Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

heard shouting, and the throaty roar of a Mercedes vehicle as it started up. Then there were soldiers around him moving forward towards the Germans, skirmishing silently and swiftly from tree to tree like khaki-coloured ghosts.

Khaki?

Two of the ghosts descended on him, one holding a pistol to his head. He raised his hands and was taken without fuss—half carried; half dragged for about four hundred yards —deeper into the forest along the track he had previously tried to negotiate. The group who had him had swollen in number to about eight soldiers. They entered a clearing where several vehicles were harboured beneath camouflage.

A young officer came forward to greet Kelly.

“Sind Sie Deutsch?” he inquired.

“No, I’m British!” Kelly was determined not to repeat his previous mistake.

The young officer smiled broadly and held out his hand. Kelly shook it.

“Then welcome to the Soviet Union, British man!”

Our Russian Friends

Kelly sprang to his feet, but being bare headed, did not salute the Soviet Officer who entered the room. Instead, he made clear from his bearing that he was ‘paying respect’ to the Russian.

The officer, reading the body language correctly, touched the peak of his cap with his gloved fingers as a return of the compliment.

“So, Second Lieutenant Kelly!” The voice was rich and dark brown, with a thick accent. “I can’t wait to hear how you came to the Motherland.” He spoke warmly enough but his eyes were steel grey rapiers that penetrated Kelly’s inner being.

“I am remiss,” he continued. “My name is Yuri Vladeshenko. I am a major at the local headquarters here. I have been sent to officially welcome you!”

Vladeshenko was tall with short fair hair showing beneath his military peaked cap. It was difficult to determine his build, his body being sheathed in a thick greatcoat, but Kelly sensed that he possessed a powerful physique. The hand, now ungloved, that was shaking his own was strong and large, with well-defined tendons that indicated a man used to physical effort.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Kelly said, extricating his hand from the firm grip.

The Russian laughed loudly. “No, you’re not! You’re thinking why doesn’t this Russian peasant get me a ship home instead of messing around. Am I right?”

“You’re half right,” grinned Kelly. “It is good to meet you. It’s good to talk to someone and, if you can arrange a lift home on one of His Majesty’s ships, I won’t mind if you’re a peasant or a relation of the Tsar.”

The smile almost faded from the Russian’s face. “Lieutenant Kelly, the last thing I would ever want to be in our glorious Soviet Union is a relative of the Tsar.” The face was smiling but the body language was hostile.

“My apologies,” Kelly grimaced, “that was a thoughtless thing to say.”

“Now,” said the Russian removing his greatcoat and cap, and in the process confirming Kelly’s impression of his build, “tell me all about your great adventure.”

Kelly recounted his experiences, leaving out the intimate details of his brief affair with Sybilla. The Russian grunted from time to time and occasionally raised his eyebrows. As he listened, he began unwrapping a packet of cigarettes and unconsciously offered a cigarette to Kelly who, after hesitating briefly, took the offered gift. The Russian lit his cigarette from what looked like an expensive petrol lighter, which he then extended. Kelly leant forward and allowed the flame to light his cigarette.

Kelly coughed slightly as he inhaled. He had experimented with various cigarettes and had developed an on-off liking for Navy Cut, mainly because they were always cheap and frequently free on-board ship. This cigarette however was different, somewhat pungent, and clearly quite strong.

“Interesting flavour,” he commented as he paused in mid discourse, examining the dark, almost black tobacco firmly compacted into the black tube.

“Turkish,” replied Vladeshenko. “I wouldn’t smoke anything else. Go on with your story.”

“That’s really about it,” said Kelly. “After your troops rescued me near the border, I was put onto one transport train after another until I arrived here in Archangel.” Kelly paused for a minute as he dragged on his cigarette. He wasn’t much impressed with the flavour but was glad of the comfort factor. “I’m very grateful to you and your comrades for the help you’ve given.”

“But that’s what allies are for Dragan,” said Vladeshenko. “Your people would have been just as helpful to one of my comrades, I’m sure.”

“Yes, they would,” Kelly replied in a matter-of-fact way, but he smiled as he said it.

The Russian returned his smile. “Good. I’ll let you get some rest, and in the meantime, I will try to arrange a berth on an escort with one of the convoys. Let’s get you safely home.”

“Thank you,” Kelly responded, but the Russian had already turned on his heel, swept up his greatcoat and was walking out of the door. He stopped, framed in the open door and turned again to Kelly.

“For you,” he said and threw the half full pack of Turkish cigarettes to Kelly. “I will have Comrade Corporal Dimitri bring you some matches. He will look after you, he has some English.” With that, he was gone.

Comrade Corporal Dimitri entered the room a few minutes later. He was a stocky man of about forty, dressed in fatigues, his dark grey hair becoming scarce at the temples. His features demonstrated his Slav ancestry, but Kelly felt he recognised a hint of the Turk.

Dimitri walked across to Kelly, fumbling with a box of matches as he did so. “Allow me to light your cigarette, Comrade Lieutenant,” he said as he approached. There was an unmistakable, but very slight nod of the head and the eyes were intense.

Kelly took the cue and pulled a fresh cigarette from the pack and placed it between his lips in readiness for the approaching flame. Dimitri leant over Kelly as he applied the light to the end of the cigarette and spoke in an almost imperceptible whisper. “Beware the Comrade Major, he is Spetsnaz.” He blew out the now redundant match with an