Back in the day when everyone with a slightly eastern European accent was a spy, red's under the bed were the norm and Russian "trawlers" were everywhere, I became a spy. We had just completed a Naval exercise in the Med, I believe it was '69 and the exercise was "Deep Furrow" Anyway the Eagle and Ark were both there and the cruiser Blake as well. The big star turn at the end of the exercise was lower deck was cleared in all ships present to witness the first ever at sea deck landing of a Harrier which came and parked on the arse end of Blake to the disbelief of all present. Except the can man but we think he was a spy anyway. Then it was star burst for the fleet with ships popping off to all destinations for a jolly. We were coming home to de commission so we got Gib en route. Funnily enough so did the Russian trawler that had been doing second "plane guard on the Ark. Now I am not making the name up, whilst ashore first night I met Olga. Five foot eight blond, and as fit as shit Olga, one great big lovely Russian woman. I trapped her in "La Pulverin" (think that's how it was spelt) and ended up at around 11pm on board the Russian "Survey ship" She plied me with drink, food, and sex. Fuckin mountains of sex, then more sex and just to round the night off some more sex. We explored the complexities of the Karma sutra together to the thousandth decimal point and then back again. Now if asked whilst she was slobbering on my pecker, in truth I would have divulged every secret about British gunnery I knew. That would have taken about two minutes tops, I was an able seaman star (3rd class at gunnery). You can't get any lower. We talked when either of us did not have some part of the other in our mouth, about anything and everything, except friggin business like ships. There was no pillar talk in our sleep, we didn't get any. At silly o'clock the next morning with just enough time to leg across to the mall to get aboard without being adrift, I am way laid in the dockyard by Sgt Peppers Band. Fuckin hell they were all over me like a rash. Dragged off to Patrol Headquarters I was, placed under the big light I was (true) and they commenced grilling me. Now when sex smells are rejuvenated under heat from big lamps, the room soon starts to become reminiscent of Billingsgate fish market, and both the inquisitor and myself became aware of the fact that either there was spit head pheasants for breakfast, I had herring s in down my chogi nicks or there was a predominant smell of fanny permeating the room. Having decided it was the later the stupid reg tells me "If you co operate we will let you dhobi that smell off you." "Are you fuckin kiddin" I tells him it took all night to get it like that and I know my oppos will wanna snort before I wash it to oblivion. "Dirty Fuckers" he says, "You know them then I responded" Late in the afternoon after hours of interrogation by the Regs and the SIB, I am told to fuck off and they confiscated the secret code book I had been given, "five year plan of collective farming" telling me treason was a hanging offence. That night in a small hotel in Gibraltar, the downfall of capitalist society was being plotted vigorously. That's code for we were at it again and I can still remember that night with Volga Olga as if it were yesterday. It didn't seem a "cold war" to me, and if she had of been the hinge pin of defection, then all I could say is count me inski comrade.