Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Ah, fond memories – not. Where's Sasha?’

  ‘Still on a job for us, but alive and well.’

  ‘Good that he's earning his keep.’

  ‘How are my spies?’

  ‘Had little to do so far, but today they go walk in the jungle.’

  ‘And the risks?’

  ‘Some, but not great.’

  ‘GCHQ has a good pattern of phone use, and it led to an arrest in Jamaica, drugs and guns found, and an arrest in Canada. And we sent Tiny the details of a chap in Panama City.’

  ‘She's good at the job.’

  ‘Good enough for us?’

  ‘Better than most of the idiots you have working for you.’

  ‘Thanks for that, I feel so much better.’

  I smiled. ‘She'll be better after some training. Leave her for now.’

  ‘And your double?’

  ‘Is working out well so far, yes. But we'll teach him Russian.’

  Half an hour later the Greenie captain came and found me with two sergeants. ‘You got some paying work for us?’

  I led them down to where Major Morgen had a command centre, and showed them the map. ‘Here, thirty miles north, is an area of hills and drug gangs. You insert by helo, a few teams, your job to search for rockets – yes, but to de-facilitate the drug gangs.’

  ‘De-facilitate?’

  ‘The drug gang makes money from drugs, and uses that money on rockets, and the White House wants those rockets stopped. So you cut off the source of the money. That’s official.’

  ‘We shoot any drug dealers we find...’

  ‘Those are not your orders, since that would be illegal. You de-facilitate the drug operations.’

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘Should we use a lot of ammo as we de-facilitate?’

  ‘Yes. Don't hold back.’

  They smiled and walked out, Morgen to wake up some helo crews.

  Fifteen minutes later we had a loud busy apron, pilots seen walking to their helos with cups of coffee, just like commuters in New York. When ready, the Greenies boarded in teams, all heavily armed, RPGs lugged. One man carried an FN GPMG with long belts around him.

  Six helos loudly flew off, leaving the base quiet afterwards.

  I was up on the roof when they returned fifteen minutes later. My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Katowski, sir, and we just about searched this whole area, got two wounds as well.’

  ‘I'll dispatch helos. Hold on.’ I leant over the wall. ‘Medics!’

  The Lt. Commander appeared from a tent.

  ‘Two wounded SEALs, go fetch them!’

  He dispatched medics. And I wondered what happened to the two medics that were supposed to be sat ready.

  I lifted the phone. ‘Helos on the way. You got any rocket parts worth bringing back?’

  ‘Got a whole rocket, just don't know how stable it is, it’s all black and charred.’

  ‘I doubt they're booby-trapped, and the middle just unscrews.’

  ‘I'll try that then.’

  ‘Nose cone is the clever bit, second section is the warhead. Got phones and paperwork?’

  ‘Got a shit load, sir.’

  ‘Bag it all up ready.’

  ‘Wounded back to you, or to ship?’

  ‘Here first. How badly they wounded?’

  ‘Got a scrape and a through and through.’

  ‘Let them do their bit here, closer than the ships.’

  Downstairs, I nudged the Press officers awake and got them coffee. ‘Wounded coming in, get outside, and film the medics at work.’

  Coffee in hand, bleary-eyed, they got ready.

  The helos returned, two having been dispatched for some reason, two SEALs helped down, both walking, the Press officers filming.

  My phone trilled as I stood on the apron. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Wolf Murphy, sir.’

  ‘How's tricks, Murphy?’

  ‘Well, sir, we got as a hidden moonshine factory below us, but I reckon it ain't moonshine.’

  ‘Probably not, no, I think they repealed that law. Where are you?’

  ‘We worked it out at thirty two miles on bearing 290, sir.’

  ‘Good long walk last night.’

  ‘Yes, sir, we just kept going, wanted to find something.’

  ‘How many men in this moonshine facility?’

  ‘Say thirty, a dozen trucks, armed guards in a few places. These here fellas has green camouflage netting all up between the trees.’

  ‘If they went to that much trouble then it’s worth hitting. Would an F18 hit it?’

  ‘Only by luck, sir.’

  ‘I'm sending a helo to coordinate an airstrike, you make sure you're not too close, 300yards away at least. You use your radio with the helicopter pilot, so that the pilot is right above the factory.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘Be there in … twenty minutes.’ I stepped inside, and to the radio operator, who had remained awake and seemed OK and alert. ‘Call in an airstrike, thirty-two miles from us on bearing 290, hidden facility. Dispatch a helo first, and our men on the ground will guide in the helo, the helo guides the F18s.’

  He wrote it down. ‘Right, sir.’

  Outside, I pointed at a pilot starting up his ride and waved him out to me. He clambered out and came over, helmet taken off.

  ‘I need you to talk to my men on the ground, using my frequency. Others have done it, so step through the frequencies. But can you drop something that will make a lot of smoke?’

  ‘Marines have red and green canisters.’

  ‘Red, no fucking green. I'll get some in the rear for you. You hover over a drug lab at 600ft or more, my men will guide you in, you guide in the F18s.’

  He nodded and ran back as I found Major Morgen. ‘I need a few Marines and a shit load of red smoke canisters.’

  He shouted orders at NCOs, the canisters rounded up, four Marines dispatched with them.

  ‘Anyone got a camera?’

  ‘Press officers gave us one,’ Morgen told me.

  ‘Get someone with a steady hand, and a brain, on a chopper with it.’ A captain was dispatched.

  Outside, I stood in front on the helo, waved, and pointed at my ear. ‘Testing, testing, Wilco for helo. Testing, testing, Wilco for helo.’

  ‘We have you.’

  ‘Use that frequency when you get close, ask for Wolf Murphy.’

  ‘Wolf Murphy, from Camel Toe?’

  ‘The one and only. But don't close in till you have some F18s on the radio and close at hand.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘Drop red smoke when you're sure, and when the F18s are ready to make some noise. Good luck.’

  They lifted up and turned, a second Seahawk following, which I guessed was there in case the first went down for some reason. At the radio operator, many men were listening in, F18s soon inbound.

  Murphy and his team stared down from a high point at the earnest drug lab activities below, all of the Wolfs well hidden.

  ‘Navy Seahawk to Wolf Murphy, receiving over,’ crackled out.

  ‘How'd they know your name?’ his buddy puzzled.

  He shrugged. ‘Wilco must have told them.’ He transmitted, ‘Wolf Murphy here.’

  ‘Seahawk, Murphy, guide us to the target, we'll drop red smoke.’

  Murphy's team all peered around.

  ‘Sounds south of us.’

  ‘Murphy to Seahawk, you're south of us, no visual yet.’

  ‘There,’ a man pointed, and Murphy peered up through the trees.

  ‘Murphy to Seahawk, we see you now. Come right a bit, say ten degrees … on course now, mile to go, tight valley in front of ya'll and they's on the right hand slope.’

  ‘Seahawk, Murphy, we see a truck, think I can see a building.’

  ‘These here fellas has camouflage netting up between the trees, sir.’

  ‘Pssst,’ came from a man, and Murphy's team peered down. ‘They's running around and
getting ready.’

  ‘Maybe they'll leave...’ another Wolf suggested.

  Murphy considered that. ‘Shoot some of them fellas.’

  The cracks sounded out, the men below now more interested in the snipers than the approaching helicopter.

  Murphy peered up as the drone grew. ‘Murphy to Seahawk, you's almost there, sir. Move to your right a bit, and come on a football field, sir … keep coming, sir … almost there … you're right above them now, sir.’

  Red smoke canisters fell, smoke dispensed as they fell, soon a red mist amongst the buildings below. That red mist started to climb.

  ‘What you reckon?’ a Wolf asked Murphy.

  ‘Reckon a plane could see that smoke if it were close.’

  The blast had them ducking away, ears ringing, debris raining down.

  ‘God … damn,’ Murphy shouted as he lay on his back. He rolled and eased up, his team shaking heads, all wide-eyed. Peering down the ridge, his view was blocked by white mist and smoke, a heavy shower of leaves raining down.

  ‘Seahawk, Murphy, report the accuracy.’

  ‘Murphy here, sir, and that was smack on the donkey's ass.’

  ‘We can see the buildings now, trucks, and bodies.’

  ‘We'll wait a bit, sir, then check around below for papers and the like. Major Wilco wants the papers and the phones.’

  ‘Roger that, departing now.’

  I got it all from the radio operator, the updates, the Seahawk soon back, the Marines out and running over.

  The Marines captain began, smiling, ‘Got it all, sir, men throwing down, and I was leaning out and filing down when the bomb hit, even caught the F18.’

  ‘Get the Press officers to send it straight away.’

  He ran inside.

  I found my spies, awake now, and grabbed Greenie and Mitch. At the map I pointed out where the drug lab had been hit, and they were to set down near and search the area – to say hello to Murphy, then move west.

  I told Moran, ‘That’s everyone out apart from our lot and Running Bear.’

  ‘Rizzo is still asleep,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘If we send them we'll have fuck all men left here.’

  ‘Wait for a juicy target,’ Moran suggested, and I nodded. I pointed at a sign, and Moran laughed: “No drugs, rifles or bombs on planes.”

  Moran noted, ‘Pistols are OK, not rifles.’

  ‘I always have my pistol on RAF flights, and that’s ten years in a cell.’

  ‘We're a special case; you may have upset some of the air hostesses.’

  I sighed. ‘Pete's death still bothers me, I see it in my mind, over and over, trying to do things differently.’

  ‘It happened fast and you did nothing wrong. He shouts, you duck, and it was all over four seconds later. If you had stood tall and fired out the sniper would have hit you instead.’

  ‘I wonder if that was the plan. But the guy behind this a sneaky shit, and very capable. No reason for the sniper not to shoot me.’

  ‘Maybe he figured he had you, and legged it away.’

  ‘If he did he's an amateur, and not sent by our clever mastermind, a guy who fooled the CIA and faked his own death – twice, and faked his own plastic surgery.’

  ‘How the hell do you fake plastic surgery?’

  ‘He sent a guy, six months ago, to have plastic surgery and leave an evidence trail.’

  ‘Ouch. I hope he was paid well.’

  A Marine ran in and warned me of incoming Hercules, so I stepped out to the apron, two Hercules seen south and circling, soon lined up and coming in. The first landed with a burst of grey smoke from the tyres, soon taxing around to us, the ramp coming down. I could see the pilots in their sunglasses and helmets.

  Marines started to walk off with heavy packs, just a dozen before older men appeared, soon women, all in uniform. They lugged heavy equipment towards us and dumped it down, glancing around at their new home.

  With the first Hercules powering past us I walked to the new arrivals. ‘You lot medics?’

  ‘We are, and I'm a fucking colonel, Mister.’

  ‘We'll I'm a major, and in charge here, so get inside before you get blown to bits by an incoming rocket. Colonel. And fast.’

  They lugged kit inside, Marines helping. I had no headgear on and did not bother to try and salute.

  Inside, I shouted, ‘Clear away an area, set-up in here, the other medics are next door. This has a roof, so a rocket or mortar will detonate above you and not blow you to bits.’

  Morgen drew level and saluted the unhappy colonel. The colonel asked, ‘Mortars and rockets?’

  ‘Morgen told him, ‘Been raining down all night, sir, and we had a truck bomb at the gate, men sneaking in.’

  ‘Jesus. We were simply told we would support this drug searching operation and get some experience.’

  ‘You will get some experience, sir,’ I told him. ‘Field surgery and first aid under fire.’

  ‘So, you must be the infamous Wilco.’

  ‘Yes, sir, Joint Chiefs at the end of my phone if you wish to voice some complaints...’

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘What the hell happened in here?’ he said as he took in the rubble.

  ‘Building next door was rigged to blow before we got here, sir,’ I told him.

  ‘And this building?’

  ‘Fingers crossed, but feel free to search for bombs.’

  Marines with heavy backpacks started to appear.

  I turned to Morgen, ‘Some of those Marines stay here, rotations with the others, rest to the treeline.’

  He nodded and walked towards them as the medics made space, all looking a bit put out.

  ‘And field cookery and support?’ the colonel asked.

  ‘There's a little shop in the corner, cup of coffee and some cake, some sandwiches, otherwise it’s combat rations.’

  ‘It’s always good to be well prepared,’ he sighed, shaking his head.

  The Lt. Commander appeared, and saluted the Colonel, soon leading the Colonel off to show the existing set-up.

  Up on the roof I called Sanderson back at GL4 and gave him a rundown, and he was following the intel from SIS and GCHQ, he had even sent them suggestions. Unknown to me, the British Wolves had been calling back and giving positions and updates.

  Four Seahawks glided in, and I had not noticed them gone. The SEALs stepped down, most lugging captured AK47s or bits of rockets. I met them as they piled up the booty against the wall of the terminal.

  Katowksi handed me a bag of phones and papers. ‘Some have blood on them, sir.’

  I nodded. ‘I'll have the CIA look at them.’ I called Franks and asked that he fly out here. He mentioned the FBI getting ready to come out, and that he would tag along. Now it was my turn to sigh.

  Turning my head, I heard the heavy drone, soon seeing a line of Hueys on approach. I transmitted, ‘Relax, they're friendly.’ I walked down the apron, wondering how I would play this; many of the pilots knew my face. This was a risk.

  The Panama Army Hueys set down on the grass near the runway, and shut down engines as I walked out to them, and I was soon waving them towards me. Smiles were offered by many of the pilots. Some closed in and shook my hand.

  When they were all close in I told the major in charge to translate. ‘I have many faces, and many names, and it is important that you pretend not to know me. After this is over there will be cash rewards for you all.’

  They smiled, happy at the cash. And bending the rules, breaking laws and keeping secrets was second nature to them. I led them inside.

  The major informed me, ‘Men come by truck, and support teams.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What happened here?’

  ‘A bomb for me, rockets and mortars in the night, men sneaking in.’

  ‘This drug gang at the border?’

  ‘Yes, but the US Navy - paid by the US taxpayer, just dropped a 2,000lb bomb on their drug labs.’

  He laughed loudly. ‘Your
boss will be happy.’

  ‘No talk of him here, we chat afterwards.’ He nodded. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Spencer.’

  ‘Spencer?’

  ‘My father was an American soldier, and my mother kept the name after he was killed in a card game. He left the military and retired here, but things did not go well for him.’

  I introduced Major Morgen and his team, then gave the new arrivals dollars to use in the shop, way too many dollars.

  At the map table, I showed Spencer the map, and we worked out a search pattern, the Panamanian soldiers to be aboard and firing down. I finally had something for Running Bear to do, and he would split his men across the Hueys.

  No sooner had we made the plan than green Army trucks appeared, a long column of them. They parked near the brick buildings and started to unload, and they had thoughtfully brought a field cookery unit along, a Lt. Col. in charge of some sixty men.

  ‘I am British, Major Wilco. Your men are fit and well?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, our base is not so far, two hours.’

  ‘I want three men in each of your helicopters here, six helicopters, aiming down and shooting at armed men, trucks with rockets, reporting any trucks and drug labs.’

  ‘We go over the border?’

  ‘Yes, ten miles beyond. Make sure you can talk to the radio man here so that you don’t shoot at my men.’

  He nodded as I led him to that operator, the terminal building now busy. I told the technician, ‘Let all ships know, all helicopters, that we now have six green Panama Army Hueys here and they'll be out searching. I don't need them being shot at.’

  ‘I'll update the ships now, sir.’

  Moran found me ten minutes later. ‘Local soldiers have a shit load of sandbags.’

  We stepped to Morgen and asked that he get Marines filling sandbags, kind of urgently.

  The first Huey took off half an hour later, and headed northwest. I had called Swifty to warn him they were out there, and he would call around. Next call was the Greenie captain, his number written down.

  ‘Captain DeMaine.’

  ‘It’s Wilco. Listen, we have six green Panama Army Hueys with us, so don't shoot at them if you see them.’

  ‘Would have figured them local boys and not opened up.’