This novel suggestion was met by an ominous silence, and to further support his idea Kamenev quickly added.
“For our purposes all this could be achieved without anyone having to know that the USSR. was responsible for the blast. The area is a notorious hotbed for submarine operations. NATO is continually active there, and who’s to say that one of their nuclear warships wasn’t responsible for such a tragedy?”
Most pleased with the direction the meeting was now going, Viktor Rykov slyly turned to meet the gaze of the white-haired veteran seated directly opposite him.
“Perhaps Admiral Kuznetsov would care to share his ideas with us. If I’m not mistaken, weren’t you just involved with a white paper that concerned just such a matter?”
Surprised that the bureaucrat had knowledge of this recently concluded, top-secret study, Alexander nodded.
“Yes I was, Comrade. The report was undertaken as a result of a war game that involved the Northern Fleet. During this simulated battle, that had yet to escalate to nuclear weapons, it became essential for the Soviet Union to immediately halt the flow of Norwegian oil. The scenario that the Defense Minister mentioned was proposed, but because it involved a nuclear detonation it was deemed too risky. I was charged with the job of finding an alternative, less conspicuous way to take the oil fields.”
“And just what did you propose?” quizzed Rykov.
Conscious now of the reason he was invited here, Alexander answered.
“Since eliminating the oil fields themselves was out of the question, I recommended doing the next best thing.”
Reaching out for the map of Europe that lay on the table before him, Alexander pointed to the southwestern coast of Norway between the cities of Bergen and Stavanger.
“All of Norway’s North Sea oil is piped directly to a single refinery and pumping station, here at Karsto. Therefore, I suggested a simple act of sabotage, aimed at knocking out this facility. This operation could be carried out with conventional explosives by as few as three commandoes, who could be landed by submarine. They could be in and out of there before anyone was the wiser.”
“Do you mean to say that only three men and a load of conventional explosives could stop the entire flow of Norwegian oil into Europe?” questioned the Deputy General Secretary.
“I don’t see why not,” replied Alexander.
“It wouldn’t take much to destroy the pumping facilities, and the Norwegians are notoriously lax when it comes to security matters.”
“Why that’s amazing!” reflected Rykov.
“What do you think of the operation’s chances of success, Comrade Kamenev?”
Irritated that he had never been given a copy of Kuznetsov’s white paper to read, and not liking the idea of being showed up by a mere vice-admiral, Vladimir Kamenev sighed.
“I feel that it would be a great mistake to be deceived into thinking that such an operation would be as easy to pull off as Vice Admiral Kuznetsov makes it sound. The landing of special forces on foreign soil can never be taken for granted.
This is especially true when it comes to Norway. Its irregular shores are riddled with tiny islands and twisting fjords. Since much of these waters remain uncharted by us, merely navigating a submarine there would be a challenge.”
“What do you say to this, Admiral Kuznetsov?” asked Rykov. All eyes turned to the Navy veteran.
Not wanting to provoke the Defense Minister, Alexander deliberately softened his response.
“Comrade Kamenev has made an excellent point. Of course, my entire scenario was based on pure supposition. If such an operation were to become a reality, a thorough reconnaissance of the Karsto region would have to be initiated.”
“Then by all means get us this information. Admiral,” Viktor Rykov replied without hesitation.
“It sounds to me like the entire idea of a trans-Siberian pipeline transferring gas products directly into Europe hinges on our ability to disrupt our competitor’s flow of oil, if needed. Thus, if I hear no objections, I will officially adjourn this meeting with the stipulation that we reconvene as soon as Admiral Kuznetsov has completed his task.”
Thrilled that the idea of an extended pipeline was still being considered, Energy Minister Pyotr Glebov eagerly nodded in agreement with Rykov. Having no real objections of his own, Vladimir Kamenev also concurred. This left Alexander Kuznetsov with the sole responsibility for organizing a clandestine reconnaissance mission deep into enemy territory, through some of the most hazardous waters on the entire planet.
Chapter Four
It was a typical cold, overcast fall morning in Dunoon, Scotland, as Captain Steven Aldridge, his wife Susan, and six-year-old daughter Sarah strolled through the town’s central shopping district. The narrow sidewalks were filled with dozens of other pedestrians, most of whom were bundled up in thick woolen sweaters and carried several parcels each.
Unlike America, travelling by foot was still practical in a small town such as Dunoon, and the Aldridge family fit in as if they were locals.
“Oh look, Daddy. There’s a pastry shop. Can we go in and get some cookies?”
Sarah Aldridge followed up this request by catching her father’s glance and flashing him her warmest smile. This tactic never failed to do the trick, yet just as her dad was about to agree, her mother intervened.
“There will be no more cookies for you, Sarah Aldridge, until you’ve had your lunch. Why, you’ve already eaten two pastries this morning, and you put away a breakfast earlier that could have fed a horse.”
“Oh Mom, you’re no fun,” said Sarah with a pout.
“You’re the one who will be no fun when I put you to bed with a bellyache,” returned her mother.
“Look Sarah, there’s the fishmonger’s shop,” observed her father in an effort to change the subject.
“Shall we go in and see what the day’s catch is?”
Sarah’s eyes opened wide.
“I’ll say, father. Maybe Mr. Angus has still got that octo pussy in there.”
They entered the shop and found its portly proprietor perched over the concrete counter cleaning a load of flat, hand-sized fish. He only needed to take one look at the newcomers who had just entered for a wide grin to turn the corners of his wrinkled face.
“Well, if it isn’t my very favorite Yank family,” greeted the old-timer, who had fluffy white hair and long gray sideburns.
“Good morning, Mr. McPherson,” replied Steven Aldridge.
“We just stopped in to say hello and check out the day’s catch.”
“Mr. Angus, do you still have that octo pussy questioned Sarah. She watched the fishmonger split open the flat belly of the fish he was cleaning.
Stifling a chuckle, Angus shook his head.
“So the wee lass wants to see an octopus. I’m sorry, my dearest. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with these lovely Dover sole that came right out of the sea only a few hours ago.”
The fishmonger picked up one of these fish by its tail and bent over to show it to his fair-haired guest.
“Why, I bet you never saw a fish with both of its eyes on the same side of its head before,” he added.
“Look at that, Father!” exclaimed Sarah in amazement.
“It really does have two eyes on one side. Why’s that?”
Steven Aldridge accepted a playful wink from the fishmonger as he attempted answering his daughter’s question.
“The sole’s a bottom fish, Sarah. That means it spends most of its life laying flat on the surface of the seafloor. Instead of having one eye constantly buried in the sand, mother nature moved both of them together like this, so that it wouldn’t be wasted.”
Not really certain what her father was talking about, Sarah was already bored with the sole. She gasped in wonder when she viewed a tank of live lobsters on the shop’s opposite wall. She quickly ran over to have a closer look, leaving the adults to their conversation.
“So tell me” asked Angus eagerly.
“H
ow did you like lona?”
This time it was Susan Aldridge who answered.
“It was gorgeous, Angus. In fact, the whole trip worked out just perfectly.”
“Even the weather cooperated,” added Steven.
“We only had one full day of rain.”
The fishmonger seemed genuinely impressed with this.
“Now that is something. The gods of the Highlands must have been smiling on you.”
Pleasantries were interrupted by the sight of a police car with its emergency lights flashing passing down the street. Angus was quick to explain its significance.
“Looks like they’re clearing the streets for the parade.
At least it looks like the rains will hold off until it’s finished.”
Suddenly realizing the late hour, Steven Aldridge called out to his daughter.
“Come on, Pumpkin. It’s almost time for the parade.”
This served to pull Sarah away from the tank. As her mother took her hand and led her to the door, the youngster looked up to the old fishmonger and waved.
“Goodbye, Mr. Angus.”
“Goodbye to you, lass,” returned the old man.
“Save three of those sole for us, Angus,” added Susan Aldridge.
“I’ll pick them up later on our way home.”
“Will do, Mrs. A. Enjoy the parade.”
As they stepped outside, Steven said his own goodbyes before turning to follow his family.
“See you later, Angus.”
“I’ll be here, Captain. By the way, why no uniform?”
Aldridge shook his head.
“As far as the U.S. Navy is concerned, I’m still officially on leave, my friend. Uncle Sam will have me back in the flock soon enough.”
“I hear you, Captain. Enjoy it while you can.”
Steven returned the Scot’s salute and hurriedly left the shop. The foot traffic was headed one way now, down toward the wharf side war memorial where the ceremony would be taking place. Securely linking hands, the Aldridge family followed the crowd past the collection of quaint one-story shops that made up this section of Dunoon. They passed the new YMCA building, and entered an open square, that was bordered by a park on one side and the blue waters of the Firth of Clyde on the other. It was beside the park side walkway that a large group of townspeople had gathered. Steven recognized several denim-clad American sailors in this crowd. Even in their civvies, these young men had the good old U.S.A. written all over them.
The war memorial itself was nothing but a large stone cairn with several bronze plaques set into it.
Inscribed on these tablets were the names of the brave local servicemen and women who died as a direct result of World Wars I and II. Immediately in front of the cairn, facing the empty street and the waters of the firth beyond, a compact wooden reviewing stand had been set up. No sooner did the
Aldridge family fall in alongside the mass of onlookers, when the shrill sound of massed bagpipes broke in the distance. Hearing this caused the crowd to buzz with excitement, and even Sarah found herself thrilled.
“Listen, Father, the pipers are coming!”
Steven anxiously looked to his left, and soon spotted the marching column of kilted musicians responsible for this distinctive clamor. They were dressed in green, yellow and black tartans. Together with a line of drummers, they were playing a spirited rendition of Scotland the Brave. The music was an excellent arrangement, and Steven couldn’t help but be inspired when he spotted the squad of U.S. Marines who followed the band. Dressed in traditional olive green parade uniforms, the leathernecks marched with exacting precision. Each of the soldiers was well over six feet tall, and in superb physical shape. Steven knew that this crack complement came from the nearby navy base at Holy Loch, where they provided security.
Behind the Marines followed a unit of junior cadets, a group of local dignitaries, and a dozen or so disabled veterans, several of whom were in wheelchairs.
Two white-haired veterans carried the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes, and as the band turned toward the crowd, the two flag carriers broke from the ranks and approached the reviewing stand.
Here they were greeted by a tall, erect figure, dressed in kilts, a brown tunic, and the regimental bonnet of a senior army officer. This individual waited for the marching column to come to a complete halt before signalling the sergeant major to order, “Parade rest!”
The senior officer then approached the marchers and reviewed their ranks. He paid particular attention to the veterans, each of whom he engaged in a brief conversation. He also questioned several of the cadets, and appeared to convey a job well done to the leader of the Marines. Then after a cursory inspection of the band, he returned to the reviewing stand, saluted, and initiated a short speech.
“We are gathered today on the fiftieth anniversary of the United States of America’s official entrance into World War II. This is a solemn occasion, yet it is a joyful one all the same, because without America’s invaluable help, the United Kingdom would have been forced to continue the struggle against Nazi tyranny on its own.
“Hundreds of thousands of our sons and daughters died for this cause. Even a small village like Dunoon paid its share of the ultimate price of freedom, with the brave lads and lasses whose names are etched in bronze behind me. We shall never forget them. Nor shall we ever forget the individuals who serve our country’s armed forces today. It is because of their selfless vigil that world conflict no longer stains our shores in blood.
“I remember a time not so long ago, when the waters of the firth before me were filled with hundreds of vessels drawn from ports throughout the free world. These convoys risked death on the cold seas to provide England with urgently needed supplies to fuel its continued war effort. As a young ensign, I was assigned to a frigate whose responsibility was to provide convoy escort, and I personally shared the horror of a German U-boat raid.
“Today the mighty warships that patrol the waters of the firth fear no such attack. In these times of fragile peace, their job is to deter any aggressor from ever again attempting to force their way of life upon ours. Because of this, we enjoy a life of free84 dom and democracy that is the envy of every other nation on earth. We shall always remember the names of those whose lives were taken so that this greatest of all gifts could be ours. God bless you all, and may peace by with you always.”
Issuing yet another salute, the senior officer nodded to the sergeant major, who ordered the column to resume its march. They did so to the strains of such traditional pipe favorites as Captain OrrEwing, Culty’s Wedding, and Farewell to the Creeks.
A blustery wind began gusting in from the northwest, and the crowd wasted little time dispersing. As Susan bent over to zip up the collar of Sarah’s parka, Steven noticed that a familiar duo of blue-uniformed naval officers had gathered beside the war memorial. They were in the process of speaking to the officer who had just given the address, and Steven couldn’t resist going over to pay his respects himself.
“Susan, why don’t you take Sarah and get started with lunch. I see Admiral Hoyt and Bob Stoddard over there, and I just want to say a quick hello before joining you.”
As a veteran Navy wife, Susan was accustomed to doing things on her own.
“Go ahead, Steve, but don’t be too long. I know that you’re dying to find out how things are going on the Cheyenne. But don’t forget that you’re still on leave. And besides, you should have worn a heavier coat if you’re going to be out in this wind much longer.”
Thankful for her wifely concern, Steven glanced down at his daughter.
“Now be a good girl and eat all of your lunch, Pumpkin. And then we can stop off for those cookies that you wanted.”
“Can I have chips ‘n fish, Father?” asked the six year old.
“Chips ‘n fish it is,” laughed Steven, who caught his wife’s eye and playfully winked.
“I’ll meet you at the Old Mermaid. Go ahead and order me a pint of Export. I’ll be there to
drink it by the time the head settles.”
Though Susan would have liked to lay odds against this, she smiled, took her daughter’s mittened hand, and began walking back toward town.
Steven watched until they were safely across the street before walking back toward the war memorial.
The taller of the two U.S. naval officers was the first to spot him. There could be no missing Lieutenant Commander Robert Stoddard’s gangly six-foot frame, wholesome Nebraska-bred good looks, and the unlit corncob pipe that perpetually hung from his mouth. As Executive Officer of the 688class attack submarine, USS Cheyenne, Stoddard was Steven’s right-hand man. They had been together for over a year now, and had long ago established that tight bond that every succesful command team needs to be an effective one.
Beside his XO, in the process of addressing the kilted master of ceremonies, was Admiral David Hoyt, Jr.” commander of the U.S. submarine base at Holy Loch. A former history instructor at Annapolis, Hoyt was a competent administrator, who earned his dolphins in the days before Nautilus and the advent of Rickover’s nuclear navy. A bit given to long winded discourses when his favorite subject, maritime history, was being discussed, the admiral was also well known for his love of golf. He thus accepted the orders sending him to Scotland with open arms, for he was finally stationed in the legendary birthplace of his favorite sport, and had his choice of its many fine courses. Steven Aldridge wasn’t a bit surprised as he approached the trio of officers and heard the nature of Hoyt’s animated remarks.
“… and there I was, all set up for my first real crack at a birdie on Glen Eagle’s infamous eighteenth hole, when what sprints out onto the green and steals my ball but a fox! That damn red varmint must have thought that my Titleist was a grouse egg, the way he snagged it in his jaws and took off for a nearby creek bed. You know, I never did find that frigging ball again.”
“My Lord, Admiral,” chuckled his kilted colleague.
“How on earth did you ever score that one?”
The Golden U-Boat Page 8
