by Geoff Wolak
‘That story will make Reuters very quickly, and you know what, I'm thinking about labelling Mgolo as Deep State to the media. But maybe I don't have to, because he was sloppy and there's an evidence trail, not least Van de Berg in South Africa. How will that affect your sleep, arsehole?’
I cut the call, hearing a helo. But the buzz was that of a Lynx. ‘Get the wounded ready!’ I transmitted, ‘British helicopter, don't shoot!’
‘Lynx for Wilco, receiving?’
‘Wilco here, and you're a bit late, both Mi8 shot down. Grab our wounded for Freetown, send a Puma with extra military medics. You need to be careful, rebels have heat-seeking missiles.’
The Lynx landed near the main building, white dust blown out, two wounded and two hostages put aboard, the Lynx pulling off quickly.
The liaison major stepped out, his head bandaged. ‘You OK?’ I asked.
‘Got knocked over. What happened?’
‘It was a trick, a commercial S61 stuffed full of hostages, the hope being we'd shoot it down. Behind it came the attack helicopters. We held of firing on the S61, but it was rigged to blow, burnt the hostages alive. But we got eight out.’
‘Bloody hell.’ He thumbed over his shoulder. ‘That lot are threatening legal action or going to the Press.’
‘What else do they think we could have been doing, eh? Four hundred rebels landed, intent on blowing up the oil and killing all the workers. If I sent the workers by road they could have been ambushed, then I'd get the blame, and we know they have heat-seeking missiles, so I can't risk them on a helicopter.’
‘There'll be an enquiry, I guess.’
‘I've sat a few.’
‘Are you expecting more trouble here?’
‘Yes, so stay inside. Someone is very determined to wreck the oil pumping here.’
My phone trilled. ‘Major Wilco, Mister Miller works for me.’
‘Are you at the top of the food chain, or in the middle?’
‘I'm now at the top of operations and research, to better coordinate things.’
‘Well you could do no worse a job than the last idiot, he would have allowed millions of Americans to fall sick, a carrier or two sunk.’
‘He paid the price as well, and we've cleaned house.’
‘Apart from Mgolo...’
‘Yes, apart from him, and what has unfolded today has been extraordinary, and not planned. He was cut loose after Panama, but obviously didn't like being cut loose. What do you know about Van de Berg?’
‘He paid for the transport planes I shot down, and this morning took a large payment from someone, a change of plans. They switched from trying to take the country - to wrecking the oil industry here.’
‘No one benefits from wrecking the oil production there, all benefit and make some money, many nations getting contracts, so I'm at a loss to think who'd want it destroyed.’
‘Ask Van de Berg.’
‘The authorities there will get an extradition warrant very soon, a dead hooker in Chicago on his last visit.’
‘Were you talking to him?
‘No record of anyone here meeting with him.’
‘And his known associates?’
‘Nigerians for one, South African oil and mercenaries for two.’
‘That might explain the good planning that Mgolo presented, he was thinking and being sneaky. He stuffed an S61 full of hostages and flew them to me, hoping I'd shoot down the helo and get some bad press.’
‘So part of this is about discrediting you...’
‘Yes, because I have great influence here in Liberia, and in Panama. With me out the way your former work colleagues could run amok.’
‘Well, I'm glad you stopped them, because if any of it leaked we'd be more hunted that Mgolo, and we'd lose all our friends and supporters.’
‘Perhaps, in the future, you should avoid employing the psychopaths … like Raywood and Mgolo.’
‘I … could not argue with that point, no. What's happening on the ground?’
‘They've run out of warm bodies, a few stragglers around, but maybe a few more nasty surprises coming at me. And I would guess that the media has already been fed a story.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The S61 that blew up, it will be labelled as my men shooting it down. Look to see who gets that story early and track back.’
‘I will, yes. But tell me, where does the past few weeks leave us in our working relationship?’
‘I never worked with you because I liked you, or liked what you were doing. I mentioned you to my boss at the start and he felt that you would pressure him anyway to cooperate, so we're in the boat with you, and stuck with you, the biggest kid in the canoe.’
‘Well, you've helped us greatly, so maybe we can prove ourselves in the future.’
‘If you clean house … and avoid murdering millions of your own citizens, maybe we can have more than just common goals. Maybe someday we can sit down and have a coffee.’
‘We'll do what we can to stop Mgolo, but he's a step ahead of us and getting funding from outside.’
‘If you silence Van de Berg, then Mgolo has no cash for anything, not so much as a sandwich.’
‘Van de Berg will have his assets frozen tonight.’
‘Go freeze some assets then. Wilco out.’
As the dawn came up I grabbed a coffee in the cafe bar, a few men still awake, many asleep in chairs or on the floor.
A man peered up at me with tired eyes. ‘He was wrong, that fat cunt, for suggesting you abandoned us.’
‘All that matters is what my team thinks of me, not people like him. And now that it's quiet we could try and get you out. Or … you go back to work and not let them claim a victory.’
‘I'd go back up. Have they all gone, the blacks?’
‘Most are dead or wounded, and we'll run down the rest of them.’
‘Them hostages looked rough.’
‘You were nearly a hostage yourself, and you'd end up in that state after six weeks.’
Outside, I called the Wolves captain. ‘You OK there?’
‘No contact for five hours.’
‘I'll get a helo to you, but send out patrols close in, search the area carefully, and have static teams set-up all around the oil area. I'll get men and supplies to you.’
‘I'll sort that now.’
I called GL4 and asked that they pass a message, medivac Puma to the oil derricks.
When my phone trilled it was the RAF flight in Freetown. ‘Major Wilco, Squadron Leader Chase, Sierra Leone Defence Force Air Wing Detachment.’
‘Wow, that was a mouth full.’
‘Most call us the old wankers.’
‘That's shorter, yes. Are you good to go?’
‘All set, what's the mission?’
‘Fly to the mine with the long runway, then radiate outwards north to find pockets of rebels. If you get the chance to shoot some, do so. Then you refuel and keep looking, all day long.’
‘We'll take-off soon.’
I called the SEALs in Emjolo. ‘Lieutenant, how you getting on?’
‘French just arrived, but there was little resistance, most ran off, and we saw many change into civvy clothes and melt away. We got a ship with the mortars, killed ten men and dumped the tubes over the side.’
‘I'll send helos for you soon, anywhere to land in the port?’
‘Yeah, plenty of space.’
‘Stand ready.’
I called GL4 with the tasking, leaving French Echo with their countrymen.
Swifty walked in ten minutes later, his legs wet. He took in the wreckage. ‘This place was nice when we arrived.’
‘Any wounded?’
‘A few bits, no drama. We finished off some wounded, rest fucked off long ago.’
‘Get some rest in the huts, food and water first, six hours, then you go hunting.’
He nodded, and yawned. ‘Long fucking day that was.’
Rizzo called. ‘My god, Sergeant, you're awake.’
‘Of course I am . What we doing?’
‘Did you get any rest?’
‘We rotated it.’
‘If you're good to go, and you have water and rations and ammo, then you go north and hunt down the stragglers.’
‘We'll move off soon, there's a canteen here we can raid, ammo from the dead.’
The 1st Battalion captain walked in to me, looking tired. ‘Your men OK?’ I asked.
‘None hurt, and we kill maybe twenty when they try to cross river.’
‘Get food and water for the men, have them rotate rest, six hours, then you go for a walk.’
He nodded, and headed inside.
I found the regular SAS in the trenches, two men on stag. ‘Did you get some rest?’
‘Yeah, we rotated it.’
‘Six hours, then you go for a walk.’
Back at the main building I saw Haines moving about. ‘Mister Haines.’
He peered down.
‘Get half you men in a hut, six hours rest. Sort food and water.’
He nodded.
I transmitted, ‘Nicholson, you alive?’
‘It's Tomo, he's kipping.’
‘Did you get much rest?’
‘Two hours each, we're OK.’
‘Watch all directions all day, till sundown.’ The buzz built, three prop aircraft coming in. I transmitted, ‘It's OK, they're RAF Spitfires still in service.’
They buzzed us and circled at five hundred feet, soon radiating outwards, men cautiously peering up.
My phone trilled. ‘It's Masters, ‘B’ Squadron, down by the river. What we doing?’
‘Get six hours rest, then half of you go for a walk, some stay to watch the river. Send Robby and 14 Intel back up to me.’
‘OK.’
Robby came up twenty minutes later, his team looking tired.
‘Get a hut, get food and water, six hours kip.’
He nodded, taking in the damaged Mi8, still smouldering. ‘Fuck we made a mess.’
‘Four dead civvies, plus dead hostages.’ I gave him the story.
‘Wow, fucked up or what.’ He shook his head as he headed to the huts.
Max walked out yawning, and scratching his balls. ‘All quiet?’
‘They've all fucked off, no one paying them enough. Get some photos out there. Get up on the high building and take some – don't fall off.’
I called SIS as I stared down the mine at the crashed Mi8. ‘It's Wilco. What's on Reuters about this operation?’
‘Dozens of stories. The odd one is about you shooting down a helicopter full of former hostages.’
‘Who released it?’
‘AP Belgium.’
‘They're working with a Van de Berg in South Africa, find a link between them.’
‘There's a story … here … Rufus Van de Berg, one of the richest men in South Africa, wanted in the States for rape and murder as well as SEC violations, his assets frozen.’
‘He funded the attack on us here. What else is on the wire?’
‘Max got out half a dozen stories, and images, and deaths of American servicemen, deaths at the mine, and the hostages trick.’
‘Put pressure on AP Belgium.’
‘I'll pass it now.’
I called Bob Staines. ‘You up early?’
‘No, but it's OK, I needed a pee.’
‘AP Belgium, they got fed a story by Van de Berg in South Africa, claiming I shot down the hostage helicopter.’
‘Hostages?’
I gave him the story.
‘So AP have a link to him. I know people close by AP, I'll get to the bottom of it, a few people hung up by their thumbs.’
‘Talk later. Oh, did you dispatch Tiny?’
‘Yes, she should be there by now.’
‘She may have nothing to do, Deep State froze his assets and faked a murder charge.’
‘Will still take a month to sort the extradition paperwork, and I‘m sure he'll contest it.’
‘In which case she might find him.’
At 9am, the day warming up, a Puma set down the Colonel from Freetown and his senior staff, just as trucks arrived.
He took in the wreckage as he advanced towards me. ‘My God, Major, this place will takes ages to clean up and repair.’
I saluted. ‘Needs a sweep up, yes.’
‘You look like shit, Major, when did you sleep last?’
‘Two days ago, sir.’
‘And this story on the wire about the hostage helicopter?’
I filled him, pointing out the burnt wreck of the S61, bodies still inside as the trucks let down British soldiers. I finally told him. ‘We'll need a shit load of body bags, sir, like …. three hundred.’
‘I'll get that sorted,’ he assured me.
‘The hostages will need to be identified by DNA, and sent back. Won't be easy. Send medics and grave diggers, sir.’
He nodded as he took in the wreckage. ‘The oil areas are OK?’
‘Undamaged, sir, the American Wolves protected the derricks, for two men killed. But be prepared for some shit from the oil workers, they've been complaining that they were in danger.’
‘Well, working here is dangerous, they know that, that's why we have the Army around them. And if someone starts a coup … then yes, it's dangerous.’
‘I evacuated the oil areas and brought them all here, this building is solid. The choice was to send them by truck, helicopter, or keep them here.
‘Trucks could have been intercepted and fired at, and we knew they had heat-seeking missiles, so I made a choice to keep them here. That choice will be put under the microscope, sir, and your role in it.’
‘I see no issues, because the roads are dangerous in a coup, and as you said they had missiles, and I know that building has eight inches of reinforced concrete – and was surrounded by several hundred of the best soldiers in the world. So what the fuck more do they want?’
‘They'll want to whinge and moan, sir.’
‘I'm ready for that, and you kept me informed every step. And you only have to look and the damage here to know how much danger they were in. As for attack helicopters, just what could we do here? We don't have surface to air missiles, nor a crystal ball!’
Max walked past, and took snaps of the Colonel and his team.
‘Max, later, make a legal statement, what you saw and heard when the helicopters came in.’
He nodded. ‘I got the story out already.’
‘AP Belgium are calling you a liar.’
‘What! Those cunts. I'll have my paper call them out.’ He got on the phone.
‘Who are AP Belgium?’ the Colonel asked.
‘Associated Press Belgium.’
‘They weren't here, Max was, so they're guessing.’
‘Yes, sir, and … stirring the shit.’
He chatted to the British soldiers for ten minutes before reclaiming his ride, the RAF flight still buzzing around.
Moran was awake and yawning, so I left him in charge and climbed up onto the roof – as being the safest place, soon using a sandbag as a pillow, the 2 Squadron lads told to wake me in four hours. I pulled my poncho over my head.
A nudge, and they woke me after five hours, Moran's orders, and I slowly eased up, my back aching. Down and inside, I got a cup of tea with Doc Willy and Salome, many of the oil workers awake now. Doc Willy handed me chocolate, and a sandwich that was a bit stale.
The mine manager stepped in, looking like he had slept in his shirt. ‘Has the fighting ended?’
‘Yes, they've all fucked off home.’ I sipped my brew. ‘So, will you be quitting, or staying?’
‘Staying?’
‘You work here don't you?’
‘Well … yes.’
‘So will you be quitting or staying?’
‘What has the Army said?’
‘That you could go to Freetown and do squat whilst nothing happens here, and come back in two weeks. But two weeks from the now the danger will be the same as it
is now.’
‘So … what's the danger level now?’
‘About zero. Take a look out the fucking door, and add up the cost of the aircraft they lost.’
‘Millions, hundreds of millions.’
‘And then add in the three hundred bodies in the jungle going ripe. Then ask yourself … will they be back?’
‘Fuck no, not after that.’
‘So start with some heavy kit to move the wreckage, and get some locals to move bodies and dig graves. Keep a note of the cost, because the various governments will chip in. And, I know the man who runs this show. Get this place cleaned up quickly and you get a nice bonus.’
‘Oh, right, well I better get a broom then.’
‘Get a phone, and get on it.’ Outside, I checked my watch and called Tomsk. He was awake.
‘What the hell happened?’ he asked.
‘A warlord, Mgolo in the Congo, wanted to grab Liberia, but I killed his men and shot down his aircraft. He got mad, and sent men to blow up your oil wells, so we killed them and shot down his helicopters. That's the short version.’
‘And the damage?’
‘No damage to the oil, four oil workers dead.’
‘Well, that's OK.’
‘Spend some money here at the mine, to clean it up quickly.’
‘And this warlord?’
‘On my list of people to kill. He was linked to Deep State and the missiles, and he was set to take over after the president here was killed. He got money from a Van de Berg in South Africa.’
‘The Banker mentioned him, yes, we squeeze him dry.’
‘Americans have frozen his assets, made up crimes against him.’
‘So he's fucked then. Good, can't pay the debt.’
A Puma set down half an hour later, journalists on board with two Press officers, a mix of men and women. I halted them with a flat hand.
‘Some of you know the score, but I'll repeat the rules to you. No photographs of the faces of special forces soldiers, British, American or French. And no names, but you can used their code names.
‘You may be in some danger here, but we think it's all over, they took heavy casualties and fled, no one seen for … ten hours or more. If you smell something bad, that will be the burnt bodies in the planes and helos.’
