Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (24 page)

The dying man spouted frothy blood with each breath, and Steven eight-five transferred his attention elsewhere.

Ignoring the excruciating pain from his right hand, he dragged a soldier off Jones five-nine, the Russian having pinned the younger Jones brother to the rubble where he tried to throttle the life out of him.

Grabbing up a British pudding bowl helmet, Steven slammed the edge into the back of the man’s head, breaking bone and driving the rim into the skull cavity.

The two Welshmen were suddenly reinforced, and soon the small knot of enemy resistance was overcome, mainly with fatal consequences for the Soviet soldiers.

The fighting stopped as quickly as it had started, and the Soviet positions were in fusilier hands.

Part of the buildings was burning, illuminating a modest space, within which a handful of men gathered.

Lieutenant Gethin Jones had been brought forward, purely for his own safety, and Davies one-four used the light to check his handiwork.

Mike Robinson carefully laid the body of Fusilier Simpson on the old table, the killing wound apparent on his forehead.

Sergeant Jones nine-five organised the survivors of first platoon into some sort of order, and then took time out to see to Gethin Jones, and to inform him of what had come to pass since the officer had been taken out of the equation.

All of this was observed by Captain Malvina Ivana Taraseva, as best she could, given her predicament.

She had been one of the first casualties of the engagement, taking solid hits from the Bren gun of Fusilier Cornish.

Her left breast, left shoulder, and left arm were all wrecked by the passage of the heavy .303 bullets.

She then received shrapnel hits from the deadly Mills bombs, a number of pieces of hot metal taking her low in her groin and legs.

Her ginger hair was much redder on her left side, where blood continued to squirt and pulse.

Covered with gore and with limbs set at unusual angles, the British had clearly assumed she was dead and had ignored her.

Her one good limb was her right arm, and in it she held one of the F1 grenades that Mogris had sent her.

Moving carefully, so as not to attract attention, she used her teeth to pull the pin and gently, pressing the grenade to her surviving breast, allowed the lever to detach without the normal noise that marked its separation.

She then threw the grenade into the fire-illuminated area.

Jones five-nine extended his flask to his brother, its contents decidedly non-regulation.

“Not bad work for an old bastard, Sergeant, even if I do say as part of the family like.”

Jones nine-five moved to take the offered drink and then shouted, pushing his brother out of the way.

The men around the small area tensed and sought threat in the area round them, only Sergeant Jones having seen the real threat arrive in their midst.

“GRENADE!”

He threw himself forward, his body landing to cover the deadly object, to absorb its blast and deadly metal, the man’s instinct being to look after his boys, come what may.

His brother, Jones five-nine screamed.

“NOOOOO!”

The UZRGM fuse could be set from zero to a hair under thirteen seconds, not that anyone knew what it was that lay under their sergeant’s body.

Time stood still as the fusiliers scattered for their lives.

Silence.

Disbelieving silence.

Incredulous silence.

A silence broken by the voice of Sergeant Carl Jones nine-five, a voice that showed the strain of his predicament.

“Right… ok, lads… get everyone moved away… shar…,” his voice broke slightly with the stress of the situation, “Look sharp now… look fucking lively, you gonts.”

He reverted to insults to regain his composure, and was successful, accompanying the effort with deep breaths.

“Robbo, let me know when everyone is safely outta the way, man.”

“Sarge.”

Robinson checked and waited whilst the wounded Gethin Jones was placed behind cover.

“Sarge… we’re all clear.”

Jones nine-five braced himself and, almost as if performing the longest press-up in the history of man, slowly pushed himself up and off the grenade.

When he was sure he was clear, he moved to examine it, not daring to touch it, but purely using eye contact.

He took a quick look around and determined a safe area, his decision to throw the device into a quiet corner taken in spite of himself, his hand now shaking with approaching shock.

Taraseva watched on, incredulous that the grenade had not killed a number of the capitalist swine, incredulous that the thing had not even exploded, and incredulous that the grenade was now in the air and heading straight back at her.

The hunk of metal struck her in the centre of her stomach and dropped into the bloody remains of her lap.

The F1 did not explode. It could never explode, as the spring had long since seized within the fuse casing.

Taraseva had not known that it failed to explode, the moment it struck her coincided with the closing down of her system due to blood loss.

The unconscious woman passed quickly into death as the enemy celebrated the incredible escape of their NCO.

“You stupid, stupid bastard!”

“Fucking hell, Sarge… I mean… fucking hell!”

The words of congratulations, surprise, horror at his act, or whatever, were all accompanied by slaps and handshakes.

For his part, Carl Jones had drained completely of any colour, and had even accepted the lit cigarette that someone had stuck in his hand, taking a deep drag before he remembered that he didn’t actually smoke.

Second Company troops moved forward, their brief to advance to contact, as Soviet officers and NCOs, escorted by men from the Fusiliers and the HLI, fanned out through the Soviet defences, yelling out in their native language, calling upon the last defenders to surrender.

Llewellyn, accompanied by a horrified Mogris, arrived in the front line to establish what exactly had happened.

Satisfied that the bloodbath had not been caused by his own men, the Royal Welch’s CO assigned Captain Thomas, one of his headquarters officers, to help in sorting out 1st Company’s organisation, and headed off in the wake of 2nd Company.

Elsewhere in Hamburg, similar incidents had taken place, some resulting in nothing more than silent surrender, others in tragedy.

None the less, by the time that the dawn gathered the ruined city in its warm embrace, the Soviet resistance had ended, with most Red Army soldiers in organised captivity. A handful of diehards held out, but were quickly rooted out for blessedly few casualties amongst the British divisions.

By the time that the evening stars became viewable, the vast majority of the Soviet force were enjoying the first decent food they had seen in weeks.

Hamburg was retaken, and would not change hands again.

2nd Lieutenant Gethin Jones refused to be taken to the casualty clearing station until he had made a report to Captain Thomas.

Two days later, Thomas’ report was on Llewellyn’s desk, where it was read and endorsed.

The report flew past a number of officers, rising in rank, before it made its way to London, and those who would decide on its contents.

Jones nine-five had no idea.

The sword was a very elegant weapon in the days of the Samurai. You had honor and chivalry, much like the knights, and yet it was a gruesome and horrific weapon.

Dustin Diamond

One vessel had fallen to roving US aircraft from some anonymous carrier, the crew and cargo of I-15 now resting on the bottom of the Sea of Japan.

The sister AM-class submarines, I-1 and I-14, had made it through to their destination, and they rendezvoused with their larger friends off the coast of Siberia, before, in pre-ordained order, they silently slipped into the facility concealed on the bay north-west of Sovetskaya Gavan.

Although not a permanent structure, the Soviet engineers had dedicated their best efforts to developing it secretly, building it bit by bit, almost growing it as part of woods and modest rocky escarpments into which it blended perfectly.

By 0312, the four Japanese submarines were safely ensconced in their berths. The single empty dock reminded the submariners of the absence of I-15, the silent water drawing more than one reluctant gaze for a former comrade, or, in two instances, in memory of a lost brother.

The important Japanese technical personnel left hurriedly, their documents following swiftly in their wake.

Half of the harvest from Okunoshima was unloaded, the general plan being that one half of the products of Japanese research and development of mass killing weapons would be taken by rail, the other half would move by submarine

Everything had arrived at Sovetskaya Gavan without loss from air attack, something that had not been anticipated, and so the loading of the dastardly products of Units 731 and 516 would take much longer than had been expected.

Vice-Admiral Shigeyoshi Miwa, the overall mission commander, arrived and was greeted by the temporary commander, Lieutenant Commander Nanbu Nobukiyo of the I-401.

Pleasantries exchanged, the two occupied an office in the facility and, with the other submarine captains and their No 2s, explored the mission to the smallest degree, Miwa’s additional information contributing to a sense of excitement amongst the experienced submarine officers.

Miwa introduced two new men, vital to the plan.

The two naval personnel, equipped with the necessary language skills were quickly excused and transferred to I-401; one ensign with Greek ancestry and a Lieutenant Commander who had previously been an attaché in Ankara, although the officer had been invalided out of the Naval Air Service, blinded by some wasteful tropical disease contracted on Borneo.

Their part in the plan would come much later.

The presence of two emotional-less Kempai Tai officers and their men was considered unnecessary and provocative to the professional submariners, but Miwa did not order them from the room, simply to stand to one side.

They acknowledged with a nod and stepped back.

He returned to his briefing.

The details of the extended mission in full cooperation with their ally, one that would harness the incredible range of the Sen-Tokus, were impressive, particularly for a nation on its knees.

The journey would be long and fraught with danger, but the planning had been extremely thorough, with back-up plans available where assets permitted.

Some of the other vessels involved were anonymous or of no import, at least as far as the Allies were concerned.

The I-353, a tanker submarine and the Bogata Maru ex Kriegsmarine merchant vessel, hastily converted to an auxiliary submarine tender, both now serving solely one purpose; the refueling and resupply of the four submarines of Operation
Niji
.

Other innocuous vessels had a part to play along the route of advance.

The
Nachi Maru and Tsukushi Maru, two submarine tenders, now ostensibly under Allied orders, were ready to respond when needed.

Even the
Hikawa Maru no2, a respectable hospital ship, had a part to play in ensuring the mission’s success.

However, when the Niji unit was round the Cape of Good Hope, friendly berths and supply would be much harder to come by.

But not impossible.

The last intelligence received from a South African agent indicated that the U-Boat supply dump at the mouth of the Ondusengo River in South-West Africa, had not yet been discovered. Figures available from the days of the Axis Alliance indicated that upwards of two thousand, six hundred tons of fuel oil were still concealed within the rolling sands.

The Sen-Tokus could make their destination without refuelling, but the two AM class could not, even if all the rendezvous’ in the Indian and Southern oceans went as planned.

When Miwa was satisfied that the briefing was complete, and the men who would carry out the mission were fully on board and enthusiastic, he dropped his bombshell.

Nodding to the Kempai-Tai Major, he indicated that the tape recording should be played.

Miwa called the room to attention.

The strains of ‘Kimigayo’ rose from the single large speaker, and Miwa saw the stiffening and deference that swept through the assembly. A minute passed before the music ended and a disembodied voice declared the identity of the coming speaker.

Shōwa-Tennō… the Mikado… Emperor Hirohito.

“To our good and loyal subjects. After pondering deeply the general trends of the world and the actual conditions obtaining in our empire today, we have decided to effect a settlement of the present situation by resorting to an extraordinary meas…”

There were tears.

Many, many tears.

Eyes flashed fanatically, wet with tears, shed for the Empire and for the dishonour of it all.

Eyes shed tears for departed comrades, their loss now clearly in vain.

Lips trembled as emotions battled inside the rigid bodies, each man dealing with the unexpected… the unthinkable…

The words were absorbed, their meaning clear, and the anthem marked the end of the speech and the dreams of a nation.

Miwa spoke softly.

“So, there you have it.”

He walked forward smartly, and stood before the Kempai Tai commander.

“You and your men will now leave. My officers and I have much to discuss.”

The Major looked confused, as this was not what had been discussed.

Miwa continued, in an assertive and formal fashion.

“Shōsa Harrimatsa. You will both leave now to allow us to talk. There is no need for your services. Remain outside this building to preserve our security. That is all.”

The Major bowed and ordered his security force out, eyeing the assembly with suspicion and still not totally sure why he had agreed to the Admiral’s request… order.

The instruction was more than it seemed, which only he and Miwa understood.

The door closed and Miwa turned back to the group.

“Our Emperor has spoken, and to all of us that is a divine order that cannot be disobeyed.”

He walked slowly around the room, weaving in and out of the men that were stood rigidly at the attention.

“But I fear that our Emperor has been misled… lied to… put in a position, a protected and uninformed one, from which he has no knowledge of the truth and actual events!”

He stopped in front of Itaka, the commander of I-1, a man who had lost two brothers aboard the battleship Yamato during its suicide mission.

“It is unthinkable that he would order us to stop fighting now, when so many have given their lives willingly for him… and for the glory of the Empire!”

The words went home and found a fertile resting place in Itaka’s mind.

In other minds, the words also found a receptive resting place and, as Miwa continued to move through the assembly, he saw resolve in each man’s eyes.

Stopping in front of Nobukiyo, the Admiral delivered his final statement on the matter.

“In the light of the obvious deception played upon the Emperor, I see no alternative… no honourable alternative whatsoever… but to continue with the mission that he had entrusted us.”

His eyes burned deeply into those of Nobukiyo, almost inviting a challenge to the veracity of his words.

“We have been entrusted with a special task, one of significant importance to the Empire and its Allies. One outside the normal remits of our glorious navy. There has been no recall… no coded message halting our endeavours… no indication that we are not expected to proceed and discharge our duty to the Emperor.”

His eyes hardened, and the fanatical Admiral delivered his bottom line, moving his face closer to the man who could make all their efforts count for naught, Nobukiyo’s personality and cult following amongst the submariners giving his opinion a weight well above his rank, especially if it came to obeying the spoken word of the Mikado.

“It is our honourable duty to undertake this mission regardless, for the Emperor. There can be no other conclusion.”

Nobukiyo remained silent, his mind in turmoil, dragged in two directions by the words of his Emperor and the words of the Admiral in front of him.

The delay was an age, or seemed it, but Nobukiyo resolved the issue in his mind and bowed stiffly.

“Hai.”

Miwa nodded in relief and spoke softly, his hand grabbing the submarine commander’s shoulder.

“Hai… hai…”

He regained his composure and swung round to face the majority.

“Then we are decided.”

Raising his arms vertically in the air, he screamed with a combination of national fervour and relief.

“Banzai!”

The rest of the room followed him a triple repetition of the salute.

“Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!”

Outside, Major Harrimatsa relaxed and thumbed the safety catch on his Browning 1910FN, indicating that his men could also now relax.

Had they but known it, the submarine officers had experienced a brush with death. QQQ