Wilco- Lone Wolf 13

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Would take us several days to get supplies to you.’

  ‘Leave it with me, sir, have a think, and if you say we leave then we leave.’ I called the Squadron Leader in Mauritania. ‘Sir, have all available aircraft ready for an emergency extraction if the decision is made. Talk to the Americans and the French, count the planes in Liberia and Sierra Leone and at your end.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing yet, but there’s a large force moving our way. I’ll be back on to you soon for some supplies.’

  Taking in the men sat around cleaning weapons, I transmitted, ‘All senior men to me on the runway in ten minutes. “B” Squadron come down, command meeting.’

  I called the Air Commodore as I waited.

  ‘Wilco, you little tinker, you upset a few with that Monty Python stunt, and the Hawaiian shirts, but I explained it away.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Listen, you have your medics and RAF Regiment here, but there’s going to be a bit of a scrap in the next few days, wounded and dead. Question is, is it worth keeping them here?’

  ‘What kind of a scrap?’

  ‘Three thousand heavily armed men, against us lot.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Why stay and fight?’

  ‘Several reasons, sir. First, there are fighters coming in from several areas, and if we kill them then they won’t be taking hostages next year.’

  ‘That’s a good point, yes.’

  ‘Second, we’re helping the Nigerian Christians by thinning out the Islamist fighters here, and third ... there’s the intel we’ve been gathering, new information about Arab terrorists, pipelines, their paymasters, a real treasure trove of information.’

  ‘All good reasons to be there, yes, but weighed up against a few dead men. But if there’s going be trouble you need medics.’

  ‘Discuss it with your colleagues, sir, give me an opinion, they’re your people. Call me back in the morning at the latest.’

  The senior men started to gather, the officers and the troop sergeants, finally “B” Squadron’s dusty troop sergeant ambling in.

  ‘Gather around,’ I called, Haines on my left shoulder, Crab on my right. They formed a half-circle. ‘We have a decision to make, and London and the MOD is discussing it, so too the Pentagon.’ I made eye contact with Liban. ‘Consult with Paris after this chat.’ I took in their tanned faces, all appearing as if they had aged, white crow’s feet around eyes.

  ‘Gentlemen, the fighters to the south are gathering an army to throw at us. They have a lot of men, and they’re well armed. They have a fresh delivery of rockets and mortars, they have mounted Duska, mounted anti-tank weapons, and they have around three thousand men.’

  Looks were exchanged, eyes wide.

  Castille noted, ‘There’s a hundred and fifty of us, buddy.’

  ‘London and the Pentagon may evacuate us, but I need an opinion from you before they ask for an opinion from me.’

  ‘Would you stay and fight?’ Trapper asked.

  I took in the vista south. ‘If I could get certain supplies here in time, we’d thin them out and play to our advantages. To win ... they need to get up close, and it’s open ground, so they’ll come at night. Rockets first, for a few hours, then mortars, then fifty cal as they move in.

  ‘If we got flares up we’d hit them at 600yards, no matter how many men they throw at us. But if mortars are falling, fifty cal rounds coming in, we’re in the tunnel and not shooting out.’

  The 1st Battalion captain said, ‘We make place to shoot out from, cover on top, concrete.’

  ‘We need more time,’ I told him. ‘And more concrete.’

  Moran put in, ‘They can’t get close during a barrage, so they’ll come at a time when the barrage stops, and then we run out and take position. But then we’d find them inside 300yards, swarming at us.’

  I nodded. ‘I was thinking that I could get a few thousand anti-personal mines delivered, a line at 300yards.’

  Liban said, ‘If they pause at this line, flares up, we shoot them. Men do not cross a minefield, even if they are crazy men.’

  ‘Some mines left,’ Rizzo noted. ‘Boxes of them.’

  Castille cut in, ‘So if we stop them dead at 300yards, we turn them in the killing zone. After they lose a few hundred men they’ll high tail it out of here. If they send a lot of men across open ground ... they’ll lose a lot of men.’

  ‘Gentlemen, even if luck is on our side, we will pick up wounded, and men will be killed. So discuss that with your teams, come see me with opinions in a few hours. Or, if you trust my judgement, leave it up to me to decide: fight or withdraw.’

  ‘Can we get air support?’ Trapper asked.

  ‘Very unlikely,’ I told him. ‘And then only F18, firing on men spread out, limited effect. They’ll surround us on all sides, be too spread out for an air strike.’ I faced the “B” Squadron troop sergeant. ‘You can pull your men out if you wish, no shame in that, let me know after you’ve spoken to them.’

  He nodded, looking concerned.

  ‘I will talk to Paris,’ Liban said as he moved away.

  Ginger asked me, ‘What are our chances?’

  ‘If we get the supplies, make a good plan, we can do it. All of you, discuss it with your teams. British Paras and Pathfinders, you can elect to leave if you wish.’

  ‘Won’t be many men left then,’ the Pathfinder captain noted.

  Crab put in, ‘My boys are solid, they’ll hold their own and shoot up these fucking ragheads.’

  ‘We’ll have what we have when the time comes,’ I told Trapper, turning and stepping away, phone out. I called the Major at home and explained the situation.

  He finally said, ‘It’s a tough call, but if it was me I’d pull out and fight them around the edges rather than go for the Alamo approach.’

  ‘Do me a favour and call Valmet right now, ask if they can deliver urgently to Sierra Leone. Got a paper and pen?’

  ‘Hang on. OK, fire away.’

  ‘I want ten grenade launchers and a shit load of ammo. And ask if they have flares for it.’

  ‘They do, I read the booklet.’

  ‘Then I want a thousand flares. Then ask them for twenty box-fed, again with a shit load of ammo. Contact Sierra Leone and tell them I want ten GPMGs, and enough ammo to fire continuously for eight hours.’

  ‘The damn barrels will melt.’

  ‘And notify the MOD that we’ll want - as an emergency delivery to be confirmed, three hundred standard trip flares, hand held flares – the small ones, and around three thousand anti-personnel mines.’

  ‘Mines? Not sure the MOD still has them. I’ll ask.’

  ‘Get back to me, sir.’

  I called Libintov. ‘Do you have access to anti-personnel mines?’

  ‘OZM bounding mines?’

  ‘There’ll do nicely. Can you get me a thousand, and quickly.’

  ‘There was an order cancelled, someone I know hanging onto them, he’ll be pleased to move them.’

  ‘Send them to the same runway. And at that runway is a French C160, crashed.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone operating a C160..?’

  ‘Might have been a commercial hiring.’

  ‘The owners will not be pleased then.’

  ‘Get the mines, fast. Oh, and if they are available, helmet and body armour, two sets.’

  ‘I will ask.’

  Stepping to my team, the lads discussing the upcoming battle rather than the upcoming decision to leave, I told them, ‘Should get a delivery of a thousand jumping–jack mines.’

  Moran noted, ‘When they go off they hit people thirty yards out. Plant enough of those and we’ll turn back the attack.’

  ‘I’d plant them at 300yards, not further out, we want them dead - not deterred till next week.’

  Moran nodded, many of lads keenly voicing their approval.

  ‘Staff sergeants, get to work on that trench, get a roof on it in places, grab some concrete, grab some of those solid concr
ete bags, and fill more sandbags, your lives depend on it. And we’ll get rounds coming in from the north, so all-round defence. First gather around, all of you.’

  I grabbed sandbags as the men gathered, two placed down at 45degrees in front of Swifty’s sand hole, a six inch gap between them, two more on top, one across the top at the narrow point, finally a bag in front. I had Swifty get into his hole and aim out.

  ‘A fire position like this is necessary, rounds coming in at random, but who wants to tell me why we have a bag at the front?’

  Moran said, ‘Ricochet from the runway.’

  ‘Correct. Every time the runway is hit ... you lot get a piece of stone coming at you at a thousand miles an hour. But the biggest problem with a fire position like this ... is that it’s no good with mortars landing, and we’ll have fifty cal coming in from the north.’

  I pointed north. ‘About 500yards to the ridge, and we hope they don’t get closer than 300yards to the ridge, so 800yards, rounds falling here, you lot getting hit in the back of the head. So make a few fire positions that can still be used with mortars coming in, rounds coming in, but I want all of you to have a position like this for when the advance is halted and we fight back.

  ‘Slider, Rizzo, make a roof for that trench, extend the trench, think about mortars coming in. You can’t hide in the hole and shoot back at the same time. Get to it.’

  Haines called me down to the RAF Regiment position. ‘We found some odd concrete slabs near the dried-out old cement bags.’ He showed one, seven feet long, twelve inches wide, two inches thick.

  ‘Excellent. Dig them all up for me, quickly.’

  I called for the medics to bring the two jeeps, and that it was not a medical emergency. When they arrived we balanced two slabs on the back of each jeep, and we drove them slowly down to the southeast trench. ‘Pathfinders, on me!’

  When men came up I had them grab the slabs between four men as the Americans looked on. Getting awkwardly down into the trench, I had the slabs placed on sandbags on the edges of the trench between the Pathfinders and the Green Berets, four slabs next to each other.

  I had them place sandbags down the outside edge of the new roof structure, sand shovelled into the mid section, to a height of about three feet.

  ‘Got us some cover, boys,’ Castille noted.

  I was back fifteen minutes later with four more, this time placing them across the mouth of the drain but sloping down, sandbags at the lower edge, sand piled up on top. If a mortar or rocket landed, this new structure would help save lives in the drain.

  Third trip, working up a sweat, and we made a roof between the Deltas and the Greenies.

  Wiping my brow, I told Castille and Trapper, ‘You can have men positioned outside during a mortar attack now. But make some sandbag walls to help if a mortar lands in the trench, half-width one side, then the other side, reduce fragmentation.’

  They shouted orders and got to work.

  Back at the RAF Regiment, we unearthed a few slabs that were six feet long. I pinched the next four, driving to Echo and handing them to Slider to make a roof with. I made sure he stacked sandbags on the edges first, so that the roof was higher, almost high enough to stand up in.

  The lads placed sandbags on top, finally sand thrown over, the sides built up. Grabbing four additional six-foot slabs, we built a fire position above the hole opening, and men would be able to shoot out during an attack. But, as Moran pointed out, a daylight attack would see the enemy spotting us – and our new and very obvious sturdy fire positions.

  Liban came and found me, admiring the new fire positions. ‘I spoke to Paris, and they will not pull us out. If you leave ... more French come.’

  ‘What the fuck does that mean?’ I loudly asked. ‘Does Paris have an agenda here?’

  He shrugged. ‘Paris always has an agenda.’

  ‘Which is..?’

  He pointed a finger at my chest. ‘You they tell these things, me – not so much. You tell London and Paris what it should be thinking, I get orders. So you ask them what is the agenda here, eh.’ He walked off, leaving me watch him go, the lads wondering what was up.

  Phone out, I checked a number from my list and hit the buttons as I peered south at the wrecked jeeps in the distance. The ground dipped a little for the first 300yards, then it climbed a little, it certainly wasn’t flat I considered as I thought about planting mines. ‘It’s Captain Wilco, get me the Chief Cabinet Secretary, and fast.’

  I waited, pacing up and down.

  ‘Captain Wilco? Chief Secretary.’

  ‘Need you to go see the PM, or get a message to him. Are you up to speed on what’s been happening down here?’

  ‘Like most loyal subjects I now scan The Sun newspaper.’

  ‘I’ve just been informed by the French that if British and American forces pull out that they will remain, bolster their force and take over the fight ... and this base.’

  ‘And reading between the lines...’

  ‘They have an agenda, so go figure it out, and inform the PM, and fast.’

  Next call was Colonel Mathews. ‘Sir, we have an issue at a political level.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘French government has decided that if we pull out they’ll stay, bolster their forces and run this base.’

  ‘What? Like fuck they will! It was our idea, and we got the agreement with the Nigerians!’

  ‘Pass it up the line fast, sir, and message Admiral Jacobs.’

  Back at my lads I shouted, ‘Listen up. The French are remaining here if the others leave, more men to arrive.’

  ‘What they playing at?’ Moran wondered.

  ‘They ain’t staying without us,’ Rizzo protested. ‘We took the lead here!’

  ‘Keep digging, I don’t think we’ll be withdrawn.’

  The loud thud, thud, thud had men looking, Sasha firing out on the Duska. Well at least it worked.

  I took the jeeps back to the RAF Regiment, four six-foot slabs manhandled onto the backs of the jeeps and dropped at Echo. Robby had created a two-man firing position, so he placed two slabs on top, one at the back and sloping, and it would give the men inside some protection, legs still exposed to rounds coming down at 45degrees.

  Back at Haines, his boys started to lift metal mesh frames from under the sand, the kind used to reinforce concrete, and they were not rusted. I told them, ‘Fifty years in a dry sand, no moisture, that’s why no rust.’

  I took six back to Slider and Rizzo. They placed the grids over the trench, sandbags on top, sand over the sandbags. Tomo grabbed one, and angled it on his firing position, building up sandbags, but we were running low on sandbags.

  Libintov called. ‘I have that order ready for you, the seller is ... most keen to move them on.’

  ‘Could you get some sandbags as well?’

  ‘There is a place that makes them, I’ll ask. How many?’

  ‘Thousands.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘If you can’t get sand bags, deliver the anti-personnel mines tonight.’

  ‘OK, will do.’

  I walked to the stores area and sorted through boxes, finding one stuffed full of empty sandbags, soon dragging it along the runway to Echo. ‘Get these sandbags filled!’

  Tomo grabbed ten, keen to see his creation completed – and telling everyone how great it would be, Dicky and Mouri grabbing many as I saw the jeeps drive down the runway by the medics, the metal mesh handed to the French. I had the next batch handed to Sergeant Crab. We just needed more sandbags.

  My phone trilled.

  ‘Captain Wilco?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘PM for you.’

  I waited.

  ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What are the French after down there?’

  ‘I’d hazard a guess at local influence. They have bases in Mali and Niger, so we’re close by, and a victory here helps them. Also, they suffer at the hands of the fighters in
Mali and Niger, so if those fighters get killed here it helps them – and us to a degree, we also have commercial mines that get attacked.’

  ‘If you recommend a pull-out, I have little choice but to agree with you, you’re the commander on the ground.’

  ‘I’m not recommending a pull-out, sir.’

  ‘Then ask for what you need, and keep casualties down.’

  ‘Send the MOD a note, sir, to that effect.’

  ‘It will done in minutes. You take care now.’

  ‘How long you got left, sir?’

  ‘Five days, then a damn good holiday.’

  ‘I’ll hand you a final victory, sir.’

  ‘I’ll be soon forgotten, you’ll see.’

  Call ended, I stared south at the shimmering horizon, wondering if I could pull this off, and how I might pull it off. I finally transmitted, ‘Wilco to all teams, the British Government has ordered British troops to remain and fight. Prepare positions, inventory supplies and ammo, get ready.’

  My lads just shrugged and continued, people taking the piss out of Tomo’s creation. Tomo had forgotten to make a way in and out, Moran doubled over laughing, Nicholson shaking his head at me and looking embarrassed for Tomo.

  I waited for Moran to settle. ‘Captain, Mitch, Ginger, go inventory the Valmet grenade launchers and box-fed, clean them, some back here for our lads, rest in the drain ready. I want numbers, gentlemen.’

  An hour later the Air Commodore called me back. ‘High-level meeting taking place about your situation, supplies to be made ready, aircraft ready for evacuation. What do you need that’s top of the list?’

  ‘I could do with a few more medics, from Sierra Leone, surgeons and doctors, and some IV and plasma. Then I need some grenades, hundreds of them, from any location. I had asked about mines-’

  ‘UK Government is not keen to be seen to be planting mines, unless we’re at war.’

  ‘I understand, sir, and I have another source for them anyhow. I asked the Squadron Leader in Mauritania for GPMGs and ammo from Sierra Leone, they’ll be needed, plus any empty sandbags you have, sir. I also asked for standard trip flares, hundreds of them.’

  ‘I’ll make some calls now.’

  ‘My Major is talking directly to Valmet in Finland, but you could chat to them as well, we asked for more weapons from them. Other than that we just need some luck. Oh, and try and get me half a dozen video cameras.’