by Geoff Wolak
‘You then dig in, slit trenches, because when they attack you’ll have no cover. Fortunately, east of you are dunes and rocks full of the American Wolves, so no one will be sneaking up on you that way. To the west is three miles of flat nothingness.
‘British Wolves will cut the track south, so there’ll be no one driving up to shoot at you – we hope. Then, and after you check the runway, you call in supplies and jeeps – Omani jeeps, some with 105mm. The fighters will try and hit you with rockets, and sneak up from the west, so get ready.
‘They may also send a helo at you, and be inventive in how they attack you, so … thinking caps on as you spread out and dig in.’
We heard the screech and felt the blast, sand and dirt thrown up 400yards north, men jumping up and looking that way, the view blocked by the high dunes.
‘They know where we are, roughly,’ I told the officers. ‘Don’t worry, it’s a big area, and if you’re blown to bits then it’s accidental aim - nothing personal.’ They laughed. ‘Be ready to move out when the sun hits that ridge west of us,’ I added, pointing at it.
‘No time to acclimatise, play in the sand?’ Pritchard asked.
‘I don’t think you’ve moved many degrees of latitude on the map, Mister Pritchard, nor suffered a long flight. A good leg stretch is what you need after all that driving or you’ll get haemorrhoids – and be a pain in the arse.’
His men laughed at him as he led them off.
Max closed in. ‘What was the issue with that bombed building in Muscat?’
I sighed, loudly, and gave him the detail.
He finally noted, ‘Major Harris was at fault I guess. What do I print?’
‘You mention that the Israelis got us the warnings, that I passed them on to the Omani military and police three days prior to the conference, and to London Intel, and that the FCO and the embassy here got the warnings.’
‘So they all fucked it up,’ he noted. ‘Not your fault.’
‘But I’m the man in charge, and it’s always the fault of the man in charge.’
‘Same old bollocks, fucking MOD never knows what it’s doing.’
‘Are you a reporter, Sergeant Max, or a down-beaten enlisted man?’
‘More soldier than reporter these days,’ he grumbled as he headed off.
Morten approached. ‘Where will you want us?’
‘Split up, two teams. One team behind us at the caves, second team on the dirt strip. But once that strip is secure, get the Americans in, tents set up.’
A blast in the distance had men looking, but the dunes were great for absorbing any fragmentation.
My phone trilled, Mutch. ‘Hey fat bastard.’
‘Your identity has been confirmed,’ he quipped.
‘What you got?’
‘It’s a long list, no idea how accurate it is or if they’re still alive. From the top down – in importance and relevance, there are four UN doctors, six UN AID workers, two MSF doctors, two black lady nurses from Sanaa – so the hostages can look after their own health needs well enough.
‘Next, we have two dozen government workers of some description, plus a cabinet minister – but they refused his ransom and he was rumoured to have been shot. Do you want to consider those missing more than two years?’
‘Two years? They’d be dead. Two years in a cave? Shit…’
‘They would be less than fresh, yes. There’s also a stretch here, in that a sail boat went missing, son a French minister plus his rich wife and their crew.’
‘When?’
‘Two months ago, they were heading past Aden when last heard of, no sign of the boat, no storm to sink them.’
‘Could be at the bottom of the ocean. OK, thanks, send that list to Major Harris.’
‘I hear he’s in hot water…’
‘Could be, his team missed some intel, but we stopped the bomb in time. Has Sanderson said anything?’
‘Sanderson got a shitty phone call, or ten, loud calls. He was sour-faced last night and this morning, they all are.’
‘Play that Monty Python song, bright side of life.’
‘Might take more than that, might need some chocolates.’
‘Then maybe we’ll get some hostages, and a good result. Fingers crossed. Wilco out.’
I went and found Max. ‘Put that story out on Reuters right now, but read it to me first.’
He took out his pad, squinting, and read his terrible scribbled notes as men came and went, many seen cooking.
‘OK, send that now. But add a quote from me: twelve different bodies and agencies had the warnings and all failed to join the dots. At the end of the day, security around Muscat is down to Omani police and their intelligence services.’
‘They won’t be pleased.’
‘I know the Crown Prince well, and he’ll understand. Do it.’
As the sun hung low a rocket hit the hill above us, dirt and rocks raining down, a few minor wounds for the medics to look at. It was the wake-up call, men getting ready to move out.
I called Swifty. ‘Have your men up the hill look for a safe way to the dirt track west, then move all the British Wolves to it, spread out above it, cut that track before dawn. If you’re in position and see jeeps, shoot.’
‘OK, moving out now, they did think they spotted a good way through – as they cut their hands on the rocks.’
Kovsky called. ‘F18 got a look at that camp, mortars and rockets in an area set away from the camp. Shall we hit it?’
‘Yes, straight away please.’
I told British and French Echo to get ready, and fifteen minutes later they were formed up in a long line, observing the SAS lead off the British forces west. Morten and three medics would stay with me, as well as Max, some of their kit distributed amongst the men.
Rizzo walked in with his team, Mitch coming across the dunes, and after a careful headcount - plus a search of the ground for valuable items left behind, I led them off west, Tiller and Brace having weaved their way along the ridge west during the day.
At the southwest corner of the volcano the hills were gentle, and lower, so I started up, moving diagonally in places, loose dirt negotiated in places, grey rocks weaved around, and breathing hard at the crest I met Tiller and Brace, a stiff wind hitting me in the face as I peered south, the grey hills ahead of me now in shade on their east side.
As we balanced on the crest, pink-grey rocks bracketing us, Tiller and Brace pointed out where they had seen jeeps and caves, and they reported seeing and hearing blasts from US Navy strikes in the distance – beyond those caves.
Staring down the slope for a few seconds, I planned a route before we lost the light, and I finally started slowly down, the dirt turning darker by the minute, the hills to the west soon blocking the sun and casting a huge black shadow over the land.
I reached a plateau and followed it for half a mile, dropping down the east side in firm dirt underfoot as the peaks of the hills ahead of me finally turned black. I had two high pointed peaks south to use as my navigational aids, and they would remain visible, no cloud or rain to worry about here.
The stars appeared as we quietly plodded on, a long snaking line of men.
‘Nicholson for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I can see a track now and then, southwest two miles, jeeps on it.’
‘It leads to the camp and the caves, so somewhere ahead of us the hills drop to a valley and a track, but we won’t cross it till further west.’
As the hills got rounder I followed the gullies rather than go up and over, and an hour of slow weaving revealed lights ahead, in the distance. I told everyone to take a break.
Sat with Moran and Ginger, I began, ‘There are many hostages - if they’re still alive, some of them high-value hostages, Westerners, and … we need a good story here. So … how about we let the SAS make some noise and they draw men away as we go for the hostages?’
‘Hostages are the priority,’ Moran insisted. ‘That dirt strip is just an
exercise.’
‘Definitely,’ Ginger’s dark outline agreed. ‘We’re a hostage rescue team.’
I called Pritchard, the buttons from the phone giving my face a green tinge.
‘Hello?’ came a man out of breath.
‘It’s Wilco, where are you?’
‘We met a Wolf team, Americans, then we just attacked a small group of jeeps, one caught fire, so the men on that strip know we’re here now.’
‘Great, that’s what I wanted, since we have a change of plan.’
‘We do?’
‘Yes, we got word about hostages, some high value, so I want you to make some noise. Attack tonight, don’t worry about taking that strip. You are hereby tasked with creating a loud diversion.’
‘Just as well after the fuck-up with these jeeps.’
‘What fuck up, you got my new orders an hour ago.’
‘Yes I did,’ he loudly agreed.
‘Go make some noise. Chat soon.’ Phone away, I explained, ‘They came across a jeep group and shot them up, jeeps on fire, and close enough to alert any men at that strip.’
‘Professional SAS, eh,’ Ginger noted. ‘Very stealthy. Good job you changed the plan, or the strip would have been bolstered.’
‘I hope it still is,’ I told their black outlines.
After a half-hour break I sent Tomo and Nicholson forwards, the rest of us plodding slowly southwest through the gullies till we ran out of useful gullies, half a mile of flat desert floor between us and the caves.
‘Nicholson for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Jeeps coming and going below, and the track winds up around behind the small hills, to the caves, and they must be big caves because the jeeps are driving into them. I can see static guards near the caves, none down on the track.’
‘And if we go west and around?’
‘We’d have some cover, but it will take a while.’
‘And east and around?’
‘We’d need to cross the track when it was not in use, but there is a place where it cuts through a gorge.’
‘OK, thanks, keep looking. Oh, range to the track?’
‘Six hundred from where we are.’
‘Get to some cover inside four hundred. Tiller and Brace, forwards, join them. Liban, come forwards to me please.’
When Liban arrived along the line of men we stood staring at the hills that housed the caves.
‘We go left and around,’ Liban finally suggested.
‘OK, slow and steady, we have till dawn. Take Mitch and his team, they hold that track with four of yours – four that speak English.’ He headed back. ‘Mitch, take your team to Liban, you’ll cut that track far left.’
‘Moving.’
‘Any of your lot speak French?’
‘Two of them.’
‘Good. Swan to me, Sasha and team forwards to me.’
They came in together. ‘Swan, use your sights from here, tomorrow you’ll see what we can’t see, because we’ll be above or to the sides of the caves. Sasha, stay here, check the rear, someone might be following our tracks.’
‘What about me? Max asked, sat now ten yards away in the dark.
‘Tag along behind us, don’t get shot.’ I lifted up, the team up, headcounts done, and I plodded off west, in a gully and out of sight of the caves.
I called London as we walked. ‘It’s Wilco, track back this position. South a mile are caves, hopefully some hostages in them, and hopefully still alive. French Echo is moving east and around to them, we’re moving west, teams spread out to cut the access road.
‘Let the US Navy know this position for possible helo extraction after dawn, have Chinooks ready, medics on them, Lynx for cover, we have fighters northeast a few miles.’
‘OK, I’ll pass that now.’
I called Harris. ‘You still have your head, Mister Harris?’
‘Had a shitty call from Sanderson earlier.’
‘Well my story will be on Reuters soon, and will lay blame elsewhere, so relax. Got a paper and pen?’ I detailed the terrain here, the teams, and the plan, and he would have the Chinooks ready.
He finally asked, ‘What about the HALO teams, they’re moaning?’
‘Send them tonight if you like, they drop north of the strip and walk west – not east – that’s west, down the side of the strip and they do a recon for me. Have the Hercules do a low and loud fly-by, I want fighters distracted as I go for the hostages.’
‘OK, I’ll sort that now. Do you … still have confidence in me?’
‘Yes, so don’t be a pussy. Move on. Fucking FCO and embassy had that warning three days before the bomb, and it’s the FCO risk assessment people that are supposed to issue the warning, their fuck up.’
‘Franks has been sulking as well, it’s not just me.’
‘Go cheer him up then, a few beers, some lap-dancing.’
‘Ha.’
‘Wilco out.’
About to move off, a goat scampered down the hillside, panicking men enough to aim at it.
‘It’s OK, it’s a goat,’ I transmitted.
‘Wild?’ Moran asked.
‘More likely it was on the menu for the boys over there in the caves and escaped its fate.’
‘The one that got away,’ Moran noted, the lads laughing quietly.
I plodded on, an eye on the caves west of us, and hour used up to reach the western hills, the contours now forcing us south. There were no lights nearby, no smoke detected on the breeze, no sound apart from the quiet whistle of the cold wind rustling the stunted bushes that grew around here.
The soft dirt underfoot afforded us a quiet approach, but a keen individual with a night sight might have spotted us; there were few places to shield our body heat signatures from someone at the caves. Still, we were all cold enough not to give off too much body heat.
Facing into the breeze, we plodded on slowly south, descending and climbing, the wind not too bad here - men wrapped up warm ready, and half an hour’s plodding over low hills brought us to a point that was a mile west of the caves we had seen, now the start point of a slow steady climb up, to get to a point that I figured was at least level with the caves or higher.
I had to zig-zag, nasty rocks in a few places, hands used to feel our way around them, and getting a wounded man out of here would have been slow. I was sweating a little by time I halted, starting to move left slowly up the slope, east, but soon blocked by a huge outcrop. I tucked the teams behind it.
Catching my breath, I stared down at the valley basin and across it. ‘Wilco for Nicholson, receiving?’
‘Good enough signal, boss.’
‘What can you see?’
‘A few jeeps drove out and down the track and off, say six, gone quiet now.’
‘Any increase in guards on duty?’
‘No, and most are sensibly stood out the wind, wrapped up warm and toasty.’
‘Did you move forwards?’
‘Yeah, we’re about four hundred yards from the track, got some good cover and a way out.’
‘Keep an eye on the guards, and scan right, we’re moving in from that way. Contact Liban for me, find out where he is.’
‘Standby.’
We could hear the outgoing messages, the incoming message garbled a little, the outcrop in the way of a clear signal.
‘Nicholson for Wilco, they’re across the track and up the hill, moving towards the caves slowly.’
‘Nicholson, scan the caves, count the entrances, look for exits high up. Is Mitch in place?’
‘Standby.’
We again heard the message back and forth, Mitch sounding garbled.
‘Nicholson for Wilco, they’re north of the track at a choke point, sat ready but getting cold.’
‘Roger that. Wilco out.’
‘Wilco,’ came a whisper, from Max back along the line. ‘I smell cooking.’
Everyone looked up the slope and sniffed, then down the slope.
‘Above us,’ Mora
n realised.
‘Parker, forwards.’ I could see a dark outline in motion. ‘Sling your rifle, up the hill, don’t break your neck.’
He scampered up the dirt till he was going hand over hand on the rocks, loose rocks falling down and clattering. The rocks he was negotiating were not steep, but they were certainly not designed to assist soft humans to pass over them.
We waited in the chill breeze, fifteen minutes, glancing upwards.
‘Parker for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.
‘Small hole up here, almost big enough for a man, and I can hear sounds below and feel warm air; they’re cooking tonight, smells great.’
‘Salome, get up there. Moran, you go.’
‘Why, because I’m small?’ he teased.
‘Can’t send Monster, can we.’
They slung their rifles and started up, ten minutes to reach Parker.
‘It’s Moran, and I could probably fit, so too Salome, but why don’t we block this. Amount of smoke rising here means it would fill up quickly.’
‘Can you see in?’
‘Negative.’
‘Can you crawl in and have a look, then block it? Could you breathe in there?’
‘Yeah, we can breathe. Give us fifteen minutes for a recon.’
‘Rope yourself off with cord if you have to.’
‘It’s got rough edges, easy to hold onto, bad for knees and heads!’
He was back on twenty minutes later, as the teams sat still. ‘Moran for Wilco. There’s a way down, could sneak a team in and hit them from behind, but there’s a blind spot so we can’t see who’s down there.’
‘Standby.’ I looked down the line of men. ‘Max, forwards.’
He scrambled along to me.
‘You got that video camera?’
‘Yeah..?’
‘Does it play back?’
‘Yeah, small black and white screen.’
‘Could you set it to record, lower it on rope?’
‘Yeah, easy enough.’
‘Get yourself and the camera up to Moran.’
Max rushed back to his kit and grabbed his camera, cord offered by the lads, and he was soon Spiderman in motion moving upwards.
