Devil's Garden

Chapter 17

“Hold on, Jock! That looks like our man!” Sutherland hissed under his breath pointing through a gap in the storage crates of the warehouse where they had been hiding.

They had settled in, watching the entrance to the detainment facility across the street and trying to figure the best way to get inside. Sutherland was not too keen on Haselden’s suggestion that they merely walk up to the gate and present themselves.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” The Captain explained. “They’d throw us right inside, eh?”

“Well bugger me!” said Sutherland. “I didn’t paddle across the Caspian Sea and come all this way through muck and mire to get thrown in the bloody hole, mate. There has to be some other way to do this.”

Before they had time to argue the matter, they heard that strange thrumming sound above them, and Haselden looked out through a hole in the roof to see a swirling shadow in the sky. It was unlike any aircraft they had ever seen before, but it quickly vanished in the low cloud, the sound of the big engines fading away.

The appearance of the aircraft caused quite a stir, and there was too much activity in and around the site for them to even consider making a move at that point. Haselden swallowed his idea and decided to hunker down. “We’ll have to wait until things settle,” he said. “I suppose we could use the rest, and then this evening we put on the black face and see if we can slip inside that place.”

“Now you’re talking.” Sutherland was finally hearing a plan he could live with, and one his commando training could embrace. So they waited, throughout the long day until they were thinking to make a move. Unfortunately, the Germans soon presented them with another option. They could clearly hear the sound of rifle fire in the distance, men shouting, and the rumble of battle thickening with machine guns and incoming artillery. Then, to their amazement they heard an enormous roar in the distance, coming from the sea.

“What do you make of that?” Sutherland had crept to the far side of the warehouse and was peering out a dislodged board in the outer wall. Haselden crept to his side and the two men looked out to see the strangest craft they had ever laid eyes on. It roared in from the sea with two massive engines aft and looking like an enormous inflatable raft with a steel superstructure. To their amazement, they saw the front of the craft open like a landing craft and disgorge armored vehicles that began amphibiously swimming to the shore. There were three landing craft in all, and each carried vehicles, and swarms of black booted soldiers who stormed ashore to the whistle of NCOs as the little invasion proceeded.

Haselden had seen amphibious tanks like the old Tetrarch, the Valentine DDs and the newer plans for a Sherman Duplex Drive that the British would call “Donald Duck.” These tanks were altogether different, with a low profile and a sharp forward edge for scudding through the surf.

“Have a good look at that, Sutherland. Now there’s a floating tank worth the bloody name. Look at them move!”

“Looks like the Germans are attacking and this lot is here to try and stop them. Now what, Jock? Is this a private fight or can anybody get in on it?”

Haselden squinted as he watched. “We lay low and see what develops. No sense sticking our three pistols and a couple Stens in the mix. If Jerry is coming in force, they’ll take this place. That looks to be a good sized company landing out there, but the Germans will be coming with much more. If so, then the Russians may soon have to abandon that detention center. Let’s get back and keep our eyes on that gate. We won’t want our man slipping away in this mess, but all this gunfire plays to our advantage.”

So they waited, listening to the battle surround them, and catching a glimpse of yet another odd looking Russian AFV that appeared to be a quad Ack Ack gun. It lingered near the prison for a time, then moved off to the north.

“Looks like they sent a couple squads inside that fortress,” said Sutherland. “They may not give the place up easily, and suppose our man gets it in the middle of all this shooting?”

“Then he gets it,” said Haselden. “Nothing we can do about that.”

“Well how will we know?”

“We’ll find out soon enough. One side or another is going to win this fight. Hold on Davey boy, you’ll see.”

Haselden was correct.

After a sharp battle for all of thirty minutes, they looked to see a group of men emerging from the prison entrance, and among them was the tall stocky man they had identified as Orlov.

“That’s our man!” Haselden was jubilant. “They saw a group of soldiers peel off, and two men herding Orlov in their direction. Then a series of three incoming mortar rounds began to thump into the road and nearby rail line and the three men crouched and sprinted for the warehouse where the British commandos were lying in wait.

“Now Maitland! Now’s your time!” Haselden hissed, repeating Wellington’s order to the 2nd and 3rd Battalions of the 1st Foot Guards at Waterloo as they were sent to oppose the French Old Guard.

Sutherland knew the reference at once and gave the Captain a wink. “Up Guards, ready!” he echoed, and the three British commandos tensed up for quick action.

The Russians staggered into the building and, allies or not, the moment required the hardest possible line. Haselden leapt up, pistol aiming and firing at the two armed soldiers, who were caught completely off guard and killed with a snap of four clean shots. The three commandos were up with weapons drawn on Orlov, who gave them an astonished look.

Haselden tipped his beret to the man. He had fulfilled the first important part of his charge in finding this man, living up to the unit’s motto: ‘Attain by Surprise!’ “Sir,” he said with a well earned smile, though he knew the man would probably not understand a word he was saying. “You are now in the custody of Number 3 °Commando, Royal Marines.” He gestured with his pistol to move the man on. “Take the point, Davey. Sergeant Terry and I will keep a close watch on this one. Let’s get to the harbor and find us a boat!”

Orlov had no idea who these men were, or what they were saying to him, but pistols were pistols, and the two dead Marines they had gunned down in their sudden ambush were enough to convince him that this was just another occasion to go with the flow.

They moved quickly to the back of the building, until Sutherland saw a way for them to get cross a series of converging rail lines and out onto the main harbor quay. As they moved they could see that the soldiers and vehicles they had seen were also slowly retiring toward the coastline. Thankfully, there were a good number of old fishing boats and a trawler tied off on the weathered wooden pier. Sutherland made for the craft that seemed most seaworthy. He could not believe their good luck! They had come all this way, into what looked to be a truly hopeless situation, and this Orlov all but walked up and shook hands with them!

The four men scrambled down into the boat, Sergeant Terry herding Orlov into the cabin as Sutherland and Haselden quickly threw off the ropes and pushed away. North, along the rail line approaching the harbor, they still heard the sound of active battle, but it was clear that the Russians who had come ashore in these strange craft were now withdrawing.

“Take note of everything you see here, Davey,” said Haselden. “The Russians have some very interesting equipment here. I’ll bet Seventeen would love to have a good look at those big mothers there. He thumbed at the shadowy forms of the hovercraft, which waited on the shore. Sutherland got the engine fired up and the boat began to glide slowly down the long quay to the harbor mouth formed by a converging jetty. All they had to do was clear that and they could head out to sea.

Whether it was fate, chance, happenstance, or just damn good luck, they made it out of the harbor and Sutherland beamed as he spun the wheel to point the boat due east. Like a mouse fleeing a burning building, they got clean away. The cats were too busy clawing at each other to notice them or bother them in any way. At one point, a turret gunner in one of the hovercraft spotted their trawler and rotated his twin 30mm gun about for a look at them through his cross hairs. Seeing no threat, he let them go.

* * *

Fedorov was back in the ZSU-23, elated. They had found their man, or so he still believed, and now all they had to do was get everyone else safely back to the waiting hovercraft and out to sea. Troyak was conducting a skillful fighting withdrawal and displacing back toward the shoreline. The last PT-76 tank was back and already loading on a hovercraft. Now Fedorov had to get his vehicle to the big Aist class hovercraft by the main harbor. The engine gunned and they trundled south along the rail lines, soon seeing the stark silhouette of the craft ahead, its forward ramp still yawning open and resting on a narrow beach.

The ZSU quickly made its way towards the maw of the beast. Groups of Marines were filing in under the watchful eyes of their Sergeants, who were counting their eggs as the squads reported in. Then Zykov’s voice was in his earbud.

“I’ve got Orlov’s jacket, but we lost a man in the prison, and two more at the warehouse just outside the main entrance. I’ve recovered the bodies. Hope it wasn’t too bad for Troyak.”

“Where is Orlov?” Fedorov wanted to know where his prize was.

“I ordered the men to get him into the PT-76 for safekeeping. It’s loading now to the north on the light hovercraft.”

“Well check in on them,” said Fedorov, “and tell everyone to head for the Anatoly Alexandrov. Good job, Corporal.”

The job of getting the big anti-aircraft gun aboard the Aist was not quite as easy as getting it off, but they managed and it was soon swallowed by this metal behemoth from the sea. It rolled aboard behind the two BTR-50s, and the Marines crowded in after them. As the operation concluded the overwatch turrets had to engage German infantry trying to cross the rail lines to get to the main harbor, and the two twin AK-230 cannons riddled the yard with suppressive fire, the shower of heavy 30mm rounds being more than enough to stop the attack. Soon the engines of the hovercraft revved up and it slowly backed off the shoreline in a wash of sound and fury. They were heading out to sea, the radars watching for any sign of German aircraft as they withdrew.

The other two hovercraft reported in and Fedorov ordered the flotilla to head east, then south for the Anatoly Alexandrov at their best speed. Any German infantry that were huddled in positions on the shore watched them go, accelerating to over 70 knots as they swept out to sea. The troops gaped at the spectacle, shaking their heads in awe. Who were these hardy men who had blasted their planes from the sky with rockets, stopped their tanks cold, and held the entire weight of two battalions at bay?

As the flotilla retired, they passed a number of smaller craft at sea, giving them no mind and not knowing that Haselden’s little band of raiders was aboard one, slowly heading east in their foaming wake.

The run from Makhachkala down to the Anatoly Alexandrov was no more than twenty kilometers, and Fedorov radioed ahead to tell Dobrynin they were on the way home. “Get Rod-25 ready for operation,” he urged.

“I started the procedure five minutes ago when Troyak radioed he had all his remaining men aboard. But what about Bukin and the Mi-26? Shall I tell him to take off now?”

“Not yet,” said Fedorov. “Tell him to hold until we arrive. I just want to be sure we still have options in case anything goes wrong.”

“Options for what, Fedorov?”

It was a good question, and Fedorov really had no answer for it.

“We’ll be there in a matter of minutes, Chief. Signing off.”

The hovercraft soon roared up to the waiting ship, and Fedorov considered what to do. Should he send Bukin on his way to carry out Admiral Volsky’s plan? Here they had just taken an enormous risk to recover a single man, and now he was about to send four more off in the Mi-26 for a thousand mile journey east to the Pacific. It seemed a crazy plan for them to try and fly all that distance and then wait, undiscovered, for nearly three years! What was Volsky thinking? Once they got home to 2021 again they would have all three control rods. Then all they had to do was land at the Kaspiysk Naval base here and put them on a fast Antonov-225 cargo plane to send them east to Vladivostok. From there they could work up a way to get back to Kirov…or so he thought.

But how? His mind was soon flooded with all the many things that could go wrong. First off, there was no guarantee that Rod-25 would shift them happily back to 2021. They had often appeared in a future time that was obviously beyond that year, for they had seen the devastation of the war that was fought.

That thought also filled him with dread. What was happening in the war? Had they changed anything with this mission? Did they get to Orlov in time? Did Orlov even have anything to do with the outcome at all? What if they shifted forward in time and found everything destroyed again; the naval base bombed and wrecked? What then?

That prospect was daunting enough, but now he considered all the variables they would face even if they did make it back to an intact base in 2021 and reached Vladivostok by aircraft. What would they do? They could try to take the other two rods back with them from the Primorskiy Engineering Center again. At least they would be right there in Vladivostok when they arrived-but where? There was no guarantee that they would reach the year 1945. Experience told him that they would most likely end up in 1942 again! Then it was back to waiting out the war in Vladivostok until Kirov appeared in 1945.

That was probably a better plan, he thought. Better than the Mi-26 trying to make it all that way alone. The fuel situation is shaky, the helo is unarmed, and it will be a long, long wait for the small crew aboard until 1945. His alternate plan sounded much more secure. He decided that would be the best call, then realized that the instant he made that choice the outcome would ripple forward across the long decades and be “history” at the other end, assuming he actually put that plan into action.

It either works or it doesn’t work, he thought grimly. But I could be the reason Kirov never hears us calling when it arrives in 1945. It could be my meddling with Volsky’s plan here that changes everything-for better or worse.