---

A new chapter in the perilous adventures of KGB Colonel Vianello!
Brought to you by Grognard Emeritus Thomas Gaul.

---

Time: 1:30am Moscow time, 14 Sept. 1985
Place: “Special Interrogations Branch” of the KGB annex of the Kremlin, office (chamber?) of Major Eleonora Olivares

Slowly turning to face KGB Colonel Vianello, Major Olivares did not at first even deign to glance at her victim, err, the Colonel. Instead she was raptly staring at a small creature pinched between her gloved black hands (yet another violation of the Red Army dress code but one no one would dare protest against). Hard to discern at first, as the Major slowly stalked toward the seated Colonel, the Colonel was able to gradually make it out.

It was a small spider, wiggling to escape the tight, grasping pincers that were the Major’s fingers.

“Interesting creatures,” Major Olivares remarked, still not taking her hypnotic stare from the struggling creature. “The males, of course, are small and weak, almost completely useless. They exist only to mate with the females who then eat and kill them. That provides the nourishment for the females to continue the species. Thus, the males are only useful if they die and, in dying, feed the females.”

By now the Major had reached a point just in front of the Colonel’s chair. The short space between the Colonel’s chair and the Major’s desk meant that the Major’s body was inches from the seated Colonel. The Colonel found himself still staring in growing terror at the spider, the Major, the Major’s knout, and, unable to help himself, the skin tight blouse covering the Major more than ample chest. Since he was seated and the Major was standing, she towered above him like a hawk above a rabbit.

With a shrug, the Major dropped the spider. It landed on the Colonel’s chair, exactly between his legs, inches from his manhood. Without pausing for a moment, the Major’s boot, with their 4 inched spiked heels, expertly rose and then came hurtling down, exactly skewering the helpless spider and coming within millimeters of hitting the most vulnerable of the Colonel’s anatomy.

“KGB Colonel Vianello. Officer of the KGB. Tours in Afghanistan, Vietnam, and Cambodia, as both advisor and leader of troops. Wounded in the course of a Taliban attack, in which he personally directed the defense against said attack within his command bunker. Hero of the Soviet Union, 2nd class. The personification of the true Soviet officer and KGB branch”.

All delivered by Major Olivares in a flat, monotone voice of an official of the Soviet apparatchik class.

Inwardly, KGB Colonel Vianello breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared this was not to be an interrogation after all. The information was straight out of his file. He should know. He had written most of it himself, or directed others in its writing. It was all mostly accurate. Of a technical sort.

His tour in Vietnam as an advisor to the Vietnamese Army was mostly in Cambodia, most of which was spent in the brothels of the two countries. After all, was he not then a young man? Did a young man not have needs and urges that must be met?! Also, a true KGB officer must search for spies in all places and brothels were well known as a hotbed of spies, many of whom needed to be personally questioned in the most “natural” environment available in a brothel. The fact that no actual spies were found did not mean he had not done his socialist duty. In retrospective, perhaps he should have had a few more of the girls rounded up and shot, rather than the one or two he had actually mentioned to the Vietnamese Special Branches. But those two had deserved it, as their performance of their duties in the brothel had fallen well short.

The tour in Afghanistan had happened and the attack also had. Later investigation had revealed at least two mortar rounds had landed with 5 kilometers of the base where he was stationed. The devastating counterstrike ordered by the then Major Vianello had involved the coordinated strike of no less than 6 Soviet Air or Helicopter wings. Only those strikes had halted the obviously major Taliban offensive to overrun the base. The fact that only one body had been found (a donkey) meant nothing, as all knew the rebels carried away their dead. A triumph showing the might of the Soviet Army!!

During the attack, he had in fact, been wounded when the portable radio he had been using to call in the strikes had fallen on his foot as he was dragging it towards him. But it could have been worse, far worse, if the desk he was beneath (only natural to take precautions) had not covered him from any rubble that might have fallen. The fact that no rubble had fallen did not mean it could not have fallen, causing even more serious wounds to his valiant body and irreparably harming the defense of the base.

For his role and grievous wounds, he had been awarded the Hero of the Soviet Union medal, personally recommended by a fellow major. The fact that he had also recommended that same major for a medal meant nothing, nothing at all. Just recognition of the bravery of a fellow soldier helping in the defense of the Soviet Union. Pity that this major had died shortly after he recommended Major Vianello for the medal, before the investigation into the medal award could be concluded. Killed by his own men when a grenade had been rolled into that officer’s room. Discipline could be lacking among certain elements in the Soviet Army. The investigation, without the major to question, had simply had to rely on the major’s written statement. Major Vianello got the award and soon became Colonel Vianello.

Now knowing that he was safe, KGB Colonel Vianello inwardly allowed himself to both relax and metaphorically pat himself on the back. All his cunning and deceptions, the work of decades of deceit, had paid handsome dividends. Major Olivares, HAH!! “Terror of the KGB”; “Mistress of the Kremlin”; she was helpless before him!! She was nothing compared to the genius of KGB Colonel Vianello!! Why had he ever worried? None were more ruthless, more clever, more farsighted than THE COLONEL!

The Colonel’s self-congratulations evaporated in mid-thought with the Major’s next words, delivered in the same deadpan voice:

“Or so it would appear.”