by Geoff Wolak
Moran asked, squinting in the bright sunlight, ‘How many armed men on the island?’
‘Unknown, but there are only a few thousand people living on it, so it can’t be many. That one small camp. This is the first island, the smallest, the test bed. Question is ... will the larger islands send a force?’
‘What if they do?’ Rocko asked. ‘Jungle and swamp, they can’t move fast, and if they’re in the blue shit pyjama uniforms we’ll see them, and they won’t see us.’
‘True,’ I agreed. ‘But if they land men on the island it could delay a helo coming in for us, or for wounded. But there are shallow coral reefs, so we could walk out a mile or two, then be picked up, or pinch a boat. That island is only ten miles from the coast of Malaysia.’
‘You could swim it,’ Tomo suggested. ‘Apart from them big nasty sharks you told us about.’
‘And the jellyfish,’ Dicky added.
One of the Salties said, ‘Could canoe that far if the weather was steady. We’ve done more.’
‘We’ll rely on the helos for now,’ I told them. ‘Get ready, and be tight lipped. Staff sergeants, I want bending and stretching, I want jogging and sprinting, I want feet checked. Let’s get there in good shape, eh.’
‘We come along?’ Sasha asked.
‘Not on the first flight, no. I’ll send for you. I have to be careful what I do with your team – or get some shit from above. Train here with Mally and the parachute instructors, patrol if you can.’
Sasha nodded his acceptance.
I found Captain Hamble and led him to a quiet spot. ‘We’re off to sniff around an island, but don’t tell anyone, we’ll say we’re going down the coast; I’m not sure about the local lads.’ He nodded. ‘If it turns out to be a fuck-up we might call for you, so standby the men here, just don’t brief them on where we’ll be.’
‘Hostages on the island?’
‘No idea, intel is light, but there is a small camp, so we’ll have a look.’
Next stop was Dalton and his sergeant. I sat with them. ‘We’re off tonight, small island, to have a sniff around. If there are any hostages we’ll call you tomorrow sometime, you can come collect them, get the credit. Don’t ... discuss things in front of the local boys.’ They nodded. ‘Be ready tomorrow from dawn, no idea on timescale, or if the hostages are even there.’
I briefed Haines, and he would have his men keep fit, as well as patrol inside the wire. I asked him to make-up a shooting range, and to nudge the rest to use it.
My final call was Nesbit, and I found him in a brown t-shirt, sweat stains visible, a picture of Kyle Minogue and the wording “I should be so yucky”. I led him to one side. ‘What were you tasked with here? We’re off to an island tonight, shots fired in anger, maybe some hostages, could be a good result - or a fuck-up.’
‘My government has sent us to islands around here before now, and to East Timor. If they have hostages, we go, and screw the Manila government.’
I nodded. ‘OK, this first job is a small island, could stand in the middle and shoot everyone, but after that comes the hard part, and we’ll try and make use of you. In the meantime, how about your men keep fit, and Mister Haines is making up a shooting range.’
‘I’ll keep them sharp. How long you away?’
‘Three days at most I’d say; it’s a small island.’
At 2am the lads were getting ready, strong coffee made after Captain Harris had a few packets brought it, a few others still awake, the Malay paratroopers patrolling, and so far tonight we had suffered no attacks on the wire.
At 3am I had the lads bend and stretch, jog and sprint, kit gone over again, finally told that the helos were on their way. I gathered Echo. ‘Listen up. When we get there we’ll be at the east end of the island, small island, about twelve miles long and four miles wide at most. Where we land it’s about two miles wide.
‘We’ll land in the middle of a valley, long grass and marsh, wet underfoot maybe, and we’ll split up and move west. So, when we land I want you to orientate yourselves. The choppers will come in east to west and set us down, so west should be on the nose.
‘Rocko, you go south a mile, then west, avoiding contact, but I want your troop split into two teams of four, four hundred yards apart, covering more ground. Rizzo, you go north, same deal, split teams, one of three men.
‘My team of four plus Robby’s troop will go down the middle, and we’ll all move west till we find something worth looking at. Towards the centre, a few miles west, is a small camp, but intel may be out of date, so we look till we find the bad boys or hostages, or neither.
‘Don’t go into villages, and there’s one small town on the west end, avoid getting too close. Fallback point will be determined when we get there because that landing site might be a bit exposed – someone might have cut the grass. Test radios now.’ I counted them off and each responded into my ear.
‘Should we get some diesel oil for sharks?’ Tomo asked.
‘If you can find some, yes, we might ditch.’
He produced a tin from the back of his webbing, making me smile.
‘Don’t get it on your gloves or fingers,’ I told him.
Using a cloth, he rubbed oil into the trouser legs of all the lads.
‘No one strike a match,’ Robby quipped.
Our helos loudly announced their arrival half an hour later, the tree line quiet, the Malay paras doing a good job.
‘Make safe all weapons!’ I shouted, unloading my own. The lads lined up in three teams and knelt, all with our smaller backpacks on, a few extra water bottles visible.
Waved over, we ran bent-double and in, soon sat in the dark interior, the Seahawk lifting up straight away and banking hard right, men rubbing knees and holding shoulders, rifles upright.
The crewman pointed at my shoulder pips, tapped his own shoulder, and handed me a headset. ‘British officer has headsets on now,’ I heard.
‘Captain Wilco back here,’ I said.
‘Just wanted to double check the plan,’ came from the pilot.
‘Approach the island from the north then east, coming in from the east low, land on the first clear area, nose pointing west, and off. But have a look for large groups of bad boys before nose down, eh.’
‘We have night sights, we’ll check the LZ as we approach. Same spot for extraction?’
‘Unlikely, it’s a bit exposed, OK on the way in. We have sat phones that will give our exact GPS position for extraction or casevac.’
‘OK, and there are Marines on standby if you need them.’
‘Very unlikely, my men are special forces of an extreme nature, and we’d never allow ourselves to be rescued by Marines, or Yanks.’
The crewman smiled widely in the dull available light, and the co-pilot glanced back at me.
‘You were up-country in Liberia?’ the pilot asked.
‘We were yes, and we’re quite at home in the jungle.’
The crewman sniffed. ‘Boss, got an oil leak back here.’
‘That’s us,’ I told him. ‘Oil on legs, for sharks if we ditch.’
‘Oil for sharks?’ the pilot queried.
‘Sharks don’t like diesel oil.’
‘Have to remember that, but we have repellent, years in the making, lots of research. So probably trust your oil more than that repellent.’
After ten minutes, the pilot announced, ‘That’s our tub, out the port window.’
I bent down and had a look at a distant ship, no features seen. ‘When we flew in from Kota Kinabalu, the Malay Hercules pilot had the name “Maverick” on his helmet.’
The crewman laughed, the co-pilot turning his head.
The pilot asked, ‘Does a C130 do a supersonic barrel roll?’
‘It’s what every Hercules pilot dreams of,’ I quipped. ‘To be slimmer and faster.’
‘The bird behind us – its pilot was a jet jockey for two years and flunked out,’ the pilot told me. ‘Me ... I always liked helos. Too many Vietnam war movies as a
kid.’
The black ocean slipped past, a few small ships seen, their lights on. We banked right, hills seen left, dropped down, slowed, the lights flashed, everyone getting ready. I slapped in a magazine, but did not cock the weapon, hoping my lads would do just that and nothing more.
‘Area directly ahead looks clear, nothing showing up in the thermal sights,’ the pilot told me.
‘Good to know.’ I handed back the headset.
The doors opened, men inching forwards, and we hit with a bump, dark outlines of men jumping down. I hit sand and ran ten steps forwards, kneeling and cocking my weapon, my feet tangled in long grass and roots. Ahead was a low valley with gently sloping sides, few features visible, no lights seen.
The Seahawk blasted me with sand as it lifted and turned, the noise level reducing, and soon it was just us, the odd shriek of a seagull heard. I found that we were in long grass and waist high bushes, everything black around us apart from the sand, some lights seen a mile away west.
Standing, I transmitted, ‘Get into teams, move off now.’ I whispered for Moran, Mahoney and Swifty, finding them a few feet away. I called in Robby’s troop. They stood and came over, taking in the blackness around us as the other lads could be heard moving off down the beach.
‘This is Wilco. You there, Dicky?’
‘Yeah, moving south.’
‘Rocko?’
‘Following them.’
‘Rizzo.’
‘Moving north.’
‘Henri.’
‘Moving north, yes.’
Off the radio, I said, ‘On me,’ and we started forwards, managing to pick out a winding track of sorts, less to trip over, but it was not a fast pace. But at least we had a cool wind blowing from behind us, the pleasant smell of the ocean in our nostrils.
Five minutes on, and Dicky came on. ‘Dicky for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘We found little river, thought about crossing it till we saw the fin in the water – oil or not.’
‘Salt water inlet, be careful; they come in at night.’
‘What’s that?’ Swifty asked.
We halted, and could now see lights coming on up ahead.
‘Hamlet maybe,’ I commented, and led them on.
Five minutes later, and I heard the pop, pop, pop of mortar tubes. ‘Down!’ I shouted, and we dived down onto a soft bed of long grass and sand.
The whistling passed us, three loud blasts behind us, on the beach.
Mahoney noted, ‘They ain’t the best of shots, are they.’
Moran put in, ‘They’re aiming at the place we landed! They heard the helicopters!’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Listen up, some sort of camp ahead of us. Go west on the double and get around it, group together in troops. Standby.’ I lifted up. ‘Come on,’ I hissed with some urgency as I ran northwest, a few trees affording us some cover, and finding a dirt track I sprinted along it and to the base of a ridge flanked by bushes, soon sprinting up the side of that ridge and sliding down the other side, the rest sliding in after me.
Machinegun fire sounded out as we all keenly peeked over the ridge, red tracer seen, the men down there raking the coastal flatlands.
‘If they had been awake when we landed...’ Moran noted as the automatic fire crackled out. ‘They were asleep, and took ten minutes to get active.’
‘We were lucky,’ I told them. ‘And they ain’t the most switched on boy scouts. Look at them, they’re firing at random.’
‘Rocko for Wilco.’
‘Go head.’
‘We got a good view of them; sandbag positions, mortars, huts, some cars and trucks at the back.’
‘That camp ain’t on the fucking map!’ I transmitted.
‘Since when have Intel got it right?’ came back from Rocko.
‘Rocko, Rizzo, get position from the sides and rear, sneak in close, then co-ordinate the attack. Rizzo, we’re behind you a few hundred yards, north ridge, check your fire.’
‘We’re sneaking down now,’ came Rizzo’s voice.
I took out my sat phone and recalled a number.
‘Captain Harris here,’ came a sleepy voice.
‘It’s Wilco. We landed right on a military base but got away in time, about to attack it from the sides. Update the map: six hundred yards in from the west beach is a camp.’
‘OK, I’ll make a note.’
‘Wilco out.’ Phone down, I whispered, ‘Come on.’
We eased along the ridge bent-double as mortars popped out - intermittent machinegun fire disturbing the night, keeping the camp in sight till we were almost level with it.
‘Rizzo, flash your torch northeast.’
After a few seconds we saw it in the inky blackness.
‘OK, we’re a hundred yards east and higher up than you, moving down now.’
‘It’s Rocko, they’re forming up ready for some marching practise.’
‘Say again?’ I queried.
‘They’re forming up in a block.’
‘Rizzo, you see them?’
‘Yeah, two hundred yard shot just about.’
‘Set automatic, all of you, get ready. Nicholson, Tomo, snipe at the men on the machineguns when we start.’ Off the radio, I whispered, ‘Mahoney, Moran, Robby’s troop, straight down, quick as you can, aim at the mortar team and men on the machineguns. Go.’
They rushed off down the slope.
To Swifty I said, ‘Targets of opportunity, around the huts,’ and we both got comfy. Through my sights I could now see the block of men Rocko had mentioned, but they were on the far side, closer to Rocko. Near the huts, and in the light, I could see who I thought was the man in charge, now directing the men.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Rocko, count to ten and open fire.’
I re-acquired my commander and kept him in my sights, and when the crackle started I hit him. A man knelt over him, who I managed to get with a head shot. A curious face peering out from the huts, and I hit the glass and the curious face behind.
The crackle grew to a crescendo, and before easing off I had hit six men, distant shots in poor light. When a jeep turned its lights on I hit the driver and passenger, Swifty firing out from next to me.
With the crackle easing, I transmitted, ‘Rocko, report.’
‘Got all the fuckers lined up, can’t see anyone moving.’
‘Nicholson, report.’
‘Got the mortar crew and machinegun crew, some ran off and are hiding.’
‘Captain Moran, you see anyone alive?’
‘Negative.’
‘Everyone move to the edge of the camp, heads down, dead slow, double tap, no risks, don’t go inside.’
I eased up with Swifty and we ran down the slope, stopping and kneeling when level with the camp. ‘Moran?’
‘Here.’
We moved forwards twenty yards, finding black outlines.
Moran whispered, ‘That fucking knobhead in charge lined them all up.’
‘Good for us, bad for them,’ I noted.
Mahoney fired twice into the dark before I tapped his shoulder. Black blobs moved forwards bent-double and to an old stone wall about two feet high, and knelt behind it in a long line. Shots rang out from our right, just twenty yards away, silenced shots, so ours.
I had not realised that I had been sweating till I felt my brow cool in the breeze. And we waited, fifteen minutes, the odd shot sounding out.
‘Wilco, it’s Rizzo, there’s movement down the valley, west.’
I stood tall and had a look, vehicle lights seen.
‘Tomo, Nicholson, go west on the double, half way to those lights and report. No risks.’
‘Moving.’
As we waited I lifted my facemask and sipped my water, passing it to Swifty.
‘Not the most switched on, were they,’ he noted.
Mahoney put in, ‘But they had fixed defences towards the beach, so against who – the Philippine Army?’
‘Must be,’ Moran noted. ‘They�
�re not fighting anyone else.’
‘Coastline is rocky and shallow,’ I told them as we knelt in the dark. ‘So maybe that beach was the obvious landing spot – after the harbour.’
‘Was this place occupied by the Japs?’ Swifty asked.
‘Yes,’ I told him.
‘Then this camp could sit where the original did, defending that beach.’
Mahoney said, ‘We should have been filmed coming ashore.’ In a theatrical accent he added, ‘I will return to Mindanao.’
‘Who said that?’ Swifty asked.
‘Knobber,’ Moran told him. ‘MacArthur.’
‘Don’t you knobber me, I never went to a posh school with all male dorms and all male showers.’
I laughed.
‘Neither did I,’ Moran insisted. ‘Cheeky fuck.’
‘Robby,’ I called through the dark. ‘Your lads OK?’
‘No wounds, all resolute,’ he responded. ‘But I don’t think any of us figured we’d be in action straight off the damn chopper.’
‘Best laid plans...’ I quipped.
Five minutes later, Nicholson came on. ‘Wilco, there’s a camp, bigger than the first place, huts and brick buildings, trucks, all sorts.’
‘What they doing?’
‘Getting ready to move out.’
‘Stay there, call it out. Rocko, get those mortars turned around. Rizzo, get those machineguns turned around. Oh, and Nicholson, get to the south side ... and get your fucking head down!’
I led my team slowly inside and we carefully checked the sandbag positions, Rizzo’s troop to the right of us, a few bodies double tapped, one body getting up and running but not getting far.
On the far side I inspected the heap of bodies, maybe thirty men who had been lined up ready for orders, and turned to Rocko as he aimed the mortars, the huts providing some illumination.
‘Rocko for Nicholson. What distance?’
‘Eight hundred to the start, but it’s about four hundred yards long.’
Using a torch, Rocko adjusted the mortars in a hurry, lads stood waiting with shells. ‘Try that.’
‘Fire for effect!’ I shouted, and knelt.
The mortars blasted out the tubes, 81mm by the feel of them, and I ran bent-double west, to a jeep and up onto its bonnet as the shells landed, a truck destroyed in the distance and soon alight.
