by Geoff Wolak
He faced the hangar, hands on hips. ‘Someone won’t be happy in the morning.’
The Nomad’s left wing exploded, burning debris reaching the Aussie tent, men running out, Nesbit shouting as we both closed in. Kit was grabbed, but the tent burnt down to the aluminium frames in sixty seconds, and stopped burning all by itself. Then it started to rain, and I started laughing.
Nesbit turned to me, threw his hands in the air and sighed. ‘Right, move that bloody tent, get another one, before we all drown. Come on, on the double!’
The Seals made it to my hut, out the rain, all smiling at the Aussies. As I observed with Morten, the Aussies dumped the old tent, what was left of it, and grabbed the next one. Still, they had practised it.
‘Just stand there smirking,’ Nesbit told me. ‘Or we might think you’re enjoying this.’
‘We are enjoying it,’ I told him. ‘This’ll be a great story over a beer.’
Captain Harris came around, poncho over him. ‘Mortars finished?’
‘For now,’ I told him.
‘That plane getting burnt will piss someone off. Captain Wey says it’s a civvy plane, down for minor repairs, something like the Post Office owns it.’
Morten put in, ‘Be hard to claim on insurance. No section for mortars I’d guess.’
My phone trilled.
‘It’s Moran, we have the mortar, Mally is here, three dead. Dead gunmen, not Mally.’
‘Bring it in please, leave the bodies for now, grab ID and phones.’
‘There are six shells.’
‘Bring them as well, but very fucking carefully. Hang on, I’ll send a jeep, set a stag down there and further out.’ Off the phone, I faced Captain Harris. ‘Get Captain Wey to send a jeep south a thousand yards, collect the mortar.’
Harris turned and sloshed off through the puddles his poncho glistening from the tall apron lights.
‘Mally for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Where do you want us?’
‘Go back east, then south a mile, zig-zag, check that area, back for dawn.’
‘OK, moving off now.’
Something on the burning plane exploded, and we all looked, but nothing hit the Aussie tent this time, the plane mostly burnt down to a heap of scrap, smoke rising.
I walked over to the Aussie tent. ‘You all snug in there?’
‘You’re right, be a good story over a beer,’ Nesbit agreed, his men smiling. ‘Who owns that plane?’
‘Malay Post Office.’
‘They won’t be happy in the morning,’ a man suggested.
‘Any chance of more sandbags, Skipper?’ another man asked.
‘I’ll get more in the morning, lots more.’
‘Captain Wilco?’ Haines called from ten yards away. ‘Men back up on the roof?’
‘Yes, go ahead.’
‘Bit risky, being up on the damn roof,’ a man commented.
‘No more risky than anywhere else,’ I responded. ‘But we got the mortar, so try and sleep, you’ll be out on patrol tomorrow.’
‘Rules of engagement?’ a man asked.
‘The local police and army have pulled back, and they carry M16. If you see some idiot with an AK47 – shoot the fucker. Simple.’
‘And the chances of meeting an enemy patrol coming the other way?’ a sergeant asked.
‘About ... eighty percent chance of that,’ I told them. ‘So camouflage well, move quietly, solid fire position, shoot first. And don’t police up the bodies, skirt around them, double tap. If you break cover to go check the bodies ... a wounded man could kill some of you, so don’t. Make sure you have our radio frequency, and ... you got sat phones?’
‘We have two,’ Nesbit put in.
‘Make sure you have our numbers before you go out.’
‘Casevac helos?’ a man asked.
‘Possibly, there are some in the area, Americans on standby as well. Just don’t get shot.’
I walked around to the command room, the mortar tube now outside, shells lined up, everyone awake - and worried, my two CIA guys sat sipping coffee.
‘Pleasant spot,’ Franks quipped.
‘We got the mortar crew, but we’ll need more men beyond the wire. Jungle out there, so it’s easy to sneak up on this place.’
‘Can’t launch operations till this place is quiet,’ Franks told me.
I nodded. ‘But they are running out of warm bodies, so ... that’s a benefit.’
In the parachute instructor’s hut, I found Whisky sat chatting to them. ‘You lot OK?’
‘We were under the beds!’
‘Best place to be when mortars are coming in, but we got them, so get some sleep. And now you have a tale to tell over a beer. Do you ... want to be sent home tomorrow?’
‘No, sir,’ came firmly back.
‘Good. Then Whisky can take you on patrol again for a few hours.’
Outside, our medics reclaiming the damp benches and seemingly in good spirits, Colonel Dean called.
‘Evening, sir.’
‘Morning here. How’s it going?’
‘Well, we’ve had running gun battles for three days, and we just had a mortar attack, a plane destroyed, buildings damaged.’
‘Bloody hell. Anyone hurt?’
‘A few minor wounds, one of yours sent back with a scrape.’
‘And is this a set-back?’
‘In a way, because we need this place quiet before we move out, and we don’t want people reporting our movements, so we have to tackle the local bad boys first.’
‘Yes, of course. And my two other troops should be with you very soon.’
‘That will help, sir, it’s a big old jungle.’
‘So you’ve not looked at any rescues yet?’
‘Still trying to control the tree line, sir. A plane taking off would be fired at.’
‘Yes, I see that. What about local soldiers.’
‘I sent them off, didn’t want them close by.’
‘Why not?’
‘Part of the mission remit is to reduce the communists, and so far we’ve got a good tally, so I’m not unhappy about things.’
‘Local soldiers go home, that gets noticed, bad boys come out to play and you bury them. Yes, I see that, but when do they get fed up and go home?’
‘Hard to tell, sir. At least a week I would say. But the more of them we hit the safer this region is for European tourists, so this is part of the job, sir.’
‘Right, well good luck; need anything just call.’
‘Will do. Thank you, sir.’
Moran walked in with a French lad in need of a medic, something bit him. He faced the smoking hangar. ‘We take a hit?’
‘Plane burnt down.’
‘Bad place to leave it. No wounded?’
‘No, all down in time, three hits, one hut damaged.’
‘What’s that?’ Moran asked, pointing at the burnt tent.
‘Aussie tent was hit by burning debris, burnt down in like thirty seconds, so they grabbed another. You got static positions down there?’
‘Yeah, area is covered.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Slider, come back in.’
‘OK,’ came back over the radio.
I sat with Moran on a damp bench, the medics sharing chicken and rice with us, Haines sat at the end, radio in his ear.
Towards midnight the camp went quiet, most inside and sleeping, the Aussie tent quiet, two men on stag, two Seals at the gate, Nicholson on stag near the huts.
I lay down, muddy boots off, socks off, letting some air get at my feet, a few Seals asleep, Slider sleeping, Tomo reading a book.
At 5am I snuck out quietly, Slider now on stag. ‘All quiet?’ I asked him.
‘Yeah, these fuckers like to sleep at a sensible hour.’ He thumbed over his shoulder. ‘That plane looks funny, top half burnt down, bottom half still there, wheels intact.’
‘Might be some raised voices later.’
‘Not our fault, their country,
they should police it.’
‘Those two big islands, the Filipino Government abandoned them to their fate, local mob rule.’
‘So if we go over there ... anyone with a gun is fair game.’
I nodded. ‘That they are. Makes our job easier.’
‘How many gunmen?’
‘Thousands of the fuckers, spread wide.’
The Hercules came into view.
Slider said, ‘Timed that badly.’
‘Yep, going to wake everyone.’
It touched down smoothly, eased to a halt, ramp down, two lines of British lads stomping out laden with heavy Bergens.
I walked out and met them, finding Captain Hamble. ‘Welcome to the FOB,’ I said over the roar of engines. ‘Follow me.’
‘What’s been happening?’ he asked, a nod at the smouldering plane.
‘Running gun battle, mortars coming in, regular attacks on the wire.’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Bloody marvellous.’
I led them to a tent, all the men carrying AK47 derivatives or VEPR; they knew this was my show. ‘OK, kit in and dumped down, and you can use two tents if you like. Quickly, then back out, rifles ready!’
The Hercules powered down the runway and off, and I was sure many people were cursing it.
With the two troops gathered, two troop captains I knew and two troop sergeants I knew, I began, ‘Listen up. This base is a bit lively, and we hope to get more sandbags today. We had a mortar attack last night, but we killed the mortar crew. Three days, and we’ve had daily attacks, but our patrols-out have killed eighty or more. Two men on stag at these tents always.
‘Right, today is rest day for you, but stay sharp, we could see an attack at any time. When we have more sandbags you can sleep safely – or at least a bit safer. Organise yourselves, your kit, take it easy today, but don’t spend all day sleeping - you’ll be groggy when you go out on patrol. Carry on.’
I cornered Captain Wey at 6am, the man an early riser, or maybe the Hercules woke him, and I asked for a shit load of sandbags, some shovels and picks.
I sat and cooked rations on the benches, added in cold chicken and rice from the cheerful medics, and bleary-eyed men started to appear, all looking better after a brew inside them.
At 8am the trucks drove in, Malay soldiers jumping down, sandbags placed down, as well as picks and shovels. Most of the new arrivals from “D” Squadron were awake, so I grabbed them, and they lugged sandbags, a wall made to protect their tents, a sweat worked up.
With a three foot wall in place, men on stag, the rest could get some sleep, Hamble chatting to Nesbit on a bench.
Swifty crawled back in with Robby’s troop, legs and boots muddy. ‘Any injuries?’ I asked as they halted.
‘Nah, all OK,’ Swifty reported.
‘Find anything?’
‘Found two cars stopped, look suspicious, so we had a close look, rifles seen. We threw a stone at one, men got out, shot them, then set fire to the cars.’
‘Brought back the rifles,’ Robby put in.
‘Get some food, then some rest, “D” Squadron is here, two troops, so they can take over for a while.’
‘What the fuck happened here?’ Swifty asked.
‘Mortars came in, blew up that plane.’
‘Well tell the mortar crews to be quiet when I’m sleeping, eh,’ Swifty told me before he walked off. Tired muddy men trailed past and into the huts.
Major Liban walked into the base ten minutes later, food and rest needed, the burnt plane examined.
Mally was not far behind. ‘Saw a suspicious boat, looked like it had offloaded people.’
‘They do, mostly girls for the sex trade.’
‘Should have had a closer look then,’ he quipped.
‘Food and rest, be ready before dusk.’
Sasha also had a look at the burnt out plane when he turned up. ‘You have some fun, no?’
‘Three mortars came in, but we got the men. See anything?’
‘We followed some men, but they were just drunk, unarmed, from the village. Nothing else.’
‘Be ready for dusk.’
He nodded, and plodded past me, his men nodding and smiling, but all looked tired as Nesbit got the Aussies ready for patrol.
I closed in on them. ‘OK, you won’t need maps, but have a look at the maps before you go out if you like. East a mile is the ocean, a good navigational aid.’
They laughed.
‘North east is a muddy inlet, bridge inland. North a few miles is a village, best to avoid it, lots of dogs. West is primordial jungle like you’ve not seen before nor would want to again. South has some fields, villages and houses here and there.
‘I want four man patrols, back here for sundown. First patrol, east to the ocean, slowly north and around, zigzag, look for fresh tracks – men with small feet, and watch out for suspicious boats – but don’t let the boats see you.
‘Second team, east to the ocean then south, a few miles down the coast, same deal. Third team, out the gate, over the road, northwest, slow and steady, no more than five miles. Final team, over the road, southwest, same deal.
‘Those teams without a sat phone, go see Captain Harris in the brick building command room, get one, test it.’ I took in their faces. ‘If you come across guerrilla fighters, make an assessment, make a choice given your chances, open up then leg it away. I want no heroics, no close up fighting.
‘If you do shoot someone, try and get ID papers, phones, take the rifles. But double-tap first, be dead sure before approaching someone, or just leave them. Any questions?’
‘Straightforward,’ Nesbit commented. ‘Two men left over here.’
‘Off when ready, but always let Mister Haines know your route and timing.’ I turned my head. ‘Mister Haines.’
He trotted over. I faced the Aussies. ‘Good luck out there – and no fucking risks – it creates paperwork for me!’
When the Malay major landed he was shocked at the damage; the poor fella looked like he might start crying. ‘You have injured men?’
‘No, we were lucky, three mortars, no one hurt, sir.’
‘That is something I suppose. The Post Office will not be happy, an enquiry, the Government not happy.’
‘While I think of it, do you have helicopters available for casevac, sir?’
‘We can make one available, yes, 24hr rotations.’
‘Leave the phone number, please, for when your men are asleep.’
‘I will do, yes. What else has been happening?’
‘We had patrols out, a few gunmen killed, more patrols out now, and two additional troops of SAS are here.’
‘Enough men to deal with any problems, hopefully.’
‘Mortars are a problem, sir, but we’ll have more men out tonight.’
‘Do you have everything that you need?’
‘For now, sir, we got more sandbags, and shovels, so we can dig shell scrapes.’
He trotted off to chat to Captain Wey.
An hour later two jeeps pulled in, Malay SIGINT. Captain Harris sent for me, and the SIGINT boys put scanners up on the ATC roof, a wire hanging down, and we soon had three laptops working – linked to other laptops around the area, showing local radio usage and sat phones. It was a big step forwards.
They pin-pointed several of the Aussie patrols, but also radio use north ten miles, sat phones in the mix, possibly Filipinos. As we observed, a radio was seen to be in use at sea, getting closer to shore, a Filipino shore party waiting for it. I fixed the position on the map and would send a large patrol at dusk, jeeps to be risked on the main road – as that would save long walk.
I kicked up the Echo lads at 4pm, all told to eat and drink, a big job on. At 5pm the Aussies started to return, no shots fired in anger for the first three patrols, but their last patrol reported three gunmen killed, IDs brought back with rifles – their second shot in anger.
Echo got ready, Rocko and Rizzo set to go by jeep north, and we figured that no on
e would shoot at a jeep convoy of eight vehicles. Slider, Tomo and Nicholson wanted in, so I relented and had them join the teams after checking for infections. I showed Rocko and Rizzo the map and whished them luck, making sure they had flysheets for OPs. Stood with Moran and Liban, we observed them mount up and head off, Robby’s troop again heading southeast.
Fifteen minutes later Rizzo called in, the teams down from the jeeps and walking, so we could relax a bit. Liban sent patrols south, one patrol to hang around the previous mortar area. Mally would hit the same area, Sasha to cover his own footsteps again as the Aussies ate and cleaned up, sat chatting to the “D” Squadron lads.
I spoke to Captain Wey, always a hard task, and asked that he have a helicopter on standby for casevac, but to bring the wounded here first unless otherwise stated. He made a call, but I was not sure if we had the chopper ready or not. But we did have the jeeps, and it was not a long drive.
At midnight I was sat in the command room, waiting a call, Captain Harris surprised that I had not gone on the job.
‘There are Americans and Aussies here, as well as “D” Squadron, and they’re my responsibility. I’d be horrified if something happened to that lot,’ I explained. ‘Would be easy if it was just us, and the Aussie Captain was not impressed that his lads were at risk last night. If some of the guests are killed I need to explain it. I also need to make sure they play nice together.’
At 1am, most everyone sleepy, Rocko called. ‘We found a big place in the middle of nowhere, about a mile from a village, lots of cars, lots of men, most armed, guards posted. But Tomo and Nicholson got close, looks like young girls being traded, a few men in uniform and armed, money changing hands.’
‘You only have orders to shoot the armed men. So if you think it’s doable, surround it, get good position, hit the armed men, damage the cars, then sit and wait, leave before dawn – don’t go in.’
‘We can do that.’
‘How many men?’
‘Forty odd.’
‘So be careful, and watch your rear. Let me know.’
Phone down, Franks asked what was happening. ‘My men have surrounded some whorehouse, forty men, some in uniform and armed, young girls being traded – Filipino illegals.’
‘Jesus.’
Forty minutes later Rocko was back on. ‘We pasted them, but let the unarmed men run off, wrecked the cars, just set a few alight. Now we’re waiting.’
