Chieftains

The GRU captain read his thoughts. 'You are naturally a little surprised, Colonel.' The man smiled without humour. 'I would like to claim we had such information on every NATO officer, but of course you would realize this could not be so. We are satisfied with confining our efforts to those in senior positions of command, Colonel. After all, such knowledge is part of the skill of modem computerized warfare. Know the man and perhaps you know something of the manner in which he will fight. And, Colonel, much of our information is easy to find; your army has a habit of cataloguing most things…promotions, postings…and much of a man's history can be learnt through your public records offices. The more personal things? They are…tricks of our trade.' The captain turned a few more sheets of paper. 'Your medical record…appendicitis in 1981…' he glanced at Studley. 'Fully recovered by now, I hope, Colonel? Unmarried…you have lost both your parents, see…sad…and you maintain your parents' house in Winchelsea. Tidbits, Colonel, just tidbits that enlarge our knowledge of our opponents. Here, for instance: 1980…September…a military exercise, Crusader '80…one of your biggest for some time, I believe. When it ended, you went back to Britain on leave, Colonel. But not alone. I see you were accompanied by a lady who was also returning to Britain. A Mrs Jane Fairly. There is a note here that she is the wife of another officer serving with your regiment, a major…of course there is nothing unusual about people travelling together…it is sensible, economical when you are both travelling in the same direction. Also economical that you spent a night in the same hotel and the same mom, in Amsterdam. And then shared a cabin on the overnight ferry.' The captain was suddenly apologetic. 'No, Colonel, please be calm. I am suggesting nothing…such things are of no importance to me. What possible use is such information to me, when you are here and they are there?' He pointed to a wall of the tent as though it were a frontier.

'Colonel, it will not be long before we require large numbers of skilled administrators…there will be much work for us all, and it will be easier for everyone if we work together. This is not a territorial war where the victor will oppress the vanquished. This is a war of liberation. It is our desire to establish lasting friendship with our British comrades once the existing corrupt system has been removed. The sooner this terrible business is ended, the fewer lives will be lost and life can return to normality once again. We should work together towards this end.' He spoke confidentially, his eyes meeting those of Studley. 'I don't want an immediate answer. Think it over for an hour. Here…' He passed Studley a typewritten sheet. 'These questions…simple ones. Relatively unimportant. Read them in private. You can help me with them later. Afterwards, I'll arrange for you to see one of our doctors. Then you can wash…I can find you a change of clothing…and a good meal, eh, Colonel.' He signalled one of the guards near the tent door, and Studley was led outside. There were several BMPs parked beneath camouflage netting at the side of a broad woodland clearing. A pair of MAZ-543 cargo carriers with their huge bodies towering above him, were standing only a few meters away, while at the side of the tent was a truck mounted with a tall radio relay pylon with dish aerials.

Distantly, Studley could hear the sound of artillery.

He was taken to one of the BMPs and ordered to climb inside. The guard closed down the hatch above him. It was gloomy, the only light filtering through one of the gun ports. The interior fittings were spartan, the seats thinly padded. It would be an uncomfortable vehicle for the infantry who used it.

Studley felt for his watch; it was missing. From the low angle of the sun when he had left the tent he thought it must be late afternoon. He held the paper he had been given towards the gun port. 'Questions,' the captain had said. 'Simple ones. Relatively unimportant.' There were no questions on the sheet of paper, simply NATO code names. Studley recognized them. Code names for the map references of the division's positions, rendezvous points, laagerings, field headquarters of all the units, the H hour time code. Relatively unimportant? With the code broken the Russians would be able to anticipate every movement the division made. All the Soviet artillery would need to do would be to wait until a few minutes after the time given in the division's orders, then plaster the area.

But the information was only good for the next seven hours or so. At midnight, the codes would be changed. Studley felt relieved. if he could hold out until then he would be of no further use to Russian intelligence. He screwed the paper into a ball and tossed it into the corner of the vehicle.