The 900 Days (36 page)

“You were born under a lucky star,” someone said.

“Exactly,” said Tsekhnovitser.

Johannes Lauristin, the chairman of Soviet Estonia, appeared. He was looking for the icebreaker
Surtyl
, on which he was supposed to be evacuated. It had already left, most of its passengers members of the fleet theatrical troupe.

“Never mind,” he shouted, “I’ll go on the mine layer
Volodarsky
. I’ll see you in Leningrad.”

Night fell. From the ships in the harbor could be seen ancient Vyshgorod, its balustrades outlined against the rosy sky. The great tower of Long Herman loomed over the scene, and on its heights waved a red flag. From the city came the rumble of explosions. The last guard still held its lines.

The loading of the transports began at 4
P.M.
, August 27. An evacuation plan had been prepared in twenty-four hours for upwards of 190 ships to be moved out of Tallinn Harbor, including 70 transports of more than 6,000 tons each. For safe passage through the narrow mine-filled waters (one witness compared the waters to “soup with dumplings,’- so filled were they with mines) a minimum of 100 mine sweepers was needed. There were available 10 fleet mine sweepers and 17 light trawlers. The best guess at the number of German mines in the waters through which the convoys would pass was 3,000 to 4,000.
⁴
Admiral Tributs asked for the emergency loan of 16 light cutters to protect his convoys and for a pre-emptive air strike against German coastal air bases to reduce the dangers to his convoy. Orders for these precautions came through from Leningrad, but only after the fleet had left Tallinn.

As evening drew on, the fleet guns redoubled their fire to cover the loading of the transports. The commercial wharfs fell under German fire, and ships had to be shifted to the Bekerovsky port. At 9
P.M.
the rear guard fell back to their last positions. The destruction of the last stores began.

Admiral Panteleyev watched for a while from the bridge of the
Virona
. He saw the destroyer leader
Minsk
break off fire and turn sharply. The mine layer
Skory
did the same. They were dodging bombs. At midnight the
Virona
moved off to take its place in the convoy, between the islands of Naissaar and Aegna. The weather had not improved.

A gale rocked the ships from stem to stern. The big transports strained at the lines of the tugs. Rain swept the harbor in sharp gusts. At the entrance to the channel stood the old mine layer
Amur
. It was destined to be sunk to block access by the Germans. Now the harbor was dark. The piers were empty. There remained only two cutters and the last ship, the
Pikker
, to bring the Military Council of the fleet to the cruiser
Kirov
.

Aboard the
Virona
there was lively talk. Most of the journalists were on this ship. So was a nurse named Budalova who had been in Spain with the Russian group during the Civil War. All night long they talked with her about the war, about art, about artists, about Ilya Ehrenburg, who had been in Spain and whom they all knew. Tarasenkov thought the girl was a lot like Vera Milman, Ehrenburg’s secretary—well educated, with good taste, cynical, a keen observer and sharp-witted. The night wore on, and aboard the
Virona
the war seemed as distant as the rose-velvet horizon where Tallinn lay burning.

Suddenly a profound roar shook the harbor and the sky glistened with stars of every color. It was the fleet stock of signal rockets, going up in one heavenly shower.

Panteleyev now was aboard the
Pikker
at the wharf. It was decided to move the Military Council to the
Minsk
in stages, beginning at 4
A.M.
Panteleyev was in the second echelon, due to go at 7
A.M.
The last would leave at 8
A.M.
, headed by General Moskalenko.

Time dragged on. The night grew more raw and cold. The Germans were almost at the entrance to the Minna piers. The crossfire died down. Panteleyev checked his reports. Nearly 23,000 persons had been loaded aboard the evacuation ships, as well as 66,000 tons of freight, mostly military materials.
⁵

At 4
A.M.
the Military Council was sent to the
Kirov
. Two cutters stayed behind, a little gunboat for Panteleyev and a torpedo boat for Moskalenko. The harbor was empty and quiet. The docks stood deserted. Slowly it began to get light. At 7
A.M.
Panteleyev bade good-bye to Moskalenko and took off with his deputy, Captain N. A. Pitersky, and Commissar L. V. Sere-brennikov. The wind was fresh, and the cutter threw up a splashing wave. Soon Panteleyev was aboard the
Minsk
, relaxing in a warm cabin and drinking coffee.

¹
The staff went back ashore July 22 in order to boost morale in Tallinn. (Smirnov,
op, eh
., p. 31.) Tributs proposed moving his flag headquarters to the Luga gulf, 120 miles to the east but permission was refused. (Kuznetsov,
Oktyabr
, No. 8, August, 1968, pp. 154–155.

²
The decision to unify the defense under Admiral Tributs came much too late, in the opinion of Smirnov
(op. cit
., p. 36),

³
It was heavy guns that enabled the Russians to hold Tallinn as long as they did. In all, 11488 shells were expended in the defense, 7,505 by shore and railroad batteries. (Yu. Perechnev, Yu. Vinogradov,
Na Strazhe Morskikh Gorizontov
, p. 152.)

⁴
The figure is given as “more than 3,000” by one writer (Achkasov,
Voyenno-htori-cheskii Zhurnal
, No. 10, October, 1966, p. 19) and as 4,000 by another (Orlov,
op. cit
., p. 134).

⁵
This is Panteleyev’s figure and probably is correct. The figures are given as more than 20,000 persons and 15,000 tons of materials by Orlov
(op. cit
., p. 135).

THE 190 SHIPS OF THE TALLINN EVACUATION HAD BEEN divided into four convoys. They formed up off Tallinn, waiting for orders to proceed. Desultory German fire splashed toward the ships. At 11:30 the signal to be prepared to proceed at noon was run up. Ahead of the convoy stretched an odyssey of 220 miles, of which 150 miles lay between two coasts occupied by the Germans and 75 miles were heavily mined. German airports were in easy range of almost the whole course. No Soviet air cover could be expected before the ships got to the immediate vicinity of Kronstadt.

Shortly after noon the first ships got under way—nine troop transports, including the
Virona
, and an escort of three submarines, five trawlers, five mine sweepers and five coastal cutters. The torpedo boat
Surovy (Grim)
commanded the escort. From the
Minsk
, Panteleyev could see how jammed were the transports, not a free spot on deck. They waddled along behind the tiny trawlers like turtles after frogs. Next came Convoy No. 2, headed by the
Kazakhstan
, guarded by the gunboat
Moskva
,

The signal officer reported: “The
Virona
has raised anchor. . . . The
Kazakhstan
has raised anchor. . . .”

The first and second convoys had just begun to move out of the harbor when the first of the German contact mines were touched off.

“It’s begun!” someone on the bridge of the
Minsk
exclaimed.

Admiral Panteleyev kept his binoculars fixed on the shore. At about 1:35
P.M.
the red flag on the ancient tower of Long Herman fluttered down and the tricolor of bourgeois Estonia was run up in its place.

At 2
P.M.
Convoy No. 4 began to move. It was composed of nine ships, including self-propelled barges and tugs. It was protected by two cutters and nine trawlers.

Convoy No. 2 started moving again at 2:50
P.M.
—ten large transports, four mine sweepers, nine trawlers and four gunboats.

Twenty minutes later came Convoy No. 3, the last and largest—nine big transports, including the
Luga
, the
Tobol
, the
Lucerne
, the
Balkhash
, the
Asumaa
, the
Kumari
and the
Vtoraya Pyatiletka
.

It was protected by five gunboats and cutters and eight trawlers. The two transports which rescued the garrison from Paldiski joined this convoy.

The channel was clear. The ships drew off to the north and further on, at the very horizon, moved to the east. Now that the transports had gotten away General Moskalenko touched off the last depots at the water’s edge. The
Amur
was sunk at one channel entrance, the transport
Gasma
at another and the tug
Mardus
at the eastern approach to Minna Harbor.

Under the direction of Vice Admiral Yu. F. Rail, the mine layers
Bury a (Storm), Sneg (Snow)
and
Tsiklon (Cyclone)
planted mine barrages around the harbor and in the channel. Finally, at 4
P.M.
the Baltic Fleet itself raised anchor. Five fleet trawlers led the procession. Then came the
Kirov
, bearing the fleet commander’s flag, followed by the
Leningrad, a
squadron of mine layers, submarines and other warships. In all there were 28 fighting ships in the contingent, including rescue boats and icebreakers.

Not until 5:15
P.M.
did the
Minsk
leave the harbor under German shrapnel fire. It headed a detachment of some 21 naval vessels. The
Minsk
steamed out, allowing an interval of twelve cable lengths behind her escorting trawlers. Finally, the rear guard of 13 ships under Admiral Rail departed at 9:15
P.M.

The hegira to Kronstadt was under way—a line of ships that stretched out over fifteen miles.

At 6
P.M.
the dinner bell sounded on the
Minsk
, The steward laid the officers’ mess with the usual white linen and gleaming crystal. But Panteleyev remained on theimdge. Already over the long line of transports stretching into the horizon the German air attack had begun, and the first ship had gone down, the transport
Ella
.

Aboard the
Virona
it was also the mess hour. Mikhailovsky, his notebook in hand, sat down at the long table. Among those waiting on table was a young girl with black braids, sensitive face, blue eyes. She looked to Mikhailovsky like a girl graduate. After dinner everyone went on deck to watch the German planes. The girl, her hair neatly braided, stood next to Mikhailovsky.

“How strange war begins,” she said. “So unexpected. I just don’t understand anything.”

“Are you from Leningrad?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “and I happened to be in Tallinn quite by accident.”

They talked a while, then the ship moved on to the east. The islands of Naissaar and Aegna lay far behind. Again the German planes attacked. Nine struck at a tanker and a steamer. A smoke screen concealed the results. Suddenly the cruiser
Kirov
steamed ahead with its protective cover of trawlers. Fog began to spread over the sea.

They were coming into heavily mined waters now. The ships put out paravanes to touch them off. About suppertime a fierce new air attack was launched. The
Vironcfs
antiaircraft guns chattered ceaselessly. The ship swung wide and zigzagged madly. Wave after wave of German JU-88’s plunged down, attacking singly and then in trios.

Passengers began to run from side to side, but the stern base voice of Professor Tsekhnovitser halted them: “Comrades! Be calm! Nothing is going to happen to us. Panic is the most dangerous thing!”

The whistle of falling bombs filled the air. Suddenly Mikhailovsky felt the ship shudder. The deck under his feet seemed to rise up. The next moment he was under water, sinking to the bottom. The end. So it seemed. Then he rose. Blood was flowing from his forehead and into his left eye. Bullets flew through the water. He turned on his back and saw planes in the sky. They seemed to zero in on him. He ducked his head under water. When he came up again, the sky was clear. The sound of motors was fading into the distance. He felt something in the water—something firm and cold. He turned about and saw a body floating, the skull crushed and the face a mass of pulp. Only by the black braids did he recognize the schoolgirl from Leningrad who had found herself in Tallinn by sheer chance.

Mikhailovsky swam away. He swam for a while, then turned on his back and rested. He was miles from shore. All around him he heard cries for help. He saw a box float by. It had on it the letters: “Theater: Baltic Fleet.” He grabbed for it, but had not the strength. The sun was setting and its red rays ran like tongues across the sky. He saw no people. Darkness—that is the worst, he thought. He grew cold. Suddenly, almost on top of him, a cutter appeared. Strong hands reached out and pulled him from the sea.

Admiral Panteleyev witnessed the
Virona
tragedy. He saw the ship, standing without movement, listing to the right. Over it rose a heavy cloud of oily smoke. The rescue ship
Saturn
made its way to the
Virona
to bring it under tow. The gunboat
Surovy
stood by, and the transport
Alev
hove to. But disaster followed on disaster. First, the
Saturn
was mined and sunk, then the
Virona
and finally the
Alev
and two more transports.

A sailor on the gunboat
Sneg
saw the
Virona
sink. The passengers were mostly staff of the Baltic Fleet, officers’ wives, propaganda workers, newspapermen, Party officials. The quarterdeck was crowded, but in the sea the sailor could perceive the dark figures of people swimming. Across the watery expanse he heard the faint sound of the Internationale. The crowd on the deck was singing, and the stirring strains rolled over the waves. Then the sailor heard the thin crack of shots and the yellow flash of flame as officers took their own lives in the last moment before the ship disappeared below the waves.

The
Sneg
picked up dozens of survivors. Some of the women had lost all their clothes. Some of the men were hysterical. Later another gunboat picked up a woman who had clung to a German mine for hours before she was taken off. She was a commander’s wife. She had sung the Internationale with the others. But she put no bullet in her head. She simply leaped into the water and eighteen hours later was rescued. Anatoly Tarasenkov jumped from the ship in full uniform, wearing his greatcoat, his pockets filled with manuscripts and notes, his pistol in his belt. He joined a circle of passengers who were holding hands and attempting to support each other with the help of life belts. Soon his limbs grew stiff, and he slowly swam off. How long he had been swimming he did not know when a tug appeared and he was hauled aboard.

As the tug plowed through the murky waters, he heard the cry again and again: “Save us! Help! Help!”

The tragedy of the
Virona
shook those who saw it. A commissar on the
Sneg
said bitterly: “Did you ever think we would drown like blind cats in a puddle? Where were our planes?” He was bitter at the commander of the
Kirov
for steaming proudly ahead, as though trailing his cape to the Germans. Why, he demanded, did not the commander go ahead with torpedo boats and organize aid?

The poet Yuri Inge watched the
Virona
sink from the foredeck of the icebreaker
K. Voldemars
. Inge was thirty-five years old, a tall, straight man with serious gray eyes and blond hair which was only beginning to darken a little. Vissarion Sayanov, his fellow poet, thought he looked like a Scandinavian.

“What bastards!” a friend heard Inge exclaim as, notebook in hand, he tried to jot down impressions for the poem already taking shape in his mind. Every life preserver on board the
Voldemars
was thrown to the struggling victims of the
Virona
. A moment later the
Voldemars
itself was hit and sank immediately.

Inge’s wife, Yelena Vechtomova, knew of the tragedy as soon as the survivors got back to Kronstadt. A young boatswain named Virchik said, “I saw him almost at the end.” But no one wanted to believe in Inge’s death, and the letters he had written Yelena kept coming by slow military post week after week: “Good morning, Alenushka. It’s a perfectly beautiful morning . . .”; “Broushtein has come and he brought two letters from you . . .”; “I’ve been to the post office and there are no letters . . .”; “How is Serezhenka? . . .”; “I’ve bought you some blue wool gloves.” It was almost too much for Yelena Vechtomova.

The losses of the
Virona
were great: the writers F. Knyazev and Ye. Sobolevsky, Professor Tsekhnovitser, the poet Vasya Skrulev, the
Pravda
photographer Misha Prekhner. The elderly novelist and revolutionary president of Estonia, Johannes Lauristin, was lost on the
Volodarsky
.

No witness of the tragedies ever erased the scene from his memory. On the distant horizon the lagging ships of the rear guard loomed as dark shadows silhouetted against the rose-and-black sky where Tallinn lay burning. Enormous plumes of dense smoke poured upward and curved inward over the heavens, reaching toward the enactments of horror in the nearer sea. In the total blackout the burning carcasses of sinking ships glowed like campfires in a watery desert. Occasionally the sea would be blindingly lightened as the thunder of a torpedo or mine sent another ship to its end. The antiaircraft guns of the warships chattered ceaselessly at German dive bombers which swarmed in for the kill, their bomb paths illuminated by the flames of vessels already afire. The sea boiled with wreckage amid which swam survivors, some clinging to planks, others staying afloat with the aid of life preservers. The few lifeboats were loaded to the gunwale. Patrol boats and submarines picked their way through the waters, saving as many of the swimming men and women as they could. All around was the shuddering roar of mines, being exploded by the paravanes of the surviving ships. Within one hour the
Minsk
had touched off a dozen. The
Kirov
exploded five in half an hour.

As the ships neared Cape Uminda-Nina, they came under shellfire from German shore batteries. Coveys of German attack boats launched torpedoes amid the stricken convoys.

Just after 8
P.M.
the submarine S-j, which was escorting the cruiser
Kirov
, struck a mine and disappeared under the water. A few moments later the right paravane of the
Kirov
caught a mine and, to the horror of the crew, began to draw it aboard the cruiser. Sailors managed to cut loose the paravane at the last moment, preventing an explosion aboard the cruiser. While the
Kirov
struggled with the faulty paravane, another escort, the mine layer
Gordy
, blew up at 8:36
P.M.
, followed in a few moments by the
Yakov Sverdlov
, which took a torpedo aimed at the
Kirov
. Many sailors were drowned. The flagman on the
Kirov’s
lookout kept up a continuous call of mine sweepers and minor ships sinking in the puree of mines. Another mine caught in the
Kirov’s
paravane just as a German torpedo boat dashed in for the kill. The torpedo boat was beaten off by the
Kirov’s
main guns. Simultaneously shore batteries opened up, but the cruiser silenced them and finally won a moment’s respite when the mine layer
Smetly
covered it with a smoke screen.

It was much the same on the destroyer leader,
Minsk
. At 9:40
P.M.
a mine exploded in one of the
Minsk’s
paravanes. Vice Admiral Panteleyev estimated that the ship took on 650 tons of water. The mine layer
Skory
came to the aid of the
Minsk
as it lay in the water without movement. The
Skory
and a tugboat took the
Minsk
in tow, but were sunk by a mine. The five base trawlers at the head of the
Minsk
detachment did not notice what had happened and steamed ahead, leaving only one trawler with the
Minsk
. Without escort amid waters filled with mines, Vice Admiral Panteleyev ordered his protective detachment and convoy to cast anchor. He did not resume course until after daylight the next day.