Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Behave. What did you do to Gay Dave?’

  ‘First I had a slim gay lad saddle up to him, all very pushy, and it got heated, and the gay lad hit Dave. Dave gets angry and fights, but not like a professional. Then Salome pissed off a Russian and he drew a gun on her. Dave walked over and stood in the way, and just stared at the Russian.’

  ‘And...’

  ‘The gunman apologised and walked off. Dave could have been killed.’

  ‘So he's willing to play the role, or maybe he likes being with the team.’

  ‘I'd say he likes being with us, it gives him some respect, and I'm good at judging men. So do I get a shag now?’

  ‘If I live, maybe. Keep looking for strangers, something is up, an attempt on Tomsk.’

  ‘Awww, he's so small and cuddly.’

  ‘He's the world's biggest drug dealer.’

  ‘But also small and cuddly.’

  ‘Keep at it, girl. And tell Salome not to upset people.’

  ‘Bit of a stretch, that one.’

  As the dawn came up I was on the roof, Tomo and Nicholson making me a brew and handing me sandwiches as the resident Marines rotated their watch. We even had chocolate.

  The night had passed without incident here, which was a concern, a concern as to what was on their minds, and would they blow up Tomsk somehow. The small radar guided rockets might do some damage to his villa, but not kill him.

  I did the rounds, encouraging tired men, making sure that everyone felt wanted and needed and were part of the team. The medical tents were empty, awaiting some wounded men, but I told them I was happy to see them bored and playing cards – it meant no one was getting hurt.

  Major Morgen handed me a coffee at his command post. ‘All quiet?’ he asked.

  ‘So far. The teams are out there hitting the drug labs, but so far no more rockets.’

  ‘Do they have more?’

  ‘That’s the question – and we don't know. Could be ten more, or a hundred. But if they use a road within twenty-five miles we'll see them.’

  ‘We expand the search area?’

  ‘Slowly, yes, but I have to keep in mind the authorities in Costa Rica. They'll tolerate us hitting the drug gangs, but only up to a point.’

  ‘Their damn police should be doing it anyway!’

  ‘If their police tried, they would be killed – or bribed to look the other way. Same here. If the Panamanian commandos were ordered in, one would sell the information and buy a new house.’

  ‘It’s Central America,’ he sighed out.

  The helos brought back an American Wolf with a shard in his leg, something for the medics to do at least.

  Back up on the roof, Tomo aiming out, I was worried – about Tomo aiming out, and if he would shoot the local postman.

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Wolf Murphy, Boss.’

  ‘Hey, Murphy, what you got?’

  ‘Well we got us here some sort of missile, like it was in Yemen.’

  I shocked upright. ‘Were are you?’

  ‘Say … twenty-five miles north west and south a few miles.’

  ‘Where's Mitch?’

  ‘We split and they's on the opposite ridge, so we can see down and see this here missile.’

  ‘Is it on a ramp?’

  ‘Yes, sir, with some trucks and some men.’

  ‘How far away are you?’

  ‘Two miles, say.’

  ‘Get there fast, expect an airstrike!’ I turned. ‘Marines, evacuate the roof! Now!’ I leant over the wall. ‘Medics!’

  They peered up. ‘You have five minutes to grab what kit you can and get to the far side of the runway, or you'll all be killed! Move it!’

  With the Marines running past I said to Tomo and Nicholson, ‘Search this roof, look for a small electric transmitter. And fast.’

  I followed the last Marine down, and into the main terminal. Inside, I fired a loud burst at the high windows, smashing them out. ‘Listen up!’ I bellowed, men having ducked down.

  I pointed at pilots that had been sat sipping coffee, now down low. ‘When I say go – and not before - I want all helos moved to the far side of the runway, with your kit and your technicians. You have five minutes before this building blows! Go.’

  Coffee was dropped in the mad rush. I shouted. ‘Marines, help the medics, grab kit and get to the far side of the runway. You have only minutes!’ I faced the stunned colonel. ‘Move what you can, sir, or die stood there looking stupid.’

  He rushed inside his tent.

  Major Morgen stepped to me after shouting at his Marines.

  I told him. ‘Don't forget your snipers on the ATC.’ He shouted instructions at a captain, the terminal now bedlam. I stepped to Major Spencer. ‘Get your Hueys across the airfield, your men dispersed away from here.’

  Next I stepped to the radio operator. ‘I want all available F18s searching twenty to thirty miles northwest of us for cruise missiles, all helos from the ship. Have the F18s fitted with heat-seeking missiles. Then get yourself and your radio to the runway.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  I jogged to the brick buildings, leaving the melee behind me, and found the assistant manager. ‘Large rockets will destroy this airport soon, get everyone out the gate!’

  He did not need to be told twice, the screams loud.

  Outside, Tomo reported over the radio, ‘I found the electrical thingy, like the size of a house brick, what do you want us to do with it? I think we can just switch it off.’

  ‘No. Give your rifle to Nicholson, then run south down to the hangars, find a patch a grass with no one around and leave it there.’

  ‘Moving.’

  I could hear Slider. ‘Tomo, if a rocket comes in, put your body on it.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ came back. ‘Go shag a thirty-foot croc.’

  I shook my head as Moran and Ginger stepped up to me.

  Moran began, ‘If we found the transmitter, do we need to evacuate?’

  ‘Could be more. You want to risk it?’

  I led them though the now-quiet terminal, discarded equipment everywhere, shouting for anyone left here to get out.

  ‘There's a shit load of kit here,’ Moran noted. ‘So if this place blows we'll get some criticism for it – and the bill.’

  ‘We never fired the damn missile,’ I responded.

  On the apron the Hueys were loudly skimming the ground to their new positions, the final Seahawk copying that move. I transmitted, ‘Echo men, to the middle of the runway.’

  Those few left here walked towards us in no particular hurry, Slider glancing up at the sky.

  We assembled on the grass near the middle of the runway, men seen walking across the runway beyond us, the helos spread out, men seen laying down, kit stacked up near them. The radio operator was here with Major Morgen and his command staff, a ditch pointed out to me if we needed it. Max walked in from the west, camera ready.

  A minute later and Tomo came running in from the south, sweating by time he reached us.

  Slider told him, ‘You were supposed to stand down there, the transmitter on your head!’

  With the team laughing at a sweaty Tomo I glanced around with Major Morgen.

  ‘What if the missile is a dud?’ Morgen teased.

  ‘Then we wait out here. Weather is OK, so we can get a tan. And my teams are closing in on the missile launcher as we speak.’

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Murphy, sir, and they fired off that there missile -'

  I lowered the phone and faced the west as faces peered back at me, none closer than 200yards. ‘Incoming!’ I pointed at the radio operator as the Morgen and his Marines hit the ditch. ‘Cruise missile moving towards us, from the northwest, call any F18 close by.’

  He got on the radio, but did so in a calm and professional manner.

  I faced Tomo. ‘Tomo, you did leave that transmitter behind, didn't you?’

  The team laughed at him as he mockingly checked his webbing pockets.

  We waited, all
facing northwest and peering at the sky above the treeline.

  ‘That radio operator lad is nice and calm,’ Moran idly noted.

  Morgen cut in, ‘Trained that way. Never rush a message, no matter what the crisis.’

  I nodded my approval. Facing the west, I could see the Press officers, cameras ready. I turned to the Marines captain that had filmed the red smoke dropped. ‘Got that camera?’

  He dived at his bag and wrestled the camera out, getting it ready in a hurry. We waited, insects buzzing about.

  ‘There!’ a Marines captain finally shouted.

  We all peered northwest as the small plane-come-missile sped towards us, soon hearing a screech as an F18 arced past close enough to reach up and touch. As we observed, two missiles sped in from the east, large white smoke columns behind them, both detonating just short of the cruise missile, loud bangs heard.

  A burst of black some, and the missile climbed and rolled, came over the top of us as the screech of an F18 registered, and dived down, straight for the hangars at the south end.

  It entered a hangar just feet off the deck, the white blast-wave pushing out and reaching us a second later, all wobbled, the hangars lifting up and shredded, debris thrown high, and raining down in arc some 500ft in radius.

  ‘Shit,’ Moran let out. ‘Glad they never fired that yesterday; terminal would need a sweep up.’

  Debris floated down, a huge black cloud of smoke drifting away south.

  ‘I got all that,’ Max enthused.

  ‘Send it when you can,’ I told him. ‘But put on Reuters now: cruise missile fired by drug gang at America military in Panama, missile believed to be funded by Tiujana Drug Cartel. F18s fired two heat-seeking missiles, the cruise missile hit and knocked off course before detonating, or the loss of life could have been five hundred US servicemen.

  ‘We don't have that many here,’ Major Morgen cut in.

  ‘Press don't care.’ To Max I added, ‘Airport hangars destroyed in massive blast. Get the images out there when you can.’

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Major, are you OK there?’ came the Captain.

  ‘Yes, sir, your F18s hit the cruise missile, good work, but the missile destroyed the hangars here.’

  ‘And if we hadn't intercepted that missile?’

  ‘I had already evacuated everyone, sir, but we would have lost the terminal building and be sleeping outside.’

  ‘And without the warning..?’

  ‘We'd have lost two hundred personnel.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Send it up the line, sir. I got to go.’ I called Colonel Mathews.

  ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and still alive – just. We were hit with an old Russian cruise missile, but it looked like it had been modified, not a design I'm familiar with.’

  ‘That fucking Terotski!’

  ‘Yes, sir. We got the warning and the Navy shot it down, but we found the homing transmitter this morning so we were ready for it.’

  ‘And if you weren't ready for it?’

  ‘Two hundred or more dead.’

  ‘Jesus. I take it that you'll spread them out more now.’

  ‘Yes, sir, wasn't expecting a clever cruise missile here, this is not Yemen.’

  ‘This is serious, I have some calls to make; they could target a ship, or a city.’ He cut the call.

  I said to no one in particular, ‘Or a drug dealer's villa.’ I called Tomsk. ‘Get out of that villa now! Run! They have cruise missiles!’

  ‘What! OK, I go now.’

  ‘You speak Russian,’ Major Morgen noted.

  ‘And Arabic,’ I told him.

  Franks and Dick walked over to the runway, people stood staring towards the fires raging in the hangar.

  I took them to one side. ‘A missile like that could kill Tomsk, and kill me here.’

  ‘So we know how they were going to do it, but will they still do it?’ Franks posed.

  ‘Terotski had access to old Korean missiles, and they have thousands of old missiles. I put a story on Reuters blaming the Tiujana Cartel.’

  ‘Joint Chiefs will want blood,’ Franks warned.

  Two F18s loudly arced past us.

  A Marines captain shouted, ‘Sir, we have wounded, south.’

  The radio operator called Seahawks that were sat behind us, rotors soon turning.

  The captain added, ‘Debris hit a few Marines, no fatalities.’

  The Seahawks finally slid south just off the deck, wounded ferried back, and soon seen to be being worked on at the side of the airfield, on the grass.

  The radio operator shouted, ‘Missile on approach!’

  This one came on from a slightly different angle, no F18s firing at it. It cut across the runway at just sixty feet off the deck, on a straight line for Tomo's transmitter as its engine screeched. We all stood staring after it, its nose suddenly down, and it hit the dirt and crumpled. No bang.

  We waited.

  ‘Well that was pants,’ Moran noted.

  Slider said, ‘Quick, Tomo, go jump on it!’

  I stepped to the radio operator. ‘Have an F18 drop a bomb on it.’

  The message went out, and had to be clarified. Peering up, we could see the F18s, four of them, and one finally nosed down towards us. We saw the bomb released, and felt the impact as it detonated, jolted, even 500yards away.

  I stepped to the operator. ‘Another bomb please, they missed. Warhead is intact.’

  The message was sent, soon a second F18 on approach as the Marines captain filmed it. We saw the bomb, but this time the detonation resulted in a huge cloud of black smoke.

  My team gave a mocking clap, Major Morgen shaking his head at them.

  I told the radio operator to update the F18s; missile destroyed.

  ‘How many more they got?’ Moran asked. ‘I could do with a sandwich from that shop.’

  Morgen looked at Moran like he was mad.

  My phone trilled. Wolf Murphy, out of breath and about to die, got out, ‘We got them. The missile crew.’ He tried to breathe.

  ‘Slow down, Murphy, catch your breath. Are any of the operators alive?’

  ‘Some wounded.’

  ‘Make them talk, ask how many more missiles there are. Be quick.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Phone down, we stood staring at the smoke column from the hangars.

  ‘This airport will need a lick of paint,’ Slider casually noted.

  The fuel truck, sat isolated in front of the terminal, blew, a huge flame rising up, followed by black smoke.

  ‘Who hit that?’ Slider puzzled.

  ‘Bomb on a timer,’ Moran suggested.

  I faced Major Morgen. ‘Major, we promised the airport authorities that when we leave ... we leave this airport as we found it.’

  He shook his head at me as the team laughed.

  The cackle of small arms fire has us looking, rifles made ready. A streak of smoke, and the ATC glass blew out.

  ‘That was an RPG,’ Moran noted, the ATC ablaze.

  A Marines captain reported to Morgen, ‘Sir, infiltrators shot outside the main gate, six of them.’

  The small arms fire continued.

  ‘Sir, at least twenty men shot dead at the gate.’

  Ginger noted, ‘They expected us to be dead and wounded by now, little resistance for them.’

  ‘Sir, ten infiltrators shot in the north treeline, minor wounds on our side.’

  Morgen turned to me. ‘We just standing here?’

  ‘Got somewhere to be?’ I responded.

  ‘We're under attack from all sides!’

  ‘Cannon fodder, there'll be few others today. Relax.’

  Five minutes later my phone trilled.

  ‘Wilco, Deputy Chief, on my way to the White House Situation Room. What do you know about those missiles?’

  ‘My official report to you is that they were funded by the Tiujana Cartel, and made in North Korean, customised by Terotski. And just to
update you, we had two cruise missiles fired at us here, and now a few dozen men attacking on the wire, but amateurs.’

  ‘And the real story here?’

  I stepped away. ‘They want me killed, or discredited, and if a large number of US service personnel had been killed here then Terotski would be happy – and the White House would keep the troops the hell out of Central America for a decade or two.

  ‘The missiles, more of them, will be used to try and kill Tomsk, that I'm sure of. Just need to find them.’

  ‘I can't mention Tomsk, so how do we play this?’

  ‘They wanted to harm American service personnel, revenge for grabbing their drugs.’

  ‘Jesus, the screams will be loud.’

  ‘I leaked some detail to Reuters, so get a tin hat.’

  ‘You may get a call from the Situation Room.’

  ‘I have nothing on at the moment, just stood here in the sunshine. Talk soon.’ Back with the team, I faced Major Morgen. ‘President is meeting with the Joint Chiefs and the CIA.’

  ‘We'll be pulled out?’

  ‘I have a suspicion not.’

  The team sat down or lay down, a few sunbathing.

  Half an hour later my phone trilled. ‘It’s the Deputy Chief. Meeting just broke for ten minutes, and it’s war.’

  ‘War?’

  ‘President has authorised military force used against the Cartels where we can, short-term extra budget for us. Your position there will be bolstered, and they'll ask your government that you assist us further. So ask for what you need, war has been declared.’

  ‘About time the White House did something, not like this has been going on for thirty years.’

  ‘I gotta go.’

  I faced Moran and Ginger as they waited, Major Morgen keen for news. ‘White House has declared war on the cartels. This base gets bolstered.’ I faced Morgen. ‘Expect some rank to arrive.’

  ‘Like your sergeant said, it'll need a lick of paint!’

  I called the Panama minister and stepped away. ‘It’s Petrov.’

  ‘Ah, we just heard of large explosions in La Ninga.’

  ‘Two cruise missiles. If they had been fired at Panama City you would have lost thousands dead.’

  ‘My god...’

  ‘The American President is very keen to fight the cartels and to stop the rockets, they don't know about Tomsk.’