He gave a little nod by way of saying thank you.
"Yes," I resumed as we sat down again.
"Tracy. A great girl.
At least, she was. A redhead. Taller than you. Good fun to be with. She worked as a receptionist at the med centre, in camp.
There'd been nothing between us before, but after Kath was killed we gradually got together, and a few months later she moved in with me. It was fantastic the way she took over Tim as if she were his mother..
"That was great until the IRA grabbed her and Tim."
I described the desperate struggle we'd had to recover her.
"It took us two months more to get her back. And when we did, I found she'd flipped."
"Flipped? What is this?"
"She'd gone out of her mind. The stress had made her ill. She was a different person. We tried everything: rest, a holiday in the sun, a shrink a psychiatrist but nothing worked. She recovered physically, but not emotionally. She blamed me for the whole episode. If I hadn't been in the SAS, it never would have happened all that crap. As a couple we couldn't get back to where we'd been before."
"And?"
I sat back and took a deep breath.
"She went away to her family, somewhere in the north. It's more than a year since I last heard from her."
"And the boy?"
"He's seven now, doing well. He's living with Kath's parents in Belfast. He's growing up a little Ulsterman."
"You see him?"
"Oh yes, from time to time. We're good buddies."
Sasha's mind was evidently dwelling on the IRA.
"Why be so soft with such terrorists?" he asked.
"Why not eliminate all? In Chechnya we shoot many rebels, no problem."
"Yes but down there a lot of innocent people got killed as well."
"Chechens vary primitive people," Sasha said scornfully.
"If they come to Moscow they go beggars. They make things worse.
"And in any case," I persisted, 'you didn't win the war."
"And why? Because our army has such bad equipment. Many, many shortages. No guns. No ammunition. No food. But Zheordie — I tell you something… "What's that?"
"The Chechen Mafia vary clever at stealing gold. They have more gold than all the other Mafias collected together. Chechens are gold specialists. Drugs also. They bring drugs from
Central Asia and send to Europe."
"What about the army?" I asked.
"How's morale?"
"The army? The Russian army?" He looked round wildly.
"Zheordie if I am to speak of army, I need vodka."
"Is it that bad?"
He nodded.
"Vodka, then. Anything with it?"
"No thank you. Just vodka."
When I handed him a double, neat, he raised the glass in my direction, smiled, called out, "Vzdrognem!" and tipped it straight down. I'd got myself the same amount of water in another glass, and tipped that down with an answering "Cheers!"
"Good vodka," he said.
"No samogon.
"What's that?"
"Vodka made at home, from potatoes, wood even. What the soldiers get. It is very dangerous."
"Don't they drink beer?"
"Beer too expensive. And anyway, drinking in barracks is strictly forbidden. So the soldiers go out at night and buy secretly from babushkas, old women. Then one junior soldier stands in the passage' guarding, you say? while the others drink themselves crazy.
"But morale you say it's bad?"
"Zheordie, you must understand. There are too many armies.
For example, Ministry of Interior has own army, one and half million men Kulikov's men, we say, from General Kulikov, Interior Minister. That is more than the regular army. Then Ministry of Defence has own army. Special forces for this, special forces for that. You know, there is even special force for underground?"
"You're joking."
"Konechno nyet! It is called GRU. Special troops trained to live in tunnels and work in missile silos. Altogether too many armies, no money. Food is very bad. Soldiers eat shit on starvation rations all the time.
"Like what?"
"According to the law, it is such kind of menu. For the morning, it is tea, two pieces bread one white, one black. Fifty grams butter, but only once a day. Butter only once. And kasha, of course. Porridge. Always porridge.
"For dinner, they could get meat in their soup, but very small pieces. Usually young soldiers, for their first half-year, get no meat, because the cherpaks, the second-years, grab it. In the evening dishes, every day it is potatoes with piece of socalled fish, bread black and white, tea, and three pieces of sugar.
"For celebration on important days, state holidays they have special menu. What does it mean? It means, two biscuits per man, and maka roni poflotski macaroni naval style, with very small meats, like the ship's rat chopped up. Maybe piece of water melon, and one grape per man.
"That's what soldiers eat. That's why they are ready to rob, do anything."
As I fetched another round of vodkas from the bar with a double for myself this time I wondered what the hell we'd do about our own food once we got over there. None of our cooks had high enough security clearance to come on an operation as sensitive as this one, so we'd either have to eat with our hosts or fend for ourselves.
Again Sasha knocked his spirit straight down, with another cry of "Vzdrognem!"
"Also," he went on, 'there is much torture of recruits."
"Bullying, you mean.
"Torture also. Many beatings. If sergeant does not like junior soldier, he drags him out of bed and makes him stand on one leg half the night. You have heard of velociped, the bicycle? No? It is what they do to young recruit. They come to him while he is sleeping, lift up bottom of bed, and put between the fingers on the feet-' "His toes?"
"Yes between his toes they put paper or cotton wool, then set it on fire. When flames reach him, he does the bicycle."
Sasha whirled his hands round in imitation, and I couldn't help but laugh.
"No laughing!" he said indignantly.
"It is very bad. Officers terrorise soldiers beat them, shoot them-' "Not really shoot them?"
"Certainly! Many men are shot dead by own officers.
Absolutely incredible."
"Do people get fined?" I asked.
"Fined?" Sasha seemed astonished.
"How can they be fined?
They have no so big money. And in any case, it would be very dangerous for commander to punish kontraktnik, a prafessional soldier, in this way. Such persons do not like to pay. Easier just to kill officer with shooting."
"What about special forces? They must be better."
"Many, many special forces. Every ministry has special force.
Ministry of Defence, Ministry of Interior, Ministry of Federal Security… "So who's taking on the Mafia?"
"Good question. Under whose jurisdiction is situation going?
These too many bodies in the past they have no joint policy.
But now we have new initiative result of your Prime Minister's visit to President Yeltsin last year. From this has come new agreement. Yeltsin has persuaded Ministry of Defence and Ministry of Interior to create Tiger Force, specially to combat Mafia operations."
"So who are the guys we'll be training?"
"All kontraktniks. That means prafessional soldiers with contracts not conscripts. At least two years in the army. All officers, from junior lieutenant to captain. Good types, I hope."
"Where do they come from?"
"From all different special forces. From Spetznaz, from Omon, from Alpha, from Vympel…"
I saw him stifle a yawn.
"Come on," I told him.
"Time you got your head down.
Tomorrow's a full training day. You can meet the guys and tell us what to do."
"Khorosho! Zheordie let me say thank you for very kind reception. Also for clothings."
"It's a pleasure."
One amusing twist that I didn't yet explain to Sasha was that our own headquarters were known in the Regiment as the Kremlin. Valentina had impressed on us that the word simply means 'citadel', but we were chuffed to think that, for the first time in history, our own little Kremlin was about to join forces with its Big Brother in Moscow.