Ken McClure - The Gulf Conspiracy

‘Yep, Sarin.’

‘The one gas we know Saddam has for sure? ’

‘Exactly. PB works well enough against the effects of Soman and Tabun but when combined with Sarin, it can be a deadly combination. Even tiny concentrations of Sarin in the air can cause problems for someone who’s been taking PB pills.’

‘Have you said anything about this to anyone?’ asked Blamire.

‘Are you kidding? I like being a colonel. The uniform of private, first class, wouldn’t suit me. No one’s supposed to know we gave Sarin to Saddam. Remember?’

‘Silly me,’ said Blamire. ‘So our masters are prepared to have the troops exposed to unnecessary danger in order to avoid any political embarrassment?’

‘Seems like it.’

Both men stopped to watch a number of jeeps draw up some three hundred metres away outside the studio building and a number of senior officers get out. Even at a distance the men could see that the bulky figure of General Norman Schwarzkopf was among them.

‘Personally I’m counting on Stormin’ Norman putting an end to this odyssey of fun and getting all our asses out of here by the end of the month,’ said Schumacher.

‘Amen to that,’ said Blamire. ‘We’d better get back; it’s almost showtime.’

Blamire and Schumacher took their places at opposite ends of the long table fronting rows of collapsible seats provided for members of the press corps. TV and film cameras were manoeuvred into position and lighting adjusted as General Schwarzkopf took centre stage behind a sea of microphones bearing the logos of their stations. He was flanked by US and British commanders and was the first to be questioned on the progress of the war.

Schwarzkopf handled the press with his usual aplomb and great good humour and the press responded with laughter and even, on occasion, applause. The general was always good copy. He was a tough, straight talking, all action American hero and that was exactly what the folks back home wanted to see on their TV sets — and that went for both sides of the Atlantic. When British commanders were questioned it was as if the lights had been turned out and a speak-your-weight machine had taken over.

Blamire was beginning to think that his fears about CB weapons questions had been unfounded when a slight woman with a French accent and wearing fatigues got to her feet and announced her credentials as representing a French radio station. She asked if there was any truth in the rumour that a field laboratory team had recently detected the presence of the anthrax bacillus in Dahran.

Schwarzkopf waited until the hubbub had died down and said, ‘I am unaware of any such thing, young lady. How about you Max?’

Max Schumacher shook his head and said, ‘No sir.’

‘And plague bacillus at Wadi al Batin?’ continued the journalist.

Schumacher glanced at Blamire who took his cue and fielded the question for him. ‘We are certainly not aware of any deliberate use of any offensive micro-organisms against Allied forces,’ he said.

‘How about accidental use?’ asked the woman, picking up on the operative word amidst laughter from the floor. Her accent made the word seem sexy.

‘That’s really not as daft as it sounds,’ said Blamire, using the PR trick of smiling disarmingly as if taking the assembly into his confidence. ‘The fact of the matter is that our air crews have been having some success in destroying Saddam’s microbiological research facilities.’ He paused to allow the journalists to work out what he was going to say next and feel good about it. ‘Unfortunately,’ he continued, ‘it is possible that a certain amount of dangerous fall-out has escaped and although of course, we regret it, the simple fact of the matter is that it’s just not possible to contain and destroy everything inside these buildings when high explosive is being used.’

Blamire hoped that the French woman might be satisfied with his answer — as everyone else seemed to be — but she remained standing, small and slim but ram-rod straight and exuding the self confidence of someone who saw herself on a mission of truth. Her hair was swept back in a ponytail and the camera lights were reflecting off her frameless glasses. ‘So what sort of bacteria can we expect to be in the air around us?’ she asked.

‘I really don’t think that’s going to be a major problem,’ replied Blamire. ‘We would anticipate that any escaping organisms would dissipate to statistical insignificance anywhere outside a radius of two miles from source. As for the identity of these agents, well, of course, that’s impossible for us to predict.’

‘Is it really, Colonel?’ said the French journalist. There was clear doubt in her tone.

For one awful moment Blamire thought that she was about to accuse them openly of knowing perfectly well what organisms Saddam had access to and where he had got them. As fate would have it, however, another journalist got to his feet and said, ‘Tom Coogan, NBC News: maybe the rest of us could get a question or two in here?’

The French woman deferred to him reluctantly and sat down. Coogan asked Schwarzkopf if he intended taking his ground forces right on into Baghdad and occupying it.’

‘I’m a soldier. I do what I’m told. I go where they tell me,’ replied the general and good humour returned to the meeting.

Blamire had a few words with Schumacher after the briefing was over. ‘It can only be a matter of time,’ he said. ‘We can’t go on like this. That French woman clearly knows what’s been going on.’

‘It might not be that much of a problem if things go on the way they’re doing at the moment,’ said Schumacher. The bombers have destroyed so much of Saddam’s hardware that the Iraqis will be reduced to using catapults by the middle of March assuming they last that long. Once Norman really starts rolling with the ground offensive, they might not make it to the beginning of March, let alone the middle.’

‘Something could still go seriously wrong,’ said Blamire. ‘We’re talking about a megalomaniac with his back to the wall. Saddam could still go after the Israelis with CB weapons.’

Schumacher shook his head and said, ‘The Israelis have been patient. They’ve accepted that they have to stay out of this fight or our Arab allies will be hopelessly compromised. They just could not afford to be seen fighting on the same side as the Israelis against a fellow Arab state. But, if what you suggest should happen, it will be out of all our hands. The Israelis will reduce Baghdad to a pile of radioactive dust no matter what anyone says.’

Blamire grimaced at the thought.

‘My money is still on Norman kicking Saddam’s ass,’ said Schumacher. ‘Cheer up. We’ll all be home by Easter.’

Ministry of Defence

London

September 1991

‘The BBC would like us to send someone along to answer allegations that many of our servicemen have been falling ill after returning home from the Gulf, minister. What shall I tell them, sir?’

‘Bloody BBC! Whose side are they on? We win a war and all they can do is whinge about a bunch of squaddies who’ve got flu for God’ sake. Whatever happened to pride in one’s country?’

‘They say the Americans have been experiencing similar problems, Minister,’ said the hapless secretary, who had heard it all before. ‘They’re calling it, Gulf War Syndrome.’

‘Poppycock,’ retorted the minister. ‘Mamby pamby nonsense. For God’s sake, what’s happening to us? We never read about Agincourt Syndrome in our history books, did we?’

‘No sir.’

‘Damn right. Nor Crecy Syndrome nor Waterloo Syndrome. Our soldiers were men in these days.’

‘Yes sir, shall I tell the BBC no?’