‘Hardly surprising, given their achievement!’
Three Japanese officers, rigged in their best uniforms, emerged on deck and inspected the honour party with what could only be similar acceptance and understanding, as not one of the line of submariners would normally pass muster on the first morning at training school.
The naval officer saluted the deck officer before the three turned to salute the national flag that had magically appeared.
Ceremony over, they moved to the gangway and set foot on dry land.
All three were clearly unsteady on their feet, the oldest of them, Yamaoka, even grabbed for a support.
Oktyabrskiy threw up a salute, which received salutes and bows in return.
“From the General Secretary and people of the Soviet Union, may I welcome you and your men, and congratulate you on your amazing achievement.”
Yamaoka, still unsteady, moved forward, bowed again, and offered his hand.
“Taishō Oktyabrskiy… Shōshō Yamaoka. Thank you for your most generous welcome. If I might introduce my officers?”
Yamaoka turned to his left.
“Shōsa Nanbu Nobukiyo, captain of the I-401 and senior naval officer on the mission.”
Nobukiyo bowed as Oktyabrskiy extended his hand.
He retracted it and went to bow as Nobukiyo went to accept the handshake.
Both men got into synch and shook hands.
Yamaoka turned to the other officer.
“Surgeon General, Chūjō Shiro Ishii, former director of the Epidemic Prevention and Water Purification Department of the Kwantung Army.”
There was no repeat of previous embarrassing exchange.
“Gentlemen, there’s no time to lose. I’ve work parties ready to start moving the equipment and files from your vessel. I appreciate your men will be weary. I have arranged rest and food in the mess hall for all…”
Oktyabrskiy ground to a halt as he realised that the naval officer wanted to speak.
“Taishō Oktyabrskiy, with the deepest respect, but my men wish to finish the mission and I request that they be included in the work parties to transfer all matters of our responsibility to Russian soil.”
The admiral could only grin.
“But of course, Comrade Nobukiyo. Perhaps your men could hand over to my men on the dock? We have practiced loading, so we will load into the barges and lorries. Is that acceptable to you and your men?”
“Hai!”
Nobukiyo bowed to the Soviet admiral, and then to his own mission commander.
Turning to the waiting deck officer, he shouted the agreed command.
“Daii Jinyo!”
Lieutenant Jinyo sprang to attention.
“Ima, Jinyo, ima!”
The deck became an instant mass of bodies, some of the honour group sprinting to their work parties as other groups brought crates and other articles from within the hull.
Oktyabrskiy observed for a little while, and then turned to watch the activities on the other submarines, particularly the large blue crates being gently shifted out of the I-402’s huge hangar.
Yamaoka saw the Russian’s interest pique.
“Ah, Taisho Oktyabrskiy, in many ways they are the prize, eh?”
“I wasn’t sure. So… they’re the machines on which the programme depends?”
“Hai. Enshinbunriki.”
Whilst the Black Sea fleet had an all-important part to play in the whole operation, Oktyabrskiy wasn’t briefed on all specifics, but he was certainly aware of the emphasis on careful handling and transport regarding fifty-four specific crates that would be contained in blue packing, and how vital the contents were to all things Raduga.
The two men looked at each other hoping for more but neither had the language skills for the job.
“Kapitan?”
A Captain Third rank stepped forward, Oktyabrskiy’s Japanese specialist.
“Enshinbunriki.”
“Arigatō, Shōshō.”
The Captain bowed and turned to his commander.
“Sir, the contents are Enshinbunriki… centrifuges.”
Oktyabrskiy looked like he understood but actually didn’t have the faintest idea what a centrifuge was… but he knew a man who might.
But for now, he contented himself with watching the hive of activity that had transformed the base into an anthill.
0109 hrs, Sunday, 8th September 1946, Vinogradar Young Communists Sailing Club, Black Sea, USSR.
The scientists and some of the smaller items had long gone, whisked away to their rendezvous with cars or aircraft, depending on the movement schedule that covered absolutely everything from man to file.
When the Soviet personnel had stopped for a break, the Japanese commanders had permitted their men a ten-minute cessation for refreshments and other comforts before driving them back to work once more.
All the blue crates were loaded on the barge in the berth adjacent to I-402, and the skipper of that craft was anxiously waiting the opening of the doors, as he had to get the precious load under cover in the camouflaged dock in Novorossiysk before the prying eyes of the Allied air forces came snooping.
Next to I-401, the last items were being secreted and covered with waterproofing, all under the watchful eyes of Yoshio Nishina, the former director of the Riken Institute and head of His Imperial Majesty’s Nuclear Weapon research programme, and Soviet scientist Igor Tamm, head of theory at the Lebedev Institute, the senior man present from the Soviet Atomic Weapons project.
The two men compared their ledgers and were satisfied.
Beside them, a Soviet naval officer waited patiently.
“Da?”
Tamm’s voice queried the final check box.
“Hai.”
Nishina punctuated his response with signing the checklist.
Tamm followed suit and turned to the lieutenant.
“Comrade Leytenant. Inventory complete. You may proceed.”
“Thank you, Comrade Academician.”
The young officer turned and gave a gesture to the base commander, who in turn gave the command that started a low-level klaxon sounding, indicating that the lights were about to be extinguished prior to the base doors opening.
Thirty seconds quickly passed and the lights disappeared to be replaced by the low red lights.
The doors remained closed as numerous eyes became accustomed to the new light.
As per procedure, the base commander waited for reports on activity at sea.
Soviet vessels off shore and the base stations that probed the seas and skies of the Black Sea all reported in to Naval Command at Novorossiysk, and it was from there that the all-clear came.
Again, the low-level klaxon sounded, this time ten times in succession, indicating that the base was about to open itself up to the sea.
The vast majority of the workers, both Russian and Japanese, had taken themselves off to consume the food and drinks laid on for them, so they missed the departure of the two barges and the closure of the huge doors.
Admiral Oktyabrskiy found Nobukiyo enjoying fresh coffee and fine tobacco… American.
“We liberated many nice things from the Capitalist’s storehouses. No reason why we shouldn’t enjoy them, eh, Comrade Captain?”
The interpreter’s words drew a smile and a courteous nod from the submarine’s commander.
“Please walk with me. You may enjoy what is about to happen.”
The two strode off to the viewing stand at the end of the empty bay next to I-401.
The facility’s clocks clicked round to 0130.
A strange low moaning sound made itself known, initiated by an order from the base commander.
The jury-rigged speakers directed their sound not into the air but into the water in the two recently vacated bays.