The Golden U-Boat by Richard Henrick

Author:Richard Henrick [Henrick, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

It had been an exhausting, tense night for Mikhail Kuznetsov. Little did he realize the great distances that he would have to drive as he cautiously followed the flatbed truck away from the site where the heavy water had been stolen. The rain that continued to fall was both a curse and a blessing.

The roads in this region were twisting and narrow, and the freezing precipitation only made them that much more treacherous. Yet because of this storm, traffic was a minimum, and he was able to follow at a safe distance in his rented Volvo without having to worry about losing the truck.

The route that the Nazis picked took them down the eastern shores of Lake Tinnsjo and on into the city of Konisberg. Here, the roads improved substantially, with a well lit freeway leading them all the way into Oslo. Mikhail had half expected them to stop in the capital city, but instead they drove straight through it. Thankful that he had a full tank of gas, Mikhail followed them onto Route 69. This highway led them due north to the coastal city of Trondheim, some 450 kilometers distant.

It was morning when he finally braked the Volvo to a halt beside a large wharf. Trying his best to ignore the throbbing pain that coursed through his cramped arthritic limbs, he left the car to proceed on foot.

The truck had pulled right onto one of the docks, where it had backed up to a waiting trawler.

Mikhail hid behind an immense mound of smelly fishing nets and breathlessly watched as two familiar blond men dressed in black oilskins climbed out of the truck. Forgetting all about the great fatigue that had more than once almost caused him to fall asleep at the wheel, he watched as these figures proceeded to a small pier side building. The white-haired Russian would never forget the last time that he had seen this same pair at work.

He had been watching from the edge of the woods at the time as the gang initially went about stealing the thirty-three freshly salvaged cannisters.

As the drums were subsequently loaded onto the truck, Mikhail could see that most of the actual heavy labor was performed by the two unlucky Norwegians who had been forced out of the salvage ship at gunpoint. No sooner was the last drum loaded, than the two blond men ordered the Norwegians to kneel on the rain-soaked ground with their hands behind their heads. Then, without the slightest hesitation, one of the Nazis pulled a gun from his jacket, put its barrel up against the back of each kneeling man’s skull, and proceeded to literally blow his brains out.

All the time watching these coldblooded murders from the cover of the pine forest, Mikhail’s shocked thoughts flashed back to the last time he had seen such an atrocity. In that hell hole known as BergenBelsen, such shootings were an everyday occurrence.

But this was a half a century later, and the war was long over. Or was it, thought the Russian.

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