Wilco- Lone Wolf 6

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘We’ll soon see,’ I told them. ‘Rocko, where’s that main group?’

  ‘They’re in three small groups, top end of the strip, closing in.’

  A crackle of incoming rifle fire began, soon a hell of a racket, all of the Algerians firing at the base, some risking getting hit in the crossfire.

  I dialled Henri. ‘Open up now.’

  The GPMGs hammered out rounds, some coming our way, and we ducked, the sand near us thrown up.

  ‘What are those idiots aiming at?’ Swifty shouted.

  ‘Captain Hamble, report!’ I called, my head down.

  ‘The Algerians, they’re firing off to the west – at the GPMGs.’

  ‘Move up behind them. Rocko, report.’

  ‘They lost interest in the base, all firing west, and moving across the strip in a hurry.’

  ‘Open up on them.’ Rifle ready, I moved down the ditch, got ready, and found a few black blobs moving, careful shots taken, Swifty and the team joining in.

  My phone trilled and I ducked down. ‘It’s Sasha, we see the fighting, we are still six hundred metres out.’

  ‘Stay there, watch your rear.’

  Off the phone, I heard the whistling sound, two distant blasts registering, but west of the strip. They were dropping mortars on Henri.

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Sasha, we see the mortar flashes.’

  ‘Go northeast and around on the double, don’t get close, no risks.’

  ‘We go now.’

  Back up, rifle adopted, I found a black blob and hit it with two rounds, the team still firing out. I set automatic, aimed right of the old brick building, now just a black outline, and sprayed it around. Magazine swapped, and I sprayed left of the brick building.

  ‘It’s Hamble, we took down a dozen. No movement close to us.’

  ‘Go to ground, snipe, don’t get close. Standby. Rocko, where are they?’

  ‘Most are on the west side of the strip.’

  ‘Hear that, Hamble?’

  ‘Yeah. We’ll aim there.’

  Two mortars screeched in, bright flashes disturbing the dark night.

  ‘It’s Rizzo. Those last mortars were closer to their own people than the French! Shit fucking aim.’

  ‘Anyone moving towards you?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘Watch your rear, just in case.’

  The next two mortars were further away, closer to Henri, just one GPMG now hammering out rounds by the sound of it.

  A burst of light, and a jeep erupted in flames. I could see Algerians through my sights, clear as day, and started to pick them off.

  A second jeep burst into flames, more light shed on the subject.

  I clicked on my radio. ‘Use your sights, snipe at them. Use the light while we have it.’

  Rounds came back my way, hell knows where from, the sand thrown up now and again.

  I took careful aim, a bearded face illuminated by the fires, and I took the back of his head off. A man knelt over my victim, and I hit him in the knee, cursing myself. A second shot, and I hit him in the thigh, letting out a quiet curse.

  My phone trilled, and I dropped down.

  ‘It’s Sasha, there are hundreds of men up here.’

  ‘Don’t engage them, pull back southeast till you’re a thousand yards from anything.’

  ‘OK, we go now.’

  I moved back closer to the team. ‘There’re reinforcements north of us, hundreds of them. This is just the first fucking wave!’

  Two mortars slammed into the distant desert, followed quickly by two more. That meant four mortar tubes.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Rocko, how many still fighting back?

  ‘Not many, getting hard to spot them. Six ran this way, but we got them.’

  ‘All units, standby to break camp, all kit on! Henri, you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Any wounded?’

  ‘Yes, two wounded, some small wounds.’

  ‘Grab your kit, go due south 1,000yards, then east 1,000yards, look for my torch.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘”D” Squadron, go southeast till you’re 600yards from the camp, wait for the French, use torches to signal.’

  ‘What we doing?’ Moran asked, Swifty still firing.

  ‘What they won’t expect; moving around behind them. They have four mortar tubes, so we’ll take casualties if they spot us in the morning, and maybe they have eight fucking tubes ready!’

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, when ready, move to the north side of Rocko, then east. Rocko, join him, move as a group. Wolves are about 1,000yards due east of you, check your fire.’

  ‘Moving,’ came Rizzo’s voice.

  ‘We leaving this kit?’ Mahoney asked.

  ‘Might be back tomorrow if all goes well.’ I tore down the poncho and rolled it up, stuffing it in the back of my webbing, topping up my water bottles from a Gerry can as best I could in the dark – hands getting very wet, Swifty passing me his bottles, soon Moran, final gulps taken.

  Moran opened an ammo chest, loose rounds stuffed in leg pockets, all of us grabbing handfuls.

  ‘It’s Hamble, French are coming to us.’

  ‘Walk due east till you’re out of small arms range from the base, then due north. We’ll meet you there.’

  It had grown quiet apart from the mortars, Henri’s old position getting well and truly hammered, groups of four flashes on the horizon reminding me of a scene from a First World War movie. I glanced back at the base before I led the team off due east.

  We kicked up sand till the base fires were distant, and I figured us on close to 1,000yards out. Aiming my torch south, I flashed a signal. After five minutes a signal flashed back, soon black blobs on a dark brown canvas moving this way, and they eventually coalesced into men walking.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked if a dark outline approaching.

  ‘It’s Hamble.’

  ‘Keep moving, on fifty yards and kneel.’ I counted them past, soon recognising Henri’s outline. ‘Henri, wounded?’

  ‘We have a medic, he has his kit, so you don’t need to do the stitches.’

  ‘How badly hurt?’

  ‘We got some shit from the mortar, shrapnel inside, small bits.’

  ‘OK, headcount, and follow me.’ I moved passed “D” Squadron’s black outlines as they knelt, then led them on. Phone out, I called Sasha.

  ‘Da!’

  ‘We’re coming to you, flash torches south only in five minutes.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And Rocko and Rizzo are approaching you from the west. Flash torches when you see a line of men.’

  Dull distant blasts indicated a lack of good intel for the Algerians, or live men left to report out from the camp.

  Plodding on north it grew cooler, the air temperature dropping rapidly, and I spotted the torch flashes in my two o’clock position. I changed direction and plodded that way, but did not want to flash back and be seen from the north.

  Seeing dark blobs, I flashed a quick signal, and we moved towards the dark outlines.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Rizzo, that you south of us.’

  I looked north. ‘That you north of us?’

  ‘Fucking hope so.’

  ‘Any wounded?’

  ‘Got some cuts and scrapes, no drama.’

  ‘Rocko, any wounded?’

  ‘Slider cut his hand on a rock, that’s all.’

  Reaching Sasha, I slapped him on the shoulder. ‘OK, headcount your teams, ten minute break. Wolves, change radios back to Setting One. Sit down, everyone!’

  I called in the wounded and had a quick look using torches under a poncho, not worried by any of the minor cuts, but infection was an issue if we were out here too long.

  Finally happy, team sequences were called, the Wolves to be parallel to us twenty yards, and I led them off north.

  A slow mile on, half an hour used up, and Sasha warned of the area where the jeeps had been stolen from, so I moved northwest, the
distant hills being my point of reference, and we soon glimpsed vehicle headlights.

  I moved the patrol east a little, soft sand soon giving way to rocks. Having little choice, we closed up and followed a track northeast and started to climb higher, soon finding ourselves in the bottom of a valley, a bad spot for an ambush. The mortars had stopped, and now the Algerians could be repositioning.

  Halting in the dark, water swigged, I peered up the ridge, seeing a way through, and so made a choice and turned due west. Men started to weave around large boulders, gravel under foot, and we made slow progress, the men not always as quiet as I would have liked.

  Step by step I negotiated the valley side, aiming to put my foot down on lighter coloured sand, and avoiding the darker objects, the rocks. I scraped my knees a few times, stumbled once or twice, using up a full hour to traverse a four hundred yard gentle slope – albeit rock strewn.

  Despite the cooler air we were panting and sweating as we reached the top, a nice breeze blowing. The remnants of the fires from the camp were visible due south, and the west side of the hill offered a large collection of jeeps, some driving back and forth below us.

  ‘That’s a shit load of jeeps,’ Swifty puffed out alongside me.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Sasha, take the Wolves north along the ridge five hundred yards, then drop down to the road, maybe a hundred yards above it, get fire positions.’

  He replied in Russian, and broke right.

  ‘”D” Squadron, move left around the hill, till you see them, then stop. Don’t be seen or heard.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Henri, you and the French, up to me and past me, down the other side slowly, don’t be seen.’

  I could just make out the black blobs that were “D” Squadron moving left, the black blobs that were the Wolves moving right. Henri came up to me five minutes later as I sat on rock, and he started slowly down, the French trailing past.

  ‘Nicholson, go left along to the high point, call out what you see.’

  ‘Moving, Boss.’

  I swigged my water, watching the vehicles below driving back and forth, still able to spot the airstrip and the residual fires, our previous home more than two miles south.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Moran asked.

  ‘We’re above them, and they haven’t got sentries out, and they’d not figure us up here -’

  ‘Can’t track us at night,’ Swifty put in. ‘But they’ll see the tracks at dawn.’

  I told Moran, ‘If it looks good, we’ll distract them, then hit them from above. And we have a few grenades. We don’t need to win, just to thin them out and send them into the desert.’

  ‘Why send them into the desert?’ Moran queried.

  ‘This road, and those jeeps, are their lifeline,’ I said.

  ‘Cut them off, let them dehydrate,’ Swifty suggested. ‘Then run them down.’

  ‘Water left in the old base,’ Mahoney noted. ‘Some cans left.’

  ‘Those cans were next to the jeeps that burnt, and they were hit by mortars,’ I suggested. ‘Doubt they’re intact.’

  Ten minutes later, Nicholson came on. ‘Wilco, I can see most everything from up here. They’re about four hundred yards below us, maybe twenty jeeps, dozen trucks. There’s a mortar station set up on the left, and they have a bit of a barbeque going on.’

  ‘How many men?’

  ‘Fucking hundreds.’

  I turned towards Moran’s dark outline. ‘What they waiting for, why not move on the base?’

  Swifty said, ‘Probably figured we’d run off into the desert, wounded. They’re planning on running us down at dawn.’

  ‘Might make sense,’ I commented. I clicked on the radio, ‘Rocko, Rizzo, Salties, up to me, over the top and down, go left, dead slow dead quiet, get good fire positions, not too close to the bad boys.’

  Rocko moved past a few seconds later. ‘Nice view,’ he quipped.

  I counted them past, and with the tail end snaking away I called Sasha.

  ‘Da!’

  ‘You in place?’

  ‘Soon, we have a good place I think.’

  ‘Spread them along, in pairs, solid fire positions.’

  ‘OK, be ready soon.’

  I popped a glucose tablet, one each for the team as the chill wind started to bite. Rifle down, webbing off, I knelt, unravelling my jacket and putting it on. The team copied in silence.

  Webbing back on, I checked how many magazines I had, and tapped my pistol, a reflex action.

  ‘It’s Nicholson. A few men coming up the hill.’

  ‘If anyone is spotted, use a pistol close up. Standby. Rocko, where are you?’

  ‘We’re above the rag-head sausage fest, three hundred yards or less.’

  I smiled unseen. ‘Get solid fire positions in the next thirty seconds, we may be out of time. Everyone get ready. Henri, hold your fire till I say.’

  Henri came back with, ‘Two jeeps below us, four men smoking weed, say two hundred metre.’

  I called Sasha. ‘Wait thirty seconds and open up on a jeep, but just one man opens up for now.’

  ‘OK, I count now.’

  The wind picked up a little, localised thermal effects, but at least the cool air removed the thirst.

  Jeep headlights moved towards Sasha, soon a burst of fire echoing.

  I waited two minutes. ‘Nicholson, what they doing?’

  ‘Nothing new, enjoying the barbeque.’

  I sighed, frustrated. ‘Henri, hit the men below you.’

  A quick crackle of fire sounded out, maybe six rounds fired. It fell quiet.

  I waited five minutes. ‘Nicholson, anything?’

  ‘No change, Boss.’

  ‘Henri, you got grenades?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Throw two.’

  The seconds ticked off the clock, two flashes, the blasts echoing.

  ‘It’s Nicholson, men mounting jeeps, some running along the road.’

  ‘Hold your fire. “D” Squadron, if you can sneak closer without being seen, do so.’

  The jeeps’ headlights appeared and disappeared as our view of the road below was obstructed. They halted below Henri.

  I called Sasha in a hurry. ‘You see those jeeps?’

  ‘Yes, but maybe six hundred metre.’

  ‘One man, open up on them now. And hit any jeeps coming south down that road.’

  The shots echoed, about eight in total, the jeeps moving off, random fire returned.

  ‘It’s Hamble, got a line of men coming right for us.’

  ‘Bugger.’ I clicked on the radio, ‘All units, open fire!’ Off the radio, I said, ‘Come on,’ and led the team towards Nicholson as the crackle sounded out.

  I again bashed my knee moving around rocks, slipped in a few places, cursing, and rushed towards the high point. I could not see Nicholson, but I could hear him firing down.

  ‘Nicholson, it’s just us, keep firing.’

  ‘I think I got the main man, he was directing people.’

  ‘Keep at it.’

  Now with a view down, I got behind a rock, adopted my rifle and peered through the sight, many men lit by either the jeep headlights or the numerous camp fires. I selected the amber faces of bearded men and fired, one shot every three seconds.

  ‘It’s Rocko, they’re trying to turn the mortar tubes.’

  ‘Those with a shot, take it!’

  I panned left, found the mortars, and fired at any and all movement I could see, Swifty at my side and firing down, Moran and Mahoney moving into position and starting to fire. The mortar crew ran off, shouted at to return, but the man who shouted at his men fell to Nicholson.

  As I observed, a dozen jeeps set off north up the road. ‘Henri, jeeps coming!’

  ‘OK,’ crackled back, a bad signal.

  I aimed at the next jeep, a round through the soft roof, two rounds through the roof of the next jeep, and they bumped each other. Rounds started to crack overhead and hit the rocks around us. They
could not see us, and were firing wildly.

  Choosing a jeep starting up, I hit the windscreen twice, a man falling out the door and crawling, hit in the arse by someone.

  A jeep burst into flames, illuminating the area around it, and the rate of fire increased.

  ‘It’s Hamble, many men running down the hill towards the base.’

  ‘Roger that. Stay in cover.’

  I found a man crawling and hit him in the back, and noticing muzzle flashes I aimed at the flashes, clicking empty and reloading quickly, still with loose rounds in my pocket.

  ‘It’s Rizzo, some fuckers sneaking up the hill.’

  ‘Roger that.’ I peered around towards the right, seeing black blobs moving, the odd glint of metal. I aimed, and pumped a round into every dark blob I thought to be a man.

  ‘Stay here,’ I said before moving back from the edge and north a few yards. ‘Henri, report.’

  ‘Maybe twelve jeeps below, road blocked. They try and climb up, but we have them.’

  ‘Go easy on ammo, don’t waste it. And don’t get flanked.’

  I dialled Sasha. ‘What’s happening there?’

  ‘Some jeeps come both ways, we stop them, some men try and climb up, but we kill them.’

  ‘Go steady on ammo, this could take hours.’

  ‘OK.’

  I stood there for ten minutes, the crackle sounding out both distant and close, rounds pinging off rocks and whizzing into the night sky, the odd grenade blast registering.

  ‘Rocko, report.’

  ‘Plenty of these fanatics trying to sneak up, but looks like most ran down the slope. We’re shooting the fanatics, but fuck all to see below now.’

  ‘OK, conserve ammo.’ I moved over the slope and down. ‘Hamble, report.’

  ‘Got a wound, a scrape.’

  ‘Send him up to me, to the high point.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘What else is happing down there?’

  ‘A few sneaking through the rocks, most ran off.’

  ‘Stay down, solid cover, don’t take risks.’

  A long fifteen minutes later the man finally got to me. I put my torch on, knelt, and took his dressing off.

  ‘Nasty scrape, not lethal.’ I got anti-biotic cream in, injected him, put the gauze on and then a pad, taping it up. ‘You need to be out of here in two days, or risk an infection.’

  ‘Stings like a bitch.’

  ‘They always do. I’ll try and get you a helo after daybreak. Stay here, stay down.’