by Geoff Wolak
‘They’re withdrawing,’ Moran shouted.
I stood, weapon left locked into position, and peered through my binoculars, finding that they had turned around, and that most were limping or holding arms. Our aim had been good considering the distance, but we had only killed a handful from what I could see.
It grew quiet, ten minutes before the mortar started up again, but this time the mortars fell short.
My phone trilled, faces turning towards me as I slipped down. Cap off, I wiped my sweaty brow and answered the phone. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Sasha, at the airport, they are sending planes for you soon, what is it like there?’
‘We just pushed back an attack of men on foot, still some mortars. Have the French soldiers picked up first, a mile west, same place.’
‘OK, I tell them now.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Henri, go tell your men that planes will come for them in half an hour, one mile west.’ Looking right over my shoulder I could see him up and running. Easing down, I swigged my water, Swifty wiping his brow.
Five minutes later Henri radioed to say that his men were moving off, and ten minutes after that he came back lugging a GPMG and a chain of ammo.
‘Cover me,’ he said.
‘Cover you?’ I queried as he walked past us and onwards east. Men stood up and observed as Henri plodded on, all of us puzzled.
‘What’s that crazy fuck doing?’ came Rocko’s voice.
‘Well what the fuck,’ Swifty said, clambering up. ‘May as well end this quickly.’
I ran after him, closing in on Henri, Moran and Mahoney jogging up.
‘What’s the plan here, exactly?’ Moran asked.
‘We follow the crazy French guy,’ Swifty said.
The next mortar landed a hundred yards north of us, no one hurt, Moran voicing his concerns. Henri started to jog, so we all started to jog as well, and glancing right I could see the teams in a line.
Kicking up sand, we closed the distance to those Algerians hobbling away, and seeing us they panicked and picked up the pace, one or two firing back at us as they ran.
Having covered almost three hundred yards, I stopped, knelt and fired twice – killing a wounded man running away, others copying, most of the wounded falling to us as they fled in panic.
A mortar landed behind us, far enough away, no one hurt as we continued our very odd tactical advance across open ground, and Bob’s comment about no risks came to the fore.
Reaching what passed for high ground, a mound about six feet higher than the desert around it, Henri got down, got the GPMG loaded, settled down as we lay next to him, and he hammered out rounds at the particular jeep with the mortar fixed to the back of it as we fired at the stragglers.
The mortar loader fell off the jeep, his mate running but cut down, the jeep starting to smoke. Henri panned left, another jeep targeted as it tried to drive off, and we were now hitting targets inside 500yards, a few Algerian irregulars finished off at 200yards or less, bodies double tapped.
Fifteen minutes later and it was all over, no one left to shoot at, and I stood, hearing the aircraft coming in for the French contingent. I clicked on the radio. ‘Withdraw in teams, watch your rear.’
Henri left the empty GPMG behind, un-slung his rifle, and we walked back, sipping water.
‘So ... Henri,’ Swifty loudly began. ‘You wanted to get the mortars to help your men get on the aircraft?’
‘No.’
‘You ... wanted to get the mortars to help us?’ Swifty nudged.
‘No.’
‘Oh,’ Swifty let out. ‘You wanted to get rid of the mortars so it would be quiet, and we could get some sleep?’
Men around us laughed.
‘No.’
‘You ... knew that guy on the mortar jeep?’ Swifty joked, men laughing.
‘No.’
‘Oh,’ Swifty let out. ‘You ... wanted the mortar gone so ... that we could get out of here and go do some proper work?’
Henri did not reply, and we exchanged looks as we kicked up sand.
Back at the ditch, I transmitted, ‘Pack up ready to leave, poncho’s taken down.’ I turned back, and took in the distant burning jeep. ‘We did some good work here, we killed the bad guys, so we can claim a small victory at least, heads held high.’
Faces turned towards me for a moment, then the lads got their kit packed up.
‘Our crates are in those fucking huts at the range,’ Moran shouted.
‘Yep,’ I agreed. ‘May have to go get them.’
An hour and a half later we landed at the airfield, C-160 transports parked up, their crews attending them, Sasha and his team stood waiting with the Major and Captain Harris.
I walked over to them, patting Sasha on the shoulder. ‘Thought you were on Fearless, sir.’
‘We flew in to get the kit, and to supervise the Wolves,’ he said, the lads directed onto a dated bus for a short trip around to the huts, but myself and Moran remained with the Major, walking as a group to the command room. In it we found a new colonel, a few new faces. And no happy smiling faces.
I saluted the colonel, but did so with a stern and unfriendly expression displayed on a tired and dusty face.
‘Ah, Captain, you are back safe and well,’ he began, accented. ‘Your men are not injured?’
‘No, sir,’ I flatly responded.
‘And I note that you sent our men off first.’ He waited.
‘We’re better equipped to deal with problems.’
He nodded. ‘Certainly, that has been displayed here, a very high body count, and more today I understand.’
‘Twenty or thirty gunmen, a few jeeps, some mortars.’
‘A good tally in a short time, yes.’ He took a moment. ‘What happened was ... regrettable, a decision taken in the heat of the moment, and with a thirst for vengeance. Still, those who made that decision have felt a great weight of public opinion land on their heads – a lesson for the future perhaps.’
I began, ‘Killing women and children does nothing to stop an insurgency, it helps fuel the insurgency.’
He nodded. ‘Indeed. I am ... under instruction from Paris to enquire if we can ... put this behind us and work together in the future.’
I considered my answer. ‘I will not blame an entire country for the actions of a few idiots. Our own army has a few people that like to kill a little too much.’
‘I fear ... that in all conflicts there are high emotions, and indeed mistakes.’
‘Yes, sir, which is why I select my men very carefully.’
‘Then I hope that we will work together again in the future.’
I offered a thin smile, saluted, and led the Brits out, a jeep taking us around to the huts. ‘Know what happened to our crates?’ I asked the Major as we drove.
‘They’re here, I made sure of that, and any spare kit.’
I smiled. ‘I refuse to let the lads call you Bean Counter Bradley.’
‘They don’t have to sign for this stuff, or explain it! I do!’ Quieter, he added, ‘It’s an officer thing.’
‘Ouch,’ I said with a smile as we stepped down, Moran and Harris both smiling widely.
Henri and Jacque were stood verbally assaulting a French officer to the point of almost coming to blows. I moved between then and shoved Henri and Jacque.
‘Have you two been reassigned? Do you still work for me? Because if you do then you represent me, and I did not give you permission to behave like animals, so fuck off to the huts and get ready to leave – assuming that you are still under my care.’
Teeth gritted, they moved away. I turned to the officer.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Go fuck yourself,’ I told him, and walked off with the British officers.
I met Max outside the huts. ‘Max, we have a story to get out there, the good work done here.’
Thirty-six hours later we arrived back at GL4 in the rain, 5pm GMT, and I shook the sand off before I opened my door. Kit off
on the kitchen floor, sand everywhere, I knocked on the kettle, Swifty sitting and sighing.
Opening the fridge, I found fresh milk courtesy of MP Peter, as well as bread. Barefoot, and now in smelly t-shirts, we sat in silence sipping our tea for a few minutes.
A knock at the door and I eased up, my back clicking, and having opened the door the puppy ran in.
Our MP puppy-trainer began, ‘Hot water on the base was switched off by mistake, sir. It’s not broken, just that the routine maintenance people forgot to put it back on. Be warm in an hour.’
Swifty had lifted up the puppy and was in a one-sided conversation with it as I reclaimed my tea and sat. Swifty said, ‘This dog has done no laps since we left, no range time at all.’
‘Put him on a charge,’ I suggested, sipping my tea.
The puppy’s owner lifted up his charge. ‘The little perisher will be running in a few months.’
With the front door closed, I informed Swifty about the delay in hot water. ‘I’m off to bed for a few hours.’
Yawning, he said, ‘Me too.’ He stood. ‘What day is it anyway?’
I had to stop and think. ‘Fuck knows.’
He shook his head. ‘We have so got to get proper jobs.’
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