Operation ANNA: The strangest Soviet mission

[Matt Wiser]

The strangest Soviet mission of the war in the Middle East:

Prelude:


Soviet MAAG Headquarters, Samarra, Iraq; 6 May 2005, 0730 Hours GMT:


Major General Mikhail Kurchatov sat in the main conference room of the MAAG Headquarters. Not only were the key members of his staff present, but also General Trimenko, the former head of the MAAG in Syria, now the commander of the Samarra garrison and his de facto deputy, as well as several Spetsnatz officers-both airborne and naval were there as well. He nodded to a Spetsnatz soldier at the door, and the Ensign closed it, leaving the officers inside to their discussion. For this was a mission that, had anyone prewar suggested it, would have had that person laughed out of the room.

“Now, Comrades, Plan Anna is almost ready to be implemented,” Kurchatov said, and those in the room nodded. All had been involved in planning the operation, which had been divided into not only diversionary actions, along with three main stages. “However, there is one additional detail that is being added into the plan, and it will be executed the night before. Both the KGB and GRU Rezidents are in agreement that this particlular action will be very useful, and the Iraqis will assume that instead of being a diversion, that this is the main event, and that the real targets are themselves a diversion from this one.”

“And what are we to do?” General Trimenko asked. He knew already, but wanted it put out for the record.

“We are going to snatch three or four Coalition Prisoners from the Iraqis,” Kurchatov replied. “Spetsnatz will deliver to this base, and instead of the intensive interrogation they may expect, the reception they receive will be quite the opposite. They will be given the opportunity to clean up, get some real food inside them, and we will interview them not about any military information they have, but about their experiences in Iraqi captivity. Then we'll spirit them back into Baghdad, and deliver them to the Swiss Embassy. The Swiss will grant them asylum, and our part will be over.”

“The Iraqis have caused the Rodina some embarrassment, Comrade General,” Colonel Nastin, Kurchatov's Chief of Staff, replied.

“And we have to clean up the mess,” Trimenko nodded. The Syrians, if they had had the chance, would have done the same as the Iraqis. When he'd been briefed, and later on, shown some of the material Kurchatov's staff had gathered-much of it in fact, happily provided by the Iraqis themselves, he'd seen why something like this had to be done. “So, how are we going about cleaning up this muck?”

Several of those seated at the table had a silent chuckle at that. “I will visit the POW Prison at Al-Rashid,” Kurchatov said. “There is a small group of prisoners who have information that Moscow would reasonably want, and they include special operations personnel-one of whom is a helicopter pilot, as well as a couple of their “Wild Weasel” pilots.” He nodded at Major Bezarin. “Major Bezarin will fill you in on that part of the operation, then Major Boldin will handle the Spetsnatz side, while our KGB and GRU Rezidents will handle the diversionary action within Baghdad proper.” Kurchatov nodded. “Major.”

“Thank you, Comrade General,” Bezarin replied. “Through my contacts at the Iraqis' Department of Military Intelligence, I have identified several prisoners that we would, under more....normal circumstances, want to interrogate. The General will visit the prison, and forward a request for their transfer to this garrison.”

“And, of course, we would promise to return them to Iraqi custody when finished,” Colonel Nastin added with a laugh. “Go on, please, Major.”

“Certainly, Comrade Colonel,” Bezarin said. “Due to security reasons, they will not likely use Highway 1, which is the main road to Samarra, Tikrit, and Mosul. The prisoners will be taken via back roads, and that is where Major Boldin's people come in. Major?”

“Due to some diversionary acts, such as attacks on checkpoints, police stations, and Baath Party offices in towns such as Balad, Dujail, Al Khalis, and several smaller towns, the Iraqis will have to take the back roads. Here, roughly between Al Taji and Balad Air Base, is where we will spring the trap. The target vehicle will have to stop for a checkpoint at this bridge, which crosses a canal. My men will be there-some of them posing as guards, for they are Central Asians, and can easily blend in. The vehicle guards will be neutralized, the prisoners retrieved, then spirited by road to this garrison. My men will also provide security when they are delivered to the Swiss.”

“Thank you, Major,” said Kurchatov. He turned to Colonel Andrei Sardanov, the KGB Rezident. “And the...diversions in Baghdad?”

Sardnov and his GRU counterpart, Colonel Boris Lychkin, exchanged nods. “Both the KGB and GRU have arranged for a few car bombs in various locations. Mostly district offices of the Baath Party-”

“Targets that the organization that we are 'setting up' to take the blame for this would want to hit,” Lychikin jumped in. “Sadr's Mehdi Army.”

“Exactly,” Sardnaov nodded. “However, there is one diversion that the GRU has in mind, and though we've thought about doing it, I don't have the assets to do it. Colonel Lychkin, however, does.”

“The Amman Station has an asset who can deal with this. For the target in question is Uday Hussein,” Lychkin said.

There was a buzz in the room as that little fact was digested. “Uday?” Nastin asked. He looked at Kurchatov, who nodded. “Well, now....the man has gone out of his way to create enemies.”

“And there's no shortage of suspects in the event of his demise,” Major Bezarin said. “I will remind everyone that the perpetrators of the last attempt on Uday's life in December of 1996 were never caught.”

General Trimenko nodded. “I see....the Assads in Damascus were never like this.” He turned to Lychkin. “And there is no shortage of those who would rejoice at seeing him dead, it seems?”

The GRU Rezident nodded. “One can easily say that, Comrade General. At the top of that list would be his brother. Both would happily see the other dead, and they wouldn't care who did it.”

“One question, Lychkin,” Kurchatov asked. “Is this asset expendable?”

“No, Comrade General,” Lychkin replied. “The Rezident in Amman was most insistent on that. This individual is 'on loan.''

The General nodded. “Very well,” he said. “How it is carried out is up to you. Now,” he turned to Colonel Boris Telargin, the MAAG's own intelligence officer. “And Saddam's likely reaction?”

Telargin replied, “Comrades, Saddam is more likely to vent his wrath on Sadr's organization than on anyone else. Since our diversionary materials implicate them, they will 'round up the usual suspects' and most of them will be shot, in all probability. Anyone connected to the Mehdi Army in the slightest way can expect to be arrested, and some of those will also be shot.”

“And Sadr's people will try to respond, and that can only be a good thing,” Colonel Nastin observed. “Especially with our follow-on plan, Boris, when that time comes.”

“We haven't even started planning that,” Colonel Lychkin reminded everyone.

“In time, Colonel,” said General Kurchatov. “Now, before we adjourn, there's this: we haven't been attacked here yet, but it's only a matter of when, not if. So, should our air defenses shoot down any enemy aircraft, and we capture any downed aircrew? We will not turn them over to the Iraqis.”

“Comrade General?” Colonel Sardnaov asked.

“We are not barbarians, and I will not transfer any prisoners we manage to capture to those...animals running the POW prison. There is no such agreement with our....allies. We'll simply tell the Iraqis that any such prisoners fell directly into our hands, and will remain in our custody,” Kurchatov said, and those in the room heard the firmness in his voice. He surveyed the other officers in the room. “Do I make myself clear, Comrades?”

Heads nodded, then Colonel Nastin spoke. “You do, Comrade General.”

“Good,” Kurchatov said. “Now, Trimenko?” He saw that he had his deputy's attention. “Get some engineers, and have them convert three barracks into space for POWs.”

“Three, Comrade General?” Trimenko asked, slightly confused.

“Three,” said Kurchatov. “We'll need space for any female prisoners.”

Major Bezarin spoke next. “The Geneva Convention is quite clear on that matter, Comrades,” he reminded everyone.

Trimenko nodded. “My apologies, Comrade General. I had not considered that.”

“Sometimes we forget,” Kurchatov said. “See to it immediately.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

“Now, before we leave,” said Kurchatov. “Lychkin? How soon can your asset be in place?”

Lychkin checked his notes on the asset. “Forty-eight hours, Comrade General,” he replied. “The commercial air routes into Baghdad are still open, and both Iraqi Airways and Jordanian Airlines still fly from Amman. The asset will be coming from there. I'll have a tail on the asset and Uday, and as soon as it's confirmed that the asset and Uday are spending the night together, we'll be informed.”

“And the rest of the operation goes the following morning,” Colonel Sardnaov added.

“Very well, Comrades,” Kurchatov said. “Notify your asset, Lychkin, and let's get this operation going. As of now, we're committed, and there is no going back.”

“Understood, Comrade General.”

“Major Boldin?” Kurchatov turned to his Spetsnatz leader. “Good luck, and good hunting.”

“Thank you, Comrade General,” Boldin replied.

The General surveyed his senior officers. “All right, Comrades, that's all for now. Good luck, and once this is done, we'll get with Boris. But, we have a way to go before that. Keep that in mind, Comrades.”

“Yes, Comrade General,” Nastin said as the others nodded.

General Kurchatov stood up. “Very well, Comrades. Let's get going, and again, Good luck to us all.”

[craigr48]

Great to see this back. I was afraid it got lost and it's too good.

[Wolfman]

Hmm, this is interesting…

[Matt Wiser]

The actual mission:

10 May 2005: Al-Rashid Military Prison, Baghdad, Iraq. 0945 Hours GMT:



Major General Mikhail Kurchatov had just finished a tour of the Men's Compound at the prison, and he was most displeased at what he had found. General Mahdi, the Chief of the Iraqi DMI, had arranged his tour, and though the Iraqis were proud to have the Commander of the Soviet Military Mission in Iraq visiting the prison holding their Coalition prisoners, they were not likely to be pleased at Kurchatov's thoughts as he went to the Women's Compound.

He had found the prison conditions to be appalling, for the prisoners were underfed, their cells were like sweatboxes in the heat of Spring-and it would get worse if the war went on and things dragged on into Summer. The bath area was filthy, and physical brutality was common. Though he did not see the latter firsthand, a meeting with the Senior Ranking Officer in the compound, a USAF Lieutenant Colonel, had driven that point across, for everyone there had been tortured at least once, while beatings were common for any violation of prison rules-real or imagined. The General promised the SRO that he would try and use his influence with the Iraqis to see about improving conditions, and he mentally reviewed what the American Colonel had listed: Observance of Geneva standards, better food and medical care, more opportunities to bathe, and mail from home. Kurchatov had also hinted that the Soviets had something in mind to get that, and if succesful, the POWs would find their situation greatly improved.

Kurchatov had also presented a list of three prisoners that the Soviets wanted to interrogate themselves, and the Iraqis were only happy to oblige. “Do you want them brought before you, General?” Mahdi asked.

“No, just have them gather their belongings and put them in a vehicle,” Kurchatov replied.

Mahdi nodded, spoke to a guard officer, and two very bedraggled men, who clearly showed the signs of mistreatment and a poor diet, were hauled out of their cells. Both were handcuffed and blindfolded, much to the dismay of the Russians, and put in a truck. “The third is in the women's compound.”

“Then let's go there, shall we?”


Kurchatov and his party-which included half a dozen Spetsnatz troopers as his bodyguards, along with Major Bezarin, accompanied Mahdi to the Women's Compound. Before they got to the compound entrance, screams from an interrogation room attracted Kurchatov's attention, and he shot a glare at Mahdi, who conducted the Russian to the room.

There, he found several guards and the Prison Commandant-a Major, Kurchatov saw, in the process of beating with bamboo rods and rubber hoses on a woman who was quite nude, blindfolded, and trussed up in ropes. “What is the meaning of this?” Kurchatov demanded, speaking English.

The Commandant looked to see a very angry Soviet General and a flustered General Mahdi looking at him. “Generals,” the Major said, coming to attention, along with the guards. “She was caught communicating and is being punished.”

Kurchatov's anger was visible to everyone in the room, except the prisoner. He glared at the Iraqi, then at Mahdi, who clearly looked embarassed. To Bezarin, the General's glare was like daggers, and if they had been? Several Iraqis would be bleeding.

Mahdi got the message. “Untie her at once.”

The Commandant gestured to the guards, who untied the prisoner and removed her blindfold.

Kurchatov then went over to her, and saw the rope burns on her wrists and above her elbows, and the scars from beatings-mostly fresh, but a few older ones. Bezarin handed him his canteen, and Kurchatov handed it to her. “Here, take this. What is your name?”

“Captain Tammy Michaels, United States Air Force,” She replied, and proceeded to drink the canteen dry, not caring for a moment she had nothing on. She stared at what appeared to be a Soviet General in full uniform. What's going on here, she wondered, trying to forget where it didn't hurt.

Bezarin consulted his list and nodded. Speaking in Russian so that only Kurchatov would know, he said, “That's the other one.”

“Good,” the General replied. Switching back to English, he nodded to Mahdi, and said. “Get her dressed, and put her with the other two.”

“Of course, General,” Mahdi replied. He spoke to the Commandant in Arabic, who relayed the order.

Two guards took the prisoner back to her cell, then she was loaded on the truck with the two men.

“Now, General,” Kurchatov said angrily. “I would like to speak with the senior ranking female officer. Privately, as was earlier.”


Kurchatov sat behind a table that had been quickly put into the room, and watched as a woman with wavy blonde hair that had seen better days was ushered into the room, wearing her POW pajamas and blindfolded. He nodded at the guards, who removed the blindfold, then said in English. “Leave us.”

The guards left, and the woman looked around, then focused on Kurchatov, but said nothing.

“You are Lieutenant Commander Lisa Eichhorn?”

“I am.”

“Good. I am Major General Mikhail Kurchatov, the Commander of Soviet Forces in Iraq.” He motioned to a chair, not the usual stool, that had been put there. “Please, sit.”

“What's this about?” Commander Eichhorn said as she sat in the chair.

“There are a few matters I would like to discuss with you,” said Kurchatov, who picked up a pitcher of ice water-which Major Bezarin had gotten from the Commandant, along with a pair of glasses. He poured a glass for both, and handed her one.

“Such as?” She replied, taking a sip To her, the fresh cold water was the nectar of the gods. She then drained half the glass.

“What specific requests do you have to improve conditions here?”

Commander Eichhorn remembered being interrogated a few days earlier by another Russian, and he had asked her the same question. Knowing what she did about the Soviet military, that officer had briefed his CO, then that man had to have briefed this Kurchatov, not knowing Major Bezarin's connections to the General. “I told another Russian earlier, but I'll tell you. Treatment according to Geneva standards. Mail from home. Better food, bathing facilities, outside time. And an end to the brutality.”

“As one would expect,” Kurchatov said pleasantly. “Let me assure you, Commander, that the Soviet Union is much more civilized than our allies are in such matters. And you can be assured that the prisoners held by the Soviet Armed Forces are being treated in accordance with international law.”

“What are you getting at, General?” Eichhorn asked, taking another drink. To her surprise, Kurchatov poured a refill.

Kurchatov smiled, then said, “We are trying to influence our allies to treat you and the other prisoners much better. First, though, before I tell you how, I must ask that you not tell the others about this, not until this war is over. And that won't be anytime soon. It will be at least several months, I fear.”

At least, Eichhorn thought, but didn't reply. She had already passed the word to the other women to expect to spend the Summer in Baghdad, and probably longer. “When I get out of here, I'll have to inform the Navy, though.”

“I understand, and that's to be expected,” Kurchatov replied. In a low voice, he relayed the details of what was in store for those who had been selected by the Soviets. “Do I have your word on this?”

“You do. When I get out of Iraq, General, I'll consider my confidentiality promise lifted.”

“Fair enough, Commander. For your information, your Colonel Fleming said the same thing earlier this morning.”

Eichhorn wasn't surprised. “Good to know. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Your comrades at sea on the Kitty Hawk were quite...daring on the 28th. The air show they performed, shall we say, was most impressive.”

“You were at the POW parade?”

“No, such things were beneath my honor as an officer. My staff and I were watching from the Embassy. Your comrades, as they say, 'put on a show.'”

Commander Eichhorn smiled, and she didn't care if the Russian saw her. Her boyfriend had flown the mission. She didn't yet know for sure, but she knew. “When I get out of here, General, I'll let my friends know.”

“Of course.”

“Is there anything else?”

To Kurchatov's regret, they were finished. A pity they couldn't remain here for a while and have a more pleasant chat, but.... Perhaps after the war, or even sooner, he thought. “I don't believe so. Please, finish your drink, Commander.”

Eichhorn nodded, and drained the glass. Slowly. She then got up and quietly said, “Thank you.”

Kurchatov nodded politely and respectfully, then called for the guard.

After the guard left with Commander Eichhorn, the General left the room, and found Major Bezarin waiting, along with General Mahdi and the Commandant. “General,” Kurchatov said . “A most productive discussion.”

“Thank you, General,” Mahdi said. “If you wish to visit again? Please let me know, and I will make the necessary arrangements.”

Kurchatov nodded, trying to conceal his contempt for the Iraqis' methods. “That's very kind. Thank you, General.”

“My pleasure.”

“And how long until they arrive at our garrison?”

“At least three hours. With what's been happening here and at Dujail and some districts further north? They'll have to take some back roads,” Mahdi replied.

“Just as long as they arrive,” Kurchatov said. “Of course, we will return them to your custody when my interrogators are finished.”

“Thank you, General,” Mahdi replied, and the two Russians noted he was beaming.

Kurchatov nodded to Bezarin, and his party left the prison. “The nerve of Mahdi, offering to arrange a return visit,” Kurchatov said, his anger rising.

“Comrade General,” Bezarin replied. “They still think, and quite honestly, I might add, they are doing us a favor.”

Kurchatov's anger was more visible as they reached the Mercedes he used as a staff car. “I know. It's a pity I couldn't order those torture guards shot. Believe me, Bezarin, I was very tempted.”

“Yes, Comrade General,” Bezarin said. He knew full well his General's thoughts on the matter. “As you said previously, there will be a reckoning for those outrages.”

“Exactly so, Major,” Kurchatov replied as Bezarin handed him a cell phone. Japanese-made and obtained in Dubai, it was encrypted. Kurchatov smiled as he dialed a number.

“Major Boldin, Comrade General,” the voice on the other end replied.

“Boldin, they're on their way. Execute your portion of Anna at once.”

“Comrade General.”

Kurchatov tossed the phone back to Bezarin. “And so it begins.”

[Matt Wiser]

And the Russians begin...


1025 Hours GMT: Highway One, North of Baghdad:



To the Iraqi guard officer, things were a little hectic. The prisoners had been loaded into an IFA L60 truck, and several guards had climbed aboard, but they had not met with their escort until the truck passed near DMI Headquarters. Two UAZ-469 Jeeps, each mounting a PK machine gun, fell in with the truck, one ahead, the other behind. While reassured at the security, he wondered what in the name of Allah was going on. There had been an air raid alarm, but some of the explosions seemed too...random to be bombing. Only when he stopped at a checkpoint at the Baghdad Gate on the Mosul road did was he told that somebody-probably those Mehdi Army scum-the officer in charge had told him, was setting off a bunch of car bombs.

Even as the convoy moved north on Highway One, passing first Tajiyat, then Al-Taji (and having to pull over and watch as the Taji Military Supply Center on the west side of the highway was attacked by air), Once the strike was over, the officer got out of the truck and waved to his escorts. Keep going. After getting back on the road, he looked back in the cargo bed to check on the prisoners. They were still there, with the half-dozen guards watching them. Good.

The convoy approached Dujail, and the officer could see smoke rising from several locations in the town. So those Mehdi Army scum were active here? The lead Jeep slowed down as it approached a checkpoint, and all three vehicles came to a stop. A soldier in a red beret talked to the first jeep's driver, then came to the truck. “What's going on?” The officer asked.

“I'm sorry, Sir,” the soldier-a sergeant-said. “You will have to take a detour. Things have been chaotic all morning: two car bombs, an ambush of the mayor, and a couple of roadside bombs. Where are you going?”

“Samarra Air Base.” The officer-a Captain-showed the soldier his orders and movement authorization. The red beret the soldier wore meant he was Republican Guard.

“I see... Sir, you'll have to head for the Tigris River. Take the turnoff towards Balad Air Base, and proceed to the river.”

The Captain took out his own map and traced the route. Yes. His CO had told him he'd likely have to take some back roads, but all the better for security. Who knew if those Mhedi Army swine-or worse, American, British, or Zionist Special Forces, were about? They would happily ambush his convoy and take the prisoners away. No. Best to be safe. “Very well, Sergeant.”

“Sir.”

The Captain got onto a hand radio and called the two Jeeps. They were taking the next turnoff to the right. After they had left the checkpoint and were on this small country road, the Captain felt a lot better.

At the checkpoint, the Sergeant turned to another soldier, this one with a field radio. He spoke to him in Russian. “Pass this along: 'Cargo on its way.'”


In the back of the truck, the three POWs were hot, dirty, and tired. Though the guards were alert, CWO Gary Nichols was able to peep under his blindfold and he was able to see one other male prisoner, and one of the women. He extended his right leg to the woman's left foot and began tapping. “GN.”

“TM”, came back.

For Capt. Tammy Michaels, being taken from a torture session on the orders of a Russian was the last thing she had expected, but was grateful for it. She, too, peeped under her blindfold, and was able to see Nichols and one of the other men. Which one, though? She extended her right leg and tapped on his. She got “PM” in reply.

SAS Sgt. Paul McAlister had read Bravo Two Zero, but had never thought he'd be going through a similar experience, and likely with some of the same thugs who'd interrogated Andy McNab's team back in 1991. But once the initial interrogations were over, and going through the POW parade-now, whoever had laid on and flew that air strike? He vowed to buy however many beers they could drink. But that was for the future. Though for today, what was going on?

Michaels, too, was wondering just that. She now knew she was senior, and wherever they were being taken, she would have to assume the duty of SRO. Iraq had no shortage of prisons, and that meant there was plenty of space enough to go around for any “Bad Attitude” cases. She had overheard someone up front say “Samarra”, and wondered if that was their destination, or was just a stopover. Tikrit? Saddam's hometown was certainly a possibility, and being used as human shields as something the Iraqis wouldn't hesitate to do, just as they did with the civilian hostages back in 1990.


As the convoy drove on, the Iraqis in the jeeps and the truck cab could see they were getting close to Balad Air Base. The Captain took out his map and found where they were. Good. Follow this road to another road that ran to the town of Kharja, and there, a road led to a Tigris River crossing and another road that followed along the river. There, another road off to the right about thirty kilometers from the river crossing would take them to the Soviet base. Very well. That's what we'll do, the Captain thought.

His thoughts were interrupted by the driver slowing down, then stopping. He looked ahead, and saw the Jeep up ahead stopped. A checkpoint, it seemed. No matter. Just show the guards the movement orders and authorization, and they would be on their way. He got out of the truck and walked towards the guard post.


Just off to the side of the “Checkpoint,” Major Boldin smiled. They're right in the trap, he thought. His men were in position and ready, while the “guards” were ready to “search” the vehicles. Good. The men chosen for the “guards” had the language skills, and were all Central Asians. Boldin turned to Ensign Kovpak. “Is your platoon in position?” Kovpak's platoon were all armed with Iranian weapons: G-3 rifles, Uzis, and MG-3 machine guns.

“Ready, Major,” the Spetsnatz Ensign smiled. He himself had an Uzi.

“Be ready to rush the truck,” Boldin nodded, then turned to one of his sergeants. Give him an SVD or any other sniper's rifle, and and the man would consistently put rounds on target. Each and every time. For this occasion, he had an Iranian copy of the West German G3/SG1, fitted with a scope, bipod, and sound suppressor. In training, the Russians had found that the sound suppressors the Iranians had made were much better than their own, and several of them had been promptly put into a diplomatic bag and sent off to Moscow and GRU Headquarters for examination and reproduction. “Ready, Sergeant?”

“Ready, Major,” the Sergeant replied. He watched as an Iraqi officer got out of the truck to talk to the guards at the checkpoint. You're selected, the sergeant thought, centering his scope on the Iraqi officer's chest. “On your command.”

“Once you take the officer, shoot out the truck's engine.” Boldin said, seeing the Sergeant nod, then motioned to two other Sergeants, both with RPG-7s. “Take out the rear jeep to block the truck.”

“On your command, Major,” the Senior Sergeant said, and his comrade, a Junior Sergeant, nodded.


At the checkpoint, the “Guard Officer” watched as the Iraqi approached him. Captain Tamir Abidorov was one of Boldin's best officers, and though being a Kazakh normally meant being a second-class officer, in Spetsnatz, not only did it mean he was among equals, but it also signaled a path to higher rank and responsibility. He did wonder occasionally how his brother Nurken was doing. He was a tank officer serving in Germany, and hoped he was doing all right. That campaign was a bloody mess, no doubt about it, and when it would be over was anyone's guess. But that was something for another day. He checked his holster. An Iranian knockoff of a Beretta 92 was there, waiting. “Captain.”

“I have an important shipment under my command,” the Captain said.

“May I see your movement orders and authorization?” Abidorov said. He was in the uniform of a RGFC Captain-and even the Russians knew the rivalry between the Republican Guard and the Regular Army.

The Captain looked at him, but pulled out his orders. “Here,” he said.

The “RGFC Captain” looked at him with contempt-as a proper RGFC Officer should. “Have your men come out of the truck.”

“I have prisoners in the truck.”

“They won't be going anywhere. Get them out of the truck.”

The Captain reluctantly nodded, then shouted in Arabic. Half a dozen guards came out of the back of the truck.

“What's going on?” Tammy Michaels asked in the back of the truck.

“Something's going on,” McAlister said. Among his other language skills, he was a fluent Arabic speaker. “Bugger if I know,” he added, being careful to keep his voice low.


Boldin knew Kovpak's lead machine gunner would riddle the lead jeep and everyone in it. He also knew that Kovpak also had a sniper, and that the UAZ machine gunner likely was in that man's sights. “Very well.” He saw the officer approach the checkpoint. “Get ready..... ready.... NOW!” He raised his own Uzi.



Ensign Kovpak heard the Major's shout. “NOW!” He yelled in Russian, then again in English, raising an Uzi and opening fire on the guards by the truck. Kovpak dropped two of them before they realized what was happening, while three of his men riddled the other four. Kovpak turned to his right, just as his machine gunner riddled the lead UAZ-469, killing the guard in the right passenger seat, and also riddling another guard sitting beside the machine gunner. That Iraqi tried to swivel his PK machine gun to the right, only to have his legs riddled by MG-3 fire, then Kovpak's sniper shot him in the head.

The other two guards-one of them the driver, jumped out, only to be caught by Major Boldin, who riddled them with his Uzi, killing both.

Surprised, the guard officer drew his Browning High-Power, but Captain Abidrov was quicker, pulling out his Iranian-made Beretta 92 knockoff, putting four rounds into the Iraqi Captain, dropping him. As that happened, the other escort UAZ tried to back off and pull away, but two RPGs from Boldin's men blasted the jeep, tossing bodies out like garbage as it blew in a fuel-tank induced fireball.

As the shooting died away, Boldin stood and nodded towards another of his Ensigns, who commanded 2nd Platoon. “Get security out. Have your men get behind the convoy..”

“Major,” the Ensign said, reflecting the Spetsnatz habit of informality in the field. He waved to his men, and the platoon ran past the ambush, setting up on both sides of the road.

“Kovpak! Let's see what we've got,” the Major said as he came up to the truck, ignoring the bodies strewn about. “Abidrov? Search the bodies for anything useful. I doubt they'll have much, but do it anyway. Be ready to move in five minutes.”

“Major,” the Kazakh officer nodded, then motioned to his “guards.”

Kovpak nodded, then went to the back of the truck. He opened the rear flap, and pulled down the gate. Three figures, two men and a woman, huddled on the floor of the truck, cuffed and blindfolded. “Don't worry,” he said in his excellent English. “You'll be fine.”

“Who are you?” One of the men asked as Kovpak helped him to the back.

“Friends,” Kovpak replied as he went to the woman, and one of his sergeants climbed into the truck to help with the other man.

Boldin came up and he was disgusted at the sight. Having seen what the Iraqis had done to their POWs, thanks to Major Bezarin's briefings, he just shook his head. Seeing that the three were still handcuffed, he motioned to Abidrov. “Check the guard officer, He should have the key to the cuffs.”

Abidrov checked the body, and sure enough, in one of the pants pockets, was a ring with three keys. He tossed the ring to a sergeant, who gave it to the Major.

“Take off their blindfolds, remove the cuffs, and get them to the extraction point, Kovpak.”

The Ensign nodded, but before he could do so, gunfire sounded from behind the convoy.


Unknown to the Soviets, two “technicals” full of Saddam Fedayeen had been nearby, and they heard the sounds of the ambush. Rushing to the sound of the guns, the two Datsun pickups raced down the road, and just as they came upon the ambush site, they encountered the Russians' security element.

Both trucks encountered a hail of small-arms fire as they entered the kill zone, as G-3 rifles and MG-3 machine guns riddled the pickups. None of the Fedayeen had a chance, for as the trucks were being shot to pieces, RPGs blasted both technicals into burning junk. The Spetsnatz then went and checked the bodies, and any of the Fedayeen who showed the slightest sign of life got a bullet in the head. They then scattered a number of pro-Mehdi Army leaflets around the area before pulling back to the main ambush site.


To their suprise, the three POWs, once their handcuffs and blindfolds were removed, found themselves among Russians. Kovpak's Feldsher, or medic, came to attend to them, and Major Boldin came up to them. “Gentlemen, and lady,” he smiled politely. “I realize that you likely have many questions, but now is not the time or place.”

“What's going on here?” Captain Michaels asked. She identified herself to the Russians as the senior ranking prisoner.

'In time, Captain,” Boldin said. He saw his troopers scattering leaflets and posters around the area, and preparing to move. “Come with us, and you'll get some much-needed medical attention, and your questions will be answered. As best as we can.”

“Looks like we've got no choice,” CWO Nichols said, and Sergeant McAlister simply nodded.

“I guess so,” Michaels said. “What do you want us to do,Major?”

“Kovpak!” Boldin shouted. The Ensign came up to the Major and the three. Boldin said in English, “Get them to the extraction point, as I said. I'll be following you. Their safety is your responsibility.”

The three prisoners-and could they still call themselves that-couldn't believe their ears. The Russians, of all people, had sprung them, and they wanted the three to know it. To the point of wanting them to understand by giving orders in English.

“Major,” Kovpak said. “Come,” he said to the three, and they were following the Russian, and the rest of his platoon was behind them. They soon reached the extraction point, where several UAZ-469 jeeps sat, guarded by additional Russians. None of them were in usual Soviet uniform, but had on some kind of camouflage. And none of them were armed with any Soviet weapons, instead, they had what looked like Iranian-made G-3s and Uzis instead of the usual AK-74s and AKSUs.

The rest of the Russians came up, and Major Boldin ordered everyone into a jeep. The three POWs were put in separate vehicles, and the Russians headed off. The convoy of jeeps went through the little town of Arab Ajil, and instead of taking the roads, followed the banks of several canals, before reaching Kharja. Instead of taking that bridge over the Tigris, the convoy raced along the River Road to a minor road that had a bridge over the River. The Checkpoint there was unguarded, and as they moved across that bridge, those in the jeeps saw the Kharja Bridge being mortared.

In the lead UAZ, Captain Michaels saw the bridge as it was mortared, and she shook her head. “They'll just scratch the paint.”

Hearing that, Boldin smiled. Another of the diversionary attacks was going on, and right on schedule. “Perhaps. But whoever is doing it is helping us. Even if they don't know it.”

The rumble of jets came suddenly, and the Russians pulled over. To everyone's surprise, an air strike was going in on the bridge, as F-15Es and F-16s appeared overhead. The air defenses at nearby Balad Air Base opened up, as did flak batteries on both the north and south bank of the Tigris.

“Your comrades, I presume?” Boldin asked Michaels.

“You could say that, Major,” the USAF Captain replied as two center spans of the Kharja Bridge were dropped, and bombs slammed into the spans that abutted the riverbanks on both sides. There were no American aircraft downed, and to the surprise of the POWs, the Russians were actually pleased . “Now what?”

“Let's move,” Boldin said in English, then he repeated it in Russian. “This will attract some local attention.”

The convoy then raced north, ostensibly getting away from the air attack, and moved through the town of Dhuluiya without anyone getting in the way. A turn northeast sent them onto a hard-surface road that seemed to go into the middle of nowhere, leaving the Tigris River region and out into the desert. A half-hour's drive into the desert soon revealed sand berms, perimeter fencing, and watch towers, along with some aircraft taking off and landing.

As the convoy approached a gate, warning signs in Arabic, Russian, and English appeared. “Military Area. Intruders Will be Shot on Sight,” some read, while others warned of minefields off to the side of the road. When the convoy got to the gate, the guards-and the SAS Sergeant noticed the guards at the gate, and some on the perimeter, were wearing black berets. That meant Soviet Naval Infantry, he knew. How did those guys get here?

The jeeps with the three POWs broke off from the convoy and drove to the Soviet Hospital, and to all three, it was clear that they were expected. Doctors and medics were waiting with three gurneys. As they stopped, there was also a high-ranking officer. The two men didn't recognize him, but Captain Michaels did. He had been in the background, but she did recognize his face, despite the pain from the torture session she had been abruptly freed from. Though tempted, she didn't say anything as Boldin's jeep came to a stop.

A doctor in a white coat came to the jeep, and Michaels looked at him, then at Boldin. “Don't worry, Captain. You'll be quite safe with us,” Boldin said. He nodded to the doctor.

“Come with us, Captain. You and your comrades are in good hands,” the doctor said.

“If you say so,” Michaels said as she got out. Two medics put her on a gurney, and she saw the Russians attending to the other two as a nurse started to take her blood pressure. A medic hooked up an IV, before she was taken inside.

As she was wheeled inside, the Russian officer she had recognized went to Major Boldin. General Kurchatov shook the Spetsnatz officer's hand. “Boldin, well done.”

“Thank you, Comrade General,”the Spetsnatz Major replied. “No casualties to our men, and everything went well. Some Fedayeen Saddam arrived just after the ambush, and we disposed of them.”

“Very good, Major. Any....complications?”

“None at all, Comrade General.”

“Very good, Comrade Major. Get your mean cleaned up and debriefed, and then get ready for Phase II. That won't happen for a couple days or so, but be ready just the same.”

Boldin knew Phase II would be a lot more difficult, but he approached that as a challenge to be met and conquered. He nodded, “Comrade General.” then waved to his men.

As the Spetsnatz Troopers headed off, Kurchatov nodded to Colonel Nastin, his Chief of Staff. “That was easy. Now comes the hard part.”

“Yes, Comrade General,” Nastin said, fully knowing what was in Phase II. “When do you wish to talk to them?”

“When the doctors say I can,” Kurchatov said, his voice firm, but hiding some disappointment. “They are in charge for right now, and all we can do is wait. But when the time comes? I want you there. After we've talked to them as a group, I want you to debrief them individually. And have a stenographer with you along with a tape recorder and video camera. I want everything they say about their time in Iraqi hands taken down for the record. One way or another, we will make use of that.”

Nastin understood. “Of course, Comrade General. And our other...guest?” He was referring to a USAF Major brought to the base by Boldin and his men a day or two earlier.

“They can visit with her, and when is that Red Cross official supposed to visit?”

Nastin consulted his notes. “Tomorrow, Comrade General.”

“Very well, Nastin. I want him to not just interview her, but these three. See to it.” Kurchatov saw Nastin nod, then he said. “Let me know when the doctors give their approval for a meeting.”


“Comrade General.”

[Wolfman]

Looking good so far, Matt.

[Matt Wiser]

And the Russians get to business, finding out what's been happening at Al-Rashid, then the Red Cross pays a visit:



Soviet Military Hospital, Soviet Garrison, Samarra AB, Iraq: 1330 Hours GMT:



Outside the treatment rooms, Colonel Nastin and Major Bezarin were at the Nurse's Station, drinking tea and comparing notes. Not just on the operation just concluded, but ideas on how to mount Phase II in two or three days' time. If all went well, both officers knew. “Under other circumstances, Major, a Wild Weasel pilot, a Special-Operations helicopter pilot, and an SAS Sergeant would be ideal candidates to pass on to Moscow. Or, at least, have Moscow provide the questions.” Nastin remarked casually.

“I would agree, Comrade Colonel,” Bezarin said. “But these are not ordinary circumstances.”

“Quite,” Nastin said. Then one of the doctors came out of a treatment room, and scanned the area. He noticed the two officers and came over. “Doctor.”

Colonel Anatoly Lopatin, who was the senior Flight Surgeon for the Soviet Iraq Mission, nodded. “Comrade Colonel. You can see them in a few minutes. They're being moved to private rooms.”

“And how are they?”

“Considering where they've been? Their condition is good-though that is a relative term. All three are underweight, along with two of them having active cases of dysentery.”

“And....other injuries?” Bezarin asked. He knew full well what that meant.

“All three showed signs of physical torture, and the woman? The scars on her arms, back, and buttocks are fresh. She also reported having been....assaulted.” Lopatin spat those words out. “And the Iraqis are our allies?”

Both Nastin and Bezarin nodded understanding. They had expressed similar sentiments along those lines. “Calm yourself, Colonel. I'll notify the General. In the meantime?” Nastin said.

“Yes?”

“The General wants you to give a legal deposition about what they said to you, and what you saw in regards to their injuries, their condition, and so forth.”

“Gladly,” Lopatin said.

“Very well, I'll have the Legal Officer come to your office and you can take care of that. A few minutes, you said?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“All right then. Thank you, Doctor.”

After Lopatin went back to his office, Colonel Nastin went to the Nurse's Station and borrowed a phone from the duty nurse, then dialed a number. It was General Kurchatov's direct line.

“Kurchatov,” the voice on the other end said.

“Comrade General, Nastin here. We can begin our interviews in a few minutes. They are being moved to private rooms as we speak,” Nastin said.

“Very well, Nastin. I'm on my way,” replied the General.

Nastin looked at Bezarin, then spoke into the phone. “Comrade General, would you rather that Major Bezarin and I begin the process, or-”

“I know, Nastin. You and Bezarin are capable of doing this, but I want to be there myself. I'll be right there.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

With that, Kurchatov hung up, and Nastin did so as well.

“The General's on his way?” Bezarin asked.

“Right now,” Nastin replied.

Both officers went over their notes, mentally composing their questions. Then the General came through the door. “Comrades,” Kurchatov said.

“Comrade General,” Nastin said as he and Bezarin came to attention.

“Let's see our new arrivals,” Kurchatov nodded. “The Legal Officer is on his way, and he'll be busy the rest of the day, not just with them, but Doctor Lopatin also.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

“Shall we?”

The three officers went to an elevator, and went to the second floor. There, the three new arrivals had joined the USAF Major in private rooms guarded by Naval Infantry. A Naval Infantry Lieutenant was waiting, and at a nod from Kurchatov, unlocked one of the rooms. The door opened, and revealed an American woman, in bathrobe and slippers, sitting on the bed. “Remain outside,” Kurchatov said to the Lieutenant.”

“Comrade General.”


For Captain Tammy Michaels, the day had started on a very bad note. She had gotten a message from Commander Eichhorn, asking for Colonel Fleming, the overall SRO, to approve Eichhorn's idea that if communications were cut off, for whatever reason, that both compounds were separate prisons. Since things were so spotty, communications-wise, it was logical, and though Commander Eichhorn had decided the women's compound was a separate prison for all intents and purposes, she wanted Fleming to sign off on the idea. Michaels had flashed the message to the Men's Compound, and had gotten a reply. “Affirmative.” She had relayed the reply to her next-door neighbor to pass to Commander Eichhorn via tap code, when the cell door suddenly sprung open, and two guards began beating her with a bamboo rod and a rubber hose, before dragging her to an interrogation room. After she had been trussed up in the ropes, the guards didn't waste time, starting the usual beating, only to have it interrupted. When her blindfold was removed, a Soviet officer was offering her some water, which she had gratefully accepted. Then the truck ride, and the rescue-or could she call it that? What in the hell was going on? At least we're in a hospital instead of the Russians' lockup, she thought.

The door suddenly opened, and a Russian she recognized from the prison came in. Now that she remembered, he seemed to have stars on his shoulder... “Captain Michaels, I presume?”

“That's right,” she replied. “And you are?”

“Ah, my apologies. I am Major General Mikhail Kurchatov, the Commander of Soviet Forces in Iraq,” the General said.

“Captain Tammy Michaels, United States Air Force,” Michaels said, standing up and saluting-out of habit, the Russians noticed.

“Captain,” Kurchatov returned the salute. “Please, sit. I'm sure you have many questions.”

Michaels sat on the bed as the Russians pulled up chairs. “I do. First of all, what's all this about, and am my two friends and I still POWs?”

Kurchatov thought for a moment. “The first question is a difficult one to answer, but I can say this: the Soviet Union is quite disgusted with the conduct of our allies here, and this is my way of making up for that. You can be assured that the prisoners held by the Soviet Armed Forces are being treated in accordance with International Law. As for your second, one could make that argument, but I will not. We will be making an effort to get you and the two men with you to a neutral country.”

“How-”

“You don't need to worry about how, only that it will happen,” Kurchatov said pleasantly. “In the meantime, after we're finished here and with your two male comrades, Colonel Nastin and and Major Bezarin will return for a more....interesting conversation. Before you say anything, any military information you have is out of date, other than aircraft systems.” Seeing Nastin nod, the General went on. “What we are most anxious to know is what happened to you after you ejected from your aircraft, until you arrived here.”

Michaels was stunned. Nothing even remotely like this had come up in SERE. “You're serious?”

Kurchatov nodded gravely. “Very serious. I have seen the videotape the Iraqis made of your.....interrogation,” he spat. “And that was probably the most disgusting thing I have ever seen.” Apart from what the Dushmani did to any Soviet soldiers unfortunate enough to fall into their hands, Kurchatov said to himself.

“What's the point of this?”

“We intend to get the Iraqis to improve conditions for your comrades left behind,” Kurchatov said. “More in accordance with International Law.”

Michaels was thinking for a minute. If the Russians are serious, and they can help Lisa, Jessica, Mac, and the others? This isn't collaboration. It's more like sticking it to those bastards back in Baghdad. “General, I won't hold anything back. I'll tell you what happened to me, and what I know happened to other people.”

Kurchatov nodded. “Fair enough. And there is another USAF Officer here, who was fortunate to fall directly into our hands. She is here, in this very building, and the three of you will be allowed to visit with her, beginning tomorrow.”

“And there is a Red Cross official coming tomorrow as well. He was going to interview her, but he would be most interested in the three of you as well,” Colonel Nastin added.

Michaels was surprised to hear that, but given everything that had happened so far today.... “General, I won't hold anything back from him, either.”

“Very good, Captain,” Kurchatov said. “You'll be fed and clothed, and otherwise taken care of while you're with us. Do you have any other requests?”

Michaels smiled for the first time that day. “Your medics were very good, but they didn't clean me up that much. I've got three days or so worth of dirt and grime on me,” she said. “I'd like a shower.”

“To be expected,” Kurchatov smiled back. “Nastin, before we meet with the other two, call one of the nurses. See to it her request is granted.”

Nastin nodded. “Comrade General.”

“General,” Michaels said, holding out her hand. “If you can help my friends still in Baghdad? Anything I can do to help, and you can tell the other two that I'm on board with this.”

“Captain,” Kurchatov said, shaking her hand in response. “We'll see about doing all of that.”


Soviet Garrison, Samarra East Air Base: 1650 Hours GMT:


For General Kurchatov and his people, it had been a long-but busy-day. The General was preparing to return to the Embassy in Baghdad, but ever since the 28 April air strike on Baghdad, he had to make his trips around the country by car. For one of the targets had been Al-Muthena Air Base, and one of the hangars bombed had been where the Soviets kept a couple of Mi-17s and An-24s for in-country travel, and one of the helicopters destroyed had been his own VIP aircraft. Ah, well. Such things were to be expected in wartime, Kurchatov knew, so he took to using his Mercedes to go about the country.

In his office, the General was putting some papers into his briefcase when there was a knock on the door. “Yes?”

Colonel Nastin and Major Bezarin entered, followed by another officer. “Comrade General,” Nastin said as all three saluted. “Colonel Denisov is finished with his interviews.” Lieutenant Colonel Valery Denisov was the Soviet Military Mission's Legal Officer.

“Colonel,” Kurchatov nodded. “What do you have for us?”

“To start off, Comrade General, I have seen my share of crime-scene imagery in my time, but I have never seen crimes recorded for posterity by those who commit them. Until know,” he said with disgust. “And these savages are our allies?”

“The Rodina can't exactly pick and choose who supports us,” Nastin reminded the lawyer.

“I understand, Comrade Colonel,” Denisov replied. “In any event, I have enough evidence to hold a Court-Martial in the case of these three, and enough to convict.”

Bezarin shook his head. “A pity that won't happen.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said the General. “Denisov, I have a job for you. One way or another, these barbarians will pay for these outrages. I would like you to prepare a legal paper outlining not the violations of the Soviet Criminal Code, but of customary international law in this matter. Not just with these three, but all of the POWs depicted in these....videos.”

“The General is referring to violations of the Geneva Convention?” Denisov asked. Seeing the General nod, he continued. “It can be done, Comrade General.”

“Very good, Denisov,” Kurchatov said. “I would like a preliminary report tomrrow, and a final version the following day. With copies of both translated into English.”

The legal officer was confused. “Comrade General?”

“There is a Red Cross Delegate coming,” Kurchatov said firmly. “I want him to have this material.”

Denisov understood. Even if he couldn't prosecute these... animals? Someone else might. “It will be done, Comrade General.”

“Then I suggest you get started,” said Kurchatov.

“Comrade General,” Denisov clicked his heels, then left the office.

After the legal officer had left, Kurchatov turned to the other two officers. “Well, that's getting started. Now, your thoughts on this? Nastin, you're first.”

“They are concerned for their friends left behind, Comrade General,” Nastin replied. “But, as they indicated privately as well as together, they want to do anything they can to help them out.”

“And so they shall,” Kurchatov said. “Giving those interviews is but one step in that.” He noticed Bezarin lifting a hand. “Major, you have something to add?”

Bezarin nodded. “Comrade General, the accounts of what happened at not just the Kut processing center, but the DMI Interrogation Center and at the prison? They are very consistent. Questions first, and when those are refused? A straight resort to the worst kinds of brutality. Though the wounded prisoners are in the Military Hospital, and are for the moment, relatively safe,” Then he added, “For now.”

The General nodded. “For now, and yes, as we've seen on those...videos,” he winced. “And something has occurred to me. Bezarin? When you return to Baghdad? Make copies of those videos. We'll include those in our..package to be delivered along with those three.”

“If we can't make use of them, then someone else might,” Nastin said.

Kurchatov nodded. “Exactly, Colonel. Major? See to it.”

Bezarin nodded. “It will be done, Comrade General.”

“Good. Now, Bezarin?” Kurchatov turned to his Chief of Staff. “That Red Cross delegate will be here tomorrow? Give him whatever he wants, and see to it that he has access to our....other guest.”

“Comrade General,” Nastin nodded.

Kurchatov then looked at his desk. “Now, there's a reception for all ambassadors and charges' at the Swiss Embassy three days from now,” he told the two. “One way or another, we need to get our three charges into the Embassy compound. Once they touch the ground there, they might as well be in Zurich. The GRU and KGB are working on additional diversionary actions to assist in that effort.”

“We'll get them to where they need to go, Comrade General,” Bezarin said.

“And we will,” said Kurchatov. “Now, before I return to the Embassy, is there anything else?”

“Comrade General,” Bezarin said. “My DMI contacts are having a fit over the American raid on the POW Processing Center at Kut. Not that the facility was raided, but that after the Americans left, the Iraqis found the place a heap of rubble. But they have been able to determine that the Commandant's Office and the interrogation offices were apparently picked clean.”

“What do you mean by that, Major?” Nastin asked.

“It's very simple, Comrades,” Bezarin replied. “No filing cabinets, no desktop computers-or laptops, mind, nothing at all of the sort. Which means the American raiders had orders to make off with anything even remotely of intelligence value. And two of the interrogators are missing. Their bodies were not found at the site, and they are nowhere to be found in and around Kut-”

The General interrupted. “And that means that the raiding party has likely captured them, and made off with all the material they could get their hands on.”

“Yes, Comrade General,” said Bezarin. “Now, all newly captured prisoners are to be sent directly to the DMI Interrogation Center.”

“I see..” Kurchatov said. “Well, then. That's an interesting development. Nastin? I know Boldin's Spetsnatz are all busy, but some of those who've come from Syria aren't engaged as yet in the anti-Special Forces mission. Have some of them run an assault exercise here and identify any shortcomings in base security.”

“It will be done, Comrade General.”

“All right, then. Nastin? I want a report about the Red Cross delegate's visit. And Bezarin? You have some business in Baghdad.”

“Comrade General,” both said.

“Get some sleep, both of you. It's going to be another busy day.”



11 May 2005: Soviet Garrison, Samarra East Air Base, Iraq; 0529 Hours GMT:


Major Nastin stood just inside the base perimeter, waiting. A guest was expected shortly, and the General's orders were that the guest was to be given the full VIP treatment. For that guest was a delegation from the International Red Cross office in Baghdad, and that delegation was coming to visit with the four Coalition POWs. For General Kurchatov wanted to show the Red Cross, and thus the international community, that the Soviet military was treating its prisoners in accordance with the Soviet Union's obligations under international law. Though only one of the prisoners had been captured by Soviets, the other three, Nastin knew from talking to them, planned to tell the visitors everything that had happened to them in Iraqi captivity, and that their treatment by the Soviets was considerably better.

Now, the Soviet Air Force officer looked at his watch. The Red Cross had said that their delegation would be at the gate at 0830 local time, and the Colonel wondered about the Swiss and their punctuality. One of the Naval Infantry on guard pointed down the entrance road, and sure enough, a BMW 325i sedan approached, with Red Cross and Red Crescent flags flying from the antennae. The car pulled up to the Sentry Box, and the Naval Infantry officer, as per Kurchatov's orders, merely checked their identification before waving them through. After the car was past the gate, Nastin was waiting, and the two occupants in the back seat got out. “I am Colonel Nastin, General Kurchatov's Chief of Staff. Welcome to Samarra.”

Both of them, a man and a woman in business suits, nodded. “Colonel,” the man said. “I am Matthias Bixel, and this is my colleague, Lucia Ortelli, from the International Committee of the Red Cross.”

Nastin nodded politely. “We've been expecting you, Mr. Bixel, Ms. Ortelli. I'm your escort while you are on base. Just follow my vehicle, and we'll get you to where you need to go.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Colonel,” Mr. Bixel replied. “And the prisoners we'll be meeting?”

“There are four,” Nastin said. “Three of whom were originally in Iraqi custody, but we now have charge of them.” How that happened, you'll find out soon enough, Nastin thought.

“I see..,” Ms. Ortelli said. “I understand one of them is female?”

“There are two, actually,” Nastin replied. “But you needn't worry. You'll have complete access to all of them, and you can speak with them for as long as you wish, and in complete privacy.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Ms.Ortelli said.

“Shall we?” Nastin motioned to his UAZ Jeep, and the two Swiss got into their car, and followed the Russian.

As the little convoy drove through the base, the two Swiss, though not having any military experience, saw that this side of the base was full of Russians. They also noticed a lack of damage, which meant the base had not yet been attacked. A short drive, and they pulled up to what was obviously the Soviets' Hospital. When the two Swiss got out of their car, Colonel Nastin waved to several Soviet soldiers, and these were in black uniforms and wore black berets.

“Do you need any assistance, Mr. Bixel?” Nastin asked.

“We have some food parcels for them,” the delegate replied.

“To be expected,” Nastin said. He waved to the soldiers, who unloaded the parcels from the trunk. “If you'll follow me?”

Colonel Nastin, followed by the two Swiss and the soldiers-who were, as the Swiss would find out, Soviet Naval Infantry, went into the hospital and took elevators to the third floor. The soldiers left the parcels at the Nurse's Station and went back to resume their posts, while Nastin led the delegates to a room with a Naval Infantry Lieutenant and several of his men outside. “Lieutenant?”

“Comrade Colonel,” the officer said, snapping to attention. “The prisoners are all in Major Stewart's room,” he said.

“Open it up,” Nastin said. “Mr. Bixel, Ms. Ortelli, I'll introduce you, then I'll leave you to your business. If you need anything, talk to the Lieutenant, and I'll be informed.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Bixel said as the door opened. He, his colleague, and Colonel Nastin found a woman lying in the bed, a broken leg in a cast quite visible, but still wearing a USAF flight suit. The others, two men and a woman, were wearing what appeared to be Soviet-provided clothing, but with no insignia. It was clear, at least from his initial impression, that the Soviets were observing their commitment under the Geneva Convention.

“May I interrupt?” Nastin asked, seeing the two women playing a card game, while the men were watching. Heads looked at him. “Ladies, gentlemen, I'd like to introduce Mr. Bixel and Ms. Ortelli, from the International Red Cross.”

“It's about time,” the woman with the cast said. “Major Karen Stewart, United States Air Force. I'm the senior officer.”

“Major,” Mr. Bixel said, coming over to shake her hand. “May I ask how long you've been here?”

“Just three days,” Stewart replied. “I was lucky to fall right into Soviet hands.” She nodded at the others. “Those three, though, were in Iraqi captivity, and they've got some things to tell you.”

“That we do,” the other woman said. “Captain Tammy Michaels, United States Air Force.” She introduced CWO Gary Nichols, U.S. Army, and British Army Sgt. Paul McAlister. “If you've had breakfast, I'd suggest you hold onto it.” She rolled up the sleeves of her Soviet-provided shirt to reveal rope burns and scars from torture cuffs.

“She's not the only one,” CWO Nichols said. “All three of us have those kinds of scars.”

“And more,” McAlister added.

“I see...” Mr. Bixel said. He and Ortelli exchanged worried looks. “Well, then. We'd like to interview you individually, and then as a group, to see if you have any group concerns. Rest assured, we will be notifying your governments, and we will be working to improve conditions for your friends in Iraqi custody.”

Ms. Ortelli added, “And we have some parcels for you, and forms so that you can write to your families.”

“Thank you,” Major Stewart said.

“Colonel,” Mr. Bixel said. “Could you have someone bring in some water and some glasses? Then we can get started.”

“Certainly,” Nastin replied. “I'll also leave orders with the officer outside and the nurses to give their full cooperation, and give you whatever you need.” The general will be pleased with things so far, Nastin thought.

“All right, shall we get started?”


While that meeting was underway, Major Boldin was meeting with his Spetsnatz officers and ensigns.General Kurchatov's need for diversions as part of Phase II of ANNA meant their talents would be essential, though the General had also told him the KGB was also involved in the diversionary actions as well. Maybe the Chekists will do something good for a change, the Major thought.

“All right, Comrades, let's get to business here,” said Boldin. “I'd like some suggested targets for Phase II, and General Kurchatov has stressed that we need those ready in two days.”

Captain Alexi Gusev, who commanded one of Boldin's two companies, raised his hand. “Are heavy weapons authorized, Comrade Major?”

“They are.”

“I'd suggest taking something out of the Dushmani's book of tricks,” Gusev said. He had been too young for the Afghan War, but had taken part in several cross-border operations after the Soviet withdrawal. “Take some Katyushas, mount the rockets in a truck of some kind, and park the truck within range of a target. Set a timer to launch the rockets, and conceal them underneath a tarp.When the timer reaches zero...” Gusev's voice trailed off.

Ensign Kovpak, who commanded the First Platoon in Boldin's First Company, nodded. And those present saw a smile develop-a predatory one. “Major, I like that idea. It'd be a sign to the Iraqis that the 'Mehdi Army' is serious.”

Boldin smiled himself. Another sign that Kovpak had officer material in him. He turned to his deputy, Captain Vassily Dekazanov. “What do you think, Vassily?”

Dekazanov-a distant relation of one of Beria's henchmen and Ambassador to Germany on June 22, 1941, thought for a moment. “Major, this is a good one. But, I'd advise against going for a palace in the city itself-the chances of discovery are too great.”

“What would you suggest, then?”

“Do it, but target one of the Presidential Areas near the Airport-there's three of them. There's ample room to conceal a truck-or several-and all of those can be easily stolen.”

“And Saddam's security services-including the Special Security Organization and the Special Republican Guard-can't be everywhere at once,” said Gusev.

Boldin nodded. “Good. Anything that disrupts their security is a good thing. Excellent thinking, Gusev. I'll clear it with the General. Now, we need a couple of satisfying diversionary actions in Baghdad proper.”

Consulting a map of Baghdad, the Russians found no shortage of high-value targets. “Major,” Kovpak said.

“Yes, Ensign?”

“How about the old reliable in this part of the world?” Kovpak said. “A truck bomb. Have another 'disabled truck' on, say, the Fourteenth of July Bridge. A timer is all that's needed, and...”

“Very good, Kovpak!” Boldin said. “There was a 'Mehdi Army' bomb on the bridge after Uday's death, and the Iraqis will assume they were dissatisfied with the results, so they're trying again.”

Boldin's Intelligence Officer, Captain Gennady Ershakov, asked, “What about an assassination, Comrade Major?”

“Who do you have in mind?” Boldin asked. This, no one had yet suggested. It was taking things a bit higher than he would've liked for the moment. And yet, the more confusion in the Iraqi Security Services, the better. “Not Saddam or anyone in his inner circle, I trust?”

“No, Major, not that kind of high-value target, but someone just outside the inner circle. May I suggest the Mayor of Baghdad?”

Heads nodded at that. The man was a member of Saddam's Tikriti clan, and was thus trusted and loyal. He was also connected to the late (and generally unlamented) Ali Hassan al-Majid, who had been killed in a Coalition air strike. The man wasn't a close relative of Saddam, but one who was important enough to warrant such a job. And in the view of those who wished the regime gone, one whose extinction would be quite justified.

Boldin thought for a moment, then nodded. Getting rid of the man would stretch the Iraqi security services a bit more, and make the job of Phase II a lot easier. His men had already planned how to get their charges into Baghdad and on to their destination-just an official Soviet Army truck and some of his troopers for security. The Iraqis never bothered the Soviets, and that wasn't expected to change anytime soon. “Very well, Ershakov, plan for the...liquidation of the Mayor, but hold off on actually killing him. I'll have to discuss this with the General, and see if he's willing to go that far. We may have to give the impression of a serious attempt on the man, only to fail for one reason or another.”

“Understood, Major.”

Boldin nodded again, then slammed his palm on the table. “Right, Comrades. We'll be busy the next couple of days, so let's get with it.”

After the officers had left, Boldin went to his office, and picked up the phone. A phone call with the General wouldn't do for this one. He'd need a face-to-face discussion, and the General was in Baghdad today. A call to the General's office to inform him of Boldin's needing to see him, then he would go to the Embassy.

[jemhouston]

Interesting times indeed

[Bernard Woolley]

Enjoying this a great deal. Well done!

[Wolfman]

Very interesting, Matt.

[Matt Wiser]

After a longer-than-expected delay due to other writing, a serious case of writer's block, and RL....

11 May 2005: Soviet Embassy, Baghdad, Iraq: 1100 Hours GMT


General Kurchatov sat behind his desk, going over some papers. Even here, the Soviet Ministry of Defense bureaucracy never stopped, and he wondered just how far that reached. Cuba, even? Or Angola? Neither one would surprise him at all. At least the new Zampolit is a reasonable chap, the General thought, not like Colonel Kolchergin, who had been a zealot-and his devotion to Communism had irritated every officer in the MAAG to no end. So when he had been killed on 28 April-a side effect of the first major strike on Baghdad by the Coalition, the General-and many others, had celebrated. Privately.

Kurchatov was going over a report from the GRU Station's technical analysis section, which had examined a number of wrecks of shot-down Coalition aircraft, primarily American. To their regret, none of the wrecks had parts or intact equipment that had survived their crashes, and though a number of pilot kneeboards had found on captured aircrew, that was helpful, but wasn't enough. Not even an ECM or targeting pod, he noted. Though he was Guards Airborne, that made him realize some aspects of air force matters, and an intact targeting pod or pods would be items Moscow would want.

Then his office phone buzzed. “Comrade General,” his secretary said over the speaker. “Major Boldin is here.”

“All right, Natasha. Send him in, please.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

The Spetznatz officer came in. “Comrade General,” Boldin said, saluting.

“Ah, Boldin,” the General said. “I take it you have some proposals for Phase II? Your phone call to Natasha indicated that you did.”

Boldin nodded. “Yes, Comrade General, and with your permission, I'll outline them for you.”

“Go ahead, Major. I'm listening.”

Boldin then outlined what his men had talked about. “An attack on one of the Palaces near the airport would do, and do nicely, Comrade General. Along with the assassination of the Mayor of Baghdad.”

Kurchatov thought for a moment. Getting rid of the Mayor would make things easier as events toward Plan Boris developed, and it would make Saddam's security services very jumpy. The man wasn't a nobody, but a fairly important member of the Tikriti Clan, but not high enough in that to warrant becoming a member of the RCC. And there were likely more than a few people who were hoping for a vacancy in the position. But was it too early? The suggestion about an attempted assassination being a more desirable option looked a lot better, for now, anyway.

“Boldin, we'll go ahead with the truck bomb on the 14th of July Bridge. I'll talk to the Rezident about getting his assets to do just that, and also the Republic Bridge as well. As for the Mayor?” Kurchatov said. “He hasn't outlived his usefulness just yet. Give him a good scare, though.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

Kurchatov looked at him. “But kill the Deputy Mayor. I'll have the Rezident forward the target information.”

“As you wish, Comrade General,” Boldin said. A failed attack on the Mayor, but disposing of the Deputy Mayor would still do nicely. “ The rocket attack on one of the Palace complexes?”

The General got up and had a look at a map of Baghdad. “Which one, precisely?”

“Radwiniyah, Comrade General,” replied Boldin. “The one southwest of the International Airport.”

Hearing that, Kurchatov had a scowl. Part of the complex had been hit by the Americans-but he wasn't sure if the palace in that particular Presidential Compound had been hit. Still, it would look like the “Mehdi Army” had the same target in mind. But there were mulitple good targets... “Do it, Boldin, but also, see if you can go for the Abu Ghruayb Presidential Grounds: that's the one south of the Airport Expressway. There's three palace buildings proper, and the Americans haven't hit it yet.”

“We'll do them, Comrade General. Dushmani style,” said Boldin.

Having done a tour in Afghanistan near the end of that miserable war, Kurchatov knew what Boldin meant. Besides the rockets on a timer, there would be several roadside bombs. That went without saying, and the trucks mounting the rockets would also be booby-trapped. “Very good, Boldin. Get started on those, and have our three special guests here in Baghdad by 1400 tomorrow. The Swiss Embassy reception is at that time and I want them there just as people are leaving.”

Boldin understood. The fewest outside witnesses, other than Kurchatov, the Soviet Charge' and the Swiss, the better. “It will be done, Comrade General.”

Kurchatov nodded. “Very good, Boldin. Any comments or observations?”

Something about the palaces near Saddam IAP got to Boldin. “Comrade General,may I suggest a few 'stray rockets' onto the International Airport proper?”

“Do you have a specific target in mind?”

“No, Comrade General, but if a Katyusha does actually hit something important? It will be a bonus.”

Kurchatov nodded. “We'll do just that, Boldin. Very well. Off with you, then. Get back to Samarra and begin your preparations. I feel that you and your men will be busy tonight.”

Boldin nodded. “Yes, Comrade General.” He got up to leave, but The General caught him as he was about to go out the door.

“One other thing, Boldin.”

“Comrade General?”

“Good luck to you and your men.”

[jemhouston]

The good general does worry about his people.

[Bernard Woolley]

The West is probably lucky that there are not more generals like Kurchatov.

[Jotun]

The West is probably lucky that there are not more generals like Kurchatov.

Most of the good ones will have been thoroughly institutionalized by the Red Army. I tried to make the general in charge of the attack on the West German government bunker a sympathetic figure, too. But nearly everything in the training Soviet officers was geared towards smothering any initiative and humanity, beginning with the conceit that soldiering itself is a science that can be learned by rote.

[Matt Wiser]

The next part, after a sabbatical:



11 May 2005: Soviet Embassy, Baghdad, Iraq:


Colonel Nastin was in his office, examining the plan for the following day. There was still one problem: getting their three charges from the Soviet Embassy to the Swiss, and no one had yet figured it out. He got up and looked at a map of Baghdad that was on his office wall.Ironically, it wasn't a Soviet AF navigation chart, but a much more accurate American JOG chart. To his suprise, he had found that the Iraqis themselves used those charts, no doubt procured via someone in Amman or the UAE.

Nastin checked the chart, which did show the Palace complexes, and knew which ones the “Mehdi Army” would attack the next morning. He also had marked targets where the Allied air forces had hit with air or missile strikes, along with Baghdad's major air defense sites, as in the S-75, S-125, S-200, and S-300 batteries. Some of those had been neutralized, but others were still active. With two air raids that afternoon, and two others in the morning, the Iraqis were still in the game. A pity the Iraqi Air Force was having a tough time, but....

Such thoughts went from his mind as Colonel Lychkin, the GRU Rezident, came into his office. “Good afternoon, Colonel,” Nastin said pleasantly. Though of the same rank, and holding senior jobs, by his position as Kurchatov's Chief of Staff, Nastin was senior.

“Good afternoon, Nastin,” Lychkin replied. “I need to let you know that we still have an outstanding problem with ANNA.”

“And that is?”

“How to get our charges into the Swiss Embassy Compound,” Lychkin said. “My staff and I have been discussing this all afternoon, and we've had several ideas, but...”

“But no one idea stands out, and you need a break,” Nastin nodded. “Let's go over what you've discussed. Maybe a humble Air Force officer can give some insight.”

Both of them had a slight laugh at that. “Of course, Colonel,” Lychkin chuckled. “First, a caterer's truck. The Swiss will, no doubt, hire some locals to cater this reception.”

“But there's a problem: what if our 'caterers' show up when the real ones do?”

“That was pointed out,” Lychkin said. “So we dismissed that. Another option would be a gardener's truck or a landscaper.”

Nastin nodded. That was a strong possibility. “Do we know which company the Swiss use?” All of the embassies in Baghdad used local contractors for that sort of work. Though there was the chance that some of the “workmen” really belonged to Iraq's Mukhabarat or the Directorate of General Security, that couldn't be helped.

“We do, as a matter of fact,” Lychkin replied. “We don't use it, but the East Germans and the Swiss do. And disguising a van as one of theirs won't take very long.”

“All right, that's one we can consider. What else?”

Lychkin checked his notes. “Some kind of handyman,” he said. “A plumber, perhaps, or an electrician.”

“Someone who could show up with a minimum of notice, tell the Iraqi police outside that he has a service call at the Embassy, and they'd let him in with a minimal search-if at all.”

“And there's enough props, shall we say, to disguise the interior of the van, and conceal people?”

“Of course, Comrade Colonel.”

“Anything else?” Nastin asked.

“Well, a computer service technician, that's one. And....” Lychkin paused.

“Yes?”

Lychkin slapped his forehead. “I'm wondering why I didn't think of this until now.”

“What?” Nastin asked, leaning closer.

“Now, I didn't experience this myself, but I had a colleague who did,” Lychkin replied. “He served at the Consulate in San Francisco, and saw it for himself.” The Rezident spoke for five minutes, outlining what had happened.

Nastin thought for a moment. If the American FBI could do something like this, then any other intelligence or counterintelligence agency could as well. And that kind of person showing up at an Embassy wouldn't be unexpected by anyone. “Very sneaky, if I may say so. And the basic premise is quite logical. I'll recommend the last two to the General.”

“Comrade Colonel,” Lychkin said.

“And the...diversions?” Asked the Chief of Staff.

Lychkin nodded. “All are in preparation.”

Nastin thought for a minute as he mentally reviewed them all. “Very good, Lychkin. Any other ideas?”

“Perhaps an additional assassination?” replied the Rezident. “There is someone whose.....disposal would certainly focus the Security Services on the Mehdi Army, which is our goal, after all.”

“The target?”

“Samir Abd Al-Azziz. He's the Chairman of the Baath Party for East Baghdad.”

Nastin thought again. The man in question was someone who the Mehdi Army-and several other Shia groups-would like to see dead. Not to mention some people in the Baath Party who had ambitions for posts in the capital. And it would certainly make Saddam's security forces go after those organizations. Yes. This would work. “I'll clear it with the General. If not? He has a deputy, correct?”

“He does,” Lychkin nodded.

He'll do, Nastin thought. “If we can't kill the Chairman, then deal with his deputy,” Nastin told Lychkin. “There are enough Spetsnatz available, correct?”

“Boldin still has a platoon not otherwise engaged,” Lychkin reminded the Chief of Staff.

“Good. I'll go and brief the General, and get his approval.”

“Comrade Colonel,” Lychkin said.


A few minutes later, General Kurchatov, Colonel Nastin, and Major Bezarin were in the General's office. And all three were going over the plans for the following day.

“All right, Comrades,” Kurchatov began. “The reception at the Swiss Embassy is at 1400 tomorrow. I want our charges there when the reception ends. The fewer outside witnesses, the better.”

Both Nastin and Bezarin understood. Though the plan had Moscow's full approval, the fewer of the “little brothers” who knew, namely the East European and North Korean intelligence services, the better. Most of those countries' Ambassadors and attaches, along with the Syrians, Cubans, and remaining genuine neutrals had been invited to the reception, and would be expected to be there. “Understood, Comrade General,” Nastin replied.

Kurchatov nodded, then asked, “And the diversionary actions?”

Nastin consulted his notes. “All are either in place,ready to go, or will be by morning, Comrade General. However, there is another possibility that Colonel Lychkin raised.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Comrade General,” Nastin said. “The elimination of Samir Abd al-Azziz. He's the Baath Party Chairman for East Baghdad.”

Kurchatov thought for a moment. This was a figure that would have go sooner or later, especially when Boris went down. But was it too early? Though killing him would certainly focus the Iraqi security forces' attention on East Baghdad, and that would only help. Azziz was also another figure that the Mehdi Army would want dead, and his liquidation would also sow some confusion in the Baath Party in the Baghdad area as people jockeyed for a vacant position. However, there was another plan coming, and the man may not have outlived his usefulness just yet...

“He has a deputy, correct?” Kurchatov asked.

“He does, Comrade General,” Nastin replied. He knew what course the General was leaning toward, and for the Deputy Chairman, it would be a fatal one.

Kurchatov's response was what he expected. “Very well. Kill the Deputy Chairman, but give Azziz a good fright. Make it look like a serious attempt, but don't kill him. His time will come, but not tomorrow.” A pity, the General felt, but there would still be enough happening to make Saddam's security services more than a bit nervous.

“Comrade General.”

The General turned to Bezarin. “Now, Major, how will our charges get to Baghdad?”

“To the Embassy, Comrade General?” Bezarin asked, and saw Kurchatov nod a reply. “An official Soviet military convoy, Comrades. The Iraqis do not interfere with those, and a 'supply run' to the Embassy from our garrison would not look unusual.”

“Very well, Major,” Kurchatov said. “And the materials we'll be giving the Swiss?”

Bezarin checked his notes. “All are either in preparation or completed, Comrade General.”

“And the Red Cross delegates?” The General wanted to know.

“They spent several hours with all four, Comrade General,” Bezarin said, and Nastin nodded as well. “And they didn't mince words, either with us or the two delegates.”

Kurchatov nodded approval. “Very good. Now, the remaining question is this: How do we get them to the Swiss Embassy?” He looked at the two officers, then saw Nastin nod. “Colonel?”

“Colonel Lychkin has an interesting idea, Comrades,” said Nastin. He spoke for five minutes. “And he noted that if the FBI can do this, then any other intelligence or counterintelligence service can do so as well.”

Both Nastin and Bezarin saw Kurchatov in a thinking mood. Then he nodded. “Yes, that can work, Comrades. When I was serving my tour as Attache in Ottawa, it explains why we were keeping an eye or two on the service technicians. Excellent idea, Nastin. Tell Lychkin it'll do. Perfectly.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

“Anything else?”

Major Bezarin raised his hand. “There can be another diversion that works in our favor, Comrades.”

The General looked at the young Major. “And that is?”

“There could be an air strike on the Capital,” Bezarin said, smiling at that thought.

The General and Nastin each let out a hearty laugh. “That, Major, would definitely be a help to both us and our charges. The Coalition would be doing us-and their comrades-a great service,” Kurchatov said.

“I couldn't agree more,” Nastin remarked. “Given how active the Coalition Air Forces have been in the area the past few days....”

“If they don't come, it'll be a surprise,” Kurchatov said. “All right, Comrades, is there anything else?” Both Nastin and Bezarin said no. “Very well, get something to eat, and get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be an interesting, yet busy, day.”

[jemhouston]

Sounds like tomorrow will be interesting.

[Bernard Woolley]

Nice work.

[Wolfman]

Nice work.

Seconded!

[bobbins66]

Thanks for the update. Great work!

[Matt Wiser]

The (former) POWs arrive at the Soviet Embassy:


12 May 2005: Soviet Embassy, Baghdad, Iraq: 0600 Hours GMT:


The morning had dawned bright, but for General Kurchatov, it had already been a good one. Some of their diversionary actions had already gone off, with one of them being the ambush and elimination of Baghdad's Deputy Mayor. It had been relatively easy, for other than members of Saddam's Revolutionary Command Council, few senior Baathists had any kind of large protective detail. So in the Deputy Mayor's case, that meant all he had was his driver and a single bodyguard whenever he drove. All three had been caught when RPGs had blasted the Mercedes the man was driven about in, and the “Mehidi Army” leaflets scattered about would announce who claimed responsibility. Which suited the Soviets' purposes perfectly, as Saddam's internal-security services would go off in the wrong direction. Again. Then to top matters for now, there had been a Coalition air strike on the capital, with USAF and RAAF aircraft hitting the Dora Farms Presidential Complex.

Now, the General watched as a two-truck convoy arrived in the Embassy Compound, with a pair of UAZ-469 jeeps as escorts. After the vehicles stopped, several heavily armed Spetsnatz troopers got out of the trucks, then their three “special guests” followed. Kurchatov went to meet them, and was greeted by Ensign Kovpak. “Ensign.”

“Comrade General!” Kovpak replied, coming to attention.

“As you were, Ensign,” Kurchatov said. “Any....problems, shall we say, getting to Baghdad?”

The Spetsnatz trooper shook his head. “None at at all, Comrade General. The Iraqis simply waved us through the checkpoints. They had no reason to stop us.”

“Very good, Ensign. I take it you have other tasks today with Major Boldin?”

“Yes, Comrade General,” said Kovpak. He was going to be setting some time-delayed Katyusha rockets aimed at the Radwiniyah Presidential Complex and the Saddam International Airport. Then his platoon had another assignment with the Major.

“All right, then. Good luck, and inform Major Boldin that I have the utmost confidence in him.”

“Comrade General!” Kovpak nearly shouted. Then he waved to his men, and they got back into the trucks, leaving the compound and headed for their next assignment.

The General then went to see his Guests, still wearing their Soviet-provided uniforms. “And how are we this morning?” He asked the three former POWs.

Captain Tammy Michaels nodded. “Still surprised at how this is going down, General,” she said.

Kurchatov nodded back. That was something he would be surprised, if he was in their position.
“To be expected,” he said pleasantly. “I take it you've had breakfast before leaving Samarra, but I would appreciate it if you join me at another repast. Colonel Nastin and Major Bezarin will join us, along with another officer and the Charge'.”

CWO Gary Nichols had a surprised expression on his face. “The Charge'?”

“Yes, and we'll explain how you'll be getting to where you need to go.”

Sergeant Paul McAlister, British Army and SAS, grasped it at once. “A neutral embassy, then.”

“Yes, it's the best way to get the three of you out of Iraq.”

Michaels looked at her two companions, then nodded. “General, if another round of free food is on you, then who are we to decline?” Besides, she thought, any amount of food to get back to normal was a good thing.

Kurchatov noded pleasantly. “Shall we?”


The General conducted the trio to a patio area in Embassy Housing, where they found Colonel Nastin, Major Bezarin and two others in civilian clothes they didn't recognize. “Our guests are here,” the General said. “May I introduce Colonel Lychkin and Charge' Maslov? And you do know Colonel Nastin and Major Bezarin.” Heads nodded, then he introduced three former POWs. “Please, be seated.”

“Thank you, General,” Michaels said.She, along with the other two, was eyeing the repast laid out. Fried eggs, toast, fruit, pancakes, and some porridge. “Haven't seen a meal this big since before...”

“Understandable,” Kurchatov said. “Come, it's time to eat.”

Over the meal, conversation about their time in Iraqi hands was unrestrained. Colonel Lychkin, though he didn't identify himself as the GRU Rezident, knew some of the details, but not all. Maslov, though, was shocked, and didn't mince words when the three were finished. “Comrade General.... The Iraqis remind me of the Fascisti. They documented everything they did, and didn't care if that came back to make them regret it.”

“They are doing the same here with prisoners they did in the Iran-Iraq War, and in the Gulf War,” Bezarin said, and he saw the three nod at the mention of that conflict. “I take it what happened to your predecessors in 1991 is taught in your survival training?”

“It is,” Nichols said, and the other two nodded.

“Comrade General,” Maslov said forcefully. “These barbarians need to be held accountable for these outrages.”

Kurchatov nodded, as did the other officers. “I've said this to my officers, and I'll repeat it here. One way or another, regardless of who wins this war, the parties responsible for these crimes will be made to pay. Whether it's in a tribunal of some sort, or...” the General nodded at Lychkin, “other means, there will be justice done in this matter.”

To the three former POWs the way Kurchatov nodded at Lychkin was a giveaway. He was more than likely the GRU Station Chief, and had some Spetznatz troopers at his disposal. And there was no doubt about what “other means” meant.

After a minute, Captain Michaels asked, “So, where are we going, and how do we get there?”

Kurchatov nodded, then said, “We'll be getting you to the Swiss Embassy. There's a reception this afternoon for the Diplomatic Corps who are still in Baghdad, and no doubt the Iraqis will send someone... Anyway, once most of the guests have left, that will be when you are delivered to the Embassy.”

“And once we're inside, we might just as well be in Zurich,” McAlister said.

“Exactly, Sergeant,” Kurchatov said. “The Swiss will figure out how to get you out of Iraq.”

Colonel Lychkin spoke next. “The Swiss Intelligence Services aren't as well-known as, say, the CIA, KGB, or MI-6”, he said, glancing in McAlister's direction. “But they are very efficient, and know their business.”

Michaels asked, “When?”

“Mid to late afternoon, Captain,” Nastin said .”It is the best we can estimate, but most of the guests will have left by then.”

“And how?”

“That is Colonel Lychkin's part,” Nastin nodded at the Rezident. “Colonel?”

Lychkin spoke for five minutes, explaining how things would work, and how he got the idea in the first place. From, of all people he expected, the FBI. “And if they can do it, so can any other intelligence or counterintelligence service,” he finished.

The three former POWs looked at each other. “What if the Iraqi guards outside search the van?” McAlister asked. “They didn't search the truck that brought us here, but then again, it was military.”

“A sensible question,” Lychkin noted. “The guards are...complacent, for want of a better term. They don't want to do any more than they think is necessary, and are quite happy to be here in Baghdad, instead of someplace where there's quite a bit of shooting.”

“Fat, dumb, and happy,” the SAS man commented.

“If you want to put it that way, yes,” Lychkin replied. “And Comrade General, I believe there's one more matter?”

Kurchatov nodded. Then he said to the POWs, “We have some material that you should pass on to your governments.” He saw they had their full attention and were listening. “Namely, copies of the report that my legal officer has drawn up, detailing the violations of International Law in this matter, and not just your experiences, but what happened to your comrades still in Al-Rashid. Then there's copies of those....videos that the Iraqis so graciously provided us.”

“And the Swiss will be receiving the same material,” Colonel Nastin added.

“Which not only show our sincerity in this...matter, but the Swiss will be able to debunk any claims by anyone in Washington or London that this is some kind of ploy,” Kurchatov finished.

Michaels nodded, then said, “Even so, General, there's going to be some people who will still think that way, no matter what.” She looked at the other two. “But, looks like we're your carrier pigeons, and we'll get this to the right people.” She nodded, as did the other two in agreement.

“Very good,” Kurchatov said pleasantly. “Now, we have a few hours before our respective parts in this play. Major?” He turned to Bezarin. “There's a couple of ground-floor apartments available in Embassy Housing. Put them at the disposal of our guests, and make sure the rest of their stay is as comfortable as possible.”

Bezarin nodded. “Comrade General.”

“Nastin? One thing that can certainly stir things up is another Coalition air strike. Do what you can to see if they're coming.”

The Chief of Staff said, “Of course, Comrade General, but more often than not, the first warning we have is when the sirens sound.”

“I know, Colonel,” said Kurchatov. “Still, do your best.”

“Comrade General.”

“Lychkin, put the finishing touches on your preparations, and let me know when all is ready.”

“Yes, Comrade General,” the Rezident nodded. “We'll be ready before noon.”

“Very well.” Kurchatov stood up, and the others followed. “Now the Charge' and I have our duties to attend to before the reception, but Captain? The next time I see you and your friends will be at the Swiss Embassy.”

Captain Michaels extended her hand to Kurchatov and they shook on it. “Looking forward to it, General.”

“No doubt,” said the General. “One last thing about this endeavor.” Heads turned to the General. “Good luck to all of you.”