Mark Blair - Stroika

‘Colonel Marov,’ the colonel general began, ‘how aware are you of the talks going on in Geneva?’

Yuri felt a wave of relief and hoped it didn’t show.

‘Very little, sir… bilateral talks between Afghanistan and Pakistan with the United States and us present… to end the conflict… and that the mujahideen will not take part.’

‘Well summed up, Colonel. The pace has of late been glacial, but there seems to be a thaw underway. What I am about to discuss, Colonel, you will appreciate is top secret and not to be discussed with other staff. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Your views on the reorganisation of Soviet forces are well known. I reread your subversive academy paper on this recently to refresh my memory. You are to be complimented, Colonel. As you know, these ideas are not welcome in many quarters but the fact of the matter is that virtue has become a necessity in our present economic predicament.

‘It is likely that a Russian pull-out of Afghanistan will be announced shortly, maybe within days, of uniformed troops anyway, but in parallel, and to come to the point, we have been quietly sounding out the Americans on a withdrawal of Soviet troops from Eastern Europe. Our retired generals have been in discussion with theirs… all hypothetical of course. Privately, the general secretary has made it abundantly clear to me that he will not have Soviet troops suppress an East European uprising, not like in Hungary.’

The colonel general turned over the top page of the pile on the table and handed it to Yuri.

‘Read, Colonel, Eastern European military dispositions.’

Yuri was finding it hard to take in. It was not what he had been expecting; the end of his career it wasn’t. He began to read. Twenty-four divisions, forty-seven airfields, four thousand tanks, six hundred and ninety aircraft, six hundred and eighty helicopters… he continued down the page… in total just under three hundred and sixty thousand soldiers and two hundred and eight thousand civilians, relatives and employees, in three hundred locations.

‘I can also tell you we have one hundred and eight thousand military personnel in Afghanistan,’ Ghukov added when Yuri had put down the sheet.

‘I see,’ said Yuri, dropping the sir , stunned.

‘A reorganisational nightmare.’

‘Or opportunity, sir,’ followed Yuri, finding his second wind.

‘I thought you of all people might see it like that, Colonel. This will be a pull-out on a different scale, perhaps the largest anywhere in peacetime history. The general secretary is looking for a half-million troop reduction. I need someone to chair the committee of district generals and evolve a plan. Someone who is not part of the current group… I think that person is you, Colonel Marov.’

For a moment Yuri was speechless. Each district general commanded several armies. This was not just about downsizing, it would be about generals unwilling to surrender their fiefdoms – their parallel economic and political interests.

Yuri thought of the main military groupings and what he knew of their district commanders. The North-West under Vdovin would oppose, as would Volkov of the Western Group of Forces in Germany; the same went for Southern; the others – Central – he didn’t know.

‘Thoughts, Colonel?’

He was being placed directly in the firing line. If he succeeded, all well and good; if he failed or the government faltered or failed to gain sufficient support, he would be the first to go.

‘What can I say, sir, that it would be an honour.’

‘That’s what I hoped you would say and no more, Colonel… Major General now.’

MOSCOW, LUBYANKA, KGB HEADQUARTERS

‘I’ll give you Afghan economics,’ said Konstantin coldly; he had been trying to get his point over for the past half-hour. ‘This is how it works: 5,000 tons of opium, 500 tons of heroin, $250 billion dollars street value. It doesn’t come much bigger.’

The KGB chair, Karzhov, nodded. General Vdovin sat silent next to him.

‘Occupation or no occupation, Najibullah needs arms and the Soviet Union wants to supply him arms; well, I can do that… Geneva Accord or no Geneva Accord,’ he said, trying to not to raise his voice. While the KGB were past masters at espionage, frustratingly, their apparent grasp of markets was less secure.

In fact, forget Najibullah, he thought, they were all at it – more factions and tribes than he could name – they all wanted to get their hands on more weaponry to kill each other.

‘Look, you sell me arms, I pay you in dollars, they pay me in opium and it costs this country nothing in Russian lives. The Americans were at it before, and now it is our turn.’

The KGB chairman stared at him a moment. ‘And where do you make opium into heroin?’

‘Along the border with Pakistan. I just need the political cover to operate – like before – and an arms licence, that’s the new bit. The KGB receives a share and you get a slice into your Swiss account. You don’t have to worry about the transactions in between, delivery… nothing… that’s my responsibility.’

‘But you want support – my support?’

‘Yes. I don’t want the military breathing down my neck… that new guy, General what’s his name… their rising star?

‘General Marov?’ said Karzhov.

‘Yes, General Yuri Marov… Well, when they brought him back from wherever he was and put him in charge of the Afghan pull-out, he gave me a lot of grief. Grounded aircraft, delayed shipments to my suppliers, questions, questions. He never caught us out; we were always a step ahead, well informed, thanks to you.’

‘He’s nobody’s fool. He complained to the Defence Ministry. Fortunately, they see things the same way we do,’ said Karzhov.

Konstantin remembered bumping into Marov in Kabul at a late-night bar only the month before. He was with a beautiful Persian woman. It was the general who had approached him.

‘I don’t want you fuelling this conflict while I am reducing the garrison,’ he had warned him. ‘I have one hundred thousand men to get out of here as safely as I can.’

Thirty minutes later the bar had been abandoned in the face of a rocket attack from outside the city.

‘I find a rocket with a Made in Russia sign on it, I’ll make it my personal business to make sure the person who put it in their hands pays,’ was the general’s parting shot.

He was a cut above most Russians, Konstantin thought, and had money too, that was the rumour. Marov was not someone he could buy, that was clear. And wasn’t he thick with Revnik and his old flame?

‘What precisely is the general up to now?’ asked Konstantin.

Vdovin, who had remained mostly silent until then, spoke.

‘Apart from the pull-out… reorganisation of the military.’

The KGB chairman shook his head. ‘God knows where it will end. The general secretary ,’ he said in a mocking tone, ‘is discussing a troop withdrawal from Eastern Europe. Our enemies must be rubbing their hands with glee.’

‘And where does the Politburo sit in all of this?’ asked Konstantin. It was hard to keep track of events, they were unfolding so fast.

Karzhov shrugged. ‘They’re all clowns,’ he jeered, ‘there’s even talk of devolving more powers to the republics.’

The Soviet Union seemed to be teetering towards collapse,

Karzhov threw a glance at General Vdovin, who nodded back.

‘The general says you are to be trusted?’

‘We’ve worked well together so far; our interests are not dissimilar,’ Konstantin replied.

‘There is a group of us, a small group, but I am sure with wide general support, who are committed to ensuring that the Soviet Union does not disintegrate, that all that has been achieved through decades of sacrifice is not lost.’