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

by Geoff Wolak

  I asked, ‘Have the French been notified about this job, sir?’

  ‘No, and we’ll keep it that way, just in case. Captain Moran, have a look at the map, make your plan, get your team ready. You leave in an hour or so.’

  I had a look at the map with Moran, and tried to memorise the features, but they were not unlike the last job. A road ran northeast through the village, just one road, and the village itself seemed to consist of maybe fifty scattered abodes backed by hills. It was, however, at an elevation of 8,000ft, on a plateau.

  I put a finger on a wide open expanse some ten miles south of the target village, and Moran noted the coordinates as our drop zone. I then drew a finger in an arc, up and around to the back of the village, just avoiding the hills, and he nodded.

  ‘What about “G” Squadron?’ he quietly asked.

  ‘Edge of the village, plus one thousand yards. They’re no good to rescue us if they’re ten miles away.’

  He nodded, making notes, and I pinched away two sat phones from Captain Harris.

  Stood outside chatting, I noticed the Major and led him to a quite spot.

  ‘Something on your mind?’ he asked.

  ‘You, sir.’

  ‘Me?’

  I took a moment. ‘If you ordered that Tomo not go, then Tomo would not go. I may suggest such things, but my life does not depend on such things. And if you said jump from the Hercules instead of ride in on choppers, that’s what we’d do. You’re not that French major.’

  ‘Should hope not.’

  ‘So why are you holding back, is it Bob?’

  ‘He can ... set policy to a degree, or make my life difficult. Hard to know where the line is sometimes. His predecessor sent paper requests, Bob turns up and presses the issues.’

  ‘Want me to shoot him?’ I said with a smile.

  ‘Not yet. And you need to understand that he is, technically, a level above me, and has clout. If we pushed back we’d not get the jobs, and we’d be wasted, so ... it’s a marriage of convenience. And your blasted successes working for him has given him lots of clout, way above his level. I’m sure that his line manager was glad to get out the way before getting trampled on.’

  ‘Wow, I see him as such a stuffed suit.’

  ‘He’s cunning, never forget that, and now riding the fame and the success.’

  ‘Without me he has jack shit, so I’ll influence things our way, sir.’

  An hour later, and with the buses arriving, a command meeting was held, an RAF officer in attendance.

  ‘Captain Moran?’ the Major called. ‘Plan to hand?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We’ll drop ten miles south some time before midnight, at these coordinates,’ and people wrote them down. ‘We’ll march in an arc to the village, avoiding people and farms; north, then north west, then west. “G” Squadron will halt 1km from the village, in sight of the access road, and await our signal if we need them, covering our rear and our escape route.

  ‘We’ll aim to call the helos as we start the action, aim being to reach an extraction point 1km south some forty-five minutes later, an unpopulated area, the average helo flight time being forty minutes or so. We don’t want to call the helos afterwards, since we may have wounded.

  ‘We’d like the Hercules to fly low at 5am, making some noise, our start signal if all goes well. We’ll update by sat phone on a regular basis, and there are French helicopters to call on should we need them, but a delay getting to us of course – an hour, and we have two troops here on standby if something goes wrong.’

  ‘OK, any questions?’ the Major called.

  ‘Call signs?’ someone asked.

  Moran glanced at me. ‘We’re Dirty Dozen,’ he said, making everyone laugh. ‘First “G” Squadron troop in Golf-One, second is Golf-Two, standby team are ... Sand Dwellers, just in case anyone is listening in, our target man is ... Goat Shagger.’

  ‘Very cryptic,’ the Major noted, not looking happy. ‘Make a note everyone.’

  I added, ‘Drop zone is Golf Course, target village is Club House.’

  Smiling, they made notes.

  ‘I assume we have photos of the main man?’ I asked, Captain Harris issuing them to me. ‘Handsome chap,’ I quipped.

  On the buses, our ride badly in need of some air conditioning, I stared out the window at the scattered fields of green produce, brown stone walls between them – but the locals here seemed to be growing green cactus, those locals always being old men bent double.

  Arriving at the airfield, we stepped down and grouped, Smurf with us to see us off, and he held my rifle whilst I tested the sat phone, Moran copying, the “G” Squadron officers also in possession of phones.

  Helmet sizes checked, we sat down inside a hangar with bottles of water, and waited as the RAF detachment scurried about, the day warming up. When the pilots wandered past I cornered them.

  ‘Sir, you all set for the fly by?’

  ‘Yes, straight forwards enough.’

  ‘Could you ... repeat what you did on the exercise?’

  ‘Drop cement bags?’ they puzzled.

  ‘Would block visibility for a while, we don’t have smoke grenades that could be used.’

  They made faces. ‘Could do.’

  ‘Could you hit the village centre?’

  ‘Didn’t do too badly on the exercise,’ they proudly pointed out.

  ‘Then try and hit it, please, it will give us valuable time to get into position. But don’t fly too low, they may have RPGs and small arms. Stay above a thousand I would say, unless you can swoop in fast.’

  Dusk came on, we had sandwiches brought to us, and finally we were told ‘Ten minutes to chutes on’.

  I called everyone together in a big circle, kind of, the troop captains at the front – and looking like they were not happy at me summoning them. ‘Gentlemen, my team will drop first, but it makes little difference. Our drop procedure is to follow the guy in front; right place or wrong place, we’ll end up together.

  ‘When you see the ground coming up, try and turn into the wind, and note where the guy in front landed. When you have your chute bundled up, walk to that guy as he walks to the guy in front.

  ‘We’ll be dropped northeast to south west, so walking towards the first man down saves time – we’ll be heading the right way. Chutes will be bundled together and left, they’ll be picked up by helicopter.

  ‘We’ll then walk roughly north east and arc around to the left, keeping any dark shadows of farms a mile away if possible. I have photos of Goat Shagger -’ They laughed. ‘- so if I’m killed get the pictures and carry on. Aim is to grab him after killing his men, and if possible drag him off. If not we’ll just shoot him full of holes.

  ‘The village will have women and kids and regular farmers, so please ... don’t fire at anyone who doesn’t have a weapon, we don’t need an enquiry. The start signal is the fly by, the hope being that those wishing a scrap will come out with guns in their hands, pyjamas on.’ They laughed.

  ‘We’ve been given an idea of where the main man lives, and there is a main compound, so I’m thinking that he has forty men around him in that compound. We’d rather not storm in, not till most of the bad boys have come out, bleary eyed, to see what the noise is outside.’

  ‘And who has operation control on the ground?’ ask a troop sergeant, not looking like a happy bunny, his men facing mine in what could have been mistaken for a Mexican standoff – all of us heavily armed.

  ‘For which operation, there are two,’ I pointed out.

  ‘What’d you mean, two?’ he asked.

  ‘Well first there’s the operation – my operation – to find our local bad boy, and second there is the Regiment operation in support of that.’

  ‘What’d you mean?’ he pressed.

  I took a moment. ‘What you guys need to understand, which I think some of you do already, is that there are two sides to this. Firstly, I do – technically - work for Mi6, I’m not – technically – a member of the SAS. I’m l
odged with the Regiment for training when I’m not on a job for MI6, but also available to the Regiment on loan.’

  Some were looking puzzled.

  ‘Rocko and Slider here are Paras and Marines, they’re on loan to Mi6 under the umbrella of the Regiment. The Major does not normally give them orders, but the Major can give me orders, under license. Tomo there is purely Mi6, here for training.

  ‘Rizzo, Stretch and Captain Moran are Regiment, but on loan to my team, but during operations we take collective decisions ... and if Captain Moran says abort then we abort. If Captain Moran is happy with the way things are going ... then it’s my operation to lead.

  ‘You lot ... are there for the support of us, and your operation is official. My side of the operation is not official, and would be denied if it was a fuck up. Way it works ... is that if we do well it’s claimed to be an SAS operation, fuck it up and get killed and we’re labelled as mercenaries and not acknowledged.’

  ‘How can Captain Moran be both?’ asked one of the other captains.

  ‘Start at the beginning,’ I said. ‘If there’s a war on the Army tells the SAS what to do, and a certain department in Mi6 also tells you what to do, like SOE during the last war. In peacetime, Mi5 and Mi6 come up with jobs for the Regiment and the SBS, plus the other agencies like 14 Intel and others, and the civvy you saw visiting us a few days ago ... he’s head of that department, and he has more clout than my major – you don’t want to upset him if you want to do a naughty job sometime.

  ‘He gets the intel, he then makes a request to us – it’s supposed to be through the Joint Intel Committee – and we may go off and do a job in Northern Ireland or elsewhere. The job we did in Somalia was off the books, Mi6 and not SAS, and this training exercise was joint SAS and Mi6, and Mi6 can call on any lad from the Regiment, SBS, 14 Intel or the regular army – anyone at all, but those lads are not forced, they have to agree to it.’

  ‘What about Bosnia then?’ they asked.

  ‘I was on loan to the Regiment,’ I explained. ‘When I don’t have a job for Mi6 I’m supposed to be on placement with you for training.’

  ‘And you choose who gets the good jobs?’ an unhappy sergeant asked.

  ‘For certain jobs, yes,’ I agreed. ‘You see Rocko and Slider there, they both did my three-day scenario and got top scores, so I asked Mi6 to borrow them. Tomo I recruited direct into my team in Mi6 after he did well on the scenario. Captain Moran was asked to work with my team when he hit a top score on the three days.’

  I pointed a finger at them. ‘Any one of you who makes an effort, get’s himself fit and does well on three days, could became a candidate for part-time work with me, jobs like Somalia, or this job. I know some of you think I favour “D” Squadron and people I know, but that’s not true, we have Marines and Paras with us.’

  I pointed at the two troop captains. ‘You two captains, you could do the three days, and if you score as well as Captain Moran you’ll get noticed. It’s up to you. But you’d have to make a big effort, because Captain Moran is shit hot at what he does. His score was higher than most troopers, and when you’re all tired and ready to give up ... Captain Moran is still going - and shooting straight.

  ‘Rizzo, there, he did the first three-day course, then worked hard to train and went back and did it again, getting a much better score. Gentlemen, it’s up to you what you do with your spare time - train and be noticed ... or just bungle along. My three-day scenario is fair to everyone, and it shows who’s good and fit.’

  I could see their minds working away, I could see that the troop captains were on the spot - and unhappy at being on the spot, I could see that the troop sergeants were not happy, and I made a radio check. The two troop captains would be on my frequency, their patrols having separate frequencies.

  Finally, I said, ‘Gentlemen, it’s more than an hour’s flying time, so chutes on and loose, helmets off, and relax as best you can – it’s going to be an uncomfortable ride.’

  The Major turned up just as we got the chutes on, wishing us well, and we soon waddled towards the loud Hercules, helmets on, weapons carried, but as soon as I sat down I took my helmet off, as did the rest. I loosened the straps and tried to get comfortable, more of a hope than a practicality.

  All aboard, we taxied around the brightly lit apron - the Major and others seen to be stood watching, soon onto a dark runway, engines at full power and off we went, the vibrations coming up through our boots as we sat in the dark.

  Levelling off, Smurf edged down the line with Opal Fruits, water issued after ten minutes. Half an hour in and Smurf managed to get us a mug of hot coffee from the onboard water heater, most of my team getting a mouthful – and grateful.

  I adjusted my tourniquets, I diligently tapped pockets and stated what was where, and it helped to pass the time, Rocko and Slider sending messages back and forth through the dark on notepads.

  Just when I was starting to get sleepy, it was time, helmets on, straps tightened, everything checked by the Parachute School instructors, then checked again by each of us. We were ready, hooked up and stood up, weapons clipped to our sides, and I realised that this was becoming routine. I had little fear, just the fear for my team, but breaking an ankle and aborting would have been embarrassing as hell.

  Waved forwards, door open, blast of air, glimpse of the terrain below, green on, step in, a shove and out I went, counting, a tug and I looked up, a twist to kick out of for a few seconds.

  I could see chutes above me, little to do but wait till I could get a fix on wind direction, but the ground was featureless. I finally noticed a gully, and that I was going sideways, a yank and a turn before I hit, my arse cheek hitting something hard. I would have a nasty bruise.

  Scrambling to my feet, my chute decided to yank me over, a face full of sand, a curse issued. I dragged in one side of the chute and it collapsed, and I bundled it up whilst wondering about the remainder of the lads.

  Helmet off and into the bundle, straps off, I adjusted the chute bundle, but found a nice gully to my right and dropped my chute in, someone copying me immediately, and as I stood and unclipped my rifle I could see men stumbling towards me with their large and unwieldy bundles as I tapped the end of my rifle, just in case of sand, and opened the breach and blew down.

  I counted seven dark outlines. ‘Sound off.’ I called names, getting back various acknowledgments. ‘Any injuries?’

  ‘Knee is a bit jarred,’ Rocko told me.

  ‘Ankle is not 100%,’ Swifty told me.

  But that was it as we waited for Golf One and Golf Two to amble slowly towards us through the dark, a gentle breeze on our cheeks as I took out my sat phone.

  They dumped their chutes in the same gully, taking their time, then whispered names and grouped.

  ‘Any injuries?’ I finally called towards their dark outlines.

  ‘Two sprained ankles, one bad knee, but they’re OK to go,’ came a voice.

  ‘OK, we’ll lead off, Golf One ten yards behind, please, then Golf Two, stay in sight of each other.’

  Pressing #1, I got Captain Harris. ‘This is Wilco, all down on the Golf Course, no injured players, setting off now.’

  I turned and called my team, soon setting a pace north after checking the stars, the Orion Constellation helping out. I could see distance black outlines, hills and ridges, and after twenty minutes we came across a tarmac road. Fortunately it was long and straight, and it would have given us plenty of warning of approaching vehicles.

  Finding the outline of a track going the right way I followed it, and an hour in we stopped, water swigged, radios tested. Pressing on under a brilliant display of stars, visibility good, the moon off to our left, we made reasonable time, the ground here hard - and not soft sand.

  Three hours in and I called a halt, fifteen minutes break, and people grabbed chocolate bars and water, most sat on the edge of a gully.

  ‘Reckon you know where we are?’ Moran asked me.

  ‘If I’m right, then th
at black lump on the horizon is the village.’

  The lads peered towards it.

  ‘No lights,’ Moran noted.

  ‘Which means we’re where we should be, the other side of the hill.’

  ‘Vehicle!’ someone hissed, and we all looked across, a vehicle seen driving left to right a long way off, then disappearing.

  ‘If that’s the south road, then we’re in the right spot,’ I noted. I checked my watch. ‘Got plenty of time as well.’

  Back on our feet, radio contact with Golf One and Two tested, we set off, but now wary of the ground ahead of us, everyone alert and ready.

  Twenty minutes of slow steady walk, followed by very slow cautious walk, brought us to a sandy hollow between two outcrops, a few lights seen ahead. ‘Close up,’ I whispered, the team closing in, all around defence. I fitted and checked my silencer, the signal for the lads to copy.

  Clicking on the radio, I said, ‘Golf One, outcrop on the left, 100yards, get in and cover the approach road south please.’ We turned our heads, and finally could see the dark outlines running across and merging into the blackness of the outcrop.

  ‘Golf Two, outcrop on the right please, wait to be called forwards if we have a problem.’

  Again we saw the dark outlines moving off as we waited.

  ‘This is Wilco, we’re moving forwards, fly-by due in thirty five minutes.’

  Easing up, I could hear the team, and we advanced cautiously, soon past a dry stone wall, past more of that odd cactus that seemed to be cultivated around here, down a path and to the tarmac room, ducking behind a wall.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘The features all fit, this seems to be the right village.’

  Pulling out the sat phone, Swifty holding my rifle, I hit #1 and waited.

  ‘Captain Harris.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, we’re at the Club House, edge of village, moving in now.’

  ‘Roger that. Good luck.’

  Phone off, rifle retrieved, I edged along the wall and moved away from the road, up a track to higher ground, soon getting an appreciation for the village as it came into view. Finding a broken down mud wall that looked like a natural defensive position, and offering a commanding view of this side of the village, we stopped and knelt.