Wilco- Lone Wolf 17

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Left,’ Sasha urgently hissed.

  A convoy approached, no lights on, men in the back aiming forwards.

  ‘Tyres and drivers,’ I whispered, wondering why I was whispering. My first shot blew out the tyre of the lead jeep, which hit the brakes, two fast shots killing the driver as Sasha hit the second jeep.

  With the lead jeep now side on the men in the back stood no chance, six rapid shots knocking them out the jeep. Panning left, I hit trailing jeeps with fast shots, not much aim, windscreens hit, and their proud and powerful advance into the town had been called off.

  Sasha slowly picked off men over ten minutes, most of the town’s streets now empty.

  ‘Be getting light in an hour, we go,’ I told him.

  I eased back, crawling away from the top of the ridge, soon moving bent-double, pausing to kneel, to look and to listen, just the crickets for company, dogs barking nearby.

  Under a dark grey sky we retraced our route over half an hour, turning north and heading for higher areas before the sun came up, not wishing to be near a road in good daylight. At the summit we sat, water drunk, corned beef enjoyed as the dawn put in an appearance.

  ‘How’s ammo?’ I asked, and I started counting.

  ‘I have five and a half.’

  ‘Six and a half,’ I told him. ‘We take it easy, sniping as we move back.’

  ‘I need a shit first.’

  After breakfast, and after Sasha’s shit in the scrub, we moved northeast over the hill, time taken to inspect old bones.

  Sasha asked, ‘Why the fuck they drag someone all the way up here and dump the body, eh.’

  ‘Might have been a shoot-out up here, body left,’ I idly noted as we walked on. ‘Or a migrant who ran out of luck.’

  Across the next ridge we noticed an early farmer, and I made a point of walking past the old man. I stopped near him. ‘I am Petrov, from Panama. Good day to you.’ I handed him dollars, leaving a stunned old man behind staring at the dollars, two hundred dollars.

  Heading east now, I pointed down to a road. ‘That runs east to Carlos.’

  ‘Map reading is easy, no.’

  ‘Yep, no jungle here, not many trees either. But Carlos uses that road, so we can’t hit jeeps on it.’

  We stomped on undergrowth as we trekked east, no one about, no early-riser gunmen to be seen – or shot at, a few creatures scurrying away from us, birds sent into flight. Fully light now, we reached the high point and took in the terrain, making a mental note for the future, a small dam noted north, a large shiny greenhouse south.

  Above Negoles, the town run by Carlos, I stopped to call him, hoping I did not wake him. He would send jeeps to the same spot, so we turned north and trekked down, and I was reasonably sure – but not completely sure – of where they had dropped us.

  Hitting a tarmac road, we waited, a stone wall to hide behind if need be.

  Twenty minutes later three jeeps approached, and I recognised several of the men. Facemasks off, we jumped in the rear, weapons ready as the convoy turned around, soon heading back as the town’s folk woke up and got the coffee on.

  Inside the compound we jumped down, Carlos and Miguel waiting.

  ‘You are not injured?’ Carlo asked as we neared the steps.

  ‘No, we’re fine, thanks.’

  ‘We made calls, and … you seem to have killed a hundred men, three leaders…’

  ‘Was a slow night, and we ran short of ammo, so we took it easy.’

  ‘No one saw you,’ he noted.

  ‘But they did feel us,’ I told him. ‘Some breakfast?’

  ‘Yes, clean up and come over.’

  Cleaned up, we greeted his wife and mother and sat, food placed down, bacon – but thick bacon, hash browns and beans.

  Miguel noted, ‘You walk around here with no fear.’

  ‘The gunmen are tough in a town bar, but when you are in the countryside, at night, a trained man will always win.’

  Carlos noted, ‘One of the gangs got word that you were in the area, reward money sought, so … someone in the town reported you here.’

  ‘One of your men?’

  They exchanged looks. ‘We would hope not, but it is possible.’

  ‘To know my name, it would need to be one of your men,’ I firmly nudged. ‘Not just two men in facemasks and holding rifles seen in a jeep. Perhaps we could set a trap, tell different men different things, and see who reports what.’

  ‘We … can make a plan, yes,’ Carlos reluctantly agreed, embarrassed.

  After a large breakfast I headed to the bunk house with Sasha, and we would get some much-needed sleep after our long nocturnal walk, our security down to Carlos’s men. Hopefully they feared him, and hopefully he feared Tomsk, and hopefully his men feared what might happen to them if they tried to grab me for a reward. Still, I slept with my rifle next to me.

  Awake at 4pm, I enjoyed a hot shower, rousing Sasha afterwards, a coffee enjoyed with Miguel and his mother before being informed that my men were on their way, but on their way in a roundabout sort of way. I changed into my greens, telling Sasha to do likewise.

  At 5pm the first Cheyenne twin prop landed north of the town, Rizzo and gang off-loaded and driven up to me, the Tenerife gang having flown from Panama to Mexico in a C160 via a Pacific route, far enough out to sea to avoid a keen radar operator, low enough to be a worry to the passengers.

  They had landed at an isolated strip in Baja before switching planes, a low level and dangerous flight across the mountains to a second plane swap, a Cheyenne to get up here – that low-level Cheyenne following a route that avoided towns as well as keen radar operators.

  Rizzo jumped down, casual dress but with a large green canvas bag, Rocko easing down with Monster, Stretch lighting a cigarette before making a move to get down.

  Rizzo began, stretching, ‘I feel like a bag of fucking cocaine!’

  ‘You took the scenic route?’ I teased.

  ‘Low level out to sea, like fucking hours and hours, then we landed at some dirt strip, then a smaller plane to another fucking dirt strip, then the same plane that was at Camel Toe Base, so low we got a speeding ticket!’

  Carlos closed in.

  I gestured towards Rizzo. ‘This is Rizzo, British mercenary. We worked together in West Africa many times.’ I gestured at Rocko. ‘This is Rocko.’ Gesturing towards Monster, I said, ‘This is someone new. What do I call you?’

  ‘They call me Monster.’

  ‘Monster?’ Carlos queried.

  I shot Carlos a look. ‘This from a man called The Jackal.’

  Carlos shot me a peeved look. ‘Not a name I relish.’

  ‘Ha,’ I let out. I pointed at Stretch. ‘This is Stitch.’

  ‘Stretch,’ Rizzo corrected me, playing along.

  ‘I will have food and drink brought to the bunkhouse as you wait,’ Carlos offered, so I led the gang towards that bunkhouse, Sasha stood at the door and greeting the gang.

  Inside, bags down, camp beds were found, but the plan was to relocate tonight. Canvas bags down, coffee made, cold drinks offered to a complaining gang, they changed into greens borrowed from Tomsk, suitable boots brought along. They did, however, all have pistols with them.

  From the crates I fetched out bandoliers, webbing and Valmets, the lads soon checking the weapons as a few of the guards observed. I fetched ammo boxes and we set about loading magazines, a guard assisting us.

  Food arrived on trays, large steaks, the lads soon tucking in, bottled beer to wash it down with, and an hour after the hungry bunch had arrived at the villa my three snipers appeared.

  I stood. ‘How was the flight, English boys?’ I asked with a grin.

  ‘We better be well paid for this,’ Tomo threatened. ‘That was above and beyond the call of duty for anyone’s arse cheeks!’

  Nicholson put in, ‘Do we have a better way back, Boss?’

  ‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘I can arrange something. Get dressed, kitted out, you’re in a dangerous place. A
merican border is about ten miles north, gangs all around, some a bit pissed off with us … after Sasha and I went on a shooting spree.’

  ‘Who’s the target?’ Monster asked as he ate.

  ‘Around here the men all work for Carlos The Jackal, a grand name but he’s a pussy; he fills in a form before shooting someone. A few miles out … and anyone will a rifle is fair game, shoot them all.’

  ‘And the plan?’ Rocko asked, food in his moustache.

  ‘Thin out the bad boys, then leave.’ I faced Tomo. ‘Did Tomsk provide any entertainment for you?’

  ‘He did,’ Rocko cut in. ‘Two hours only though. Tomo had three girls in with him.’

  My snipers got dressed as Tomo boasted of his exploits, crates opened, weapons and telescopic sights grabbed and checked, more food arriving.

  An hour after my snipers had arrived Sasha greeted his men in Russian, something of a party atmosphere in the bunkhouse, the room now quite full. They changed clothes and were issued weapons by Sasha, jeeps called for as the men ate sandwiches, corned beef sandwiches.

  I loaded several ammo crates to the jeeps, the remainder of the weapons crates, bottles of water, tins of corned beef, and I finally loaded the men, no less than eight jeeps to be employed – my original jeep to be utilised by Sasha’s team, M4s still where we left them. Carlos was in the front jeep, so he would be showing us our new happy home himself.

  A wave at Miguel and his mother, and out the gate we drove in the dark, down the hill, south through the town, east a few miles and then north again into a dark valley, up onto a plateau via dirt tracks, many guard posts seen, and finally to a high-walled compound.

  Inside the dark compound I could see many small and square flat-roof buildings plus some prefabricated factory-style units highlighted by the jeep headlights, also a row of four wooden huts similar to those back at GL4.

  Down from the jeeps, Carlos waved us to the wooden huts, and inside we found a stack of bottled water, beer stacked up, food in tins, small stoves available, a kitchen area leading to military style beds in two rows, twelve beds per hut.

  I pointed at one of Sasha’s men. ‘First stag, outside this hut, two hours and rotate.’ He stepped outside as men grabbed beds, green canvas bags dumped down.

  ‘Nicholson, when your kit is sorted, up on the wall, rotate it, take no chances around here.’ Loudly, I said, ‘All of you, sleep ready for war at all times!’

  Outside, Carlos said to me, ‘The other men on the way will come here.’

  ‘Is there a man here who speaks English or Russian?’

  He waved over an older man, grey hair showing. ‘This is Rada.’

  ‘I speak English,’ Rada told me as we shook.

  ‘We need to coordinate security,’ I began. ‘My men will sit on the walls, and anyone trying to sneak closer will raise an alarm.’

  Rada shrugged. ‘People drive up the road. Anyone else … shoot.’

  I faced Carlos. ‘And if the Federales wanted to come arrest me?’

  ‘They would not get close before one of their men sells me the information.’

  ‘I will rest the men, maybe to move out tomorrow night. Before we move out, think about anyone close-by that you want to deal with, or we just take random turns to stop the information being sold. I need to know where your men are so that we don’t shoot them.’

  ‘My men will not be in a nearby town, rifles in hand. Most are married, home at night. If you see drunken men with guns-’ He shrugged. ‘- they are not my men.’

  ‘If you have a convoy to move out, warn me, and if you get information about convoys moving this way let me know.’

  ‘Rada here gets the warnings, but we don’t keep much stock here. It is processed, checked, moved out quickly.’

  ‘How do you get it across the border?’ I asked.

  ‘Horseback.’

  I smiled widely. ‘A good way to be quiet at night, yes.’

  ‘A few miles past the border we have police and border patrol men that assist us, a good team, no arrests or intercepts.’

  I waved him off, and he headed off home to his wife, Rada showing me around the compound. It was square, had high walls and two ways in and out, so it was not a complicated layout.

  Back in the first hut, I had Sasha move next door with Tomo and Swan – taking Nicholson’s bag, Sasha’s team to be close to me in case any of the Russians with Tomsk asked leading questions.

  Rizzo lifted his face from where he sat on bed. ‘We … er … being bugged in here, Comrade?’

  ‘Very unlikely, English gentleman. Carlos works for Tomsk in Panama, and fears him. If Carlos mistreated us … he’d pay a price. And … I helped our host make a shit load of money this week, so I’m persona grata for the next decade or two.’

  ‘And the plan?’ Stretch asked.

  ‘Last night I went out with Sasha, across the hills to the next town. We found a burial in progress – and killed the men doing the burying, we shot up a few jeep convoys, and we sniped at armed men in villages and towns, thinning out the bad boys. One man, he tried to sneak up on us wearing a white cowboy hat.’

  ‘A white hat?’ Rocko baulked. ‘Switched-on or what?’

  ‘The local boys are great at frightening the villagers, crap on the hills,’ I told them. ‘Anyhow, get some sleep, but stretch first, eh, hot shower.’

  ‘We slept much of the way,’ Rizzo informed me. ‘Just fucking sore.’

  ‘There’s beer if you want some, but go easy, be ready to fight always.’

  Up on the wall, I sat next to Nicholson’s dark outline in a cool breeze, the scrubland around us black, no lights, no detail to discern. ‘How’s Kate?’

  ‘Nice lady, good looking for her age and all, I thought she was like twenty-eight, and I told her that.’

  ‘You old charmer, you,’ I teased.

  ‘Your daughter cried when I left so I said I would be back in a few days.’

  ‘She’s four years old, they forget quickly.’

  ‘Some of Kate’s relatives were a pain.’

  ‘Why do you think I stay away!’

  He laughed. ‘The one guy, a captain, he was a pain till I asked about his combat experience, and how many confirmed kills he had.’

  ‘Good, you shut him up.’

  ‘Why we here, Boss, down Mexico way?’

  ‘I was tasked with finding a kidnapped CIA guy in Jamaica, which I did. I had the Israeli with me, and Sasha and Tiny.’

  ‘Tiny? Tomo has the hots for her, but she’s holding out for two hundred quid and dinner.’

  ‘Expensive, for a quickie. In Jamaica she was walking around naked a lot, as was Salome, so wind up Tomo. And no, I didn’t shag Tiny. And right now she’s helping Tomsk find some pickpockets in his posh hotel, which her boss would not approve of, or the MOD, or … the UK government for that matter.’

  ‘And the CIA guy?’

  ‘Was being held here, by Carlos The Jackal.’

  ‘Is he a bad boy?’

  ‘He’s a mummy’s boy. His mother lives with him, wife and kids, an organised drug gang. He gets drugs across the border for Tomsk, and does a good job – doesn’t get caught. I figured … whilst I was here, that I give him a helping hand, that I thin out the murdering scum around here, and try and get the Yanks some intel on gangs on their side of the border. That way, favours can be called in later.’

  ‘And Yemen?’

  ‘Is our next task, after this, all hot and dusty. But winter is coming so … cold at night in the hills here I reckon.’

  ‘I observed Kate closely for a week, and … I can see why you stay away. She’s very fixed in her way of doing things, short with people; only opinion that counts is hers.’

  ‘You have indeed learnt what married life would be like – I’d be on the receiving end. A good looking woman, well educated, great body, but married life is what you do between sex, and that’s 95% of the time. Can’t base a relationship on just sex.’

  ‘You sorted the shits in London
?’

  ‘CIA did it for me, but don’t repeat that. They took-out people I would be afraid to shoot, well connected snobs.’

  ‘When that bank got hit by Arabs I was stunned…’

  ‘I … have no comment to make, it’s too dangerous. Don’t discuss it widely, some dangerous players involved.’

  ‘More dangerous than us?’

  ‘We’re unbeatable in the jungle and the deserts, but not on the streets of London.’

  ‘Maybe we need more spy training…’

  I took in his dark outline. And nodded. ‘Maybe, yes, but we’d piss off the UK government if we got caught, and they’d shut us down. I’d not risk the future of Echo, and all the good work we’ve done.

  ‘At the end of the day, the most important thing … is to do what the Prime Minister says, and not to become as bad as those we fight. They break the law, we also break the law ... but to fight fire with fire.’

  In the morning we had a delivery, five big strong Russians with sore arses, followed by five more sore arses an hour later, the complaints louds and plentiful. They threatened to drive back.

  My lads had got a good night’s rest, plenty of food, and in the daylight they took in their new happy home - curious noses poked into drug labs, a rotation set-up on the wall, a small patrol sent out with Sasha leading it. And for us to be caught here would be hard to explain.

  Our radios turned up finally, all tested and issued, batteries checked, and by 5pm we had men kitted with everything they needed, corned beef cans in webbing, tourniquets hanging from left shirt pockets. Problem was, if someone photographed us we would look just like Echo men, so moving around in daylight would be restricted.

  At 8pm, and now dark, I formed a patrol, Swan left on the wall with Monster, Sasha to lead five Russians. I checked the lads kit, formed pairs and teams, radios tested, and led them out the north gate and due north through the scrub, knee-high bushes to negotiate.

  Up and over the gentle hill we started our descent, the road seen a mile away northwest, so I plodded off northeast, and finding a suitable track I moved due east, the teams alert.