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

by Geoff Wolak

  I let them think about it.

  ‘My lot would tell the General to fuck off, and I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing. We don’t throw away lives, they matter, and we don’t have that many men, a great deal of time and money spent on training our lads. They’re not cannon fodder.’

  General Dennet said, standing and facing the class, ‘None of our lads are cannon fodder, not any more, those days are long gone, and I would have had that French major sidelined or kicked out.

  ‘I know it’s hard for you, you were not the man on the ground at the time, but someday you may be. I’d rather have you tell me to fuck off ... than read about a major operational fuck-up in the press, dead bodies in the sand, an enquiry, trial by media.

  ‘You all have brains, you are allowed to think, and I would hope that no one ever puts his own career ahead of dead young soldiers. If the job looks like a fuck-up, report it that way, leak it to the press, modify the plan, or simply tell the man up the chain that the weather is too bad or you’ve run out of fuel.

  ‘I would like to think that no one here would follow such a similar order because they considered career progression ahead of their men. Those days are gone.’ He faced me. ‘Thank you, Wilco.’ He turned back to the officers. ‘Oh, your papers will be collected in and looked at, comments sent back to your respective units.’

  Invited to an officers’ club, still in uniform – and definitely not an officer yet, I accompanied General Dennet and some of his senior staff – also in uniform, and he signed me in. We sat and ordered food, and his team picked my brains on the rescue, on Somalia, and what could and should be done differently in such cases, but I guessed that they just liked getting the story from the horse’s mouth.

  ‘My damn daughter doesn’t stop asking about you,’ General Dennet admitted as we tackled desert. ‘You shoot four terrorists and she has a crush on you. Still, better than being afraid I suppose.’

  ‘Did you go back to a function?’ I asked.

  ‘We did, the Sunday, my wife’s horrid family.’ We laughed. ‘They’re all surgeons, and god awful to chat to.’ He faced me. ‘You set-up your Major something terrible that night.’

  ‘He loved the attention,’ I suggested with a smirk. ‘And the following week he docked my wages the thirty quid I got out of him.’ They laughed.

  ‘I’m sure that the minister claimed it back on expenses,’ General Dennet said, making me smile. ‘But you’re a credit to the SAS - who are now back in the good books of the politicians, and more apply for your lot now. You’re a role model.’

  ‘Just lucky, sir, I keep telling people that. And at the end of the rescue we were very lucky, RPG hit the helicopter in front. Could have been my entire team wiped out, so my luck will run out some day.’

  ‘Hopefully not someday soon, you’re having a good effect on many, got us a few good results. We live by reputation, and the rescues help us in that. We have all sorts of nations requesting advice on hostage rescue, and it helps us sell weapons abroad, the good old British Army, and our good old reputation.’

  Swifty popped in the following evening, unannounced. ‘What you got planned for this Tomo lad?’ he asked as we sat with brews.

  ‘Why do people keep asking me stuff like that? I don’t have anything planned, Bob Staines does. I follow orders.’

  ‘Not sure he’s right for the work,’ Swifty cautioned. ‘I did my time in the regulars, two years in “D” Squadron before they noticed me. Lad is a misfit.’

  ‘If he was not a misfit ... he would not be working for Bob Staines. Lad is just like you and me – no wife and kids, likes killing people for fun.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I kill for fun,’ he quietly let out.

  ‘Why do you do it?’ I pressed.

  ‘Dunno ... is the honest answer. Just don’t want to be out in Civvy Street.’

  ‘You’re here ... because you don’t want to be there. Not a good thing, buddy. You should want to do this shit.’

  He made a face. ‘I do a lot of the time, I enjoy the training.’ He lifted his face. ‘Bob Staines is now acting section head, his line manager moves sideways in a month or so. You’ve made his fucking career.’

  We laughed. ‘Then I can ask him for favours.’

  ‘There are rumours -’ he began. ‘- that he has a bigger budget for you.’

  ‘For ... me? I get a pay rise, chauffer driven car?’ I toyed.

  ‘No, operations and training budget.’

  ‘What ... the heck ... for?’

  ‘Politicians like results, you’ve had a few – they want more, and they have big mouths to feed.’

  I sipped my tea. ‘Same stuff we’re doing now, so what?’

  ‘They talk about you running your own show, your own team.’

  I puzzled that. ‘After a commission?’

  He nodded and sipped his tea.

  ‘Well if I was an officer ... I’d have men under me I suppose, but that’s a way down the line.’

  ‘You’d be a Lieutenant in the Regiment, never been one of those before.’

  ‘Richards came up the ranks,’ I puzzled.

  ‘He went straight to captain as a reflection of time served, did a lot of courses, was gone almost a year before returning.’

  ‘Ah, well ... I’d rather not go do courses for a year.’

  ‘Might not have a choice,’ he cautioned.

  ‘Can you see Bob allowing that to happen, me out of action for a year?

  ‘Well ... no, probably not. They all have big plans for Petrov, but they have told a few Army staff officers to fuck off – they wanted you doing lectures on hostage rescue in small countries.’

  ‘I’m hardly qualified, the Major would be better.’

  ‘It’s all about reputation and bullshit, it helps sells weapons overseas. British Aerospace would like you on their stand at the exhibits in the Middle East.’

  I laughed. ‘Yeah, fuck that.’

  He became reflective. ‘I think about the last job a lot, and what I would have done.’

  ‘And what would you have done?’ I pressed.

  ‘Not sure, is the answer, but you saw the opportunity and took it, so I’d like to think that I would have done, but no fucker has ever considered me leadership material ... and fact is, I don’t like to lead a team. I like the simple life.’

  ‘And how is ... my leadership?’ I toyed.

  ‘You think about the task in hand, not anyone’s ego or getting a pat on the back. You want the job done, we want the job done, so there’s no arguing. No difficulty in telling someone to drink water when they’re thirsty.’

  ‘Rizzo has calmed down,’ I noted.

  Swifty nodded. ‘He fears upsetting you, I reckon, and he’d be devastated if he was left off a job. He’d follow you anywhere.’

  ‘What do Rocko and Slider say about me behind my back?’

  ‘They’d follow you anywhere as well, because you’re not about showing off, you’re about getting the job done. They couldn’t find fault with anything you’ve done, not even jumping into the water in Somalia.’

  We laughed.

  ‘Fact is, they’re bored shitless in their barracks, and love to do jobs. Oh, Slider has nine months left.’

  ‘He can renew.’

  ‘Fed up where he is, won’t renew.’

  ‘Oh,’ I let out. ‘Has he said anything about “E” Squadron?’

  ‘No, you need to be invited in, people don’t apply to something that doesn’t officially exist.’

  I grabbed my mobile phone, and called Bob Staines. ‘Bob, got a minute?’

  ‘Sure, fire away.’

  ‘Slider, he has nine months left, not happy to renew where he is. Be a shame to lose him.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose him, didn’t realise that he wouldn’t stay on where he was, I know his CO is whinging as well.’

  ‘Can you add him to “E” Squadron?’

  ‘Will he come? He’s working a day job in the Marines, might be sat around a lot in “E�
�� Squadron.’

  ‘Then we should make sure that he’s kept busy, and kept sharp.’

  ‘Yes, we have that in mind. Ask him what he wants, will you?’

  ‘I will do so, right now. Wilco out.’ I called Slider, a woman answering the phone.

  He eventually came on. ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Yes, you got your hands full?’

  ‘I have, she’s got a lovely pair.’

  I laughed. ‘Listen, what’ll you do when your nine months is up?’

  ‘Well ... fuck knows, but I can’t stay where I am, my CO is up my arse, I got fuck all real work to do.’

  ‘Would you come across to “E” Squadron?’

  ‘It’s not full time. Would it be a full time wage?’

  ‘It would, and I’d have plenty for you to do to stay sharp.’

  ‘I’d have to move? I got a mortgage.’

  ‘Probably. Do you ... want a job as a painter decorator?’

  ‘Fuck no.’

  ‘What would you have done if we hadn’t met?’ I asked.

  ‘Not sure ... been worrying me some.’

  ‘How about a year with us, then see.’

  ‘Seems OK. How does that happen?’

  ‘I’d call the right people, and your CO would sign you off as an ex-Marine ahead of time, you turn up here. You could rent out your house, rent one here, one is offset against the other.’

  ‘Got a three bed beach front house, would get good money for it.’

  ‘They cost fuck all to rent around here, so you’d be quids in.’

  ‘Make some calls then, better than me just drifting along till the day comes I hand my kit in.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you.’ I hung up and faced Swifty.

  ‘Slider was dreading Civvy Street, not a clue what he would do. Just wonder if the Colonel would allow him access to the base.’

  ‘Only a few “E” Squadron are allowed to use kit and facilities,’ he cautioned. ‘Most keep quiet around the country, some down as territorials.’

  ‘Bob could swing it, as he does with you.’

  Swifty nodded. ‘Bob would like his own private team.’

  ‘I don’t see that happening, I want to keep with the squadron.’

  ‘We work like a separate team now, we did for Somalia.’

  ‘If Bob suggested that I live away from here ... I’d say no probably. I’d want the Major involved in the jobs most of the time. And my team involves squadron regulars.’

  ‘Bob can request anyone in the Regiment or SBS any time he likes, has done in the past. He has more power than the Major half the time, and the Major won’t upset him. Bob has a hot line to the Cabinet Office, and he’s now section head.’

  ‘What does that give him power over, exactly?’ I asked.

  ‘His section is tasked with semi-official military action around the world, hostage rescue, counter terrorism – but not mainland, diplomatic close protection – which has been mostly SBS since Thatcher, but he also has a hand in the old Russia House, joint with Mi5.

  ‘Mi5 can’t send someone overseas, so Mi6 have to do it, and Mi6 shouldn’t send someone with a gun unless through Bob’s section. That section was busy during the Falklands War, including simple stuff like cutting the power to a French factory that made Exocet missiles, some lads sneaking about in Argentina.’

  ‘Where does Bob sit with the Joint Intel Committee?’ I wondered out loud.

  ‘JIC gets a job from the Cabinet Office, passes the task to Bob mostly and not the UKSF Directorate as they should, Bob to us via the Intel Captains, but Bob likes to come direct a lot of the time. If Bob has a need, like Northern Ireland, he’s supposed to go back through the committee and the UKSF.’

  ‘It’s a long chain process,’ I complained.

  ‘Yep. Prime Minister to Defence Secretary, to MOD Chiefs, to Intel Committee, to UKSF, to Army Intel here, to us – the intel garnered by Bob. But some of the time Bob just cuts everyone one out and sends a man or a team.’

  I stared into my tea cup. ‘Seems very strange, where I am now, compared to the early days in the RAF. First week in I was crap, started running because I was bored.’

  ‘Untapped potential, you just needed the time.’

  I nodded. ‘What Bob has in mind with people like Tomo, is that we tap it quicker.’

  ‘How long before he’s in a prison somewhere?’ Swifty challenged.

  We exchanged a look.

  ‘How long before we’re in a shallow grave?’ I asked, nothing said for a minute. ‘But, with Tomo here ... there is an opening for a painter decorator.’

  We laughed.

  The following day I cornered the Major. ‘Sir, I’d like to organise an exercise for my team, some other lads if you like. What friendly countries have sand, lots of sand?’

  ‘We’ve used places in Southern Morocco before now, we have a deal with them, and Chad.’

  ‘Morocco sounds OK. Sand and hills, sir?’

  ‘Lots of sand and hills, yes.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Bob, get him to coordinate with you.’

  Bob was keen, and since we had a deal with Morocco he was keen to show them that deal in action, bodies on the ground.

  The Major then came and found me. ‘We’re all going, taking half the damn squadron, plus Intel and signals, half of “G” Squadron. Colonel wants the new Captains given a scenario, then asked to take patrols out, see what they’re made of.’

  ‘I have exercises planned for my lads, be easy to think up some more, sir.’

  ‘There’s an abandoned base, could be used to simulate a village with hostages. Next Monday we fly.’

  The base was buzzing with excitement, because Rizzo was winding people up and saying that the exercise is a cover for some covert action. Everyone wanted a patrol, and when people asked I refused to be drawn on it.

  The next day the Colonel called for me, the Major with him. He looked exasperated. ‘Had the General on the line, and he had words with the Prime Minister.’

  ‘About...?’ I pressed.

  ‘This exercise.’

  ‘Too expensive?’ I puzzled.

  ‘No. What the PM wants ... is for the various terrorists in the region to see us and to think we might come for them.’

  ‘Ah ... a show of force,’ I realised.

  ‘He’s working deals with various states to sell them arms, as well as instructors on counter-terrorism.’

  ‘Should we have a stand next to British Aerospace at the next Expo?’

  The Major burst out laughing, the Colonel shaking his head at me. ‘That’ll be the next step. Anyhow, there’ll be a journalist or two, some action filmed. So we need to look good.’

  ‘Might I be sold bold ... as to ask that Captain Moran and Smurf come along, as well as my new lad, Tomo?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem, but the MO would have to sign off Smurf.’

  ‘I’ll ask the MO to do just that, and if Smurf’s arm is not up to it he can make tea out there.’

  ‘Keen to keep him involved?’ the Major asked.

  ‘Very much so, sir.’

  ‘This lad, Tomo,’ the Colonel began.

  ‘Was a Para, territorial with us for more than a year, and they go places overseas for exercises.’

  He nodded. ‘OK.’

  ‘Sir, Bob Staines has an increased budget, would like to expand “E” Squadron, or reshape it. If you have any thoughts or desires on that subject, let me know.’

  ‘That ... has cropped up in conversation,’ the Colonel admitted. ‘If there is to be an expanded role, I’d like it close to hand – not competing, and to be involved more.’

  ‘Then I’ll insist that is the case with Bob Staines, since I don’t want it dragging resources and men away from here. And could I get lads in on the weekend using facilities – that would keep them under your care.’

  He took a moment, made a face and nodded. ‘And if you were an officer...?’ the Colonel posed.

  ‘I’m not after my own squadron, certa
inly not to the detriment of this place. I’d rather be here, sir.’

  ‘You might not have a choice, you’re the golden boy. Success ... comes with a price, the price of expectation. They’ll want more and more, till you step on a mine.’

  ‘That, sir, I am very much aware of. That fucking mine is tied to my ankle by a piece of string ... getting shorter every day.’

  The Colonel eased back. ‘Wilco, if you have any sway with Bob, and we know that you do, then let’s make “E” Squadron an extension of us available to them, rather than an extension of them available to us. 14 Intel broke away, and are now a right pain in the arse.’

  ‘If “E” Squadron moves away from you, sir, they’d be a bunch of misfits and has-beens coming together now and then for a job, no oversight, coordination, or proper training. Is it not possible that the Major has an expanded role a day a week to keep them closely coordinated, some training, rope in the RSM.’

  ‘They’d never go for it,’ the Major said. ‘It’s all about ego and control, and despite what you may think about him, Bob Staines is power hungry.’

  ‘You forget, Major, that the ... golden boy is on your side. If they ask, I’ll make plans, our plans. I’ve met a few older timers, and I’d rather not work with them – even when they’re sober.’

  Finding the MO, I asked for a favour and got it, and Smurf would be coming in some capacity, so I drove to the Programme after lunch, finding the lads on the treadmills.

  ‘Take five,’ I told them, and they washed the sweat off and sipped water. ‘Monday, both of you are coming to Morocco for an exercise. Smurf, you’re not signed off for active duty yet, but you are signed for light duties, so you come anyhow. Tomo, best behaviour, fuck this up and you don’t come again.’ I pointed my finger at him. ‘Someone gives you shit, you come to me, no fighting.’

  ‘Right, Boss,’ he sheepishly offered.

  ‘There’ll be an exercise run, similar to my rescue scenario, but in the sand and hills. You’ll get plenty of experience.’

  ‘What kit?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ll need to come to the base and draw desert kit his week. I’ll let Kate know you’re needed for a week.’ I focused on Smurf. ‘That arm?’

  ‘It ain’t 100%, not getting much better.’

  ‘You go anyhow. Maybe it just needs time. And don’t tell anyone it’s not 100%’