he thought he had the solution, especially when Hawkins lost the signal once more.
“Pilot to crew. I think it’s on the island. Low sweep, keep your eyes skinned starboard side.”
The Canso came slowly over the island, running south to north.
There were no sightings of anything of note, but, as per the standing instructions, the starboard waist gunner shot some film for development later.
“Skipper, Sparks. Signal has disappeared over.”
On the island, the transponder, stimulated to reply by the radar signal, drained the last of the residual power and remained silent, the pod and envelope hidden under hastily cut greenery.
Joy made a decision.
‘No wreckage of note, and if the blimp had come down on the island the site would be apparent. Must have been a phantom.’
“Pilot to crew, Log it, radio it in , but we continue with sweep. Navigator, give me a course, over.”
On the ground, many eyes watched the large flying boat as she swept over the island, obviously searching for their now dead comrades.
In the small but functional sick bay, Sveinsvold heard the sounds of his expected rescue slowly fade into the distance, as G for George resumed her search elsewhere.
Smiling back at the rough but caring Russian sailor who was rebandaging his wound, he considered his options, which didn’t take long.
At 1707hrs, a second Canso flying boat made a trip over Cape Negro Island, failing to locate any IFF transmission whatsoever.
Having fulfilled that part of its mission, N for November flew off to its allocated search area, already widening as the hunt for the USN blimp went on.
The presence of the previously reported Swedish steamship was recorded in the flight log.
2157hrs, Saturday, 8th September 1945. North West Atlantic, 20 miles south of Cape Sable Island, Nova Scotia.
Pulling smartly away from the small pier, the rowing boat headed for the steep sides of the merchant vessel.
Little of note was aboard for the return journey, the flow of stores and men being nearly all one-way.
Sveinsvold’s wounded leg meant that he could not climb, but the sailors had swung out a rig, and he was swiftly hoisted aboard.
The second man took longer, requiring more careful handling as he was seriously wounded, having tripped and fallen onto sharp rusting machinery on the small dock, three days beforehand.
The delirious Soviet marine was carefully swung aboard and quickly spirited away to the ship’s extensive medical facility.
On the island, the Russian Orthodox cross around Sveinsvold’s neck had attracted some attention, especially as communism and religion were bad bedfellows.
As soon as he was swung aboard one of the Scandinavian crewmembers, all good communists, spotted the Norse amulet that shared his throat with the cross, the latter a gift from his good friend Vassily, in happier times.
Sveinsvold was not so good in Swedish , so he switched to Norwegian, the two men finally settling on Russian as a common language.
The old Swede helped the wounded ‘submariner’ below, as the ‘Golden Quest’ prepared for night to fully descend, before supplying the submarines that were waiting to surface with torpedoes
Her orders had also been changed, and fuel was also to be supplied, to cover the loss of the milchcow.
By morning, the ship was already fifty miles south south west of Cape Negro, an elektroboote in close, but concealed, company.
We fight to great disadvantage when we fight with those who have nothing to lose.
Francesco Guicciardini
Chapter 80 - THE WEREWOLVES
1135hrs, Tuesday 11th September 1945, Skies over Hesse, Germany.
Whilst the RAF’s Bomber Command was licking its considerable wounds, it fell to the USAAF performing daylight missions to take the fight deep into Soviet controlled territory.
Reconnaissance missions were
“Pilot to crew. I think it’s on the island. Low sweep, keep your eyes skinned starboard side.”
The Canso came slowly over the island, running south to north.
There were no sightings of anything of note, but, as per the standing instructions, the starboard waist gunner shot some film for development later.
“Skipper, Sparks. Signal has disappeared over.”
On the island, the transponder, stimulated to reply by the radar signal, drained the last of the residual power and remained silent, the pod and envelope hidden under hastily cut greenery.
Joy made a decision.
‘No wreckage of note, and if the blimp had come down on the island the site would be apparent. Must have been a phantom.’
“Pilot to crew, Log it, radio it in , but we continue with sweep. Navigator, give me a course, over.”
On the ground, many eyes watched the large flying boat as she swept over the island, obviously searching for their now dead comrades.
In the small but functional sick bay, Sveinsvold heard the sounds of his expected rescue slowly fade into the distance, as G for George resumed her search elsewhere.
Smiling back at the rough but caring Russian sailor who was rebandaging his wound, he considered his options, which didn’t take long.
At 1707hrs, a second Canso flying boat made a trip over Cape Negro Island, failing to locate any IFF transmission whatsoever.
Having fulfilled that part of its mission, N for November flew off to its allocated search area, already widening as the hunt for the USN blimp went on.
The presence of the previously reported Swedish steamship was recorded in the flight log.
2157hrs, Saturday, 8th September 1945. North West Atlantic, 20 miles south of Cape Sable Island, Nova Scotia.
Pulling smartly away from the small pier, the rowing boat headed for the steep sides of the merchant vessel.
Little of note was aboard for the return journey, the flow of stores and men being nearly all one-way.
Sveinsvold’s wounded leg meant that he could not climb, but the sailors had swung out a rig, and he was swiftly hoisted aboard.
The second man took longer, requiring more careful handling as he was seriously wounded, having tripped and fallen onto sharp rusting machinery on the small dock, three days beforehand.
The delirious Soviet marine was carefully swung aboard and quickly spirited away to the ship’s extensive medical facility.
On the island, the Russian Orthodox cross around Sveinsvold’s neck had attracted some attention, especially as communism and religion were bad bedfellows.
As soon as he was swung aboard one of the Scandinavian crewmembers, all good communists, spotted the Norse amulet that shared his throat with the cross, the latter a gift from his good friend Vassily, in happier times.
Sveinsvold was not so good in Swedish , so he switched to Norwegian, the two men finally settling on Russian as a common language.
The old Swede helped the wounded ‘submariner’ below, as the ‘Golden Quest’ prepared for night to fully descend, before supplying the submarines that were waiting to surface with torpedoes
Her orders had also been changed, and fuel was also to be supplied, to cover the loss of the milchcow.
By morning, the ship was already fifty miles south south west of Cape Negro, an elektroboote in close, but concealed, company.
We fight to great disadvantage when we fight with those who have nothing to lose.
Francesco Guicciardini
Chapter 80 - THE WEREWOLVES
1135hrs, Tuesday 11th September 1945, Skies over Hesse, Germany.
Whilst the RAF’s Bomber Command was licking its considerable wounds, it fell to the USAAF performing daylight missions to take the fight deep into Soviet controlled territory.
Reconnaissance missions were
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