The Red Alert Story

The Red Alert Story.
by Gareth Bird

CHAPTER X
The submarine hugged the northern Finnish coastline of the Gulf of Finland until they had safely passed Tallinn, after which their direction deviated sharply as a direct route to Leningrad was taken. Several more hours passed and as they approached within 30 or so miles of Leningrad, every man from the submarine was locked in his cabin allowing the Allied troops the opportunity of uninterrupted rest until it was night again.

By six o'clock they had replenished their supplies of provisions, equipment and ammunition. When they were ready they rereleased some of the men to get the submarine to shore, but not before ordering that enough of them strip from their uniforms so that their captors could disguise themselves as their enemies. Presently, the submarine came to dock in a port on the outskirts of Leningrad, where the Soviets were again locked in their cabins and a message in Russian left to explain to their eventual finders where the keys to their release where.

At a quarter past nine the sixteen men were ready to leave. With a final sigh, Rigg pushed at the icy hatch which jerked open with a crack which seemed to echo along the empty dock walls. They all quickly scrambled out of the vessel and onto the quay. "So far - so good." thought Jack. He followed Rigg and Gower along the shadows which eminated from the walls beneath the flickering oil lamps which paved the dock's perimeter. They arrived at a warehouse a little more than fifty yards from the submarine, but even at this early stage, Jack felt the severe cold biting at his semi-covered face.

He turned back to see how far everyone had come before he contemplated the decision to press on. He peered through the darkness and heard the tapping of boots along the ice before he could see the familiar figure of Walden, bringing up the rear giving his signal to go. He raised an arm to gave the standard "OK" diving signal as Jack heard and felt the tinkling of broken glass as he landed on his back. He had no more time to think before the machine gun poked out of the dark warehouse window and released several rounds of ammuntion.

Walden hit the deck hard as the bullets thudded into his chest. "Shit!" thought Jack and aimed his rifle along with a few of his comrades towards the window. Another window and another casulty as Willias took rounds in his face and fell backwards and slid along the ice and over the edge of the dock. Jack would have heard him land with a thud on the unbroken ice below and crash though to an icy grave were it not for the door of the warehouse smashing open.

The rickety frame rocked as the door banged into Dunn and Munro sending them sprawling and struggling to grip the ground and desperately trying not to end like Williams. Gray fired his rifle into the blackness and the bullets richoched around the warehouse's inards. One of the mystery machinegunners struck again in Jack's direction. He felt them kick up the snow and ice around him and at one point thought he'd been hit. However, when he saw Gower's blood ridden chest he questioned whether it was his blood. He joined the rifle fire into the warehouse with several other men joining in the fracas.

Jack caught a glimpse of a man around the corner of the door and fired though the timber. Despite the gunfire, Jack heard the sound of his man going down and focused his attention at one of the windows. He saw another man leaning partly out and heard him fill Shaw's body with a string of powerful ammuntion. Jack fired again, as did Taylor. Shaw's death was quickly avenged, but Jack knew that despite the other machinegunner suffering an equally quick death, the episode was far from over.

A grenade rolled out of the doorway, followed by another out of one of the windows. Davies reacted as quick as he could on the slippery surface and parried one into the blackness over the edge of the dock. Jack saw that no-one had reached the other and found himself ducking under Gower's body. The grenade exploded and through him against the walls of the warehouse.

By now two or three Soviet soldiers had emerged into the night firing their rifles at their enemies who were trying desperately to recover from the blast. Jack kicked heftily at the door which swung around and hit the men who immediately learnt the perils of the quayside. Jack groped around for his rifle, then gave up and simply grabbed the pistol from his belt and took pot shots around the edge of the door inside.

Taylor and Murphy slithered along the ground and helped Jack slam the great door shut and with that, Jack ripped off his backpack to see it littered with bullets which had been lodged into it. He crawled off Gower's body and looked into Rigg's eyes as if to ask if he was still alive. He tried to answer, but just spat blood. Jack gathered him up and hurled the dead weight onto his shoulder as best as he could and fled down the glaciated dock.

Behind him, his comrades summoned their utmost bravery and darted across the closed doorway, enduring the extremes of Russian Roulette as the bullets flew though the rapidly splintering woodwork. Jack was quickly joined by a few of his comrades, but dared not look back in case no more were following. They darted down the alleyway between a couple of other warehouses into a large arena that was the loading bay for the trucks.

Jack scanned the surroundings and ignored the few heavy goods vans which were scattered around their respective loading bays, instead choosing to switch his attention to the authorities which had obviously organised a successful set-up. He saw an army truck, which was apparently empty, and a few police vehicles - a bike and two cars. All three were occupied, and Jack made no hesitation in running in the opposite direction - the direction of the gates of the port and the town itself.

With them carrying fallen men, Jack, Munro and Black were overtaken by Davies and Taylor, with Dunn lagging suffering excrutiatingly from shots to his legs. Davies reached the gates and tugged at them, but before he could report that they were locked, two men from the other side opened fire and Davies whirled around to reveal a heavily mutilated torso. Taylor made a run for Davies, but a couple of shots into his left shoulder made him stop in his tracks and turn and follow the rest towards another part of the fence.

By this time, the police motorcyclist had got going from the far end of the yard and was gaining fast. Jack felt every muscle in his body strain and pain as he threw himself at the ten foot fence, but in his condition, climbing would be a difficult task in itself, without Rigg's semi-conscious body slung over him. He dropped Rigg, and Black did the same to his luggage and dragged a cargo box towards the fence. He climbed on top, heaving his weary body up and helped lift those injured up too. Once up, Jack threw Rigg over the fence, or rather pushed him, for he hadn't got the strength to throw him.

The others were pushed over too, but Murphy got caught on the lethal barbed spikes on top. Taylor jumped on the fence and tried to free him. Murphy had been impaled though his jacket, shirt and flesh and Taylor just couldn't free him. From his vantage point, Jack could see Dunn nearing the fence, with the motorcylist hot on his heels with the cars also giving chase. He pulled out his pistol and aimed at the bike. As he pulled the trigger, he cursed himself for missing. He cocked it and took another shot. Nothing happened. Then again, nothing happened.

Jack threw it over the fence and tried to climb over. As he dropped to the other side, Jack couldn't help think that perhaps it would have been better to have shot Dunn, an easier target, after all, and it would have put him out of his misery. Jack had witnessed, first hand, the treatment of able-bodied POWs, what fate would have awaited Dunn in his condition?

Above him, Jack could see Taylor still struggling with Murphy. Munro started back up the fence again, to offer support, but Taylor just yelled at them to go and make themselves scarce. But as he did so, Murphy slipped, and the spikes shredded though Murphy's body and carved deep grooves in his flesh, from his abdomen right up through his face.

Jack picked up his gun and slotted it in his belt, then picked up Rigg, who appeared more and more like a dead weight than he did just moments ago. Between them, the rest of the walking wounded carried their less fortunate comrades and ran down the street, leaving strong trails of fresh blood in the crisp snow as they did.


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