by Geoff Wolak
‘Have that location given to Major Harris, ask that Marines land immediately, and that F18s buzz the Elisa on a regular basis. Or they could simply board it and say hello.’
‘OK, will do.’
My phone trilled. ‘Major Wilco?’ came the gruff voice of Admiral Kurkhold.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We had a destroyer looking for the mines overnight, and when they got pings they dragged floats and ropes and hooks that they had made up, and they snared a pair of mines and then fired at them at first light. The mines blew, estimated three hundred pounds of high explosive, more than enough to buckle a plate.
‘But they just fished one up after the divers had a look at it, contact fuses, screw off, so they have it under the microscope, explosives removed. Doesn't look like anything anyone has seen before, images going to the Pentagon. Apparently they look like they were made in someone's damn garage.’
‘So they were not supplied by the North Koreans, sir.’
‘Hell no, they build good weapons. Explosives were military grade however, so they came from something else.’
‘Your CIA and your Navy has the ability to look at ships GPS tracks, sir, so shout a little, and have every track of every ship looked at for box shapes.’
‘I will do,’ he threatened. ‘Where are you?’
‘Can't say, sir.’
‘Oh, right. Well good luck. Oh, I sent a note about your lady spy up the line, they thought it was amusing so it went to the head of the navy.’
‘So she may get something after all,’ I said with a smile.
‘She can come visit the ship when things settle down.’
‘I'll mention that, sir. Wilco out.’
I did the rounds, checked with the British lads – Rizzo asleep in his hole, and got some sleep, Salome resting near me. At least the beds were small and single and she could not join me. I had been asleep an hour when a Wolf woke me.
‘Sir, your phone.’
I eased up and yawned, Salome opening an eye and scowling at me. ‘Thanks. And don't call me sir.’ I shook my head awake, grabbed my rifle and stepped out. ‘Wilco.’ I could hear a manic situation in the background.
‘It’s Major Harris, and we're in the middle of a fucking war!’
‘Calm down. What’s happening?’
‘F18s buzzed that ship east of us, saw the missiles on deck too late, three launched at us. At the exact same moment five were launched from the northwest, from inland.’
‘Eight missiles? Shit. Any damage?’
‘F18 shot down one to the east, then pulled away when the destroyer ordered them away, a destroyer firing eight missiles, a second ship firing two as the F18s strafed the ship. But an F18 east of us got a missile up its arse by mistake, pilot ejecting.’
‘Christ.’
‘British ships fired four missiles each, west of us, they were closest, like five miles from the track of the missiles. Two cruise missiles got through, hit half a dozen times by French destroyers, but a French missile locked onto an F18 and brought it down, pilot ejecting.’
‘That will be an awkward apology from the French, but with that many cruise missiles how do you call it? Fire your own missiles … or let the F18s try and shoot them down?’
‘No more missiles on radar, F18s about to bomb some place inland, and the ship east of us.’
‘Take a breather, calm down.’
‘I thought I'd be at the bottom of the sea, or swimming!’
‘A good story to tell your kids,’ I told him.
‘How the fuck do I tell my wife? She'll see this on the news.’
‘Blame me, as usual. Besides, I have it on good authority she'd like to bump you off and get a younger man.’
‘Those 2 Squadron wounded men are below decks...’
‘Ah hell … go and see them for me. Mister Haines won't be happy.’
As soon as I cut the call my phone trilled, the Deputy Chief. ‘Wilco, you heard about the missiles?’
‘Yes, and I think that must now be all of them, one last desperate act, a mass attack so that one might get through.’
‘We lost two F18s. You were in Panama getting a tan and the damn missiles were hidden in Nicaragua!’ It sounded like a dig.
‘I asked your navy to scan the coastline and inland, and I warned them about such an attack a few hours ago, but they found nothing, and we only got a phone hit today, Marines to be dispatched. The other ship linked in, Princess Ora, it needs to be boarded.’
‘She's clean, as far as we can see.’
‘She stopped engines and drifted next to the Elisa, which just fired on your navy, so board her.’
‘We will do.’ He sounded tired.
‘You strung out?’
‘Been a hell of a week, my wife has forgotten what I look like. Still, she sent in fresh clothes.’
‘Take a break, or you'll make mistakes.’
‘With this latest attack the pressure will be on, if it wasn't already.’
‘Well, if you were a cynical man you'd look at this as an opportunity, a reshape and re-shuffle, extra budgets. Now is the time to take risks and shout for a re-organisation.’
‘You're a fucking mind reader.’
‘Go do it, you'll feel better. And if there are some people you need to let go, but have been hesitating about, now is the time.’
‘You should be in here with me.’
‘You can also now label the benefits of the intel from my sources, and shout a little. They nearly lost a carrier, or two.’
‘That has been on my mind, and now is the time. They can't argue with the benefits, or stick to the rules now. What do you expect to gain from being south of the border?’
‘You wanted the cartels knocked back, so we'll start to chip around the edges. Fortunately for me, I know how they think, and they'll get mad at me and keep coming.
‘What you need to do is to explain to those above you that the cartels are cash rich but bad people, and now they have missiles, so … what comes next for a cartel with a billion dollars floating around.’
‘A good point yes; what does a cartel do with its bank balance? Talk later.’
Stood staring out at the scrub in a cold breeze, I had to wonder if I had made a mistake, and would I get some shit here. I had given the warning, plenty of warnings, but I had not searched the Nicaragua coastline. Besides, they had the whole US Navy and the fucking CIA behind them; it was not my job to do their jobs for them.
Half an hour later David Finch rang. ‘Wilco, where are you?’
‘With Carlos the Jackal.’
‘I see. And when were you going to tell us?’
‘It’s caused plausible deniability. That and you loaned me out to the Yanks. You up to speed on the missile attacks?’
‘Yes, and we look good out of it, our Navy downed most of the missiles.’
‘I think that’s the last of the missiles.’
‘We'd hope so, but no way to know how many they got. European Union will join the Americans with more sanctions against North Korea, a more aggressive searching of ships.’
‘Are we sure they came from North Korea, are the North Koreans that stupid? The missiles in Yemen were old Russian stock from Iraq. Maybe there are some dusty missiles in … Syria, Iraq still, Cuba, other places.’
‘We don't have forensics on them yet. The one that landed at La Ninga was blown to bits, FBI have small pieces, no serial numbers.’
‘Anyway, don't worry about me being south of the border, the Americans want blood, and after today … all bets are off.’
‘After today there'll be a re-think in many places, not least the Admiralty.’
‘If anyone should complain … about anything … I warned of just such an attack at dawn today. They were supposed to be scanning the coastline for missiles, and I warned about the ship with the missiles on.’
‘Good to know. And my four men?’
‘Here in drug country, so let’s hope that don't get caught and paraded on l
ocal TV.’
‘You do know how to worry me, don't you? That image will haunt me now.’
Phone down, I stared out of the north gate. I finally called Major Harris back. ‘Listen, what track were the missiles on, exactly?’
‘Came in from the northwest, they say fifty feet above the waves. On a track for the carrier.’
‘Where were the British ships?’
‘South of that track by a few miles.’
‘And did the missiles change course and lock onto the British ships?’ I pressed.
‘No, they flew past and were hit with heat-seeking missiles.’
‘So why didn't the missiles lock onto the British ships' radar?’
‘I … have no idea.’
‘Ask those around you; the missiles should have veered off course, unless the guidance system was not just a simple radar lock. What my CIA friends said about the missiles in Yemen was that they have gyros and a compass and they fly a certain direction for a certain time and then look to lock onto something.’
‘Could be, yes.’
Colonel DeHavilland called next. ‘You heard?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I'm moving the SEALs and Green Berets here up to Nicaragua straight away, we'll blanket search a wide area, Marines from ship going ashore as we speak.’
‘They knew that as soon as they fired those missiles you'd be down on them, so I reckon the missiles had timers, sir.’
‘Yes, would be stupid to hang around.’
‘Go for the forensics, sir, that’s our best bet.’
‘I'll get the FBI in a helo.’
‘All quiet there, sir?’
‘Your SAS shot a four-man team before dawn, bodies to be collected soon.’
‘Paid cannon fodder,’ I scoffed.
‘Yes, seems that way. Talk soon.’
Rada came in at 1pm with a map for me, and on it were Tiujana strongholds and packing plants marked. As expected, the packing plants were on the outskirts, and mostly southeast of the town.
Swifty wandered in. ‘What we doing?’
‘Can't sleep?’
‘Nah, awake at the moment.’
‘We rest today, move out after dark, a few days sleeping rough, so warn them all. Jackets on, it’s cold at night.’
He nodded. ‘You sorted the missiles?’
‘Fuck no. The US Navy just got hit with eight missiles, all shot down thankfully, but two F18s were brought down – so that'll be a nasty enquiry. Our Navy looks good, they shot down most of the missiles.’
‘And the men we'll go hit here?’
‘Tiujana Cartel, drug runners that wanted to take over in Panama, the first step being to kill me.’
‘And if they know you're here..?’
‘Hopefully, they'll all come out to play.’
‘We have a lot of men, we could take on an army,’ he confidently stated.
‘Have the British and American Wolves in pairs, two-pair teams when we move out. I want Crab and Duffy, Mitch and Greenie, to each have a team.’
‘Enough men for a team of ten each.’
‘Have a think about numbers, and teams.’ I thumbed towards the small canteen. ‘Grab some corned beef tins.’
An hour later, the sun now high and the day warm despite being winter, I told Rada to call Carlos, and to leak that Petrov was in the area, but to do so tonight.
Major Harris called me back. ‘They bombed the missile launch area, but said that it looked deserted.’
‘Well, when you fire missiles at the US Navy you run the fuck away.’
‘FBI are down, and Marines, looking around.’
‘Warn them about booby traps, have the SEALs look first.’
‘I'll mentioned that now, but I think the booby traps might have been tripped when the Navy dropped twenty-four 2,000lb bombs. Apparently it looks like Flanders.’
‘Waste of bombs. And that ship?’
‘Bombed to fuck, blown apart, and it sank in seconds, crew with it. They're moving on the Princess Ora.’
I sighed. ‘We get no forensics from a ship in the ocean depths.’
‘Hang on, ship's Captain for you.’
‘Wilco?’
‘Yes, sir, how's your day panning out?’ I teased.
‘My day? It’s like being in a war, and only now do we realise what the crews in the Red Sea went through. They were all jealous here, the news reporting the action in the Red Sea, but now they wish they were someplace else, some tired faces and worried faces here – mine included.’
‘Your missile defences worked, sir, and against a mass attack...’
‘If it was just my group, two destroyers, then we may have missed some of the missiles. It took twenty anti-aircraft missiles to hit the cruise missiles, and thankfully your British ships were close to the launch. I dread to think what might have happened if they hadn't been there.’
‘Your Phalanx guns any good, sir?’
‘The sales brochure says they are, and when this is over I'm going to test them thoroughly.’
‘You recovered your pilots?’
‘Yes, both OK, but we lost two F18s.’
‘What’s normal procedure for a missile attack?’
‘You let the destroyers handle it, not the Air Wing, but after Yemen there was a rethink, and if a missile is beyond our destroyers and an F18 sees it – they shoot it down. In this case we had overly keen F18 pilots swoop down to shoot the remaining two missiles just as the French destroyer fired missiles.’
‘How close did the missiles get to you, sir?’
‘Ten miles. We had closed water-tight doors, lifejackets on, and said a prayer or two. Never had a carrier threatened like this before.’
‘I think the missiles are all used up, sir, a last desperate act. They can't have too many more, and they fired more than I would have figured they had.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Can't say, but I'm about to go upset a cartel.’
‘Got a target I can bomb?’
‘Maybe, sir, but not yet.’
‘Well good luck.’
Up on the wall at 3pm, an American Wolf began, ‘That there lady major, sir...’
‘Don't ask, just enjoy the view.’
He grinned. ‘I did enjoy the view, sir. We all did.’
As it grew dark the trucks and jeeps arrived, but I had told them not to use any buses. A long convoy of trucks, most a green army style, loudly belched smoke and turned around, the teams put aboard, many men aiming out. Moran and Ginger both sat upfront in trucks, Mitch as well, and I would sit in a lead jeep, Salome sat behind me.
Moving off down the hill, I glanced back at twenty jeeps and six trucks, a very conspicuous convoy. Ahead of us, Carlos had local police officers watching roads and junctions, men well ahead of us checking for ambushes.
Nervous of ambush, we drove south and east, around in a big circle, soon on the northern road and heading west, few other vehicles about. It was a long straight road for the most part, over gentle hills, and we made good time to the drop off, a desolate flat hilltop ten miles short of the target area.
Men jumped down and moved into the scrub, teams formed, men knelt ready, just black blobs on a lighter surface in a cold wind, the small bushes here also being black blobs.
‘Thread radios!’ I shouted. I waited, then started to call off the teams. I finally ordered, the trucks departing, ‘Usual Echo teams behind me, then Running Bear, then American Wolves, British Wolves at the rear, one long line to start with.
‘Stay sharp, but the idiots we're up against are wearing jeans and t-shirts with white cowboy hats. Stay down, fire from distance. And if we come across drugs, we arrange pick-up, we don't want them left behind.’
‘We get a bonus?’ Rizzo asked.
‘Maybe. Move off now.’ I put on my facemask and gloves, not least because the wind was chilly, and I led them west across the flat top of the hill, small bushes knee-height dotted around.
The contours led us down a ridge
and back up the other side, and now I felt warmer, a deserted old farmhouse checked before we moved on. As we quietly progressed I could see villages and lights south, many miles away, and a distant road with orange lights.
Three hours after we had been dropped off I found the steep ridge I had expected, a break in the rocks offering me a path up. Rifle slung, my gloves on, I had to use two hands to negotiate the rocks, finally being rudely hit in the face with a stiff cold breeze at the top. Looking down, I could see the compound that the map had illustrated, the outskirts of the town half a mile beyond.
‘Snipers come up, the rest of you split left and right and hide for now. Get a brew on.’
When Nicholson scrambled up, his rifle slung, I had him and the others get into the rocks and to aim down, scanning the area.
Nicholson finally reported, ‘Fifty people in that building, all doing the drug stuff, half of them are women. About ten armed guards, most sat with their thumbs up their arses.’
‘Scan the town, and the area around here, and this ridge. No mistakes.’
Ten minutes later Tomo said, ‘I can see someone smoking, north 200yards from that building, hidden in a trench it looks like.’
‘Keep looking.’ I used the night sight I had brought, the town all fuzzy bright blobs, but the cold rocks around me were a dull purple colour. I scanned the immediate area, no heat sources seen.
Nicholson finally reported, ‘They're not expecting trouble from this way, they have men down the roads, jeeps, little concrete bunker as well.’
I transmitted, ‘Swifty, after your brew, take the British Wolves south and around, slow and steady, no closer than 200yards to the building over this ridge. American Wolf teams, when ready, you go north, slow and steady, spread out – and watch the cross fire here; don't shoot unless you're sure. Echo, Running Bear, sling rifles when ready, gloves on, you go up and over.’
Ten minutes later and Echo started to move up, my snipers told to stay put and to stay warm, and I led the teams down, trying hard not to break ankles as we progressed. Down the rocks I grabbed my rifle and got ready, moving forwards slowly as the teams came in behind me, the square outline of the compound silhouetted by distant the town lights behind it.
The dirt here was a shade of dark that was not quite black, the bushes black blobs, so I had a feel for the shape of the ground ahead of me, and I would have seen a man laying prone or moving about. I cautiously advanced, eyes and ears working overtime.
