Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘How’re the police doing?’

  ‘Sergeant Crab has them up at the Factory, like a ghost town down here; me and O’Leary, some Signals.’

  ‘I had a chat to an official at the British Consulate responsible for Malaysian Borneo, and he thought our being here would cause reprisals.’

  ‘He might be right, but we can’t sit back whilst they kidnap people.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see if there’s an escalation, sir. Oh, one regular trooper off with a scrape, being flown back; Morgan.’

  ‘I’ll get the paperwork started.’

  Phone away, I rejoined the others, nibbling on dry chicken.

  Half an hour later, and an alert was given by the 2 Squadron lads on the wire. We had movement.

  ‘Stand to! Spread out, get down. Medics, get ready, then get on the floor.’

  The Seals grabbed weapons.

  ‘What we expecting?’ Dalton asked as men rushed around, Mally’s team and Sasha’s team getting ready – shouts in different languages.

  ‘North side, in the tree line, we have movement. Yesterday we killed two men there.’ I turned my head. ‘Mister Haines, have men who are east move north, quickly and quietly, replace those east.’

  ‘On it now,’ he offered as he grabbed a sergeant with a radio.

  I led the Seals around the huts till we faced north. ‘Don’t fire into the tree line, we have men out there,’ I told them as I stood staring north in the available light, the distant tree line black, no detail seen.

  ‘Sasha! Get your team.’ They came running, webbing and rifles ready. ‘Go out the main gate, across the road into the tree line, north, dead slow dead quiet, just to the end of the strip, then wait. Contact me if you see anything.’

  Russian words shouted, he led them off at the sprint.

  ‘Mally! Your team!’

  They formed up and ran over, but not as efficiently. ‘Here, lie down, aim north.’

  They lay down on the tarmac.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Wilco for static guards with eyes on the bad boys, report if you can.’

  ‘Corporal Aitken here.’

  ‘What can you see?’

  ‘About eight men, sneaking in.’

  ‘Where are they, exactly?’

  ‘Say half-way, in the middle of the runway, top end.’

  ‘Your mates are coming up to you -’

  ‘There’s four of us, sir.’

  ‘Then quickly go north a hundred yards and drop, we’ll open fire on your next signal, then you get behind them and finish them off.’

  ‘Roger that. Moving.’

  Off the radio, I said, ‘Old timers, aim at the halfway point, end of the runway. Get ready. When I say go ... I want a full magazine, but tightly in that area and low.’

  ‘Old timers?’ Dalton quietly queried with a smirk.

  ‘They’re ex-special forces, still used now and then, bodyguard work, here for some re-training and refresher.’

  ‘Corporal Aitken for Wilco, in position,’ crackled over the radio.

  ‘Get down low, get ready.’

  Off the radio, I said, ‘Get behind the huts,’ to the Seals, and they ducked in. I knelt at a hut edge. ‘OK, Mally’s mean marauders ... open fire!’

  The overlapping discharges grew, brass cartridges tinkling on the tarmac, about two hundred rounds fired.

  ‘Ceasefire! Any injuries?’

  They exchanged looks as distant fire registered with us.

  I waited for the exchange to ease. ‘Wilco for Aitken, report.’

  ‘Corporal Aitken here,’ came a man out of breath. ‘They turned and ran when you fired, and we got them all.’

  ‘Don’t approach the bodies in the dark, ease back and observe, wait the dawn.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  Dalton eased out as Mally’s men stood and reloaded. ‘Not policing up the bodies?’

  ‘If one is still alive I’ll have men wounded and killed. We wait. Mally, have your men patrol east a mile and around, co-ordinate with Mister Haines and use your radios in and out or get shot by mistake. And flash torch signals.’

  Mally led his troop of old timers off.

  ‘We supposed to sleep in tents?’ one of the Seals complained.

  ‘You have the huts tonight,’ I told him. ‘Many of my lot will sleep outside the wire anyhow.’

  At midnight, Moran called as I lay on my bed, Seals adopting beds and making use of them, weapons cleaned. ‘We found a brothel off a main road, armed men all around.’

  ‘Any uniformed armed men?’

  ‘Not so far.’

  ‘Kill all the armed guards in one movement, then leg it away, deny it back here. That place is probably used by a few Army officers, but it relies on the gangs and the trade in young Filipino girls, trafficked by the men we want to kill.’

  ‘We’ll run up a bill for them.’ Ten minutes later he was back on, now a little out of breath. ‘We hit the guards, the neon signs, the fish tank, the vehicles...’

  ‘Captain, were you having fun, or doing the job we’re here for?’ I teased.

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Good work. See any more like that and have at them.’ I had just put the phone down when in trilled again. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Rocko, there’s a boat coming in. We’re at that jetty on the beach.’

  ‘Civvy boat?’

  ‘Yeah, slow chugging old thing.’

  ‘Men with rifles?’

  ‘One or two.’

  ‘If it looks like gunmen, have at them, but no risks, hit them on the jetty. Wilco out.’

  Twenty minutes later he was back on, the Seals laying with arms behind heads. ‘We hit them as they got to the beach, pasted them, and the fucking boat, it’s in the mud.’

  ‘The boat?’

  ‘Yeah, you know, run aground.’

  ‘How many men?’

  ‘More than twenty. They were hidden below, then came up on the top, some returned fire.’

  ‘Any wounded?’

  ‘Couple of splinters, no drama.’

  ‘Wait the dawn, double tap, have a good look, I’ll send the Malaysians.’ I could hear gunfire. ‘Still someone alive?’

  ‘Yeah, on the deck -’

  The blast registered, and I shot up. ‘Rocko! Rocko!’

  The Seals jumped up, expectant looks adopted.

  ‘Rocko!’

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK, none of us wounded,’ he puffed out. ‘But we’re all deaf and covered in shit and wood and mud, a few more splinters.’

  ‘What the fuck happened?’

  ‘Some fucker with a bomb, we hit it by mistake, or they pulled the pin.’

  ‘Withdraw, back to me, that’s an order! Call it in if you have wounded. Got that!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  Phone off, Dalton keenly asked, ‘What happened?’

  ‘My men fired on a boat as it came in, gunmen seen, and it blew.’

  ‘Explosives on board.’

  I nodded. ‘Which means they meant to use those explosives somewhere around here, like this base. And a British official warned me of just that.’ I called SIS as the Seals exchanged worried looks.

  ‘Duty officer.’

  ‘It’s Wilco in Borneo. Update the Malaysia’s urgently: my men stopped a boat with gunmen on board, but also explosives – which detonated. Have them look for the boat north east of my FOB at dawn. And suggest to them roadblocks between my location and the tourist areas. Top priority.’

  ‘OK, got that.’

  Phone down, Dalton asked, ‘What’s your concern here?’

  ‘A bomb in a tourist hotel in reaction to my presence here ... is my fucking concern. We came to save lives and rescue people, not have tourists killed!’

  ‘Local boys pushing back,’ a sergeant noted. ‘Got enough men?’

  ‘For the immediate ten miles, yes, not for the thousand square miles of jungle and coastline we’d need to cover. And we can’t launch a rescue till this area quietens down. But more men are
on the way.’

  I was nudged awake as Rocko appeared, and I had slept in my kit holding my rifle. A yawn, and I was up as muddy boots trailed in, beds claimed, a few whinging about the Seals on their former beds. But there were enough empty beds.

  First aid kit out, I started on splinters and cuts, the Seals woken, but then laying back down, a few observing my medical handiwork. Tomo had a nasty splinter under his scalp, a few stitches needed, Nicholson a similar painful wound.

  ‘Tomo, Nicholson, two day’s down time, then you show me the wound. Ask for antibiotic injections tomorrow.’

  Slider had a deep piece, so he was sent to the sleepy medics, a few of the lads checked over, cream put on cuts and bound up. When Slider returned to us I gave him two day’s down time as well, the lads now washed, half naked, drinks taken, beds adopted. But most were not sleepy, they had slept earlier in the day.

  Just as men were settling, a few magazines out to read, our JIC man walked past naked. I looked at Rocko, who looked back with a deep frown, and we both stood and looked out the door. There he was, fat white arse walking along, completely naked. I walked after him.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Uh.’

  ‘Sir, this way back to bed.’

  ‘What. Oh yes, back to bed.’

  I led him back and found his room, the man delirious, and too much sleep on top of jetlag could do that easily enough. I closed the door as he lay down.

  Back in the hut, Rocko said, ‘What the fuck..?’

  ‘He slept on the way out, then went to bed and slept for 24hrs solid, and now he can’t shake it. Fucking delirious.’

  ‘Who is that guy?’ Dalton asked, still awake.

  ‘British Government official, here to keep an eye on us.’

  ‘Photograph him naked,’ Dalton suggested with a smile. ‘Blackmail him.’

  ‘I’ll send the medics to him in the morning, unless he wanders off out the gate, then we’ll send out the local police – looking for a fat naked white guy. OK, listen up. If you’re not sleepy, next door, lights out in five here. And get some smoke going for the mozzies.’

  A few lads moved next door, Rocko happy to sleep, and I knocked the lights out. Facemask and gloves on, I drifted off to sleep.

  I crept out quietly at 5am, the Seals not disturbed, and had a coffee with two medics that had been posted on night duty, the camp quiet enough, the local soldiers manning the gate at least, 2 Squadron lads with them. As I sat there I wondered what had happened to Sasha and Mally, then checked their huts, finding them sleeping.

  Moran came in soaked through and muddy, the French all sodden and moving slowly.

  ‘Any trouble?’ I asked Moran.

  ‘We came across a small camp on a river, six gunmen in a hut, killed them. After that it rained a lot.’

  ‘Rocko’s troop got blown up, a few minor wounds.’

  ‘Blown up?’

  ‘They fired on a boatload of gunmen as it came in, but it blew.’

  ‘Lucky they never boarded it!’

  I nodded. ‘And we had eight men attack here, killed them, north end.’

  ‘How the fuck we supposed to go off and rescue anyone with all this happening?’

  ‘Could take a week to deal with the gunmen around here,’ I suggested. ‘Get some rest.’

  Robby’s patrol, led by Swifty – and just as muddy and damp, appeared a short while later.

  ‘All OK?’ I asked.

  ‘Didn’t find anyone, just got wet,’ Swifty reported. ‘Don’t need a bath.’

  ‘Rocko’s troop got blown up.’ I gave him the details.

  ‘Lucky fuck,’ Robby noted. ‘If they had moved forwards ... be down a few men.’

  I nodded my agreement with that. ‘Get cleaned up, some food, get some rest.’

  I grabbed Haines, two men, and we walked north, radio contact made with the men positioned over the dead, our visitors not reported to have moved during the night. We checked bodies, grabbed ID and phones, a jeep used to bring the bodies back covered in a poncho. Captain Wey could deal with them.

  Back at the benches, the medics sat with brews in hand, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Chief Cabinet Secretary. Just wondering if you shot the guy we sent, we’ve lost contact with him.’

  ‘He was ... jet lagged, and went to bed, unwell, and ... slept for three days.’

  ‘He slept for three days! That useless fat toad, I’m going to replace him.’

  ‘He may have just been unwell.’

  ‘I don’t care, he told us he travels well and has worked in the tropics.’

  ‘Ah, well that may have been stretching it a bit.’

  ‘Send him to Kota Kinabula airport. In a box if you like!’

  An hour later a small convoy of military trucks appeared, soldiers jumping down, tents unloaded and erected, stores stacked up. We now had six large green tents, camp beds, and tins of food, stacks of bottled water, so we were set.

  I thanked the soldiers, nods returned, and they drove off out the gate as Rizzo wandered back in, his men all muddy up to their waists.

  ‘Any wounded?’ I asked.

  ‘Slade got bitten by something,’ he reported.

  ‘No contacts?’

  ‘Nothing but shit jungle and swamp. And rain.’

  ‘Get some rest, but some of the beds you had have Americans on them, new beds in the tents.’

  He nodded, tired, and plodded off, his men following, few smiling.

  ‘Slade, to the medics.’

  The dark clouds parted and the sun burst through a moment before I heard a Hercules. It circled around at low level, and I could see the Australian Air Force markings. Our advisors were here.

  Touching down with a roar, and waking everyone, it halted halfway down the strip, ramp down, two lines of men with large backpacks walking off, all coming around to me, rifles in hands, the odd looking Steyr Aug F88s.

  A captain said, ‘You Wilco?’

  ‘I am, I’m afraid.’ We shook.

  ‘Captain Nesbit, 1 Squadron, SAS.’ He looked the part, big and tough, heavily tanned, as were his men.

  I looked over his men as they dropped bags and took in the base. ‘You still hurting from that helicopter crash?’

  ‘Down two whole troops just about; that one crash wiped out ten percent of our men.’

  I nodded. ‘I asked for advisors, so ... are you keen to pick up some more injuries?’

  They exchanged looks. A man said, ‘No more dangerous than a fucking helo going down.’

  ‘As my men say often. And with us are the French SAS equivalent, and they’ve lost more men in helicopters than all other actions put together and multiplied by ten. So we know how you feel. This way.’ I led them to a tent, offering them the use of the one next door as well if needed, but warned them of more men on the way.

  Nesbit told me, ‘You have operational control here, we’re to follow your orders. So what’s the game plan?’

  Kit down in the first large tent, the men faced me. ‘When we got here we figured we’d secure this place first – as being a prudent move. First day, first patrols out, we killed twenty gunmen, were attacked here that first night, and last night, bodies stacked up.

  ‘Keep your weapons on you at all times, an eye on the tree line, sleep with them to hand. Plan is ... when this place goes quiet we’ll try and find the hostages. Put two men on stag around these tents day and night, stay sharp, but we have men in the tree line and roving patrols, men up on the ATC roof. Don’t shoot someone unless you’re damn sure.’

  ‘I have some maps and intel for you,’ Nesbit mention, a pack handed over.

  ‘You men need rest?’ I asked them.

  ‘Long flight,’ they complained.

  ‘Then you rest today, patrol out tomorrow. We have chickens and rice, and water, we have medics with us, and US Navy Seals. For now, take it easy, but ... if you hear gunfire hit the deck.’

  I paused, and took in their faces. ‘Gentlemen, as was mentioned I
have operational control, and I run a tight ship, no pissing about – I want stone cold professionals. If you make trouble ... you get a bullet in the foot and a ride out. I’m not like other captains.’ I left them exchanging looks.

  I took the pack to Captain Harris, and we sat and looked at it, sites marked where the communists had strongholds on the main two islands and Mindanao, all useful stuff. I left him to study it.

  Walking outside, the Huey returned, our Major and his aide dropped off before it pulled away. He stopped and stared at the bodies.

  ‘What happened here?’

  ‘These men came to the north fence, sir, we killed them.’

  ‘I flew over a boat that exploded, a beach full of dead men. I have never seen so many dead men.’

  ‘The boat had gunmen and explosives, my men hurt when it blew, sir.’

  He nodded, stood with hands on hips, still taking in the bodies. ‘You have the tents, I see.’

  ‘Yes, sir, most appreciated. Australian SAS in there.’

  ‘Ah, I must say hello then.’

  ‘And American Navy Seals here as well.’

  ‘They want the various national hostages back.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but first we need a quiet area to work out of, so we’ll patrol around here.’

  He nodded, again lingering on the bodies.

  ‘Perhaps you could arrange to move those for us, sir, and get some body bags.’

  ‘Yes, of course. How many body bags?’

  ‘How many gunmen are there?’

  His eyes widened. ‘It is like living in one of those training scenarios in Greenwich.’

  ‘You’ll have something to add to them now, sir. Oh, and some sandbags, lots of them, full of sand – not empty.’

  ‘I will have some delivered, yes.’

  Before lunch I checked with Haines and had his static positions become less static and to patrol out 500yards. Some of my lads were awake and with it, no injuries displayed, so I cobbled together a patrol, Henri in charge, and they moved out north, seven men.

  Sat having lunch, a mix of Navy Seals, Australian SAS and 2 Squadron lads, trucks appeared, Malay men soon handing down sand bags. I had them make a wall behind the tents, to a height of around three feet.

  Haines had a dozen sandbags put up on a flat roof, fire positions made, ponchos rigged up when rusty old metal bed frames were placed up on the roof. We soon had all round sniper cover, and all weather.