consider to be your rights. I am also aware of your name, rank and military identification number. I know also you are commanding officer of a battle group which you have named Cowdray, and that your group consisted of part of the Kings Hussars, a company of mechanized infantry, self-propelled guns and missile launchers. I say consisted, Colonel, because regretfully it no longer exists. It has been wiped out.’ He paused to allow Studley to digest his words. ‘We have also destroyed your field headquarters.’
Studley said, ‘I would like to join my officers.’
‘I doubt if that is the truth, Colonel. There were no survivors.’
So Max must be dead after all, thought Studley. It seemed impossible.
The captain continued. ‘Colonel, like yourself I am a professional soldier. You and I do not make wars, we only fight them at the command of our politicians. We realize you were under orders, and naturally you obeyed them; that is good… it is how a soldier should behave.’
Studley felt himself swaying, his vision was blurring.
‘Colonel you must excuse me… of course, you have been injured; it is always a shock to the nervous system.’ The captain shouted in Russian and a chair was placed at Studley’s side. ‘Please sit down. I will make sure you have medical attention as soon as possible. And now…’ The captain picked up the clipboard from the table. ‘Colonel James Studley, born in Hastings Cottage Hospital, Sussex, 16 June, 1941. Mother, Margaret Elizabeth Studley. Father, James Howard Studley, veterinary surgeon, formerly a captain in the British Army Veterinary Corps and awarded the Military Cross in action in Italy, in 1944. Quite unusual for a veterinary officer, Colonel! You were educated at Winchester, and then accepted in to the British my in August 1959… I have quite a lot here on your military career. Very successful, Colonel…’
Studley felt the rare chill of fear. He had been aware of the depth of Soviet intelligence, but this was frightening; the ability to pull such detailed knowledge out of the computer files so quickly. His capture must have been reported by radio within minutes and the request for all information on his background sent immediately to some distant central military computer.
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
‘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.
His body felt as though it had been crushed and squashed. Every muscle was bruised and aching, his joints felt as though they were arthritic. The wound in his leg had stiffened and the blood had seeped through the dressing and hardened. He hadn’t seen the wound, but didn’t think it could be very serious… unless it became infected.
He stretched himself out and lifted his legs on to the neighbouring seat. He was exhausted, but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Their intelligence on military personnel had startled him. It was better than just good. He had heard that over one hundred and eighty thousand people worked, in one way or another, for the American CIA. The Soviet agencies probably employed even more, collecting a mass of information and passing it back to their directorates for storage in their computers. Feed in a name and three minutes later, by radio, you had a full dossier; damn them, they were too efficient. Where did they start and end with the NATO army? Not at lieutenant… major, perhaps… everyone from the rank of major upwards, filed away in a Russian computer… every scrap of information they could lay their hands on; information from countless sources, civil and military, classified and non-classified clerks in NATO offices who were working for the Russians… in military offices… civilian mess staff… bar staff…
It was incredible they knew about Jane. The Russian GRU captain had been right, maybe they couldn’t make use of it but nevertheless they knew. War was a dirty game, and intelligence its darkest corner! Would they have ever made use of their knowledge if there hadn’t been a war? Perhaps. They might have tried to blackmail him… threatened to ruin his career… expose him. God, thought Studley, expose what? Tell Max I’m having an affair with his wife? I wasn’t some businessman on a week’s jaunt in Moscow, or Leipzig. They didn’t photograph me with a whore in some third-rate hotel… or produce pornographic tape-recordings. Jane and I are in love; we’ve been in love for years and we’ve kept quiet, bottled it up; kept it from Max and young Paul.
It hadn’t been easy when they had all been together. It had been unpleasant at times, watching Max with his arm around Jane, knowing it was Max who would be taking her to bed, caressing her, sleeping beside her. Now poor old Max was dead, and thankfully he had never known. He couldn’t be hurt. The thought of his death made Studley fed guilty; he had never wished it. He would have done almost anything to prevent it.
What a balls-up! He had expected casualties in the fighting, but somehow hadn’t thought he would be amongst them. How many of the men had been lost? Who had survived? Maybe it wasn’t too bad after all! If they’d put up a stiff fight and taken out plenty of the enemy, it was worthwhile. Had what they’d all done been enough? Had he somehow let his men down? Christ, he didn’t know!
And what now? Would the GRU officer just question him again, and then pass him back through the lines until
