Orlov turned and saw a Russian Marine, AK-74 leveled at him, face grim with the heat of recent battle. “Gennadi Orlov?”
The big Chief smiled. “Comrade!” He walked slowly toward the Marine. “Thank God you’ve found me. I was afraid the Germans would get to me first…”
* * *
Troyak was conducting an expert retreat, peeling off one squad at a time and moving them back under the covering fire of his remaining troops in place. All the while the last of his 82mm mortar teams popped off rounds at the oil tank farm, where German infantry had been infiltrating to see if they could put flanking fire on the main railway warehouse he had defended so stubbornly.
The Germans had learned the hard way that the Russian anti-tank defense was too good to be overcome. They no longer attempted to get AFVs up close to participate in the action. Instead, they were relying on the skill and sheer mass of their infantry. Troyak was impressed with both their tactics and bravery and knew he was dealing with a real professional force here, disciplined, experienced and well trained men. They were slowly using the weight of their superior numbers to infiltrate forward, pausing when the Russian suppressive fire was too hot, advancing doggedly when it slackened for any reason. All the while 105mm rounds continue to fall in and around the Russian position.
At one point the withdrawal seemed to spur the Germans on, and they rolled forward more quickly. Troyak was forced to put together an assault squad to stem the tide. He had his men lay down a barrage of rifle grenades, then the Marines moved forward in a counterattack, moving, firing, moving , and all with the weight of the tremendous volume of fire their AK-74s could put out. They stopped the Germans again, set radio controlled charges in the building they had just cleared and retaken, then with a whistle from Troyak they began a stealthy retreat.
Troyak ordered the men back to his newly established main line of resistance, and watched intently through his infrared night vision goggles as the Germans regrouped and rushed forward again. They were plastering the building with suppressive fire from an MG-42, and the infantry stormed in, taking it back and unaware that the Russians had left them a nasty surprise.
The gritty Sergeant raised his fist and pulled down hard to give the order to detonate the charges. The radioman gave the signal and the building erupted with a series of six well staggered explosions, gutting the interior, and anyone unfortunate enough to be inside.
That will teach them to be more cautious, Troyak thought with an evil grin. Then he was all business again, whistling to order his number one squad to peel off and fall back to the next line of withdrawal. In this way the Marines displaced, adopted new firing positions, launched occasional sharp counterattacks, and skillfully fell back again, leaving booby-trapped positions behind them each time.
There was a brief lull in the fighting as the Germans assessed their situation, and Troyak heard the rumble of trucks from the far side of the main rail yard. He knew more reinforcements were coming up, and one look through his IR binoculars told him the Germans were bringing un an engineer company with flame throwers and satchel charges.
It wasn’t until the NKVD units on the high hill to the west of the city fell that Troyak knew it was time to tell Fedorov they should complete their withdrawal. The sudden appearance of the young officer, riding in the ZSU-23, had provided just the firepower he needed to stop the last German attack.
“If you want to get all these troops and equipment safely back to the Anatoly Alexandrov, then we need to move now, Colonel,” said Troyak, still referring to Fedorov by the NKVD Colonel rank he had assumed for their mission. “The Germans are bringing up assault engineers.”
“But we don’t have Orlov yet! That was the whole reason we landed here!” Fedorov had a determined look on his face, but he could see the concern in Troyak’s eyes and knew that they could be at great risk here. “Start your withdrawal, Sergeant. Perhaps Zykov can locate him before we have to pull his team out.”
“Very well, sir. We should need half an hour. I’ll buy you as much time as I can beyond that. I think we can hold them off and continue a good fighting withdrawal. As for that,” he pointed at the ZSU-Shilka, “you had better get it back to the Aist hovercraft near the main harbor at once. It’s not amphibious, and could take much longer to load. The other vehicles can swim off shore and we can load them there, if need be.”
Fedorov nodded, and ordered the driver to get them back, but his heart was heavy. What was Orlov doing? He had to know we were here to rescue him. He did not have long to wait for an answer. Zykov called him on his jacket microphone and had good news.
“Fedorov! My men picked up Orlov five minutes ago, we’re heading for the coast now!”
“Great news, Corporal. Get him to the Anatoly Alexandrov!”
At last! They had found him! Now it was just a matter of getting everyone else off shore as quickly as possible. He radioed Troyak and gave him the go sign for a full and speedy withdrawal, elated now that the long mission offered them prospects of success.
What next, he thought? Now we get to the Anatoly Alexandrov and take inventory. It would be stupid to leave and then find we’re still missing a man or two. He radioed ahead to Dobrynin and told him they were beginning their withdrawal, and to have everything ready to utilize Rod-25 at his command. The desperate shift back from the Primorskiy Engineering center had worked! They got their man, and more—the mission had paid him a mysterious dividend with the discovery of the strange effects he had experienced on the back stairs of Ilanskiy. He knew that if they made it safely back to 2021, one of the first things they would need to do is get men to secure that inn.
Yet a thousand miles away, another man was already on the job there—Captain Ivan Volkov where he sat being interrogated by the NKVD Colonel and Lieutenant Surinov, and events were about to take yet another twist in a strange new direction.
* * *
Volkov had given the man his last warning. He didn’t know what these idiots thought they were doing, masquerading in these old uniforms and holding a Russian Naval officer at gunpoint like this. He looked the Colonel right in the eye…
There were three other men in the room, one holding a weapon loosely aimed at him, the other with his rifle shouldered on a strap. The last was the Lieutenant that had fingered him as somehow having something to do with Fedorov. That man, Lieutenant Surinov, was fidgeting with his glasses, trying to clean one of the lenses as Colonel Lysenko conducted the interrogation. Clearly none of the men expected any real resistance from their captive, as irascible and uncooperative as Volkov was. Yet that worked in the Captain’s favor. The NKVD men were not prepared for what happened next.
Just as Orlov had swiped the pistol from Commissar Molla’s hand, Volkov lashed out again, doing the same to Lysenko. The weapon went flying across the room, and Volkov kicked hard at the knee of the one NKVD guard who had his weapon at the ready, toppling the man while the Captain wrenched at his sub machine gun. The safety was off, and he squeezed off a burst of fire, killing the other guard.
Surinov staggered backwards, but a quick step and Volkov was able to use the butt of his weapon to deliver a sharp blow to his head, dropping him unconscious as his spectacles clattered to the hard wood floor. There were shouts and hard footfalls when the last two guards came running into the room. Another burst of well aimed fire was enough to end their rush. Now it was Volkov and Lysenko.
Lysenko dove to retrieve the pistol, but not fast enough. Bullets from a PPSh-41 are much faster, and the Colonel joined his guards splayed out on the floor of the dining hall for a long, eternal sleep. The arrogance of power and the brutality with which he would treat countless innocent men and women in all the days ahead died with him. Volkov’s single act of violence had done a great deal to ease the suffering of many, just as Orlov’s hands had choked a good measure of despair and degradation to death when the Commissar died, though neither man knew this.
I warned them, Volkov thought in the heat of the moment. Now to get that
witless Englishman. He had the presence of mind to retrieve his service pistol from one of the dead guards, then he moved quickly, out of the dining room and into the foyer where the serving girl cowered behind the front desk. The Englishman gave him a wide eyed look, obviously afraid.
“You!” Volkov pointed his weapon at the man. “Come with me.”
The Captain prodded the man, goading him up the main stairway to the second floor until they reached the upper landing.
“Where is the room you were staying in?”
“There, sir… The second door on the right I think.” The man looked confused, frightened, and out of place in his odd clothing; almost archaic.
Volkov forced open the door, easing in carefully before he pushed the young reporter inside. “Russian Naval Intelligence!” he shouted, leaping in behind the man, but the room was dark and silent. Volkov’s eyes narrowed as he methodically scanned the nightstand, made up bed, and then he walked to inspect the closet and restroom to make certain no one was concealed there.
“Well it doesn’t seem that anyone has stayed in this room for some time.” It was clear that he remained very suspicious of the man. “Very well, come with me. Let’s find that old proprietor and see what he has to say about things. What was your name again?”
Thomas Byrne, sir. I’m a Reporter for the London Times—here to cover the great race is all, sir.”
“Well, Mister Byrne, your name should be on the register of this inn, yes? You had better hope I find it there. Now move!” He wanted to get back downstairs to look for his men and then phone in this incident. Someone would have to come and collect the bodies he left in the dining room. He would have to file a report, but first he wanted to see about this stranger.
They were out into the hall, very near the back stairwell, and Volkov steered the man that way with one hand on his shoulder. “So you say you were meeting with friends in the dining hall, eh? Some associates? I trust you saw what happened to them when they presumed to trifle with me. Bear that in mind. Now get down those stairs!”
If the Captain thought he was confused by his first journey down the back stairwell at Ilanskiy, the second would bring him to the edge of insanity itself. He would soon find his security detail was entirely missing, the inn itself entirely different again, and the station and town of Ilanskiy itself nothing like he remembered. They started down, and along the way he heard what sounded like thunder, an ominous rumble reverberating in the narrow passage. The young man in front of him was suddenly silhouetted by a strange amber glow. Three more steps to the lower landing and they were in the dining room, but it was nothing like the room where Volkov had just killed the NKVD who were interrogating him…It was nothing like that at all.
Chapter 17
“Hold on, Jock! That looks like our man!” Sutherland hissed under his breath pointing through a gap in the storage crates of the warehouse where they had been hiding.
They had settled in, watching the entrance to the detainment facility across the street and trying to figure the best way to get inside. Sutherland was not too keen on Haselden’s suggestion that they merely walk up to the gate and present themselves.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” The Captain explained. “They’d throw us right inside, eh?”
“Well bugger me!” said Sutherland. “I didn’t paddle across the Caspian Sea and come all this way through muck and mire to get thrown in the bloody hole, mate. There has to be some other way to do this.”
Before they had time to argue the matter, they heard that strange thrumming sound above them, and Haselden looked out through a hole in the roof to see a swirling shadow in the sky. It was unlike any aircraft they had ever seen before, but it quickly vanished in the low cloud, the sound of the big engines fading away.
The appearance of the aircraft caused quite a stir, and there was too much activity in and around the site for them to even consider making a move at that point. Haselden swallowed his idea and decided to hunker down. “We’ll have to wait until things settle,” he said. “I suppose we could use the rest, and then this evening we put on the black face and see if we can slip inside that place.”
“Now you’re talking.” Sutherland was finally hearing a plan he could live with, and one his commando training could embrace. So they waited, throughout the long day until they were thinking to make a move. Unfortunately, the Germans soon presented them with another option. They could clearly hear the sound of rifle fire in the distance, men shouting, and the rumble of battle thickening with machine guns and incoming artillery. Then, to their amazement they heard an enormous roar in the distance, coming from the sea.
“What do you make of that?” Sutherland had crept to the far side of the warehouse and was peering out a dislodged board in the outer wall. Haselden crept to his side and the two men looked out to see the strangest craft they had ever laid eyes on. It roared in from the sea with two massive engines aft and looking like an enormous inflatable raft with a steel superstructure. To their amazement, they saw the front of the craft open like a landing craft and disgorge armored vehicles that began amphibiously swimming to the shore. There were three landing craft in all, and each carried vehicles, and swarms of black booted soldiers who stormed ashore to the whistle of NCOs as the little invasion proceeded.
Haselden had seen amphibious tanks like the old Tetrarch, the Valentine DDs and the newer plans for a Sherman Duplex Drive that the British would call “Donald Duck.” These tanks were altogether different, with a low profile and a sharp forward edge for scudding through the surf.
“Have a good look at that, Sutherland. Now there’s a floating tank worth the bloody name. Look at them move!”
“Looks like the Germans are attacking and this lot is here to try and stop them. Now what, Jock? Is this a private fight or can anybody get in on it?”
Haselden squinted as he watched. “We lay low and see what develops. No sense sticking our three pistols and a couple Stens in the mix. If Jerry is coming in force, they’ll take this place. That looks to be a good sized company landing out there, but the Germans will be coming with much more. If so, then the Russians may soon have to abandon that detention center. Let’s get back and keep our eyes on that gate. We won’t want our man slipping away in this mess, but all this gunfire plays to our advantage.”
So they waited, listening to the battle surround them, and catching a glimpse of yet another odd looking Russian AFV that appeared to be a quad Ack Ack gun. It lingered near the prison for a time, then moved off to the north.
“Looks like they sent a couple squads inside that fortress,” said Sutherland. “They may not give the place up easily, and suppose our man gets it in the middle of all this shooting?”
“Then he gets it,” said Haselden. “Nothing we can do about that.”
“Well how will we know?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. One side or another is going to win this fight. Hold on Davey boy, you’ll see.”
Haselden was correct.
After a sharp battle for all of thirty minutes, they looked to see a group of men emerging from the prison entrance, and among them was the tall stocky man they had identified as Orlov.
“That’s our man!” Haselden was jubilant. “They saw a group of soldiers peel off, and two men herding Orlov in their direction. Then a series of three incoming mortar rounds began to thump into the road and nearby rail line and the three men crouched and sprinted for the warehouse where the British commandos were lying in wait.
“Now Maitland! Now’s your time!” Haselden hissed, repeating Wellington’s order to the 2nd and 3rd Battalions of the 1st Foot Guards at Waterloo as they were sent to oppose the French Old Guard.
Sutherland knew the reference at once and gave the Captain a wink. “Up Guards, ready!” he echoed, and the three British commandos tensed up for quick action.
The Russians staggered into the building and, allies or not, the moment required the hardest possible line. Haselden leapt up, pistol aiming
and firing at the two armed soldiers, who were caught completely off guard and killed with a snap of four clean shots. The three commandos were up with weapons drawn on Orlov, who gave them an astonished look.
Haselden tipped his beret to the man. He had fulfilled the first important part of his charge in finding this man, living up to the unit’s motto: ‘Attain by Surprise!’ “Sir,” he said with a well earned smile, though he knew the man would probably not understand a word he was saying. “You are now in the custody of Number 30 Commando, Royal Marines.” He gestured with his pistol to move the man on. “Take the point, Davey. Sergeant Terry and I will keep a close watch on this one. Let’s get to the harbor and find us a boat!”
Orlov had no idea who these men were, or what they were saying to him, but pistols were pistols, and the two dead Marines they had gunned down in their sudden ambush were enough to convince him that this was just another occasion to go with the flow.
They moved quickly to the back of the building, until Sutherland saw a way for them to get cross a series of converging rail lines and out onto the main harbor quay. As they moved they could see that the soldiers and vehicles they had seen were also slowly retiring toward the coastline. Thankfully, there were a good number of old fishing boats and a trawler tied off on the weathered wooden pier. Sutherland made for the craft that seemed most seaworthy. He could not believe their good luck! They had come all this way, into what looked to be a truly hopeless situation, and this Orlov all but walked up and shook hands with them!
The four men scrambled down into the boat, Sergeant Terry herding Orlov into the cabin as Sutherland and Haselden quickly threw off the ropes and pushed away. North, along the rail line approaching the harbor, they still heard the sound of active battle, but it was clear that the Russians who had come ashore in these strange craft were now withdrawing.
Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) Page 14