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

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Tomo, this position, eyes on, call it out. Everyone else, this is a fallback position.’

  Tomo moved to the wall and sat down side-on to it, weapon to the ready, so I led the rest of the team off.

  Following the track higher, I could make out the main compound in the distance, a few lights burning brightly. A dog barked, and we knelt and waited. Since the breeze caressing my cheek seemed to be front on, we were – thankfully - downwind. Minutes passed in the dark, the dog falling silent, so we edged further along the track.

  Seeing a square field below - and clear of produce down the middle, I led the lads down and into it, soon bent double and being hidden by the tall produce being grown. Reaching the far end I could clearly see the main compound, just a hundred yard sprint, so I eased up behind a mud wall, checking my watch. Ten minutes to go.

  I clicked on my radio and spoke softly. ‘Captain Moran, this wall is your position, hit any fighters coming out the main compound this side, armed men only, don’t shoot us please.

  ‘Rizzo, Stretch, next lane over on the right, get a line on the rear of that compound when I say go. Swifty, on me, we go down this road and stay left. Standby.’ I grabbed the sat phone and dialled. ‘This is Wilco, send the choppers, we attack in a few minutes.’

  Checking my watch, just minutes to go, I peered up and waited, soon seeing stars that were moving - the Hercules.

  ‘Move now!’ I hissed, up and over the wall, Swifty behind me, footsteps heard through the dark.

  A dog barked, but a little too late, we were committed. I ducked into a dark corner as the sound of the Hercules grew, a second dog barking now, and we focused on the main compound.

  The roar came on, and as we all looked up we could see the outline of the Hercules, its navigation lights still flashing, but as it pulled up from its dive we could see objects falling.

  ‘What the fuck...?’ Swifty let out.

  ‘Cement bags,’ I whispered.

  ‘Cement?’ he got out as numerous loud thuds registered, a plume of dust thrown up followed by a loud crashing sound, the windows of the main building blown out, dust billowing.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Swifty repeated as the roar from the Hercules grew to a crescendo behind us and eased, the main compound lost in dust, some billowing our way.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘If you have a scarf, cover mouths from the dust.’ I lifted my own scarf and covered my face as the odd plume slowly drifted past us and off to the right a little, numerous dogs now barking.

  Shouts. Cries. We waited.

  A figure, stumbling about like a drunk, weapon in hand. Swifty dropped him, two quiet cracks.

  Cracks echoed out from the right, from Rizzo’s direction.

  ‘It’s Tomo, movement, people sticking heads out of doors!’

  ‘Stay down!’ I responded, my nostrils full of very unpleasant smell of cement powder.

  Two figures came stumbling through the dark, weapons in hand, words exchanged. We opened up and killed them both. A burst of fire came through the dark, movement seen, so we opened up, guessing on the aim.

  With the dust cloud edging past us slowly I could see a light, the illuminated area now very ghostly, three figures coming out of a door, fired on by us and killed a moment later.

  Many cracks reached us from our right. When they eased, I clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, report!’

  ‘Got about ten of the fuckers, all bunched up.’

  ‘It’s Tomo, vehicle with lights on, down the slope, coming up.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘It’s Captain Moran, villagers are out and looking around, watch your fire! I can see kids.’

  With the dust settling, I nudged Swifty forwards and along to the next dark corner. We got a glimpse of the main compound doorway, men soon stumbling out, coughing and hacking, AK47s loosely held. We killed four as cracks echoed from elsewhere.

  Car headlights came from the left, and we got ready, a jeep trundling toward the main compound. We waited. Out stepped two men, webbing worn over long white robes, both shot a moment later.

  I nudged Swifty, and we ran ten yards and to the jeep, soon knelt behind it, weapons aimed at the main door of the compound – now conveniently illuminated for us. Looking left, and seeing a curious face peeking out from a door, I fired high and scared the man, the face withdrawing.

  Hacking and coughing brought my attention back to the main building, two dark outlines appearing, hands over mouths, weapons carried in left hands. We waited till they cleared the doorway and we hit both twice.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, Stretch close in on the rear doors, double tap bodies. Captain Moran, Rocko, Slider, on me.’

  We soon heard footsteps, Moran soon knelt and checking our rear.

  ‘What the fuck is all that dust?’ he whispered.

  ‘RAF dropped cement bags, like in the exercise,’ I responded.

  ‘On a fucking live op?’ Moran questioned.

  ‘Worked, didn’t it. On me.’

  Easing around the jeep, and slamming backs against the wall, we snuck glances inside, seeing a man crawling towards the door, the poor fellow struggling to breathe. I eased inside quietly and stuck a round through the back of his head, Swifty behind me as we slid sideways along a wall, ghostly grey dust drifting by.

  Sounds led us to the main room, a few grey outlines crawling around, grey-covered men face down and appearing dead, stars visible through a hole in the roof.

  ‘Now!’ I called, and we rushed in, shooting those still moving, rounds into still and lifeless grey figures. Magazines swapped, we kicked bodies quickly before moving back to the door, Moran covering the corridor.

  Finding a cooking area, we peeked in, no one around, and I drew my pistol. ‘Rizzo?’ I shouted.

  ‘Here,’ came back.

  ‘We’re inside, check your fire.’

  His face appeared through the grey mist, and he pointed at a door. We got ready, nods given, the door kicked in. We waited, backs against the wall.

  In Arabic, I shouted, ‘Put down your guns or we use grenades!’

  ‘We surrender,’ came a voice.

  I risked poking my head around the corner, pistol levelled, soon seeing four grey images lined up, one tall one and three short ones. With my eyes adjusting to the dim light, I could see that the shorter ones were women in Burkhas, but grey with cement dust instead of the usual black, the man covered head to toe - and very grey.

  Inching inside, I checked the corners, telling the man – in Arabic – to kneel down. He complied, struggling to breathe. Fetching out my water bottle, I poured water over his face before shining my torch in his face. It seemed to be the right man, but I took the photo out and checked anyway.

  Rizzo eased past me. ‘That the fucker?’

  ‘Yes, tie him up, nudge the women outside.’

  Seeing the stairs to the roof I ran up, Swifty on my heels, and we took in the village, but it was quiet enough. A call, and we rushed down, back into the main room.

  Captain Moran was tapping something with his foot. ‘Trap door,’ he said. ‘Could be hostages.’

  I placed down my rifle, pulled out my torch and readied my pistol. Moran pulled back a carpet covered in cement dust, revealing a wooden hatch. With a nod exchanged, he pulled the hatch back quickly and I aimed down, shining my torch.

  ‘Anyone there?’ I called, getting no response. I thrust my upper body forwards and down, peering into the gloom. Easing up, I said, ‘No hostages, but weapons, RGPs, and ten tonnes of explosives. So no smoking!’

  ‘We blow it?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘No, that would demolish the village,’ I said. ‘We secure the village and call this in, can’t leave it there for next year’s hostage takers, and it’s a valuable find.’

  I made my way back up to the roof. ‘Golf One and Golf Two, move forwards and secure the village, we’re staying for a while. We’ve found a massive arms horde and we need to get the French up here to secure it. Watch your fire, don’t
shoot civilians, please.’

  I took out the sat phone and dialled.

  ‘Captain Harris.’

  ‘It’s Wilco. We’ve taken the main compound, fighters all dead, main man taken alive, but we’ve found a massive arms dump so I need you to get the French up here with the local police to secure it, we can’t leave it here. Abort the helos, send them to the French airfield.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you. Harris out.’

  With Golf One at the front door, I sent them up to the roof, each man puzzling the thick layer of cement dust everywhere.

  Captain Moran popped up out the hatch, coughing. ‘It’s a major find. It’s old and dusty, but the weapons all look like they’d work. Lots of mines down there.’

  Above us, Golf One were now peering down through the hole in the roof.

  Golf Two took up position in the main building, its troop captain questioning the cement powder, incredulous looks given when I explained it.

  When my sat phone went, it was the Major. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘We’ve diverted the helos, what did you find?’

  ‘Lot’s of weapons, lots of mines, sir, enough to keep a small army equipped.’

  ‘Why do you want to involve the French?’ he pressed.

  ‘We don’t have the vehicles to move the stash we found, and it’s a major find, best kept out the hands of the kidnappers, sir.’

  ‘Can’t blow it?’

  ‘Not without wiping out a village of women and children, sir.’

  ‘OK, I’ll contact the French now. The area secure?’

  ‘Yes, sir, all the fighters are dead save Goat Shagger.’

  ‘Any injuries?’

  ‘None, sir.’

  ‘OK, good work, wait to hear from us. Bradley out.’

  With Moran and a “G” Squadron troop captain fetching out various weapons from the bunker, we waited, passing the time.

  When my radio went, it was Tomo, who I had overlooked. ‘Wilco, it’s Tomo, do you want me forwards?’

  ‘Negative, watch that road and report.’ I found Stretch. ‘Go back to Tomo, watch that approach road, and if helos come in then signal them, wave or something.’ He headed out. ‘Tomo, Stretch is on his way back, listen out for helicopters.’

  The dawn came up, villagers glancing at us but avoiding us, and from the roof we had more than enough firepower to deal with any gunmen we missed.

  ‘Wilco, it’s Stretch, fucking long line of helos coming in, half the fucking French Army.’

  ‘Try and signal them, get them to land on the south road, lead them in.’ I found Moran. ‘You speak some French, sir, so you’re nominated as liaison.’

  He nodded. ‘There’s a Duska down there, could bring down a helicopter.’

  The “G” Squadron captain asked me, ‘Should we not move the damn bodies?’

  ‘That’s what the French are for, sir,’ I quipped as we all heard approaching helicopters.

  I clambered up the steps to the roof, the lads in all round defence, and now covered in cement powder.

  ‘This is Stretch, they’re down on the road, walking forwards, I’m directing them to you.’

  I could soon see the French advancing in two columns, and then spotted four local police officers in blue with them. And then came Ducat, and I was tempted to get him in my sights and shoot the fucker, but instead I walked down to greet him.

  His troops took up defensive positions at corners, all glancing at the grey cement powder and puzzling it, Ducat and the local police soon to me. I sent the police inside, Captain Moran guiding them.

  Ducat took in the grey cement-covered bodies, a heavy frown forming. ‘What ... happened here?’

  ‘Er ... up on the roof were many bags of cement, sir, for ... some building work. My man placed explosives ... for a decoy, and when the explosion came ... the cement powder went everywhere.’

  He nodded as he passed me, buying the story. Hell, it was better than the truth, which he would never have believed.

  After five minutes examining the bunker, Ducat said to me, ‘Please take your men back in the helicopters, they are waiting, we have trucks coming out for us.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ I clicked on my radio. ‘Golf One and Two, withdraw to the helos on the double. Tomo, Stretch, standby, everyone else on me – we are leaving.’

  ‘Wilco,’ came a scream. ‘Tomo is down!’ It was Stretch’s voice, and we ran outside and down the main road, panting after a three hundred yard sprint. Stretch was administering first aid to Tomo, a local kid lying on the side of the road, covered in blood and full of bullet holes, French commandos nearby.

  ‘What happened?’ I shouted as I knelt.

  ‘Fucking kid came up jabbering something and smiling, then the kid draws a pistol and shoots. I dropped him.’

  I glanced at the kid with Swifty. ‘The kid?’

  ‘Yeah, the fucking kid.’

  ‘Where’s he hit?’ I asked Stretch.

  ‘Stomach, through and through, plus his shoulder.’

  ‘Take it easy, Tomo,’ I said in my best attempt at a soothing voice, and pulled back the pads one by one. ‘That it? Fuck you had us worried, that’s two weeks off work.’

  ‘What?’ Tomo asked as the others closed in.

  ‘It’s minor, you’re not going to die. Same as Captain Moran had a few weeks back.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Tomo queried. ‘I’ll have a good scar?’

  ‘A good scar, yes,’ I confirmed with a smile. ‘Real hero now, mate.’

  Tomo seemed pleased, Stretch shaking his head.

  ‘On the first helo,’ I told Stretch. ‘Get him up.’

  With Rocko helping, we walked Tomo down to the waiting helicopter, the blades turning, a handful of French commandos protecting them. Spotting a Sea King further down the road, I nudged everyone onwards and down to it. Weapons unloaded and made safe, we eased in, all of my team in one Sea King.

  Recognising the crewman from the last job down here, I gave him a smile and a tap on the arm, then the thumbs up, and we pulled away, turning south, the door closed. I focused on Tomo and he pointed at his bandolier, taking out magazines. He had been shot five times, three rounds hitting the magazines; he had been very lucky, and I exchanged a concerned look with Swifty.

  I edged forwards to the cockpit and lifted up the spare headsets they always had, a face glancing at me. ‘That you, sir, tea with the Queen?’

  The pilot glanced over his shoulder. ‘Hey, Wilco, how’d it go. Got an injured man there?’

  ‘Job went off well, but a kid walked up to one of my men with a hidden pistol, and he shot my lad.’

  ‘A kid?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Brainwashed I guess. How badly hurt is your man?’

  ‘Minor, sir, no hurry.’

  ‘You’re keeping us busy, which is good, we don’t get many live jobs like this. You went in by parachute I hear.’

  ‘Yes, sir, a Hercules drop. Went off well, no broken legs, a few minor sprains. Anyway, sir, when you approach that French base, watch the fuck out for RPGs.’

  ‘No need to remind us, we were wary as hell earlier, saw that French Puma hit last time, and that still gives me nightmares I can tell you.’

  The co-pilot asked, ‘Is it true you jumped out of a Puma going down?’

  ‘Yes, sir, in Scotland. We had just gone over a ridge and down, then bang – something broke, and we started shaking like hell and losing control, so I opened the door. When I saw the lake I nudged the guys to jump, Puma went down, pilots killed. I got an award as well for quick thinking and saving lives. But one of my lads, Bob, he was killed later in Bosnia.’

  ‘Nature of the business for what you do,’ the pilot commented.

  Thirty minutes later, some time spent thinking about Bob and Mickey, and we approached the French base, all wary of RPGs, nervous glances made out of the window, and we were all very grateful when we hit the tarmac. Stepping down, I could see the Major and the Intel captains waiting, an RAF Hercules
sat on the apron. Medics rushed forwards with a stretcher, so they had been forewarned by our helicopter pilots.

  Tomo was eased out and onto the stretcher, soon carried to a waiting ambulance as we grouped, closing in on the Major and the support team.

  ‘Who’s that?’ the Major asked, pointing at the ambulance.

  ‘Tomo,’ I informed him.

  ‘Tomo! You said he would be at the rear!’

  ‘He was, and long after the fighting a ten year old walked up and shot him with a pistol.’

  ‘A ten year old!’

  ‘Yes, sir. Stretch dropped the kid.’

  ‘How bad is Tomo hurt?’

  ‘Minor, be back in a two weeks.’

  ‘Well ... that’s something. Teach him not to trust any fucker in the field.’

  I nodded. ‘That it will.’

  ‘Anyhow, good result besides that, got the main man and the arms dump. No other wounds?’

  ‘No, sir, a few sprains on the drop.’

  ‘Right, now tell me ... what the fuck happened with this cement the “G” Squadron lads are complaining about! And you’re covered in it.’

  I grinned. ‘You remember the exercise we did, Hercules came in and dropped a bag of cement as a decoy?’

  ‘Yes, went off well, fucking pilots wagering each other who could be most accurate.’

  ‘Well, sir, I asked if they could do that again, as a decoy, and it worked superbly. The RAF, sir, killed more gunmen than we did.’

  ‘They ... what?’ the Major puzzled.

  ‘They dropped twenty five bags of cement, sir, and ... their aim was accidentally perfect. They demolished the main man’s compound, killed half his fighters.’

  The Major stared back wide eyed. ‘I’m not fucking reporting that. You let the RAF do your job for you! We’d never live it down!’

  ‘I told that French major ... that there were bags of cement on the roof ... for some construction work ... and that we placed explosives as a decoy without realising, and that caused the damage and the spread of the cement powder.’

  ‘Aye, that could work, make that your official report. Can’t have fucking Hercules pilots killing terrorists! They’ll all want a damn medal.’