by Stephen Ward
Disturbed by a faint whimper from a nearby, he smiled and stopped cleaning. Leaning over the small figure in the hospital bed, he smoothed a streak of reddish hair from a young infant's face and crooned softly “Shhh, little one.”
He greeted a young nurse as she approached the small bedside to check the liquid dripping from a glass bottle suspended from a stand.
“She seems to be doing well, “he murmured softly.
The nurse folded the covers back exposing a crepe dressing, and lifted it to reveal a large red patch of burnt skin on the child's upper right thigh. The nurse nodded in approval as she changed the dressing. “She's doing just fine. Such a pretty little girl. As the nurse straightened the soft white bed sheets under the child's chin, she stirred, sighed then settled once more.
Making his way to the other side of the cot, the old man scooped a worn and singed teddy bear from the cupboard and tucked it under her arm. He read the label and whispered, “If only we knew her surname. Petra, such a beautiful name.”
A voice from over their shoulder broke the moment. They turned to see a well-dressed, middle-aged man at the foot of the small bed.
“Richter. Her name is Petra Richter. She is my daughter.”
A little something to say.....
I am neither an author nor historian, however, I love to play at being both!
Believe it or not, although some of the technical ideas in this book may sound outlandish, all have a firm basis in reality and were available in other applications during the 1940s.
I have tried to stay true to historical timelines but as I said, I am no historian. So please, don't beat me with the metaphorical 'big stick'. I had a story to tell and I have used some artistic licence.
No characters here are based on true life people, except those of whom I have sought permission. These will be apparent to those people when they read my book. In short, if your likeness found its way in, then you mean a lot to me!
Special thanks to Paul Moore for his tireless help with military and technical research; my mother, father and brother for reading, typing and making sense of my endless scrawl and for helping me to appear at least semi-literate and of course, my wife and children for understanding that this was something which I needed to get out of my head.
Finally, I want to give thanks to Brittany. No, not a female, but the stunningly beautiful part of France which has given not only many family holidays and the inspiration to write, but also provided a great backdrop to my story. The hugely impressive remains of the submarine pens at Lorient are open to the public. All you need to bring with you is your imagination.
Thank you all
Stephen J. Ward
…..
FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES
Chapter 1
It was a bitterly cold night with mercury levels well below freezing. The sun, so low on the horizon it spread only a dim light across the ice and snow. Here at the small Soviet Naval Base at the top of the world was the home of Russia's mothballed diesel fleet.
Line upon line of outdated hardware rotted, silently waiting for an opportunity to be used, a chance that for most would never come. Perhaps it was the fact that these weapons from a bygone era were useless in modern warfare or maybe it was because of budget cuts that meant this installation was manned only by a skeleton force of troops, alone and isolated.
A light shone dim and yellow, a stark contrast in the otherwise bleak white snow. It came from an icicle laden cabin half-buried in a snow drift, overlooking the facility with direct access to the open sea.
Suddenly, a bright lamp flicked on, illuminating a section of water from a spotlight on the seaward side of the cabin. The beam swept the harbour and its surrounding banks before it darkened again.
A shrill whistle broke the silence, its pitch wavering and slowly dying away. “A boiling kettle, such a welcome sound!” thought Yuri Pleskov as he entered the cabin finding it wasn't much warmer inside than out. The welcome glow of a stove gave a feeling of safety after his return from the latest security sweep. “I don't know why we bother!” grumbled Yuri, blowing into his hands to warm them.
“The day we didn't would be the day someone would choose to steal one of those pieces of junk,” replied Stefen Komonov.
“Oh, please! They should just come and take them. It'd save us a job. Two weeks out here! At least the men in the main base have entertainment while we're stuck here day after day.”
“Well! I'm sorry you find my company so boring, Yuri.”
“Come on. You know what I mean, my friend.”
“Yes, I do, but think, in just over a week we'll be off duty and some other poor wretches will be here instead.”
Yuri poured two coffees and cradling his hands around his mug let the steam warm his reddened cheeks. Although his large fur hat kept his head warm, he had often thought that his nose might drop off in this temperature! He had often said that he wanted action but he was soon to regret that wish for many a year after this night!
The pair settled back and time seemed to drag interminably but as the clock hands reached 5 am, Yuri said grinning, “Your turn, Stefan.”
“Okay, okay, you don't have to take such delight in reminding me,” moaned Stefan, dressing for outdoors, then opening the door. Yuri snapped “Close the door, you're letting the heat out!.
A small groan and a slight thud made Yuri look up in curiosity. “Stefan? Stefan! Are you Ok?” he called. There was no answer but as he looked through the window, the light shining out over the sea was doing its familiar dancing shimmer, so he sat back down, his back to the door.
A few minutes later, the door opened allowing the cold air to rush in. “Stefan, close the door, quickly,” he shivered and turned to complain but as he did so, felt a warm feeling, a thud, then nothing. He eventually became aware of being manhandled and tied to a chair beside Stefan, arms and legs bound, with tape sealing their mouths and eyes. “Shut up, stay still and I may not be forced to kill you!” came a voice low and quiet.
The outside security light went off and a person, dressed completely in white left the hut to stand by the jetty checking a watch. Reaching into a pocket he spoke softly into a small radio, “We are go.”
“Fifteen minutes. Mark that,” came an answer. Soon a low drone could be heard, not loud, barely audible over the quiet waves slapping against the jetty. Two small boats, black as the water they sailed on, came into the harbour, slowly so as not to cause a wake. After a matter of minutes in open water they lay safely hidden behind the huge ghostly shapes moored at the frozen covered dockside whilst the security light made another pass. Four figures in identical white camouflage suits with covered faces, hid behind a dock pile whilst the sweeping light completed its security check.
A voice ordered quietly, “Three, over. You take number six. We'll take fourteen. Remember, we have only fifteen minutes before the next light check, so be ready to get out of sight.”
The figures split up and went in opposite directions, finding their specific dock by counting. They flashed a torch and a small boat arrived in response beside one of the giant hulls. With another flash the second team had a craft at its target point. Moving quickly, the two person teams unhitched the frozen moorings and the ropes slipped silently into the frigid water. Lines passed from the boats and were securely attached to the bows of numbers six and fourteen. A chirp of the radio and a low voice commanded, “Take cover.” Seconds later, the security light began its sweep again. The interlopers and their crafts stayed close to the large dark hulls until the light passed over them. “Fifteen minutes” came that voice again, “Mark.”
“Are you sure these little boats will move them,” someone asked.
“These have the most powerful diesel engines available. They're slow but once they're moving we won't have a problem.” The revs increased on one of the boats and the prop caused a wash. “Keep still!” hissed the voice, “Nothing!” Then finally a rubber fender guard squealed and the large mass began to move. Soon, both
boats had secured their targets and were travelling slowly past the cabin from which the intruder exited, whilst simultaneously unzipping the white camouflage suit and rolling it into a waterproof sack. Under it was revealed a drysuit and mask. Then slipping stealthily into the water the person was gone leaving the trussed occupants in the lonely cabin, As the last boat cleared the harbour mouth, two hands were just in time to pull the black clad figure over the rail and into the craft. The convoy slowly continued out into open water.
Speaking quietly into a radio a voice requested, “Show us a light.” A moment later, a green flash responded. Not too far away, two large tugs, their hulls and windows painted black, sat awaiting the small craft. Silently, seamen retrieved them, lifting them up onto the deck and securing the lines. Diesels started up from idle and both vessels began to make good speed into the darkness.
“An excellent night's work, don't you think?” asked a voice. “Two diesel submarines in less than thirty minutes? You did well.”
The figure in the drysuit nodded, removing the mask and rubber hood covering the head. In the dim light there was a glint as a tress of long auburn hair tumbled down the figure's back. “Thank you,” came a soft, low voice. She looked at the man and smiled, “but we're not safe yet.” As the woman removed her drysuit, the man's attention was immediately drawn to the scar of an old burn on her upper right thigh.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Epilogue
Chapter 1
