Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘How many men hit?’

  ‘Armed men? Over twenty. Girls ran off down the road. Saw one guy beating the girls, so hit him in the foot.’

  ‘Get some vehicle registrations if you can.’

  ‘OK, will do.’

  I headed off to bed, just the Seals for company, most already asleep, phone near my ear, facemask on.

  The Echo teams returning woke me, the men piling in, jeeps having picked them up, no injuries to worry about. Rocko handed me the IDs he had, plus vehicles registrations, and I wandered over to the map room, just two Malay soldiers awake, but barely awake.

  At 7.30am I had “D” Squadron and the Aussies lined up ready, routes issued, radios checked, sat phones checked, rules of engagement gone over. I wished them well and sent them off, all points of the compass covered, the Aussies to stay out one night and return the next day before dusk. They had some bad jungle to negotiate, but claimed to experts in such jungle.

  At 8am someone ran the IDs and car plates, and at 9am the Malay Major landed, but not with his happy face on.

  ‘We have a problem,’ he began. ‘A ... delicate problem. Your men shot a bodyguard working for a high ranking local official, that man reporting the attack on a domestic property, destruction of cars, bodyguards killed, his official car destroyed – a serious allegation.’

  I nodded. ‘My men photographed the proceedings through the window,’ I lied. ‘Girls as young as nine years old, naked, old men buying them as slaves. Of course, it is my duty as a good captain to send those pictures to every newspaper outlet in the world – especially in Kuala Lumpur, where good Islamic values are still practised.’

  The Major looked like he was about to have a heart attack. ‘I am sure that my government condemns such things, but ... why wash dirty laundry in public? You see.’

  I nodded. ‘Then maybe, as a favour to you, my men will not mention it, photographs destroyed.’

  ‘That would be helpful, yes.’

  ‘So perhaps you whisper in the right ear, and the man and his complaints are swept under the rug.’

  ‘I think that might be best, yes. I will talk to the right people,’ he assured me.

  ‘Excellent, then it’s business as usual, sir,’ I loudly told him, smiling.

  A Jet Ranger helicopter landed as I was sat eating with the French lads, our new JIC man arriving, but at least this guy looked fit and awake. He was grey-haired, late forties, and dressed sensibly for the jungle.

  ‘Captain Wilco,’ he began, shaking my hand. ‘We met before.’

  ‘I remember, sir. Welcome to the FOB, tin hat advisable.’

  He glanced around, his ride departing. ‘A bit lively?’

  ‘It has been, including mortar attacks. This way.’ I led him off towards the command room, our JIC mandarin questioning the burnt out plane. ‘One small wrinkle, sir, and you’re just the man to deal with it. We hit a brothel last night, not least because it was run by the bad boys, armed men, a sale of very young girls going on – which is how they partly fund themselves.

  ‘But what we didn’t know was that the local governor was in the place, buying ten year old girls, and he’s mad at us.’

  ‘Jesus, what a mess.’

  ‘But I told the local Malay officers that we had photographed the proceedings and that we might send the pictures around the world.’

  ‘Did you photograph it?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Crafty toad. I’ll chat to London about it.’

  I introduced him to Captain Harris and SIGINT, then the CIA - who he took outside for a long chat.

  He came and found me later. ‘Sounds like you’re a bit bogged down here.’

  ‘Yes and no, sir. Yes, we’re knee deep in local gunmen, no – not an issue since we need this place secure, and ... the powers – of many nations - want them reduced anyhow.’

  He nodded, considering that. ‘So you don’t mind waiting.’

  ‘If London is happy, I’m happy, sir.’

  ‘We’re OK with it, and it makes it look like you’re here – and not over there yet, so maybe that’s a benefit. And few would believe you’d fly over there.’

  I introduced our JIC man to “D” Squadron, to the Aussies and the Seals, a long chat had with Major Liban.

  At 2pm Captain Hamble called me, a long line of armed men seen, AK56 rifles carried, as well as RPG.

  ‘No, they’re not fucking Malay!’ I shouted. ‘Have they seen you?’

  ‘No, we’re well hidden, three hundred yards off across a muddy river.’

  ‘Keep them in sight, don’t be seen, keep the updates coming!’ I had a look at the map, and the column was heading for us more or less, four miles out at the moment. Outside, I shouted to Haines to have everyone stand to, and in my hut I shouted men awake, Rocko and Rizzo shaken awake before I ran next door, shouting men awake. I stopped to consider the French who had been out all night, then shouted them awake as well.

  Back in my hut, men were dressing in a hurry, but most slept in trousers and shirt anyhow. Boots were tackled in a hurry. ‘Get water splashed on faces, drink plenty, get ready!’

  ‘What’s up?’ Swifty asked as he got his kit on.

  ‘Column of irregulars moving on us, hundred of them, everyone else out on patrol save you and the French.’

  ‘Flap on,’ Rocko asked, yawning.

  ‘Yeah, that brothel owner has brought all his regulars after you,’ I told him. ‘Hundreds of them.’

  Outside, I organised Haines, extra men for the south tree line, the first few French ready and outside, wondering what was up. Moran came out, bandolier and webbing undone.

  I shouted at him, ‘Get the French ready to move out!’

  Dalton wandered over. ‘You want us along?’

  ‘I want you behind those sandbags, aiming south in case we miss some. Large force moving in.’

  Captain Hamble called in, a sitrep, a new position given, the column heading north now, but avoiding roads.

  At the huts, I shouted, ‘Let’s be having you. Get some water in you, check ammo levels, and fast.’

  Nicholson and Tomo were ready, Smitty a bit bleary-eyed, the rest coming out one at a time and forming up, the French forming up, a few looking tired, Liban appearing tired. Robby rallied his men well enough, looking alert – if not a little afraid.

  ‘We have guest for dinner, no,’ Liban commented.

  ‘We have a hundred guests for dinner, with RPG.’

  ‘Ah, so not the welcome guest, no wine brought.’

  With both teams ready I had them form two columns side by side and we jogged to the south tree line and in, easing to a walk, facemasks and gloves put on.

  Half a mile on, a wide stream and a little open ground to cover, I halted them, everyone knelt, and I called Captain Hamble.

  ‘Hello?’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s Wilco, where are they?’

  ‘On the map, where the road bends north, they’re east of it, in the tree line, moving north and following the road to the FOB.’

  ‘OK, when we hit them you get stragglers, and don’t get too close or take risks. Wilco out.’

  Hand signals used, I led them along the stream and to within sight of the road. ‘Major Liban, they’re coming along the tree line. Go north a hundred yards, back from the road but seeing the road, spread out, wait for me to open fire. Go quick.’

  He led the French off at the double.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Tomo, Nicholson, right here, snipe across the stream. Rest of you, spread along north towards the French, in your pairs, in your teams, keep the road in sight but as far back as you can, wait the signal. Solid fire positions, this will be close up work. Go.’

  I placed Tomo and Nicholson where I wanted them then led my team off to the right ten yards, taking up position. I could see the bridge through the trees and bushes, and I knew they would not get wet avoiding it. Waiting, I took out my magazine and weighed it in hand, popping it back in, my rifle checked, pistol check
ed, others copying.

  Blowing out from behind my facemask, and sweating now, I waited, Moran and Mahoney a few yards away to my right, Swifty on my left shoulder, the other side of a tree.

  Fifteen minutes later, Swifty whispered, ‘Here they come.’

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Standby, standby.’

  The first few irregulars edged cautiously across the bridge and checked the bushes this end, not spotting us just fifteen yards away. The column started across, jabbering away, led by a short man with an RPG that was longer than he was tall.

  I counted forty of them pass me, and still they came on, suddenly a burst of fire from up towards the French. The game was up, and I squeezed the trigger – a clanking reload felt through my cheek, two men hit in quick succession, most running straight for us. Those on the bridge turned back, a few firing wildly, trees around me hit.

  A handful of them had dived down and now fired back, spraying the trees. Diving down, I started a leopard crawl, Swifty copying, and we inched forwards. Seeing a man doing the exact same thing, but coming towards me, I aimed and fired at little more than eight yards, his head exploding. Swifty fired twice at someone as I faced north a bit, a moving arse hit twice, a head spotted and hit.

  Grenade blasts echoed, but I was not sure whose grenades they were. Maybe the French had grenades. And I could hear distant fire south, so Captain Hamble was in action.

  Kneeling, and aiming south, I could see men knelt more than a hundred yards off, and I picked them off, Swifty joining in. Dashing forwards to the next tree, I peeked around it and double-tapped two bodies. Aiming north, I saw a leg move and hit the thigh twice, the man in the distinctive blue-grey uniforms.

  A sporadic crackle of fire came from all sides, and this was not over yet, so I kept low. A man suddenly made a run for it towards the road, hit many times and spun.

  The crackle continued for five minutes as I lay there but then it slowly started to ease, and I could not see anyone to shoot. Sat phone out, I called Captain Hamble.

  ‘You OK down there?’

  He sounded out of breath. ‘We hit them from across the road, but many ran off east. We got thirty or more, but as many as that ran off.’

  ‘Stay there, no risks, don’t go after them. Wilco out.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Any serious wounds?’

  ‘It’s Rizzo, French lad has a bad leg wound.’

  ‘I’ll get a jeep sent down. Anyone else?’

  ‘It’s Lassey, I lost an ear and a finger.’

  ‘When you see the jeep, get to it.’

  ‘It’s Robby. One of my lads has a splinter in his scalp.’

  ‘He can walk back.’

  I called Captain Harris. ‘Send a few jeeps down the road for wounded, but be careful, we’ll cover them. Do it quickly.’

  ‘Sending them now.’

  Off the phone, I said, ‘Move towards the road, double tap, be careful!’

  Moran and Mahoney moved past me, double tapping as they went, and we made it to the road without incident, bodies seen down the road, men knelt around me and covering the angles.

  When the jeeps pulled up we got two French in with Lassey, the French patrols sent back, Echo to wait. Half an hour later, I asked for more jeeps, and we piled up the rifles and RPG on the side of the road, nervous Malay soldiers collecting the bounty.

  I left Tomo and Nicholson in place, Slade and Gonzo with them, the rest marched back along the road. In the base, I checked on Lassey, his head bound up, hand bound up. His left index finger was gone, and that might be an end to his military career. I tried to offer a positive smile. Robby’s man had his splinter removed by a nurse, a few stitches put in. He was OK to remain with us, and he very much wanted to anyhow.

  A Huey landed, asked for by Morten, the French lad sent off with a medic, his leg bound up, a bad wound, Lassey sent off with them.

  Men washed faces, drank cold water and rested, some breakfast needed for many. And as they sat down a long line of Malay Army trucks appeared from the north, turning in, a colonel jumping down.

  I wandered over and met him, saluting the short guy, my rifle in my left hand as always.

  He returned the salute. ‘You are in charge of the international men?’ he asked, heavily accented, as his men jumped down, all looking like they were ready for war

  ‘I am, yes. Captain Wilco.’

  ‘I am Colonel Nuey, 2nd Battalion Parachute Corp. We will protect this place.’

  ‘That is very kind of you, sir. First, maybe you use those trucks to collect the bodies we left just down the road.’

  ‘There was fighting, now?’

  ‘Yes, sir, you and your men will be fired at here, and we had mortars come in.’

  ‘We will run down the Filipinos and kill them, don’t worry.’ He shouted orders, men jumping aboard trucks, two trucks heading down the road.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Nicholson, Tomo, bring your team back in, watch out for regular Malay soldiers.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Mister Haines,’ I called, and introduced the colonel. Facing the colonel, I said, ‘Will your men patrol out and protect the perimeter?’ He seemed to have sixty men with him.

  ‘Yes, a perimeter a mile out.’

  ‘Please coordinate with Mister Haines here, it is his job to protect this base, or was before now. There are some tents left you can use.’

  ‘We have more tent,’ he explained, and his sergeants organised his men around the perimeter, Haines bringing in all his men for now – till we figured out what was going on.

  Our JIC guy introduced himself and led the colonel off, our JIC guy weighing in at roughly three times that of the colonel. My money was on the big guy.

  I called SIS London and asked that David Finch call me; I had to wonder if our new colonel was here to stop us shooting up brothels.

  Our JIC guy came and found me later as I stood near the benches, people coming and going. ‘I get the impression that our colonel is not being truthful.’ He waited.

  I took in the tree line, and nodded. ‘We’ve been hitting the bad boys in the pocket, but the locals are benefitting from the illegal trade, so they’ve applied some pressure.’

  ‘Will hitting them in the pocket make much of a difference, in the short term?’

  ‘No,’ I said with a sigh. ‘But it all helps. Why do half a job? If we hit them hard it will set them back, as it did in Africa, a pause or delay before they regroup and kidnap someone else. It may be a drop in the ocean, and there are thousands of hostages out there languishing, but we do what we can, where we are, when we can.

  ‘Right now I have a map in front of me, some objectives set from above, so ... I do the best I can. Whereas ... we could just go for the hostages, half the job.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, futile perhaps to try and change culture around here, but worthy of trying at least – a noble aim.’

  ‘Did he say that he wanted to know our patrol routes?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘The islands are beyond his control, so we can move over there and have at them.’

  ‘And the Filipino Government? They have signed a peace accord,’ he nudged.

  ‘They’ve reluctantly conceded that they couldn’t afford to police the area, not quite the same as a peace accord. We’ve been told that they’ll ignore us, then condemn us in their own press – just to keep the peace accord.’

  He smiled widely and nodded. ‘You’re getting used to how we do things.’

  ‘So, next stop Bongao Island. But I think we’ll mislead our colonel as to our true destination.’

  I went and had a look at the map with Captain Harris, feeling like MacArthur returning to the Philippines. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Isolated, grass not trees, and the whole island is less than twelve miles end to end. We drop in and look around, then move on. But keep that to yourself. Walls have ears.’

  He glanced at the Malay soldiers from under his eyebrows, and nodded.

  I grabbed Franks and his mate and le
d them outside. ‘Looks like the new colonel will try and stop us hitting the local bad boys, so we may as well move to the first island. Can you get enough helos for around twenty-six men?’

  Franks nodded. ‘Three helos, depending on heavy kit.’

  ‘No heavy kit, just what you see, some extra rations. And what about emergency extraction?’

  ‘That’s what the tub is there for.’

  ‘Then we’ll go tonight if you can fix it, but if anyone around here asks we’re going to Jolo.’

  He frowned. ‘So where do you want to go?’

  ‘Southwest island.’

  ‘Ah.’ He glanced around. ‘Don’t trust the locals?’

  ‘Why take the risk of a warm welcome? Let me know the availability; that island is only ten miles off the coast, sixty miles from here. We’d want to insert around 4am, odd flight route taken to fool anyone who spots the helos, same in reverse.’

  ‘Tub is thirty miles away, halfway there. I’ll make a call.’

  I went back to the benches and gathered together all of Echo, leading them away. They formed a circle. ‘We leave after midnight, American helos, short trip to an island, small island – twelve miles long, jungle in the middle, swamp, mangroves, not easy going by the look of it.

  ‘Be very careful who you tell about this, say we’re going down the coast on a job, or to Jolo Island. But we’re not going to Jolo Island. I think the local Malay soldiers hate the Filipino gunmen, but maybe one of them would like money for a new sofa, so we keep it tight.

  ‘We land by helo, look around, might find some gunmen or some hostages, intel is light. There is a small army camp of sorts on the map, and every villager is hostile, every dog an issue, so we avoid contact.

  ‘If we have wounded then we get to a quiet spot, American helos to get us out. If we find lots of irregulars and lots of hostages we can call in “D” Squadron or the French.

  ‘Henri, update Major Liban in French, explain the need for secrecy, have his team on standby to come assist. If all goes well we’ll be in and out in three days, so pack rations and ammo for three days, plenty of water. Rest today, sleep late afternoon, be ready for 2am. Those of you with cuts and scrapes, have the medics check them. Any questions?’