War with Russia

“I’ve told the MOD many times that those days are over, Prime Minister. UK may think like that, but none of the other nations think that of UK. Sure, there’s still a lot of respect for the quality of the people in the British Armed Forces, but the reality is that UK influence in NATO has diminished significantly, and that is entirely down to the constant reductions in defense capability of the last decade or so. And I say that despite the big equipment promises of the 2015 Defense Review. As far as our NATO allies are concerned, those were promises of jam tomorrow and not combat effectiveness today.”

“But…” Little started to protest, but having glanced at Kydd who was nodding in agreement with McKinlay’s dire assessment, he instead gestured at him to continue.

“Thank you, Prime Minister… What is more, UK’s position has been damaged by its reluctance to get involved in NATO operations and its willingness to let other nations carry the burden. Before all this kicked off, the Germans and Italians were heading the league table in terms of European contributors to operations in places like the Balkans and the NATO mission in Afghanistan. On top of that, no one can understand why a maritime nation like the UK scrapped its maritime patrol aircraft.” He paused. “And with the sinking of the Queen Elizabeth, that particular chicken came home to roost… Catastrophically.”

Walker was not surprised that Little was bristling at this criticism. “Well, General,” he said sarcastically, “you’re a British officer, you’d better get out and tell NATO that we are stepping up to the mark again, especially with Rasputin.”

“I’m sorry, Prime Minister,” replied McKinlay quietly. “Rasputin has to stay on the closest possible hold. Only SACEUR needs to know, together with his key Ops general in SHAPE, also an American. But it must go no further, even if it works out perfectly. Not even our Ambassador to NATO, Dame Flora Montrose, can know about it. Rasputin is an offensive cyber operation and NATO has made it very clear that it will only engage in defensive cyber operations. So, Rasputin must be seen only as a UK operation. And more generally, I’m not standing here as a British officer. I may be wearing a British uniform and no one should doubt my loyalty to my country, but my first duty is to NATO. If I were to push a UK line, I’d lose whatever credibility I have and that could only disadvantage the UK in the longer term.”

Then, realizing that he might have overdone it, he added, “But, Prime Minister, it’s not all doom and gloom. What I can say is that the rest of the Alliance, particularly the Americans, are very aware that there has been a change of direction.”

Walker could see that the Prime Minister had had enough of this criticism and was about to snap back, but Kydd intervened. “I’m afraid to tell you Dave’s right, Prime Minister. I’m getting exactly this from my US contacts, too. There’s always the danger of listening to our own propaganda and it’s no bad thing to have someone who’s prepared to tell us how we’re seen by others. Which you now have…”

The Prime Minister looked slowly from Kydd to McKinlay and back again. Walker saw the pugnacious look in Little’s eye and waited for the eruption, but none came. Instead, the Prime Minister grinned disarmingly at Kydd. “I knew what I was taking on when I appointed you, CDS. But I didn’t expect there to be two of you…”

And now he also grinned at McKinlay. “OK, I take the point. I don’t like what you say, but I’m glad we’ve still got some generals who are prepared to tell it as it is.” Then he changed the subject. “Could the Americans set up something like Rasputin?”

“Not without our help,” said Berry.

“Good,” said Little with a nod. “Trevor, please set up a call to President Dillon just as soon as I’m back in Number Ten.”

1245 hours, Friday, July 7, 2017

GCHQ, Cheltenham, England

SOON AFTER THE meeting had concluded, the Prime Minister left, accompanied by Walker. McKinlay was escorted back to the car that was to take him to the small airport at Staverton, near Gloucester, to catch the RAF HS-125 executive jet back to Belgium. He was walking down the circular walkway that runs through the building, known to all as “The Street,” when he saw Nicola Allenby hastening to join him.

“General, I need to talk. Quietly please. If you have a moment, that is…”

Allenby, who’d impressed McKinlay by her poise, self-confidence and deep knowledge of her subject, looked concerned.

“Of course. How are we for time, Simon?” he asked his British Army Military Assistant.

“The plane’s not going without you, General… take as long as you like. I suggest we head out to the garden. There’s plenty of space and we’ll be able to find somewhere quiet.”