Bletchley Park had been the first to detect them and their signals were monitored closely. Their reports mirrored Swedish naval activity, or the few small scale naval excursions undertaken by the Royal Navy and her allies. It was decided to leave them alone, for now.
The Danes were compliant allies and did not disturb the Soviet observers, although they mounted patrols from their fort, on the northern edge of Saltholm Island, studiously failing to note anything untoward.
The RAF’s contribution to Spectrum Red swung into action.
Two flights of aircraft from 617 Squadron RAF, selected for their ability to metaphorically ‘drop a pebble down a chimney’, flew into Swedish air space, their purpose to attack Göteborg, or at least, to look like they had.
The first group planted their bombs on and around Gota airbase. Everything of worth had been moved into the rock shelters, created in the cliff face during 1942. Old J8 fighters were exposed to the falling bombs, and a dozen were destroyed. The obsolete aircraft, known as Gladiators when in RAF service, served no great purpose, and besides, modern replacements had already been purchased from Britain two months beforehand, or at least the paperwork would reflect that, before the delivery of the twenty Spitfires took place.
617’s second group made an excellent job of destroying a few acres of woodland in the suburb of Delsjo, particularly chosen because it would ensure that the nearby Soviet Consulate was wide awake, and talking urgently to Moscow.
Two Mosquitoes from 105 Squadron RAF were tasked with bringing the war even closer to the consulate and the first pass destroyed the second largest building in the compound, a building identified by Tørget as staffed purely by NKVD personnel.
Goteborg’s power was cut by a senior power company official, who had been briefed on his personal responsibilities to his country beforehand, but the Consulate had its own generator.
Just prior to the loss of power across the city, the second Mosquito had reduced the generator building and the nearby garage to a smoking ruin, thus ensuring that the Consulate’s desperate calls to the Motherland were cut short.
The Light Night Striking Force of 105, 139, and 692 Squadrons RAF, flying Mosquito bombers, carefully ‘attacked’ Swedish coastal emplacements, as would have been done, had a Naval force been forcing a passage into the Baltic.
Using skill to drop their HE far from the Swedish guns, or putting the occasional deliberate dud on target, and generally bathing the positions with light, the LNSF contributed greatly to the illusion that SHAEF was trying to create.
The planning took account of the position of the Saltholm observers ,and was timed to the second to ensure that Force V was, at no time, directly illuminated by the RAF strikes.
Part of the Swedish contribution was to ensure that the coastal illuminations disappeared, as would clearly be prudent for a country suddenly finding itself under attack, also ensuring that the naval forces could move past Saltholm without a revealing backdrop of light.
On Saltholm, the Red Navy observer group had become accustomed to quiet and boring nights.
This one transformed for them as aircraft clearly attacked the Swedish shore installations, some ten kilometres away.
Whilst their mission was to report on seaborne activity, the Captain in charge felt that he needed to call this one in, and so the radio lit up with his report.
The activity was noted by a dedicated team in Bletchley Park.
Twenty-one minutes later, they noted further activity, and the cipher team was passed a message that they, disappointingly, took nearly sixteen minutes to decode.
Sir Roger Marais Dalziel picked up the receiver, waiting as a secure connection was made.
“Sam, good morning. Report from the boathouse. The canoes have been spotted heading to the canal, and are safe and sound.”
Dalziel smiled at the reply.
“Soon enough, Sam. Good night.”
Eisenhower took a sip of his coffee as Rossiter, grinning from ear to ear, replaced the receiver with a flourish.
“Sir. They’ve been spotted and reported as a large, but unidentified, enemy naval force, possibly over one hundred vessels, sailing south-east into the Baltic.”
Ike checked his watch.
“Thank you, Sam. I think we’d better get Arthur up and ready, so that his boys can do their thing.”
Eisenhower had ordered Arthur Tedder to rest, prior to the implementation of Spectrum Red and, it was noted, he hadn’t argued much.
Turning to Somerville and the recently arrived Dönitz, Ike could see that they had both understood the latest development.
“So, Sir James. When’s ‘lights out’?”
He quickly consulted with the small German Admiral, nodding as Donitz pointed at a figure from a column of figures that detailed the timings of Spectrum Red.
“0405 hrs, Sir.”
The sound had attracted her at first.
Delicately caressing her sonar gear at first, the sound of turning screws of all shapes and sizes had grown and enticed her forward.
The ‘Lembit’ and her companion, L3 ‘Frunzenets’, were on a mission to re-mine the waterway south of Øresund, and were running straight in towards Force V.
Lembit’s apparatus had detected the approaching sounds, and her crew had gone to battle stations, followed a minute later by L3.
Lembit was an ex-Estonian Navy submarine that had begun life in a British shipyard, being launched in 1936. She was labelled a mine-laying submarine, with eight torpedoes and twenty-four mines to strike out with.
L3 was an older submarine that first tasted the cold water of the Baltic in 1931. She also carried mines, twenty of them, as well as twelve torpedoes.
The two Soviet captains made very different decisions, once they had spotted the wave of barely distinguishable lights about to ride over them.
The Lembit’s commander, an old and wise sea dog with a penchant for survival, dropped his submarine to its full safe depth and turned southwards, intent on finding somewhere that he could safely surface and contact his superiors, once his radio had been repaired of course.
L3’s Captain, Peep Korjus, a young and ambitious Estonian Senior Lieutenant, saw only glory, and a chance to save the Motherland from further hurt.
L3 commenced its attack, increasing revolutions to bring the vessel around for a flank attack on the approaching fleet.
“Fuck me sideways, Bert. There’s a fucking sub underneath us! Number One! Number One!”
HMS Charity had pulled clear of Force V, or as the Admiral put it, ‘The blasted Blackpool Illuminations’, and killed her engines, floating peacefully on the soft Baltic waters, the two minesweepers doing the same on two different stations, further south.
The First Lieutenant had only just left the Sonar room when Miller, the untried operator, heard the sounds of electric engines coming up to speed.
Petty Officer Albert Coots cuffed the young operator.
“Proper reports, you idjit boy.”
The First Lieutenant plunged back into the sonar cabinet in response to the shouted calls.
“What gives, Coots?”
“Sub, right underneath us, Number One. Heading three-two-five degrees, speed coming up to eight knots.”
“Right underneath us?”
“Aye sir.”
“Sound action stations!”
The bells rang throughout the ship and ratings either closed up or rolled out of their pits.
“What the blazes, Number one!”
Ffoulkes trusted his man, but the effect of the bells and a sudden conversion from total quiet to noisy confusion caught him off guard.
“Sub, Sir, Right underneath us.”
He repeated the updated details of the sonar contact, all on the bridge accepting that it was an enemy, as there were no ‘friendlies’ within a hundred miles.
HMS Charity was swinging in the light breeze.
“She is moving ahead of our bow.”
The Admiral burst onto the bridge, his call of nature caught short in the excitement.
Experienced enough to let the captain do whatever needed to be done, he held his peace, and waited to discover what was happening.
“Range ahead now, Number One?”
A moment’s pause as the officer ducked his head into the cabinet.
“Two-five-zero yards, Captain.”
Ffoulkes eyes burned bright with instant decision.
“Hedgehog. Fire!”
The Midshipman keyed the switch, alerting the forward crew manning the multi-warhead Hedgehog and, within three seconds, two dozen sixty-five pounds charges started to leap from their rails.