by Roger Bax
When the sun got up Joe took careful sights and he and Denny checked our position. We had made lamentably little progress. Instead of being nearly at Hango, as in more favourable circumstances we might have been after thirty-six hours at sea, we had been driven far to the south of our original course and had still 150 miles to cover. But we now had the wind aft of the beam and were making excellent progress.
That night we received another message from Steve. It wasn’t in cypher—it was merely a sentence introduced into the beginning of his broadcast for the benefit of his fans and saying that he was going off to Leningrad and would be broadcasting from there on the reconstruction of the city.
By midday on the 12th we had Hango on the port beam and were entering the Gulf. Our plan to approach the islands, if possible, unobserved, had taken insufficient account of the prevailing conditions. Visibility was much too good, and though we were ten miles off the Finnish coast as we slipped into the Gulf, we could see the shore quite plainly. The shore could also see us. After about half an hour a launch flying the Finnish flag came out of Hango and gave us a friendly salute as it passed. Any idea of secrecy clearly had to be abandoned. We could only hope that if we sailed in with colours flying and a brazen front, everyone would believe that we really were engaged in nothing but a holiday cruise.
In a dying breeze we ghosted along the Finnish shore, moving in gradually towards the land, but keeping well outside the line of islands. Just in case someone had a telescope trained on us from the shore we put on the right sort of act. Joe exchanged his old naval cap and blue trousers for an unfamiliar pair of khaki shorts, and Denny and I lay about on deck in the hot sun in nothing but swimming trunks. The weather was perfect for holiday-making. The glass was slowly rising to a new high and the cabin-top was getting almost too hot for comfort. So little wind was there that our wake was hardly noticeable as we glided over the water and, by the time we had reached the place where we had planned to seek shelter for the night, dusk was near at hand.
We didn’t fancy an intricate pilotage, and our aim was to bring up at the first suitable spot. Cautiously we sounded our way between a couple of low green islands on the fringe of the archipelago. As soon as the water shoaled to five fathoms we let go the anchor. It was important that we should be able to get out to the open sea without difficulty in case another storm blew up during the night, for none of us put much trust in the holding power of this rocky sea-bottom. Otherwise, where we had stopped was the pleasantest place imaginable. The tiny islets between which we lay were lush and green, with a few low bushes and lots of wild flowers. After supper we went ashore in the dinghy to stretch our legs. The night was almost as warm as the day had been. After a stroll, we sat and smoked by the water’s edge and discussed the storm that we’d weathered, and the alternative plans which we might have made and hadn’t, and the friendly but curious Finnish launch, and the remarkable fact that we’d arrived here at all. Then Joe said that it was always a good thing to get a full night’s sleep when there was no need to keep watches, so we turned in.
I don’t know whether it was the result of a new sense of danger, born of our proximity to inhospitable shores, or whether it was the knowledge that Marya was lying asleep in Tallinn only fifty miles away at that very moment, but I was a long while dropping off and I woke several times during the night after vague but disturbing dreams. As soon as the first streak of light shone through the porthole I abandoned the effort to sleep. I dressed in shorts and a khaki shirt and went out on deck to sniff the air of yet another delectable morning.
I was just thinking of having a refreshing dip when my roving eye caught sight of something which froze me to the deck. There was a motor-launch anchored at the entrance of the channel through which we had come, and it was flying the flag of the Soviet Union at its stern.
Chapter Nine
I went below at once and woke the others. It was not yet six o’clock, and I thought there was just a chance that we might be able to slip away round the back of the island and out to sea while whoever was on board the Russian boat still slept. But Joe, fully awake on the instant and peering out of the open port, said he could see two figures already moving in the well of the launch. So that hope was shattered.
We were all deeply perturbed by the new development but not, I think, surprised. Our fear that we might have been kept under observation had proved well-founded. No doubt a patrol boat had been sent out from Porkkala right away to keep an eye on us.
“They’ve got a damned nerve sticking themselves right in the middle of the channel like that,” said Denny, who was now almost an authority on maritime matters. “It’s practically a hold-up. Do you think they’d stop us if we tried to leave?”
I said: “We’ll find that out later. I shouldn’t think they’ll do more at this stage than keep us in sight. It may be just a routine check-up on their part—they’ve no grounds for any but the vaguest suspicions.”
“They soon will have,” said Joe.
“It depends,” I said. “Our job is to disarm their suspicions. We’ve got to put on a convincing act—mad Englishmen having fun.”
“It’ll be an act, all right,” said Denny grimly. “I can’t see how we’re going to shake them off.”
“We’ll think of something,” I said, with a confidence I was far from feeling. “We’ll have to make our own opportunity. The more harmless and friendly we can seem, the better chance we’ll have. But one slip will be fatal. Don’t forget, Denny, you and I don’t understand a word of Russian, we’ve never been to Russia, and we don’t know anything about Russia except what we’ve read in the papers. If they see a spark of intelligence in our eyes when they talk to each other it’ll be as good as a signed confession for them. Now I’m going to reconnoitre. There’s nothing like keeping the initiative.”
I launched the dinghy in leisurely fashion and rowed slowly towards the Russian boat. She was about the same length on the waterline as Dawn and had a large single cabin forward and an open cockpit aft. Her wooden hull looked rather lightly built, and her lines suggested that she was intended for fast patrolling in fairly sheltered waters rather than for bad-weather work. As I drew abreast of her I saw that her name was Neva. She had no visible armament and looked very inoffensive. All the same, I didn’t see how she could claim the right of innocent passage that Denny’s book had talked about. She was flying the flag of the Red Navy and she was clearly a naval auxiliary. We were many miles from Porkkala and quite definitely in Finnish waters, and it wasn’t the job of a Russian patrol boat to exercise guard duties there. It looked as though we had overrated the amount of independence left to the Finns. Probably in the Gulf of Finland the Russians did as they liked.
I nosed slowly round to the stern of the launch and when I saw someone looking in my direction I gave a friendly wave and the man saluted. With a couple of sharp pulls I placed the dinghy alongside Neva, smiled a frank smile and said, “Good morning.”
The man was in uniform, naval or of a naval type, and from what I could remember of Soviet badges of rank I judged him to be a lieutenant. He was short and burly, with fair hair, deep-blue eyes and a fresh open face. I had seen hundreds like him around Kharkov and Dniepropetrovsk; he, was practically the male counterpart of Svetlana. Whatever his present job might be I felt that he was fundamentally a good fellow.
He leaned over the stern of Neva and regarded me with grave curiosity. “Engleesh?” he asked.
I nodded. He knew our ensign, of course.
He shook his head sorrowfully from side to side and pointed to himself. “No speak. Oy oy oy!” He made a gesture of regret with his hands. “Engleesh—no.” That seemed to be about as far as he could get. I tried him with German and French, but he still looked blank. He turned and spoke into the cabin, words which I couldn’t catch. It seemed a bit odd that the Russians should have sent a patrol boat to intercept an English vessel without anyone aboard who could speak English. I was just beginning to think it a good sign when a little ma
n emerged from the cabin, looked across at me and said “Good morning” in English. I took an instant dislike to him. He was slight and narrow-chested, like pictures one had seen of Goebbels. He had a thin, rodent face, with a sharp nose and bright little eyes. His hair was wispy and grey. He looked about fifty, and he wore a nondescript costume of semi-military cut but without insignia. I took him for an N. K.V.D. man, not very well disguised. He didn’t smile, but he seemed prepared to be chatty. He said, “It is a swell morning, yes?” I recognized his type. Some time or other he had spent a few years in the United States, and remembered just enough of the more obvious idiom to be irritating.
I said it was a swell morning.
“You are on vacation, you and your friends?”
“That’s right,” I told him cheerfully. “We sailed out from England to Stockholm, and as we had a few days to spare we thought we’d like to look at these islands.”
“It is unusual,” he said. “Not many guys come here.”
That made me smile. I said, “We Englishmen often go where other people don’t go.”
“Sure!” said the little man. He leaned over Neva’s rail, quite motionless. “You build empires.”
I didn’t want to start a political argument at seven o’clock in the morning and I said: “Well, we’re not building one here, you know. We’re here for pleasure. It’s very nice. We like Finland.”
The little man looked surprised. “You have been ashore?”
“Oh no. I mean we like Finnish waters. These are Finnish waters, aren’t they?”
He nodded slowly.
“The Finns don’t mind you patrolling here?”
“They are our friends,” he said. “We help them.”
“Yes, I see.”
He looked across at Dawn. “You stay long?”
I tried to look sad. “Unfortunately, no. The day after tomorrow we have to return to Stockholm. We’re meeting some people there. It’s a great pity—we’d like to stay.”
“And what will you do while you are here?”
I shrugged. “Swim, eat, sleep, lie in the sun. We may have a look at one or two of the islands today. Do you know them well?”
“Yes,” said the little man. “You must be careful of the goddam rocks. Very careful. They are dangerous.”
I assured him that we should take no risks.
“You have charts?”
“Of course, but not of the channels. Only of the Gulf. We shall keep on the outside of the islands, where it’s safe.”
“You do not cross the Gulf? To Tallinn, for instance?”
I considered. “I don’t think so. Is there much to see? Is it better than this?”
He shook his head. “Just a city—a fine city.”
I said: “We’re not very keen on towns. We like to get away from people.” I feared it was unlikely he would take the hint. “Anyway, it’s too far across to the other side. What is it, seventy or eighty miles?”
“Fifty miles.”
“No.” I dismissed the idea. “We’d never keep our appointment in Stockholm. Besides, these islands are marvellous. How do you like our boat?”
Again his glance travelled across to Dawn. I felt sure he didn’t know anything about boats. He looked as though his spiritual home was the interrogation cellar. He gave a little shrug and said: “It is quite nice. Okay. Why do you paint it grey like a warship?”
I thought of Joe and his fancy for a smart white yacht. Perhaps I hadn’t been so clever after all. I said: “The climate in England is very bad. Rain and fog all the time. Grey doesn’t show the dirt.”
He nodded slowly and looked again towards Dawn. “Has it an engine?”
“An auxiliary engine,” I said. “But we don’t often use it. We prefer sailing. It takes longer, but it’s more restful.” I pushed the dinghy off. “Well, I must get some breakfast.” I rubbed my hand over my stomach for the benefit of the lieutenant, who all through the conversation had stood stolidly by the little man without a word. He grinned amiably and saluted.
“We shall perhaps see you again,” said the little man as I shipped the oars. It was a statement of fact, if ever there was one. I nodded pleasantly and rowed away.
I gave the others a short report over the ham and eggs. I told them the little man seemed to be in charge. “He’s suspicious, no doubt about that, and very inquisitive, but I think it’s only routine. He doesn’t seem to have anything to go on. I expect they’ve been told to keep us shadowed until we leave.”
“Did you see what sort of engine they’ve got?” asked Denny.
“No. They didn’t ask me aboard.”
Denny grunted. “It looks as though we’re in for plenty of trouble. What are we going to do? Don’t forget we’re supposed to leave for Tallinn about midday tomorrow.”
I wasn’t likely to forget. I said, “What we need is a bright idea.”
Heavy silence at once enveloped the cabin.
I said: “One or two things seem clear enough. They won’t let us out of their sight, and we can’t run for it because they’re faster than we are. The only chance seems to be that we may be able to slip off tonight in the darkness and be far enough away by tomorrow to do what we’ve got to do before they get on our tracks again.”
Joe nodded. “It’s a thin chance, but I don’t see any other.”
“We can’t slip away,” said Denny, “if we let them keep us hemmed in the way we are now.”
“No,” I said. “We must find a better anchorage. What I suggest is that we have a quiet morning here, as though we’re in no hurry, and then after lunch we’ll amble up the coast for a couple of miles and drop anchor on the seaward side of one of the islands, so that we can head straight out to sea when the moment comes. Is that all right, Joe?”
“If the weather holds,” said Joe, “and we can find a good anchorage.”
Actually, the weather had never looked more settled. Apart from the presence of the patrol boat, conditions couldn’t have promised better for our enterprise. The sea was as calm as a pond, and we were obviously in for a roasting day.
After breakfast we tried to behave like the yachting party with no particular plans that we were supposed to be. It seemed an opportunity to do some long-overdue laundering. We rigged a clothes-line from the mast to the cockpit and soon there was a fine array of underpants and khaki shorts and brightly-coloured towels drying in the sun. I could see the little man watching every move we made. There was something sinister about his immobility.
While Denny checked over the engine and put the cabin to rights Joe and I had a swim. The lieutenant was taking a dip, too, and we swam towards him, but when he saw us coming he turned and made a bee-line for the launch. There wasn’t to be any unofficial fraternizing, even in the water. The rodent had no doubt given his instructions.
After our swim we lazed on deck for a while, reading and smoking. Then we all three took the dinghy, with some food and drink, and went ashore on the neighbouring island in full view of Neva. Joe gathered some sticks and we lit a fire. We organized a little mild horseplay, in case it was expected of us. Joe made a ball out of brown paper and string, and for half an hour we played cricket, using a stumpy pine tree as a wicket. I would have given a lot to hear what the little man was saying to the lieutenant at that moment. He had changed his position, but never seemed to take his eyes off us. I suppose he was trying to make up his mind about us.
After lunch we lay on a bed of pine needles and discussed the situation in low tones. Our chances of getting away from Neva unseen, even at night, seemed poor. It wasn’t likely that both the Russians would sleep at the same time. They would know that darkness was our only opportunity if we had any concealed plans; the mere fact of our anchoring in the open when evening came would inevitably make them more watchful. They would certainly bring up somewhere near us again. If the night were quiet it would be impossible for us to get our anchor and make sail without their hearing. I couldn’t see that we had an earthly chance. From the point of
view of evading them, storm or fog was our best hope, but there was not the least sign of either.
It was evident that pretty soon we should have to make a big decision. If we couldn’t break away from Neva our expedition would fail. None of us, in the last resort, was prepared to accept defeat—and particularly at this stage. We had known when we started that we weren’t going on a picnic. Now it looked as though we should have to fight. As we lay there, morosely discussing the problem, we were all reluctantly approaching that conclusion, as hungry castaways might slowly form a resolution to eat the cabin boy when every other alternative appeared exhausted.
It was Denny who actually put the idea into words. He said thoughtfully, “Well, we’re three to two.”
I said: “The lieutenant has a chest like a barrel. He’d take a lot of holding. What’s more, he has a gun. I saw the holster. I expect the little man has a gun too. I just thought I’d mention it.”
“I knew we ought to bring guns,” Joe said.
I said: “Don’t forget we’re in Finnish waters. I’m not saying we shan’t have to fight if there’s no other way—I’m just putting the facts. We should be hopelessly in the wrong if we attacked them. They’re only watching us—they haven’t molested us so far. If we lost the fight, anything could happen to us. Our best hope would be to catch them off guard and get them tied up before much harm could be done. For that I estimate we should only get about twelve years apiece in Siberia if we were subsequently caught.”
“I don’t like it,” said Joe, very understandably.
I said: “Neither do I. Anyhow, I vote we wait until this evening before we start anything desperate. Something may turn up.”
“Yes,” said Denny, “probably another Russian boat.” He was feeling very low.
We packed up our things without haste and rowed gently back to Dawn. We took in the washing and made all shipshape. Finally we hoisted the sails and began to glide out to sea, through the narrow gap between Neva and the island. There was almost no wind, and no perceptible current. Our speed was about half a knot. As we edged past the launch the lieutenant again gave us a salute, but the little man only stared sardonically. I don’t think he had a very high opinion of us from any point of view.