The Red Army order of Battle in the Great Patriotic War.
ISBN 0-89141-237-9
Read the beginning of the final book in the Red Gambit series now.
I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.
CHAPTER 200 – THE CONVERGENCE
1424 hrs, Sunday 8th April 1947, Moscow City Zoo, Moscow, USSR.
It was a zoo in two halves, split down the middle, like a divide between the old and new sections, by the Bolshaya Gruzinskaya, a major Moscow thoroughfare.
The Allied contingent had the opportunity to look around and relax as best they could, albeit under the close attention and watchful eyes of a blizzard of uniformed and non-uniformed intelligence officers.
On the road itself, street sellers peddled their wares, from souvenirs to hot food, the latter attracting the attention of a number of the hungrier members of the group.
With a savoury pastry in one hand and a hot sweet tea in the other, Ramsey could only just manage with his briefcase tucked up under his arm.
Helpfully, his closest observer offered to carry the case but her offer was declined and instead Ramsey offered up the tea and took a firm grip on his case.
It was to be expected, but it didn’t stop the NKVD minder trying.
As was his way, Ramsey started to create a problem with his artificial legs, something he did to allow him to separate from the group on occasion, when other more clandestine duties called.
His personal minders remained close at hand, two men and two women, whilst the rest of the group, headed up by the irrepressible Horrocks, completed their journey across the Bolshaya Gruzinskaya and onto the newest section of the City Zoo.
Ramsey was ushered to a green painted bench.
He sat down heavily and made a great show of rubbing his thighs.
One of the Allied group decided to stay with him and keep the British officer company.
“Playing up, John?”
“Too bloody right, Miguel. Very sore for some reason.”
He continued to rub them as he and the US intelligence officer went through their pre-arranged routine.
“I need to sort the bloody strapping out.”
Lieutenant Colonel Miguel de la Santos USMC looked around, seemingly in search of something, but already knowing just where to look.
He pointed dramatically.
“There’s a head, John. That’ll do, won’t it?”
“Just the job, Miguel. Excuse me, Mayor… I need the toilet…”
He pointed to emphasise his words.
The impassive GRU officer simply nodded and moved aside to let Ramsey stand.
Ramsey offered Santos his briefcase for safekeeping.
It was an exquisite touch, designed to disarm the overseers.
Moving in apparent discomfort, Ramsey made his way across to the toilet and placed a few coins in the dish overseen by a fierce looking old woman who tended the Spartan facility, and whose words of thanks sounded more like a diesel engine starting up on a cold morning.
The GRU Major stopped Ramsey from entering and sent in his number two, who turfed out the two men he found inside before checking the facility, emerging to simply nod at his commander.
Ramsey was allowed to enter.
The cubicle’s false wall swung open.
“Polkovnik… we meet in the strangest of places.”
“General… that we do.”
“It was necessary, I’m afraid, and thank you. No briefcase?”
“No… I don’t need one.”
“But…”
He reached down and unclipped his left leg.
Unscrewing the lower calf, he revealed a large cavity that could take a good size roll of A4-sized paper… similar to a large report file such as was handed over to him.
“What do I have here, General?”
“Vital information that you need to get to your commanders immediately. I vouch fully for its authenticity… and given what it is, you’ll need to impress upon them that it is authentic and requires that they act immediately.”
“I will tell them, general.”
“I came here myself for that reason, and also to explain why… they’ll ask you why, Polkovnik.”
It was all too cryptic for Ramsey’s tastes but he had to accept matters as they were.
“Go on, General.”
“Because we don’t wish this conflict to escalate to something that can no longer be stopped. There’ll shortly be a change in the Motherland’s leadership, and when it happens, you’ll know that we, the new leadership, are serious people who will do what’s necessary to protect our Motherland.”
Ramsey had just been handed a momentous piece of intelligence and was momentarily thrown.
Gathering himself quickly, he reattached his leg.
“I will deliver that message, General.”
“Good… now we must hurry or our people’ll start to wonder what you are doing. Good luck, Comrade Polkovnik Ramsey.”
“And to you, General Nazarbayeva.”
0348 hrs, Tuesday, 10th April 1947, forty kilometres south of Clark’s Harbour, Nova Scotia.
“…And… mark. Down periscope… take us down to 120.”
Kalinin kept his voice low, as did all submariners in time of stress, as if a passing fish might overhear.
Their express orders had been to avoid any sort of contact on their journey across the Atlantic, and that had been successfully done, although passing up big and vulnerable targets was foreign to all, but clearly necessary to preserve the secrecy of the mission.
However, now, as the group of submarines neared the coast of the United States, it was proving more difficult to remain hidden, as the waters grew heavy with the hulls of warships and merchantmen.
The ‘mark’ had recorded the angle of the enemy vessel and Kalinin leant on the map table with the navigator, examining the plot.
“Target, range five thousand, Comrade Leytenant.”
The officer made a mark and together they apprised the tactical situation.
“Come to port… 247 degrees, Comrade Kapitan?”
“Agreed… Starshy Leytenant…”
His first officer was quickly at the table.
“Come to port, steer 247… keep us at this depth until our friend is off the hydrophone then back to normal. Understood?”
“Understood, Comrade Kapitan.”
“Advise the others by Sheptat immediately.”
He referred to the ‘Gertrude’ underwater communications system that had been stolen from the Americans.
The number one set about discharging his orders, leaving Kalinin a moment to look at the greater picture.
By now, Nobukiyo and his the rest of his group, ‘Soviet Vozmezdiye’ and I-1, would be nearing the final staging point before they closed in to their firing position off Block Island.
‘…if they’re on time and if there’s been no problems…’
Kalinin’s attack group consisted of ‘Soviet Initsiativa’, I-402, and I-14, and the three of them, having rendezvoused off Newfoundland, were now moving gradually southwest, keen not to arrive in the heavily traversed waters ahead of schedule.
Their luck had not been overly tested during their voyage across the Atlantic, but it had certainly been given a full workout once they had arrived within range of land, with aircraft and naval patrol ships plaguing their every hour.
Once, I-1 had been subjected to an attack by a Canadian Liberator, but it had come to nothing.
The RCAF crew’s after-action report was challenged and it was suggested that they had dropped on a pod of whales.