“Dinner in the evening hosted by Peter Wallenberg at the Täcka Udden. Henry Kissinger was there, as was the Supreme Commander, a representative of the Swedish government, the Swedish Minister of Defense, and the King. They discussed the submarine incidents. […] Kissinger was of the opinion that the U.S. would defend Norway should the Soviets attack. He also mentioned that if Sweden alone were attacked, he would recommend that the U.S. should act. The discussions were lively, as even the King was present and he is not known for leaving early.”
Supreme Commander Lennart Ljung’s secret diaries, April 21, 1986)
The rotor blades of the helicopter were whirring over the woods. The tree branches were swaying in the strong breeze created by the helicopters when landing in the meadow. The sound of the engines was deafening. The men could read the orders forming on Carl’s lips: Go, go, go!
Seven armed men in camouflage debarked the helicopter and landed in the dewy grass. Just above the ground, the mist was thick and the helicopter seemed to go up in smoke as it ascended after dropping off its cargo.
Major Carl Osterman’s group spread out in a hedgehog formation. They lay on the ground in a circle, their feet pointing inwards.
Once the noise of the helicopter rotor blades had died away, they got to their feet cautiously and walked in a straight line over the meadow and into the woods. The weather gods were on their side. They were impossible to detect in the thick mist.
• • •
At the same time, the other Barbro Team, Unit Bravo led by Major Christer Steerback, had assembled at a pier near the Singö pilot station. They had been brought there in three cars. They unloaded kayaks from the top of their cars in silence and lowered them into the water.
Two men guarded the road while one went up to the pilot station on the crest of a hill. The unit still had gaps that would be filled the next day by a group from northern Sweden, from the Province of Jämtland to be exact. That group consisted of a number of older men who had been there in the early 1980s, led by Anders Glock’s good friend, Albert Svan, a judge from Stockholm.
Unit Bravo had received orders to enter Black Island for a special mission. The men were wearing sturdy boots, dark blue overalls, and knitted navy blue caps. They had camouflaged their faces and hands. Their weaponry consisted of AK-4 automatics and Smith & Wesson Magnum .357 revolvers. They carried binoculars with night vision, and each one had a black knife attached to his right thigh.
Communications were maintained by using Telefunken VHF radio handhelds—old devices from the 1980s, tried and tested and trusted. They knew full well that the cell phone network might be down later during their mission.
They hopped into their two-man kayaks and paddled quietly out of the inlet. On the way, Christer Steerback was cursing because the kayaks felt cramped. I haven’t gained that much weight, he thought. If I capsize, it will be hard to get out. But only rookies capsize. I’m certainly not a rookie.
The two dark green kayaks silently disappeared in the fog. A roe deer barked on shore at the same time as a gust of wind took hold of a birch tree near the pier and shook it a little, as if to indicate that something was about to happen.