Wilco- Lone Wolf 16

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘And do you miss the cold windswept land you call home?’ I teased.

  ‘Fuck no, I could stay out here. It’s muddy, damp, hot, flies, but I love it here compared to the UK, and the lads in the teams are good, I don’t have to worry about who’ll look after me if I’m hit. How’s Wolf Murphy?’

  ‘I saw him walking, walking like his balls were balloons.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m not using mine, but I hope to keep them attached a little while longer.’

  In the morning our Mr Fix It was back, a question about the wrecked planes. I told him that young pilots had landed badly, causing him to puzzle that and scratch his head before he organised his men, more runway to sweep clear.

  But he had dragged along a second truck, six men with chainsaws keen to earn some dollars. Seeing them, I had to wonder how long it would be before one of them cut his own leg off.

  The air was soon full of the sounds of chainsaws, and trees started to topple quickly. And quickly the medics were called as a tree fell on a man. I had the genius tree surgeons spread out, shaking my head at them.

  By lunchtime we had a clear section of jungle, the Engineers using chains attached to a truck to pull logs away from the treeline. Branches cut off, we had some timber to use, and I told the Engineers to make a wooden wall come firing point just as large trucks with wooden huts arrived, each truck fitted with a handy crane. And some of the cranes actually worked.

  We soon had six huts in a row. It was not a straight line row, they were not all facing the same way or level, but it was progress in some respects. Progress till the Engineers major pointed out that the huts were too close to the runway. I assured him we’d move them.

  A Puma set down midday, three men out and down with heavy bags, and soon walking towards me.

  ‘You Major Wilco?’

  ‘I am, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m Doctor Williams, nuclear scientist, this is Steve and Paul, and they’ve worked with the IAEA.’

  ‘I’ll have a team take you to the uranium mine now, before we lose the light.’

  I fetched Henri and Sambo, plus two Wolves sat doing nothing, and they led the three uranium men off, the heavy bags left behind, Geiger counters and some funny kit taken along.

  Rizzo called at 3pm, out of breath. ‘We just pasted a couple of jeeps worth of blacks, mortars in the rear.’

  ‘If the jeeps can be driven, get them back here, or we’ll send jeeps to you.’

  ‘Might work, I’ll try them. Windows are all shot out.’

  He was back on to say that the jeeps did still work, half the 14 Intel team walking back in, half the team driving, and the jeeps in question arrived half an hour later – the ladies in with them and not walking back, smiles and waves as they pulled in. I had Sasha start to recall teams from around the town.

  Doctor Williams returned with his men before sundown, but now grubby and soaked in sweat. ‘It’s an odd find,’ he began.

  ‘Russians secretly mined it for two years.’

  He nodded. ‘We found Russian equipment, Russian writing, Russian cigarette packets.’

  ‘And the quality of the uranium?’

  ‘We figured they took the best stuff, but having said that, what’s left is top quality, five percent better than the best known deposit.’

  ‘Value?’

  ‘More than gold, way more.’

  ‘None left?’

  ‘Lots left, we got good results everywhere, so it’s an exciting find.’

  ‘Yeah? Tell me, what kind of mining company do you need to extract it?’

  ‘Oh, specialists, all very tightly regulated. Most of the profit is lost in the safety bullshit that goes hand in hand with uranium ore.’

  ‘Britain has one?’

  ‘No. Americans do, French do, Canadians and Australians do.’

  ‘Any Dutch or Belgian companies?’

  ‘Never heard of one.’

  ‘Make your report to London, please.’

  I called David Finch. ‘Your nuclear guys have had a look at the mine.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Large reserves of the world’s best quality uranium apparently.’

  ‘And maybe someone knew that in 1977, but with just test samples done they would have been guessing as to its size.’

  ‘NordGas had a Russian spy in the midst, and the Russians started the civil war here, or at least had a hand it in - stoking the fire, then they got themselves some good quality ore.’

  ‘We’ll be able to track it, we have good spies in Russia, and now that they’re poor money buys answers; our spies over there get whatever they want.’

  ‘Let the UN know about the mine, and then maybe a French company can come in, provided they’re not linked to the bank.’

  ‘I’ll send a note to the French now, they’ll be very interested. French are trying to sell nuclear power stations around Africa. Cheap local ore will help.’

  The next day we found a Hercules circling at 8am. It lined up and came in despite the huts being close to the runway, that runway now being in good condition according to our Engineers. Safely down, ramp down, pallets were pushed off as I sent men forwards, big green bags dragged off the plane, twenty men and officers emerging, all with large backpacks.

  I noticed Colonel Clifford. When he neared I smiled and saluted, then shook his hand. ‘Welcome to Liberia, sir, a quiet backwater.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ he said with a smile, and swivelled to a French officer. ‘My opposite number for this project.’

  ‘Project, sir?’

  ‘Securing the mine. We don’t want the wrong people getting hold of it.’

  ‘You have tents?’

  ‘A dozen or so, each big enough for ten men.’

  ‘Rooms are OK, sir, beds and mattresses for some, you’ll be inside. Dump kit in the large room for now then we’ll reorganise some rooms.’

  I sent for Slider, and told him to move the Paras to the huts, but to move the huts towards the trees if he could drag them. ‘They’re not heavy,’ I told him. ‘Then dig some slit trenches, make some fire points, grab the logs and make some walls.’

  He walked off to have a look.

  Tents started to unravel as pallets were dragged slowly down the runway to us and into the dirt, but I had the tents put up next to the treeline opposite the main building.

  From a pallet came UK Army rations, water, as well as tins of fruit and meat, so it was not all bad. There was also toilet roll, soap, magazines and paperbacks, so someone had planned it well. All we needed now was some water.

  Thinking, I walked around to the pump. ‘How’s it looking?’

  They pointed at shitty thick mud. ‘We had a bottle of detergent and so we poured it down, plus a Gerry can of water.’

  Pipe re-attached, a cord was yanked, the generator bursting into life, and bubbles came out.

  ‘Bubbles?’ I teased.

  ‘Detergent, sir.’

  Thick mud emerged, quite a pile, and stinking, followed by liquid mud, soon brown water.

  ‘That’s good,’ they said.

  ‘That don’t look so good,’ I noted.

  ‘Soon, sir, it’ll get better,’ they assured me.

  It did get better, just that we had a huge muddy patch, a stinky muddy patch. Clear water appeared five minutes later, so they connected a hose to a large paddling pooling with square sides, and filled it.

  ‘What about the toilets?’ I pressed.

  ‘We need a second pump, but for now they can use the toilet bowls – they are in place, just pour water down afterwards. There was a metal water tank on the roof, there are marks, but someone pinched it away. This water can be filtered and then the men boil it. OK for washing in, sir.’

  ‘A colonel has arrived, so make it OK for shitting and drinking and washing, and fast!’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘And get rid of that mud, dig a trench maybe.’

  Inside, I told them we had water for washing and water for flushing toilets �
� but not for drinking. Progress was being made.

  Morten had a look at the plastic water holder, and drove into the town with Engineers and a truck. He came back with a large water heater and cooker. Set-up near the plastic water tank, he had it half-filled with water and he set a fire, plenty of wood to hand. There would now be warm water for washing.

  I showed Colonel Clifford and his team up to the top floor of the Greenies building, and I detailed the features, and where the mine was – the direction it lay in.

  ‘And you just happened to find that mine, a significant uranium mine..?’

  ‘I was out for a shit and spotted it, sir,’ I joked.

  ‘Ha!’ he let out, not believing me. ‘And the men attacking you?’

  ‘Have been dealt with, we think. Best not to ask.’

  ‘They were after the ore?’

  ‘Not as such, no, they wanted to attack me personally for what they may have perceived I did to them. You see, they funded the coup down here.’

  ‘Ah, the people you mentioned to me in GL4. Has … that been sorted?’

  ‘The original players have been dealt a very serious blow, their foot soldiers have been rounded up, but there may still be some people out there with money and connections that want to strike back at us. The last few attacks on us were partly to blame someone else and get that man into trouble. Simple revenge.’

  ‘It’s an odd world you operate in, hardly green field soldiering,’ he noted.

  ‘It’s all about solving the puzzles. Who’s doing it, why, what players are involved. You take them apart, piece by piece.’

  ‘Are we likely to see more attacks here?’

  ‘Some small attacks, maybe, there are angry men up in Guinea, men we hurt when we stopped the coup in Conakry. They have guns, drugs, and blood diamonds.’

  Two F18s arced loudly past.

  ‘Those are F18s,’ Clifford noted.

  ‘Yes, sir, from the carrier offshore. They’re looking for any hostile aircraft.’

  ‘Good to know, I’ll sleep better. And the bodies that you just happened to find … twenty year sleeper agents?’

  ‘I promise you, sir, I went for a shit down in the mine and there they were.’

  ‘I lost my favourite watch in my garden at home. Pop over and have a shit on the grass, will you.’

  At 3pm, hearing about the new washing facilities, Tiny and her mate wandered around, towels in hands, soap in hands, and they removed t-shirts and dropped their trousers, not a care in the world as they washed important areas. Hearing about it, I asked Doctor Abrahams if she needed a wash, but I got a pointed finger.

  Colonel Clifford and his team grabbed rooms to sleep in and rooms for desks, an HQ area set-up, the IAEA men in another room and getting organised. All we needed now was one big bomb and they’d all be killed. But the original builders had made this place tough, and I was still wondering why it was so tough.

  Tinker called, detail of GCHQ signals intercepts near active airfields in Guinea. I annotated the map, but later Mike Papa called, also with information about active airfields, an overlap with the detail from GCHQ.

  Most of the patrols were on their way back, many here, the place looking crowded, and now a worry. Sat with the map and Sasha, I made a plan, a bold plan. But I kept it to myself for now, many civilians here in the mix. Details were discussed quietly with Sasha, and in Russian.

  Outside, I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, we got the game on. Have any men and helos you can get, to be ready for the morning, I’ll issue targets then.’

  ‘Got some reporters aboard ship, I’ll stick them in flak jackets and fly them out with the Marines! Boys on ship here saw those planes shot down where you are, it’s on CNN. I’m getting a shit load of air minutes, calls from the Joint Chiefs!’

  ‘Good to know, sir. War in the media.’

  I called Lt Col Liban, finding that he had two troops in Liberia, east of me. ‘How many French soldiers there?’

  ‘Maybe … four hundred at least.’

  ‘Jeeps and trucks?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have them alerted for a big job tomorrow, recall all local patrols.’

  ‘OK, I call them now.’

  Next call was the Air Commodore. ‘By god, Wilco, we just seen the footage! Those were my men up on that roof, yes?’

  ‘Yes, sir, 2 Squadron.’

  ‘That’ll be used for recruitment, you can be damn sure of that.’

  ‘Good. Listen, sir, can you get a refuelling bogey or truck from Sierra Leone, driven to me overnight, and RAF personnel, technicians, I want helos to be able to stop here.’

  ‘I’ll get that sorted now, yes, they have a few teams there.’

  ‘And another RAF Regiment squadron, to hold an airfield for me.’

  ‘I’ll send 16 Squadron, they’re on standby anyhow.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, they can land at this location, good runway.’

  ‘Our officer did say, yes, very long and level.’

  Inside, I sent runners, to alert every team that they would insert tomorrow by helo, a large operation. All were told to bed down early, and all Wolves were warned that they should be ready to go at 5am – teeth cleaned and boots shining.

  Calling Captain Moran, I had him request all helos for 5am, and to be available for my use all day tomorrow, plus a Hercules. A call into Captain Harris, and he was sworn to secrecy about my plan – but laughed loudly. He would update Freetown now with what needed to be done and get in to the base early tomorrow.

  At 4am I was up, kicked awake by a 14 Intel man on stag. I woke to find cookers going, the medics up early, many people already awake and moving around quietly. Heavy bandolier on, webbing on, I slung my rifle.

  A nurse offered me a cute smile and thrust a brew in my hand. I took it outside, the sun threatening to lift in an hour. In the grey pre-dawn light I took a piss, men from 2 Squadron moving around on the roof.

  After my brew I checked the map, Sasha nudged awake, and now it was my turn to thrust a brew in his hand as he cursed in Russian.

  A shout for me, and I stepped outside, finding a long convoy of British jeeps and trucks, one fuel truck and one green fire truck. They pulled up at the end of the runway, but I had them park on the dirt – which was compacted anyhow. Men got out and stretched aching limbs, most taking a pee in the dirt, all asking what the white stuff was.

  It was a dated fire truck, but it worked they assured me, and I was soon seeing men with red fire extinguishers placing those extinguishers in groups down the side of the runway. They had tents, so I told them to set-up those tents well away from the runway – and not to wake anyone yet.

  At 4.45am the Wolves started to group outside in the grey dawn light, a mist hanging over the trees. I formed and checked teams as the RAF looked on, no Wolf training officers or Echo men to join those teams, but all teams had a corporal or a nominated senior man. Those senior men all checked sat phones and called me in turn, but also had numbers for Moran and for British Army HQ in Freetown.

  I had split the Wolves into teams of five men, each team with an allotted team number, each senior man handed a page with coordinates written down, plus a compass bearing to the target from the drop point. A few British Wolves would be mixed in with Americans.

  They all carried maps of the region already, in waterproof plastic bags. I took time to chat to Tiller and Brace, and now they both looked like and sounded like the rest of my men.

  At 5am the drone registered, two Chinook powering loudly in trailed by three Pumas. ‘British team One, first Puma. British team Two, second Puma, British team Three, final Puma. Pilots have coordinates already – so don’t get the wrong fucking helicopter!

  ‘American teams One, Two, Three, first Chinook, teams Four, Five and Six, second Chinook. You will all land near an airstrip after a short flight. Check where you are, check the coordinates of the target strip, go get eyes on for a few hours, report back any rebel soldiers, helicopters, military aircraft, APC. Stay at
distance, stay out of sight.

  ‘If you have wounded call me, we’ll get a helo in quickly. If you have to - your comms down, walk south and get to the border. And if you can’t walk back here or steal a jeep – you’re pants.’

  The first Chinook loudly touched down, helpfully blowing white dust off the runway save us sweeping it, the nominated teams running aboard, and soon it was off down the mine and circling around. Second Chinook down, and the next three teams ran aboard.

  Three Pumas loaded in sequence, men swallowed up in sequence, and now we would wait – hoping that the right team would be dropped in the right location.

  I called Lt Col Liban, who had promised to be awake at this hour. He was awake, but not 100% with it. ‘I want you to move soldiers in vehicles to the Guinea border, roadblocks at every junction till you get to the town of Kankan. Don’t go west of that town.

  ‘Each roadblock must be well defended, and they will need 66mm or RPG. Call me for airstrikes, and helos for wounded. The men from here are inserting, close to every airstrip, and today we’ll attack and search every airstrip.’

  ‘Ah, you clear them out, no.’

  ‘We will, hopefully.’

  Back inside, people were stirring, unable to sleep with loud helicopters landing and taking off. I told a few to go back to bed.

  At 8am I held a command meeting, civilians moved from the HQ room, Colonel Clifford listening in, our RAF refuelling Flt Lt listening in. ‘Gentlemen, this morning I inserted Wolf teams to nine airfields up in Guinea, and they’ll get eyes on. When we know that an airfield has helicopters, planes or rebel soldiers, we’ll go attack that airfield and clear them out, as simple as that.

  ‘If we hit them first they won’t come down here and rudely hit us as we have our breakfast, so today we’ll destroy aircraft, tear up some runways, and shoot some rebel soldiers. They sleep in late, so we may even get them in their beds. Get ready.’

  Sat outside, on a table and chairs with Sasha, the first call came in as men walked around, the new RAF personnel peering down into the mine.

  ‘Sir, Wolf Robson,’ came a British accent. ‘We’re above the strip in question, on the paper as STRIP #4. There are twenty or so sleepy rebels, huts for maybe a hundred, and an Mi8 helicopter, plus an old Cessna held together with sticky tape. Two armed men guarding the Cessna.’