Operation Cravat: Boarders Ahoy!
Peter was looking through his binoculars at the destroyer Sokrushitelnyi when he noticed a group of sailors aboard the Russian ship lowering a whaleboat. “Sir, I think a welcoming committee is forming.”
The Russian sailors rowed across the choppy sea, in the distance the drone of an aircraft could be heard. “I think they mean to board us Sir,” Peter added as they got closer.
Knowles took their photograph as they approached. Craddock examined them through his binoculars, “The Royal Navy is always hospitable Peter, get the forward deck crew to give them a hand aboard,” he turned to Peter, “see what they want, be friendly but keep them on deck and play dumb, we’re just on routine training, and then get rid of them so we can get out of here before half the Hun fleet shows up.”
Peter went over the side of the conning tower and organised the deck crew, hoping the Russians had brought an interpreter as nobody aboard spoke Russian. As the whaler approached they threw a line across to the Russians and made them fast against the ship.
“Permission to come aboard Captain?” asked Mitschman Mikhailov.
Peter nearly sighed with relief they could speak English, “Permission to come aboard, welcome aboard the Wolverine.”
Then they helped the sailors get from the rolling boat, across the wet and slippery surface of the ballast tanks and onto the deck. Finally two crates were brought aboard.
The Russian officers saluted and Mikhailov introduced his party and explained he was the interpreter and Peter introduced his party and explained he was not the Captain but the second-in-command. Everyone smiled and Annikov pointed to the two crates, Mikhailov translated his words, “we bring you a little gift, some German beer. We’d be happy to trade them.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Peter.
“Is it true you have no beer aboard?” asked Mikhailov.
Peter shook his head. Mikhailov looked shocked a moment, “no alcohol at all?”
Peter smiled, “we only have rum aboard for our grog ration.”
Mikhailov smiled, “Ah of course! I remember now the Royal Navy likes its grog. We have heard of this famous drink but never tasted it. Could we try some?”
Peter turned to the Able Seaman beside him, “Find the CPO and have him draw eight measures of grog and bring them topside.” He hoped the Skipper wouldn’t be too displeased, but it seemed wiser to be friendly than not.
One of the Russian sailors seemed interested in their deck gun but enterprising Seamen Thorpe leant on the breech mechanism, smiling innocently, “want a fag chum?” he asked. The Russian took it and smiled, and seeing Annikov not objecting, he began smoking it. One of the Russian’s offered one of their black cigarettes, one of the British sailors took one puff and coughed, “strewth!” Everyone laughed, the Russians probably enjoying the joke the more.
As they waited the conversation turned to recent events, Annikov apologising for their actions in forcing them to surface, but that they were only doing their job and that they hoped to gain some training with a live fish to play with.
Peter smiled, “think nothing of it, we thought the same thing. Anyway, why are you so far from home and escorting an old tub around for the Germans?”
Mikhailov turned to Annikov and translated his reply, “We are exercising with our German friends,” then he added a few thoughts of his own, “anyway you are a long way from home too, we did not know the English came so far East.”
“Oh, we’re just training that’s all. It’s nothing really,” Peter tried to be nonchalant but he could tell Annikov didn’t quite believe his reply.
Mikhailov smiled, “well you would be having a quieter time than your fellow sailors back home if it wasn’t for us.”
Peter was puzzled, “oh, why?”
“Haven’t you heard the Germans are exercising in the North Sea? A big one”
Of course, the Wolverine had been in radio silence for over a week and Peter had no idea if the Russian was bluffing him or not. Luckily the grog arrived at that moment and he could divert the topic, “Ah, the grog, I hope you enjoy it, that’s real Jamaican rum.”
Mikhailov passed out the grog and the Russian sailors swilled it down. They didn’t seem overly impressed, making a change from German beer but not really comparing with vodka and being too watered down for their tastes.
Peter remembered the two crates of beer still on the wet deck, “well I expect we can find something for you to take back,” he looked at the Russian sailor finishing his English cigarette, “how about some cigarettes? We have plenty aboard and not much time to smoke them.”
Mikhailov nodded and Peter ordered some be brought up. As he spoke a Dornier circled overhead at a discreet distance. Mikhailov then held up his Leica, “would you mind if I take some photographs, something to remember this moment?”
Peter looked up at Craddock impatiently drumming his fingers on the coaming of the conning tower, but he gave permission. Mikhailov’s fingers gripped the little camera and he ‘accidently’ clicked the button as the camera was roughly pointing toward the deck gun, “Ah, I am clumsy yes? It’s the cold.” He gave a toothy grin and Peter made a grimace, he got his men to line up forward so the conning tower was behind Mikhailov. The Russian sailors crammed in the shot too and Mikhailov took several exposures. Peter looked up again at Craddock still drumming his fingers on the coaming of the conning tower, thankfully the Russians seemed satisfied with their cigarettes and Annikov said they should return to their ship, they still had a busy day ahead. Everyone shook hands and it was smiles all round.
“Farewell, I hope someday we can repay your hospitality,” Mikhailov grinned as he gave Peter a strong handshake.
“Don’t worry, we’ll look you up the next time we’re in Khronstadt,” said Peter dryly.
Mikhailov let out a belly laugh as he scrambled down the side of the submarine, “Your English sense of humour.”
Peter watched them depart safely and ordered his party to clear up the lines and stow the beer below. Seamen Thorpe gave a final look at the whaleboat as he coiled up the rope in his hands, “they’re a queer lot ain’t they Sir? I didn’t expect to run into a load of Russkies.”
“Indeed,” Peter smiled and climbed the foot holds up the conning tower.