War with Russia

Morland had heard about the Forest Brothers while they’d been training the Special Tasks Unit; it was the name for the thousands of partisans who had taken to the massive forests of the Baltic states to fight a guerrilla war against the Soviet occupation of their countries from the late 1940s, well into the 1950s. Unbelievably, the last Forest Brother had only emerged from the forest in 1995, a full four years after Latvia had gained its independence from the Soviet Union. A fact that had at first astonished Morland who, up until then, had thought it was only the Japanese who had a monopoly on fanatical soldiers refusing to accept defeat. However, his all-too-brief time training the Latvian Special Tasks Unit already had him rethinking that assumption. He would not want these people as his enemy.

Meanwhile, Krauja went outside to call her office on her mobile phone to explain what had happened. She returned looking visibly upset.

“They’ve given me clearance to stay with you, Tom… but things are really bad in Riga. The Russians have taken over all the key buildings; there are Russian army road blocks on all the main junctions. They’ve declared a curfew after six p.m., they say they’ll shoot anyone found outside after that time, and they’ve started to round up all the ministers and senior government figures. They’ve taken my boss, Juris Bērziņš.”

“That’s bad,” said Morland awkwardly. “He’s a good man.” He waited a respectful moment before asking about General Balderis, an impressive man who had left a lasting impression on him.

“Last heard of fighting at his Joint HQ… apparently nobody got out. If anyone resists they’re not taking prisoners. He told me he had no intention of ending up in Siberia and it sounds as if he won’t be…,” Krauja paused and took a deep breath, getting her emotions back under control. “Now give me a rifle. I’m a Nordic skier and I do the biathlon. I hunt boar and deer with my father, so I can shoot straight.”

Soon they were ready and the team had set out from Ādaži in civilian vehicles, alone or in pairs to avoid attracting undue attention. Not long after, they had turned off the main road at Sigulda, with its attractive, white clapboard, wooden church and houses. Here they headed on forest tracks to Ligatne, site of a former Soviet command bunker built deep in the forest, where they hid their vehicles so they were impossible to see from the air and difficult to see from the ground, unless, that is, you as good as walked into one. Thereafter, it was bergens on, and into the trees. Led by a Special Tasks Unit soldier who knew the forest intimately, they had finally, after several grueling hours, stopped in a clearing deep in the thickest part of the forest, close to the Gauja river. Ahead of them was a well-camouflaged entrance.

“Welcome to your new home, Tom,” said Krastiņš cheerfully. “This is one of the Forest Brothers’ lairs. The Russians never found it and not even the locals know about it.”

Morland lowered his bergen and took a swig from his water bottle. “How’re you doing, Marina? Feet alright?”

Krauja looked at him. “I’m fine Tom, thanks. I’ll walk you off your feet before this is over.”

Krastiņš overheard the exchange and laughed. “She will, you know. As will the rest of my team. I told them to go easy with you during training…”

Morland looked round. All the Latvians were smiling.

He grinned back. It was a good start. The Latvians were joshing with them, which meant they were willing to accept them as part of their team.

The next couple of days passed quickly. A routine was established in the well-stocked bunker. To avoid giving away their position, radio transmissions were limited to prearranged data-burst skeds only, conducted some distance away and never from the same spot; otherwise the Russians would locate them in no time. They listened in to Latvian State Radio, LVRTC, from which they were able to build up a picture of the Russian occupation. Standing patrols of a couple of soldiers were established around the bunker as close protection and regular foot patrols went further out every day to check for any sign of Russian activity. At night, sentries were posted covering potential approaches to the bunker and patrols brought in. They all took their turn on stag.

Morland, lying in his shell scrape, looked at his watch. Dawn “stand to” had just finished and the day routine was about to begin. He crawled from under his poncho with the GPMG and returned to the bunker.