“My orders, Colonel Gachev, are to hold position until further notice. In the meantime, my men will assist our Kameraden who were hit by the nuclear strike.”
Colonel Gachev slammed his fist on the bonnet of the UAZ Jeep causing his driver to jerk awake. “Some of my men were caught in it as well, Comrade Oberst. We’ve hit back, and now is the time to finish them off.”
“I’m sorry, I have my orders.”
“You are under the command of the Northern Group of Forces, as am I.”
“I take my orders from Generalmajor Urner, Colonel.”
“Chush’ sobach’ya! You take your orders from the Motherland!”
Oberst Keller stared into the eyes of the Soviet officer. “That is about to change, Comrade Colonel,” he said under his breath. “I take orders from my General.”
With that, the Oberst stormed off, his orders to assist with the repatriation of as many wounded as possible. Many of them were suffering from major trauma injuries, third-degree burns and radiation sickness. One thing he hadn’t informed the Soviet colonel about was the second set of orders he’d received, and were tucked away in his pocket.
Top Secret
To: Oberst Keller
Command: 8th Motor-Schutz Regiment
From: Generalmajor Urner
Command: 8th Motor-Schutz Division, 5th German Army
1. Poland: Unrest in Poland. Polish Solidarnosc has called for its 10-million members to initiate a period of civil unrest. Martial law has been declared, but the army are taking no action. Poland is in a state of paralysis.
2. Czechoslovakia: A second uprising is in progress in Czechoslovakia. The Czech army is withdrawing troops from Germany to ensure its internal security and protect its borders.
3. German Democratic Republic: Major discord within our borders. Severe backlash over casualties to National Volksarmee after nuclear strikes. Also street protests over the civilian casualties in the Federal Republic of Germany after the Soviet nuclear response.
Orders:
1. Cease all hostilities against NATO forces unless in self-defence.
2. Evacuate all military casualties to the German Democratic Republic urgently.
3. Prepare defence against Soviet military intrusion.
4. Take no further orders from Soviet Military Commanders.
5. Prepare withdrawal of all National Volksarmee forces.
Urner
Generalmajor
Bradley was back in the small room that had become familiar to him during his time spent being questioned by his interrogator. The man was sitting in front of him now, but the occasion was very different. In the last four hours, he had been allowed to shower and his uniform had been returned, tatty but cleaned and pressed. A uniformed doctor had also treated his wounds. A full plate of ham and pickled cabbage had been given to him to eat but after swallowing half; he brought it all back up. They’d helped him to clean himself up; then had given him some dark bread until his stomach was capable again of digesting anything more adventurous.
“Well, Mr Bradley.” The major pushed a cup towards his captive. “I have been able to acquire some tea for you. Probably not as good as you have perhaps been used to, but tea all the same. I will stick with my coffee.”
Bradley didn’t move.
“Go on, take it. No tricks this time. Only tea.” He smiled.
Bradley reached out and picked up the cup. There was no milk, but his first sip tasted like elixir.
“Good, good. That’s more like it.” There was a pause and then the major leant in towards him. “Events have moved very quickly in the last couple of days.”
“24388749, Bradley Reynolds, Sergeant, Royal Corps of Transport.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed the MfS major. “No need for that, Mr Bradley. Those days are over. You are still in our custody, but you are to be released soon.”
Bradley’s mind raced, but he kept control of his emotions. He thought back to his R2I training and the tricks that were played on him to gather information. An interrogator posing as a Red Cross representative, asking him to sign documents to prove to his family that he was alive. Tricks. Is this a trick? He thought. He was still at Hohenschonhausen, the MfS prison, a prison used by Ministry of State Security.
“Herr Bradley. Truly. Your government know we have you in custody, and your exchange is being organised as we sit here with our drinks and chat. So, please relax.”
“24388749, Bradley Reynolds, Sergeant, Royal Corps of Transport.”
The major leant back in his seat and lit a cigarette. “I understand, Sergeant Reynolds. My men will take you to a room with a bed where you can get some sleep. As soon as an exchange has been arranged, I will call for you again. Good day to you, Sergeant.”
General Secretary Baskov crashed down into his low-backed leather armchair, shocked at the latest news from the battlefields of West Germany. “Comrade Aleksandrov, tell me this news is false.”
The head of the KGB, the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, the Committee for State Security, probably the second most powerful man in the Soviet Union, Yuri Aleksandrov, nodded his head. “It is true, Comrade General Secretary. The Polish army is pulling back in both the north and south, and the National Volksarmee is doing the same.”
“Our forces are holding?” Baskov asked, fiddling with his favourite toy: a model of an artillery piece.
“Yes, Comrade Secretary, 2nd Guards Tank Army and 20th Guards Army are consolidating along with the divisions of the Northern Army, but they have had to pull back to Hamburg and east of Hanover as they are under threat from the north and the west. The West German Army, along with the US III Corps, is on their heels. The British are consolidating, but Intelligence tells me that they are getting ready to push for and cross the River Leine. 3rd Shock Army no longer exists.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Yes, the Military Districts are starting fill the gaps. Further south, it is stalemate, but the French forces are building up, and more and more Americans are being shipped in.”
Baskov stroked the metal pin in the shape of a Soviet flag on the left lapel of his grey suit. “We must attack again, Yuri.” The squarish, jowly face smiled. “We have a powerful army still. Tactical nuclear weapons.”
“But not the ammunition and supplies to support it, Comrade Secretary.”
“What, you want to sue for peace, give up on the ground we’ve taken?”
“Let me pour a drink, Comrade Secretary.”
“Yes, yes, if you must.”
Aleksandrov proceeded to pour two cups of coffee from the decorated slender coffee pot, his hand passing over his Politburo leader’s drink, the white powder from his ring masked as he added sugar to the Soviet leader’s china cup. He placed the cup and saucer in front of Baskov who took a long drink from the now cooled coffee.
Aleksandrov passed across the plate of biscuits. Baskov’s hand was shaking as he went to pick one for himself. His face reddened as the batrachotoxin quickly took effect. Found on the skin of the very small poison dart frog, the toxin attacked the General Secretary’s nervous system, opening the sodium channels, paralysing the large man, and shutting down his body’s systems. Baskov’s eyes widened as he fell forward out of his chair, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. A few twitches and he was dead.
Aleksandrov called out, and Baskov’s secretary opened the door letting Marshal Obraztsov and Marshal Dolzhikov into the room.