Wilco- Lone Wolf 22

by Geoff Wolak

  Wilco:

  Lone Wolf

  Book 22

  Copyright © Geoff Wolak

  Started January, 2014

  This book is historically very accurate in places, technically correct for the most part, yet it is fiction, really fiction, definitely fiction, and any similarity to real people or real events – although accidental - is probably intentional. Some characters in this book may be based on some of the wankers I have either worked with or unfortunately met over the years.

  Email the author: gwresearchb@aol.com

  www.geoffwolak-writing.com

  Next year’s headache

  Stood on the roof of the hotel in the sunshine, Swifty and I discussed tactics here in Monrovia, but it came down to a simple principle: let’s just shoot anyone we don’t like the look of.

  Mitch came out of the stairwell, a glance down around those areas bordering the hotel, doing his job of hotel security chief diligently. ‘Any action?’ he asked as he drew alongside, his eyes still on the surrounding area.

  I cradled my rifle. ‘We hit a few drug dealers, oh … and a gang with slave girls. But Rizzo has spotted a place with some busy commerce going on within, armed guards outside.’

  ‘So what’s going on within?’ Mitch posed as we took in the view, the three of us peering out at the nearby shanty town.

  ‘Fuck knows. Could just be stolen VHS video machines, not drugs and guns. Around here you import things yourself, and you probably need armed guards so that the locals buy your goods and don’t just steal them.’

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Rizzo, and they have a hostage! A white man!’

  ‘Calm down. Does it look like he’s an innocent mine worker, or a drug dealer?’

  ‘How would I know?’ he complained.

  ‘Exactly, you don’t know. That guy could be a local gun runner, so don’t get sympathetic yet. I’ll check to see who’s missing. How old is he?’

  ‘Say … fifty.’

  ‘Hair colour?’

  ‘Grey or white.’

  ‘Beard?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How’s he dressed?’

  ‘White shirt on top, blue jeans. They have him tied to a chair, beating him.’

  ‘Then they want answers from him, not a ransom. Keep observing, but I think he’s a bad boy.’ I called London. ‘It’s Wilco, and we have a hostage spotted being held in Monrovia. White male, fifty, grey hair, white shirt and blue jeans. I need all agencies to check if they have anyone missing down here, missing recently, and quickly please because we’ll probably launch a rescue tonight.’

  I turned to Mitch. ‘Round up all spare men, and the medics, hostage rescue imminent, inform Mister Forester first.’

  He rushed out with Swifty.

  I called Mike Papa and described the man.

  Mike Papa responded, ‘I will ask around, but we have no one listed as kidnapped. There are some white men in the city, say … thirty or more, all sorts of business going on, none legal or paying taxes.’

  ‘You collect taxes?’ I queried.

  ‘No, not yet, but … someday soon we hope.’

  ‘Find out for me if anyone is missing please, like a French doctor.’

  ‘I will have them check now.’

  ‘And send me two buses and more jeeps.’

  I called Moran and he would head back in a hurry. Downstairs, I found the command room busy, and I pointed our badly-smelling local police enforcer to a map. ‘The business is here, and they have a hostage.’

  He offered me a shiny black face and a smile that said he was badly in need of a dentist. ‘At that place there is some business yes, all sorts, TV and fridge, but also some drugs and guns. You can ask for what you want and they find it for you – at a good price.’

  Forester was listening in.

  ‘And if we shoot them all?’ I pressed.

  ‘Then there are not so many stolen fridges and TVs in the city.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Any reason why they would kidnap a white man?’

  ‘There be some white men, who arrange the TV and fridges from Europe, yes.’

  I faced Forester as others listened in. ‘Chances are it’s a local dispute, late payment, but we use it as an excuse to go in hard, fewer gunmen on the streets afterwards. My OP reports armed guards, lots of them.’

  Forester responded, ‘Then we make a rescue plan, and execute it, find out who this man is afterwards. I want to talk to Sergeant Rizzo on the phone and get a description of the place and the area.’

  I called back Rizzo and handed him over to Forester, who drew a diagram and added in the streets, plus any tall buildings. He noted numbers of armed men, civvy workers, women, where the kitchen was, toilets, truck parking area.

  Off the phone, he told everyone, ‘A frontal assault would see casualties, so we need to go in the back way after we set a diversion, local empty house on fire – and there are a few.’

  ‘Good plan, sir,’ I commended. ‘I have buses coming, and more jeeps, and we can use numbers to overrun them quickly, fewer wounded men on our side.’

  He pointed at the map. ‘One long straight road to get there, so maybe they have people out reporting movements.’

  ‘No way in hell … do they expect us. Tomorrow, some groups might, but right now there’s no precedent for any bunch of white soldiers ever attacking anyone here.’

  ‘So we have the element of surprise, and could just drive up. Still, I’ll plan a diversion, and I say we go after dark, buses and jeeps in a side street a block away, medics ready.’ He faced me and waited.

  I shrugged. ‘That’s what I would have done, sir,’ I told him.

  He faced Stiffy. ‘All your men, north side truck park, in position after dark, but these are narrow streets and there are lots of people just walking around, so we need to coordinate it well.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He pointed at Robby. ‘You plus nine men, or that tall lady as well, south side, aim at the windows and make a loud noise, try and get over the wall.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He faced me. ‘You debus around the corner and move in quickly and quietly, front entrance. As soon as the game is up your rooftop sniper team opens up, front gate guards first, then the armed men inside.

  ‘Men to the south shoot out the windows and create a noise. Ten minutes before all that happens we have a small team set a fire with petrol, north side, distract them, but let’s not burn down the shanty town, eh.’

  He stood straight and addressed me. ‘Breach team is down to you, Major.’

  ‘My four best men with pistols will go in first, Valmet is no good in a narrow stairwell. They go direct to the hostage, the follow-up team searches the rooms and neutralizes any and all armed men. And we need to keep in mind that these are rank amateurs not expecting us, weapons dirty and not cocked, safety on. There will be no booby-traps.’

  ‘And the risks here?’ Forester asked.

  ‘A lone gunman we miss, firing from a window, we could see men dead and wounded. But that’s the job. Here we may lose men to an accident, not good defences from these idiots.’

  I stepped out and called Rizzo. ‘Where’s the hostage being held?’

  ‘Room northwest, next to the kitchens, overlooks the street below us, first floor. Could climb up to it, and there’s a truck, so someone on the cab could shoot into that room.’

  ‘We’ll hit it after dark from all sides, keep us posted.’

  Half an hour later and London called. ‘We have no one listed as missing, checking with the French now, and Interpol and the FBI. So far we’ve drawn a blank.’

  ‘This white guy could be a local gun dealer that upset someone, not a hostage, but we proceed as if he’s a hostage till we know otherwise. Update
David Finch, but this is a low-risk operation, and we out-number them and out-gun them ten to one.’

  I had Mitch find a ladder, and Tomo would be our ladder man, pistol in hand. I told him, ‘You break the glass, shoot the blacks, get inside, secure the door and wait, Mouri behind you.’

  I had Sambo change into civvy clothes - he had some in his trunk, and we drew petrol from a taxi after we paid the driver, three Molotov cocktails created. I showed him the map, and told him to get up onto the hotel roof and to have a look through the large sights. His job would be to get a taxi there with one other man for cover, to set a fire, then observe and report from a street corner northeast.

  Moran returned at 4pm, his team ready for war already, and I had everyone assemble in the canteen at 4.30pm, the plan detailed. Two 14 Intel men would be in each bus, and would protect the medics as they moved in.

  I would be with Swifty at the front, pistols out, Ginger and Slider behind us, Greenie, Sasha and his team to take the courtyard and truck park. Doc Willy would be with the medics. A few Wolves and some 14 Intel men would remain here with Mitch to protect the hotel, and Moran would remain with Forester to coordinate it all.

  I called Mike Papa, and he soon had a jeep of armed men sat in the street outside, a fifty cal aimed down the road, dollars from me handed over to happy soldiers.

  As the sun set we checked everything and checked with Rizzo, and the armed men were mostly eating, some sleeping, not much happening at the moment, our hostage seen to be unconscious in his chair.

  With Forester using a tick list, he checked with each team and diligently double-checked the plan, radios all set at the same frequency - and everyone had been told not to use them unless it was urgent.

  Sambo was dispatched with Muscles from 14 Intel, both in civvy clothes, pistols hidden. Buses mounted up, jeeps mounted, we waited, soon a call from Sambo to say that he was in position. I gave him the “go ahead” and called Rizzo.

  Five minutes later and Rizzo called back, a shack on fire, some of the armed men in the courtyard now peering that way.

  Phone lowered, I transmitted, ‘All teams, go, go, go.’

  The buses revved and pulled off, jeeps at the front and rear. We turned left onto a busy road, but the dark meant that our uniforms and weapons were not visible to passing motorists, bored housewives, nor the semi-naked men seen on horse and cart. A mile down the road and we slowed, turned left into a side street, and squeaked to a halt.

  I rushed off with my team and we ran to the corner, a few people across the street seeing us. At the corner I looked up at the burnt building, Rizzo and team above us somewhere. ‘Wilco for Rizzo, you on?’

  ‘Yeah, where are you?’

  ‘Street below you, south side, moving now. Wait the first shot, and don’t shoot near us.’

  I glanced behind at a long line of men knelt ready, Tomo and Mouri with the ladder. ‘Wilco for Robby, you in place?’

  ‘Two minutes.’

  ‘Wilco for Stiffy, you in place?’

  ‘Just beating up a local, two minutes.’

  I waited, people peering out from houses and shacks, dogs barking. ‘Rizzo, report the movement.’

  ‘There’s a few of them looking at the fire, fuck all else happening.’

  ‘Robby for Wilco, in place, but we need to move fast, locals are all coming out to have a nose.’

  ‘Stiffy, you ready?’

  ‘Most are, but we got fifty locals peering our way.’

  ‘We’re moving now. Tomo, move up.’

  I led Swifty across the dark street, my back soon to the wall of the burnt building, and along the street past discarded trash we ran - a rat scurrying away, and to the corner.

  Peering across the main road and up I could see lights on in the target building, people moving around, but there were no armed men stood peering back at me from the dilapidated brick building.

  Looking across the street, I could see a lazy guard at the gate as I swiped away flies. ‘Rizzo, silencers on, get the gate guards in ten seconds.’

  Radio off, I ducked down behind a car and moved along the street, people in a café shocked to see us. When I could go no further I peered out at the guard, whose head exploded as the crack registered. I shouted, ‘Go now!’

  A glance left and right, and I ran across the street as the cracks registered, to the gate and kneeling as Tomo got his ladder up the wall, Tomo soon heading up it, and I waited, ready to transmit.

  Window smashed, and I transmitted, ‘Robby, open up now!’

  I could not hear Tomo shooting for the racket created all around me, men without silencers firing, windows breaking as I led my team inside, a body hit just in case, a man in the doorway hit twice as I rushed the door. Inside, I stepped over him, hit by the strong smell of cooking as I moved into the yellow light of the bulbs.

  A man appeared from a room, startled, two hits from Swifty before I could fire. I turned up the stairs and moved as fast as I could, which was not fast, the pain in my leg starting up.

  At the top of the stairs I snuck a quick peek around the wall, soon shooting a man as he lay down. Bent double, I moved right. ‘Tomo, you alive?’

  ‘Yeah, secured the hostage.’

  ‘We’re in the corridor, don’t shoot.’

  In the hostage room I stood straight, our man awake but bleary, windows still being shot out in the building. ‘You speak English?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Bob.’

  ‘That’s a very informative answer, thanks for that. And what do you do for a living, Bob?’

  ‘Cars.’

  ‘Vehicle imports, stolen or otherwise?’

  He frowned at me. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Major Wilco, British SAS, here to rescue your worthless arse.’

  ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Did you read the book?’ I teased.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why did they grab you?’

  ‘They didn’t have the … the money to pay me.’

  ‘Cheaper to kill you, eh.’ I stepped to the doorway and peered down the corridor, men checking rooms. ‘Wilco to all teams, any armed men still at large?’

  There was no response. ‘Wilco for Robby, you see anything?’

  ‘Nothing alive and moving.’

  ‘Stiffy, what you got?’

  ‘Same answer.’

  ‘Rizzo, you see anyone?’

  ‘Nah, all dead or they ran off.’

  ‘All teams, standby to withdraw on the double. Robby, Stiffy, wait thirty seconds, Rizzo withdraw now, to our buses. All men inside the building, withdraw now!’

  I faced Tomo. ‘Bring him.’

  At the stairs, I waited as men ran down. Ginger had a bag, and he offered a wicked grin as he passed me. With the hostage led down, Swifty behind me, we descended the stairs and into the courtyard, Sasha and his team covering us, soon in the street and directing the hostage around the corner and to the buses as Rizzo and his team ran in.

  Buses reclaimed, jeeps reclaimed, I ordered a team headcount, and we waited for Stiffy and Robby, Sambo already here with Muscles. Ten minutes later we were back at the hotel and walking in, our hostage presented to Forester as the medics tended his bruises.

  I explained, ‘He’s a local car dealer, a dispute over payment, not a hostage, but we have to practise these things.’

  ‘No wounds for the teams?’

  ‘We hit them hard and fast from all sides, sir, and we outgunned them ten to one.’

  In the command room, Ginger emptied his bag onto the map table, around thirty thousand US dollars in small bills.

  ‘What will we use that for?’ Forester cautiously asked.

  ‘Local bribes for information, the hiring of taxis, and petrol,’ I told him. ‘Take charge of it, sir.’ I handed some dollars to our police enforcer and sent him home, hopefully to get a bath.

  Back in the command room, I asked our hostage, ‘Do you know of any genuine hostages here?’

>   ‘Well … no.’

  ‘Armed gangs?’

  ‘Lots off those.’

  ‘Drug dealers?’

  ‘East side, beyond the industrial area.’

  ‘Show me on the map.’

  He marked the building. With cash in his pocket, I sent him on his way, and he walked off down the street.

  ‘Should he not be processed?’ Forester complained. ‘Hand him to Freetown for a debrief?’

  ‘He’s a local criminal, an importer of stolen cars, sir. I had considered shooting the fucker, and if anyone finds out we rescued that dirt bag it would be embarrassing. Anyway, you now have a rescue under your belt, sir, well done. Post mortem after a cold beer.’

  In the busy bar, cold beer in hand, I told many that we had employed our special weapon, Tomo, who used to be a painter; he knew how to use a ladder.

  At the bar I asked Muscles if he was OK.

  ‘I shot a man, sir, first kill.’

  ‘Many more to come.’

  Stepping to Stickler, I found him with Tomo and Mouri. ‘Stickler, you get a shot off?’

  ‘No, Boss, not this time, all over quickly.’

  ‘All experience for you, none the less.’

  ‘Who was that guy?’ Tomo asked.

  ‘Local car dealer, and a dirt bag.’

  ‘Should have left him then,’ Tomo suggested.

  ‘That would be mean. Besides, we look good having rescued him, another successful job.’

  ‘Be in the papers?’ Tomo asked.

  ‘I’ll give them a bullshit story tomorrow.’

  Stood with Forester, Moran and Mitch, I asked Forester, ‘Are you learning anything, sir?’

  ‘I’m getting a head start on the job, more than if I was sat behind a desk. Picking up the buzzwords, and the reasoning behind why things are done a certain way.’

  ‘You can tell them you saw action with me in Liberia, and that’s true, so you’re in a better position than some of your predecessors. We just need to get you a nice scar.’

  ‘Well, let’s not go crazy here,’ he suggested, looking worried, Moran and Ginger laughing.

  I checked that Maggy was OK, and she had shot a man, a headshot from thirty yards. ‘Thirty yards? Anyone can hit a man from thirty yards. Kill him by getting his head between your thighs next time.’