“CAREFUL YOU OAF! MORE TO THE BACK… THAT’S IT… A LITTLE MORE…”
“Oh, Yuri! Look! That’s a full Maior loading that truck. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one outside of headquarters.”
“Since when do Maiors do this kind of work?”
“You dunce… look at the load.”
“Looks like some kind of little boat to me.”
“It’s a small submarine and it does not like to be out of the water.”
“What can that little thing do to those capitalist monsters that roam all over the world’s oceans? They are so small and they have no guns.”
“You dolt, they have torpedoes and those torpedoes can sink a battleship.”
The huge lifter strains under the load but successfully delivers its load onto the special trailer. The trailer groans under the strain but takes the weight easily. The load handlers crawl over the midget submarine like ants on a captured giant caterpillar; slinging ropes and cables, using winches to tie down their deadly-looking cargo. Hundreds of loads have already left the shipyards and ports in Poland and eastern Germany, on their way to the coasts of France, and the Low Countries.
Hundreds more will be making their way from shipyards in Yugoslavia and Albania. Soon, submerged killing machines will be prowling from their coastal bases, ranging out to 300 miles. Virtually undetectable, these copies of the German Type XXVII ‘Seehund’ midget submarine will create a formidable challenge to the anti-submarine forces of NATO. At 39 feet, and with only a crew of two, these midgets are too small to generate an Asdic echo. Their two G7es/TV GNAT acoustical torpedoes give these midgets a heavy weight punch.
Everywhere that the sea can be reached by heavy truck was a potential launching site for these lethal midgets. They will come as a very unpleasant surprise for the ships of NATO. Their first use would be the English Channel.
“Careful comrade; watch that line in back! It’s not supposed to bend! This is not a sausage!”
The creaks and groans subside, as the elegantly lethal load finally settles down from its short lift by crane from the dry-dock to the transport. A light rain starts to fall as the big motor of the transport truck strains to move its load. Within minutes, Midget Submarine 219 is on its way to a launching site near IJmuiden. Others are either on site, or on their way, spread out for hundreds of miles along the English Channel coast.
The coastal shipping lanes of the Southern British Isles are about to receive a rude awakening. No longer will the grey monsters of the NATO navies cruise at will up and down the coasts of Europe with impunity.
A 300-mile wide killing zone is about to be created, wherever Red Army forces touch the sea.
Park Bench #4371
Gorky Park
Moscow
“What’s on your mind comrade?”
“Just the possible famine, that’s all. What are we going to do; so many mouths to feed and just barely enough to go around. I think that even I will lose a few pounds.”
Josef looks into the street without actually focusing. He is deep in thought about Georgi’s question and is torn between confiding in his old friend and possibly putting his life in jeopardy. It doesn’t help that a cold wind gust sweeps down from the north, and swirls away. Just yesterday it had been a gorgeous fall day, but not today. The weather matched his mood perfectly. A trash cart, pulled by a sway-backed nag and horribly stinking of garbage, plodded past them and woke him from his reverie.
“Comrade I’m going to tell you something to ease your mind. You cannot repeat this to anyone. If you do, I will deny it and kill your family… do you understand old friend?”
“I understand, old friend, but I am not sure I want to know under such circumstances… ‘old friend’.”
“I am close to joking; comrade, but you must take my caution seriously. Is that understood?”
“Da, Josef… it is understood.”
“Good! There is actually barely enough for all here in the Motherland. The real secret is that it is going to be used as a weapon. Our new allies in Poland and the Balkans do not have enough food. Stalin has ordered that our food be used as a weapon of repression. Those who go along, will be fed. Those who do not; will starve. He will make it seem as if we have plenty of food for those willing to be good Communists. There will be less food for those who are neutral and even less food for those who are not so neutral. It will not be blatant, but it will make the unwilling very weak, and concerned only with survival. Their survival will depend on their sons and how well they fight the capitalists and their sons will know this. All revolutions occur when there is a large population of starving, unemployed, young men. Our young men are fighting for the Motherland, and do not have time to think about such things.”
“But comrade, where will the extra food come from?”
“That is the secret part comrade. That is what may get you in trouble, if you truly want to know. Are you sure you want to know… old friend?”
“Da.”
“Our own peasants, the old and infirm, the useless ones, possibly even the very young. We will lose millions to feed our new satellite states. Our newly-conquered territories will also be stripped of any excess food to be shipped back to us. Stalin has never liked certain regions, nor certain ethnic groups, and this will be his excuse to get rid of them. I can assure you, there will be no extra food in France or Germany. They will be on minimal rations and the excuse will be the famine. You cannot argue with a famine, even if it is man-made and most especially, if you don’t know it that it is.”
“But what of the excess food; will it not be discovered and riots occur?”
“That is the real evil part of this plan. There will be no excess food… just enough for good Communists and the army and their families. Everyone else will just get along while some will get nothing; mostly the ones in the country who are invisible anyway. They will bear the brunt of the famine. The ones with no voice, the ones who can’t fight, the ones that are ignorant of their fate, until it is too late and they are too weak to protest; in short, the peasants. They will be told… ‘The shipment will come soon, just be good little peasants and die, like you always have.’ It really sickens me comrade, but either we have the majority of us surviving or we will all be in trouble.”
“Do you think that Comrade Stalin would have fought back so hard against the capitalist pigs if he had known that the drought would be so bad?”
“Probably not comrade, but all our former weather scientists did not predict this… how could they? Yet they have all disappeared and some decidedly nervous new ones have taken their place.”
“Ah, yes. If we could only know the past, before it becomes the past. That would help immensely.”
This is nuts. Who ever thought that Stalin would actually come through on one of his promises? Yet, here I am, once again in command of the good ship Samthar, on my way from Gdansk to Portsmouth. My cargo is 2,000 fellow British subjects. Unbelievable! They just let us go. No conditions, no hidden cargo, no spies, at least I hope no spies. It just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Especially when the orders come from Stalin himself, as I was told. I can’t believe that I’ll be seeing Susan again soon. What a night that will be! Bloody hell who has to wait for the night? I wonder if she’ll want to get married this time…