by Stuart Slade
“Is there anything else?” Erlander’s voice was mild, devoid of any hint of sarcasm.
“Yes. The Aland Islands are presently held jointly by Sweden and Finland. Russia will take over Finland’s position there. However, all we are interested in is maintaining a naval base on those islands. If that is provided, as far as we are concerned Sweden may administer the Islands as if they were wholly Swedish and issue the inhabitants Swedish passports. Also, Finland will not be permitted to maintain armed forces. The country may have an armed police force, without armored vehicles or aircraft, and may have a coastguard but that is all.”
Erlander shook his head. “I will carry these terms to the Finnish Parliament and ask Risto Heikki Ryti to present them but he will not do so. He is convinced that Germany will be victorious. I am sorry Madam, but this bird will not fly.” The Americanism did not go unnoticed.
“I can sound out the Americans. Perhaps they may intervene on Finland’s behalf. Perhaps they can secure a moderation of these terms.” Loki did not sound hopeful and in truth he thought that any attempt to do so would be doomed to failure.
“There is no cause for leniency. Finland has brought this disaster on itself. You know the price they were offered for their participation in this attack? The whole of the Kola Peninsula, including Petrograd. I ask you, Herr Erlander, with such an addition to Finnish strength, how long will it be before Sweden falls victim to Finnish aggression? Months? A year or two at most? Yet we restrain our demands to the territory needed to secure our borders and guarantee the safety of our cities. And we are treating generously with Sweden, out of respect for your role as intermediaries, despite the fact that many Swedes serve with the SS against our troops.”
Erlander looked saddened. “I cannot deny that. I can say that the Swedish Government recognizes both the generous nature of the Russian approaches and its forbearance of the asinine stupidity of some of our citizens. Citizens who will be punished, that I can assure you.”
“And I can also assure you of that.” Kollontai’s expression was deadly serious.
“So we are agreed then. Mr. Erlander will take these proposals to Finland and ask for them to be submitted to the Finnish Parliament while I will approach my contacts with the American Government to see if some grounds for flexibility can be located.” Loki looked at his two guests and a series of nods were attained. Then he reached out for the intercom on his desk. “Branwen, some refreshments please?”
A second later, Branwen pushed the doors open with her hip and wheeled in a trolley loaded with bread, beer, vodka and cold meat. “I am sorry, but the meats are Italian. No smoked fish, I tried but, without access to the Baltic….”
“Never mind Branwen, this looks delicious.” Erlander cast his eyes over the tray. “Madame, I hope the vodka is to your taste?”
Branwen left. The three loaded their plates with the food she had brought. Once they had regained their seats, they looked at each other. The bristling near-hostility of the official exchanges had gone. Erlander leaned back and spoke slowly. “Honestly Loki, will the Americans use any influence here?”
Loki thought carefully and shook his head. “Not a chance. Not after this attack, no. The Finns had a good deal going for them. They stay put, keep quiet and don’t cause any trouble. In exchange, the allies don’t start hammering on them and, when the war is over, they get 1940 boundaries and no reparations. Now, they’ve reneged on that, the Americans will wash their hands of them. The generosity to Sweden is well-thought out as well. There are many more Swedish voters in America than Finns. No, the Americans will not intervene. Aleksa, how open are the Russian Government to negotiations on this?”
Kollontai knocked back a glass of vodka and stared at Loki. She was remarkably young-looking for a woman of 75 and had been fortunate — and skillful — enough to survive being a vocal critic of Stalin’s policies in the late 1930s. How she had managed that, Loki didn’t quite know. It was rumored that she had been summoned back to Moscow from a diplomatic posting but had somehow escaped the usual fate for those so recalled. When she spoke, her voice was saddened.
“They are not open at all. Even getting this much for Finland now is hard. They have cooked their own goose with a vengeance and the deal on offer now is the best they will ever be offered. If they keep fighting, then the terms will become progressively worse. One day, the Russian Army will be in a position to attack with all its force. Then there will be no terms. Finland and its people will vanish from the history books for all time. If they do not forestall that somehow, then their fate is inevitable.”
“If the Allies win.” Erlander’s voice was gloomy.
“Oh we will win. We have scored two great victories in the last few days. The German Navy has been destroyed and a German land offensive has been stopped in its tracks. It may take a long time but the fascists will be crushed and our armies will overrun their lair. They will take a just and proper revenge for the atrocities the fascists have inflicted on our people.” Kollontai’s voice softened further as the women’s rights activist took over from the politician. “And when they do, that will not be a good time to be a woman.”
There was a profound silence as the truth of her words sank in. Eventually Loki broke it. “And there we have it. That leaves it down to you, Tage. Somehow, you’ve got to convince the Finns that they’ll have to accept these terms. And Aleksa, somehow, you’ve got to convince the Russian Government to trust the Finns when they make another ‘live and left live’ offer. Because the alternative is too terrible to think about.”
HMCS Ontario Flagship, Troop Convoy WS-18 en route from Churchill to Murmansk
“Final run in now Number One.” Captain Charles Povey looked around the bridge with an air of satisfaction. They had land-based air cover for the troop convoy. Catalinas flying out of Murmansk circled overhead, watching for any signs of enemy submarines. The convoy itself had angled south and was on the last leg of its long run. The ships had picked up speed. Nobody wanted to get sunk when the safety of Murmansk, dubious though it was, could be within sight any hour.
Lieutenant Commander Murray checked the charts. “Three hours. Possibly four, Sir. No signs of any enemy action. It looks like Halsey’s knocked the stuffing out of them.”
“Same word from PQ-17.” Admiral Vian’s voice beat the ‘Admiral on the Bridge’ warning by a split second. “It’s as if the Huns have been so thoroughly spanked, they’ve all gone home. No word of subs anywhere. I was expecting a major effort by the submarine fleet to try and salvage something from the disaster they’ve suffered but they’ve gone. PQ-17 reported some scattered attacks from aircraft based in Norway, mostly Ju-188 torpedo bombers, but even they seemed to lack determination. Mostly they just scattered when the fighters got to them.”
“Any word from Halsey Sir?” Povey wanted to know the details of the destruction of the German fleet. He fancied himself as a naval historian and had in mind making his great opus the Second World War history of the German Navy.
“Not a word. We know from German intercepts that his aircraft hit Londonderry this morning. Destroyed schools, convents and orphanages according to the Huns. I’d guess they took out the airfields and partisan hunter barracks myself. But, no word from them. Won’t be until they get back from Churchill. One thing we do know. Three German ships turned up in the Faroe Islands, a cruiser and two destroyers. Cruiser’s on the rocks, finished. The destroyers have surrendered to the British garrison there. As far as we can tell, they’re the only survivors.”
There was silence on Ontario’s bridge. The officer’s minds filled with the reality of what the last minutes of the German ships and their crews must have been like. A dreadful choice between drowning and freezing. Eventually, Povey shook himself and banished the images from his mind. “Sir, any special orders for sailing into Murmansk?”
Vian thought for a second. “No, just make sure the Canadian troops are ready to go ashore as fast as possible. If the Huns really are stunned into immobility,
we want to get back before they recover.
Curly, Battery B, US Navy 5th Artillery Battalion, Kola Peninsula
“Moe is coming up Commander.” Perdue turned around to look down the line. The locomotive towing Moe was indeed approaching but he could see that something as seriously wrong. There was far too much steam around it and its speed was way down. Another problem to be faced.
“Thank you. Get the rest of the Russian vehicles loaded on to the flat cars. Finish cleaning up the carriage.” There was no need to specify which carriage. It had been hit by short-range gunfire from machine guns and the heavier weapons on the armored cars leaving it a splintered ruin. The forty men in it were mostly dead, their bodies laid out by the side of the track.
“Lieutenant Knyaginichev, your men will stay with us until we reach our lines? We are just Navy men and railway engineers here. We desperately need your expertise as skilled infantry.”
“My orders are to regain our own lines and rejoin my division. So yes, we will ride with you. I think there are still problems to come though.”
“Grazhdanin Knyaz is right Commander. There is indeed a problem yet to come.” Boldin had his maps out. “The railway does a bend where it swings north. It forms a loop, a big one certainly but a loop nevertheless. If the German is clever and gets moving, he can cut across the neck of the loop and be ahead of us again. Here I think. This time he will not take time to try and capture the guns. He will tear up the lines so we have to stop or be destroyed. We must move soon to have any chance of beating him.”
The three officers stared at the map. Eventually Perdue said what they were all thinking. “Even if we do, he will still be ahead of us right.” There was a murmur of agreement. “Very well, so there is no point in hurrying. We must think this over and do it right.” His words were interrupted by them being enveloped in a cloud of steam. Moe ‘s engine had come to a halt behind them.
Perdue turned around and looked at the Mikado. One side looked like a scrapyard. “How bad is it?”
“We’re done, Commander. This Mike is finished. We’ve been losing steam pressure ever since the junction and there’s no stopping it. We’re shot up too badly to go any further.”
Perdue turned to the driver of Curly’s-engine. “Can a Mike tow both guns? If we leave the carriages behind?”
The railwayman started to shake his head but was interrupted by a Navy Lieutenant. “Sir, you better see this before making any decisions.”
Perdue followed him back. When he reached Moe he could see what was coming but the Lieutenant pointed it out anyway. “Sir, see the barrel there? A 75 armor piercing round hit it. Deflected away of course, but it took a big chunk out of the metal, right down to the rifling inside. There’s three or four more just like that all down the barrel. And the breech, Sir. It got hit bad. 75s and 50s, three or four of each. Moe is really torn up, Sir.”
It was that, Perdue could see it. If anything the Lieutenant was being over-optimistic. The German gunners had made good practice on Moe and they’d done for the great gun. It was a write-off, irreparable. Behind it the carriages were in a terrible state. Riddled with bullet and shell holes, frozen streams of blood staining the sides. Moans were still coming from inside the carriages while rescuers sorted through the shattered timbers to find the last survivors. Curly had got through relatively unharmed. Moe had taken the worst the Germans could throw at her. How the train had got this far was a miracle.
“We lost over a hundred men, Sir. Many more wounded. Hardly anybody not wounded.”
“Ours or Russians?”
“Just who the hell cares?” The Lieutenant caught himself. “Sorry Sir. No disrespect meant. Some ours; some Russian, most too badly chewed up or burned to tell which. All for nothing. The gun’s gone.”
“Not for nothing Lieutenant. We got the rest of the men through and we can blow the gun up here. Get the teams together. Rig Moe for complete destruction, so there won’t even be splinters left. Use propellant bags for explosives in addition to the demolition charges. Rig the Mike and the carriages as well. Make sure they’re blown up and burned. Rest of the men, get the bodies out. Put them with the casualties from Curly. There’s a junction here; that’s why we stopped. We can resort the consists so we can get the most valuable coaches out. We need another flatcar for the ski troop’s vehicles.”
Perdue looked at the doomed gun and shook his head. He’d hoped to get them both out but the German gunners had been that bit too good. Meanwhile, there was Curly’s train to get ready and the dead to bury. At least here, by the railway, they’d be easy to find in the Spring when they could be buried properly.
“Right, men, to work. We’ve got a train to blow up.” Then Perdue went back to Boldin and Knyaz so see what they could work out by way of breaking through the next ambush. Ahead of him, Curly started moving down the line so it would be well clear when Moe was blown up.
Rue Henri Fazy, Geneva, Switzerland
“We’re being followed.” Henry McCarty made the observation casually but it wasn’t a casual matter. Normally these pick-up runs were a matter of routine, things that just went ahead without any great fuss. To actually be followed was quite unusual. It had happened before, but it had always turned out to be a matter of routine. The Abwehr or Gestapo just following three visiting Americans to see if they were up to something or were just daring tourists. It was not as if they were obviously military party; not an old man and two young women. If Henry had to make a guess, he would say the Gestapo file on them would say that he was some sort of businessmen depositing illegal business earnings in his Swiss bank account while the two women were his mistresses he had brought along for the ride. Most Europeans assumed that American businessmen were also gangsters, Henry reflected, Hollywood films had a lot to answer for.
“The black Mercedes?” Their driver had also noticed the tail. “He has been with us since the airport. What do you wish me to do with him?”
McCarty quickly thought over the options. A gun or knife battle in the middle of Geneva’s old town would attract unnecessary attention. “Lose him. But don’t do it obviously. Throwing a tail will prove we have something to hide. At the moment we could just be normal visitors.”
“Very well Sir.” The driver thought for a second and then made a hard right into the Rue des Granges. “Up ahead of us is the Hotel les Amures. It is a hotel well known for those who wish discrete lodgings for a short period. You take your two ladies in there and book a room, being careful to mention a Herr Klagenfeld when you do so. I will wait down in the street outside for you. That will excite no attention. Eventually, the persons in that car will go inside to check. A man booking in with two ladies will be remembered and the hotel staff will, with some encouragement, confirm you are upstairs. But you, Sir, and the ladies will go up to the third floor, across the fire escape to the Restaurant La Favola on the Rue Jean Calvin and down through the kitchens and out. Another car from Loki will be waiting for you there and you will be gone. As soon as I see the men going in to the Hotel, I also will be gone. There will be nobody for them to follow. Anyway, one cannot get from the Rue des Granges to the Rue Jean Calvin by car. There are many steep steps in the way.”
“That sounds good. Do it.”
Henry settled back in the seat. Beside him Igrat was frowning. “Henry, I don’t like this. Why are we being followed? It smells like somebody was expecting us to arrive. Have we got a leak?”
“We don’t.” Henry was quite certain about that. “And for the same reason we can be sure that Loki and his Orchestra don’t. But you’re right, this doesn’t smell quite right. We’ll have to play along and see what develops.”
The car stopped outside a large, square building that was as undistinguished as the rest of Geneva’s architecture. McCarty got out and opened the door for the two women, then reached inside to get a case. There were two reasons for that. Nobody went into a hotel with one woman, let alone two, without her case. Anyway, the case held his guns.
�
�Good afternoon ladies, gentlemen.” The hotel clerk betrayed just a slight hint of surprise and a little admiration at the plural. “May I help you?”
“We would like a room please. One on an upper floor for preference. We will be leaving in a few hours, we have a four-thirty appointment with Herr Klagenfeld. But we will be back after dinner.”
“Third floor be suitable? I thought so. Sign here please, Sir.” The clerk looked down at the register. “Ah, Mister John Smith. So many of our guests come from the family Smith. Room 335.” The clerk was not concerned with the women’s signatures, they were likely to change with every visit this American made. Anyway, the slender one looked like a demimondaine if ever the clerk had seen one.
The three took the escalator up to the third floor and walked down the long corridor. Room 335 was at the end, right next to a metal fire escape ladder. The ladder itself was shared with the building next door, accessed by a common metal platform. Henry led the way across it, then in through the door to the next building. This one had only two floors due to the slope on the hillside, so the party went down the steps into the restaurant kitchen. The staff very pointedly did not notice them as they passed the preparation tables until Igrat stopped and sniffed a pot-au-feux that was simmering gently.
“Guys, we have got to eat here tonight.” The she turned her attention to the chef who was already beginning to preen himself. “Let me guess. That was left to you by your grandmother and you have willed it to your grandchildren.”
