V4 Vengeance

by Nigel Seed

  “Ah well,” her captain said, “that will have killed an awful lot of rats and cockroaches. A shame we had to sink her. She was a fine ship for the smuggling.”

  The vibration through the deck plates increased as the retired trawler accelerated away from the area and turned south west.

  The Skipper and crew of the freighter were accommodated in one mess with the bank raiders in another on the opposite side of the laboratory area. The full-time crew of the trawler had a set of small cabins in the after part of their ship. The haul from the bank raids was still being processed and counted, but now with particular attention being paid to the art and antique treasures that had been scooped up with everything else.

  The trawler skipper went to his radio room with its equally dazzling array of communication equipment as that to be found on the cargo ship, now resting deep below the surface. He called Romanov to report the successful transfer of the cargo and people from the freighter. He gave his position and course, as was the usual procedure for Romanov’s fleet.

  Behind his ship the small amount of oil spilled from the freighter, after the fuel bunkers had been incinerated, was being dispersed by the waves and the breeze. It was another twenty-seven minutes before the American spy satellite was due to pass overhead, they were well within the allocated time for the transfer and he was leaving the area at a speed that would have surprised the previous owners of the ship, who were unaware of the two new diesel engines that only just fitted into the engine room. They slowed to a more reasonable speed once well-clear of the changeover point. The reduction in the vibration through the hull was welcome to everyone on board and they settled down to enjoy the cruise into warmer waters.

  Chapter 30

  David Malcolm, in the intelligence center in Washington, had completed his calculations. The dimension of the ship plus any appearance points, such as bow shape, that could not be changed had been passed to all Coast Guard and US Navy vessels with orders to stop and search any ship that fitted, or came close to fitting, the description.

  Some of the captains queried the legality of an order to stop and search civilian vessels on the high seas, but were given a Presidential directive to comply. The information was also passed to the navies of all allied countries and any of those that had pledged support. The first report to come in was from a Russian submarine operating south of Greenland that called in the coordinates of a ship that fitted the description. The Russians would not board the ship, but shadowed it until the US Navy arrived in a fast frigate to carry out their search.

  The search was thorough and at times impolite. The Swedish captain protested, but understood and became cooperative when the reasons were explained to him. There were seven ships found that fitted the description and were within range of New York in the time allowed to get to their present positions. They were all stopped and searched.

  Nothing concerning the attack was found, although one ship was found to be carrying a significant cargo of smuggled drugs. The US Navy had more important things to be concerned about so dropped the drugs into the sea and allowed the ship to go on its way.

  The freighter sinking had created another blind alley and had served to divert attention away from the large trawler that now cruised calmly through the edge of the search area, carrying the culprits away from the clutches of their avengers.

  Chapter 31

  In the hospital in New York the surviving crewmen from the U-Boats were slowly gaining consciousness. As soon as they were able to make sense, the specialist Arabic speaking interrogators began interviewing them. There were no bullying techniques used as the medical staff would not allow it, although the questioning was intense.

  The crew were from a number of Middle Eastern nations and had been recruited over a period of time. They had been briefed in general on the type of submarine they were to crew and had practiced the necessary skills before the boats left the base in Kiel.

  The most useful information started to come when the youngest of the FBI agents said in frustration, “But why did you do this? What did you hope to achieve?”

  The crewman he was speaking to turned his head slowly and said, “Money, just money. I have a disease that will kill me within a year. With the money I have been paid for this task my family will be secure once I am gone.”

  The lead interrogator looked up from his notes. “Is that the same for all of your crew?”

  “No. There are some few like me who have a terminal illness. That is why we were discharged from the navies we served in. Others like the captains had a burning hatred for Americans for things they have done. Did you know your bombs wiped out my Captain’s family? Just a mistake but it burned him up inside when he saw the lack of respect your people have for any of our families who die. There were many reasons, but for all of us the pay was good and will help the families of those who do not go home.”

  “Did you expect to die? Did you expect to be a martyr?”

  The crewman laughed quietly, shaking his head, “Oh you Americans have such a simple view of the world. If you are attacked by a Muslim it must of course be Jihad. No. We knew it was dangerous, but we hoped to escape and we had a plan to do so. Sadly that is not to be.”

  The news that the attackers were mercenaries and not holy warriors was passed to Washington. The convenient clues pointing to Muslim extremists now fitted into place. That had all been a smokescreen to divert attention. Had the US authorities not analyzed the information carefully, before acting, there could have been a blood bath in some innocent nation. This would have provided a wonderful diversion and focused the attention of the most powerful military force in the world on the wrong target. It would also have alienated a number of nations who had now pledged their support.

  Clever but not quite clever enough.

  Chapter 32

  Far away to the west of the fleeing trawler the small rubber dinghy floated on the wide uncaring ocean. After days and nights on the water the four men were bitterly cold, wet and exhausted, but the weather had been surprisingly kind to them for this time of year in the North Atlantic. They huddled together for what warmth they could gather from each other and watched for any ship or aircraft that might come near them. Aircraft had passed over repeatedly, but the tiny gray dinghy on a wide, gray ocean had not been seen.

  On the first day their survival training had kicked in and they had established the routine that would give them the best chance of getting out of the dinghy alive. They could live without food for a few days, but drinking water was a more immediate problem. The first order of business was to bail out the sea water that had slopped into the small boat as they left the submarine. They were all cold and wet, but sitting in pools of water would only make that worse and would probably cause weeping sores they could do without. They had used their cupped hands to dump water over the side and then a tee shirt from Geordie’s haversack had done duty as a sponge to get out the remainder. The activity had warmed them slightly.

  After Tatiana was gone they settled down in the small boat and Jim turned to Ivan, “So what made you bring this dinghy along with you in the first place?”

  Ivan smiled and nodded his head toward Geordie, “We both started to get an uncomfortable feeling about Romanov and his heavies. Nothing we could put a finger on, but just a niggling at the back of the mind. His attitude was all wrong for the person he claimed to be. So we grabbed anything we thought might be useful and when this dinghy fitted perfectly in my backpack it seemed like a sign, I couldn’t resist it. Same reason Geordie packed the weapons.”

  Jim smiled, “Well you keep in touch with your feelings, guys, they paid off in spades this time.”

  After the first day thirst had started to become a problem and the ex-soldiers knew that drinking the sea water around them would probably kill them and would, at best, have a seriously negative effect. Andrei had to have the dehydrating effect of salt water explained to him and the others watched him carefully. Geordie had eventually produced a small plastic bottl
e of mineral water from his pack.

  “I thought we had better save this until we really needed it.”

  They shared it out, each of them careful not to take more than his fair share. Once it was empty Jim slipped the empty bottle into his pocket.

  “Any more of those in there, Geordie?”

  “Sorry boss, I didn’t anticipate this part of the cruise being so poorly catered.”

  An hour or so later Andrei struggled to his knees and faced outwards.

  “What are you doing, Andrei?” said Jim.

  Andrei looked over his shoulder, “I have waited as long as I can,” he said, “but the urge to urinate is too strong.”

  “Wait one second,” Jim said and fished into his pocket. He brought out the plastic bottle. “Do it into that.”

  Andrei looked at him incredulously, “You cannot mean to drink it? That is disgusting!”

  “Disgusting it may be, but it could keep us alive just that little bit longer. We waste nothing.”

  Andrei was revolted at the prospect, but did as he was asked. Their only clean drinking water came from the occasional showers that passed over them and made them colder. But at least it delayed the need to revisit the plastic bottle.

  Conversation in the dinghy was desultory at best, but they had agreed that once an hour they had to sit up and talk. They also sang children’s songs with exaggerated hand and arm motions to try to generate a little warmth. Ivan taught them all the ribald Welsh Rugby songs he knew and insisted they add expressive arm movements during the rudest parts.

  This time it was Jim’s turn to start the conversation. “OK, folks, for this evening’s entertainment we have to decide what we want for Christmas. Ivan, you start.”

  Ivan thought about it. “Well, I’ve already got a train set and a big red fire engine so there’s not much else in life to wish for. Maybe in my stocking I could find a voucher for a nice holiday in the sun, all expenses paid.”

  Andrei looked puzzled, as usual the gallows humor of the British Army was a complete mystery to him, and he was not to know it had been keeping men like this going through adversity for hundreds of years.

  “Geordie, how about you?”

  Geordie grinned. “Well boss, I don’t know if that guy who runs Playboy has a yacht but if he has I’d like to borrow it, full of bunnies. At least if I cover myself in naked women I’ll be warm.”

  Jim looked across at Andrei. “Come on,” he said, giving him a gentle nudge with his foot, “your turn. What do Russians get for Christmas?”

  The Russian was not faring well; he had not been as fit as the three ex-Army men and the cold and damp were not making him feel any better.

  He shrugged and sighed, “In Russia we often give special cakes or sweetmeats at Christmas. I think I would like something sweet to eat.”

  “Sorry my friend,” said Jim, “not much we can do about that one.”

  Geordie perked up, “Don’t be too sure about that, boss.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Come on, boss. What are the three rules of military success?”

  Jim sighed, “I’m sure I should know this one,” he said “but go on.”

  “Ivan?”

  Ivan sighed too, “OK I’ll play along. The three rules of military success are: One, never get separated from your weapon. Two, always keep something to eat later. And three, never march on Moscow.”

  Geordie shuffled round and reached into the haversack he was leaning on. His hand came out holding four chocolate bars.

  “Rule two applies here. Merry Christmas, Andrei, now where’s my Playboy yacht?”

  The small battered chocolate bars helped and when Geordie pulled out a small bag of raisins and passed that round too the atmosphere in the dinghy was noticeably lighter.

  Ivan looked across at his ex-company commander, “What about you, boss? What would you like for Christmas?”

  Jim thought about it, staring out onto the limitless ocean. As the dinghy rose on a swell he said, “I’d really like that ship over there to see us.”

  Ivan and Geordie laughed then Jim said, “I’m serious. There is a ship over there but he is unlikely to see us at this distance.”

  Andrei looked at the ship mournfully, “We are too small to be seen. They would only see us if we fired a flare and we do not have one.”

  He slumped back down into the dinghy. Ivan and Geordie looked at each other.

  Ivan spoke first, “I think rule one applies this time.”

  Geordie went back into his haversack and this time he produced the last of the MP-40 sub-machine guns that had saved their lives on the submarine.

  He loaded it and said, “Help me up guys,” as he stood up very carefully with Jim and Ivan bracing his legs as best they could in the rocking dinghy.

  He waited until he could see the ship clearly then cocked the weapon and fired off a full magazine into the sky. They watched the ship to see if they had been seen. There was no reaction and no change of speed.

  “Pass me another magazine, I’m going to try something.”

  Jim fished the next magazine out of the haversack and passed it to the still standing man. Geordie loaded and cocked the weapon. He then looked at the ship and aimed just in front and above it. He opened fire and let off a second full magazine of thirty rounds.

  Andrei could not believe his eyes, “What are you doing? You are shooting at our only hope of survival. Are you mad?”

  Jim looked at him, “It’s worth a try, Andrei and no we aren’t quite that mad. The bullets in that weapon are 9 mm, like pistol bullets. They do not have a lot of power after about four hundred meters. So at this distance they might just draw attention if they fell on the deck and were seen.”

  The ship did not slow and they were now out of ammunition. “Nice try Geordie. Never mind.”

  Geordie slumped back into the dinghy and for the first time, looked truly dispirited.

  Chapter 33

  On board the Coast Guard cutter the lookouts were searching for anything that might give them a clue to the whereabouts of the freighter they were seeking. The sea was cold, gray and empty, not even a seagull out this far from shore. The officers on the bridge also stared out at the unending sea. Nothing. The might of the United States had been mobilized to find one rusty freighter and nothing had been seen of her.

  The First Officer, Karen Martin, was tired and becoming frustrated. She knew she would end up shouting at some poor crewman shortly. Very unprofessional. She turned to stare out of the side bridge window, to take a deep breath and control her emotions. She brushed her blonde hair back from her forehead and stared at the gray empty ocean. As she stood, two hard objects struck the glass in front of her. What the hell was that? She stepped outside the bridge and looked down. On the deck at her feet were two distorted pieces of metal and by the way the water on the deck was hissing, they were still hot. What in the name of all that was holy was going on? She stepped back into the bridge carrying the two bullets.

  She moved across to her captain, “Sir, I have no idea what this means, but these two just struck the bridge window.”

  “Any damage?”

  “No, sir, I just heard the tap as they struck and saw them fall.”

  The captain sat in his bridge chair and looked down at the bullets, turning them over in his hand. These were the size of pistol bullets. How had they struck his ship way out here on the ocean? He leapt from his chair, thinking as he did so that it was very unbecoming for a captain to show such excitement.

  “Stop engines!”

  The helmsman leaned forward and sent the command down to the engine room.

  “All lookouts stand by!” The ship slowed. He gave the command “Slow ahead and hard a starboard.”

  The bow of the ship came round and they moved slowly back the way they had come, but further out toward the direction the bullets must have come from.

  “Rudder amidships.” The captain turned to his first officer. “Prepare to launch boats.”
/>
  “Certainly sir. But why?”

  “Because, Karen, somewhere out here is somebody firing a pistol at us. That means they have to be close by.”

  “Sir!” the first officer left the bridge in a hurry and gave the orders for the boats to be ready to launch.

  Staring ahead, the helmsman was the first to see the dinghy with the four bedraggled men waving weakly. One of them seemed to have some sort of small flag. The cutter stopped close to them and lowered the boat from the port side. The four survivors were hauled in and the dinghy dragged aboard. The boat returned to the ships side, hooked on to the dangling cables and was hauled up to the davits. As she came level with the deck the four survivors were lifted out and taken carefully, but quickly, into the small sick bay.

  The Coast Guard crew were puzzled when one of them, clutching a pair of Union Jack underpants, said in a strange accent, “Any bunnies?” before passing out.

  The relief at being rescued had affected all four of the men. In the dinghy they had kept themselves wound up tightly, refusing to show any personal weakness that might discourage the others. Once they were in the warm, dry sick bay they could let it all go. Geordie and Andrei passed out completely, Ivan and Jim were in a drowsy half-sleep and making little sense. The medical orderly with the help of a couple of crewmen got them out of their soaking wet clothes and into warm, dry bunks. The hot sweet cocoa helped a lot. They were all dehydrated. After an hour Ivan’s fitness and strength were starting to tell and he was the first to begin to make sense of his surroundings and the First Officer was called down to speak to him.

  She stood by his bunk, “Better now?”

  He nodded, “Yes thanks, Ma’am. Your timing was good, we didn’t have a lot of life left in us.”