by Geoff Wolak
Hunt turned to me. ‘Good job I have no family to worry about, or at least no family expecting me for Christmas. My first week with you and you turn Europe upside down.’
‘Wait for the second week,’ I quipped. ‘Might have some difficult questions for you.’
‘I’ve been feeling pretty useless this week. And most of the decisions taken were ... right yet illegal, or against the rules. If the JIC knew about this they’d lock us all up. So fuck knows what my remit is, because stopping you breaking the fucking rules it ain’t.’
‘Would you have stopped me at any point?’ I pressed.
‘Well ... no, I agreed with it all, and when a bunch of terrorists are about to kill thousands you do what must be done. Problem is, years later people analyse it and call you to account. The one good thing is ... no jury would ever convict you, of anything. I spoke to the staff at SIS, and the British media has you down as single-handedly stopping the terrorist before they destroyed Britain!’
Moran put in, ‘He made the judgement calls, he bent the rules, he gets the credit – and the enquiry.’
‘And you?’ Hunt nudged.
‘I’d like to think I would have made the same decisions, but first of all I don’t have friends in low places, and I wouldn’t have tortured information out of anyone, so ... I would have failed to stop Sedan.’
‘In time, Captain,’ I told him. ‘And when the time came you followed me into that building. I’ll be nudging the Prime Minister for a medal for you.’
Moran considered that. ‘Was a time when such a medal would have meant something. Now, career progression seems irrelevant, shooting up the terrorists is more important.’
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ came from Tomo, the lads laughing.
I shook my head. ‘You know, on occasion I do actually worry about the safety of people like Tomo.’
‘Why?’ Swifty challenged. ‘He’s too stupid to appreciate it.’
Hunt asked me, ‘How good is Tomo?’
‘World class soldier,’ I replied. ‘In the top twenty in the UK. He might not behave like it, but when the action starts his heart and his head are in the right places.’
‘And your medal...?’ Hunt nudged.
I made a face. ‘Nice to be appreciated, but some cash and a good holiday would have been better.’
‘Damn right,’ Swifty put in.
I added, ‘Not like I’m ever going to wear the thing down the pub.’ I looked over my seat to Sasha. ‘You got a medal from the French President.’
‘It is first time for wanted gunman, no?’ he said with a smile, the lads laughing.
‘If he knew ... and if the press found out, be hell to pay.’
We touched down after dark, most of the lads dosing – not least because they were hung over. Door open, fresh warm air invaded the cabin, and we stepped down to find Captain Harris with some of the Sigint team from Credenhill, the strip very busy, four C160s sat there, one Hercules.
I told Harris, ‘We need some food, a wash, and some sleep.’
‘Hut is waiting, field cookery unit here as well now, fucking loads of French Paras.’
‘SAS regulars here?’
‘”A” Squadron have been here whilst you were away, “D” Squadron set to land tonight.’
Jeeps took us, and our crates, to a familiar hut, and we dumped kit, familiar beds claimed.
A new face appeared at the door in green fatigues. ‘Captain Wilco,’ he stated whilst making eye contact, an American accent. ‘They showed me your photo, so I knew to recognise you.’
I stepped towards him, hoping he wasn’t an assassin. He was as tall as me, not as wide in the shoulders, displayed lieutenant bars on his shoulders, and looked fit. ‘And you are...?’
‘Mitchell, they call me Mitch. I’m to replace Mahoney, who’s now a captain.’
‘Ah. And Mahoney’s wounds?’
‘Not serious, all healed up.’
‘And they let you onto this base?’ I puzzled.
‘Flew in and landed with more FBI guys, found your SAS officers and made myself at home. Spoke to some lame ass pen-pusher called David Finch yesterday.’
‘He’s our boss, at least he gives us more direction than most. Bit of a pen pusher, yes, leaves the difficult decisions to me so that I get the blame.’
‘Yep, that figures.’
‘You’re in at the deep end, Mitch..?’
‘I did your three day a month back, got 93%, and I’m up to speed on the Valmect, HALO trained of course.’
‘You don’t dress like a Delta.’
‘Airborne Rangers. I was in Brag, teaching, came up through the ranks like Mahoney. They asked for volunteers to try your three day, and after that I was asked to replace Mahoney.’
‘Dumb thing to do,’ I told him. ‘If you’d seen what we did this past week you might reconsider that.’
‘Been following the news, and ... I’d rather not screw around with nerve agent, no.’
‘You up for a live HALO insert?’
‘I taught HALO, used the bag technique ten years back.’
‘I saw the technique in a magazine, US soldiers, so it may have been you I pinched the idea from. Where’s your kit?’
‘Some in the UK, some over in the SAS tents.’
‘Bring it here, you eat and sleep with us from now on.’
He nodded. ‘Give me an hour.’
After he stepped away I called SIS. ‘It’s Wilco. I have a new American officer embedded with me, Mitchell. I want his ID triple checked, physical description, everything, and double check with the CIA about him – known associates, finances, just in case.’
‘You suspect him?’
‘No, just being thorough. Do it quickly please.’
After a meal in the busy canteen, Mitch was back to us.
‘Everyone,’ I called. ‘This is Mitch, US Rangers, here to replace Mahoney. He got 93% on the three day, so he won’t slow us down any, and he taught HALO in the States – so we might learn something from him. Captain Moran, you can buddy with him.’
Mitch grabbed a bed and dumped his kit, Tomo asking questions, silly questions. Mitch explained that Rambo was just a movie, and no – he had never met the guy.
Stood outside the hut later, observing the aircraft landing, Mitch appeared at my side. ‘I’m on this next part of the job?’
‘Yes, just stick with Moran.’
‘That kid Tomo..?’
‘Will out-run you, out-shoot you, and he has hundreds of confirmed kills, dozens of live HALO inserts, he just likes to play at being a boy.’
‘He shot some African officer in the balls?’
I smiled. ‘He does that often. And his attitude ... is the right one, because he’ll never get stressed. This is a game to him, and that’s what I want, not someone all uptight and worried about their own mortality. The lads compete for the most kills, the best kills, they don’t suffer stress before and after a job.’
‘My old man came back from Vietnam with stress, never got over it.’
‘He never knew what he was fighting for,’ I stated. ‘Not that it was a good cause to start with. My lads get pep talks from me about the good work they’re doing, but the real reason they fight is to help their mates and be part of the team, the family. Why do you do it, Mitch?’
‘Not sure, is the simple answer. I love the training, I love teaching the younger guys, love to watch old war movies, hate my day off.’
‘If you hate your day off then there’s hope for you as a super-soldier. But if you stay with us you’ll see a lot of action. Right now, your life expectancy is a year at most.’
‘You lost many men?’
‘Wounded more than killed; if a round shatters a bone your career is ended. Two killed this past year, one lost an arm, one lost a finger and quit, two others with serious wounds and let go. My best buddy, he was wounded, couldn’t carry on, quit and took his own life. That happens with us.’
‘Buddy of mine Stateside broke his back
on a drop over the desert, and a year later blew his brains out – first chance he had after hospital. From top of the class, to paralysed, a hell of a step down.’
I nodded. ‘I wouldn’t want to hang around like that. So what’s Mahoney doing anyway?’
‘Last I heard he was on courses, captain courses.’
‘I did a few of those after they made me captain.’
‘You came through the ranks?’
‘I jumped quickly up the ranks when I landed with the SAS. In the SAS, a pay-sergeant is someone who gets a sergeant’s pay but doesn’t wear the stripes. But I was planning and leading the missions so they made me a captain. Here I have operational control, even over colonels.’
‘A bit odd...’
I nodded. ‘That it is, yes.’
‘And this Russian..?’
‘Hard to explain, but I can trust him with my life, so can you.’ My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘Duty Officer, SIS London. We have a fix on the phone usage of Sedan, and we passed it to the French through channels. Got a paper and pen?’
‘Hang on.’
I knelt and took out my small pad and pen. ‘OK.’ I wrote down the two coordinates. ‘Thanks.’
I grabbed Moran, and led Mitch to the DGSE room, finding a map of the target area. On the map I could see the main chemical plant, but these two phone fixes were a mile away, in the hills. The map showed buildings and tracks, but not what they were.
I faced the DGSE main man. ‘You have the French Paras ready for a drop at dawn?’
‘Dawn? Some just got here!’
‘They get some sleep tonight, a few hours, after kit is checked. Do you have the chutes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Organise everyone now, target drop time is dawn tomorrow.’
He exchanged a look with his colleagues and started to shout orders as I stepped out. The three off us jogged around to the SAS tents, finding “D” Squadron lads milling around.
I closed in on Major Horrocks. ‘Sir, you have HALO gear?’
‘Yes, brought it with us. Any idea what the French have in mind?’
‘They’ve had passed operational control on the ground to me.’
His eyes widened. ‘They have?’
‘Yes, sir, so we go tonight if we have enough chutes. Check all the chutes, form teams, HALO bags ready, and we’ll have a command meeting in one hour.’
‘An hour?’
‘An hour, sir, or the chemicals could be moved elsewhere and it’s a waste of a trip.’
‘Well, yes.’
I found Fishy and warned him of the drop, soon a mad panic to get kit ready amongst “A” Troop. Finding Captain Harris with Hunt, they directed us to a hangar with both chutes - and a large gang of RAF Para School staff that has just arrived.
‘Let’s be having you!’ I shouted, my words echoing. ‘We insert tonight, HALO gear for Echo!’
Men closed in.
I approached the Squadron Leader and we shook. ‘How many chutes, sir?’
‘We have your stock, plus lots more.’
‘Have some of your lads on the drop, they can collect chutes.’
‘And ... the dangers?’
‘None for them, they’ll be well back from any shooting.’
‘Well, good experience for them.’
‘We’ll be back in just over an hour for the gear.’
Next stop was French Echo, all told to get their HALO gear ready, we were going in tonight, soon a mad scramble.
‘In at the deep end,’ Mitch noted.
‘Don’t breath in any nerve agent, or your stay with us will be a short painful one.’
He exchanged a look with Moran as we headed back to our hut.
‘OK, listen up!’ I shouted. ‘We HALO in tonight. Command meeting in forty minutes or less, Rocko and Rizzo, rest will move to the hangar and get the gear. Check all kit now.’ I turned to Moran. ‘Run around and see if anyone has any desert browns for us, eh.’
He headed out.
‘Sasha, you and your team stay here, watch our kit.’
I sat and cleaned my rifle, magazines checked, pistol checked, torch, sat phone, spare battery, radio checked.
Sasha eventually sat next to me. ‘We are not on this next job?’
‘First, I should never have taken you to France, would be very hard to explain you. And if you were wounded, ended up in hospital, finger printed..?’
‘Yes, a problem.’
‘In Sierra Leone, it’s controlled by the British military, less of a problem. But remind me to be careful where I take you.’
He nodded.
Moran came back with an armful of clothes, desert browns, a French sergeant behind him holding more. I grabbed trousers and a shirt - they were the right size, so we all got changed, Mitch finding trousers that fit him. My bandolier and webbing was still green, but it would have to do, my cap still green for now, jackets being jungle green. It would have to do.
When Mitch and Moran were ready I led them back to the DGSE room, finding French officers, SAS and RAF now gathering. With just about everyone here that I figured should be here, I stood on a chair.
‘Gentlemen.’ They quietened down. ‘We don’t know if the chemicals are still there, or when they will be moved, so we go tonight. If the chemicals are not there we look for evidence of where they were sent. Everyone ... stay upwind. French, what’s the weather forecast for the target area?’
‘Light wind blowing northwest.’
‘We’ll land southeast then, a few miles out, and walk in. Everyone, stay southeast, keep the wind in mind at all times. If they release the chemicals you’re safe if you are upwind.
‘British Echo, French Echo and the SAS will HALO in, SAS teams to be decided, but I want a team left here to react to intel – maybe the bad boys are someplace else. British and French Echo will move in for a close look, SAS will hold the perimeter and cut the roads, and stop Algerians from approaching our rear.
‘Fishy, your men will be on the access road, holding that road, have a look at the map. “D” Squadron, I want two insert teams - if you can assist us with this. One goes due west a mile and holds position, one due east a mile and holds position for when the French Paras land at dawn. They’ll be our eyes and ears, make sure they have sat phones.
‘French Paras, you drop at dawn. On the map you will see a valley, the chemical plant on the southwest ridge, a road down the centre of the valley. Land close to the road, form up, cut the road, spread out, don’t let anyone drive in or out, surround the chemical plant but do not go inside. Men from Porton Down?’
‘Here.’ A grey-haired man waved his arm.
‘You go in by helicopter and have a look around, but most likely your target will be north, across the valley. Still, all records and all areas need to be checked. French chemical team with you, no risks, fully kitted.
‘The remainder of your teams, heavy equipment, extra French soldiers, move by truck. They need to leave soon to be in place sometime tomorrow. Put your heavy kit on the trucks now and send them off with escorts. They don’t need to be there for dawn.
‘French Paratroopers, you send your men as you wish, one or two groups, this will not be a quick operation, we will be there many days. And to the west a few miles is a road, long and straight, it could be used to land a C-160, also the main road in the valley could be used, check it first please.
‘French Echo, British Echo, move your men to the apron, get parachutes, we HALO after midnight or when we’re ready.’ I checked my watch. ‘It is now 10pm, so we have time. French, have all C-160 ready in an hour for the inserts, please.’
I stepped down as conversations broke out, and to Major Horrocks. ‘How many men can you drop tonight, sir?’
‘Three teams of eight, they believe, one team on standby here, plenty of spare bodies hanging around in support.’
‘Have the three teams kitted ready to go, sir, make sure they have sat phones with my number - and the base here. They drop i
n the middle of the valley, and hold that road, simple enough, and simple navigation – it’s a wide sandy valley.’
He nodded and led his captains out.
Back at my hut I shouted the men up, water down, and we jogged around to the apron, and into the hangar with the Para School. HALO bags loaded, chutes on whilst being assisted, our harnesses were checked over by the experts, Mitch checking his own chute harness.
Facemasks made ready, plastic goggles ready, we would not be using helmets. Radio earpiece in, signals given, I checked each man’s radio in turn, Mitch without one.
French Echo could be seen boarding their aircraft. Major Liban strode over, his harness loose, goggle around his neck. ‘You are ready, no.’
‘We’re ready. We land, form-up in the middle of the valley, walk north. Simple. I want you on the west of me, same for when we reach the target area. Regular SAS will be on the road, covering our rear.’
He nodded. ‘We have a camera man. And small camera for my sergeant, he will film.’
‘You’ll be a movie start, no, Lieutenant Colonel,’ I mocked.
‘Pah, I have my mask on.’ He turned on a heel and strode off to his plane.
A word with a French Air Force officer in the busy hangar mouth, and our ride was pointed out to us, its engines turning.
I stepped to the team. ‘Let’s be having you!’ Halo bags grabbed and awkwardly lugged, I led them off, a headcount performed, faces checked.
My sat phone trilled so I paused on the apron, my team having to lug the bag without me. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s David Finch.’
‘Up late, Boss?
‘Manic here. Listen, we checked out that American chap, Mitchell, all matches up, and the CIA did a quick check, nothing found. What’s your concern with him?’
‘Just that someone might have offered him a shit load of money.’
‘No evidence of that, but if he was a good agent we’d now know.’
‘Then let’s hope he has the right motivation. I’m about to board a plane with him, HALO into south western Algeria tonight.’
‘Good luck.’
I walked as quickly as I could in my harness and up the ramp, soon pointing at the HALO bags. Each team knew where their bag was, sort of, Rizzo not sure. Swifty pointed at ours.
