The Zhukov Briefing

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Olufsen waded ashore, stood waiting while the sound of the skimmer’s engine faded. When fog and distance had swallowed the last faint note he moved on. Using the torch sparingly he climbed clear of the high-water mark, stopped and unfolded the bundle of clothing: the faded denim jacket and trousers, the worn plimsolls and Krasnov’s uniform jacket. He arranged them among the rocks as if they’d been dropped, then kicked scuff marks in the sand-filled crevices. The makers’ tags revealed that the shoes and denims had come from China. The wallet in the jacket had in it the papers of a Chinese seaman.

He moved along the beach until he came to the stream which flowed down the valley into the bay. Beyond it lay a rough footpath which wound up between Bodvag and Landberg, dropping down into Kolhamn on the southern side. It was a journey of no more than two miles. He’d done it several times in the past with Inga Bodde but never at night or in fog. Even so he expected to reach her house by four. He would stay there until daylight, then after breakfast go down to the village.

Inga knew he was coming. She would if necessary testify that he had spent the night in her house after leaving the kafeteria. The alibi might be useful and would cause no surprise for he had on other occasions stayed overnight in the Boddes’ house.

At three o’clock in the morning Bluewhale was still running submerged at ‘snort’ depth when radar and sonar picked up a small fast-moving contact coming clear of the land echoes of Vrakoy. It was approaching at speed.

Boyd gave the order to surface. When the first-lieutenant reported ‘bridge clear’, the captain opened the hatches and climbed the steel ladders through the fin to the bridge. Bluewhale rolled lazily as she moved through the water, beam on to the swell. The fog writhed and curled about the navigation lights like smoke from an invisible fire, the deep-throated rumble of the diesels at slow speed drowning the sounds of the night but for the distant blare of foghorns.

Reports of the fast-moving contact continued to reach the bridge from the control-room. Before long Boyd heard the waspish buzz of outboard engines approaching. He ordered the signalman to train an Aldis lamp in the direction from which the sound came. The lamp was switched on, but a curtain of fog hid the skimmer until it stopped, held in the beam of light close to the submarine. There were three men in it.

A man in the sternsheets shouted through a hailer, ‘Strutt here. We’re coming alongside, Captain. Okay?’ The accent was North American. The skimmer moved forward until it was a few yards clear of the submarine and heading in the same direction.

Boyd picked up the loud-hailer. ‘Sorry, mate. I think you’re knocking at the wrong door.’

‘What’s that?’ came the puzzled reply.

‘You’re looking for Rockfish, aren’t you?’

‘Jesus! Isn’t that her?’ The shock in Strutt’s voice was like that of a man who’d entered the ‘ladies’ by mistake.

‘I’m afraid not. Your parent has been hanging around like a bad smell for the last few hours. She’s five miles to the north just now.’

A whistle of surprise came from the skimmer. ‘Guess there’s some confusion.’

‘Not up here, mon vieux. Would you like Father’s bearing? Or shall I tell him you’re with us? I’ve no doubt he’s got you on radar, sonar, whatever, in that old tech tank.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Strutt waved a hand. ‘That won’t be necessary. We’ll find our way back. Sorry to have troubled you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Boyd. ‘We like it.’ He paused. ‘You boys are out late aren’t you? Been on the thrash?’ There was a pause before the man in the skimmer said, ‘Say again. I guess we don’t follow.’

‘Not to worry. Just wondered if you’d been on a run ashore. You know. Booze and boobs.’

‘No, sir. Wish it had been that way. We’re executing a radar exercise with Rockfish.’

‘Interesting. We’re doing an ASW exercise.’

‘That so? Well — we must get busy.’

‘Yes. Hurry along. Father’s sure to be watching. There’s no percentage in stopping here.’

‘You can say that again. Bye now.’ Strutt pushed the tiller over, opened the throttles and the skimmer high-whined into the night.

‘Just heard the Carpenters singing Close to You, sir.’ C.P.O. Blades, Bluewhale’s radio supervisor, grinned confidentially as he reported to the captain.

‘Lucky you,’ said Bill Boyd. ‘Done your Match of the Day stuff?’

‘Yes, sir. Three blasts on the ref’s whistle.’

‘Well done.’ Boyd looked at the first-lieutenant. ‘Some child at Northwood inventing new war games.’ It was said to satisfy the curiosity of the ship’s company. He thought it would. He turned back to the radio supervisor. ‘Right Blades, make a signal: Immediate to Belligerent repeated Aries and C-in-C Fleet: Bluewhale in all respects ready to execute exercise Kilo Zulu… time of origin 0315.’

Before leaving the control-room he said, ‘Keep the hands at watch diving stations, Number One. We’ll be surfacing within the next half-hour.’

The Commodore (Intelligence) heard the discreet rat-tat-tat on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said, laying a mental 1,000 to 1 that it was Briggs. It was.

‘Bluewhale’s signal to Belligerent, sir.’ The lieutenant-commander handed him the signal clipboard and top secret file marked Daisy Chain. ‘Interesting,’ said the commodore. ‘What does it mean?’

At his old game, thought Briggs, he knows perfectly well what it means. ‘That Kestrel was clear of the island at about a quarter past three this morning,’ he said, ‘by which time the skimmer should have been well on its way to the RV with Bluewhale.’

‘Splendid. What a memory for detail you have, Briggs. What do we do now?’

‘C-in-C Fleet will instruct Belligerent, Aries and Bluewhale to search for survivors from a light aircraft reported down in the Norwegian Sea in area GVX.’

The commodore thumbed through the pages of the Daisy Chain file. ‘Priority and security classification for that signal?’

‘Immediate, sir. Squirt transmission, monitor proof, but plain language to HM ships reading. It’ll be a below decks buzz right away in all three ships. Which is what it’s intended to be.’

‘Thank you, Briggs. I recall suggesting that in the planning stage.’

Briggs’s left eyebrow rose perceptibly and he drew himself up to his full six feet four which always irritated the commodore who barely made five foot six. Briggs was pretty sure it had been his idea but he said, ‘So you did, sir.’ He was a man of considerable tact. It had been predicted that he would go far in the Service.

The sound of the gunboat’s engines could be heard in Kestrel some time before its navigation lights showed up to port. Steering a converging course, she soon closed the distance. A searchlight beam leapt from the darkness and a voice amplified by loud-hailer shouted, ‘What ship? Where from?’

Nunn picked up the hand megaphone. ‘Yacht Kestrel from Vrakoy. Bound Andenes.’

‘Stop engines. We are coming alongside.’

Nunn called down to Boland. ‘Stop engines, John.’

The gunboat edged closer, sailors hanging fenders over the side. When she was almost alongside an officer and two ratings leapt across. The naval vessel drew clear, the searchlight beam still trained on the ketch.

The officer climbed down into the cockpit. One seaman went forward, the other aft. The Norwegian sub-lieutenant spoke good English. ‘This is a formality. We have authority to search vessels in our territorial waters.’

‘For what?’

The sub-lieutenant shone a torch in his face. ‘Are you the owner, sir?’

‘No. The yacht is on charter from Halvorsen Brothers, Bodo. We are four British yachtsmen — in fact one is a woman — ’ he corrected himself. ‘We’re on holiday. Sailing through the islands. We put into Vrakoy for engine repairs. Stuck there for three days. Left soon after two this morning. We hope to make Andenes by sunrise.’

‘May I see your charter papers — and sailing clearance from Vrakoy?’

‘Certainly. What are you searching for?’

‘The usual. Drugs. Illicit liquor.’

You’re lying, young man, thought Nunn, but you’re doing it well. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘You won’t find anything here but you’re welcome to look. Come down to the saloon and I’ll show you the papers.’

The papers were in order and the search took place. A really thorough one, from stem to stern. Every cabin, locker and other stowage space was examined methodically.

The sub-lieutenant apologized for the inconvenience, thanked Nunn and his crew for their co-operation and signalled his ship alongside. The three Norwegians clambered aboard and the gunboat disappeared into the night.

‘Holy Saint Patrick,’ said Boland. ‘They were indeed thorough.’

‘Suits us.’ Nunn looked at his watch. ‘That fun and games occupied thirty-three minutes.’

Liang Hui shut the throttle, the skimmer lost way and came to a stop. There was nothing to be seen. Isolated and alone it climbed the long hills of the swells and slid into their valleys, lost in a limbo of fog and darkness.

A few minutes later they heard for the second time that night a threatening sound. It came swiftly towards them, the note subdued at first but rising, the compression of the sound waves transforming the distant rumble into a high-pitched screech, shattering the silence as it passed, the intensity diminishing as it drew away.

They had seen nothing. ‘Must be the same skimmer,’ said Liang Hui. ‘The one that nearly collided with us near the Ostnes Beacon.’

‘Again in a mad hurry,’ said Tanya. ‘Wonder what it’s up to.’

‘They’re probably asking the same about us.’

When the last note of the outboard had faded all was silent but for the suck and splash of the sea against the rubber hull, the tic-tic of dripping water as fog condensed on thwarts and clothing, and the distant growl of foghorns.

‘Those foghorns,’ said Tanya nervously. ‘Horrible sinister sound.’

‘Coasters and fishing vessels, I suppose.’

‘Will they worry us?’

‘Not unless they see us. Shouldn’t think it’s likely.’

‘I’m frightened,’ she said. ‘This is the worst part of all.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ve made the rendezvous without having to call for help. That would have complicated things.’

‘I suppose so.’ She crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered. ‘It’s cold and spooky, Li. D’you think it’s really worth it? All this?’

‘Of course it is. Think of the stakes.’

‘At the end of the day they may get nothing from him.’

‘They’ll get something. You know what interrogation’s like nowadays. Not the old “tell us the truth or else”. Much more subtle.’

‘It’s cruel. The resistance course taught me that.’

‘Depends what you mean by cruel. It’s not a physical thing is it? An assault on the mind, yes. It can be terrifying and humiliating. It’s a risk we always run.’

‘Poor boy,’ she sighed. ‘Why should he suffer?’

‘To keep the world safe. Sounds like a cliché but it’s true.’ After a pause he said, ‘I don’t know why you took it on if you feel like that.’

‘Oh, yes, you do. You talked me into it. And I’ve a grudge to settle. This is one way of doing it. And — let’s be honest — I go for kicks and danger’s the greatest kick of all. Even if I am frightened.’ She laughed in a timid uncertain way.

‘I haven’t time for philosophy. Must get on with the job.’ Using a shaded torch he un-zipped the cover of the orange life-raft, held the inflating lanyard in one hand and with the other threw the pack over the side. There was a steady hiss as the raft inflated and spread, growing larger by the second like the covered plant of a Bombay conjurer. The tubular walls filled and took shape and the canopy rose and became rigid. Eventually the raft loomed larger than the skimmer alongside it.

Liang Hui climbed in and turned it so that the canopy opening was opposite the stern of the skimmer, in which position he secured it. Krasnov was slightly built but it required all their strength to push, pull and claw him into the raft Tanya got in next, while Liang Hui set about deflating the skimmer. Its buoyancy gone it sank, carried down by the weight of the outboard engine.

Apart from the life-raft’s emergency equipment — flares, a first-aid box, packs of iron rations, a torch and desalination kits — the Liang Huis had a passenger’s flight bag inscribed ICELANDIC AIR LINES. In it were toilet and shaving gear, a flask of whisky, paperbacks, slippers and the other small impedimenta of air travellers.

They spent the next few minutes scooping water from the sea with a bailer, pouring it over themselves and Krasnov, throwing away their shoes, tearing their clothing and generally making themselves look as if they’d recently escaped from a ditched aircraft. Tanya took a large bandage from the first-aid box and wound it round Krasnov’s head, covering his eyes. With Oriental solemnity Liang-Hui gashed his own left forearm, rinsing the knife he’d used in sea water. The forearm bled copiously. With cotton wool from the first-aid box Tanya transferred her brother’s blood on to Krasnov’s bandage. By the time she’d finished the results were as convincing as Liang Hui’s arm was painful.

They’d been in the raft for some time when they heard the deep throb of diesels. Liang Hui, fearing that it might be a merchant ship, checked that the red light on the canopy was blinking. After that he kept watch at the opening. A few minutes later the long finger of a searchlight poked the sea tentatively before settling on the life-raft. As suddenly as it had appeared it was switched off. The small light which took its place flashed a series of five longs followed by five shorts.

‘It’s Bluewhale,’ he called to his sister. The excitement in his voice reminded her of the games of discovery they’d played in their childhood.

‘How marvellous,’ she said, and all her anxiety fell away.

With his torch Liang Hui flashed the agreed acknowledgement: a series of three shorts and three longs. They sat waiting, listening to the changing rhythm of engine movements, the sound of men’s voices until, closer and higher than they’d expected, the submarine’s navigation lights showed through the fog. A voice hailed them. ‘Stand by. We’ll throw you a line.’

It was close now, towering above the life-raft. In the reflected green of the starboard light they could see the shadowy outline of men on the casing. First attempts to pass the line failed. Eventually Liang Hui caught it and the raft was hauled alongside. Two seamen slithered down and with their aid and helping hands from above, Krasnov and the Liang Huis were transferred to the casing. They were taken along it. Krasnov on a stretcher, to the free-flooding door at the foot of the fin, then through it and down the hatches into the control-room.

Bill Boyd, well briefed by Brough and Hamsov, interviewed the drenched survivors and heard their story: how the light aircraft in which they’d been flying from Reykjavik to Narvik had developed engine trouble and come down in the sea. There had just been time to get off a MAYDAY but insufficient to give a position. Their friend who was both pilot and owner, Lars Rikdal, had failed to get clear. It had happened very quickly and in the darkness. The young man with them, Bjorg Edde, had suffered head injuries and some damage to his eyes. Fortunately, they explained, Tanya was a trained nurse and using the first-aid box in the life-raft she’d been able to bandage the injuries and sedate Edde. She was insistent that the bandages should not be disturbed and that he should be kept sedated until he could be transferred to a hospital.

Bill Boyd, understanding, puzzled and sympathetic at the same time, said, ‘Bit of a problem, but we’ll sort it out. Great thing is we’ve found you. That’s a slice of luck, anyway. We heard there was a light aircraft down but we hadn’t a clue where you were. Sheer luck,’ he repeated, thinking that he was a pretty-accomplished liar. ‘I’ll signal the senior officer of HM ships in company and ask for instructions. It’ll probably be decided that you must be transferred to the nearest HM ship with adequate medical facilities.’

Tanya said, ‘Bjorg Edde badly needs hospital assistance. Can’t he be transferred to a Norwegian hospital?’

Bill Boyd pointed to the clock over the chart-table. ‘It’s ten to four in the morning and there’s fog. The operation on which our ships are presently engaged is taking us away from Norway. By daylight we should be clear of the fog. We can then transfer you to Belligerent. She has surgeons and full hospital facilities.’

‘When will we be able to get to Norway, sir?’ Liang Hui, wet and dejected, his forearm bandaged, was deferential but not to be ignored.

This is for the Ministry of Defence to decide. No doubt proper arrangements will be made as soon as possible.’

‘Thank you,’ said Liang Hui. ‘Please don’t think we’re not grateful. It’s just that we’re worried.’

Whatever you are, thought Bill Boyd, you and your sister are putting on a great act, bless you.

The little drama having been played out for the benefit of members of the crew in the control-room Krasnov was put in the captain’s minute cabin with Tanya to look after him. Liang Hui was sent off to the small wardroom. It was already overburdened with Brough and Hamsov who were sleeping on settees.

‘We’ve only got these people for a few hours,’ Bill Boyd explained to the first-lieutenant. ‘They’ll have to make the best of it.’

He sent for CPO Blades and gave him an ‘immediate’ message for Belligerent, repeated Aries and C-in-C Fleet, reporting the recovery of three survivors from a ditched aircraft, one with head injuries. He requested instructions for their disposal. The reply came within a few minutes: Immediate to Bluewhale. Proceed with Belligerent and Aries to area GVF for Phase Two of exercise Kilo Zulu and for transfer of all repeat all survivors to Belligerent by helicopter as soon as possible.

Bluewhale dived and made off to the north-west at seventeen knots. Soon afterwards Bill Boyd went to the sonar room, a screened compartment in the control-room. Petty Officer Stephens who’d been on watch while they looked for the Daisy Chain skimmer was still there.

‘How’s Rockfish getting on, Stephens?’

The petty officer looked at the sonar screen. ‘Bearing two-seven-zero, twenty-one miles, sir. She’s been heading to the westward since she picked up that skimmer.’

‘Bully for Rockfish,’ said Bill Boyd. ‘I was beginning to think we had her for keeps.’

When things had settled down Boyd sent for the first-lieutenant. ‘Well, Number One, how are the lame ducks?’

‘The Cantonese girl is looking after Bjorg Edde. Won’t leave him. Doesn’t want any help.’

‘Lucky Bjorg,’ said Boyd speculatively. ‘Nice-looking girl.’

‘Quite a dish, sir,’ agreed the first-lieutenant.

‘Her brother?’

‘Having coffee and nosh in the wardroom.’

‘Has he met Brough and Hamsov?’

‘He’s seen them. They’re bedded down but they haven’t lifted an eyelid for him.’

‘Sensible characters. Nothing like a good kip. Shan’t be sorry to see all these bodies go. We aren’t really cut out for this rescue-hospital ship scene.’

‘No, sir. We’re definitely not.’