Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘If you speak to an outsider about them I’ll shoot you in the leg and make sure you get time in a cell all to yourself.’ I let them think about it before we boarded.

  The flight passed quickly enough - I read a book about the East Timor conflict , and we landed in the daylight. A colonel waited with his staff.

  I approached and saluted on the tarmac. ‘Captain Wilco, sir.’

  ‘Colonel Marchant, and I spoke to Colonel Dean at length about this place before I got here, and about you, so I think I’m up to speed. And I don’t play golf or do cocktail parties.’

  I smiled. ‘Good to know, sir.’

  He led us off. ‘I’m led to believe that this is a training exercise, so hopefully there won’t be large piles of bodies for us to move.’

  ‘Let’s hope not, sir, but I did ask Intel if there were any hostages nearby, so we might go for some if we’re bored.’

  ‘If you’re bored? Are they not a priority?’

  ‘Sir, there are thousands of hostages languishing around the world, and the various governments only give a fuck when the press get involved.’

  ‘I see. So there’s no list you’re working down?’

  ‘There is a list, but no – we’re not working down it, it’s done on an ad hoc basis by my men, who number around thirty.’

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘Not my men for the most part, sir. These are trainees.’

  ‘And this Borneo operation? You seem to have scared the hostage takers into giving back the hostages.’

  ‘We did, sir,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘My staff went out to that FOB a few days back, but I think it’s as it was. I had a look, after reading all about it. Prefer my comfy bed here.’

  ‘My men like the jungle, sir, they’re comfy enough out there.’

  ‘SAS were here last week, just left, a few shots fired in anger, Pathfinders were here for two weeks. I dare say the locals are very wary now of being seen carrying a gun.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, sir.’

  ‘You’ll go over the border?’

  ‘Just for exercise, not to cause any trouble.’

  ‘Will your presence there stir things up?’

  ‘No, sir, because Intel have back channels to the tinpot dictator over there, and we have an agreement.’

  ‘Agreement?’

  ‘If he leaves us alone ... we we’ll leave him alone.’

  The kit was duly unloaded, crates opened, bandoliers and webbing placed on, rifles grabbed and checked. A loud Chinook drifted over the airfield, my lads to make the first trip with 2 Squadron and the medics, crates to be taken aboard trucks later, the Welsh Guards no longer here, replaced now by Gurkhas.

  We flew low level and high speed over familiar terrain, the pilots not known to me, but I asked about static line drops, which they had been briefed on. And somewhere, arriving today, was a Skyvan and some pilots, but there would also be a Hercules hanging around for a week starting day after tomorrow.

  The FOB was as we left it, a captain and a sergeant greeting me, four Gurkhas manning jeeps with GPMGs fitted.

  I shook the hands of the captain and the sergeant, surprising the sergeant. ‘I hope you haven’t installed soft beds.’

  ‘No, it was bare, and if anything had been left then I’m sure the locals would have pinched it away,’ the captain told me as the lads loaded weapons. I had my green prototype with me. ‘That one of those new rifles?’

  ‘Prototype,’ I told him as the lads wandered inside. ‘20inch barrel, tight right thread, high velocity and spin, so accurate at distance. Silencer fitting, tube sight or telescopic, large magazine, magazine thumb release, extended butt, very reliable. Unlike those pee-shooters you use.’

  ‘They’re a bit better now, but they jam and break often enough.’

  ‘We never get jams, or break our rifles, but then again ... we can pick and choose our weapons.’

  ‘We’ve stacked up some supplies inside, but call and tell us what you need if there is anything, we have an outpost in a local town.’

  ‘Local action?’

  ‘Around here? Your lot shot dead anyone carrying a gun, locals are wary, but crime is low now so that’s a good thing.’

  ‘Then we’ll sleep well at night.’

  I stepped inside as they drove off, finding Morten and Haines opening the goodies left for us, rations and water, plus civvy food in tins and packets, plenty of rice, some vegetables. The tables were as we had left them, the stove there, so we’d soon have a canteen going.

  ‘Mister Haines, men on the roof, static positions around us, set a stag, but the local bad boys are all dead apparently.’

  He nodded and stepped out.

  ‘All quiet then,’ Morten noted.

  ‘You can do some hearts and minds if you like.’

  ‘Tents on the way,’ he noted, a face in a bag, his staff setting up in their previous room.

  I wandered upstairs, my team having reclaimed their old room, cookers going.

  ‘They ain’t decorated it,’ Mahoney told me. ‘No indoor plumbing.’

  ‘We don’t want you going soft now, Lieutenant,’ I told him, and I stepped out onto the flat roof. A few of the sandbags were still in place, all soaked through, the 2 Squadron lads moving them around. I stood and peered at the tree line, odd to think that this place had now been tamed. But I smiled as I took in the view, always happy to be in the jungle, and happy to be here again.

  As I stood there the Chinook returned to us, my police stepping down - Donohue and his mate looking lost, followed by the para instructors and their officer, who also looked a bit lost, or maybe inconvenienced.

  I headed downstairs and guided them in, rooms allocated, Donohue shocked till I allocated him and his mate camp beds and green mats, and then he was still shocked. The coppers made do without whinging, four or five to a room, the para instructors more than just a little shocked. I gave their officer a camp bed – he’d be in with Haines, the men having to rough it, green mats issued, more on the way.

  ‘Where’d we eat?’ one para instructor asked.

  ‘You sit on the floor and cook rations.’

  His face dropped.

  ‘You want to teach SAS, you live like them,’ I told him. ‘You’ll also be sleeping in the jungle, so man-up quickly.’

  The men who had been with us in Borneo taunted their colleagues and just got on with it.

  The trucks turned up two hours later, and they brought us a small petrol generator, Morten fixing it up to the lights as stores were unloaded, crates unloaded and stacked up. There were more camp beds, so I allocated them to the para instructors to stop them whinging.

  Morten and Haines had gotten themselves organised quickly, and hot water was available, tea made, rice and vegetables boiling, a large metal drum of meat stew simmering, the smell filling the building.

  Sergeant Crab was organising the police, and they all sat cross-legged and cooked without complaint, all in good spirits. The same could not be said for the para instructors, or their officer. I wondered if I would go the night without shooting him.

  But after a meal and a brew the officer sat to chat to Haines and Morten about past trips here and he mellowed a little. Either that, or he realised that this time around he would not be bombed, or shot at.

  I had made sure we had excess facemasks and gloves, and all were told to sleep in them. The police, however, had blocked up windows with ponchos and had smoke wafting to deter mozzies - training from Crab, the para instructors whinging, not least about the basic latrines – and the lack of showers, Sergeant Crab calling them “fucking poofters” to their faces.

  The police had rifles, AKML or old AK47 folding stock, the para instructors none, but I had spare rifles, as well as old FN SLRs and ammo. I issued folding stock AK47 to the four para instructors from Borneo, as well as ammo.

  ‘Load, don’t cock, clean them if you like, don’t shoot each other as you sleep. And ... no snoring.’

/>   ‘That’s Sergeant Rizzo’s area,’ they joked.

  I made sure that Donohue was fed, that he had water, facemask and gloves, and for the most part he sat in the canteen area listening to Haines and Morten give the history of this place.

  At 11pm I told them all to get some rest, facemasks on, Haines organising a stag, Morten off to bed, everyone settling down. My team got comfy as I lay down, two rubber mats each.

  ‘Children all tucked up in bed?’ Swifty asked through the dark.

  ‘Para instructors are whinging about conditions, and the police bosses were shocked rigid by this place. Police lads just got on with it.’

  ‘They could stay in the capital,’ Moran suggested. ‘The police bosses. Pop in now and then, they don’t need to be here.’

  ‘I suspect they want to tough it out with the men, the same men they’d control in a siege,’ I suggested.

  ‘Dick measuring,’ Swifty scoffed.

  ‘When is there not dick measuring?’ I responded.

  ‘At a lesbian bible group meeting,’ Mahoney suggested.

  ‘Does the bible allow lesbians?’ Swifty wondered.

  ‘I’m doubting any priest would stop them when caught in the act,’ Mahoney quipped. ‘And in my home town of Boston the priests were all caught with young boys; been going on for decades.’

  ‘And that JFK twat?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘He was doing Marilyn Monroe on cocaine, lucky bastard,’ Mahoney complained, making us laugh. ‘Privileges of rank.’

  ‘British Prime Ministers lead such dull lives,’ Swifty noted.

  ‘Profumo, the Minister for War in the sixties, was banging a call girl set-up by the Russians,’ I told them. ‘Bloody Russians never sent a honey trap for me, I was never as important as Swifty.’

  ‘Swifty?’ Moran queried.

  ‘I had a nice girl from Mi6 snuggle up to me, and shag me senseless, till Wilco spoilt it.’

  ‘They sent a girl?’ Mahoney asked, astonished.

  ‘Yes, nice as well. But Wilco recognised her from some spy convention and sent her packing.’

  Moran asked, ‘Can you get them to send me one?’ making us laugh.

  ‘With a sister,’ Mahoney put in.

  ‘Guys, it is possible, and if you blab you’re out,’ I warned them. ‘Bob Staines did it, but his replacement is a bit too square.’

  ‘So no gals then,’ Mahoney sulked.

  At dawn I was on the flat roof, the 2 Squadron guys soaked through and well pissed-off. Downstairs I found a duty medic plus Morten – who had woken early. Stove on, a brew was handed to me, leftover meat stew warming up.

  I waited till 6am then stepped outside and fired a burst into the concrete at close range. ‘Wakey wakey, rise and shine,’ I shouted.

  ‘Keep the bloody noise down!’ Swifty shouted out his window.

  I kicked up those that had slept through it, bleary-eyed men stirring, the coppers soon with it and cooking, Donohue less than happy at being woken up this early. I sat with Sasha in the canteen, his men sat cooking in their room, life starting to return to the FOB as the day brightened.

  At 7am the coppers were split into teams, a run on the cards, around the strip. The para instructors were all fitness instructors by trade so they would not need extra running practice. I gave the four men from Borneo to Sasha, a day-long patrol up the old track and past the old “druggy camp” which became “the dead village”.

  Weapons checked, kit checked, they headed off on patrol. I gave Stretch five para instructors, five to Rizzo, and they would start with the basics here at the FOB.

  Moran was allocated seven coppers with Crab, Swifty seven coppers with Duffy, and I would take the remaining six, all of us to vary our agreed routes. At the east end of the strip I had my team test weapons, a few rounds fired, then to form up in pairs – fingers off triggers.

  I was soon back on the east track and heading north, but stopped twenty yards in and placed on facemask and gloves, the team doing likewise, and I had them add leaves to their webbing.

  Ready, I lead them off, eyes everywhere, the police having believed the tale of old mines underfoot and dangerous gunmen still in the area; they had appeared cautious before facemasks were put on.

  We had no radios with us, and a hundred yards in I practised hand signals, men up and down, moved and stopped, and a hot hour later we reached the track right. I led them to the river, an OP created at the bank, one further back, flysheets and ponchos up.

  ‘OK, objective is to observe the river’s far bank for movement and to report it. So, camouflage hide here, maybe a guy up a tree, but if it rains he gets wet. Forward OP, and camp back here. Two men in the OP, awake and alert, back here you sleep and cook, and rotate. So, what do we need to consider?’

  ‘Casevac routine?’

  ‘We have sat phones, and the options are that we carry a man back, a bit slow. We could ask for helo, but a bit tight in here to land, maybe a winch to use, or that we get to a road and get a helo in, or a jeep on the road – there is a British base not far. What else?’

  ‘Set your stag routine, but also watch the rear, occasional patrol out.’

  ‘You have been paying attention in class. Yes, set an appropriate stag, say four hours, and now and then two men go back down that path, just in case there’s movement back there. If there is?’

  ‘Men from the OP come in, and we move position, to flank whoever is making that noise.’

  ‘If there are bad boys following your tracks, set an ambush off the tracks. If they haven’t spotted you, and they’re a large force, ignore them, withdraw, report it, get back to the job you were tasked with. What else?’

  ‘Day time and night time routine.’

  ‘Yes, cook during the day, avoid that at night, be more alert at night and at dawn especially, so you don’t want to be sleeping at night but during the day, alert at night. What else?’

  ‘Study the map, local features, access points to here.’

  ‘Yes, know your terrain. If we go north ... what will we hit, jungle or a town, or a road? Always study your local area. What else?’

  ‘Logistics?’

  ‘Yes, good, always keep checking water levels, rations, ammo, wounds, damaged kit. If you’re the team leader, always check, don’t let your lad tell you he’s out of ammo just before an ambush. OK, pack up ready to go. If you need two hands to do something, sling that rifle over your front, don’t put it down, get in the habit right now.’

  Packed up, we set off again. Halting them, I turned back. ‘So who has their finger on the trigger?’

  They snickered within their facemasks.

  North we plodded, sweating, and finally came to the road and the bridge east, the border with Liberia, no armoured personnel carriers seen. We ran across the road in pairs whilst covering each other, soon into thick trees, and on along the ridge, glancing down at the river.

  I decided to keep going and so called Moran, and he wanted to spend the night out as well. I called Haines and told him we’d stay out, and where we were roughly. Halting to let the men wash faces in a stream, I called the Major for a quick chat.

  I pressed on past the narrow bridge, thick steaming jungle to test the coppers, and as we lost the light we were above the local men ferrying paying passengers across the river. I found a suitable spot, stream to hand, and rigged up the large flysheet, poncho’s laid down, and we were snug as it started to rain.

  Teams took it in turn to cook, one pair on stag nearby, all of my team excited to be here “on a live job” in the jungle.

  After each pair had cooked we left the flysheet and ponchos in place and I led them off, again warning them about fingers on triggers. Finding a mine, a hut with a light on next to a brick abode, a few trucks, I had them sneak up with me.

  ‘OK, let’s say that ... there’s a gunman reportedly holding his wife hostage ahead. What’s the plan?’

  ‘Get close, get eyes on first, could be the wrong house, or they’ve kissed and made up and are
shagging on the floor.’

  The guys laughed.

  ‘Good, never trust the intel. So let’s say you spot them inside. What next?’

  ‘Line of sight OP if possible, plus line of sight snipers on the windows, report a clean shot.’

  ‘Yes, good. Keep going?’

  ‘If he’s not near the window, maybe a distraction. Get him to the window for a good shot.’

  ‘OK, what else?’

  ‘Worst case scenario planning. He’s cautious of the window, barricaded inside, getting agitated, gun to his wife’s head. We’d have to breach it, a risk.’

  ‘Yes, blowing a door or a window, hoping to get the shot. But look for the less-than-obvious solution. Block his drain, pour water in. He doesn’t know it’s you, he just thinks it a blocked drain and pops his head out.

  ‘Is there a back door, an attic window, a dog that would alert him. Go down the list, look for anything other than the breach first. Be sneaky.

  ‘OK, that hut down there most likely has armed men, gang masters for the illegal mining operation. When I say go, first two try and get a look close up, second two fifteen paces behind, solid cover, aiming at the door, last two up here, sniper cover.

  ‘You don’t have radios, but if there’s trouble you can shoot an armed man within the rules of engagement here. Right, you two, close up, you two, cover them. Snipers get ready. Go.’

  The first pair eased up and moved off slowly bent-double as I stood, easing behind a tree and checking our rear, the second pair following their mates.

  I knelt next to my snipers. ‘So what’re the issues for you in this scenario?’

  ‘Our lads walk in front of the bad guys, and we have no shot.’

  ‘Yes, good. What else?’

  ‘Bad guys move out of our arc of fire.’

  ‘Yes, then you would re-position in a hurry.’

  ‘A wounded man.’

  ‘Yes, you might be called forwards.’

  As we observed, the black outlines moved slowly down towards the buildings - so far no dogs barking, they inched closer, and I could only see them when they moved. Finally a copper put his face to the window and peeked in, soon moving back, and all the way up to me.