“I’ve persuaded the President that the US should not overreact, but we will provide reconnaissance and surveillance top cover for all trainers deployed in the field in support of the Ukrainians as protection for our people. We’ve also agreed pretty robust defensive rules of engagement. More than that, the White House is tasking the US Permanent Representative to put a motion to the North Atlantic Council, the NAC. We want to agree a NATO training mission to Ukraine to demonstrate Alliance solidarity in response to this Russian attack on US soldiers. I want you to be ready to brief the concept and planning we’ve already discussed.”

“Roger to that, SACEUR. I’ll talk to the Chairman of the Military Committee now and will also touch base with the US ambassador before the NAC meeting.”

“Thanks, Dave. I’ll aim to get back just as soon as I’ve testified over—”

And with that the screen went blank as communications were lost.

Group Captain Swinton, who had been monitoring the call from a remote set, stepped into the office. “Sir, I understand the news has got through to Brussels and the Sec Gen has called an emergency NAC meeting this afternoon at 1400. They’re expecting you to brief the training mission plan. The planning team are stood by now to take you through the briefing they’ve prepared.

“Sec Gen and the Chairman of the Military Committee would like to see you at 1330 for a chat before the NAC. Sergeant Jones is stood by with the car and police escort for 1230. And we’ll make sure there’s a sandwich in the car.”

“Thanks, Jamie. The briefing should be fairly straightforward as we’ve already war-gamed this scenario. But getting the Alliance to agree to a NATO training mission?” said McKinlay. “That sounds to me like one hell of a long shot.”

An hour and a half later, briefing with the planners completed, McKinlay had put on a tie and slipped into his formal, bemedaled, Lovat green tunic to conform with the normal custom for military officers attending the NAC. He was now sitting in the back of the BMW 7 Series F01 four-door sedan, the designated staff car for DSACEUR, as Sergeant Taff Jones, his Welsh Royal Logistic Corps driver, gunned the gears to stay close to the Belgian military police motorcycle outriders, who were carving their way, blue lights flashing and sirens wailing, through the heavy traffic on the N27 Brussels ring road.

“I suppose we have to travel like this,” mused McKinlay to himself as he tried to read through his slides and notes, while the top-heavy, armored vehicle swung sickeningly every time it cornered.