The general rubbed his chin, and looked left and right at his colleagues. They had obviously debated this very point prior to the meeting and had anticipated the question. “Based on all the intelligence we have to date, they could strike within forty-eight hours. They would be without their full complement; some units are still playing at being on exercise and will need some time to rearm and for a minor refit. Three to five days.”
“I don’t need supposition, General, I need facts.”
The Chief of the General Staff thought for a moment before he responded, choosing his words carefully; not in fear of the woman who was effectively his boss, but as a consequence of the black cloud descending on his mind at the thought that they might actually be going to war — a war he had trained for, but one he knew that, if it happened, would tear the world apart. “I’m sorry, Prime Minister, I can’t…We can’t.” He indicated to the other military personnel present. “We can’t be more certain than the earliest being within three days.” He leant forward, the rest of the Cabinet following suit, drawn in to wanting to hear what he was going to say next. “But be in no doubt, Prime Minister, they could be in position to launch a full assault, with the majority of their Warsaw Pact Allies behind them: their first strategic echelon pretty much in place, their second strategic echelon not far behind, at the latest five days. Any later, particularly should NATO units start to deploy in earnest, they would have a much greater resistance to overcome.”
“Should we not be mobilising fully now?” the PM asked the group at large.
“If we overreact on this, Prime Minister,” the Home Secretary was the first to reply. “The consequences to our economy would be devastating. Impounding ships and planes, denying businesses of some of their staff by calling up reservists, not to mention the mayhem of securing all our key points.”
“It will be an even bigger disaster to our economy if the Soviet Union cross into West Germany,” she quickly responded. “We have to be prepared. If it means we get egg on our faces then so be it. The responsibility is mine. Better than we have a hammer and sickle flying over Buckingham Palace. I want a full Cabinet meeting tomorrow morning then I will speak to Parliament. In the meantime, Jeremy and Lawrence, get the ball rolling. You too, Generals, Air Marshall.” She looked at the Foreign Secretary. “Christopher, you need to pull in the Soviet Ambassador and find out what the hell is going on.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. I will arrange it straight after the meeting has closed.”
“Don’t give him time to think or contact his masters, Christopher. Make him come to you immediately.”
She looked through the glass partition at the opposite end of the room. Clerks were moving furniture about and unpacking papers that she had requested should be brought to the site. She sensed that she could well be spending a lot of time here.
Chapter 17
The dark-green Volkswagen van made its way down Hoch Strasse, on the northern outskirts of Bruggen. The vehicle was in the process of doing a full circuit of the British Army base. This base was different from many of the others in West Germany; this base was special. 3rd Base Ammunition Depot was one of the largest depots in NATO and stored special munitions for use in the event of a war.
The two Spetsnaz operators were particularly interested in this site as it was purported to store nuclear weapons, something the Soviet Union would want neutralised in the event of a war, whether the Warsaw Pact attacked the West, or indeed if NATO decided to launch a strike with intention of returning East Germany to the fold. The Beetle van chugged along the road, keeping the perimeter of the base on their left in sight as much as possible, the idea being to do a full circuit. They kept their speed down to the local traffic limits so as not to attract the interest of the Bundespolizei. The German police were the last thing they needed breathing down their neck. They had been given some aerial and ground photography of the base, but they both knew from experience that there was no replacement for a CTR (Close Target Reconnaissance) eyes on. This area was awash with British units. The Royal Air Force Base, Bruggen was not far away. The British Army also had 3rd Base Ordnance depot’s across the border in Belgium, at Broechem, Hier, Raust and Vremde. A petrol reserve depot in Grobbendonk, Base Supply Depot in Herentals, workshops in Emblems, Olen and Noorderwijk along with the 16th Base Vehicle Depot. These would be targets for other Spetsnaz agents; the 3rd Base Ammunition Depot, the target they were circuiting now, would be thiers. Two more agents had also been assigned to do a full reconnaissance of RAF Bruggen. RAF Bruggen was an equally important target. The HASs (Hardened Aircraft Shelters) each accommodated two Jaguar GR1s, air-to-ground strike aircraft. RAF Bruggen also operated Phantom FRG2s for air defence. The base was sometimes visited by the larger Vulcan bombers, capable of carrying and delivering nuclear bombs onto their target. All were protected by Bloodhound surface-to-air missiles and the more modern Rapier. Spetsnaz would focus on the air defence systems, leaving the aircraft and STARRNET communications tower and radar installations to the Soviet Air Force.
The Spetsnaz role was twofold. First, recce the site and, if possible, determine the actual location of the nuclear storage area within the base itself. Second, facilitate an attack to destroy the nuclear stocks and destroy as much of the base as possible. The passenger nodded to his comrade and the driver changed gear, swung the vehicle left down a link road, and headed for the town of Bruggen. They needed to plan their next steps and, for that, they needed help. Both were experienced operators and knew the site would be well protected. High barbed wire fences posed no problem for the highly trained Spetsnaz soldiers; neither were they worried about the guards that patrolled the base. The guards were mainly from the Mixed Service Organisation, a civilian arm of the British Army of the Rhine, which employed mainly displaced persons. Many of them were former prisoners of war, concentration camp inmates who had survived the horror of such places as Auschwitz and who chose not to return to their native countries after the end of World War Two. They were affectionately known as MOJOs by the servicemen. It was the dogs that worried the Spetsnz agents the most. Guards were generally predictable; dogs were another matter, particularly these. It was known that the dogs were tormented to make them aggressive and wild. Even the MOJO handlers were not safe and often had to wear protective clothing, padded suits, just to retrieve those dogs that had been allowed to roam free amongst certain key, fenced-in special weapons areas.
After completing their initial CTR, they made their way around the edge of Bruggen, skirting the town to the east, taking a turn off Boisheimer Strasse which took them into a small industrial estate. Pulling into a small yard, the gate left open for them as they were expected, they parked next to a set of large garage doors, the name above informing them that they were at the premises of ‘Muller Courier Services’. They headed for the office, to the right of the industrial doors, the light still on, even at 6pm, and went inside.
“How did it go?” asked the fifty-five year-old man in grey overalls, black patches on the knees and elbows, the owner of the courier business. He had a successful commercial enterprise operating in the Bruggen area and was extremely proud that he now owned six vans similar to the one that had just been parked up outside — although it was not without help, funded with money from the Glavnoye Razvedyvatel’noye Upravieniye (the GRU), the foreign military intelligence arm of the Soviet armed forces.