“NOOOOO!”
The UZRGM fuse could be set from zero to a hair under thirteen seconds, not that anyone knew what it was that lay under their sergeant’s body.
Time stood still as the fusiliers scattered for their lives.
Silence.
Disbelieving silence.
Incredulous silence.
A silence broken by the voice of Sergeant Carl Jones nine-five, a voice that showed the strain of his predicament.
“Right… ok, lads… get everyone moved away… shar…,” his voice broke slightly with the stress of the situation, “Look sharp now… look fucking lively, you gonts.”
He reverted to insults to regain his composure, and was successful, accompanying the effort with deep breaths.
“Robbo, let me know when everyone is safely outta the way, man.”
“Sarge.”
Robinson checked and waited whilst the wounded Gethin Jones was placed behind cover.
“Sarge… we’re all clear.”
Jones nine-five braced himself and, almost as if performing the longest press-up in the history of man, slowly pushed himself up and off the grenade.
When he was sure he was clear, he moved to examine it, not daring to touch it, but purely using eye contact.
He took a quick look around and determined a safe area, his decision to throw the device into a quiet corner taken in spite of himself, his hand now shaking with approaching shock.
Taraseva watched on, incredulous that the grenade had not killed a number of the capitalist swine, incredulous that the thing had not even exploded, and incredulous that the grenade was now in the air and heading straight back at her.
The hunk of metal struck her in the centre of her stomach and dropped into the bloody remains of her lap.
The F1 did not explode. It could never explode, as the spring had long since seized within the fuse casing.
Taraseva had not known that it failed to explode, the moment it struck her coincided with the closing down of her system due to blood loss.
The unconscious woman passed quickly into death as the enemy celebrated the incredible escape of their NCO.
“You stupid, stupid bastard!”
“Fucking hell, Sarge… I mean… fucking hell!”
The words of congratulations, surprise, horror at his act, or whatever, were all accompanied by slaps and handshakes.
For his part, Carl Jones had drained completely of any colour, and had even accepted the lit cigarette that someone had stuck in his hand, taking a deep drag before he remembered that he didn’t actually smoke.
Second Company troops moved forward, their brief to advance to contact, as Soviet officers and NCOs, escorted by men from the Fusiliers and the HLI, fanned out through the Soviet defences, yelling out in their native language, calling upon the last defenders to surrender.
Llewellyn, accompanied by a horrified Mogris, arrived in the front line to establish what exactly had happened.
Satisfied that the bloodbath had not been caused by his own men, the Royal Welch’s CO assigned Captain Thomas, one of his headquarters officers, to help in sorting out 1st Company’s organisation, and headed off in the wake of 2nd Company.
Elsewhere in Hamburg, similar incidents had taken place, some resulting in nothing more than silent surrender, others in tragedy.
None the less, by the time that the dawn gathered the ruined city in its warm embrace, the Soviet resistance had ended, with most Red Army soldiers in organised captivity. A handful of diehards held out, but were quickly rooted out for blessedly few casualties amongst the British divisions.
By the time that the evening stars became viewable, the vast majority of the Soviet force were enjoying the first decent food they had seen in weeks.
Hamburg was retaken, and would not change hands again.
2nd Lieutenant Gethin Jones refused to be taken to the casualty clearing station until he had made a report to Captain Thomas.
Two days later, Thomas’ report was on Llewellyn’s desk, where it was read and endorsed.
The report flew past a number of officers, rising in rank, before it made its way to London, and those who would decide on its contents.
Jones nine-five had no idea.
Chapter 158 – THE WEAPONS
The sword was a very elegant weapon in the days of the Samurai. You had honor and chivalry, much like the knights, and yet it was a gruesome and horrific weapon.
One vessel had fallen to roving US aircraft from some anonymous carrier, the crew and cargo of I-15 now resting on the bottom of the Sea of Japan.
The sister AM-class submarines, I-1 and I-14, had made it through to their destination, and they rendezvoused with their larger friends off the coast of Siberia, before, in pre-ordained order, they silently slipped into the facility concealed on the bay north-west of Sovetskaya Gavan.
Although not a permanent structure, the Soviet engineers had dedicated their best efforts to developing it secretly, building it bit by bit, almost growing it as part of woods and modest rocky escarpments into which it blended perfectly.
By 0312, the four Japanese submarines were safely ensconced in their berths. The single empty dock reminded the submariners of the absence of I-15, the silent water drawing more than one reluctant gaze for a former comrade, or, in two instances, in memory of a lost brother.
The important Japanese technical personnel left hurriedly, their documents following swiftly in their wake.
Half of the harvest from Okunoshima was unloaded, the general plan being that one half of the products of Japanese research and development of mass killing weapons would be taken by rail, the other half would move by submarine
Everything had arrived at Sovetskaya Gavan without loss from air attack, something that had not been anticipated, and so the loading of the dastardly products of Units 731 and 516 would take much longer than had been expected.
Vice-Admiral Shigeyoshi Miwa, the overall mission commander, arrived and was greeted by the temporary commander, Lieutenant Commander Nanbu Nobukiyo of the I-401.
Pleasantries exchanged, the two occupied an office in the facility and, with the other submarine captains and their No 2s, explored the mission to the smallest degree, Miwa’s additional information contributing to a sense of excitement amongst the experienced submarine officers.
Miwa introduced two new men, vital to the plan.
The two naval personnel, equipped with the necessary language skills were quickly excused and transferred to I-401; one ensign with Greek ancestry and a Lieutenant Commander who had previously been an attaché in Ankara, although the officer had been invalided out of the Naval Air Service, blinded by some wasteful tropical disease contracted on Borneo.
Their part in the plan would come much later.
The presence of two emotional-less Kempai Tai officers and their men was considered unnecessary and provocative to the professional submariners, but Miwa did not order them from the room, simply to stand to one side.
They acknowledged with a nod and stepped back.
He returned to his briefing.
The details of the extended mission in full cooperation with their ally, one that would harness the incredible range of the Sen-Tokus, were impressive, particularly for a nation on its knees.
The journey would be long and fraught with danger, but the planning had been extremely thorough, with back-up plans available where assets permitted.
Some of the other vessels involved were anonymous or of no import, at least as far as the Allies were concerned.
The I-353, a tanker submarine and the Bogata Maru ex Kriegsmarine merchant vessel, hastily converted to an auxiliary submarine tender, both now serving solely one purpose; the refueling and resupply of the four submarines of Operation Niji.