John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

The three men eased the tarp open, Haselden leading the way as they slipped out. One quick jump and he was down off the truck on the road, and he stood there until the other two men joined him before they made for the warehouse. In the dull pre-dawn hours the city seemed softly asleep, the wide bay quiet and still, with only two boats out that Haselden could see.

They reached the warehouse and slipped in through a half open door, finding plenty of old crates and barrels to conceal them from curious eyes. Haselden picked a location where they could still keep an eye on the trucks, hoping he was correct in his hunch that the column was finally stopping here. Where else could they be going?

He was not disappointed. The squeal of brakes offended the morning calm, and the trucks stopped, shutting off their engines one by one. Haselden was sizing up the situation, studying the buildings all around them now. Then, to his chagrin, he saw that the gate of the fortress opened and out came a troop of NKVD, each man wearing a grey overcoat and black Ushanka. They approached the trucks, the leader soon speaking with the colonel commanding the column, and then the women and children, and the man they had been sent to bring safely home to Great Britain, were all herded away.

“Blast!” he hissed in the dark. “They’ve taken the whole bloody lot into that fortress there. It looks like a detention facility.”

Sutherland strained to have a look, shaking his head. “Fat chance getting inside that,” he thumbed dejectedly. “We’ve come all this way to try and break into a prison?”

“Hush, up Davey,” Haselden warned. “We’ll think of something. There’s a couple ways we could play this now. These uniforms and hats we’ve got will see us off well enough with that sort. Maybe we could slip in somehow.”

“Right, and maybe we can’t. Suppose one of those buggers gets a close look at us, or starts asking questions.”

“Then we may end up getting inside another way.”

“Another way? How do you figure it? Is there some kind of secret passage on your map?”

“No secret passages, Davey. But if they do find us out, then where do you think they’d put us, eh? Right there in that hell hole of a prison.”

Sutherland looked at him, annoyed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Can you think of any easier way in? You want to try and storm that gate with a couple pistols and the Stens?”

Sutherland looked to Sergeant Terry for support, amazed at Haselden’s proposal now. “You’re really figuring to get us inside as…as prisoners? Then what? You plan to just excuse yourself and ask if you could please be let out with this Orlov we’re after? ”

“Don’t talk nonsense. If we do get inside there might be a way to make contact with this man.”

“You speak Russian now, do ya? Open your mouth in there and they’ll hear you speaking the King’s English and think they have a nice little spy on their hands.”

“Queen’s English now,” said Haselden. “Shame about old King George going the way he did. But yes, Lieutenant. Remember, we’re allies and such. Why, we might even ditch these uniforms now and just go tromping up to that gate in our khakis.”

“And introduce ourselves?”

Sergeant Terry was smiling now as Sutherland played the good devil’s advocate. Here they were trying to figure a way to get thrown into prison, and then once inside they’d have to figure a way back out.

“Suppose we did just up and say hello at the gate. What would they make of us? We could fuss about like visiting officers for the lend lease program like we did at Fort Shevchenko and see what happens. We ask to see their commandant and they’ll eventually find someone who can communicate with us. One way or another, we have to get inside that prison.”

“We came all this way to get thrown in the hole?” Sutherland made one last attempt at arguing the matter.

“If it was good enough for the likes of a man like Admiral Fraser, then it’s good enough for our lot.”

“Admiral Fraser? What’s he got to do with anything?” Sutherland was now aware of the fact that Fraser had served in this region with thirty Royal Navy sailors in 1920 when they were all taken by the Bolsheviks and thrown into prison in Baku. It was long months and cruel days before they were eventually released.

The sound came before Haselden had a chance to explain, that distant thumping that seemed so odd to them all, and impossible to place. It was getting louder and louder, coming from above them, and Haselden leaned around a crate to have a look outside, eyes puckered against the slate grey of the pre-dawn sky. Low clouds obscured everything above them but there was obviously an aircraft of some sorts up there, coming in over the bay. He had deduced that much, but it was unlike any plane he had ever heard before. He thought he saw a massive dark shadow deepen the gray to black at one point, and something swirling in the sky. What in God’s name was up there?

“Thereit is!” Zykov gave Troyak the thumbs up. “I’ve got his signal! They’re down there on that road, and it looks like they’re heading right into the city.

At last, thought Fedorov with great relief. They had spent a good long while, consuming precious fuel while they searched all the way from Kizlyar and south along the road. There was no sign of Orlov’s signal, but what they had seen there was cause for some alarm. Troyak thought he spied a column of trucks and armored vehicles, and Fedorov took a closer look with night vision binoculars. The powerful opticals revealed more than he expected.

“My God!” he said quickly. Those are Germans! It’s an armored column. I was even able to make out insignias on some of the vehicles, mostly trucks and light APCs, but a few tanks as well. What in the world are they doing here?”

Something had changed, he thought quickly. The Germans got as far as Ishcherskaya east of Mozdok on the Terek when elements of 3rd Panzer Division made a daring cross river assault there. But they only held the bridgehead for a few days in the history Fedorov had studied before the mission. Apparently that was not the case any longer. The column was well south of the Terek and moving swiftly on through the grey morning. The history had changed! Now the Germans had outflanked the defense at Grozny, and it looked like this column was pressing on to the Caspian coast and Makhachkala.

Suddenly Zykov thought he had a brief IFF return well south, near that city, but it vanished. They turned in that direction, somewhat leery of overflying the city itself. Even at night the sound of the Mi-26 would certainly arouse curiosity and draw unwanted attention if they flew low enough to pick up Orlov’s jacket signal if it was in passive mode. Fedorov ordered the pilot to move off shore and hovered about three kilometers off the coast before deciding to ease around south of the city. Then Zykov suddenly had a signal, and Fedorov’s heart leapt. They found him!

They were soon pouring over maps, noting the position and trying to hone down the exact location. “It looks to be right near the coast on the bay,” said Fedorov. “Right on the wharfs…could they be moving him to a ship? Let’s get lower. I need to see the surrounding area.”

“A ship would be good,” said Troyak. “Easy to find once it leaves port and easy to take him there. If we get much lower we’ll wake up the locals,” he warned.

“It can’t be helped. Pilot, see if you can get down under this cloud deck so I can have a look at the city.”

The pilot nodded and the helo descended, the signal strengthening as it did so. As they lost altitude they were soon beneath the low clouds. His mind returned to the urgency of the moment, eyes scanning the ground below. There was a column of trucks on the road near the harbor quays and he was surprised by how different the area seemed now. Fedorov had been to Makhachkala before, but this wasn’t 2021, it was 1942. They were looking at a squat, yet well built structure that looked like an old prison there and now he suddenly realized what had happened.