Bloody Sunset

by Bloody Sunset (retail) (epub)

  ‘Did you know it was here?’

  ‘Yes. I heard it coming – saw it too – not long after we got in here. But it was bound to, wasn’t it – I was expecting it to come sooner – when I was towing you, I was thinking any minute, my God—’

  ‘I’m – much obliged to you. But…’

  ‘What was it that blew up?’

  ‘A mine. Couldn’t have been anything else. Connected to the chain somehow. We hit this other chain, you see, then Johnny got a bit – well, desperate, I’m afraid…’

  He was putting it together as it came back to him. And that was the explanation of Johnny Pope’s stupidity. He’d felt trapped: behind schedule already, they’d been caught once and got away with it and now again – only worse, and with time even shorter… Bob focused on the Count again: ‘How did you—’

  ‘Wait.’ His hand out again… ‘Quiet…’

  Actually they could have shouted to each other, nobody out there would have heard. A Russian was bawling orders: there was a squealing of sheaves in their blocks, more shouting, splashing, and a medley of thumping, clattering sounds carrying very clearly across the water and recognizable to a seaman’s ear as oars banging down and a boat’s falls being unhooked, even the clang of gear as it swung against a ship’s steel side.

  ‘How far from us?’

  ‘Two hundred metres. Three hundred, perhaps. I brought you as far as I could – far as I dared. If I’d still been out there when they arrived, you see – and my God, rowing was so slow, with your weight. You should get your clothes off, by the way, and dry them out. After sunrise, maybe… But I was worried I might have been drowning you, on this rope – if it had taken longer you would have drowned… I’d rowed into that chain, too, you see, that’s how it happened that I found you.’

  ‘Chain still intact?’

  ‘Yes. Surprising, I suppose… Bob – do you understand, they may start searching for us?’

  But the chain would stop them. Assuming they were the other side of it. Well, surely, from where that destroyer had been anchored…

  Must have had steam up all ready, to have got here this soon. Although – how long it might have been, God only knew… One’s last waking recollection could be a minute old, or a day… Well – hardly that. Still dark, no sign of the dawn yet… Another image then – from the thought of sunrise – Zoroaster out there, fifty miles south of here, lying stopped with her anchor-lights burning for himself and Johnny Pope to home-in on. Eric Barker beginning to wonder where the devil they’d got to – unless the sound of the explosion had carried that far out to sea, in which case he’d be making his own shrewd, unhappy guesses.

  ‘Would they know – or have any reason to suspect…?’ He paused, struggling to get it together. Brain functioning, but in fits and starts, with foggy areas in between. Beginning again – different approach to the same question – ‘Where’s the skiff?’

  ‘Here.’ An arm in the dark, past his face. ‘It’s a sort of ditch, I rowed into it, then got out, dragged you in, then pulled the boat in farther. It can’t be visible to them now, not the boat itself, but it’s possible with the reeds all trampled – and anyway I found it in the dark, you see, so by daylight…’

  Oars. Ragged stroke, clunking of looms in metal crutches, erratic splashings. The searchlight was still burning, but static. They’d have it pointing down at the water, he guessed, while they searched for wreckage, and so on. Debris would have been scattered over a wide radius, of course. They’d be examining the immediate area of the explosion now: then with daylight, and probably more help arriving…

  But they’d have no reason, surely, to guess that anyone might have survived. Therefore, no reason to make any wider search. As they’d see it, there’d been an intrusion, their mine had done its job, here was the wreckage as evidence. And two bodies – or anyway the components of two bodies.

  But then again – in daylight, if the place where Nick had dragged the skiff into the reeds looked obvious…

  He thought, Better move – while we can move…

  ‘Nick – once it’s light, we’re stuck.’ Keeping his voice down. Voice none too strong yet anyway. ‘We could crawl – put some distance behind us while we can?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I did consider it, but—’

  ‘But if they see where you dragged the boat in…’

  ‘It wouldn’t make much difference. Also it’s possible there are many such – ditches, drains, and I only happened to notice this one because I was searching for some such place. But also, Bob – the reeds aren’t so high, if they were moving and someone on the ship’s bridge – high up, with binoculars…’

  ‘But we’d go slowly – carefully…’

  ‘No, Bob, listen. Suppose they find that place – or the boat. Then they’d be on our track anyway. And how far would we have gone – half a mile, a mile even?’

  ‘So the alternative…’

  ‘Stay here. Sit it out. By tonight you’ll be rested, strong again, and they will have gone – please God.’

  ‘Well. I take your point, but – look, I’m right as rain now, and – we’re too damn close to them. All right – I admit it scares me. If we could get as much as half a mile away—’

  ‘Listen to me!’ Hands grasped his arms: the Count’s face was a dark blur close in front of his own. ‘First – you damn near drowned, you’re still shaking and you aren’t thinking straight yet either. Second – we’re not in one of your ships now, we’re in my country – huh?’

  * * *

  Light growing from the East, and a light wind off the sea ruffling the tops of the reeds and chilling the pre-dawn air. Activity continuing out there in the channel: voices, and the searchlight shifting its beam from time to time.

  The CMB’s engine would be on the sea-bed somewhere. In deep mud, at that. They’d need a crane to get it up. If they wanted to…

  Shivering… And having to convince himself, This is real, it’s not just a bad dream…

  Then that unanswerable question again: What now?

  He asked the Count – he’d thought he was dozing a minute ago, but he could see now that his eyes were open, the gleam of their whites – ‘When you heard the explosion, were you still rowing or had you landed?’

  ‘I was about to land. It was only a short distance, to the top of the inlet, and I’d just seen a place where I could haul the boat up.’

  ‘So then you heard the bang, and – what made you decide to turn back?’

  The Count moved – hunching over, drawing his knees up to rest his clasped hands on them… ‘I should like to say I came to save your life. The truth is that if I’d gone on I wouldn’t have known what had happened. There was no certainty it was your CMB that had blown up. I didn’t start back immediately – I thought about it, for some minutes, whether to carry on or go back. But then I thought – well, how do I know that when I get back here with the others there’ll be anyone to meet us?’

  He nodded. ‘Very sensible.’

  ‘So I had to find out, you see.’

  ‘And now you know—’ Some ducks passed over – low and loud, obviously quite close, but not visible – ‘will you still go ahead?’

  ‘D’you think I’d just leave them there?’

  ‘So – you’ll go to Enotayevsk – find them – get them out of that old house of yours – and then what?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s much point even thinking about it at this stage. I’ve got to get there first, then find them and see what state they’re in. Then see what options there may be. In other words – follow my nose and trust to luck… But what about you, Bob, what will you…’

  He paused. Both of them listening to the regular thud-thud-thud of a powerful propeller churning shallow water at slow speed. Steamboat. As likely as not, a tug – out of that secret base of theirs. Bringing – one might guess – equipment of some kind. Heavy-lifting gear to recover the CMB’s engine, maybe. Or divers with their pumps and so forth… There’d be comings and go
ings all day, he supposed… Unbuckling the flap on his webbing holster, he slid the revolver out. Might as well dry it out, to whatever extent one could. Its ammunition was the most important thing: and the firing-pin, to ensure it wasn’t salted up or might rust later. Check that when the light came: and when he’d dried himself and his clothes out, a shirt-tail would serve as a cleaning rag. For now, going only by feel, he emptied the six .45 shells into his palm and rolled them around, getting the wet off them, then blew through the pistol’s chambers and barrel before reloading. It felt quite oily still.

  The newly-arrived ship – tug? – was passing close to where Nick must have dragged the boat into the reed-filled drainage-channel. No light was showing from that direction, and it was still dark enough; but it seemed crazy to be sitting here, this close to them – trusting to luck or to the Count’s superior wisdom – and counting on none of them prospecting farther afield than just that patch of water. Their priority would be to identify the wreckage and the bodies, he imagined. Not difficult, Johnny Pope’s being dressed in his uniform reefer jacket with RN stripes on the sleeves, brass buttons with anchors and laurels, naval cap. His own cap too – somewhere amongst it. But there’d be other identifying items too – bound to be, since neither capture nor destruction had been considered even as a possibility. The quick dash in and out, the masterstroke of a royal rescue – and nobody having publicly to admit to anything – was all that had ever been envisaged. Whereas now, the way it had turned out, it was likely to be a considerable embarrassment for the British government – seeing that official policy was not to interfere in Russia’s internal affairs, that British soldiers and sailors were here solely to fight Turks and Germans.

  Putting it crudely, the Foreign Office was likely to want the Commodore’s guts for garters.

  ‘Bob.’ The Count’s voice broke into his random thoughts. ‘What will you do?’

  Second time of asking. And more duck flying over – a big, high-speed rush of them, their wingbeats light and fast; he guessed they’d have been teal but again he’d failed to see them… He had no answer to that question, not in the sense of having an answer that he could think of as the right one. The only course that he could see as open to him seemed to be in direct conflict with his duty – which was to get back to the flotilla, and report to the Commodore at the earliest possible moment on what had happened here.

  But short of swimming several hundred miles…

  ‘Straight answer to that straight question, Nick – I’m damned if I know.’

  ‘Come with me, then. Let’s do it together.’

  That was the obvious thing. Trouble was – no, troubles, plural, were – (a) his duty was plainly and simply to get back to the flotilla, (b) it was not legitimate for him to take any part in anti-Bolshevik activities ashore – or even afloat, for that matter – and (c) supposing he did go along with the Count and they found the women and children were still there – which didn’t seem all that probable, after three months or more and with things as chaotic as they were – what options could there be, for God’s sake?

  His head was throbbing. It had been aching ever since he’d recovered consciousness but it was really hurting now. And the other prong of the dilemma was that if he told the Count no, he couldn’t join him, the next question would be – again – ‘So what will you do?’

  * * *

  Warmth came with the first rays of the sun, a fiery blaze flooding across the sea of reeds and grass, and the night’s moisture beginning immediately to lift from the land like steam. He peeled his clothes off, spread them where the sun would get to them when it was higher, and began to think about mosquitoes, which were already whining around.

  He hoped his gear wouldn’t take long to dry. Not only mosquitoes: a whole crowd of Bolsheviks only a couple of hundred yards away. Not the ideal state in which to be taken prisoner.

  ‘Well enough to feel hungry yet, Bob?’

  The thought of food had occurred to him: he’d put it out of his mind. Now the Count was offering him a sandwich – explaining, ‘There was so much food in that bag. Far more than the three of you could have needed. After all, you’d have been having breakfast by this time.’

  He took it gratefully. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I stole these from you, as well.’

  Grenades. He’d put his sandwich in his mouth and was holding out a grenade in each fist. ‘Might have taken more than two, seeing the rest are under the water there now.’ He shrugged. ‘Not that I’m expecting to fight battles – please God.’

  They’d recover that box, Bob realized. And the rifle. One Royal Navy vessel, with weapons and explosives on board, caught and destroyed when engaged on some clandestine mission into Bolshevik-held territory. They’d assume it to have been a mission directed against their new military stores depot. Must have anticipated the possibility of such intrusion – why else lay mines, and station a guardship on the only channel left open?

  The Count said, ‘I don’t need these, anyway. Better without them.’ Making a hole for the grenades, digging with his fingers. Bob told him, ‘I think you’re wise. I only brought them along in case we got stuck, had to fight our way out or something.’

  ‘Very wise.’

  ‘Not really. Considering we’re supposed to be neutral in your civil war.’

  ‘One’s heard the theory, of course.’ The Count shrugged. ‘But it doesn’t make much sense – when you have what you call Expeditionary Forces ashore at Archangel and Murmansk. And they’ve been fighting, as has your Royal Navy, up there…’

  ‘Only to stop the Germans, Nick. If attacked, of course, one fights back, but—’

  ‘What about the Far East too, then? You’ve landed men in Vladivostok. So have the Japanese – seventy thousand men, I heard – and a few Americans, and of course the French…’

  ‘They’re damn-all to do with us, Nick.’

  ‘Royal Navy sailors and Marines manning armoured trains on the Trans-Siberian Railway, trains fitted with guns taken off one of your cruisers in Vladivostok?’

  ‘Well… I think I heard that was in an effort to break through to the Czech Legion – so as to get them out, through Vladivostok I suppose.’

  The Count chuckled, with his mouth full of sandwich.

  ‘Except that we heard – General Denikin was told – that it had been decided the Czech Legion should be brought out through Archangel?’

  ‘From Siberia – across the Urals…’

  ‘They’re concentrated in Western Siberia now – yes. They took Ekaterinburg quite recently, you know.’

  Holding out another sandwich…

  ‘Have you got enough?’

  ‘As many as I could get into my pockets. Have it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I need you with me, Bob. That’s to say, I’d be immensely glad to have your company and help. Unless you do have other plans?’

  Bob stared at him for a moment. Then: ‘Ekaterinburg is where we heard they’d murdered the Imperial family. Including the four young Grand Duchesses – so the report maintained.’

  ‘Rumour.’ A shrug. ‘Haven’t there been dozens, and all different?’ He bit into his own second sandwich. ‘I think it’s probable that there were murders committed at Ekaterinburg. But the message my young friend brought from Enotayevsk – well, you’ll remember…’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘It satisfies me, for one, that not the whole family could have been slaughtered at that time. I was going to say, though – it’s likely they murdered the Tsar, at least, at that time, because the Czechs were advancing on Ekaterinburg. They’d have been very unwilling to allow him and/or others of the Imperial family to be snatched out of their hands – by the Czechs especially.’

  ‘I – suppose…’

  ‘And another thing on the subject of foreigners being involved or not involved in our affairs, Bob – the Czech Legion have a whole crowd of French officers with them. Did you know?’

  He shrugged. Thinking th
at the French would be grinding their own axes – as always… The Czech Legion, raised in Kiev by one Thomas Masaryk, consisted of former prisoners of war as well as pre-war Ukrainian settlers of Moravian and Bohemian origin. There were thirty thousand of them now operating along the Trans-Siberian Railway, of which they’d virtually taken control after Trotsky had made the mistake of ordering Bolshevik troops to disarm them. The Count was nodding – as if he thought he’d won a point here – ‘French officers – openly, they’re not disguising their involvement. I don’t know why you British are so squeamish, Bob.’

  ‘Possibly because we’ve got our hands full already, fighting Germans. Resources stretched pretty thin, at that.’ He slapped at another mosquito. Thinking that as far as grinding axes was concerned this fellow might even be the equal of the French… ‘Politics aren’t my line anyway – we get our orders, that’s all. Ours not to reason why – all that.’

  Two hundred yards away, Bolshevik voices were raised in song: Volga, Volga, our natural mother/Volga, Russian river…

  ‘But when you’re on your own, as you are now—’ the Count was looking in that direction, and he’d dropped his voice to a low murmur – ‘surely you have to reason why. And what – such as, for instance, what you’ll do if you don’t come with me.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll have to work that out.’

  ‘Would you like one of these?’

  An apple. Bob took it from him. ‘Thank you. But if we eat all your rations today…’

  ‘I have roubles, I can buy food – where there’s any to be bought… But tell me – what orders do you have that apply to you in the situation you’re in now?’

  ‘None except that it’s my duty to get back to the flotilla. First, because that’s where my job is, second because they need to know what’s happened here.’ He added, ‘And about that new supply base we found.’