Richard Shirreff - War with Russia

Walker watched as McKinlay thought for a moment, as if pondering whether to accept the Prime Minister’s line or to push back. Then he saw the Royal Marine’s jaw set and his eyes narrow. He looked the Prime Minister directly in the eye and spoke.

“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.”

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.”

Their GCHQ escort, a middle-aged lady from Protocol, took them into the open-air garden courtyard situated in the middle of the Doughnut and they sat at a bench close to the memorial to the five GCHQ staff killed on active service in Afghanistan: two Cotswold Stone circles, with the bronze heads of a young woman and a helmeted soldier in profile, facing each other.

“You did well back there,” said McKinlay bluntly, once the escort was out of earshot. “I don’t mean just the op you’ve set up… but you weren’t fazed by that little weasel with the PM—his Director of Communications, Walker… Odious man. Always looking to get something on you that he can trade later.”

Allenby brushed off the compliment with what seemed to McKinlay her trademark briskness, but he wondered as he observed her, was it really shyness?

“Thank you, General, but it happens all the time with those types.”

He nodded at her to continue.

“Look, I know you’re heading back to SHAPE, but there’s something you should know that I can’t pass on via the usual channels… Which is why I wanted to grab you before you left.”

McKinlay was intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“It’s about the team of Mercians we’ve got in Latvia—at least they started in Latvia. As you’ll know, they’ve now infiltrated into Kaliningrad from Lithuania. They’ve just completed a close target recce on the nuclear command and control bunker at Pravdinsk, in order to prepare the way for US Special Forces to seize it once we’ve activated Rasputin and established the electronic control I briefed the PM about.”

“OK,” said McKinlay.

“There are two issues of concern you should know about. First, we’ve picked up from the Russian nets that they’ve almost certainly identified the team. Not only that, but the Russians know they were responsible for humiliating the President with the helicopter shoot down at Ligatne. And second, we’ve picked up that the President has personally ordered the Spetsnaz to capture Tom Morland, the Mercian team commander. They want to make a spectacle of him. Before disposing of him, no doubt.”

“How did they manage that?” asked McKinlay.

“By the signature of the data transmissions. Without going into the technicalities, the team signaler has a particular way of putting together the message. He’s good, but he’s not SF, so he hasn’t been trained in the techniques to avoid detection. We’ve picked up on it, so we’re assuming the Russians have, too. They’re brilliant at this sort of thing. We’re now assuming that the Russians picked them up first in Latvia, which would explain how they were able to zero in on the team and then launch that camp attack, which only just failed. Since then, although they’ve only transmitted very occasionally since, they’ll have been tracking the guys through Lithuania… and now we believe that the Russians know they’re in Kaliningrad. So, although their last transmission was some distance from Pravdinsk, it has to be a fair bet that the Russians will put two and two together and work out that they’re probably looking at the nuclear command and control facility there.”