Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Be an interesting test for you then, some procedures to adjust afterwards. That’s the thing about small conflicts, they test if you’re ready for the big conflicts.’

  ‘What timescale we working to?’ an officer asked me.

  I faced the Captain. ‘We'll be in place tonight, sir?’

  ‘After dark.’

  ‘Let’s assume that tonight we try and secure the airstrip in Panama, and that a successful well-planned operation means that at dawn tomorrow we can start to search. It’s a tick in the box if we're ready for dawn. Supplies, Marines, medics, helos. And by using that FOB you can keep this group beyond thirty miles, so far enough away from rockets.’

  The captain gruffly noted, ‘If we're staying away because of home-made rockets then the Pentagon will be asking questions – like are we up to the damn job or not!’

  ‘A home-made rocket could hit an F18 on the deck, a dozen men killed, a bad newspaper headline, sir. I'm not worried about the criticism from your boss, I'm worried about the TV minutes Stateside, coffins draped in flags coming off a plane, Congress questioning the use of the US military for drug interdiction in the future.

  ‘It’s about keeping the casualties down, and playing to the media. That way, some arsehole in the White House doesn't hold you back because he's worried about his ratings.’

  ‘And you're just a major...’ the Captain noted. ‘Not a Rear Admiral. Because you sound like my boss.’

  ‘I learnt early on, sir, that the good newspaper headlines means the future missions don't get scrubbed because some politician is worried about his TV ratings. That’s why I take a reporter with me. After Somalia the White House was holding you back, less so now thanks to me.’

  He nodded. ‘We'll be ready. A tick in the box at dawn.’

  On the windy viewing platform I called David Finch.

  'Ah Wilco, we just heard about rockets in Panama.’

  ‘We're steaming south, and we'll go ashore tonight, White House has agreed it.’

  ‘And there was me thinking you worked for us.’

  ‘I'm a whore you loan out, you know that.’

  ‘These are the same rockets? How many rockets out there?’

  ‘A radar-guided rocket hit an airport radar, so yes – same rockets and same people. Look at the map, La Ninga airfield close to the Costa Rica border, we'll use it as an FOB. Start the diplomatic process, British soldiers using it. As for how many rockets … twenty odd have been fired, so more than twenty.’

  ‘That’s a worry, they could be used in Europe, airports disrupted. I'll chat to the Cabinet Office now.’

  I called the Panama Minster. ‘It’s Petrov.’

  ‘Ah, we have had a request from the Americans, an offer to assist us.’

  ‘It’s good to have friends, especially when those friends have aircraft carriers.’

  ‘Indeed.

  ‘There is an airfield, La Ninga, hit by a missile. The Americans and British will want to land there and create a base, helicopters to attack north and to find the rockets. My men will cross the border tonight and report movements, and we'll destroy that drug gang that was bothering you.’

  ‘Ah, good.’

  ‘Can you get the Americans permission to use that airfield? And in the next few hours.’

  ‘It is easy enough.’

  ‘Contact the Americans about it please.’

  ‘You will come here?’

  ‘I will cross the border.’

  ‘Good, maybe an end to this gang.’

  ‘And wounded in the city?’

  ‘Twenty dead, forty wounded.’

  I closed my eyes and heaved a breath. ‘Look for more bombs, Minister, this is not over.’

  A Seahawk slid onto the deck, Marines out, officers seen. I went back to the command room, many officers now busy. ‘Did I just see the Marines senior officers come aboard?’

  ‘They're due here,’ an officer told me, and they appeared a few minutes later.

  ‘Major Wilco? I'm Major Morgen.’ We shook and he introduced two captains and a sergeant.

  Morgen was shorter than me, but wide at the shoulders, and with a weather worn face, a permanent squint. His hair was ‘high and tight', and grey. It was almost white above the ears but graduated to a hard almost black colour on the top.

  I showed him the map. ‘Here, La Ninga civilian airfield, hit by a rocket. That will be our forwards operating base, so I want some tents, supplies, medics, and all of your men landed there before dawn. There will be buildings, and I guess it’s closed now, so we should have rooms, but hard to know what’s there.

  ‘Helos will operate from there, and we'll then use the base to launch missions to the border region, to find the drug gangs and the rockets. The rockets need trucks, so helos and fixed wing can look for trucks, as well as our special forces on the ground observing roads.’

  They had a look at the map and made notes.

  Morgen mentioned, ‘There're still two military airfields with our boys there, a few bases left, we even have Marines in the Canal Zone.’

  ‘I thought the only soldiers still posted there were being punished.’

  He tripped his head back and laughed. ‘It’s not a career move, put it that way, but the Marines are not being punished, regular company.’

  ‘When do you pull out? It’s been dragging on.’

  ‘My bosses say we close everything formally in a year, January, 1999, most are mothballed anyhow. We'll still train their Air Force and maybe the infantry. But the attitude is not the same.’

  ‘Any trouble towards your soldiers?’

  ‘No, but we see graffiti, the odd comment made about Yankee Imperialists. Boy still go off base, and the people there have had a long history with us, but we'd not go into Panama City in uniform.’

  ‘The land you'll give back around the canal, it’s just forest...’

  He nodded. ‘Nothing much there.’

  When I noticed Franks, I said, ‘The American Wolves are in Belize, have them flown direct to La Ninga, after dark, I already requested they fly to Panama.’

  He nodded and stepped out.

  Thinking, I called Tomsk from the platform. ‘It’s me. I'll be at that airfield, La Ninga, hit by a rocket, tonight. Have all my crates sent there just after dark, protected, and a shit load of ammunition, RPGs, grenades.’

  ‘OK, I sort that now.’

  ‘Americans will land a large force at La Ninga, and we'll kill the drug gang and get the rockets.’

  ‘Why are these idiots firing rockets?’

  ‘First, to get back at me; I got their drugs. Second, the man who made the rockets knows that you are at war with this gang.’

  ‘Who made these rockets?’

  ‘We think a former Russian defector, 1990, Terotski, codename Catfish.’

  ‘Terotski?’ came a voice full of worry.

  ‘What..?’ I asked.

  ‘He … had plastic surgery at my place.’

  ‘Oh, you fucking idiot! CIA are after him, and will want to know about the fucking plastic surgery now.’

  ‘Ah, well … you smooth it, eh.’

  ‘Shit. Do you know anything about him, where we can find him?’

  ‘Some ideas yes, and he needs a drug to stop the new skin being rejected.’ He spelt it out for me.

  ‘Try and find him, and kill him!’

  ‘I look, yes.’

  ‘Oh, you have a photo of him?’

  ‘Yes, taken secretly, you know, just in case.’

  ‘Wait. He knows my link to you, he would never trust you. When was this?’

  ‘Say … six months ago.’

  ‘He may have found out about me later. Put his photo on the TV news in Panama, and the name of the drug, and bribe people in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. Send that photo to every news agency in America and Canada, and now.’

  ‘OK, OK.’

  I went and found Franks and led him to a quiet spot. ‘Terotski had plastic surgery, needs a drug.’ I handed him the
name of the drug. ‘Can't be too many people using it – apart from rich old ladies, so check every pharmacy in Canada, then Nicaragua, then Costa Rica, then Panama. And fast. His image will be all over the news inside an hour. Tomsk did the plastic surgery, but photographed him secretly.’

  On the platform I called David. ‘Terotski had plastic surgery six months ago, via Tomsk, but we have his photo afterwards and the drug he uses.’

  ‘Why would he trust Tomsk, he knows about your link to Tomsk via Hollister.’

  ‘Maybe Hollister informed him six months ago.’

  ‘Or maybe the man getting the plastic surgery was not Terotski.’

  ‘A trick? That would be smart planning.’

  ‘He faked his own death, so faking his own plastic surgery would not be such a stretch.’

  I called back Tomsk. ‘Don't send out that photo yet. Do you have his blood sample?’

  ‘Yes, they keep them.’

  ‘Have it analysed, blood type, and DNA coded overnight.’

  ‘I have the DNA code.’

  ‘Why?’ I pressed.

  ‘In case we want to be sure about someone afterwards. I'm careful.’

  ‘Sneaky shit. Send it anonymously to the CIA, the print-out of the codes, labelled as Terotski's DNA and blood type, codename Catfish, and fast.’

  ‘They find him from his DNA?’

  ‘No, they confirm that you were played, and the man you altered was not Terotski.’

  ‘What! That little shit.’

  ‘Just can't trust anyone these days, can you,’ I quipped.

  ‘I sort that DNA now. I delegate.’

  An hour later, as I checked with the teams, I was notified of a call for me. In the command room I picked up a phone wired to the wall. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Deputy Chief. We got an odd fax with DNA information about Catfish, sent from Panama, but it’s not Terotski's blood type.’

  ‘A man posing as Terotski went to Tomsk and had plastic surgery. He used that name, deliberately.’

  ‘To throw us off track. God damn. This guy is good, he should be working for me!’

  ‘But I think he must have had plastic surgery anyhow, so that drug may throw up a lead.’

  ‘It’s not a common drug, and we have the FBI looking far and wide for it. What’s your plan?’

  ‘We're steaming south to Panama, we'll use La Ninga airfield as an FOB, and go search for the rockets.’

  ‘What issues do you see here?’ It was an odd question.

  ‘A few dead Marines, a crashed helo, some dead civilians that we get blamed for. That would be a worst-case scenario.’

  ‘Let’s try and avoid that then.’

  I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but bit my lip. ‘White House on your case..?’

  ‘They know our people sold us out, so some difficult questions are being asked, and they know we arrested some of our former managers. But Debonet’s file has appeased them, we have the whole picture now, a few arrests to follow, already got a gun runner residing in Seattle, Chinese national with an American passport, and a Canadian customs guard on the make.’

  ‘The man I met in Tomsk's villa, Chanon, said he used Canadian police to move drugs...’

  ‘No evidence of that, or of drug dealing in Canada.’

  ‘So why buy drugs from Tomsk on a regular basis?’

  ‘To stockpile maybe, sell to someone outside Canada, or to HTZ in Holland.’

  ‘Be no money in it, selling to HTZ, unless it’s a large delivery. Have a look at Canadian opioid companies.’

  ‘I'll pass a note to the FBI.’

  Stood on the viewing platform, staring out at the ocean and the supporting ships, I was worried. I called Tomsk. ‘Look, that Canadian man, Chanon, he had no police drivers moving drugs.’

  ‘He lied?’

  ‘Yeah, what a shocker, eh. Listen, they tricked you with Chanon, maybe to find out how you do things, and then again with the man who said he was Terotski. I want you to think about everything they could have learnt, and to change procedures. They may have been trying to find out all they could about your operation.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To take over from you, why else.’

  ‘How could they do that?’

  ‘By killing you, idiot.’

  ‘I get my team on it, we think hard, and we check everything.’

  ‘They would need a government minister on their side to help against you, so bug some ministers.’

  ‘They are all afraid of me!’

  ‘Check anyway, these people had a year to plan something.’

  Hip against the grey metal railing, my hair blowing, I called back the Deputy Chief. ‘Can you look again at Debonet’s file, and look for anyone that might have travelled to Panama, or had contact with Panama. Run names and aliases with the airlines, I want anyone touching upon Panama – and fast please.’

  ‘I'll have a look. You think they're behind the bombs?’

  ‘No, I think they wanted to replace Tomsk.’

  ‘Be hard to do.’

  ‘He comes across as a short fat idiot, and they know I built him up, so maybe the idea was there.’

  ‘To do it for themselves, yes. Worth it, given what he earns. I'll have them look now.’

  An hour later I flew over to the helo-carrier with the senior Marines officers returning, and they called together the officers and NCOs in a large maintenance hangar, all in jungle greens with high shin boots.

  ‘Listen up!’ I shouted, my words echoing. ‘I'm British Major Wilco, that handsome chap from the Camel Toe Base film, and no – I never got a royalty paid by the bastards!’

  They laughed.

  ‘They didn't even ask my permission. OK, tonight you insert to La Ninga airfield in Northern Panama, close to the Costa Rica border. It’s gentle hills, some trees and bushes, not really jungle, but there are swamps that are hard going, mangrove swamps at the coast that are impenetrable, a few rivers.

  ‘It’s warm, but it cools down a little at night, so sleeping in a jacket is advised, you won't need sleeping bags. From the airfield there'll be three types of mission you'll be involved with. Seek and destroy on foot, seek and destroy by helicopters, and keeping your heads down as rockets come in.

  ‘How you plan it is up to you. The aim is to find trucks with rockets in, suspicious men with those trucks armed with AK47s. Those men are from a drug gang, and if they caught you they'd slice you up and set fire to you, so no surrender – fight to the last if you have to.

  ‘A word about those men. They're drug dealers, they slice people up, they shoot families – women and children – when the husbands don't cooperate. You take no chances with them, and you show no mercy.

  ‘You don't break cover and try and go arrest them. If you do, and your men are killed, I'll make sure you get your own private cell in Leavenworth.’ I let them think about it.

  ‘The drug dealers know what waits for them if they get caught, so they will fight to the end. Never … trust them or turn your back on them.

  ‘You stay in the bushes and you stay camouflaged, because they'll be wearing jeans and white cowboy hats, and driving air-conditioned jeeps. You're trained to fight in the bush, they're not, so use your advantage.

  ‘Your main purpose is to get position in the trees and to watch the roads, and any suitable road junctions. See a convoy of trucks and armed men, report it, open fire if you are sure. To be sure, the men in the trucks should clearly be armed, or you see a rocket.

  ‘You can also call in an air-strike and make a nice big bang. If you do … don't be within 300yards of the fucking target, because you'll be deaf afterwards – and maybe with wounded men. I've been close to a 2,000lb bomb dropped from your Navy, and it’s no fun. Keep your distance if an air-strike is called.

  ‘The second part of the mission will be to put men aboard the helos, M60 in the doors, and to fly up and down the roads looking for trucks and rockets. If you see rockets, you open up and call in an air-strike. If some
one on the ground is armed and seems to be shooting up at you, you shoot back, circle, and kill the bastards.

  ‘The third part of your mission will be to hold the wire at the airfield, because we may see probing attacks. Yes, they may be dumb enough to send someone. Snipers - on the airport buildings, trenches dug, sandbags filled, and assume that on the second day they get wind that we're at the airfield.

  ‘When they know that we're at the airfield - because you handsome chaps will be on the local TV news, they'll re-direct all of their rockets to the airfield. So, from the time you land you don't perform a roll call, you don't march around in neat blocks, you spread out and keep your heads down. Buildings in the airport are best, because the rocket will detonate on the roof. Trenches and sandbags are also good.

  ‘If I see a group of men together, the man in charge faces the enquiry – after I kick the shit out of him. You can expect rockets, so you plan accordingly. You may get a sniper in the treeline, so you plan accordingly.

  ‘Now, you'll be in Panama, someone else's country, and they don't like Americans much – you have a long history with them.

  ‘So you are all ambassadors for your country, best behaviour to the locals, always ask permission from airport staff, never demand anything. There will be journalists around, maybe Panamanian journalists and TV crews, so you smile nicely and you ask nicely.

  ‘Senior men, make sure you have dollars, the good old US Dollar much appreciated by the locals. Buy food and drink, don't take it. Snipers, ask the air traffic controllers if you can get up on the roof, explain the need. I'm not worried about bullet holes, but if your men make a mess – clean it up when we pull out.

  ‘Gentlemen, the White House is expecting that this operation helps to mend bridges with the Government and the people of Panama. Screw that up … and don't bother to return to the States, you'll face a firing squad. If a young Marine gets drunk and assaults a local … kiss your careers goodbye.

  ‘I don't know how long we'll be there, but when we're there we act like we're visiting the parents of a new girlfriend. Part of this operation is to find the rockets, but an equally important part is to show the people of Panama that you're there to help, and that you're all a great bunch of guys … well-disciplined and polite.