Cast No Shadow
Dragan Kelly Book 1
Peter Alderson Sharp
Cast No Shadow
Dragan Kelly Book 1
BY
Peter Alderson Sharp
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Copyright © 2021 Peter Alderson Sharp
Bark at the Moon Books
All rights reserved
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Publishers note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and for effect. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover design by Francessca’s PR and Designs
Formatting by Tammy
Proofing by Johnny Bonbon
Contents
Summary
Part I
Sea Wolves
Interrogation?
The Enigmatic Sybilla
To the Mountain
Sybilla’s Story
Russia
Heavy Water
Our Russian Friends
An interview with the Commodore
Commando!
Part II
Dieppe
Disaster
Part III
Raid
Norway Again
Assault
Part IV
Cauchemar
Rockets
Invasion
Part V
The Quest
A Chance Encounter
McFarlane Calls
Havana
Peregrine
To the Mountains
Old Comrades
Skadi
Escape from Grense
Down River
Decision Time
Berlin 1950
Shadow of Evil: Dragan Kelly Book 2
Also by Peter Alderson Sharp
Summary
The first in an action-packed spy series introducing Lieutenant Dragan Kelly.
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It is 1942.
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HMS Visigoth has been torpedoed off the coast of German occupied Norway. Sole survivor Lieutenant Dragan Kelly finds himself behind enemy lines, unsure who to trust. The Norwegian resistance share rumours about a mysterious Nazi plant where an Armageddon weapon of terrifying power is under construction.
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Should Kelly escape to Russia or stay and investigate it?
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And what of the stunningly beautiful but enigmatic resistance fighter Sybilla? Kelly falls in love with her, but is she all she claims to be?
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Inexorably, Kelly is drawn into the murky world of espionage making unlikely friends and powerful enemies as he goes, learning bleak secrets and uncovering dark truths.
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But all the time he dreams of being reunited with Sybilla.
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If Kelly finds her, will he caress her?
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Or kill her?
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An action packed second world war espionage adventure featuring new hero, Dragan Kelly. If you're a fan of Robert Harris, Ken Follett and Clive Cussler, you won't be able to put down this compulsive historical thriller.
Part I
The War
Sea Wolves
Second Lieutenant Dragan Kelly RN gazed out from his lookout position on the port beam of the frigate HMS Visigoth. Lights from the Norwegian village of Grense shone out to sea, twinkling in the frost. He ached with longing, thinking about the people in the buildings, warm and snug in front of a blazing fire, perhaps getting ready to go to bed. He was home sick.
It was the worst possible night for a convoy. Although bitterly cold, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the moon was full. Of necessity, the convoy had anchored in Volokovaya bay on the Russian side of the border to ride out the previous day’s storm. They had slipped away under cover of darkness and were now crossing into Norwegian waters, ready to steer northwards to circumnavigate Varangerhalvoy.
The German submarines had already picked up their scent.
Kelly was tense; a knot had formed in his stomach. Another merchantman had been picked off by the Sea Wolves and he could see it burning on the starboard horizon. Being on the extreme left of the convoy, he felt particularly vulnerable, too damn close to shore.
There had to be some way of combating this menace. All this talk about an echo system seemed to be coming to nothing. The destroyers at least could sweep and use depth charges in a defensive fire role when they were in high-risk areas. Frigates just seemed to be there to make up the numbers. Deterrence they called it. They carried depth charges of course, but the remit of the frigate was to stay snug to the merchantmen at all times.
At least there hadn’t been too much ice this time. The run from Archangel could be hair-raising in more ways than one. Kelly glanced to his right where the Skipper, Lieutenant Jack Conran, had emerged from the bridge and had joined him at the lookout point. Kelly sensed his nervousness. Conran was as unhappy about this part of the voyage as he was.
“Bloody cold one!” Conran muttered and Kelly nodded.
Conran turned and popped his head back into the bridge to answer a query about course direction, and then re-joined Kelly at the lookout. They stood together and stared silently at the almost invisible inky black sea for a while without speaking.
“What’s that?” Conran exclaimed, pointing sharply into the air, a few degrees off the port beam.
“A light!” responded Kelly excitedly.
He blinked and it was gone.
It had been a weak light, about the diameter of a torch face.
Kelly thought for a moment. The bastards surely could not be dim-witted enough to hoist a periscope at night if they had a light on in the sub. He had a grudging respect for the German submariners. They were arrogant and ruthless, but they were immensely brave. They certainly weren’t stupid.
As he watched, the light came again. “There it is again, Skipper!” Kelly exclaimed. “Three points off the port bow and moving due east.”
Conran responded instantly, calculating aloud. “Sound action stations! Steer 165! Full speed! Prepare depth charge!” He spat out his orders and Kelly relayed them with equal crispness and urgency.
He could see it more clearly now. It was definitely a periscope lens displaying light from below.
Suddenly it disappeared.
“Bugger! They’ve seen us!” Conran hissed in anger. “Steer 100.”
Conran was confident he could intersect their course using dead reckoning with the stars for direction and the speed of the ship to calculate distance.
Kelly, however, was concerned at the speed at which they were approaching the Norwegian coast. Didn’t the Germans have a sub base in this area? God!
“Skipper—”
“I know. I know!” Conran cut him off. This had to be a trap and he had fallen for it! “Hard a starboard! Hard a starboard!” he shouted into the bridge, the alarm clear in his voice.
A shuddering explosion rocked the ship sending debris rocketing skywards as the whole of the bow erupted in flames. The two offic
ers were flung viciously against the bulkhead of the bridge as the ship lurched sideways, rocking violently.
Kelly sprang to his feet and tried to clear his ringing head. Conran was slumped against the bulkhead, clearly unconscious. Lieutenant Jackson, the second-in-command, would have been down with the depth charge party.
That left him to make the decisions. “Hard a starboard! Steer 70!” he shouted into the bridge. He watched as some men regained their feet, while others did not.
“Come on move yourselves!” he urged. Kelly knew his frigate had to get back to the main convoy before they could allow themselves the luxury of assessing the damage. He feared this would be severe - all the more reason to move into the vicinity of the other ships.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a pencil line being drawn across the water towards them. His heart sank. Time seemed to stand still as the moonlight reflected on the torpedo wake. It moved relentlessly closer, becoming wider as it neared the ship. He shouted orders for evasive action, but his words were whipped away and lost as, with a thunderous crash, the world exploded around him. The blast whipped the air out of his lungs and then he was falling … falling …
He gagged as he swallowed water while his body resisted the desperate urge to gasp and cough. Clamping his jaw tightly shut, he kicked off his one remaining sea boot while at the same time pulling for the surface. As an experienced swimmer he knew that the overwhelming desire to gasp was caused by the coldness of the water, not the lack of air. He sensed that he was not in danger of drowning because he hadn’t been submerged for long enough. As Kelly broke the surface, he allowed his natural instincts full reign, gasping again and again as the bitter cold Norwegian waters penetrated his very soul.
Treading water, he manoeuvred himself around to get his bearings. The ship was some distance to his right; he had been thrown quite a way. What little was left of the frigate above the water was in flames from stem to stern. There were no cries coming from that direction and Kelly, remembering the primed depth charges, understood that the majority of his crew must have been killed instantly.
To his left lay the coast and the lights of the Norwegian village that he had been admiring so recently. The abortive submarine chase had brought them about a mile from the coast. What had seemed such a short distance from the relative safety of the deck now seemed like an impossible distance to swim.
Kelly was clear about his options. He could not return to what was left of the ship. All of the lifeboats would have been incinerated. The convoy was nowhere in sight. If he stayed put and treaded water, he had about thirty minutes of life left before he died of hypothermia. If he swam for the coastline, at his estimate one mile away, the bitter cold would sap his energy before he covered half the distance.
He would drown.
“Hell!” he said aloud between chattering teeth. “May as well go down fighting!” It was a statement born of necessity, not bravery. Without a second thought, he struck out for the Norwegian coast.
On a sunny day, in the waters off Torquay, swimming a mile would have presented no problem to Kelly. He was a strong and experienced swimmer. As a child, his parents had scraped the money together to pay for his swimming club fees but this had subsequently paid dividends. A keen and successful young sportsman, it had been a bitter disappointment to him to find he was ineligible for the Scottish youth team because of his parentage.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t a sunny day, and it wasn’t Torquay. He was swimming at night, through Norwegian waters, with a sea temperature just a few degrees above freezing.
He struck out using his favourite front crawl, which under normal circumstances he made look deceptively simple. After about 300 yards he reverted to breaststroke to conserve his precious energy. The cold feeling had begun to abate, but he didn’t fool himself that he was “warming up.” What he was feeling was the onset of numbness, an early symptom of hypothermia.
Kelly changed to front crawl again. At least with this stroke he did seem to be making some progress. After another quarter of a mile, he had to revert to breaststroke in order to rest. He was desperately exhausted and failing fast. He cursed the clothing he was wearing, his uniform now seemed to weigh a ton and, being completely saturated, it was affording him no protection.
Again, he changed to the crawl and hauled himself forward to the best of his deteriorating abilities. Kelly had been in the water for nearly thirty minutes. He knew it couldn’t possibly be long now; there was no way he could make up the distance. He made one last desperate effort. Painful stroke after painful stroke seemed to produce little progress and he knew he was done. He had given his all and was totally exhausted; even the effort to pull himself along with the breaststroke was too much. He was going to die and he was angry!
Only a quarter of a mile left, but it was a quarter of a mile too much.
With a gasp and a half-choked sob of bitter frustration, Kelly stopped swimming and allowed himself to sink …
His feet touched something solid.
With a start, he drew his feet back up then planted them firmly down again, his head just above the water and the swell of the waves lapping at his ears. He was standing on rough rocks. Looking forward he saw small breakers about a hundred yards towards the shore, although they were still some three hundred yards from what he judged to be the coastline.
This had to be some kind of ledge, Kelly thought, gingerly moving forward, expecting that at any time he would disappear below the waves. Instead, he found the water becoming shallower. Several times he stumbled on the rocks and crashed into the waves once more, but, each time he did so, he quickly pulled himself up and stumbled determinedly on towards the breakers.
A short distance from where the waves were breaking, the ground suddenly disappeared and he was treading water again. He quickly scrambled onto the ledge and catching his breath, surveyed the distance between himself and the breakers. Only twenty yards or so.
He could do this.
Without a further thought he plunged back in and swam to the breakers.
In his weakened state he was relieved to catch hold of a rock under the surface as he approached the breaking waves. The current was stronger here and he realised now that the waves were breaking as a result of the sea flowing against a rocky outcrop, part of which was above the surface of the sea. He battled his way, half swimming, half rock climbing, towards this tiny island of hope.
He reached it and finally collapsed.
Kelly closed his eyes. Sleep seductively tried to claim him, but even in his feeble state, he understood that the easiest thing in the world at that moment would be to give in. If he did sleep now, he would never wake up.
He forced himself to stand and began jumping around, his foothold precarious, slapping his arms around his body in an attempt to increase circulation and produce some warmth. Taking stock of his situation, he found he was still some three to four hundred yards from the main shoreline. A brief exploration confirmed that his island was very narrow, and he was quickly treading water again within a few yards of venturing towards the shore.
Even above the water he knew he could not survive. His only chance was to reach the shore—so tantalizingly close—but having swum three quarters of a mile in freezing cold water he was not sure he could manage the last leg. And his clothes were so heavy.
But that was negative thinking. He mentally shook himself and made up his mind. Stripping down to his Royal Navy issue “passion killer” underpants, he stood shivering at the edge of the reef. After three false starts, and a further moment of hesitation, he plunged into the icy waves and struck out for the shore.
Unencumbered by his clothing he made good progress at first, but all too soon the overwhelming fatigue returned, and he was again pulling for his life. After one hundred and fifty yards his strokes had become almost mechanical as he faced a mental battle to continue. However, the closer the shore appeared the more determined he became to win. With the last hundred yards he had conquered nature, survi
ved the elements, and won his mental battle. Kelly knew he was going to make it.
His hand touched firm ground and with a final burst of failing energy he scrambled out of the water and lay panting and shivering on the rocky shore. Again, he felt the overwhelming desire to sleep, but once more, with grim determination he refused to give in. He dragged himself mentally to his feet and his body reluctantly complied. The nearest house looked about three to four hundred yards away. He could make it.
No. He must make it.
With each slow step towards the house Kelly was tormented by his body as it urged him to stop and rest. He recognised the symptoms; he was in the final stages of hypothermia. He knew he must generate energy, or he would die. With bleak resolve he summoned the remainder of his depleted reserves and broke into a slow trot. The effort was agonising, but after a few yards he realised that his mind was clearing, and he was warming up. He redoubled his effort and increased his pace, but this was the last straw and in spite of his willpower and the gentle warmth returning to his body, he started to slip in and out of consciousness. He sensed his remaining strength sap away and watched in agony as the little house seemed to recede with each step. The world around him spun faster and faster.
Cast No Shadow: A Thrilling WW2 Adventure (Dragan Kelly Book 1) Page 1
