova, the pilot, and three soldiers knew nothing of what happened to them. Neither could they do anything about it. When they had noticed the floor slanting, it had passed 10%. 15 seconds later it had passed 20%, then the two rear ejector seats and part of the roof left the craft, making it lighter in the front. The engines were gaining in power; and the fate was sealed right then and there.

The Kommisar and Dmitri knew this, so they used the other two seats to escape.

  * oOo -

Chapter 26

12.55. Baltic Sea

'I close my eyes and count to ten.' von Schiller said to Beckett, 'and when I open them I expect to find a submarine.'

As the S-boat 'Rosati' approached the smoke screen she was using to hide from the British submarine. Konrad Mayer swung the twin 20-mm machine guns round to where he also expected the sub to appear.

The sharp bow raised up in the water as von Schiller opened the throttles on both engines. The burble of the engines raised into a roar, the sea to the rear of the boat began to surge and turn into deep white furrows. Then they were through.

Mayer could see the gun crew facing away from his direction. He could just make out most of the men behind the gun when he opened fire at extreme range. To his surprise the first rounds landed on the bulging side tanks of the 'Oboe'. They could not penetrate the metal, because they were at the limit of their range, all the kinetic energy being spent. But that didn't stop one round from bouncing up and hitting the 4 inch gun, thus alerting the gun crew. Dieter von Goethe came forward to support Mayer with more ammunition as he moved the gun aim up to reach the crew of the 4 inch. Rounds were then seen sparking off the railings and superstructure as the S-boat got into effective range.

Leading Seaman Richard Rushby was standing with a shell, ready to reload, when a 20 mm shell hit him in the upper thigh, then another one hit him in the left arm, he was sent reeling back into one of the Seamen Ratings. The Seaman Rating took the next shell in the upper body. His blood and that of Rushby splashed against the conning tower outer wall.

More 20-mm shells hit the conning tower, stitching a jagged line at a crazy angle dictated by the movement of the sea.

Mayer stopped firing until he could draw another bead on the gun crew with the big round rear sight of the twin 20-mm. Then he opened fire as Petty Officer Stoker Mechanic Jamie Taylor fired the 4-inch gun at what was for the artillery piece fairly short range, and closing rapidly. Because of this closing range, Taylor's shot fell long. He looked around for Rushby to give him another round as the Leading Seaman fell with the Seamen Rating, and the shell fell into the water some twenty feet below the gun platform. The second Seaman Rating took up the job of feeding the gun, but as he moved forward with another shell, Mayer got his eye in, and the sailor was hit in the stomach, arm and neck. The cannon shells continued to lash into and around the crew. With a combined rate of fire of nearly 2,000 rounds per minute the area was saturated. Rushby took one in the head; the number three officer was hit by three 20-mm shells in the chest. No more fire would be coming from the 4-inch for some time.

The submarine captain, Tim Robbins witnessed this from the top of the conning tower, as the action began he called down to the control room,

'FULL STARBOARD RUDDER. Prepare stern tubes for firing.'

As the 'Rosati' turned away from the submarine, Robbins's rear torpedo tubes came to bear on the retreating S-boat.

'Fire one. Fire two.' He called from the top of the conning tower.

Two new homing torpedoes were launched from the stern tubes of the submarine. These machines home in on the cavitations of the target vessel. These cavitations are caused by the propellers thrashing through the water, and are most effective when attacking from behind and slightly below. The torpedoes dipped to four feet below the surface, their compressed air motors pushing them forwards at nearly 40 mph. Lieutenant Commander Robbins watched as the two pale streaks chased the Schnell-boat, but the ex-German navy boat was gaining speed, although giving off a lot of smoke. It looked as if the fast boat would be able to keep the torpedoes at arm's length until they ran out of power. Then there was an explosion on the left side of the S-boat as the port engine finally gave up the ghost. The damage was not enough to sink the boat, but it meant that she was now on half power. The torpedoes began to gain on her again. Robbins held his breath as he watched the trails getting closer and closer. They seemed to be converging on each other as they moved further away from him. Then there was a mountain of water as one, then the other exploded when their proximity fuses went off.

When the water subsided he could see the 'Rosati' sitting down by the stern, having lost all forward progress. The water soon reached half way up the boat, then she settled down and slid beneath the waves.

Six men were seen in the water, so Lt. Cdr Robbins ordered the sub to turn about to pick up survivors.

  * oOo -

Legionnaire Dolpho Hartmann aboard the hydroplane ship 'OA 4828' had the ekranoplan on radar long before they were able to see it.

They knew it was heading for the C-133 crash site, and they knew it was going very fast and low. The high speed 'OA 4828' began speeding towards the centre of activities, she had managed to get within two miles when the gigantic ekranoplan reared up and crashed in such a spectacular fashion. The whole crew had witnessed the sight from two miles away it looked spectacular. The big monster was a monotone grey close to the horizon, with a thin white streak of foaming water behind it. Until it began to lift its massive head like some gigantic cobra about to strike. The downward thrust of the eight jet engines on the top of the nose churned the water into an angry broiling mass that seemed to lift the front up. At first the tail maintained its position 30 feet above the water, the enormous wing on top if the tail seemed to be giving enough lift to carry on as usual. Almost in slow motion the whole machine gradually turned through 20 degrees from the level when something seemed to depart from the doomed craft.

  * oOo -

Chapter 27

12.55. 250 Feet Above The Baltic Sea

'Sunshine, superman.' Bird shouted across to Steele as she blinked at the dazzling light in the white cloud at 2,000 feet.

Four red and white parachutes drifted down towards the grey Baltic Sea about half a mile away from the 'Olivia'.

'You OK?' Steele called across to Bird. The rapid ejection from the doomed Ekranoplan had left her dazed.

The two other parachutes belonged to the Kommisar and Dmitri.

Steele and Bird could not see these because they ejected before the Russians; therefore they were positioned lower, and came out of the cloud before them anyway.

The 'OA 4828' was still at full throttle, speed now reached 57 miles per hour heading for the scene. As they moved closer the whole ekranoplan cartwheeled in a massive plume of spray. By then they were close enough to make out the parachutes as they emerged below the clouds.

'All hands to their stations.' Hartmann declared over the ships tannoy system, 'Two parachutists to be picked up, let's get to it.'

With that all the crew dispersed to their stations. Hartmann remained inside the bridge as he kept a close watch on the descending parachutes. Two more popped out of the clouds outside of his view; he didn't see them, neither could he see the tender being launched from the tug 'Olivia'.

Steele and Bird came floating gently down under their canopies, each one had an individual dinghy dangling below them, tethered to their parachute harnesses. They hit the water less than 800 feet from the 'OA 4828', they didn't even have chance to deploy their life rafts before they were picked up and taken aboard the now stationary hydroplane ship.

Vasloo Tiablinkova aboard the tug 'Olivia' watched the ekranoplan crash, then spotted the descending chutes. At first two, then four.

He launched a small tender to rescue the people dangling from the chutes. In the tender with him were John Synnove, Clive Klokken and Bjorn Sommer.

'Here's our ride home.' Steele called as the 'OA' dropped alongside.

He thought the job was almost done.

They did not see the 'Rosati' sink, or the 'Kovel' slip beneath the waves – there was far too much going on. The 'Kovel' assault escort ship of 5,500 tons did not sink. At least not before four large assault boats had left the rear of the ship carrying 20 marine specialist soldiers in each.

Three yellow submersible craft were also dispatched. These were like manned torpedoes developed from the Italian invention during the Second World War.

Before the 'Oboe' had appeared the 'Kovel' had registered the ekranoplan on its sensitive radar, they knew that it was another Russian asset headed for the same area everyone else was aiming at. Including the westerners led by the British, unless he and the S-boat could stop the 'Silver Bergen'.

Then the torpedo hit the Russian and everything changed.

'Man the assault boats.' The Captain, Alexandr Kentorev ordered before he knew what the damage was. He knew that, whatever the explosion was, the fast mobile assault craft would probably be needed, either to board the 'Silver Bergen', or to pick up survivors when she went down. These people could give vital information.

Then the 'Kovel' began to list.

The first two fast patrol boats left the stern of the 'Kovel' with David Merinin and Sergey Salimov at their helms.

As the men began to prepare the second two boats the list was beginning to make itself felt more.

The Captain gave the order to abandon ship, he and Audrey Kuptsov took the second pair of assault boats out, and the rest of the crew took to the lifeboats and awaited rescue. They expected the 'Rosati' to come to their aid, but she was doing battle with the submarine HMS Oboe.

The four assault craft headed away from the sub and the S-boat, towards the tug and the crane when they saw the ekranoplan approaching at speed on the horizon. Then it rose up like some sort of avenging dragon. The assault boats were too far away to see the ejector seats leave the top of the nose of the monster. They knew what it was, then they saw it crash in a mountain of foam. The men in the speeding boats stood in awe as they saw the wing nearest them begin to drop, then hit the sea to send a wave trail just before causing the rest of the machine spinning on a lateral axis. The gigantic tail began to rise whilst the front looked as if it may be adopting a more level orientation, then they saw the far wing lift up above the centre fuselage, the far wing tip now describing an arc as the whole 300 tons began its cartwheel of death. The four big jets on the near side of the top of the bridge then hit the water and flew off in all directions. As the front of the stricken craft came into contact with the Baltic it imposed stresses on the sides of the fuselage in ways it was never intended to take. This caused it to buckle. Buckling metal is not as strong as straight metal, so it gave way thereby opening vast gaping holes in the sides of the hold-cum-laboratory. The people in there were clinging to anything they could hold on to in order to prevent being thrown around in the cathedral sized hold. Then the water came in through the rips in the side of the massive vehicle.

The men in the boats saw the v-shaped tail unit rise, then twist as the engines on its side continued to push the remains below the frothing waves.

The sounds of the throbbing engines of the four assault boats was the only sounds to be heard on board the vessels as the whole of the occupants were stunned into silence. Seconds later the sounds of the crash reached them as if to confirm what their eyes had told them.

On board the 'OA 4828' the radar room called up the bridge.

The Captain, Dolpho Hartmann on the bridge, like all of the crew he was watching, spellbound, the destruction of the ekranoplan. He was about to reach for his cold cup of tea when the call came from Wulf below in the radar room.

'Bridge to radar.' The Captain said into the mike.

'Four small boats on the port quarter, captain.'

'How far away?'

'One nautical mile, sir.'

Hartmann raised his binoculars out to the left-hand side of the hydroplane vessel. He scanned the area, but could not see any sign of vessels in the sea.

The captain called the radar room again,

'Where away, Wulf?'

'About seven o'clock from our present heading.'

Straight abeam the ship would be 9 o'clock, seven o'clock would be to the rear of that position. The captain swung his binoculars further to the rear.

Only just down from the horizon he made out an occasional dot. Sometimes black, sometimes white foam, depending on the sea state.

'I have them.' He said. 'Now I wonder where they have sprung from.'

Steele and Bird joined him on the bridge, Steele turned to the chart,

'Given that they are on the same course as us, almost, we can safely presume that they are at least headed for the same destination.' He prodded the chart at a point where several lines converged. 'The crash site.'

He and the captain looked at the chart.

Steele pointed to where one line seemed to be longer than the others,

'What's this?' he asked.

'Christ, that's the Petrel.' Hartmann said, his casual tone now laced with urgency.

'Presuming that those four boats are not friendly,' he indicated in the direction of the fast assault craft, 'We have an asset under threat.'

Up to now the OA 4828 was making way like any other ship.

'I shall now show you what this ship can do.' Hartmann said to Steele.

With a single movement of four levers the power of all four engines came on line, and sent powerful throbbing through the boat. Steele looked surprised as he stepped back due to the acceleration, and the bow of the ship raising. Then the rest of the ship lifted out of the water as she began to ride on the hydroplanes, and began to pick up speed.

The assault boats were now travelling at 28 knots when the Kommisar noticed the 'OA 4828' rise on to its skids. He was riding in the lead boat, with David Marenin in the small two-man bridge. They knew the 'OA' was there because she was seen on the 'Kovel's' radar before the torpedo hit her.

'That explains the speed we saw on the radar.' David pointed to the 'OA' in the distance.

The Kommisar nodded agreement, 'But this time it will be different.' He said, remembering the clash between the 'Kovel' and the 'OA 4828'. He reached out for the radio mike and turned the dial to re-tune it.

'Petersburg, Petersburg. This is the Kommisar calling. Are you on station? Over.'

'Petersburg to Kommisar. On station, three awaiting instructions.' Major Ivan Spong was flying the lead of three Tupolev Tu-16 bombers, NATO code name 'Badger'.

'Stand by for co-ordinates. Prepare to launch two missiles.'

The three high-speed jet bombers were on station, circling fifty miles away at 30,000 feet. They were carrying three anti-ship missiles. Actually these were little more than MiG –15 fighters with a crude homing device instead of a pilot, and half a ton of high explosive. The 'missiles' had a range of over one hundred miles. From their height all the Tu-16s needed to do was point them in the right direction and release them. The radar homing device would pick up the reflections from the parent aircraft's radar. This was capable of picking up any ship within its cone of acquisition, then take the whole aircraft straight to the ship. The closer it got, the more accurate it became. Just to be sure, a proximity fuse was fitted to explode the bomb when it got close, and range began increasing meaning that it had missed.

On board the 'OA 4828' Wulf called to the bridge again,

'Radar to bridge.'

Hartmann replied,

'Bridge.'

'We have three aircraft at over 30,000 feet, fifty miles away. They have just altered course towards us.'

The Captain looked at Steele.

'What could this mean? I presume it is not good news.' He said.

Steele looked out towards the east, the direction the aircraft will be coming from.

'There is only one attack pattern that can be launched from that kind of altitude and range.' The RAF trained man told the Captain. 'Bears and Badgers can carry some kind of anti-ship guided missile, but the range seems a bit too far away to work.'

Major Spong called across to his number two aircraft,

'Petersburg one to Petersburg two. Prepare your missile for launch.'

At the same time he signalled his co-pilot to do the same.

The co-pilot began an intricate system of starting procedures to start the engine of the old converted fighter that they were carrying.

He began by arming the emergency ejection system for the aircraft-cum-missile in case anything should go wrong with the start procedure. Then he threw a switch that transferred electrical power from his own aircraft to the missile. The co-pilot in the other 'Badger' was only a few seconds behind with each action, but they operated independently of each other.

Next the main fuel low pressure cock was opened, following which the high pressure fuel cock. Then the pump relay was switched to 'live', next the whole system was energised and fuel began to flow into the windmilling engine.

The operators then checked that the engine was turning fast enough to be started. If not they introduced high pressure compressed air into the engine. This then spun the rotor system up to a fast speed.

Ten percent throttle was selected prior to final start-up actions.

As the ignition system was energised the operators also covered the emergency abandon switch in case the sudden introduction of high voltage to the fuel system caused any problems.

Jet pipe temperature is to be watched very carefully now because this is a very reliable indicator that the engine has surged, and the procedure must be abandoned.

As the engine gains speed the co-pilots watch various dials and electrical indicators.

At the appropriate time the co-pilot calls to his Captain,

'Engine self-sustaining, ready for launch.'

  * oOo -

On the 'OA' Wulf came on the intercom again.

'Correction, five aircraft now picked up.'

'Shit.' Steele realised what had just happened, 'The Russians have been finding ways of throwing away their surplus MiGs for a while. Only they would be big enough to show on radar at this range.'

Hartmann consulted the chart. He placed a hand down on an area some distance from their position.

'I reckon they are about here.' He picked up the mike,

'Bridge to radar. Are all the aircraft still on the same course?'

'Ja, captain. Closing rapidly.'

Steele knew by instinctive mathematics that it would only take them less than 5 minutes to cover the 30 miles at an airspeed around 500 miles per hour.

'Steer towards the threat.' He said to the captain, 'Their radar guidance will be coming from the parent aircraft. It will only be able to see where we are, not predict where we will be'

The ship veered to their left, away from the four Russian attack launches. Two pilotless MiG 15 missiles hurtled toward the 'OA 4828'. Steele was right, the missiles were guided towards their target by radar emissions from the Tu-16 bombers that had launched them. With the 'OA' now travelling at full speed towards them the missiles had to be deflected down more than expected, this made their speed increase towards the limit of their control envelope.

Both Steele and the Captain watched through their binoculars in the direction of the attack.

'As soon as we see them, turn hard to starboard.' Steele knew this was their only chance to evade being hit by the Russians. He also knew that the MiGs would be on them in less than four seconds after they saw them.

Steele and Hartmann saw the attackers at the same instant

'NOW!' Steele shouted, at the same time Hartmann dropped his binoculars, allowing them to fall on to his chest as he spun the wheel hard over to the right.

The lead Badger got the information that the 'OA' had altered course. There was little time to alert his number two,

'Sharp turn left.' Was all he was able to put out as he executed a sharp turn to keep his radar on the 'OA'.

The missile also tried to follow the manoeuvre. it turned on to its side, left wing low. This was the first launched, so it was a few feet in front of the other missile. As it began to turn, the second aircraft/missile flew straight into it. Both unmanned converted fighters disintegrated in a fireball before falling into the cold Baltic below.

Major Spong reacted with commendable speed. He called the only bomber left with a bomb. 'Petersburg One to Petersburg Three. Prepare to launch.'

With the speed they carried into the enforced turn the three Tu-16s were rapidly gaining on the 'OA'.

By the time 'Petersburg Three' had completed the start-up procedures they would have overflown the target ship. Because their radar only pointed forwards, the missile could not be guided on to the target, so the Major took his formation into a series of manoeuvres that would put them into a more favourable position to make an attack.

'Petersburg Three to Petersburg One.' The Captain of the bomber with the missile aboard called the leader,

'My missile is hot. I will have to launch soon, or shut it down.'

'Petersburg One to Petersburg Three, hold position for twenty seconds.' Spong knew they would be back in a favourable position to launch by then.

'Petersburg Three, I have rising jet pipe temperature. Holding for launch command.'

Fifteen seconds later the 'OA' appeared on the three radar sets of the Tu-16s. The leader again signalled the missile carrier,

'Petersburg Three, clear to launch.'

The number three pilot did not get chance to reply. He knew the urgency of getting rid of his modified jet fighter with running engine as soon as possible.

He pulled the release lever to sever the umbilical of connections to the missile, then fired the release charge to drop his cargo.

The combination of electrical circuits being cut, a small explosive charge, and an overheating missile carrying explosives was too much. As the tubby little missile left the recessed bomb bay it exploded. This caused the bomber to break into two just behind the wings. The cockpit in the nose section also had the engines and wings, so they pushed this part of the wreckage to the sea, slowly turning over as it descended. The three-man crew ejected safely.

  * oOo -

Chapter 28

15.40. Dive Site.

'What would I be if I could do that?' Dan Jagger joined Paul Halstead on the bridge of the 'Petrel I' 'How did you do it, smart arse?' the marine respectfully asked the Captain, his strong Yorkshire accent coming through.

Dead in front of the 'Petrel I' bobbed a small orange marker buoy. It dropped out of sight quite often, even at this close range.

'Simple, simpleton. That is no ordinary buoy. It is also a radio transmitter left by the Foreign Office representative.'

'So the men from Whitehall have left us a message all the way out here, have they?'

'They certainly have, my young marine. And it says that you have to get your little pinkies wet now.'

He cut the throttle and the little blue vessel settled within ten feet of the marker.

Fifteen minutes later Jagger and John Threlfall began their descent along the line that connected the marker to the seabed.

  * oOo -

The Kommisar turned to Marenin,

'Signal Dmitri, we must do something about that...' he pause whilst he thought what he should describe the hydroplane boat as, '...ship thing over there.'

Marenin picked up a signal lamp and began flashing a message to the assault boat that was crashing through the waves alongside his own black boat.

Dmitri and Sergei Salimov read the message as it came across.

The two men looked at each other, then at the 'OA' in the distance.

'Signal the two boats behind to go and sort out the enemy boat.'

Marenin flashed a quick signal to the following boats, they signalled back. Armed with little more than AK-47s and mortars, which were intended for ground use, they set off to intercept the 'OA'.

Audrey Kuptsov skippered the lead boat on the intercept. He knew a trick or two that would negate the advantage enjoyed by the 'OA'.

He began by signalling the other boat. They were about one and a half miles from the 'OA', Kuptsov began by splitting the two boats up; the enemy only had one big gun, it couldn't shoot at two targets at once. And he gambled that it couldn't fire accurately it the ship was manoeuvring violently to deal with two assault boats from different directions.

But the 'OA' was much faster than they were.

Hartmann ordered the forward four-inch gun to be manned. Steele nodded to Bird,

'We will cover the rear.' He said to the Captain as they went to the twin Orlikon cannon on the stern decking.

The two assault boats were approaching the front of the 'OA' as she came quickly at them when Barry Watkins opened up at extreme range. The single gun pounded out 25 rounds per minute. The shells landed short at first, then to the left of Kuptsov's boat. He ordered the men in the boat,

'ENEMY VESSEL AHEAD. PREPARE TO FIRE.'

Just then a column of water thrown up by the latest shot swamped the boat as it ploughed through it.

Meanwhile on the 'OA' eight Marines assembled on the starboard side of the vessel with rifles and heavy calibre machine guns in preparation to take the other boat on.

Then a four-inch shell landed in the middle of the open assault boat. It failed to explode, but the impact killed three men and made a big hole in the middle of the boat.

Dolpho Hartmann chopped the throttles closed and applied full starboard rudder. As the hydroplane dropped into the water the second assault boat hit it hard. The Russians on the starboard side only managed to get off about four seconds of firing before the ships suddenly collided. Five men were thrown from the smaller vessel as they opened fire.

The thin-skinned 'OA' took 76 rounds through the hull that was raised out of the water by the hydroplanes. The vital components like engines and fuel cells were protected, but nearly one hundred holes were made in the hull, luckily no-one was hit inside.

The Russian boat careered away as two of the Russian soldiers began firing from the rear. The AK 47 assault rifle is a powerful weapon – especially at such close range. Another wavy line of bullet holes marched along the hull of the hydroplane as Hartmann opened the throttles again. The assault boat came into the field of fire for the rear twin Orlikon cannon manned by Steele and Bird. Not as quick firing as the AK-47s, the 20 mm cannons still put out three rounds per second between them. Steele steered the little tall pyramids of water thrown up by the shells on the grey sea towards the dark green Russian boat as it tried to out-run the gunfire. The first shell to hit the vessel struck it on the starboard quarter near to where one of the Russians was firing back towards the 'OA'. The next shell hit him in the left shoulder, then the chest, then the hip as he fell backwards. The small wheelhouse seemed to erupt as five shells to entered and seemed to detonate at once.

Then the line of deadly shells continued into the main hold of the boat. 20 mm shells landed amongst the eighteen men contained within.

These shells are designed to explode on impact. The ensuing carnage saw men being hit, the shell then passing through them before exploding as it hit a piece of equipment carried by the man behind. This would kill three or four men, injuring two or three more. Less than half a second later another shell would hit less than a foot away from the first.

Steele stopped firing when he saw that he had hit the wheelhouse of the vessel. But in the time it took him to realise that he had in effect crippled the boat, and actually releasing the trigger, another eleven 20mm explosive shells had ripped through the vessel.

With the hull now sitting in the water like a normal vessel the 'OA' began to leak like a sieve. Fifty-eight holes were below the waterline. As soon as Halstead realised this he knew they would be too heavy to gain enough speed to raise on to the hydroplanes, so he ordered every man to man the plugging and pumping details.

The 'OA' was now travelling slowly away from the other two assault boats as they approached the dive site where the Petrel I was anchored.

Aboard the 'Petrel I' Ross Taylor prepared to join his comrades below the waves. Helping him were Ian Pratt and Ryan Scott. Paul Halstead was in the wheelhouse when two Russian assault boats full of heavily armed men pulled alongside the dive support vessel. The Scotsman Taylor saw them coming and called across to Scott, 'I dinna know who they are, but I'm going down.' Scott and Pratt helped him down into the water as the Russians boarded their vessel.

Paul Halstead looked out of the window of the wheelhouse to be confronted by six AK-47s pointed at him. The only other Marine on board was Barry Watkins, who was down below checking some dive gear. So the Russians managed to capture the 'Petrel I' without a shot being fired.

On the horizon to the north of their position, there now appeared the vast ironwork of the floating crane 'Olivia', the same time the 'Silver Bergen' came into view.

The Kommisar and three Spetznatz soldiers faced Paul Halstead on the bridge of the 'Petrel I'

Dmitri took control of his men. He knew that the 'Silver Bergen' was unarmed, and probably had no soldiers on board, so he took one assault boat with eleven men to capture the bulk carrier in the same way they had captured the 'Petrel I'

The 'Silver Bergen' had a high seaboard; that is the height of the hull from the water to the deck. Dmitri had his men fashion devices to overcome this. They were simply long wooden poles with a notch cut out of one end, a corresponding notch was cut into a smaller piece of wood that was then lashed to the long pole at an angle of 90 degrees. These boarding devices were used to clamber up on to the deck of the bulk carrier without anyone noticing – they were not expecting visitors. They used four of these climbing poles; one soldier would hold the base to relieve as much workload from the top as possible, and provide some stability. As the third soldiers climbed the four, one of the top pieces let go sending the climbing soldier falling back onto the few people left in the boat.

As the Russians approached the bridge structure they encountered two crewmembers. Not wishing to open fire, the soldiers took these men prisoner and held them by the boarding position. Dmitri and three soldiers entered the bridge and took control from Sven Tommasonn and Marcus Ladlum.

'Take your crew and place them in the forward hold.' Dmitri told the two men before him.

Ludlum responded quickly,

'What if we don't wish to do that?'

Just then Fredric Daniellsen entered the bridge. Dmitri had no hesitation in shooting him.

'Are there any more stupid questions?'

The remaining 24 crewmembers were rounded up and duly locked in the hold. Six men were left to bring the bulk carrier to the dive site with the instructions to wait until the cargo was lifted.

  * oOo -

The thirty-eight men with the Kommisar on the 'Petrel I' began preparations to dive.

Jagger, Threlfall and Taylor were already underwater. Taylor was writing on his diving pad, trying to inform the other two what was going on topside.

"RUSSIANS ATTACKING BOAT. PROBABLY ABOARD NOW."

"GOOD. DID YOU BRING SANDWICHES? WE MAY BE DOWN HERE SOME TIME."

Bubbles from the men's aqualungs slowly rose to the surface.

Dmitri looked over the bow of the assault boat as they neared the 'Petrel I'. He noticed what, at first seemed to be a lighter patch of water near the dive support vessel, as they drew nearer he could see that they were, in fact, bubbles.

'Have we put someone in the water without my orders?' he asked David Marenin when they drew alongside.

'Neit, comrade. We are not yet ready to enter the water. You said that we must all go at once.'

'Then what are these bubbles coming to the surface?'

Marenin looked over the side of the 'Petrel I', then back quickly to Dmitri,

'They must have put a diver in before we arrived.'

'Get me suited up, I will investigate this.' Dmitri said as he mounted the 'Petrel I'.

Marenin looked again at the bubbles breaking the surface,

'You had better take someone with you. It looks as if there may be more than one down there.'

The plugging and pumping details on the 'OA 4828' were having an effect. The crewmembers in the lower parts of the hull were still knee deep in water, but the majority of the leaks had now been plugged, and the pumping operations were gaining on the leaks as the water level began to drop.

Donat called the Captain on the bridge,

'Seventy-five of the holes have now been plugged, captain. We are now pumping out the water. It is now about just over half a metre deep. The main engines are dry, and are being serviced in preparation to starting.'

'OK, let me know when they are ready to start, and when you consider we are light enough to move at top speed.'

Dmitri waited for the first three soldiers who were ready to dive. Then they entered the sea, Dmitri and one soldier from the 'Petrel I', and the other two from the sides of the assault boat.

Ross Taylor looked up as the four men entered the water. He didn't bother trying to write communications on his pad, he just kicked at Threlfall, who happened to be nearest to him. He in turn looked up, then nudged Jagger. There is no hiding with an aqualung underwater. Taylor knew this, and saw their only chance to be to move away as quickly as possible, and also cut down on the line of bubbles running from them to the surface. He waved at his companions and began swimming away at a steep angle towards the surface.

Dmitri and his men hit the water at the same time as each other, but were spread out due to coming from different vessels. As they oriented themselves and regrouped the Brits began making away as quickly and effectively as possible. No longer was there tell-tale line of bubbles rising up from below the Russians as they expected.

Jagger, Threlfall and Taylor were now swimming away from the Russians, thereby leaving bubble line that were more slanted.

By the time they realised what had happened Dmitri and his men were ten feet below the waves, heads down in search mode. The Brits were 20 feet away, and only five feet below them when the Russian divers turned to attack.

So far only one of the Russians had seen them. He stopped swimming and tried to communicate with his comrades. He caught hold of his nearest swimmer's flipper and gave it a tweak, then pointed at the three approaching Brits. He, in turn tried to contact his nearest swimmer, Dmitri. But he was swimming away from him, still going down. The second diver had to chase after him instead of supporting his buddy. Dmitri noticed the second diver gesticulating before he reached him. He also then had to communicate to the third diver who was still going downwards.

Then the three Brits hit the first Russian together.

Taylor and Jagger both grabbed for the man's mask and air line whilst Threlfall seized the man's right arm because he held a knife.

A mass of bubbles signalled that he had lost his air supply, and was out of the game. All three Brits kicked away from the stricken Russian as he let go of his knife and made a dash for the surface.

'One down, three to go, a bit more even.' Thought Jagger as he turned to see the three Russians head their way.

Taylor turned to the other two and signalled for them to split up. He gained a few feet up, Jagger and Threlfall went away from each other at the same depth.

The two Russian soldiers looked at Dmitri for guidance. He pointed at Taylor in the high position thinking he seemed to be the isolated one.

All three went for Ross Taylor. He jack-knifed and turned sideways quickly as they got to his position. This brought him closer to Threlfall who was ready, knife drawn. He accelerated towards the flank of the attacking trio, taking the first diver by surprise. The knife entered just below the ribcage and blood began oozing out as the man grasped his side.

Dmitri and the other Russian went after Taylor as Jagger joined in the fight.

Then the unexpected happened.

Thirty-five Russian divers entered the water fifteen feet above them, and twenty feet away.

Taylor spotted them and his eyes nearly popped out of his head inside his mask. He signalled to his men to swim away from the threat, but only Jagger saw him. Threlfall was too close to Dmitri and his comrade to be looking in the direction of Taylor. He made a grab for Dmitri's oxygen tanks. Taylor saw this, but everything seemed to be happening in slow motion – except for the dark threat from above. He started to make a turn to go to his buddy's assistance, but Jagger took hold of his arm and shook his head. He pointed at the descending hoard. Six of them had seen the Brits and were making way towards them armed with what looked like short spear guns.

Threlfall had disentangled himself from Dmitri and was swimming away from him. Dmitri and his diver waited for the mass to meet them.

Taylor and Jagger decided to keep out of range of the spear guns if they could, and began swimming away as fast as they could.

'We can't keep this up for long.' Thought Taylor as they pounded the water.

Dmitri was deploying his forces. Four men with the little spear guns were sent after Threlfall, the rest were to follow him to the seabed to examine the missile and the C-133 wreckage.

Taylor was thinking if he and Jagger might be better off if they split up. But that would only mean that they would have three pursuers each – and all of them better armed than they were; the Russians did not even need to get close, just close enough to fire their weapons. And it looked as if they had the capability to reload. Not looking good.

The eight divers were only some twenty feet below the surface and swimming level when Taylor decided that they might have a chance by going down; it may be dark enough down there. So he managed to indicate that they should go down by nodding his head as they swam for their lives.

The following Russians carried more equipment than the Brits. This meant that they had more drag to overcome; and were therefore slower. But it also meant that they were heavier, so were able to gain a little. When the chase had first begun the Brits had an advantage; their adrenaline was up and they reached their maximum speed quite quickly, the Russians began as the Marines were drawing away, and the distance had been increasing noticeably. The Russians had managed to slow the rate of separation, but were not gaining. Until now - by the time they had reached thirty feet depth the distance began to decrease.

Jagger looked at the surface and wondered if that might be a better option. By the time they reached the darker depths it would be too late at the rate the Russians were gaining.

Then he saw a strange sight. Two black lines, not unlike torpedoes, were heading for their position. He tried to watch, but could not see clearly because his mask was condensing due to him sweating profusely. The lines were not torpedoes he reasoned because they were leaving white triangular paths as if they were on the surface. Then a big black shape enveloped them and almost stopped. He lost sight of it then as it was getting to be almost above him.

Then he saw five figures enter the water just in front of him. He lashed out and hit Taylor to get his attention as another five came into view from the other side of the 'OA 4828'.

Taylor immediately thought 'If they are more Russians, we are definitely stuffed.'

Steele and Bird were leading ten Legionaries from the newly repaired 'OA4828'. He quickly recognised the Royal Marine issue sub-aqua gear worn by the divers who were swimming towards him and Bird. The six giving chase were obviously intent on harming our boys.

Then he saw the spear guns as the Russians got closer. That was why they did not turn and run when superior numbers appeared. A second group of five divers now dropped into the water above the Russians, who could not see them. The first three Russians began preparing their spear guns as Steele came into range. As the lead Russian took aim he was bounced by the first of the five divers from above. His eyes ceased to function as his mask was ripped away. It was then pulled over his head, along with his mouthpiece. Just for good measure the air hose was cut. The same fate befell the other two who were readying to fire.

One of the three Russians who had not prepared their spear guns simply lashed out at one of the Legionnaires who was busy attacking his comrade. He tried to knock the man from his co-diver's back with the butt of his spear gun. The weapon glanced noisily off the oxygen tanks. The Legionnaire brought his knife towards the Russian's air hose. The knife continues almost in slow motion to the man's throat. Red mist began to spread as he grasped at his open neck wound.

Bird was now near enough to be hit by the spear that the next Russian had loaded and cocked. He took careful aim at her as he continued to thrash forwards with his flippers. She saw the reflections in his visor move from side to side as his legs powered him close enough to make a guaranteed hit. There was nowhere to run, she was trapped in the open, all she could do was swim faster and hope to close the range before he had chance to fire. A forlorn hope; but better than trying to turn to run. Then the compressed air from the gun told her that he had fired. The man with the cut throat was not having a good day. As he thrashed about he fell into the line of fire. The spear glanced off his oxygen tanks with a loud clang, then went into his rib cage between his back and side. His body arched once, then froze in position as it slowly drifted down oozing black looking blood.

The shooter now reloaded, Bird was still not close enough to be able to attack him, but Steele was. He dropped from above the man taking hold of the spear gun with one hand, and the divers mouthpiece with the other. The surprise of having his shooting arm restricted made him involuntarily relax his grip on the mouthpiece. Steele whisked it away before the Russian had chance to react. Steele could see the man's wide shocked eyes behind the mask that he then tore off for good measure.

Steele and Bird looked around to see columns of air bubbles rising to the surface with only two bodies chasing them. The other four Russian bodies were in no state to give chase.

Steele then pointed at the figure of the fleeing Threlfall being chased by four Russians.

Two of the Legionnaires had availed themselves of spear guns from the Russians. They signalled that they would go after the chasing pack. Steele should concentrate on the main bunch. Steele gave a thumbs-up signal, and the two Legionnaires made off towards Threlfall who was now nearing the surface. He had realised that if he kept going up at a slight angle he could draw away from the Russians.

The Legionnaires were coming at the Russians from slightly behind a direct beam attack. This meant the Russians would not see them until it was too late.

As they approached the group was swimming from right to left. The Russians were still using both hands to swim, so their weapons were in no position to fire. But they had an advantage over the Legionnaires; they could reload. The Legionnaires could not because they had only had chance to take the weapons. The rearmost Russian's flippers were now straight in front of the Legionnaires as they came into effective range. The Legionnaires looked at each other through their masks and nodded.

Two thin white trails followed the spears as they made their way towards the Russians. The first one hit the nearest swimmer in the lower leg. He rebounded in pain, grabbing hold of his injured leg. He was out of the battle; it took two hands to cock the spear gun.

The second, and last, spear caught his comrade as he turned to see what had caused his companion to move so violently. The spear would have hit his oxygen tanks had he not squirmed to his left to be able to look at his partner. The spear hit him in the side just below the lowest rib.

The Legionnaires dropped the now useless spear guns as a dark shadow passed over them.

It belonged to Lennox Bird who had accelerated whilst they Russians took time to aim their guns. She kicked her flippers against a wounded man as he held on to his leg, thereby thrusting herself towards the backs of the leading divers. Before they could react she reached forwards and down to the air line of the Russian on the left. As she pulled to try to dislodge it from him he gripped harder with his teeth, preventing her from pulling it out of his mouth. As she pulled he turned to see her, automatically he began to move his loaded spear gun to use it as a stabbing weapon. All movements in water seem to be in slow motion, therefore the closer you are the better. Bird's knife was closer to his air line than the point of the spear was to her. The rush of bubbles obscured her from his sight as the matt black blade sliced through the thin pipe, he continued the thrust of the spear gun as his comrade to the right, having seen what was happening, reached across and grabbed hold of Bird. He caught her right arm by the elbow, saw the knife, and grabbed at the upper arm, moving her away from the thrusting spear gun. He then kicked to bring his body into a position that would allow a more effective fighting position. Still hold of the knife arm in his left hand, he drew his own knife with his free hand and took a swipe at the Lieutenant's midriff. She saw it coming and managed to kick her flippers to avoid the slash. The obvious thing to do was to try to get hold of the Russian's knife hand, but her movements were difficult – he seemed to have more control than she anticipated because he still had hold of her right arm. It was as if he was orchestrating his fighting moves with the captive arm. The knife began to move back as she felt him control her right arm, drawing her closer to him. The sharp blade appeared to be moving slowly, but not as slowly as her own arm, which was trying to come to her aid by blocking the attack – it would not make it in time. She saw the man's mask move to look up, in the reflection on the moving glass she saw dark shadows moving quickly. Then three Legionnaires collided with the Russian body simultaneously. Three knives entered the helpless diver and he disappeared in a dark mist of his own blood.

Four Legionnaires, Bird and the three Marines then turned their attentions to the main body of divers. Steele and the other six Legionnaires were heading for the larger group of Russians.

Dmitri was taking twenty-nine Russians down to the wreckage of the C-133 Cargomaster with its ICBM still inside.

The odds were now fifteen against thirty.

Steele and his men kept a wary eye on the development above them as they swam slowly towards the Russians. He knew the position of the crashed aircraft from the picture Bond had given him, but the layout of the surrounding seabed he had no idea about – was it hilly? What was the visibility like?

Dmitri was also watching the events above. He stopped when they had got about half way to the bottom to detail nine men and Svetlana Gremiko to continue with him down to the wreck, the other twenty were to stop any interference that the interlopers might wish to bring about.

  * oOo -

Chapter 29

1545.

Here, there and everywhere there were divers, most were heading for the wreck of the missing C-133, but ten Russians were heading up at about 45 degrees to intercept Steele and his newly-found allies.

Steele, Bird, Taylor, Jagger, Threlfall et al continued down to meet the Russians; the five Legionnaires who had ambushed the first group of Russians dived straight down into the gloomy depths.

Steele and company saw the Russian spear guns before they were in effective range, and veered off at a slight angle to make aiming difficult. They knew that the guns were good enough to provide a considerable edge, but not very accurate beyond ten feet or so, due to the quivering, trembling constant movements of the underwater waves. That and the chances that any possible target may be able to avoid the oncoming missile.

The five Legionnaires swimming down waited until they were just below the depth of the attacking Russians before turning to attack from the flank. Steele saw this and signalled his group to split and attack in order to give the Russians something to watch and worry about, when the main threat was coming from below their right side.

Knives drawn, and with the element of surprise it was easy for each Legionnaire to take out one of the Russians. The guy on the left of the formation was Dolfo Hartmann, the ex-SS trooper. He managed to slice through one air-line, then attack the next diver in line by using the first divers tanks to thrust himself forwards with his free hand, bringing the knife down before the man could turn to respond.

Steele and Bird were now within reach of the front diver. Bird's hair was not very long, but it was obviously not a bloke when it stood up around her head as if blown from behind by a sudden blast of water. The Russian's eyes and Bird's met behind their respective masks, his nearly popped out of his head at this sight. He aimed his spear-gun at her, then turned it on to Steele. By hesitating for this split second he gave Bird chance to catch the end of it, and turn it away. A thin line of bubbles shot out of the gun at a crazy angle as it went off harmlessly. Bird lost no time cutting through the man's air line.

Steele and Threlfall then went for the next one, who was swimming directly alongside Bird's quarry.

The Russian took aim at Threlfall; the young Marine knew what to do. He jack-knifed and turned his metal oxygen bottles towards his assailant. The spear-gun fired at close range. A small missile trailed the usual line of bubbles as if being guided by the man who had fired it. It wasn't being guided; it carried on roughly the same line it first took when it left the end of the gun. There was still some power in it when it hit Threlfall's oxygen tank, enough power to knock a hole in the thin rubber coating over the thick-skinned bottle, but not enough to puncture it. Steele then took advantage of the fact that the Russian's hands were now occupied with reloading the spear-gun. He moved in to attack the soldier, who then caught sight of him as he made a lunge towards the Russian whilst he took another barbed dart to be inserted in the spear-gun. Steele's knife moved almost in slow motion towards the diver. He, in turn, began moving the empty gun to a position to block the incoming blade. Knife and gun collided. Both were strapped to wrists, so they would not be lost, but the attack was thwarted. The Russian then began bringing his right hand up towards Steele. This hand carried a new dart. Steele saw the movement before he saw the pointed weapon. When he caught sight of it, it was too late for him to counter the manoeuvre. He was caught in the left side. By attempting to deflect the blow the dart failed to penetrate his rib cage, but it cut through his rubber suit and skin below. Blood began to ooze out as Steele grasped his side, and bent towards the wound. He let go of his knife. Seeing his advantage the Russian began to swing the spear-gun towards Steele's face mask. In water movements seem to be in slow motion. The Russian thought this, Steele didn't, to him his own movements to avoid disaster were the only ones slowed down by the resistance of the water. The hard metal of the spear-gun would hit his mask, and probably his face before he could do anything about it.

Then the Russian dropped the gun. Steele saw light reflected in the man's face mask as it reflected the light from the surface when he arched his head back.

Steele caught a glimpse of the man's contorted expression behind the glass mask. When he let go of his mouthpiece bubbles filled the area around the Russian's head as he writhed uncontrollably.

Two dark figures appeared from behind the stricken man. Taylor had hit the man whilst swimming at speed, knife in hand. He thrust the blade deep in under the last rib, then carried on past. As Threlfall approached the Russian, also at speed, the stricken diver arched involuntarily. The hard metal oxygen bottles on the man's back hit Threlfall squarely on the temple. This knocked him sideways and stunned him for a second or two. Taylor saw that his colleague had stopped swimming. He moved closer to Threlfall and checked on his condition. The stunned diver came to, blinked a couple of times, then indicated to Taylor that he was ok by holding his thumb and forefinger in a circle.

As Taylor swam around to look at Steel's wound the dead Russian began drifting upwards to join the others that the Marines had finished off.

The stricken men had not all been killed. The main cause of being taken out of the fight was loss of air supply. One of the retreating Russians still had a loaded spear gun, as he began making his way to the surface he turned to see the little group of people who were responsible for he and his comrades' plight. He took rough aim at Bird, who happened to swim past his line of sight at that moment. There was a slight kick back as the compressed air fired the little dart in a fairly straight line straight at Bird's backside. Only ten feet separated the two divers when he fired. Bird was not moving very much at this juncture – a perfect target. Then Taylor saw the threat. He kicked with his flippers to move the young woman out of the way. This then put him in the path of the missile. As he pushed Bird out of harms way the little missile hit him in the right shoulder. He spun in surprise as blood began to seep out of the wound. He and Steele looked at each other and assessed their respective situations. Steele signalled that he was ok, but Taylor was unable to move his right arm; this would hamper him badly in a fight, Steele indicated that he must return to the surface. Taylor nodded his agreement, then looked around to see that Threlfall was having trouble seeing. He had lost his mask during the fight, and was squinting a lot to be able to see. With his left hand Taylor took off his own mask and passed it to Threlfall, who made signs that he had no pockets to give money in payment. Taylor thought, but could not signal, 'Typical Lancy.' He just shook his head and waved the mask at Threlfall, who gladly took it, seeing that his fellow Marine had to retire from the struggle in order to get his wound seen to.

Steele looked around. The five Legionnaires who had helped them out were now four, and were swimming down towards the wrecked C-133

  * oOo -

Chapter 30

1555.

Yellow submarines are easier to see than any other colour in the dark murky depths of the world's seas.

Dmitri and his group of 16 divers saw the dim outlines of the three yellow submarines approach them as they reached the wreck site.

The small torpedo like devices had been developed from the World War 2 manned torpedoes invented by the Italians. These only carried one man, plus lifting and cutting gear to prepare the Atlas warhead to be lifted to the surface. The men driving them would be at the end of their endurance, they had come all the way from where the 'Kovel' had gone down. Dmitri got to work organising his men, they numbered twenty now, but three of them had to have their tanks replenished. When the machines arrived the equipment was unloaded inside the C-133 fuselage. Six of the divers were specialists in this type of work, they immediately got to work supporting the warhead in preparation for cutting it free from the body, then slinging it and lifting it to the surface.

Now that they were down there, up close and personal with the task, they could see clearly that all the heavy lifting equipment would not be needed. As far as they could see, a large inflated bag positioned underneath did the suspension of the warhead. All they had to do was attach more air bags to the top of the structure and draw it out as it 'floated' on the lower bag.

The six specialists were assisted by the remaining four divers, this left only Dmitri looking out for threats. As he scanned the sea all around he saw the four Legionnaires on their way down to him. He did not at first see the Steele, Bird and the two Marines on their way down to him.

Dmitri signalled to two of the divers who were helping the experts, the three of them climbed aboard the yellow submarines. By leaning forwards into the machines the three Russians started the compressed air powered propulsion systems. These consisted of two ducted fans just in front of the prone diver/driver. These were not moveable, steering was effected by the fins of the driver. The other job the three men did was to cock the weapons carried on these machines. The little spear guns carried by the divers were limited to what could be built into something that had to be portable. Yellow submarines were a different kettle of fish entirely. The missiles they fired were more like miniature torpedoes than spears. To give them velocity and accuracy they had fairly long barrels; they also had automatic reloading. These were the underwater equivalent of machine guns – albeit with a rate of fire about one per second, and a magazine of only twenty rounds.

As they approached the legionnaires Dmitri was the first to fire. Once again the vagrancies of sea currents came to the legionnaires' rescue. Dmitry knew the gun had good range, but he was too far away to be accurate. The torpedo-bullets were spread over a wide area, none of which came close to the swimmers, but they gave away the greatest advantage of the Russians. The legionnaires scattered. That meant that the Russians had to give chase to individuals – and one man would be loose. The Yellow submarines were faster than a man, but they were nowhere near as manoeuvrable. As the Russians chased the divers all over the area they loosed off a few rounds here and there at the swerving and diving men, or Bird, in front of them. One of the Russians managed to hit a diver as he changed direction, but was then attacked by the loose legionnaire. With his airline severed the Russian had no choice but to head for the surface. The legionnaire was then rammed by the Russian's comrade to the right, who did not have opportunity to take aim with his weapon. This winded the man and sent him spinning. As the Russian was trying to turn to take a shot at the man the Marine Threlfall set upon him. He was only able to collide with the long nose of the submarine, but this was enough to put the Russian off his aim. The Russian then made the mistake of opening up the throttle of his mount. This just had the effect of bringing the Marine up to the cockpit area. The Russian's hands were occupied by the controls, Threlfall had dropped his knife in the collision, so he just had his hands with which to fight. This was enough; he made a grab for the other man's face mask as he shot past. He banged his head again before he probed for something to strike at. One hand found its target. The Russian pushed his head right down into the machine to prevent the mask from coming off. This dragged Threlfall along with him. He fought to bring his other hand to bear on the Russian's head area. In the flapping and waving he eventually managed to get hold of something. He could not see to what he had attached himself, but he just pulled with all his might. The Russian's air hose came off in Threlfall's hand.

Steele and Bird, along with Marine Jagger approached the C-133 wreckage cautiously. They could see lights flashing about inside, and people working on the periphery of the large hole that was the end of the fuselage with the Atlas missile inside. Steele stopped the trio to signal his plan. They continued their advance with Steele in the lead, with Bird and Jagger to each side in an arrow formation. They swept down to the wreck. Jagger took on the men on the outside of the entrance hole, Steele and Bird went inside. The light inside was strange. Mainly dark, with flashlights illuminating parts being worked on, it looked like the Russians had just about finished releasing the fasteners holding the warhead on to the missile body. They were all very intent on concentrating on their own part of the work, no-one was watching the dark interior areas where Steele and Bird moved.

When they reached Svetlana Gremiko she saw Bird approach because the row of bubbles and the writhing man working next to her drew her attention. In her hand she held a medium sized Russian wrench, she threw this at the medium sized British wench, but because water resistance impeded her, it missed, hitting the man on his way out. Bird began moving towards the Russian diver. Svetlana expertly spun round to confront her. They faced each other, facemask to face mask. Bird was between Svetlana and the open end of the wreck. They moved cautiously round each other, Svetlana dropped closer to the bottom of the round fuselage. There was room enough to swim around the still suspended Atlas Missile, but not enough for Svetlana to escape, for this must be her best option now that all of her co-workers were probably dispatched. She then spun round again, extinguishing her torch at the same time. The last Bird saw of her was the flippers generating small bubble lines as the Russian accelerated into the dark gloom that was the rocket exhausts of the gigantic Atlas ICBM. Bird hesitated about following someone who would have advantages like being able to see her, when she was swimming into darkness. As she turned to look out of the wreck, Bird realised that she could not afford to do that again,. In fact she was now in great danger of being attacked from behind out of the black darkness, so she kicked viciously at the water to give herself impetus to move away from the dangers. Steele looked across to her, then signalled for her to leave the wreck.

The top of the circular fuselage was white with bubbles from cut air lines, the owners of these were making rapid moves towards the surface. Jagger finished the last of the men at the entrance as these people came flooding out, followed by Steele and Bird.

There are no sounds underwater. But loud sounds can be felt. The three divers felt four 'loud' KRUMPF, KRUMPF, KRUMPF, KRUMPF as torpedo-bullets hit the side of the fuselage they were laying near. The next missile Dmitri fired hit Lennox Bird in the upper leg, then one hit Jagger's oxygen tanks, deflecting into his back. Steele got one through a flipper, but escaped otherwise – until the yellow submarine hit him in the side that had been wounded earlier. As he spun uncontrollably he saw Marine Jagger sink without movement. Bird turned to see if she could help, but with only one working leg, and the other pouring blood she was to play no further part. Steele signalled for her to go up to the surface.

Dmitri was now turning to take aim at Steele again. Steele looked at the inside of the fuselage to offer him some cover, then looked at what was contained therein, remembered what it was, and thought better of this option. He saw Threlfall in the distance swimming upside down in a large circle, he thought it better to take this latest threat away from him, so he began swimming down away from the last Marine.

His side was giving him trouble again after the blow it had taken, but he had to swim as fast as he could. With frequent glances towards the closing Dmitri, and his own trail. He was only a few feet from the seabed, any closer he would be in danger of kicking up sediment and giving his position away. He was hoping that Dmitri did not know exactly where he was. He looked at the yellow submarine. It seemed to be stopped dead in the water about 50 feet away, pointing towards the fuselage where there was no movement. Steele stopped swimming. He kept still. Slowly he drifted downwards towards the seabed. With small movements of his flippers he gradually moved forwards, he dared not breath to prevent bubbled moving upwards, but he had to. The telltale line of bubbles began their journey to the surface. Steele watched the yellow submarine as he slowly exhaled. Then he stopped breathing for an instant to prepare himself for a controlled inhale when no bubbles would be released. The line of bubbles moved silently towards the surface, the sub didn't move, Steele was now down in the weeds and valleys of the seabed. Gingerly he moved further away from the sub. Another line of bubbles would have to be released, he could not stop it. This time Dmitri was looking in the right direction when the thin white line appeared. Steele saw the sub move forwards, then turn towards him. With a kick of his flippers he moved to six feet above the seabed, then he saw something that may help him – the cockpit section of the C-133. It lay 30 feet to his left, Dmitri was 30 feet to his right and moving towards him. The Russian dare not open fire yet, he must be getting low on ammunition, so didn't want to waste any.

Steele made a concerted effort to swim to the cover offered by the wrecked cockpit and nose section, away from the threat of being shot at. He saw the first torpedo-bullets hit the seabed in front of him as he reached the jagged metal of the C-133's nose section. The sharp edge looked dangerous, but he had to grasp it to swing himself in to the cover offered. By adopting a jack-knife manoeuvre he propelled himself into the void.

The yellow submarine shot over his head outside the cockpit as Steele's heart nearly jumped out of his mouth. He had come face-to-face with a man inside the wreck. Instinctively he bent double to stop himself from colliding with the body of Lee Felton. Upon regaining his composure Steele looked out of the cockpit window. He saw Dmitri turning to make another run. Steele reasoned that the Russian would now make an attack directly into the confined space he now found himself, so he made for the outside before Dmitri could get into a position to see him move. Swimming round to the blunted nose Steele dropped down to a sitting position, flippers pointed straight up. He decided that this was a good time to remove the torpedo-bullet from his flipper. As he bent forwards to do this Dmitri opened up with his 'gun'. Twelve torpedo-bullets smacked straight into the cockpit section. Lee Felton took three hits, the instrument panels absorbed four, and another two hit the inside of the windscreen. Three went under the instruments and broke through the thin outer skin of the aircraft. As Steele grabbed at the flipper these three torpedo-bullets zipped past his back. Then the yellow submarine streaked overhead.

Steele saw his chance. Whilst Dmitri was travelling in the opposite direction he sprang to his feet and swam for all he was worth straight up. He knew his adversary would be looking for him by trying to see the line of bubbles going up to the surface. If he were on the surface there would be no bubbles to give his position away, plus the fact that he would be difficult to see amongst the wave patterns and movement of the sea.

Steele lay face down on the surface watching the little yellow submarine as Dmitri searched for him. There were boats nearby, but he didn't know who was in control of these, so he preferred to stay where he was. Presently Dmitri had a good look around the back of the cockpit section. He cruised past cautiously. He was looking for tell-tale bubbles giving away the presence of a breathing man in there. When he saw no bubbles either from the wreckage, or from anywhere in the surrounding sea, Dmitri presumed that he had killed his adversary where he had last seen him, in the cockpit section, so he dismounted from the sub to gain confirmation. As he moved into the gloom of the wreck he was surprised by how much stuff was floating about inside. He hadn't helped by firing directly into the morass. Bits of metal and wiring were floating about. As the Russian moved amongst this web he was shocked to be greeted by the gruesome sight of Lee Felton with an eye missing and one arm floating on its own by his head.

The question running through Steele's mind was, 'Can I get back down there before he sees me?' He decided that it would not be possible, so he decided on a circuitous route that would cut down on the chances of being spotted until the last minute.

Dmitri returned to the sub as Steele reached half way to the bottom, about half a mile away from the Russian. Dmitri began searching, Steele knew it would only be a matter of time before he was discovered. He continued downwards in the hope that he could sow some confusion near the seabed.

Steele was nearly twenty feet from the seabed when Dmitri spotted him. The only edge that Steele had was the distance between them; he was over half a mile away, off on Dmitri's left quarter. As the Russian leaned the yellow submarine over to turn towards Steele he accelerated, Steele swam at a shallow angle down towards the seabed. Four feet off the murky, muddy seabed Steele turned to see where his enemy was. The Russian was only some sixty feet away and moving at quite a speed straight for him. Then he saw the white puff-ball of compressed air that signalled a torpedo-bullet being fired. He tried to swim at 90 degrees to the path drawn out by the missile. He needn't have bothered; it was out of effective range. Due to the speed of the sub the rate of fire had been dramatically reduced; the next round fired almost three seconds after the first. This one was in range, but because Steele was swimming across the line of sight, the missile went behind him. Dmitri turned a little more as the next round fired. This one hit Steele in the left arm, which caused him to stop in the water. Dmitri stopped the motors on the sub to take careful aim. Swirling round with his flippers he took his time aiming at the easy target. Then he pulled the trigger for the death shot. A series of bubbles emitted from the gun port, but no torpedo-bullet. He had run out of ammunition.

Steele saw his moment. With his knife in his good hand, and the other lying flush to his body he pushed forwards with his flippers, aiming at Dmitri. With a quick flick of his flippers the Russian turned the sub away from Steele and rapidly moved off.

As he sped away the Russian thought that if he could hit Steele with the front of the sub at speed he would probably kill him, or at least incapacitate him. In a long deliberate turn Dmitri kept looking for Steele. He had gone to ground. Then, through the dark murky lower reaches of the Baltic Sea, about quarter of a mile away he saw a thin line of bubbles rising out of a cloud of sediment being thrown up by some violent action. 'Was he trying to bury himself?' Dmitri thought. 'No matter, I will crush him with this thing.'

He accelerated towards the rising cloud. As he got closer he could just make out the figure of Steve Steele, upright, holding his bad arm, with his flippers kicking the sediment about as if to try to produce something he could hide behind.

'That is not going to save you.' Thought Dmitri as he pushed the yellow submarine to full speed, aiming straight at the thrashing man. As the sub got to within two body lengths of him, Steele shot straight up and over the Russian. Dmitri carried on at full speed - to a dead stop against the cockpit section of the C-133 that was lurking in the cloud of sediment that Steele had thrown up.

Dmitri's head was crushed between his oxygen bottles and the front of the collapsing sub.

When he reached the surface Steele found that the men aboard the 'OA4828' and the sub HMS Oboe had overpowered the Russians and re-taken the 'Silver Bergen' and 'Petrel'.

'What happened to First Lieutenant Bird?' he asked Dolfo Hartmann.

'All the wounded are being taken care of and are expected to make full recoveries.'

'What about our casualties?'

'We have lost eight legionnaires, two civilians, and one Marine, Dan Jagger, Threlfall is still missing.'

'Did you manage to capture the leader of the Russians? They called him 'The Kommisar'.'

'Ve haf all the Russian prisoners tied up in their assault boat, which is tied securely to us'

Then there was a disturbance at the ship's rail. Men were pointing at the sea. Steele and the captain looked over the side to see a female head, with flowing long locks all around the head of a mystery swimmer. She seemed to be towing something that looked dead in the water. As she reached the side of the ship they could see that the other person was wearing British Marines' diving gear. An arm swung out from the Marine, which showed that he was alive. As he turned over they could see that it was the missing Threlfall.

Two men jumped into the water to help Svetlana get Threlfall to safety. All attention was on getting this young lad on board.

As Marine Threlfall was resuscitated there was a wild cheer. Steele turned round to see what the noise was about. Bird was hobbling towards him waving a crutch. She turned and saw what the noise was about. The Atlas warhead had just broke surface.

At the rear of the ship Svetlana moved effortlessly to the assault boat, severed the ties, and slipped the moorings. Then she clambered on board, and untied the Russian prisoners, who started the engines before their previous captors realised what was happening.

Steering directly south towards Soviet territory, the Kommisar stood on the stern of the boat. He watched the twin white plough lines left by the propellers of the boat as they put distance between them and the 'OA'.

He saw the Atlas warhead being loaded on to the 'Silver Bergen.' Before checking the compass for the heading home.

  * oOo -

The End.

Other books by Lloyd Martin

The Mandalay Conspiracy

A tale of intrigue and conspiracy that starts during World War 2, and chronicles the adventures of pilot Coniston Fowler. Moving on to the Vietnam Conflice, and secret plans to drop atom bombs on China.

Testing and action for TSR 2 are covered in great detail.

Phoenix on the shoulder of Orion

Based on today's technology, this is the story of man's first mission to Mars.

"The appearance of a man working on the outside of the spaceship without a spacesuit can be alarming. So he tends to stay inside."
