War with Russia

“Well… PJHQ know all this but refuse to warn them.”

“Let me guess,” McKinlay was thinking of a couple of his spook chums and their convoluted way of thinking, “because, if you do warn them and they are captured, then the Russians will torture them and discover what they know, and therefore what we know… and, don’t tell me, you haven’t informed these Mercians what we are planning or their role in it.”

“Exactly, Sir. In case they’re caught.”

“In case they’re caught…” McKinlay mused, thinking through the variables before replying. “Trouble is, and callous as it sounds, I have to agree.”

“But, Sir. It gets worse. They’ve identified a hidden minefield, which would totally stymie the American SOF forcing an entry into the perimeter.”

“Well, I guess there’s only one solution then, if this is going to work,” McKinlay replied. “Morland and his team will have to meet up with the US SOF when they infiltrate and guide them through or around the minefield.”

“Straight into an ambush by the Russian special forces, who we know are tracking them and are probably waiting for them…”

“Quite probably. We’ll just have to hope that Morland has thought through how he approaches the task. He sounds like a capable young officer. Let’s just hope he stays lucky.”

“But…”

“It’s what we soldiers are paid to do when we take the Queen’s Shilling on the day we join—harsh though it may sound.”

He gave her an avuncular smile before pushing himself to his feet. Then he caught himself and remembered his sense of humanity. This girl, little older than his own daughters, was a systems geek. She might come across like the captain of the lacrosse team but, in reality, she played with computers and radios. And now something clever she had set up was probably going to result in men being killed; men she had been communicating with, men whose names she had come to know, men she wanted to warn but was not being allowed to.

Looking at the evident distress on her face, it must have come as a shock to her to discover that there was such a direct and human dimension to her work. He thought again of his own wife and daughters and their accusation that he lacked empathy. GCHQ was going to need the Nicola Allenbys of this world in the dark days that were certain to come and he knew he ought to try to show some concern and understanding.

“I’m genuinely sorry if that came over as heartless, my dear. But there really is nothing you can do to help. You need to focus on the fact that what you have done has helped, is going to save countless lives. It’s not your fault he’s going back into danger and you cannot warn him.”

1900 hours, Friday, July 7, 2017

Forest south of Pravdinsk, Kaliningrad, Russia

DEEP IN THE dense forest, hidden in the carefully concealed patrol base, Morland, Krauja and Arvydas Lukša, the Lithuanian Forest Brother who had taken over responsibility for looking after the Mercian team, went through the detail once again of what they had learned from their recent reconnaissance of the Pravdinsk Iskander missile site. They were looking for any potential gaps in the plan for the next phase of the operation. Close by, Sergeant Danny Wild provided immediate protection, while around them the Lithuanians and Mercians cleaned weapons, rested or prepared their kit for that night’s operation. On the edge of a clearing the trail bikes, their means of transport up until now, stood hidden under camouflage nets.

Morland kept his voice low as he summarized what they knew. “We’ve got a pretty firm fix on the way the site’s laid out: barbed-wire perimeter fence, arc lights and sentry towers—together with the least exposed approaches. Also, it seems that the guards tend to follow the same pattern in their patrolling. In and out of the same gate in the compound.”

Krauja nodded. “And we know they always use the same track through that minefield along the northern perimeter too. I couldn’t spot whether it was marked or not, but at least we know it’s there. Thank God for that wretched deer blowing its leg off after straying into it. If we hadn’t been watching the perimeter fence when it did, we’d have never have known the minefield existed.”

“I only wish it had been us who got the meat instead of the Russians,” grumbled Captain Lukša, the broad-shouldered, former member of the Lithuanian national wrestling team, now of the Lithuanian Special Operations Forces. “We could all do with a hot meal.”

“Roger to that,” said Morland with feeling. Ever since they had crossed into Russian-populated Kaliningrad, they had needed to be even more careful and that had meant the cold rations of “hard routine” for fear that fires would give them away. “Now, once again, those patrols. You’re sure the Russians will stick with the timings and routes we’ve logged?”