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Fedorov learned that “Popski,” as Peniakoff was called, would associate with the famous John “Shan” Hackett, who would fight in Syria, North Africa, and later raise and command the British 4th Parachute Brigade for the big operation at Arnhem that would one day be called “Market-Garden.” It was Hackett who would be instrumental in the formation of the special unit designated Number 1 Demolition Squadron, PPA, and that last bit would stand for “Popski’sPrivate Army.” It served well as a long range reconnaissance and raiding group behind enemy lines in Libya, and though it was not presently functioning in that role, Wavell had encouraged Popski to “get some sand on his boots” and see what was happening in the lower desert.

While much of the real military action would be anchored to the main coastal road, both sides were always sending out long range patrols to scout the endless desert to the south. Some ranged as far asBayhira andFafra Oasis, and the Italians had a small force still garrisoning the oasis at Giarabub northwest ofSiwa. The British had scoutedSiwa itself, and Popski already had men there with the Berber tribesmen, finding them useful sources of information on the local desert conditions, hazards, and the activities of enemy troops in the region. Wavell had suggestedSiwa as the natural place to take O’Connor if they could possibly find his downed plane. It was well watered, with stores of fuel, ammunition and food that were kept there for use by the British raiders.

Whether he ever spoke Russian in the world Fedorov came from was a moot point now, for Popski spoke it fluently in this world, as he also spoke Arabic and English, and he was apparently getting an early start on his career as a special forces raider in the Long Range Desert Group for Wavell in this retelling of his colorful tale.

He had come to Egypt in 1924 to operate a sugar mill, and there he learned to pilot a plane and navigate the Nile on his boat, named the Astrolabe. He also acquired an old Model-A Ford, which he called his ‘Pisspot,’ and he used it to learn to navigate in the desert with nothing more than a sun compass, a good timepiece, and the stars. When his marriage to an Egyptian born Belgian woman finally faltered at the outbreak of the war, Popski was a bit of a derelict for a time. The marriage broke up back in England, his two daughters shipped overseas to South Africa, and he walked into the Bank of England one day and deposited nearly every shilling to his name, but not to his account. It was a gift to the Crown.

He was a man burning his bridges after that, and like so many other lost souls, he immediately thought to sign up with the military. The R.A.F. and Royal Navy would have nothing to do with him at this age, even though he had learned to pilot aircraft. So he signed on with the Army, and soon found himself in Egypt again. Frequenting the bars in Cairo, he heard a great deal in the seedy warrens of that place, and he began to pass information to the British on things the Italian Army was up to in the desert, hoping to prove himself useful.

Aging for any real military work, Peniakoff bent the ear of a medical officer after he joined the British Army in Cairo. He convinced the man to certify him as fit for duty, in A1 condition, even though he had a gimpy leg that often bothered him on his long desert hikes. He eventually ended up in the 3rd Battalion of the Libyan Arab Force (L.A.F.) where he got his promotion to Major, though he soon realized the L.A.F. wasn’t destined to do much of anything in the war. So he thought to try a foray behind enemy lines to gather intelligence or blow up a supply depot or two, and this gave him his start in the special operations he would become famous for.

It was there that he met up with Major Jock Cameron, who would become his steady right hand man and companion on many raids. It was there also, that he assumed the nickname history would know him by, Popski. It was actually the name of a dog, the sidekick of a Russian character in an old comic strip, and his mates found it easier to code for signals transmission than the name Peniakoff.

Fate had an odd way of weaving the fortunes of all these men together that day. Peniakoff would one day come to know and operate with another British commando of some note, Lieutenant Colonel John Haselden, the very same man that had led the small raid to find and capture Chief Orlov on the shores of the Caspian Sea. He would find himself mixed up in another rescue operation, the elaborate raid that had been planned by Fedorov using the Anatoly Alexandrov, and Troyak’s dogged defense against the encroaching German Panzer troops as they desperately searched for Orlov. And here was the burly, irascible Chief yet again, right in the thick of things, as if some inexorable gravity was gathering all these souls into the same well of fate and time.