He stopped as he pondered whether or not the contents of the drum were heavier or lighter than water.
“We either sink the bastard, or hide it. Whatever the fuck… we get outta here sharpish. You got me?”
The heavy breathing men muttered something that Sergeant Cookson took for understanding.
“On the left, Sarnt!”
‘Shit… too close…’
“Paddle like fuck, boys!”
Despite their efforts, it seemed that they had missed the entrance to the small stream, until Cookson threw himself into the icy waters once more and made the short distance to the bank.
He caught the thrown line and quickly tied it to a tree.
Together with the renewed efforts of the two and a half oarsmen, his efforts on the line overcame the flow of the river and the ‘raft’ was pulled back up and into the stream.
Cookson moved quickly along the bank, pulling his men and the barrel after him.
He rounded a sharp left turn in the stream and neatly fell into a concealed hollow, the heavy splash bringing cries of enquiry from his men.
Cookson waved his hand to show he was fine, and quickly reasoned his present bathing area would be perfect for hiding the barrel, if not in the stream then under the vegetation and snow that had obscured the water.
He could feel himself turning blue so moved appropriately.
“Move… get ‘em undone and I’ll pull the plug on it.”
As Bouzyk and Cadbury undid the ties, Cookson decided to deflate the boat and leave it under the barrel. They only had two and waste was abhorrent to him.
He waited to see if the barrel floated and breathed a mighty sigh when it dropped below the water and settled on the bottom.
Dropping his head beneath the water, his hands ran around the barrel, discovering that it was prevented from rolling by a large piece of wood stuck in the bed.
He quickly pulled the line tight around the barrel, made some knot, something his trainers would probably have lost sleep over, and secured the other end to the base of a small shrub, making sure as best he could that it couldn’t be seen in a casual inspection.
The dinghy had moved a little away, despite the efforts of the paddlers, and Cookson found himself having to swim a few strokes to get back to it, where he was quickly hauled aboard.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Bleeding Esther Williams?”
“Not now, Choc… in fact, not ever… I’m sodding frozen!”
Tappett started rubbing his sergeant’s body violently.
“You need to get moving…. Get out of these clothes, Sarnt. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise fuck all, Tappers.”
The firing had taken on the proportions of a full-scale battle, and Cookson had other priorities.
“Move it… Viking power!”
It was an old joke from an operation they had undertaken in Norway.
The paddles bit into the water at double the pace, and the remaining dinghy carried the four weary men away from whatever was happening.
Cookson wasn’t sure. But he had a feeling that the small stream joined back up with the main river again, and he was delighted to be proved right as the dinghy once again came under the influence of the faster flowing main watercourse.
His original plan had been to move overland back to the river, dinghy in hand, but his luck had held and even the Neman lent a hand, grabbing hold of the four men’s craft and pushing it inexorably towards the north bank.
“You throw ok, Tapper?”
“I’ll do, Sarnt.”
“Stand ready.”
If the partisans had not all disappeared, there should be a two man party on the riverbank, marking the spot where there was a track to take them north of Route 141 and back towards their base.
Again, lady fortune smiled and the snow parted sufficiently for the two female partisans to be spotted.
Tappett threw the line and the two women pulled it in vigorously, almost spilling the corporal from his perch.
The dinghy bumped against the bank and the four men were out and on firm ground in under three seconds.
Bouzyk took the hauling line and pulled the dinghy onto the grass, where he opened the valve to collapse the inflatable.
The firing seemed to have followed them and their expert eyes started to pick out muzzle bursts amongst the snowflakes.
“Move out. Up and over the road pronto.”
He grabbed part of the dinghy and he and Boozy ran side by side, pressing on various parts in an effort to exhaust all the air.
There as a sound like an angry wasp, and another, as bullets fired at someone else came close.
An explosion illuminated the road to the east, and moving figures became apparent.
“That’s our lot for sure.”
Cookson dropped into cover by the roadside, the very core of him chilled beyond description.
His strength started to ebb at a greater speed.
“C’mon Sarnt. We gotta get you into the dry and warm.”
Tappett took a closer look and made a decision.
He used sign language to cajole one of the women to part with her spare blanket.
Cookson seemed almost drunk as he flopped around whilst Tappett wrestled with the soaking camouflaged jacket.
He got it off and the dry blanket around his commander’s shoulders after some effort, during which he knew he had not done his damaged fingers any favours.
“Boozy, Choc… grab the Sarnt. He’s fucked up bad. We need to get him out of here damn fast or he’s a goner.”
A scream close by made them all grab for their weapons again, all but the now unconscious Cookson.
Out of the snow came two partisans, supporting a third who was leaking vital blood from a number of important places.
Tappett stepped up and motioned the party to the side.
He examined the woman and quickly established that she was beyond help.
The bigger of the two men picked up the body and slung it over his shoulder.
‘The Shield’ did not abandon its own.
More figures moved back down the road and dropped into positions in and around the SAS group.
Bottomley arrived with the rest of his men and the partisan rearguard and immediately took command.
“What’s up with the Sarnt?”
“Hypothermia, boss. Went in the water a coupla times.”
“Right. Get yourselves away sharpish. Janina, send some of your people with them please.”
Mikenas snapped her fingers at a group of four who almost swept the three SAS men up as they moved away.
More bullets zipped through the air around them, and the MG-42 spat back, scoring hits from the sounds of distress that greeted the controlled bursts.
Bottomley beckoned Mikenas to one side.
“We’ll take the main party off the road here. We need a group to fall back up the road… continue to lead them on… for at least ten minutes.”
Janina Mikenas understood, and also understood what the order might entail for the distraction group.
“Audra!”
Karelis flopped beside her leader, fresh blood flowing from a nasty gash in her cheek.
“You alright, Audra?”
“Scratch. Fell as I got out of the boat. Nothing to it.”
Mikenas gave Karelis her instructions, hugged the older woman, and sent her friend and six men to their deaths.
The main group moved away quickly, the rearmost partisans doing everything they could to disguise the traces of movement, mainly with little success.
The return route had been chosen because there were some exposed rock surfaces that would help mask the direction the partisans took, but for now they relied on the distraction provided by Karelis’ party.
The firing seemed to be getting further away, and the rearmost men sent a message forward reinforcing the view that the subterfuge had worked.