by Geoff Wolak
Back in the HQ, I glanced out the window just before my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Franks, we’re organising the supplies now. But we have supplies on ship if you want some.’
‘Water, grenades, tinned meat. We need our own 7.62mm Russian standard ammo.’
‘Being made ready here, but we just got intel. Boats docked before dawn, down from Jolo and Mindanao.’
‘Guess who’s coming to dinner,’ I quipped. ‘How many?’
‘Hundreds.’
‘We’re on the high ground, hidden, no wounded, and I have fifty of the world’s best men, so I won’t be losing any sleep.’
‘They’re reporting that some of their senior commanders are dead...’
‘The men landed by plane right in front of us, none survived.’
‘They also misplaced their elite unit.’
‘We set an ambush, survivors running off.’
‘You do impress, Captain.’
‘Not much of a test, these boys are crap, walking down the road in two neat columns, and we were above them with ten machineguns. We had RPG trained on them, 105mm.’
‘Yes, something of a mismatch.’
‘And now we have dense jungle, which is where we like to be.’
‘And the plan is..?’
‘Slow attrition. We keep going till they run out of warm bodies. We do to them what they did to the Philippine Army and police.’
‘We’ve had delicate enquiries from the Filipinos, who are discretely delighted. You’d get a free beer there. And the Pentagon is alive with gossip at high levels, all watching this ... this hostage rescue attempt.’
‘Well get me those supplies and we’ll finish up here.’
‘Be with you in an hour.’
I sat with Liban on a bench made from a wooden board resting on breeze blocks. ‘Supplies are coming in.’
‘Ah, good. Any wine?’
I smiled. ‘I don’t think so. Have you ever tried those American rations, the liquid that heats itself?’
‘Ah, yuk.’ He made a face. ‘Terrible. They bring those?’
‘No, at least I hope not.’
With Mahoney on the window, Swifty said, ‘OK if I get an hour?’
‘Yeah, no problem. Could be a day or two till they get here.’
‘Who is they?’ Mahoney asked.
‘Reinforcements from Jolo and Mindanao.’
‘How many?’ Mahoney pressed, but not sounding concerned.
‘How many men do they have?’ I retorted.
‘Ah. So lots of them,’ Mahoney noted.
Swifty tried the hard floor, then got back up. Seeing metal bars sticking out of the broken walls, he rigged up his poncho across a corner and tried it. ‘Not bad. Keep the sound down, no shooting.’
An hour later he was woken by the helo, and cursing. Moran climbed up and knelt, directing the Seahawk in, wheels touching, men down and knelt, the Seahawk lifting up six feet before spinning, nose down and off.
I was under the roof access point with Hamble, kit handed down, the first Aussie team scrambling down, Nesbit with them.
‘What did you bring?’ I asked him as I started to open bags.
‘Have a look at this,’ he said, and opened a bag for me. ‘Ten cooked chickens.’
I smiled widely. ‘The lads will appreciate it.’
‘We have water and your ammo, that was first priority.’
His men lined up ready.
‘Captain, in the building. Rest of you, get well camouflaged, this is jungle warfare, small team tactics, ambush, hit and run.’ I gave them a briefing on the area.
‘OK, go down this track north. When you first spot the road below you go left, which is west, slow steady walk about six hundred yards, find a good spot and get in it, ponchos up, make a happy home, small patrols out below you, half a mile at most. Don’t go near that road, but watch the road. Simple. Off you go.’
The troop sergeant led them off and out of sight as Liban wound up Nesbit about getting a tan back at the FOB, and would the Aussies actually be doing any work?
‘Can I get back to sleep now?’ Swifty grumbled.
‘Yeah, all quiet till the next helo,’ I told him.
‘When’s that due?’
‘When it gets here.’
‘Bloody marvellous.’
That next helo was just ten minutes behind its buddy, the second Aussie troop down, more supplies dropped. I had handed cooked chicken to Hamble’s men, some chicken sent up to Robby, plenty left for the officers.
I had the troop captain remain whilst his men were sent south 600yards, to be this side of our hill and facing the French across the valley. We now had plastic water bottles stacked up, rations packs and magazines. I topped up my bandolier, Moran and Mahoney doing likewise, and I plonked three magazines on Swifty as he tried to sleep.
Mahoney had grabbed an empty kit bag, kicked sand and dirt into it from outside, and plonked the dirt in a corner, Moran assisting with Liban, and now one side of the room has an inch or two of soft sandy-dirt for men to sleep on, ponchos laid down on top.
The next Seahawk brought no men but a shit load of supplies. Bags opened, we found grenades, water, and tinned food, as well as tinned fruit. Tins opened, we all enjoyed pears and peaches.
I faced Moran. ‘What about Sasha, Mally and the para instructors? Good training for them.’
‘Those para instructors might object. Sasha is great in the jungle, Mally would be keen.’
I made a call to Captain Harris. ‘Listen, bring out Mally and Sasha’s team, and ask the para instructors if they volunteer to come.’
‘Oh ... well, I’ll chat to them, see what they say.’
An hour later, and after I had washed in spring water and was now smelling better, the Seahawks were back, Mally’s team out first, hands full of kit, followed by Sasha’s team, Whisky and the para instructors on the second helo, kit lugged, the third Seahawk dropping supplies – and now we were well stocked.
I lined up Mally’s team. ‘OK, facemasks and gloves on, leaves on webbing, silent movement, hit and run tactics. Go north down this track till you see the road, get position above the road on the right - say three hundred yards above the road, solid cover, good OP for when it rains, rotate small local patrols.
‘Echo is over the road, Aussies on your left six hundred yards. Come back here for supplies or wounded.’
‘Rules of engagement?’ Mally queried.
‘Anyone with a rifle is fair game, but report it. Sleep patterns up to you, cook when you like. Move out.’
I greeted Sasha, a long chat in Russian about what we had done here, and had his men make camp in the trees, ready to respond to any intel or movement seen.
That left Whisky and the para instructors. ‘Gentlemen, this area is ... not that dangerous at the moment, but could get lively. So, we have jungle similar to the FOB, hit and run tactics. Practise stealth and camouflage, quiet movement, making OPs - as you’ve already been taught.’
I looked past them. ‘”D” Squadron. I want 2 men ready to go.’
Two men wandered over a minute later, webbing adjusted.
‘Whisky, you’re in charge. Go south down this track till you hit the bottom, don’t go up the other side, French there. Aussies are off to your right five hundred yards. Go left, which is east, couple of hundred yards, good OP ambush point, rotate it. Check in with us now and then and units nearby. Supplies back here, wounded back here. Any questions?’
‘Expecting enemy patrols?’ Whisky asked.
‘Yes, but they’re a bit crap this lot. No heroics, report the movement. But if a small patrol comes in ... shoot the fuckers, making sure you have a solid position first – not a bush. OK, move out.’
Back inside, Moran noted, ‘We have this place sewn up, lot of men down, good supplies.’
‘Who’s got a pack of cards?’ Nesbit quipped as he got a brew on.
A little over an hour later, the day warm, the HQ nice and cool and be
nefitting from a great breeze through open windows, Robby came in with, ‘Wilco, military trucks on that road.’
‘How far away?’ I keenly asked.
‘Two miles or less.’
‘How many?’
‘Twenty, thirty or more.’
Off the radio, I shouted, ‘All of you!’ I grabbed my webbing, fastening it on as men bumped shoulders in a panic. Outside, I shouted, ‘”D” Squadron here, Sasha here!’
The men rushed in carrying webbing and putting it on, forming up as I stepped north. ‘OK, on me.’ I ran down the track and full pelt, being hit in the face by branches and leaves. When we reached the “D” Squadron lad on stag I told him to follow.
Emerging onto a steep open slope, I ran down till I noticed Mally moving in from the side. ‘Get ready!’ I shouted at him. Four hundred yards above the road I halted, finding a fallen tree, men skidding into position alongside me.
I transmitted. ‘Rocko, Rizzo, stand to, get to the road! Aussies with a view of the road, get ready to fire down.’
“D” Squadron spread out left, Sasha’s team on my right, my head turning both ways to check positions.
‘Get solid positions!’ I shouted at “D” Squadron.
‘There,’ Liban nudged, and we could see the lead jeep, trucks behind it.
‘Rocko for Wilco, we’re ready, can see you across the valley.’
‘Wait the signal. Has Rizzo got any RPG left?’
‘Yeah, getting them ready now.’
‘I want these guys west of us, so we don’t want any passing us. Rizzo, try hitting that first truck.’
I peered through my sights, and could see Rizzo taking position, men near him also getting RPG ready. ‘OK, listen up. After the RPG is fired, aim into the backs of the trucks, careful aim.’
The trucks disappeared from view as they wove around tight bends with tall trees, and when I saw the length of the column I swallowed.
Swifty turned his head. ‘That’s a lot of men.’
I nodded, and sighed.
The first truck slowed as it climbed, a blast, and Rizzo had hit a wheel. Still, it did the trick, the truck halting and blocking the road, a second RPG hitting the cab and blowing it apart as the outgoing fire built to a roar. Men jumped down from trucks, a few hit, many making it to the tree line, a second truck hit by an RPG, its engine on fire.
I had used a magazine quickly, aiming into the canvas backs, but soon realised that we had wounded only half the men from the front four trucks, most of the other trucks having stopped around a bend. I could have anticipated such a column, and planned this better.
With little to fire at, I eased back. ‘That could have gone better.’
Faces turned towards me.
‘We could have got more,’ Moran noted. ‘Did intel say trucks coming?’
‘No, but I should have had men further back as well.’
‘That column is a mile long,’ Mahoney noted. ‘If we had it covered we’d have no men anywhere else.’
I nodded. ‘Now it’s man against man, patrol against patrol.’
‘We show them,’ Liban scoffed.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Ceasefire. All units, ease back, hide, snipe when you see a good target, save ammo. They’ll be sending up small patrols, and trying to flank us. Get ready. Rocko, we have lots of supplies over here, I’ll send some to you at dawn.’
Off the radio, I said, ‘Mally, stay here, Sasha and “D” Squadron back up the hill, officers back up.’
Back at the HQ I swigged water and wiped my brow, a look at the map.
Liban said, ‘I bring men over to here?’
‘No, the newcomers will spread out during the night, try and flank us. It’s now what I planned for, small team tactics and ambush.’
‘What we’re paid for,’ Nesbit noted. ‘So now we have to prove that.’
‘Roving patrols?’ Hamble asked.
‘Hell no,’ I responded. ‘In the jungle the static ambush point wins. You open fire, wound and kill, sneak away, and do that over and over.’
‘Wear them down,’ Nesbit noted, Liban nodding.
At the window, I clicked on my radio, ‘Whisky, you read me?’
‘Just about. Go ahead.’
‘We just stopped a large force on the road, other side of the mine. They will be coming, might try and flank us. Stay sharp.’
‘I found a great ambush point, set some trip wires and alerts as well.’
‘Good, train those with you. Wilco out.’
I made eye contact with Swifty. ‘Grab some grenades, take them down to Mally, and the Aussies on the left.’
He stepped out.
The shadows grew long, the sun behind the high ground as I took Liban up to Robby, a great sunset afforded us.
‘Mally for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘They’re trying to sneak up.’
‘Shoot when you have a definite target, use grenades, aiming for them to detonate ten feet above the ground. If you get flanked or outgunned, report it.’
‘This is Willy,’ came as Aussie accent. ‘Loads of these chaps moving right to left, southwest I guess, coming around, but they’re way down around 600yards.’
‘Thanks. Keep the reports coming.’
I turned to Robby’s mate. ‘Go back, get grenades, take them to your OP.’
He rushed off.
Robby clicked on his radio. ‘Steve, you hear that Aussie report?’
‘Yeah, we’re ready, can’t see anything yet.’
With grenades issued I returned to the HQ room with Liban. I announced, ‘They’re coming around the west, moving south. As hoped for.’
Ten minutes later, and a burst of fire echoed around the mine. Men rushed to the windows.
‘Behind us?’ Moran queried.
‘Wilco for Whisky, was that you?’
‘Yes, we hit a patrol coming in, say eight men, two ran off, rest are dead.’
‘Don’t police up the bodies, no risks, day ain’t over yet.’
Moran asked, ‘How they get around us so fast?’
‘Not the same unit,’ I insisted. ‘Some other unit.’
Men and officers relaxed, the flickering flames from the stove gave some illumination, and I was not worried about been spotted up here.
Brew in hand, ten minutes later, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘Air Commodore. How’s it going?’
‘Well, your para instructors – the ones that the SAS don’t respect, just shot dead a few men from their hidden jungle hide.’
‘Crikey. I know what the plan was ... but them getting shot will be hard to explain.’
‘And if the SAS stopped using you for para training..?’
‘Be a dark day, yes, but be careful with those men, please.’
‘They had some good training, now some confirmed kills.’
‘Confirmed kills? For parachute instructors? Like Hercules pilots with confirmed kills dropping bloody cement. And my medics, and 2 Squadron?’
‘Still at the FOB, all safe and well.’
‘Apart from drive-by shootings and mortar attacks...’
‘Well, yeah, apart from that. But they do have chickens to eat.’
‘Well, so long as they have chicken to eat I’ll sleep better.’
I smiled. ‘They love it, sir, spirits were high.’
‘So what are you up to on that island?’
‘Wearing down the communist Islamist drug gangs, looking for hostages.’
‘Well stay safe, talk soon.’
Phone away, I grabbed some chicken.
I decided to call Morten.
‘Hello?’ He sounded out of breath.
‘Been jogging?’ I asked.
‘No, we had an attack here.’
‘An attack?’ I repeated, faces turning towards me.
‘Drive-by shooting, but 2 Squadron killed them, but not before they killed or wounded a few Malay soldiers, stray round hit one of my girls in the leg, nasty wound.�
��
‘Ask for a Huey for her.’
‘Have done, should be here soon.’
‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
Phone down, I informed the assembled men, ‘Drive-by shooting at the FOB, Malay soldiers killed, lady medic wounded.’
‘They are not so happy with us here,’ Liban noted.
‘Be none left soon,’ I threatened.
‘Robby for Wilco.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Lads are shooting at patrols below, a bit far for a grenade throw. Sounds like the Aussies threw a grenade or two down.’
‘Roger that.’
I turned to Nesbit. ‘Walk down the path south, chat to your patrol down there, they’re next.’
Nodding, he eased up and walked out, rifle held.
Ten minutes later a burst of fire again echoed around the mine. I stepped to the window and peered south. ‘Wilco for Whisky, report.’
‘They tried to flank us, six dead on their side, a few ran off.’
‘Change position, come back up a bit, fresh ambush point. Going to be a long night.’
‘Moving now.’
Turning, I said, ‘Our parachute lads are seeing plenty of action.’
When Nesbit returned, I asked him, ‘You fresh, ready for some action?’
‘I’m good to go, yeah.’I called forwards Sasha and his team. To Nesbit I said, ‘Back down the path to the lowest point, stop, get a good position, radio Whisky – he’s on your left, your men above you and right, make contact.’
‘Speak English!’ Nesbit told Sasha’s team, wagging a finger before he led them off.
Cracks sounded out a little while later. ‘Robby, report.’
‘They’re down on the path below us, 400yards or less I’d say. Some even using torches. None trying to come up, they’re moving south.’
‘Roger that. Mally, you there?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘What’s happening your end?’
‘Some firing over the way, a few sneaking up, Aussies firing now and then. Going to be a long night.’
‘Be a long night for them as well.’
Twenty minutes later, the officers now either sat down or lying down, we heard a blast. Men eased up, looks exchanged.
‘What the hell was that?’ Moran asked.
‘Robby for Wilco, and all teams, they have mortars, mortars coming in!’
