by Geoff Wolak
I turned my head to the waiting loadmaster and gave him a thumbs-up. Facemask on, goggles on, the lads copied as I sat next to Mitch. He was now in my team, so if he was working for someone else this was a grave risk. There was no evidence of that, so I put the thought out of my mind.
The ramp started to close, and we soon started to move, the small windows allowing in some light, a view of the apron, and we taxied along for five minutes, a pause, a turn right 180degrees, a pause, power on, and we picked up speed, soon lifting the nose.
I clicked on my radio, and shielded the mic inside my hand. ‘Listen up. When we land we’ll be in a valley that runs east to west, hills north, hills south, road down the middle. We group up, move north, try and find the target on the map, take a look, wait the French Paras and the chemical team.
‘Main objective here is to stop anyone coming or going, and to questions people there if we can, then the chemical boys will have a look. I don’t expect any gunmen to meet us, maybe a few armed guards, but let’s not take chances. Wind is blowing northwest, stay behind it, upwind.
‘When we drop, there’ll be a town northwest, that’s your reference point. Don’t land on the fucking town.’
‘We going to Sudan after this?’ Tomo asked.
‘Not likely, no,’ I told him. ‘Back to Sierra Leone. I told Sergeant Grab we’d only be gone a day.’
Heads shook as men laughed.
‘OK, drop routine will be as follows – because we don’t have the tone altimeters with us. Lead man counts in his head, or judges the ground, breaks away first, radio on, does the count and then pulls. Make sure you all back away, then follow the bag as normal or just drift. Teams drop every three seconds, no sooner.’
Less than an hour later the lights flashed and we stood, my team to be next to Rocko’s team, bags shuffled back, hands holding shoulders. We had no green chest lights, but we did have the bag light, now on.
The ramp came down, and we shuffled back, all the teams now up and holding their bags, Mitch familiar with the technique – he pioneered it after reading about an experimental HALO drop in the Second World War.
Green light on, and we fell out, Rocko’s team three seconds behind. I stabilised and got my bearings, peering down at the town below, and figuring that we were in the right spot. Looking up, I thought I could see Rocko’s team.
I had been counting in my head, and at the target number - the town now behind a ridge, I let go, hand in front, mic button pressed. ‘Break now! One thousand – two thousand – three thousand – four thousand.’ I pulled my release, a reassuring jerk upwards felt.
Looking down, I saw the bag chute burst into life, and looking up I could clearly see three other chutes. I turned towards the bag chute and followed it, the lads hopefully following me.
I could see the chemical plant south, dull yellow street lights visible, one office block in use, and it appeared to be a mile away. Below me was the black road, the bag drifting north of it.
We moved past the road, and when I heard the bag hit I bent my knees and pulled down on the guides, landing softly right next to the bag, scrambling to get the harness off, a thud and a curse heard, soon a second thud.
Tearing the chute off the bag, I opened the bag and grabbed a bandolier as someone stepped over.
‘I landed on a rock,’ Swifty complained.
‘OK to walk?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, but my arse is bruised.’
Two dark figures moved in as I handed out kit.
A thud, and Rocko’s bag landed twenty yards away as we got our webbing on, rifles out and loaded, cocked and checked. Leaving the chutes fluttering, I led my team north fifty yards to a depression, and we hid in it.
‘It’s Rocko, anyone around?’
‘Come north,’ I told him. ‘We’re in the ditch.’
‘It’s Rizzo, we’re down, I can see your chutes.’
‘Go north from the chutes.’
Rock’s team eased into the ditch, and we waited for Rizzo’s team. All now here, we peered up as other chutes were seen.
‘This is Wilco on the ground to those coming in to land. You hear me?
‘This is Fishy.’
‘You’re about to land on our heads – so you’re in the right spot. Form up and go south to the road.’
Thuds indicated bags hitting just west of us, the signal to lead my teams off north.
After five minutes my phone trilled. ‘Wilco here.’
‘It is Liban, where are you?’
‘Middle of the valley moving north.’
‘We are at a wall, some produce, we wait here for you, we are north.’
‘Roger that.’
Kicking up sand, we headed towards black hills, no lights seen, and having covered three hundred yards I could see the cultivated area, soon seeing a line of black blobs against a lighter wall. I whistled part of the French national anthem as we closed in.
Liban walked out. ‘You are loyal subjects now, no.’
‘Go the medal to prove it,’ I told him, and we laughed. ‘Follow me, but at least fifty yards left, spread out in a line left.’
‘OK.’
I moved to the right and around the produce, following a sandy track. The teams slowly crossed low stone walls, and we started to climb up a gentle ridge, a cool breeze from behind being reassuring.
Four hundred yards on, and lights could now be seen ahead. I glanced left, and could just make out the French closest to me as we approached waist-high stone walls. Over the walls we slowed right down, now moving cover to cover.
I knelt and called Liban.
‘Oui!’ came a whisper.
‘It’s Wilco. Hold here, I’m going to take a close look.’
‘OK.’
I transmitted, ‘Listen up. Rocko on my left, Rizzo on my right, ten yards out, dead slow, dead quiet. Advance.’
I led Swifty forwards, Moran and Mitch close behind and slightly to the right, a track crossed, and once over I changed tack left a little. Black outlines could now be seen, distant buildings, but so far no signs of life.
Closing in on the light source, I could now see that it was a dull bulb in a shack, some sort of sentry post. I walked right up to it, a peek in the window, a man sat reading a porn magazine – or at least looking at the pictures.
‘Stay here, cover me,’ I whispered, soon stepping softly around to the door. At the door I stood with my back to a wall, a glance down the dark track, buildings seen, no lights on.
An eye to the door, and it was not bolted and did not look locked. An eye to the key hole and the man had no weapon to hand. Rifle down quietly, I took out my pistol, turned the handle and rushed in, taking the man by surprise, a whack across the face with my pistol, throwing him to the floor face down. I landed on him, a knee to his ribs, a pained gurgle issued.
Pistol away, Swifty now at the door and knelt, I tore the man’s ear off, creating a shrill scream. In Arabic, I began, ‘What do you know of Sedan? Talk!’
‘He comes sometimes,’ the man cried out.
‘What is in the buildings here?’
‘Storage,’ he pleaded.
I inched closer to his bloodied ear. ‘Sedan was behind the chemical released on the plane that crashed, Algerians and Moroccans killed. I am going to hand you over to the Moroccans to be hanged.’
‘No, I know nothing of that, I just guard the gate! Please!’
‘Tell me something useful about chemicals, poisons, trucks moving at night.’
‘Trucks left at night two days ago, nothing since, no movement, no people here. Sedan was not here for many weeks.’
‘What is in these buildings?’
‘Storage, I don’t see inside, I am just here at night. Please, I have a family.’
‘You stood watch while poisons were being moved to kill Arabs, your family will never see you again.’
‘I can help you, please. There is a mine, a tunnel, we were not supposed to know about it, but I saw it on a drawing once. East down t
he valley two kilometre, something there of value – they kept everyone quiet about it.’
‘Are there any men in these buildings?’
‘No, all empty now.’
‘If you are lying, I will burn you alive, and slowly.’
‘Please, I am not lying, I just work here at night.’
Lifting him, I slammed him into the chair, taking off his boots and socks, my green hammock chord used to tie him to the chair, the chair to the desk as he bled down his shirt.
‘There are hundreds of French soldiers outside, so don’t try and go anywhere.’
Outside, in the dark, I called Liban. ‘It’s Wilco. I found a man and questioned him, and these buildings are empty, storage maybe, but there is a secret tunnel two kilometre east. Have one team left here to search, rest come with me. Come up now.’
‘OK, we come.’
I called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco. We’ve got local human intel on suspicious movement at a secret mine two clicks east of the phone fix. Update everyone, we’re on the way there now.’
Phone down, I transmitted, ‘Listen up, there’s a tunnel two clicks east, we’re heading there when French Echo gets here.’
Mitch and Moran were close by. Mitch began, ‘Effective questioning of that fella...’
‘I would have burnt him alive to get what I want, and worried about the consequences later. This is not a normal operation. In Northern Ireland I wouldn’t do that, but here – if these shits get the poison somewhere useful a lot of people die.’
French Echo could be seen as black blobs, then heard, a team sent towards the dark buildings as I led my teams east at a fast pace. I was counting my paces, and I asked others to do so as well.
Ten minutes later I was still maintaining a fast pace, sweating a little now, and not too worried about a reception committee. But having counted to 1500, I transmitted, ‘Single file, in your pairs, in your teams, get ready, might be some bad boys left of us in the hills.’
I plodded on, soft sand followed by rough ground, rocky outcrops skirted around. Something caught my eye, a flash of light, and I knelt. All those behind me knelt as well. Peering left, in my ten o’clock, I could see the amber glow of a cigarette.
I transmitted, ‘There’s a guard, fifty yards, ten o’clock. Tomo, Nicholson, silencers on, move left slow and quiet.’
They moved up and past me, into the rocks and around boulders.
Ten minutes later came a whisper, ‘This is Nicholson, two men sat in a jeep.’
‘Anyone else nearby?’
‘Not that we can see. Hundred yards left is that mine you said, one building, no lights on.’
‘Is their jeep window down?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Shoot the fuckers.’
A minute later two quiet cracks sounded out.
‘On me!’ I whispered and sprinted forwards. I found Tomo and Nicholson beyond the jeep. ‘Go check that building,’ I told them, and they ran off.
Reaching into the jeep, I patted down the first man, a sat phone found. Around the front of the jeep, hidden from the mine, I entered a number.
‘Duty officer.’
‘It’s Wilco, track back this number, all recent use, and fast. Wilco out.’ I turned the phone off and stuffed it into my bandolier. Moving bent double, I whispered, ‘On me!’
Halfway to the building, perched on the right of the track, black hills above us now, I knelt and waited.
‘It’s Nicholson,’ came a whisper over the radio. ‘That building is locked, solid door, can’t hear any movement inside.’
‘Go to the mine, dead slow and quiet.’
‘Moving.’
As their black blobs moved forwards I led the teams to the building, and we hid behind its wall.
‘Wilco, it’s Tomo, we’ll need ten tonnes of explosives to get inside this place.’
‘Any sounds?’
‘Nothing, dead quiet, I got an ear it.’
I transmitted, ‘All round defence, but get a brew on, we’ll be here a while.’
Telling my team to stay put, I walked back out and found Liban. ‘There’s a tunnel, but the doors are solid. Take up position here, but get a brew on.’
I lifted my sat phone and recalled a number.
‘Captain Harris here.’
‘It’s Wilco. Have the French get explosives, to blow a steel door, and to this location, two clicks east of that phone fix. No hurry.’
‘I’ll talk to them now.’
Back with my team, and sat now in the dark, water boiling, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘Duty Officer, SIS. That sat phone tracks back to a few places in the nearby town, and to Sedan three days ago.’
‘Any international calls recently?’
‘Not in the past two days.’
‘If you can identify the people in the town, pass it to the Algerians please.’
‘Will do.’
‘My sitrep: sat waiting some explosives at a mine entrance.’
After a cup of tea, sat chatting quietly, we found comfortable places to sit, and we waited. I called Major Horrocks, who was awake and with it, and his men were holding the roads, all quiet so far. Fishy had called him, all quiet where “A” Troop had positioned themselves.
The stars faded, the black night turning dark blue, then grey, a few men asleep in rotation as we waited.
A phone message, and the Paras were on their way, so we all walked to beyond the jeep and it’s dead bodies, and scanned the dawn sky.
The drone was heard first, the aircraft spotted, coming in from the west at 800ft, four aircraft in pairs, parachutes soon seen opening, lots and lots of parachutes. The aircraft passed us and banked right, climbing away having left a valley full of Paras, and as the Paras landed I noted how quiet it was. I just hoped that the footage would be more dramatic to the average French citizen when they saw it.
Ten minutes later, and Liban pointed, a patrol of Paras on a direct line for us. The others had collected up chutes and formed up, moving towards the chemical factory, the legit factory.
Tomo appeared at my side. ‘I shone my torch into that tunnel, some trucks a hundred yards in, fuck all else.’
I stepped to Liban. ‘What did your men find at the first place?’
‘Just storage, nothing else.’
‘So we still don’t know where they made and mixed it.’
‘In the tunnel?’
‘Would you mix chemicals in a tunnel?’
‘Ah ... well, no.’
The Para patrol eventually reached us, two men being demolition experts. I grabbed Stretch, and told them firmly we wanted the doors opened, but nothing inside damaged as I led them to the tunnel.
Stretch approached me five minutes later. ‘The doors are solid, bolted from inside, small door for a man, key lock. Best bet is that key lock, or the hinges, which look old and eroded.’
‘Up to you,’ I told him. ‘But we don’t want a pressure wave inside.’
Tomo approached. ‘Permission to try something,’ he requested.
‘Like what?’
‘Watch this.’ He stepped to the doors and waved the French back. Aiming up at an angle, he fired six rounds, holes made. Turning, he said, ‘That top bit ain’t so tough.’
I turned, and pointed at a Para with a GPMG, waving him on. The man made ready, aimed from the hip, and blasted away at the top of the door, a belt used, the door peppered.
Tomo took aim and fired ten rounds, trying to join the dots, Nicholson joining in, soon Swan and Leggit. Rocko stood with his back to the door, Tomo eased up, soon stood on Rocko’s shoulders, Tomo bashing the metal with his rifle butt, a section giving way.
The GPMG, now empty, was passed up, and Tomo whacked at the metal, and “L” shape now loose. He pulled his jacket from his webbing, placed it on the sharp edges, and eased his head inside, soon his shoulders, in up to his waist, his legs disappearing. We waited. A clank, a second clank, and the left door opened with a squeak.
&nbs
p; ‘Staff Sergeant Rocko,’ I loudly called as we moved forwards. ‘Bill that man for destroying a jacket.’
The lads laughed as Tomo protested.
Inside, I found a light switch and risked it. Nothing exploded when I flicked it on, a dull yellow light seen down the tunnel. Glove off, finger wet and raised, I said, ‘Wind blowing down the tunnel, so there’re vents down there somewhere.’
At the first truck I had a quick look in the back. Shiny barrels. ‘Everyone out!’ They ran, I ran after them, and we did not stop till we were beyond the jeep.
I said to Liban, ‘The poison is there, but where did they mix it?’
‘We blow it?’ he asked.
‘No, we leave that to the experts. Have this platoon stay here to guard it.’ I turned. ‘Nicholson, Tomo, shoot off the lock on the door of that building, see what’s inside. Report any containers, no risks.’
They moved off.
Phone lifted, I called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco, we found trucks with the poison in the back, no sign yet of where they mixed it. Have the Porton Down people come here first.’
‘OK, helicopters are on the way.’
I faced my team. ‘Breakfast.’ We sat in the sand and dug a small hole, cross-legged around it. ‘Mitch, we take it in turns, and you’ll buddy Captain Moran here. You’ll soon get used to our way of doing things.’
‘This deal is a bit of a damp squid, no shooting,’ he noted.
‘Be thankful,’ I told him. ‘Aim was to find the mixing plant and if any poison was left out there. We found the poison, so half a job so far.’
Fifteen minutes later Nicholson approached and knelt, papers in hand. ‘In Arabic, boss, was in a locked cabinet. Fuck all else. Most had a year’s worth of dust on it.’
‘Thanks.’ I started to read as Nicholson headed off. ‘This has the chemicals used to make the stuff, batches destroyed or not ready, batches stored. No key intel in this though, no names, no phone numbers.’
I read on. ‘Ah...’ I looked up as they stared back at me, a pause in eating. ‘Sudan. This says that they would replicate some process there.’
‘We going into Sudan?’ Swifty asked, now worried.
‘Not if we want to get out alive, no,’ I told him. ‘CIA can have a look at this.’ I stuffed the papers away, and we finished breakfast, chatting to Mitch about his early years.
