History, Politics And Current Affairs

Fire is starting to make the water bubble.

I am so very glad to see this back. Whenever a story like this has a hiatus, I have a mental image of all the characters standing around, sort of looking at each other, thinking to themselves "Well, what next?" So glad that they're not still sitting in limbo.

Well done, Sir.

Belushi TD

Great work, Matt.

Belushi TD wrote: ↑Wed Jul 10, 2024 1:45 pm I am so very glad to see this back. Whenever a story like this has a hiatus, I have a mental image of all the characters standing around, sort of looking at each other, thinking to themselves "Well, what next?" So glad that they're not still sitting in limbo.

Well done, Sir.

Belushi TD

If you tried to shame me into continuing the Manthatisi story…and the attack on the Regierungsbunker…you succeeded At least I read my notes again…ahem.

Jotun wrote: ↑Wed Jul 10, 2024 2:47 pm

Belushi TD wrote: ↑Wed Jul 10, 2024 1:45 pm I am so very glad to see this back. Whenever a story like this has a hiatus, I have a mental image of all the characters standing around, sort of looking at each other, thinking to themselves "Well, what next?" So glad that they're not still sitting in limbo.

Well done, Sir.

Belushi TD

If you tried to shame me into continuing the Manthatisi story…and the attack on the Regierungsbunker…you succeeded At least I read my notes again…ahem.

I was not TRYING to.... However, I'll be perfectly happy to claim credit for it, should it be the impetus you needed to start writing again!

Belushi TD

Why have none of the POWs asked why the Russians are doing this?

From General Kurchatov's meeting with Capt. Michaels in her hospital room:

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.”

Iraq’s been busy doing things the Soviets, while willing to do these things if need be, would prefer to avoid, and have angered their erstwhile sponsor…

And it begins...


Baghdad, Iraq: 0930 Hours GMT:


General Kurchatov sat in the back of his car as his driver-a Spetsnatz Ensign-weaved his way through Baghdad's notorious traffic. Even with a war on, the General noted, the Iraqis were making sure that people were happy and content, and that, he saw, meant that there were no fuel rationing measures in effect. From what both Colonel Nastin and Major Bezarin had found out, there had been rationing measures in 1991, and for a few months after that. Now, though, Baghdadis were out and about, even with the war. And driving like demons, his Spetsnatz driver/bodyguard noted. Kurchatov nodded at that, with his excursions outside the Embassy to Samarra and regular visits to the Defense Ministry confirming those observations.

Now, as his car approached the Swiss Embassy, he mentally reviewed the guests who were likely to be attending, and would have to have left before the next phase could begin. With the Charge's car in front of him, the General went over his list. The Iraqi Foreign Minister, Naji Sabiri, would be expected to attend. The same with the Ambassadors from the GDR, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and the other Warsaw Treaty States, along with their Military Attaches. Also expected would be the Cubans-though with the state of affairs on that island approaching civil war, one could excuse the Cubans' absence. Then came the DPRK-another Soviet ally whose behavior was...questionable, and yet, from the daily situation update he knew that the Koreans were tying down American and other allied forces from being used either in the Gulf Theater or in Europe. Vietnam would be there, though with the Cam Ranh Bay air/naval base complex now neutralized, their role in the war was essentially over. He wasn't sure about Indonesia. Venezuela, of course, could be counted on-especially with that hothead Chavez still in charge.

Several Arab states either neutral or friendly to Iraq would also be there, though with Libya and Syria both effectively removed from the game board, that left Yemen as a Soviet ally still fighting. Lebanon and Algeria would also be there, Kurchatov assumed, while the pro-Western countries like Morocco, Tunisia, and Egypt had recalled their missions prior to war's outbreak.

Then came the traditional neutrals. The Indians had drawn down their mission after an Iraqi missile had damaged an Indian tanker in Iranian waters, but they still had their mission in-country. The Thais might also be there, along with a few South American and African countries not involved in the war. The smallest, the Vatican's Papal Nuncio would no doubt be there. And, of course, the biggest one of all: China. Just what were the Chinese up to? Two GRU officers had staked out the Chinese Embassy, and they had reported that there was a rooftop party whenever there was a major air strike on Baghdad. Just as we do, the General thought. No doubt the Chinese Defense Attaché and his staff were noting American and other Coalition tactics in those strikes and reporting their observations to Beijing.

Of those he had to wait to leave before giving the go signal, it would have to be the Iraqi Foreign Minister, along with all of the Soviet allies, whether Warsaw Pact or others. And the Chinese.

His driver, though, interrupted his thoughts. “Comrade General, we're here.”

Kurchatov looked past the driver. A single Iraqi Policeman checked the driver of the Charge's own Mercedes, spoke to him, then nodded. While several others, their AK-47s in view, stood nearby, looking as if they were paying attention. Then a wave, the gate to the Embassy opened, and the Charge's car passed through. The gate closed as the driver approached the security check.

The policeman came to the driver's side, and the driver rolled down the window. All the policeman needed to see was Kurchatov's invitation, and he waved to the guard at the gate. That swung open, and the Mercedes went on through. Now, for all intents and purposes, they were on Swiss soil.

“What do you think, Vassily?” Kurchatov asked the driver as he parked the car.

The Spetsnatz man had a scowl on his face that Kurchatov could see in the rear-view mirror. “Very sloppy, Comrade General,” the Ensign said as he got out of the car and opened the left passenger door for Kurchatov. Both were in civilian clothes, though the Ensign had access to an AKSU-74 underneath the driver's seat and several magazines, and Kurchatov, too, had a weapon in a hidden compartment beneath the rear passenger seat. “Our own guards, no doubt, would check a car going into a diplomatic compound a little more thoroughly, but still respecting diplomatic niceties.”

“No doubt, Vassily. Now, keep an eye on things, and let me know when people start to leave.”

“Comrade General?” The Ensign had his own cell phone used when he had to be notified when to pick up the General after such affairs as this.

“Something's going to happen, Ensign, that we're involved in, and Moscow has approved it. Just let me know when the guests start to leave-especially the Iraqis and our allies,” said Kurchatov. “And one other thing.”

“Yes, Comrade General?”

“Let me know if you see any of the caterers start to exhibit signs of any tradecraft.” That, the General knew, might cause a problem as they would be operatives from either the Mukhabarat-Iraq's main intelligence service, Directorate of General Security-the domestic intelligence and counterintelligence service, or even Qusay Hussein's Special Security Organization.

The Ensign, who knew full well what the General meant, having served a tour in Cyprus as part of the GRU station at the Embassy in Nicosia, nodded. “I'll let you know instantly, Comrade General.” He held up his cell phone.

“Very good, Vassily.” Kurchatov nodded, then saw the Charge' getting out of his car, along with the Swiss Ambassador coming to greet the both of them. Under normal circumstances, these sorts of receptions and get-togethers were part of the job. Now, though...it was unusual, but not unheard of. “Time to be diplomatic for two or three hours.” The General got out himself, and before going to see the Ambassador, told the Ensign. “See what kind of small talk you can pick up from your counterparts.” His driver would shadow him in his dual role as bodyguard. And yet, the buffet table would be where a lot of small talk would be made and information obtained.

“Yes, Comrade General.”

Kurchtov nodded, then went over to the Ambassador. “Mr. Ambassador,” he said in English, putting out his hand.

“Welcome, General,” The Ambassador said in his own perfect English. “I'm glad you could come.”

One thing Kurchatov noted was that was likely to be the common language of the guests. He did appreciate the irony. Many of the guests were from countries at war with the major English-speaking countries, and yet.... “Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. Some time away from my responsibilities, even if it's just for a few hours, is always welcome.”

The Ambassador nodded. It was well-known in Baghdad's Diplomatic Community that Kurchatov was in charge of the Soviet Military Assistance and Advisory Mission to Iraq. He was also pleased that Kurchatov had shown up in civilian clothes. The other military attaches who had come had done the same. He gestured towards the Ambassador's Residence, where the lunch and reception would be held. “Shall we?”

Both Maslov, the Charge', and Kurchatov exchanged glances. Unsaid was So it begins. “Of course, Ambassador,” Maslov said.

One nice thing about battle is you can use steel knives when you stab them in the back.

As opposed to diplomacy, when you have to use the cocktail forks from the hors-d'oeuvre tray or the skewers that hold the olives in your martini to stab someone in the back.

Belushi TD

Getting close...

Soviet Embassy, Baghdad, Iraq: 1200 Hours GMT:


For the three former POWs, the morning and afternoon were passing by slowly. The Soviets had provided a very good lunch, with sandwiches, salad, and iced tea, and the three, their hosts saw, had practically inhaled the meal. A clear sign, Major Bezarin noted, that they had been poorly fed while in captivity. Seeing that, he made a mental note to include that in his final report for the General.

Now, the three, along with the Major, were sitting around a table next to the Embassy Swimming Pool. Though offered a chance for a swim, the three had declined. The temptation was there, but not knowing when the call would come that it was time to go, none of them wanted to chance it.

Major Bezarin saw that Capt. Tammy Michaels had asked for a pad, some paper, and pencils. He had provided those to her, and saw she was sketching. Curious, he went and looked over her shoulder. “What's that you're drawing?”

She grimaced. “My old cell.” She showed Bezarin and the other two the drawing she had made. “Figured I'd draw it while my memory was still fresh.”

CWO Gary Nichols nodded. “That could be mine.”

“Or mine,” SAS Sgt. Paul McAlister said. “Though the back window? Mine was covered up with some plywood.”

Bezarin raised his eyebrow. “Why was that?” In their talks about the POWs' captivity experience, that had not come up.

“Maybe there was something they didn't want me seeing looking out that window,” the SAS man replied. “It did keep me from getting the night breeze, such as it was.”

“Mine wasn't,” Gary Nichols said. “And nobody in my cell block had theirs blocked either.” He nodded at Michaels. “And yours sure wasn't.”

The USAF Captain winced. “Yeah.” She nodded at Bezarin. “For your information, Major, what got me here was being caught sending hand signals from my cell to the Men's Block. Someone who isn't here was picking those up.”

Bezarin nodded. Left unsaid was “And relaying those to the Senior Officer,” he knew. And yet, she was on that list that General Kurchatov had asked him to draw up, so she would be here anyway. “And one may assume that all such windows in both cell blocks have been boarded up.”

“I think you could say that, Major.”

“Do you mind if I make some copies of this?” Bezarin asked. “I'll add them to the material we're giving the Swiss and your own authorities.”

“Go ahead, Major,” Michaels replied.

After making the copies, and returning the drawing to Michaels, Bezarin decided that some more...casual conversation was in order. “So, have you decided what you're going to do when you do get home?”

“Well, after all the medical checks and debriefings?” Nichols said. “Time with our families is what we're looking forward to.”

“You've got that right,” McAlister said. “After seeing my parents? Well, I'm in between at the moment.”

“In between girlfriends?”

“In between mistakes!” Said the SAS man. “I'm divorced once, and haven't found number two yet.”

There was laughter all around. Even Bezarin joined in. “Sergeant, I can tell you from experience that there are quite a few Soviet officers in your position!”

“Good to see I'm not alone,” McAlister laughed. “How about you, Gary?”

Nichols nodded. “After seeing my folks? Time with the girlfriend. She's a Kentucky State Police Officer, and mainly she's been working traffic on the freeway near the base.”

Bezarin nodded. He knew that Nichols was from the 160th Aviation Regiment, the famous “Night Stalkers” and they were based at Fort Campbell in Kentucky. “That can be as dangerous as being in the the Army.”

“It can be,” Nichols said. “She's very careful when she pulls someone over. And she always wears body armor.” He paused, then went on. “What I'll suggest to her is that we go find some off-base fishing spots-we both love to fish, and spend some time camping and fishing. Put all of this out of our minds for a while.”

“A very commendable suggestion,” Bezarin said. “The unfortunate thing is that your leave time expires, and then...”

“And then,” Nichols agreed. “How about you, Captain?”

Michaels nodded. “See Dad, and he raised me and my siblings after Mom died. No history of cancer in her family and what happens? She died of Pancreatic Cancer only six months after being diagnosed.”

The others winced. Then Bezarin nodded in sympathy. “Very unfortunate. Cancer can strike down the most powerful people in the world, and yet....it takes the most common.”

“It does,” Michaels agreed. “Then see my siblings-my younger brother's still in High School, and he's only fifteen.”

The men nodded. “He's lucky,” McAlister said. “Too young for this war.”

“Good for him,” she replied. “And my sister's still in college, and my older brother's an architect.”

“Hopefully, this will be all over before any of their services will be needed by the military,” Bezarin said.

“Here's to that,” Michaels said, raising her glass of lemonade.


Swiss Embassy, Baghdad, Iraq: 1400 Hours GMT:

General Kurchatov nodded to himself as he made his rounds. After going through the buffet line, he noted that the quality of the food was top-notch. He wasn't surprised at that. Several high-class catering firms in the Iraqi capital not only specialized in working Iraqi Government functions, but also diplomatic ones. The General had also noted the caterers themselves, discretely checking to see if any of them were showing any signs of tradecraft. His bodyguard and driver was doing the same thing, as the Spetsnatz Ensign made his own rounds, chatting with some of his counterparts.

In his chats with his counterparts, Kurchatov had found that the East Germans, Bulgarians, and North Koreans were the most optimistic about the war and its progress so far. While the Poles and Czechs were less so. The Hungarians and Romanians were mixed, he found. No surprise there. Kurchatov had also found the Cuban attache to be very outspoken, denouncing the rebellion that had broken out on the island, and the presence of troops from two Latin American countries in support of the rebels.

The one attache Kurchatov had trouble getting anything out of was China. The PLA Colonel was very...guarded in his talk, and Kurchatov had a gut feeling the Chinese, though neutral, had their own plans. Not only in taking advantage of the war, but he felt that they were making plans on how to exploit the postwar world, however that turned out. If both sides fought each other to exhaustion? No doubt the Chinese would find any number of ways to take advantage. Of that, he was certain.

The most diplomatic of all, apart from their Swiss hosts? The Papal Nuncio. It was well known in intelligence that the Vatican had the world's oldest intelligence service. Even the most staunch Party types-like the East Germans, Cubans, and North Koreans, had been very pleasantly chatting with the churchman, Kurchatov saw. His own conversation had been polite, with the Nuncio repeating the Pope's concerns about those civilians behind Soviet lines, the status of prisoners of war, and, of course, the use of nuclear weapons by both sides.

Then his driver/bodyguard tapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, Vassily?”

“Comrade General, you asked me to keep an eye on some people? I can say that the caterers aren't showing any signs of tradecraft. Yet.” The Spetsnatz Ensign said. “But...”

“That can't be ruled out,” Kurchatov said. “Go on.” He found a table and sat down, and motioned to his bodyguard to do so.

The Ensign sat down next to his General. “The East Germans and Koreans have been...talkative to each other.” He pointed to where the East German Defense Attache and his North Korean counterpart were having a very animated discussion. “So have their Ambassadors.”

“I noticed. And the North Koreans have been chatting up the Iraqi Foreign Minister as well. Anything else?”

“The Poles and Czechs seem most anxious to leave.”

That, Kurchatov knew, was obvious. Sure enough, the Ambassadors and Attaches from both countries called for their cars. “They're getting set to leave.” He pulled out his cell phone and made a call. “Bezarin.”

A voice on the other end answered. “Yes, Comrade General?


“How are things over there?”

“We're all ready, Comrade General. Just chatting and waiting for the Go signal.”

Kurchatov nodded. “Very well, Major. Consider this a warning order. The next time you hear from me..”

“Will be the Go signal. Comrade General, may I ask how soon?” Bezarin asked.

“Within the hour, I expect,” said Kurchatov.

“We'll be waiting, Comrade General.”

Kurchatov nodded. “Well done, Major.” He then killed the conversation.

“Comrade General?” the Ensign asked.

Kurchatov turned to the Ensign, a very serious look in his eyes. “Keep your eyes on the Cubans, North Koreans, and above all, the East Germans. I'll watch the Chinese and the Foreign Minister. Let me know the instant they appear to be leaving.”

“Comrade General.”


Soviet Embassy, Baghdad:

Bezarn folded his phone. Then he turned to the three former POWs. “Within an hour, the General says.”

“And not long after that, we might as well be in Geneva,” Tammy Michaels said.

The other two nodded. “This might be a long hour,” McAlister said, and Nichols merely nodded agreement.

“Yes,” Bezarin agreed. His own Embassy's receptions and lunches often went overtime. The ever-punctual Swiss might not have that problem. But one never knew. He motioned to one of the Embassy waiters. “More lemonade and some snacks.”

The man nodded. “Right away, Comrade Major.”

After the lemonade and snacks had materialized, the three former POWs sat around the table, waiting, taking an occasional drink, and having the finger food. Even Bezarin was anxious, occasionally glancing at his watch. Time seemed to crawl by slowly, everyone felt. To the three, it felt just like pre-mission jitters. And in a way, it was.


Swiss Embassy, 1442 Hours GMT:


General Kurchatov was chatting pleasantly away with the Indian Defense Attache, when his bodyguard tapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, Vassily?”

“Comrade General, a moment, please?”

“Certainly,” Kurchatov said. “Excuse me,” he said to the Indian Army Colonel, who nodded understanding. They went back to an empty table and sat down, far from any likely prying eyes or listening ears. “Yes?”

The Spetsnatz man looked around. “Comrade General, the East Germans have both said their goodbyes to the Swiss Ambassador.” He motioned to the Embassy parking area, where a Mercedes S-class four-door coupe was waiting, with the East German flag flying from an antenna.

“I do appreciate the irony,” Kurchatov chuckled. “They probably are hoping to take possession of that factory after the war. Once our forces get there, though? All we-and they-will find is a heap of ruins.”

The Ensign understood. “Yes, Comrade General.” He looked around, and saw the North Koreans' own Mercedes pulling up. “It looks like the Koreans are leaving as well.”

Kurchatov noted the North Korean Ambassador and his Defense Attache getting into that car, which followed the East Germans out. Now all they needed were the Chinese and the Iraqi Foreign Minster to leave...

A few minutes later, both the Chinese Ambassador and the PLA Colonel who was their Defense Attache got into their car. “Now all we need is the Iraqi,” Comrade General,” Vassily observed.

Then Nadji Sahir, the Iraqi Foreign Minister and the final subject of their attention, made his final rounds, chatting with Maslov, the Soviet Charge, before going to the Host, the Swiss. Then another Mercedes pulled up, and two tough-looking Iraqis in suits got out. While not openly armed, as that would be a serious breach of protocol, both Soviets noted the bulges on the Iraqis' left chests, which signaled the presence of weapons in shoulder holsters. One was the driver, the other was clearly muscle up front. Then Sahir and an aide, both of whom the Soviets had chatted up, got into the car. “Now,” Kurchatov nodded. He picked up his cell phone and made a call.

Soviet Embassy, 1450 Hours GMT:


Major Bezarin picked up his phone on the second ring after he recognized the number. “Yes, Comrade General?”

“Bezarin, I'm giving you the Go. Let's move.”

“Right away, Comrade General.”

“And inform our guests I'll see them over here.”

“I will, Comrade General,” said the Major as he glance at the the former POWs.

“And Bezarin? I know getting them over here is not your responsibility, but well done,” said Kurchatov.

Hearing that, Bezarin was pleased. Praise from his General was welcome indeed. “Thank you, Comrade General. And they're on their way.”

“I'll be here.”

Bezarin saw that the General had killed the conversation on his end, then he nodded to the three. “It's time.”

Good chapter

Nice work.

Be VERY interesting to see what the ersatz Prussians and Norks are having up their sleeves…

You got me hooked.

Getting in:

Soviet Embassy, Baghdad, Iraq: 1455 Hours GMT:

Colonel Lychkin, the GRU Rezident, had everything prepared. The “Service Van” for a well-known office supply and business machines company in Baghdad had been readied, and for all intents and purposes, it appeared as such. However, inside the van was a hidden compartment, disguised by all the electronics and spare parts, where several people, or important cargo, could be hidden. And the “Drivers” were both experienced GRU case officers, both Kazakhs. Chosen for both their appearance as well as language skills, Lychkin knew they could get the job done. Unknown to the ex-POWs, he also would have a car following behind with four Spetsnatz men from the Station's own detail to create a diversion if needed.

Major Bezarin led the three ex-POWs to the Dodge Van (Dodge and Mercedes vans were common in the Middle East for some reason), and after seeing the compartment, they were impressed. “And you got this general idea from the FBI?” CWO Nichols said.

“Yes, and no doubt other agencies also pull this kind of charade as well,” Lychkin said. “Either the FBI thought of it, or they copied it from others.”

“Infiltrating a place disguised as a service tech for a copier or fax,” Capt. Tammy Michaels nodded. She looked at SAS Sgt. Paul McAlister, who merely nodded. No doubt the SAS and MI-6 had pulled similar stunts in other places. “Well, guess we'd best get going.”

One of Bezarin's Lieutenants came up, with a decent sized cardboard box. “Comrade Major?”

“Ah,” Bezarin said. “This box has everything we've prepared. Statements, photographs, copies of the videotapes, the Prosecutor's Report, all of it. How your own governments use this is up to them.”

Michaels nodded. “Major, we'll see this gets to the right people, in both Washington and London.” And both Nichols and McAlister nodded.

Bezarin nodded himself. “Well, then. It's time.” He put out his hand, and so did Lychkin, and everyone shook hands. “Perhaps, when this is all over, even if it's five or ten years from now, we can all sit down somewhere much more pleasant and swap some stories.”

“Assuming we all make it through this war,” McAlister said.

“There is that caveat,” Bezarin agreed.

“All right,” Michaels said. “Colonel? Major? The best of luck to you. Not your side, mind, but to you, personally.”

Lychkin and Bezarin nodded. “And the same to you. Good luck.”

They shook hands one more time, then got into the compartment. One of the GRU officers arranged the camouflage, closed the door, then the two got into the van. It slowly, but deliberately, drove out of the Embassy, followed by a BMW with the four Spetsnatz muscle.

“Well,” Lychkin said to Bezarin after the gate closed behind the BMW. “It's out of our hands now.”


Swiss Embassy, Baghdad: 1500 Hours GMT:


General Kurchatov resisted the temptation to get his cell phone out and call Major Bezarin for an update. But he had capable subordinates in both Colonel Lychkin (who was technically his own superior, the Rezidency being technically only answerable to Moscow, but in these circumstances..) and in Major Bezarin. One thing that Intelligence Operations like this had in common with Airborne was that commanders had to expect their junior officers to exercise initiative in accomplishing a mission. Another was that there were a myriad of chances for operations to fail. Just ask the British with Market-Garden, the General thought, an operation thoroughly studied at Ryazan and at Freuzne.

Then Vassily, his driver/bodyguard, came up. “Comrade General.”

“Yes, Vassily?” The General had a habit of addressing his bodyguard and driver by his first name.

“Comrade General, I took the liberty of checking the front gate. The Iraqi guards outside seem to be nervous. Something's got them wary, and I'm not sure what.”

Kurchatov thought for a moment. No doubt the guards had their own radio, and news of the various diversionary actions around Baghdad would have made the rounds on the various radio channels belonging to the police and security agencies. “Perhaps those Mehdi Army people have been busy.”

“That would explain it, Comrade General,” Vassily replied. “Still, they've gone from complacent to being very wary. And likely willing to shoot at the slightest provocation or none.”

Hmm. “Keep an eye on them,” Kurchatov said.

“Yes, Comrade General.”


In the BMW, the four Spetsnatz men had gone ahead of the van, and they, too, had noticed the guards being edgy. Something needed to be done about that, the Ensign in command decided. Gunning them down was out of the question, but... The Ensign told the Sergeant driving to pull into an alley about a block away from the Swiss Embassy, and wait. The Sergeant did, and after the BMW found the alley, and waited a few minutes. Then the Sergeant, on the Ensign's order drove to the next street. A Baath Party office, with a prominent portrait of Saddam, was there. Good. The four Russians put on Ski Masks, pulled out AKMs, got out of the car, and sprayed the office-and the portrait, with full automatic fire. Each man emptied a magazine, then jumped back in, scattering several “Mehdi Army” leaflets in their wake. In the confusion, no one pursued.

The Swiss Embassy was close enough to hear the sound of the gunfire. Both Kurchatov and Vassily took note, as they saw several Iraqi guards run to the street corner nearest the gunfire, while two remained. Then a nondescript Dodge Van with familiar markings appeared. “Time,”
the General said. He then noticed the Swiss Ambassador. “Mr. Ambassador,” the General said.

“General,” the Ambassador replied. “Getting ready to leave?”

“In a few moments, but that van? I suggest that you have your guards admit it.”

“May I ask why?”

“You will see, when it gets here.”

Puzzled, the Ambassador nodded, then waved to the Swiss Police guards on the gate. The gate opened and the van drove up to where he and the General were standing. The driver and his mate both got out, and they went to the rear of the van and opened the rear doors. To his great surprise, three people-two men and a woman-in Soviet uniforms but no insignia, tumbled out. Then the driver reached in for a package and handed it to one of the men. They then came up to the Ambassador and the General.

“What's going on?” The Ambassador asked.

Kurchatov smiled. “Mr. Ambassador, may I present Captain Tammy Michaels, United States Air Force, Chief Warrant Officer Gary Nichols, United States Army, and Sergeant Richard McAlister of the British Army.” The General watched them all nod, then went on. “They were prisoners of the Iraqis, but we managed to obtain custody of them. They will tell you how that was done. But...I believe the Captain has a request?”

Michaels smiled. “Thank you, General.” She turned to the Ambassador. “Mr. Ambassador, my friends and I request asylum. We have no intention of going back to Al-Rashid Military Prison and the not-so-tender mercies of the thugs there.” After she said that, the two drivers got in the van and the vehicle left the embassy.

“And that package has evidence of War Crimes on the part of the Iraqis towards Prisoners of War. Not just these three, but others as well,” Kurchatov said. “You'll want to have your own intelligence people look at the material.”

The three former POWs nodded. “And they had better have strong stomachs,” CWO Nichols said, and the other two nodded.

“I see...” The Ambassador said. “I will have to consult with Bern on this, but I don't see any reason why we can't find a way to get you out of Iraq.” He turned to Kurchatov. “What's going on here?”

Kurchatov had a smile. “This is essentially a sanctioned escape.” Seeing the Ambassador's confused expression, he went on. “The Iraqis have caused my country considerable embarrassment in matters such as this, along with some of their tactics in fighting the war.” He paused, then continued. “Consider this as our way of cleaning up some the mess the Iraqis have caused.”

The Ambassador nodded. Saddam's record towards prisoners in general was well-known, and there was no way he was going to send anyone back to those not-so-tender mercies. “Ah. Well, we can likely get them to Amman, then turn them over to their respective embassies there. It'll take a few days, at least, but I'm certain something can be done along those lines.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador,” Michaels said, while the General merely nodded. “General,” she went on. “Thanks for everything. Hopefully, all of this helps our friends at Al-Rashid.”

Kurchatov nodded again. “It should, in time.” He turned to the Ambassador. “Mr. Ambassador, thank you for the lunch and the reception. The conversation was most welcome, and I do hope the end didn't provide too much of a shock for you. Captain? Good luck to you and your companions.” He put out his hand, and the three ex-POWs shook it.

“Thanks, General,” Michaels said. “And good luck to you, sir. Not your side, mind, but you personally. And when this is all over? Maybe we can sit down and swap stories over a big meal and a few beers.”

Kurchatov smiled. “That, Captain, is an appointment I intend to keep.”

“We do have to get through this war alive first,” Nichols pointed out.

“That's a big caveat,” McAlister added.

“It is indeed,” Kurchatov said. “Mr. Ambassador, Comrade Maslov will be here in a moment to say goodbye, then we'll be on our way.” He then got his bodyguard's notice. “Vassily? The car!”

The Soviet Charge' came by, spoke briefly with the three former POWs and the Ambassador, then both Soviet cars left.

A minute later, the Deputy Ambassador came over, wondering what had happened. The Ambassador spoke to her in German, and she went off into the Embassy Chancery. “Well, then. For all intents and purposes, you're on Swiss soil. We'll get word to your governments that you're here, and we'll also find a way to get you out of Iraq, as I said.”

“Thanks, Mr. Ambassador,” Michaels said as one of the Ambassador's aides came and collected the package.

“You're welcome,” the Ambassador replied. “I think we can wait on hearing your stories until tomorrow,” he concluded. “Come inside, and we'll provide you with the best hospitality we can.”

The ex-POWs nodded. “Lead the way, sir,” Michaels said, and they followed the Ambassador into the Embassy.

Excellent tale

Not over until the three are out of Iraq.

Great to see this back!