by Jens Kuhn
“Doesn’t look like there are any Russians here,” he muttered. “At least not yet. “No sentries, nothing.”
He had his party search the area, without any success. Finally he ordered his men to keep a sharp lookout and approached the door. It promptly opened before he even had the chance to knock.
“Come in and dry off, good man, my name is Wetterstrand.” The man was clearly a priest. Black frock coat and white collar, short and big bellied.
“Eric af Klint, Royal Artillery, from the inshore fleet. Thank you, father. But is Master Sparre not here?”
“Oh yes, yes, he is having his coffee. Please come in to join. And please, let your men dry up themselves as well, I will have some hot drink sent to them, they can use the barn over there.”
“You are sure there are no Russians on this island?”
“Yes, yes. There have been, though. But they didn’t stay long. Master Sparre will tell you everything.”
Eric af Klint entered the building after having given the order to his men. They were allowed to use the barn, but two sentries had to keep watch. Wetterstrand ushered him into the salon where the farmer was sitting at a coffee table.
“Ah, the navy is here at last,” he cried. “Please sit down and have some coffee. Cakes?”
“Ehm, thank you, but actually I’m artillery. I’m only commanding the landing party, the boat is standing off, waiting for our return.”
“I see, sorry about that. Now do you have any news? How is the war going.”
“Ah, well, it is mostly going on ashore as far as I know, and we are not getting very much news either. Here in the archipelago we are looking for the Russians, but there are none to find.”
“They have been here for sure!”
“Tell me all about it, please!”
“Well, there were gunboats about a week ago. About ten, maybe a dozen. They were coming through the sound here, sending people ashore on several islands. They were here as well, a young officer, quite polite actually. I offered him coffee... as being civilian? What should I do?”
“Yes, of course. Did he say what they were doing here?”
“No, not directly, and I did not dare to ask. But one could see plainly enough. They were surveying. Looking for places to put ashore guns, I guess.”
“Hmm, yes I think you are right. But they went away again?”
“Well, yes. After he had his coffee he left and so did his boat. But they were around a while longer. And they send our priest here away from his island.”
“Ah. They did?”
“Yes.” Wetterstrand joined the conversation. “You see, I have this little summer cottage on the island right across the sound here. When the Russians came they told us to leave. Me and my daughter that is. My wife died several years ago.”
Eric af Klint hesitated. Should he tell the farmer about his children? He supposed he’d have to. But Master Sparre didn’t give him a chance anyway.
“So I sent my son and daughter in a boat to find you. I guess they did – that’s why you are here isn’t it?”
“Well,” af Klint coughed. “Yes, sort of. We found your daughter and she is safe with us. But your son... I am afraid the Russians caught them....”
Lieutenant Kulin shuddered. Why should this take so long? Surely af Klint must have reached the farm by now and as there hadn’t been any shots fired he probably did not find any Russians. But they would have to be somewhere, wouldn’t they? And they had been here. If it only could stop raining.
Eric af Klint said goodbye to the two men and walked out into the rain. When he approached the barn he heard one of the sentries giving a yell of warning. He startled? What were they up to now? He quickened his pace and moved towards the door. Opening it he couldn’t believe his eyes. There, on a bed of straw was a girl, naked to the bare flesh, in the process of copulating with one of his men, while others stood in a circle around them, watching.
“Stop this nonsense!” shouted af Klint. “This is no bawdy house for Christ’s sake. The Russians could be here any minute and you are all a’whoring!”
The men moved away giggling, one of them buttoning up his pants, disappointedly. The girl, obviously the priest’s daughter, however, just looked at him, her eyes glittering. “What about you, officer?” Smiling again, big white breasts, gleaming wet with perspiration. He had to force himself to look away. He coughed.
“Nonsense...now gather up men, we are going back to the boat.”
And so they walked away, af Klint still thinking of the white flesh and her smile. “A priest’s daughter for heaven’s sake,” he muttered to himself.
Sub-lieutenant Dahlberg saw the Russians first. His boat, Number 35 was cruising slowly up the sound, men observing the islands on both sides closely. Then he saw it. Something was moving in between the trees on the nearest island.
“Look out, starboard side,” he cried. But he was too late. Suddenly the tree line erupted in smoke, small arms fire popping and bullets hitting the water only a few feet away.
“Swivel guns, starboard side! Grape shot, fire at will!” The more hoarse popping of the gunboat’s two swivels now. Still the Russians kept firing, well hidden behind the trees as they were.
“Hold water, “ he ordered, “starboard side back your sweeps, port side give way!”
The gunboat almost turned on the spot. As the bows came round the big 24 pounder’s muzzle was pointing towards the shore. “Forward gun, round shot, fire!”
The gun belched, smoke erupted and then the crash of wood. At point blank range the cannonball had cut through the vegetation like a knife through butter. Another crash. Gunboat Number 34 had closed up and joined the fight.
Lieutenant Kuhlin heard the gunshots shortly after he had re-embarked his landing party. While af Klint told him about his encounters on the farm, the boat backed away and made her best speed towards the battle. However, when they finally arrived, the firing had stopped. He moved his boat alongside Number 35 where Dahlberg was assembling a landing party. Spotting Kuhlin he shouted over the water.
“They are retreating into the woods. Quite a few of them, about 30 I would guess. We got a few with the swivels, but the rest got away inland.”
“We will pursue. A dozen men from every boat will suffice. I’ll lead myself. Well done, Dahlberg.”
Ten minutes later the landing party was thrashing its way through the forest. There was no real path, but the Russians had cleared the worst of the branches and trampled down most of the bushes. Thus, the Swedes could advance unhindered and soon they reached a clearing. A small cottage, clearly the one priest Wetterstrand had used as a summer house, was surrounded by a low wooden fence, marking the border of the small garden where the priest and his trampy daughter grew some potatoes. And behind that fence, the Russian soldiers had taken up their positions. Kuhlin signaled his men to stop their advance. As soon as they would leave the protection of the woods, the Russians had a clear line of fire, and he did not want to risk a frontal attack. He called to the bosun from Number 34.
“You will take up position here and fire at the Russians from the protection of the woods to attract their attention. I’ll take a dozen men and try to get at them from the other side.”
“Aye aye.”
Kuhlin led his party around the clearing, taking good cover. If the Russians saw him, the whole maneuver would be in vain. Now there was musket fire, the crackling sound giving him extra cover in case one of the Russians had better ears than eyes. Then they were on the other side. Kuhlin gave the order to advance.
They reached the cottage unseen. “We’ll split up here and go around the cottage on either side,” he ordered. Walking closely to the wall they soon were upon the Russians. Kuhlin pointed his pistol and fired. His party’s muskets crackled. Then they advanced, cutlasses in hand, all while the rest of their men were charging from the woods.
The fight did not last long. As soon as the Russians realized that they were surrounded, they threw their weapons to the gro
und and surrendered. Kuhlin approached a man who he thought must be their officer. He had been wounded in the leg and was sitting down, back towards the fence. Kuhlin introduced himself in French.
“Lieutenant Kuhlin, inshore fleet. Now please do tell what you are doing here and where your boats are.”
The Russian smiled wryly. “Our boats will soon be here,” was the only thing he said.
Eric af Klint was sure he knew what the Russians were doing and had told Kuhlin so. “They are preparing to set up a gun battery here. Why else would they be so many on this little island. And send away the priest?”
Kuhlin nodded. “But what did they do all the way back to where we found the girl? Surely they cannot plan to put guns there either?”
“No, but an observation post. In order to get early warning in case our boats are coming out from Sottungarna.”
“That means they will have people on their way there right now. And Gran is sitting there with a dozen men, a girl and no boat.”
Kuhlin made his decision. They would have to split up. Number 35 would stay here and try to spot the Russians, hold them off if possible. Number 34 would go straight to Sottungarna to warn the fleet and get reinforcements. Maybe they would be able to put guns of their own ashore here, turning the table on the Russians. And his own boat would try to relieve Gran and the girl. If it wasn’t too late. There was not a minute to be lost, thought Kuhlin.
Chapter 9 - Trapped
Sub-Lieutenant Gran sat outside the little cottage which had become his temporary home. He had moved one of the two straw beds into the kitchen, while Miss Eleonora used the other room. His men had pitched their tent on the beach, about fifty yards away. They had a quite comfortable time of it, thought Gran. The food was good and hot now they had a real kitchen so they could have as good a dinner as could be had. If they only had a boat there even could have been some fish. And a way to escape if the Russians came.
Gran wondered about the girl. She had recovered quite amazingly, considering the circumstances. Sometimes she almost was a little flirtatious, or so he thought. Or she was simply thankful that he had rescued her. They had talked quite a lot during the day, about her family, the farm on Sandö and her brother. Only then had she become quiet and shed some tears. Gran had taken her hand into his to comfort her, and she had squeezed it a little.
Afterwards, they had walked on the beach together, silently, each thinking about their own problems. But there still had been some sort of connection. And once, when she had stumbled over a rock and almost fallen, he had caught her around the waist and put her back onto her feet. That waist. It was so delicate, firm yet soft under his hands through the fabric of the patched up dress. Then one of his men had called to him and duty took his mind away from her. Which was just as well, he thought. There was no time for sentiments like this. After all there was a war on.
In the afternoon it had started to rain again. Gran had seen to the swivel guns, which he had placed in the woods on each side of the cove, so they could cover the beach as well as the cottage and the water. In case the Russians approached, they would retreat into the woods and hide unless they were spotted, in which case they would fight. Gran wasn’t quite sure, however, how they could signal to Kuhlin if they were in distress. Wouldn’t the Russians see the signal as well? Kuhlin was probably too far away anyway.
Dinner that evening was rabbit. One of the men had managed to shoot three of them with a musket, which, in any case had to be considered a great achievement considering the inaccuracy of the smooth bore gun. Or maybe the man simply had been lucky. The animal was cooked over an open fire on the beach and the whole crew had sat around it and had a good time. Including Miss Eleonora. There had been quite some drinking as well and Gran felt not quite himself when he escorted the girl back to the cottage. He left her in her room and went outside again for a final round of the premises. The night was quiet and cool and he stood a long time on the rocks, thinking. If there only wasn’t this war. Sub-lieutenant Gran returned to the cottage and went to bed.
That night she came to him. Gran had just started to drift into sleep when her door opened and she walked towards him silently, almost cat-like. When she reached his bed their eyes met. Eleonora slipped out of her gown and stood naked in the dim light of the Nordic night. Still without a single word she slipped into his bed.
The next morning she was gone. Gran almost thought it had been a dream, if not her scent still had lingered on him. And of course it had been real. The love-making had been careful at first, not that she had hesitated a bit, she clearly did know what she wanted and Gran of course did want it, too. Still it was like they did not really believe it to happen here and now. But later they had become more passionate, their bodies moving together like they always had done this, like they belonged together naturally. When it was over, she had snuggled into his arms, his hand on her breast, just savoring the closeness. But they had not talked.
Gran rose and put on his clothes. He then moved over to her door, opened it carefully and entered. Eleonora was still in her bed, but awake. She looked at him and smiled, eyes glittering.
“Miss Eleonora, I....eh...”
“Don’t say anything. Just come here and kiss me.”
Gran sat on her bed and took her head between his hands, kissing her softly.
“Eleonora...I cannot promise you anything.”
“I know. I don’t want any promises. I just want you.”
“But surely...”
“You definitely do think too much.” She put her arms around him and pulled him down on top of her. Gran felt her body, still naked under the sheet and his desire rose again. Hungrily she received him, making him stop worrying at least for a while.
“I have to check on my men,” Gran said afterwards.
“Of course. You are not to forget your duty, sub-lieutenant. Go now and let me get decent and I will make all of us some coffee.”
Gran left the cottage and started to climb the rocks, his heart light with what probably would have to be called happiness. Or so he thought. But when he reached the top of the rocks his heart sunk. The sentry was fast asleep back rested against a big rock. And from the East he could see gunboats approaching. There were at least six of them and they were definitely Russian.
Half an hour later two of the boats detached and made for their cove. Sub-lieutenant Gran was trapped on his little island, together with a beautiful girl and and dozen men. Two Russian gunboats, that meant at least 80 men, Gran thought. There was no real point in fighting, but there was no way he would let them have Eleonora again.
Miss Eleonora had been afraid of course, when he told her. But she had not despaired. She knew he had a plan and would do his very best to protect her. Especially now.
“If the worst happens, I’d rather be dead,” she had told him. Then she had asked him for a pistol.
Gran had given her one of his and explained how to use it. Then he had gathered his men.
“You know what to do. We will split up and retreat into the woods. One swivel gun to each group, but you are not to use it until you see me use mine. And remember, don’t shoot too early, the later you fire, the more effect it has.”
With a soft thud the two Russian gunboats run their bows ashore in the cove. A group of men jumped out and made their way towards the cottage, while others rested on the thwarts. In the stern of one boat an officer lighted a pipe. After a short while the men returned from the cottage and started to discuss something with the smoking officer who now made his way forward and followed them to the cottage.
Sub-lieutenant Gran watched the scene from inside the woods. Close to him crouched Eleonora, one hand clasping his arm. He felt her tremble lightly. Surely, she understood what was going on as well as he did. These Russians had been in the cottage to look for her. Not finding her in the chest the man had returned to the boats and were now discussing the consequences of their discovery. Fortunately the Russians did not seem to be especially concerned. They had n
ot even posted sentries. Clearly, not finding any boats around they were assuming the girl had been rescued and moved from the island. If there only were a way to alert Kuhlin and his boats. But there was no way to do this without alerting the Russians as well.
One of his men was nervously moving the muzzle of the swivel gun back and forth. “Could we not just open fire with these, Sir?” he whispered?
“No, we’d not kill enough of them and the rest would still outnumber us. We will only fire if we are discovered.”
The Russians started to gather ashore without any apparent order. Soon there was smoke coming from the chimney. They were preparing a meal. Gran was relieved that they had not set out to search the island. Maybe they were able to stay hidden after all. But how long would they have to stay here in the wood? He was thinking of moving his group over the ridge and to the other side of the island. But then they would not be able to watch the Russians easily. And the guns may be too heavy to be moved that far.
It was a long wait. While the sun slowly lowered itself towards the sea the men and Eleonora watched the Russians eat, get drunk and fall asleep on the beach. Not all of them, though. The officer walked restlessly along the beach, pipe between his teeth. After a while, he called to a group of men and beckoned to the top of the rocks, where Gran had stood when he first spotted the Russian gunboats. Three men started to make their way up the rocks.
“What are we going to do?” asked Eleonora suddenly. Gran looked at her a long time. Then he made a decision. “We need to get someone on those rocks as well. Down here we can’t know if there are other boats around, perhaps even Kuhlin returning.”
“But what about the Russians up there?”
Sub-lieutenant Gran shrugged.
Chapter 10 - Night action
Slowly Gunboat Number 14 moved through the night. Lieutenant Kuhlin had only given his men enough time to rest for a meal on a small island in the late afternoon. Then they had taken their places at the sweeps again. Exhausted though they were, they all understood the importance of making all possible haste towards Gran and his party. Although they did not know how much of a head start the Russians had, they were sure they would not sail at night. These waters were difficult enough to navigate in daylight. Now, fortunately it wasn’t that dark, but with the skies overcast still after the rain, visibility wasn’t exactly good.
