Wilco- Lone Wolf 16

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Yep, get on it, but quietly. If they’re all in the oil sector then update David Finch, otherwise just to me.’

  He was back on ten minutes later. ‘Mutch says that one of these names works down in Bournemouth, the risk assessment company, and that he’s closely linked to Mi6.’

  ‘Bingo. Which one is he?’

  ‘Alan Drew.’

  I called David Finch. ‘Listen, Boss, you know an Alan Drew?’

  ‘Yes, in GlobalTech in Bournemouth,why?’

  ‘Any question marks hanging over him?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Could he compromise an operation, does he have access to anything?’

  ‘He assists with facilities for our agents in Africa. Why?’

  ‘I just found his dead body, been in the ground for twenty years, killed by NordGas in Liberia. Your Alan Drew is not the same Alan Drew.’

  ‘Oh gawd.’

  ‘Have him investigated quickly, DNA match to know relatives, school friends. And isolate him, no sensitive jobs.’

  ‘I’ll have a team on it in minutes. Christ.’ He hung up.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I quipped.

  Four grey Seahawks slid in slowly and touched down as I observed them from the door, Seals off, heavy bags lugged. They moved bent-double a few steps then straightened up as they neared me, no sign of Franks.

  I waited till they were all together, the Seahawks departing – men now with lungs full of some poisonous white powder, and I led them in and to rooms on the south side. ‘Take it easy for a day, then we’ll have patrols out. Find a pack of cards.’

  As the sun started to set in the west I sat with our 14 Intel ladies for a cuppa, and they were in good spirits. They had brought along powdered soup, a feminine touch.

  My radio crackled, so I stood near the door. ‘This is Wilco, say again.’

  ‘It’s Nicholson, and we found a claymore in a tree facing the road.’

  ‘Get to cover, then shoot it from at least a hundred yards away.’

  ‘OK, Boss.’

  ‘All teams, this is Wilco, expect a loud bang, no panic.’ Looking around and up I could see the Greenies peering out from the second and third floors. They would be OK after dark, but were now vulnerable to a good sniper.

  I faced the runway, and peered down 2,000yards of concrete. It looked flat enough, good enough for an aircraft larger than a Hercules.

  A flash, and the blast reached me a few seconds later, followed by a dozen more blasts in quick succession, my eyes widening.

  ‘Nicholson for Wilco. Boss, I think something exploded.’

  ‘What the fuck did you do?’

  ‘There was more than one claymore, and they were linked together.’

  ‘Stay down there, find a snug spot, watch that road and the tracks north.’

  ‘This is Captain Holsteder, Greenies, and daisy-chaining claymores is beyond the bare-arsed blacks from around here.’

  ‘Agreed, we have us some professionals in the mix.’

  Dicky and Mouri appeared at the door. ‘Who set the trap?’ Dicky asked.

  ‘Trap was on the road, so … someone expected a road convoy, but they ignored the local builders that were here.’

  ‘So the trap was for us, for when we bring jeeps up here,’ Dicky suggested.

  I turned to him and nodded, worried. Inside, I grabbed four veteran British Wolves. They checked kit, and flysheets, and set off to the dark treeline, to join Tomo and Nicholson, who would stay put as the Wolves pushed slowly on down the road, very slowly I guessed given the claymores.

  With the team departed, I transmitted, ‘All teams, it’s getting dark, so get ready, no lights on inside or fires unless they’re hidden, make a brew or cook in the HQ room or close doors and block windows. Two-on, two-off, all night.’

  I called “D” Squadron as I stood in the doorway. ‘It’s Wilco, you all snug down there?’

  ‘Got a good room - rain proof, wooden hut is OK as well, got a patrol out, a few static positions. Tell me, there crocs in that river?’

  ‘Never seen any, but some large fish thrash about at night. No naked skinny dipping.’

  ‘Something big splashing about in there. What was that blast earlier?’

  ‘Someone put claymores in the trees on the road, we set them off.’

  ‘That was naughty, makes it hard to get a jeep in here.’

  ‘I have men checking the treeline by the road. Call if you have wounded tonight, stay sharp.’

  Inside the door I had one of the 14 Intel team aim out, and to watch the road. In the dark HQ room I sat, a brew to make with Sasha, Max attending his clever machine, his face a bright blue. I faced Rizzo and pointed at Salome, our HQ room lit by several hexi-tab fires. ‘She any good?’

  ‘Yeah, she got it down.’

  ‘Did she beat Monster?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No she didn’t,’ Monster protested as they laughed. ‘Lying toad.’

  Rizzo told him, ‘I gave her a few extra seconds, what being a woman an all.’

  ‘Don’t woman me!’ Salome threatened him.

  The blast had us looking west down the corridor. ‘Report the blast,’ I transmitted.

  A French voice said, ‘RPG hit the Americans.’

  I walked down the dark corridor, Salome and Monster in tow, and to the door. I transmitted, ‘Greenies, report.’

  ‘Got us an RPG in the wall, sir, no one hurt. Came from the west, five hundred yards out, we’re looking.’

  ‘Press officers with you?’

  ‘Face down, sir.’

  I could hear laughter coming from the nearby building, the French laughing. Turning, I had a French lad man the door and aim west.

  Back in the HQ room, I enjoyed my tin of pears, many envious faces watching me, and I only left one – for Sasha.

  An hour later my sat phone trilled, so I stepped to a south window in a room next to our HQ. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Wolf Brigson, sir. We’re down beyond the claymores, found a black guy, killed by his own claymores – still warm.’

  ‘Any ID or phone?’

  ‘Got an ID for a mine worker, plus a sat phone.’

  ‘Check the sat phone carefully for bombs, turn it on and drop it behind a tree and wait, then call SIS with it to track the number. Give them the guy’s ID as well.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘Then press on down the road a mile, back up the other side, camp out with Nicholson – but move dead slow, expect to trip across someone.’

  Back in the HQ room I told them, ‘Those claymores had a man sat ready, but he got shredded by his own claymores. We got his fake ID, running it now, but he’s not a local if he can string claymores together.’

  Rizzo said, ‘Fucking hard work it is. I tried it on dummy claymores and fucked it up every time. That guy ain’t from around here, and you don’t buy claymores down the local market.’

  ‘Could get interesting then,’ I told them.

  The blast echoed down to us, few reacting, another RPG, outgoing fire heard.

  ‘It’s Dicky,’ crackled over the radio. ‘One of my girls just hit a man in the treeline. She asked me to check if it was an enemy soldier first, and would he mind, then shot him.’

  Laughter reverberated.

  I turned my head to Monster. With a wide grin I said, ‘Go down there, see if you can get one.’

  He lifted up and checked his pipe sight, heading down to 14 Intel.

  I moved to a window and called Swifty. ‘You awake?’

  ‘Yeah, got a good position.’

  ‘Well you missed the patrol, they’re west of us and lobbing RPGs at us.’

  ‘They never came this way,’ he puzzled. ‘You want us to circle around?’

  ‘No, stay put, report the movements where you are.’

  Call ended, it trilled. ‘Wilco, it’s Tinker. One of those names is also in BP, quite high up, field manager. That’s three in BP, one in GlobalTech.’

  ‘Pass the names
to SIS as being sleeper agents.’

  ‘For the bank?’

  ‘No, for Deep State, but don’t word it like that.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Word it as sleeper agents for a foreign power, maybe for financial gain, and that it came from me.’

  ‘Twenty years to work their way up, so they’re good agents,’ Tinker approved.

  ‘Yes, and I don’t think they mean us any harm, but might trade shares and make a buck.’

  After a coffee with the French 1st Battalion team my phone trilled.

  ‘Duty Officer, SIS. You wanted a name run, mine worker, and a phone. Mine worker is listed as being alive and well and all snug in his dorm in Nigeria as we speak, but his phone has made previous calls to Toronto on a regular basis.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Phone down, I stood in the dark staring out the window south. ‘Toronto,’ I repeated. ‘Home to many a CIA contractor.’ I sighed and shook my head; the CIA would make a better job of it.

  At midnight men started to lay down on rubber mats, Salome making use of a table top. I sat with Monster, two Wolves cooking in a corner, two of the 14 Intel lads cooking near them, hushed conversations underway in dull yellow flame light. Rizzo was snoring quietly with Stretch, Sasha trying to get confortable but fidgeting, maybe his wound stinging.

  ‘This a typical job?’ Monster’s dark outline quietly asked before sipping his brew.

  ‘We handle the irregular, and this is very irregular. First off, I want the US Marines Press officers to get some good footage to please the Americans. Second, we want to draw out the remnants of the group that organised the coup against us down here.

  ‘Third, where you’re sat was paid for by the people who organised that coup against us, and down in the mine are five bodies – British mine workers who were replaced by sleeper agents twenty years ago.’

  ‘Bollocking hell…’ he quietly let out.

  ‘We keep the American media happy because the Americans then get involved in these campaigns, and they have helos and fixed wing, aircraft carriers. Publicity is key. If we do well here, or rather is we get good footage out, my bosses get the praise and keep funding us, we keep rescuing hostages.

  ‘The sleeper agents, that’s down to my Intel work, and this mine’s former owners are bad boys, but European. They paid for the coup, but don’t repeat that widely.’

  ‘They knew the blacks were up against us?’

  ‘Not at the start, no, they didn’t figure on me getting the Prime Minister’s support, but my track record did that, the publicity. Don’t matter how you fight a war, always win the war in the media. Even if this is a screw up, if we get good newspaper inches it’s still a success.

  ‘Young lads read The Sun newspaper, they see planes and tanks and want to join up. The more young lads wanting to join up the tighter they can be on selection, so we get a better quality army. Recruitment stats are currency, and I got a decline in recruitment turned around.’

  He nodded. ‘The young lads want to be like you, the old timers resent you because they never did it themselves.’

  ‘Many a brick thrown my way by jealous men. And you?’

  ‘And me what? Jealous? I read most of the stories with a pinch of salt.’

  ‘Some were exaggerated, yes, and they left out the fuck-ups and the near misses.’

  ‘And Bosnia?’

  ‘That book is accurate, but the Serbs made many mistakes, even shelled their own lines. I was alone and surrounded, in a deep dark wood; all I had to do was fire off in any direction and I’d hit someone. Worst part was the dogs, they sent in Alsatians, I even went hand to hand with some.’

  ‘I had a police dog tear up my legs once, that hurt. Scary when a dog is trying to eat you.’

  ‘Imagine a dozen of them, and that you’re alone in a dark wood, no copper to pull off his dog.’

  ‘I’d be up a fucking tree.’

  ‘I couldn’t get up the trees, mortars coming in, rounds coming in. But it taught me a great deal, and afterwards I taught my lads. I learnt how to shoot a man running, side on to you, and that’s harder than you think. At first I missed many, then figured it out, and I ended up hitting thirty or forty as they ran, got to be good at it.

  ‘I teach the lads rapid fire, accurate rapid fire, and the three-day puts them under pressure, so if they can fire well when tired they’re suited for a fire-fight in the jungle. What are you like when you’re tired?’

  ‘I’ve seen men tired, and some close in on themselves and go quiet, some get aggressive. I can get by on an hour here and there and not get all grumpy. If I have a cuppa and a bit to eat I get the energy and jump up. I did three days without sleep a few times.’

  ‘Rizzo is fucking crap in the mornings,’ I said, and we smiled in the dark. ‘Rocko was rough in the mornings but good when he got going, and he was with me for the first Echo job, Somalia. We flew out to a French helo carrier, to a submarine, then in by raft, thirty mile walk.’

  ‘Real special forces stuff,’ he approved.

  ‘You never married?’

  ‘I did, a disaster, three years and out.’

  ‘Kids?’

  ‘One that I was paying for, then she re-married, but he was a dick and slapped her about. I don’t see them now, they moved up north.’

  ‘It’s fair to say that my men are not happily married.’

  He nodded and grinned in the dim light, Salome fidgeting. ‘And Colombia?’

  I smiled. ‘Rizzo and Rocko, I told them to set fire to a lorry, a smoke signal for American Navy jets. They set fire to a truck without checking the rear, ten tonnes of weed in the back, a huge white cloud moving outwards. We had to run.’

  He laughed quietly.

  ‘We had two hundred million quid’s worth of drugs and we destroyed most of it, some handed to the Yanks. We parachuted in, small team, and took the cartel in their beds. Cartel like that, they’re very powerful in city streets, but not in the trees up against someone like us.’

  I had two Wolves placed on stag at the doors to the HQ room and tried to get some sleep myself, my legs twinging.

  I woke as a grey light bent around the door, and I rolled sideways on my table-top, too stiff to lift up using my stomach muscles. One leg down, the second, and I straightened up, soon bending my knees slowly and gaining some movement. Bandolier on, webbing on, I lifted my rifle as Monster stirred, the Wolf on stag stood observing me.

  Using a table top I got a brew on as Monster stepped out for an early morning shit. When he got back he whispered, ‘What is that white stuff anyhow?’

  ‘Probably deadly poisonous,’ I suggested.

  ‘That figures.’

  Quietly, we shared chocolate and a brew, Salome in no hurry to get up, Rizzo still snoring quietly, Sasha turning over.

  After the brew I led Monster out past the French, a Greenie on stag at his door waving lazily.

  I closed in. ‘Any wounded?’ I whispered.

  ‘Dumb fuck Press officer got some ricochet in his hand.’

  ‘That’ll teach him to want to follow us.’ I led Monster to the edge of the mine, the trees holding a mist, a few animals calling out to each other. It was peaceful and serene.

  ‘My favourite time of day,’ I told Monster. ‘The crap soldiers hate the dawn, it’s always quiet for us. If we were up against some good boys it might be different, but around here you must never give them too much credit – they’re shite. Getting shot is bad luck not good aim.

  ‘If you’re in the bush and you happen across a patrol of twenty, shoot the first three and the rest will run off. If any of the patrol knew that their safeties were on I would be impressed. They aim and click, fuck, safety off, cock it – whoops I’m dead.

  ‘I counted my rounds in the early days of the SAS, and I still do, it saves your life on occasion. I know how many in the mag, and when to duck and hide and reload. Rarely do I fire on automatic. Our successes down here are seen as great in the newspapers, but the boys we’re up against ar
e crap.’

  ‘I shot a few in the war here, at that base they said you trashed.’

  I smiled. ‘We hit that base three times across two years. Blew the drains. Stretch, he set a fuse and dropped the bundle down a drain and blew himself up.’

  Monster laughed. ‘That wasn’t in the papers.’

  ‘You were in on the para drop?’

  ‘No, was in charge of twelve walking wounded back at the airport. I had them sat down aiming out. My captain was a right prick, he hated me, any excuse to send me off away from him. He got me busted a dozen times.’

  ‘Rocko, when he decided to move across to us, kicked his boss in the balls and went AWOL. I had to smooth it over. And men like Smitty we took out the Glass House. Tomo is a handful, but he’s shit hot, a fantastic sniper, and better with a pistol then me.’

  ‘Those French they say you killed…’

  ‘Eleven French, my DGSE and police escort, my escort from the airport – to protect me. But they wanted me dead.’ I gave him the story as we stared down at the mine.

  He finally said, ‘You must have nerves of steel to do that.’

  ‘Practise, plus anger. Someone points a gun at me I get angry, not afraid.’

  The blast had us kneeling and looking, and west of us almost a mile distant I could see a large pall of smoke starting to rise, the air full of leaves and birds fleeing, shouts from behind us – American and French voices.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ Monster asked.

  ‘That was an enemy soldier carrying a bomb, or an anti-tank mine. He never read the safety instructions. I told you, they’re crap.’

  ”D” Squadron called me. ‘What the fuck was that?’

  ‘Someone carrying a bomb towards us. Stay sharp.’

  ‘Our patrols goes west but not up there.’

  ‘Stay away from that area, tight local patrols only.’ I led Monster up the stairs past the Greenies, and to the top floor, finding the Press officers, all now peering west – one man filming the smoke.

  ‘What was that, sir?’ a sergeant asked me.

  ‘Rebel soldier priming his bomb ready for us.’

  ‘He needs more training, sir.’

  ‘I’ll recommend some courses for him to attend.’ They laughed as I did a 360-degree sweep of the lush green treeline, a mist hanging around. I transmitted, ‘Nicholson, you awake.’