Wilco: Lone Wolf - Book 2: Book 2 in the series (Book 2 of 10)

by Geoff Wolak

  Men below started running around, but mostly running out of the compound as the resonating drone of choppers grew louder. As they did, I clicked on the radio. ‘Rocko, drop that person now.’

  A quiet crack sounded out, no reaction from below, they were preoccupied. The helicopter sounds grew, and I nudged Smurf forwards. On the radio, I said, ‘Rizzo, Stretch, down to the wall now.’ And I followed them down, my back soon to the tall mud wall, Smurf inching slowly up the same tree.

  Shouts came from within, but not about us. We waited as the helicopter’s distinct signature grew to a crescendo and then died.

  I clicked on the radio and covered my mouth. ‘Smurf, call it out.’ I started climbing the tree.

  ‘Just two fighters inside now, two fighters in with the hostages, slapping them about a bit, looks like one or two in the doorway.’

  I reached the wall and eased up and onto it. ‘Rizzo, Stretch, corner. Rocko, Slider, standby, wait the first shot.’

  Distant cracks sounded, coming from back towards Swifty. There was nothing for it. I lifted up, eased my legs over to a low roof and down, and as I reached the edge I knelt and fired once into each of the men in the compound. The fighters in the well-lit hostage room cooperated by peering out, both hit through the glass. I jumped down and landed in a heap, rolling over. Knelt, I focused on the entrance as two dark outlines appeared, four rounds fired.

  I started to move towards the hostage room when two cracks caused me to turn, Smurf having hit someone coming out a side room. I had spun around, and now completed a 360 degree pirouette, back facing the hostage room, its glass shattered. I thrust my face and rifle in, finding no fighters.

  Two long bursts of fire came from outside, and I figured them Rizzo and Stretch, quiet cracks coming from the lane as I kicked in the door to the hostage room and jumped aside. A burst of fire came out.

  With my back to the wall, I reached for my pistol, pushed it around the door edge left-handed and fired five times. Hearing a moan and a thud I peered in, a fighter on his knees, a round to his face knocking him back before I stepped over him. Movement left, a youth shot and killed by reaction. I turned right and into the well-lit hostage room, scanning the battered and bruised faces.

  ‘British soldiers, here to help you. Stay calm.’

  Back in the compound, I turned right and peeked around to the main entrance, plenty of bodies laying there, handiwork of Rocko and Slider. ‘Rocko, Slider, down to me now. Don’t shoot me, I’m just inside the main entrance. Swifty, report.’

  ‘We’re taking fire, ten men below, got at least that number.’

  ‘Can you hold?’

  ‘For now, yes, most have run off towards you.’

  ‘This is Rizzo, we hit a few on that main road, most are down where them crops and shit is.’

  I heard footsteps and peeked out, Slider and Rocko trying to hop over the bodies. ‘Front of the compound,’ I told them. ‘Covering fire.’ And I ran back inside. ‘Can you all walk?’ I shouted, people standing. ‘Any wounded?’

  ‘This man was tied up a long time,’ came from a large fat British man. ‘I can help him.’

  I focused on two men in flight suits, their faces red raw and cut. ‘You are French pilots?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Other French soldiers here?’

  ‘They were four more, taken, four shot earlier,’ came an accented voice as they all got ready.

  ‘Follow me, be quiet, stay close.’ And I led them out and to the right, into the street and over the bodies, Slider and Rocko firing into the dark night. Rounds cracked overhead and slammed into the walls, spinning off into the night.

  ‘Smurf, come down,’ I ordered, and met him at the rear. ‘Lead this lot back to Swifty.’ To the hostages I said, ‘Keep moving, please. This way. Quickly, please.’

  With the last man past me, I stopped him and asked if anyone was still inside, getting back a ‘no’.

  ‘Slider, Rocko, withdraw whilst firing.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, Stretch, withdraw whilst firing.’

  Scrambling up the dark bank, I peered down the track, not seeing any movement, Rocko and Slider covering each other as they climbed higher, bursts coming from Rizzo.

  I followed the tail end of the hostages, the lads falling into step behind me and firing off a great many rounds.

  We had made it to the steep climb up to the good vantage point when a stray round hit a hostage. I edged past them, nudging them aside, but found no pulse on the man. Turning my torch on, I could see a head wound.

  ‘Nothing to be done, keep moving, he’s dead.’ I pushed people onwards. ‘Faster!’

  Beyond the vantage point, we were partly shielded from stray rounds, and I could see muzzle flashes coming from Swifty and the French soldiers.

  ‘Smurf, lead the hostages back the way we came,’ I shouted. ‘Rizzo, Stretch, Slider, Rocko, here – five minutes heavy fire, then we run. Swifty, you hear that?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  The lads closed in on Swifty, knelt as rounds pinged off the rocks, and they opened up towards any distant muzzle flashes. I followed the tail end of the hostages, and five minutes of goat trail put us beyond any line of fire.

  Waiting on a ridge, I could hear the lads eventually coming my way. ‘Over here,’ I called, and I counted heads.

  ‘Any wounds?’

  Swifty began, ‘French lad has a scrape.’

  ‘Can’t stop here.’

  Reaching a wider track, the going easy and the path easy to follow in the dark, I called in the lads. ‘Rizzo, Stretch, stop here, five minutes. Rock, Slider, hundred yards up the path. When Rizzo comes back to you, go another hundred yards, Rizzo stops and turns. Go it.’

  ‘Got it,’ they confirmed through the dark, and I jogged up the path to Smurf, which was timely because he was not sure of the way.

  Cresting a rise, a cool fresh breeze for us all, some of the hostages limping and complaining, we started down and towards the trucks – if they were still there.

  Cracks echoed out and I stood to one side, clicking on the radio. ‘Report!’

  ‘This is Rizzo, some fuckers came up that path, we got ‘em.’

  ‘Make use of the high ground, need to buy some time for the slower moving hostages.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  I turned on the sat phone and dialled as I plodded slowly along next to the hostages.

  ‘Ark Royal.’

  ‘This is Wilco, we have the remaining hostages, one killed on extraction, we’re on the east side of the hills, east of the village. We’ll try and make the same pick-up point, trucks with headlights on. Will update and advise, we have fighters following us.’

  ‘How did the decoy work?’

  ‘Excellent, sir, we made good use of it. Were your helos fired at?’

  ‘Not that we know of.’

  ‘Standby to extract us, sir, thirty minutes either way, location to be finalised.’

  ‘How many hostages?’

  ‘Nine, sir, plus two French soldiers, so eleven, plus seven of us, that’s eighteen.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘Wilco out.’

  A dark figure of a hostage asked me, ‘What does that mean, Wilco out. I thought Wilco was Will-Comply.’

  ‘It is, and Wilco is my nickname.’

  ‘Then it was you I read about in the papers. They brought them to us, you know, a few weeks out of date. You rescued some people in Somalia.’

  ‘It’s what we do, SAS rescue,’ I said as we negotiated the sandy track down the hill.

  ‘There were more with us, but they left this morning after all the shooting.’

  ‘We rescued them after ambushing the vehicle convoy.’

  ‘The Deputy Ambassador chap?’

  ‘Yes. They were all picked up by helicopter.’

  ‘What happened this morning?’

  ‘French commando raid, total screw up, the fighters knew they were coming, but the French attempted it anyhow.’

  �
��We all thought they’d shoot us. Been a hell of a day.’

  ‘Not many get out alive from your kidnappers.’

  Hearing cracks behind me, I clicked on the radio. ‘It’s Wilco, report.’

  ‘Still some fuckers following us,’ came Rocko’s voice.

  ‘Stay on that peak, buy us some time, then get down fast, covering pairs.’

  Seeing the French soldiers with AK47s, I sent them to the front to be with Smurf, and I moved towards the front, intermittent fire coming from behind.

  Drawing level with Smurf, I said, ‘We’re in the shit. Fighters on our tail, and we need to get the trucks going and off without getting anyone else killed. Go on ahead, fast but quiet, smoke out the path.’

  Smurf picked up the pace and disappeared into the dark as I placed the French soldiers at the front, just behind me.

  A long fifteen minutes later came, ‘This is Smurf, no one near the trucks that I can see.’

  ‘Don’t take any risks, get close, go around the vehicles, smoke out all the dark corners.’

  It was little more than a minute later when I heard a burst of fire. ‘Smurf! You Ok?’

  ‘Yeah, fucking goat.’

  ‘Sheep shagger,’ came from someone over the radio.

  ‘Start the trucks, lights on,’ I told Smurf as Swifty appeared next to me. ‘Forgot you were down here,’ I told him. ‘Go on ahead, but stop short of the trucks, there’s a bit of high ground, cover Smurf.’

  ‘Moving.’

  With the vehicle headlights on we had a reference point, and it encouraged the limping hostages to limp faster, but there was still firing behind us, up the hill, a great worry, the French soldiers now assisting people to move faster.

  ‘Rizzo, report.’

  ‘We just dropped four of the fuckers, we’re running down now, but Slider has a wound.’

  ‘How bad a wound.’

  ‘My fucking shoulder. Took a round,’ came Slider’s voice.

  ‘Can you move your arm?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you took a ricochet, not a round.’

  ‘I still get a fucking medal!’

  ‘You get medals for ducking, not getting shot! Get down to me, I’ll look at it.’ And I stopped, letting the hostages go on ahead.

  The tail end passed me, two dark outlines appearing.

  ‘That you?’ I asked.

  ‘Yep.’

  I shone my torch, Slider easing out his webbing and jacket, and I peered at the wound. ‘Not gushing, and if you can move your arm it missed all the important stuff.’

  ‘I get compensation, yeah? It stings like a bitch.’

  ‘Only if you can’t continue in the forces,’ I said as we walked down the track. ‘A month from now that will be nothing, and you’ll continue, so stop complaining.’

  Rizzo and Stretch came panting up behind us and we picked up the pace down the sandy track.

  ‘No one following that we can see,’ Rizzo reported.

  Reaching the trucks, Swifty coming down from his high ground, we found the engines started and the hostages loaded ready. Jumping in, the same drivers scraped gears loudly, Rizzo and Smurf leading the way back to the road, the hostages tossed being around in the back.

  Reaching that road, a jeep pulled up, Smurf opening up, fire returned, the headlights on Rizzo’s jeep hit as myself and Swifty opened up, firing over the top of Rizzo. Rizzo drove straight at the jeep, still firing, then jumped out as I urged Rocko onwards, and we bumped around Rizzo’s jeep and up onto the road.

  I clicked on my radio. ‘Rizzo, report.’

  ‘These fuckers are dead.’

  ‘Follow us, quickly.’

  A moment later came, ‘Wilco, Smurf is hit.’

  ‘How bad?’ I shouted, suddenly panicking.

  ‘Shoulder. Top of the shoulder, bleeding badly.’

  ‘Pull up,’ I told Slider. I jumped down and ran back, grabbed Smurf out the jeep and into the back. ‘Go Rizzo.’ I clicked the radio on. ‘Keep moving!’

  Getting Smurf’s webbing and bandolier off as I knelt over him, I frantically tore his jacket open, pulling aside his shirt and revealing a through and through just an inch from his main arteries. Grabbing a tampon, I shoved it in the large rear hole, making Smurf cry out.

  Taping down the front hole after wiping it with a hand, I grabbed Smurf, a hand under his head as I closed his shirt and jacket over the wound. ‘Focus, it’s not lethal, just going to hurt like a bitch for a while.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ came a weak voice as I helped him get his bandolier back on, then his webbing, handing him his rifle.

  ‘We’re not out the shit yet, stay with us,’ I told him.

  ‘Can’t feel my right arm.’

  ‘Nicked the nerves, that’s why. Don’t worry, you won’t lose that arm, soon be out of here,’ I assured him, but I had doubts myself, it was a bad wound, and nerve damage could be an issue.

  The sounds of distant helicopters lifted our spirits, and I called a halt, rushing to the tail gates to get them down, the hostages helped down in a mad scramble as I shouted instructions.

  The first Sea King blew up a sandstorm as it touched down on the road in front of us, and I shouted at Rizzo to carry Smurf to it. The limping hostages went second, Slider with them, the French soldiers, weapons tossed aside, the helicopter lifting off when full.

  But I could see three other helicopters circling, which meant that there were two French Pumas up there, and a Puma landed next, so I loaded it with hostages, two French commandos assisting.

  Waiting our turn, the rest of us grouped - our Sea King thankfully putting down a minute later, and we hopped aboard, weapons made safe, smiles exchanged. And I was spent, badly in need of some down time.

  I drunk the last of Swifty’s water, the crewman offering us more, and I stared out at the sand dunes, the shapes looking much like ocean waves at night.

  Tapping Swifty on a knee, I nodded and smiled, and he seemed relived, a short ride of twenty minutes to the French base.

  ‘Made it,’ Rocko cheerfully offered, a flash catching our attention as we touched down. Doors opened, we jumped down and stopped dead, a helicopter on its side and burning fiercely.

  ‘That ours?’ Rocko gasped. ‘A Sea King? The lads?’

  ‘No,’ I said after a moment. ‘Puma.’

  ‘The fucking hostages were on that!’ Swifty spat out, and we stood in a line, hard faces etched with utter shock. Led towards a control tower, yet constantly drawn to look back at the burning Puma, we walked in silence as the French rushed about, trying to get the fire out.

  I stopped an officer. ‘What happened?’

  ‘RPG, from the perimeter wire,’ he sullenly reported. ‘They shot the man.’

  We exchanged looks.

  ‘That could have been us,’ Rocko noted, and we stood staring at the fire, suddenly very reflective about our own mortality.

  ‘Luck,’ I said. ‘Step left, mine, step right, beetle. We were on the right chopper.’

  Inside, we met the rest of the lads, all listless, dark expressions exchanged, and sat where told to, a type of classroom.

  Ducat came and found us, but just stared for a while. ‘We thank you for what you achieved ... despite the loss of our helicopter. You ... did you jobs well.’ He took a moment. ‘The two our soldiers that joined you...?’

  ‘They were very keen to rescue their friends being held,’ I coldly stated. ‘We needed extra men. They are ... heroes. Thank them for me.’

  ‘You ... risked our men.’

  ‘Take a look out the fucking window,’ I told him, and he half turned. ‘And tell me about risk.’

  He nodded, his hands behind his back, and left. Cups of coffee were brought in, bottles of water, all quietly sipped, little said.

  The Major stepped in with some of ours half an hour later, and took a moment to study us. ‘You look spent.’

  ‘We were doing OK till...’ I began.

  ‘Yes, terrible business, yo
u rescued them, then that. Anyway, bus outside, so front and centre, gentlemen.’

  We eased up slowly, kit grabbed, and moved like old men towards the bus, soon sat down and driving along dark highways, and I found that I could not sleep for the hour it took it took to get to the hangar.

  A few lads were up and around, and they could see our cold stares and left us alone. We grabbed camp beds in near silence. I put my head down, and woke a full eight hours later, my mouth dry.

  Outside, I grabbed water whilst being stared at from all sides, handed a tea as I sat with Swifty and Rocko at a table. Captain Harris sat down next to us.

  ‘Smurf?’ I asked without looking up.

  ‘Nasty wound, but should be OK. We spoke to the French doctors, they’ve finished, will transport him back aboard some air ambulance with the others.’

  ‘Slider?’ I asked.

  ‘They removed some shrapnel, he’s OK, and Captain Moran is out of danger, he spoke on the phone to the Major from Ark Royal.’

  I nodded then sipped my tea.

  ‘It’s all over the papers,’ he mentioned. ‘French fiasco, SAS get the hostages, helo shot down.’

  ‘Is ... Bob Staines around?’

  ‘Yes, you want me to fetch him?’

  ‘Please.’

  Bob appeared ten minutes later. He sat. ‘No injuries?’

  ‘I am ... well enough.’ I studied him for a moment. ‘I think, given how complex this was, that you get me a journalist, and I accidentally leak the detail, all the detail, accurate detail, not least ... brave French soldiers assisting us.’

  ‘There’s a man here, friendly with us, he ... would assist with that. We already look good out of this.’

  ‘I want to brief him, after I get some food and a shower. You can edit the final draft.’

  Bob nodded. ‘Well done, anyhow, you got there unseen, got the hostages, some quick thinking.’

  ‘If the French had not been so ... damned stubborn and stupid, they would not have lost men and machines.’

  ‘There have been a few top level resignations,’ Bob pointed out. ‘French I mean. Your helicopter parachute insert is being talked about.’

  ‘The chutes we used ... are safe and buried, if you want them back. I can mark the map.’