Spy Story by Len Deighton

control this ocean full of ships, submarines and aircraft, worrying about supplies and air cover for your bases – when you’re trying to judge which of the sighting reports are a Soviet strike force, and which are liver spots – you’ll wish you had double the bound time that you’ll get.’
    â€˜But you’ll fight us single-handed?’ said the German.
    â€˜No,’ said Ferdy, ‘I’ll have the same size staff that you’ll have.’
    I interrupted him. ‘Mr Foxwell is being modest,’ I said. ‘Red Suite Command Staff is a coveted assignment for those of us who want to catch up on their light fiction.’
    â€˜I’ve been the Red Admiral many times by now,’ said Ferdy. ‘I can remember so many of the computer responses for my logistics. I can keep the overall line-up in my mind’s eye more easily than you’ll be able to. And I know all the tactics you are likely to pull out of the hat. By the way, have you decided which of you will be with me on the winning side?’
    â€˜Me,’ said one of the American submarine Captains.
    â€˜The confidence you display, Mr Foxwell.’ The German smiled acidly. ‘Is that because the standard of the visiting staff officers is so low, or are you so expert?’ He licked his lips as if tasting the last drips of lemon juice.
    â€˜I’ll tell you my secret,’ said Ferdy. ‘You’re mostly experienced naval men with many years of sea duty. All sailors are romantics. You look at this table and you see frigates, cruisers and nuclear subs. You hear the breakers, smell the warm diesel and hear the voices of old friends. Committing those units – and the men inside them – to battle is a traumatic experience for you. You hesitate, you vacillate, you die.’
    â€˜And you are not a naval man, Mr Foxwell?’ the German asked.
    â€˜As far as I’m concerned,’ said Ferdy, ‘you’re just a bag of plastic markers.’ He picked up one of the plot markers that gave the strength, direction and identity of a naval force steaming past the Jan Mayen Island. Gently he tossed it into the air and caught it. Then he hurled it into the far corner of the room where it landed with a noise of breaking plastic.
    The War Room was silent. The two Admirals continued to look at Ferdy with the same polite interest with which champions eye contenders at weigh-ins.
    â€˜Then we’ll see you all tomorrow, gentlemen,’ said Ferdy. ‘And come out fighting.’

7
    The success or failure of ALL games will be measured ONLY by the lessons learned through post-game analysis ( POGANA ). In this respect the object of each game is not victory.
    â€˜ NOTES FOR WARGAMERS ’. STUDIES CENTRE . LONDON
    When there was a game in progress, the Studies Centre became a different sort of place. The mess served forty lunches and there wasn’t even standing room in the upstairs bar. My new job as Schlegel’s personal assistant meant that I spent a great deal of time in the Control Room looking down from the balcony to the War Table. Also I was one of the few people permitted to visit both Blue Suite and Red Suite while the game was in progress.
    Ferdy and his five deputies were in Red Ops in the basement. His conference room adjoining it was seldom used unless a real crisis occurred. Ferdy liked to be in the darkened Ops Room watching the Visual Display Units and arguing with the plotters. Even then he got bored sometimes, and would invent complex disputes just so that Schlegel would send me down there to sort it out. Not that there was ever an outward sign of the pandemonium that was in the staff’s minds. Even in Blue Suite on the first day they were cool calm and collected, reading data print-outs or asking for clarification from one of the Technical referees.
    Like the opening moves in a chess game, the first few bounds were predictable. The knight’s opening