Free Spy Story by Len Deighton Page B

Suite, just like Red Suite in the basement, had only the results of reports and analysis. And that was another name for guesswork.
    â€˜For the big strategic game we often assume that the coast of northern Norway has already been occupied by the Soviet Union,’ said Ferdy. ‘If war came, that would be inevitable – and we believe it would be fast.’
    Once he’d put it even more bluntly than that to a group of senior officers from AFNORTH at Kolsaas. None of them, especially the Norwegians, had proved readily convertible to Ferdy’s instant strategy.
    But today there were no Norwegians. I looked at them, all lined up along the War Table. Behind the two VIP American Admirals and their aides, there was the usual rag-bag: cocky thirty-year-olds, earnest forty-year-olds, desperate fifty-year-olds, career officers who, in their ill-chosen civilian suits, looked more like insurance salesmen. There were seldom any surprises. An elderly, soft-spoken New Zealand Captain from the purchasing commission, a bald Dutch senior intelligence officer, two American submarine Captains, fresh from a staff tour at CINCPAC , a civilian war-game specialist from SACLANT (Striking Fleet), some embassy free-loaders and a one-eyed German who’d already confided to us twice that he’d sunk over a hundred thousand tons of Allied shipping. ‘During the war, of course,’ he added, but we had only his word on that.
    â€˜There’s a problem with all these games,’ warned one of the embassy attachés, a Canadian. ‘If you don’t introduce the element of chance – dice or random machine – you get no idea of what happens in war. But introduce it, and you’re into the gambling business.’
    I winked at Ferdy but he had to keep a straight face while this Canadian mastermind was looking at him. We’d often said that no matter how slow you take the briefing, one of these hoorays is going to ask that very question. You could put it on the big machine and trip it for a print-out.
    â€˜It is not a war-game in that sense,’ said Ferdy. He smoothed his rumpled hair. ‘You do better to regard it as a historical reconstruction.’
    â€˜I don’t dig you,’ said the Canadian.
    â€˜Some history might be instructive, other aspects of history less so. If you learn from experience here, then that of course is spendid, but it’s dangerous to start off thinking of the process as a future event.’
    â€˜Is that why your set-up is civilian operated?’
    â€˜Perhaps it is,’ said Ferdy. Nervously he picked up one of the plastic plot markers from that morning’s test run-through. ‘Let’s be clear. We don’t control any Fleet elements from here and neither do we predict what they might do in any future action. Once we made a strenuous effort to stop the word “game” being used about anything we do here – “studies” is the operative word – but it was no use, people like “game” better.’
    â€˜That’s because your material is too out of date by the time it’s ready for the Table?’ said the Dutchman.
    â€˜The material used here is collected from intelligence ships and aircraft. We probably could radio it back and have fairly recent data on the Table, but unless we processed the game at the same speed as an actual battle there would be little or no advantage.’
    â€˜I’ll tell you something, Mr Foxwell,’ said the German Captain. ‘If, God forbid, we ever have to start retransmitting electronic intelligence from the Barents Sea …’ he tapped the War Table, ‘… I’ll give you a dozen five-figure groups before they trip the nuclear minefields and end your game for ever.’
    The New Zealand officer said, ‘And game-time is always much slower than normal?’
    â€˜Yes, for many reasons it has to be. Tomorrow, when you are in the Blue Suite trying to