Wilco- Lone Wolf 17

by Geoff Wolak

  Parked, I had the jeep searched for bombs, the truck to be unloaded now, everything opened, the truck to be moved outside just in case. We soon had eight mortar tubes and a plenty of mortars, but half the mortars were flares. I exchanged a look with Rizzo.

  ‘Flares,’ he noted. ‘A bit cheeky.’

  We now had four M60 with plenty of ammo, the young soldiers familiar with them, and some half decent night sights. With the truck moved I had the crates opened and checked - and stacked up away from the huts.

  Up on the wall, I transmitted, ‘Petrov to all teams. We stopped a road convoy maybe twelve miles east, I think they were coming here. They had M60 machineguns, as well as mortar tubes with flares, so the bad boys are upping their game. Stay sharp.’

  I tested the night sights, and handed one to Swan on the wall, two to be sent out to Tomo and Nicholson.

  In the morning Carlos drove in and sat with me for coffee after looking at the mortar tubes and M60. ‘My contact says that Lobos are now very angry, and that they suspect a leak in their ranks – to have lost so many men and jeeps. And now to lose these weapons to you, all expensive items.’

  ‘That’s good, in that they are angry. Angry men make stupid mistakes. And they just drive down the road in trucks, so they have no brains; they could be stopped by the police.’

  He shook his head. ‘When the police leave barracks Lobos know, I know, and the police take money to stay in those barracks.’

  ‘Some news, from America. They see this fight between Lobos and the infamous Jackal -’ He shot me a look. ‘- and decide that they don’t want Lobos to win such a fight.’

  ‘They will act?’ he puzzled.

  ‘They will act … behind the scenes, and quietly.’

  My phone trilled, no number displayed. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Comrade Petrov.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Da!’

  ‘It’s Running Bear the mercenary. Helo or two with mercenaries on board will land where you are soon. What kind of welcome can we expect?’

  ‘The beans are OK, the steak is good, some beer to be had, bunks are not too bad.’

  ‘Good to know. And locals with itchy trigger fingers?’

  ‘None around here. Land north of the compound.’

  ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Land?’ Carlos asked as I put my phone away.

  ‘CIA helos, mercenaries on board.’

  He seemed cautious. ‘And they … will do what?’

  ‘They will do … what I tell them to do. Don’t worry. And tell your men not to shoot.’ I clambered up the wall. ‘Petrov to all teams, friendly helos coming in, don’t shoot.’

  Back down, I had a coffee with Carlos, the night’s action discussed, soon the heavy resonating drown of Hueys from the north, and we walked to the north gate. Two green Hueys loudly set down, no markings, eight men down with heavy kitbags, long sniper rifles slung.

  But the men were not in greens, they had an odd assortment of clothing, mostly military in nature, a mix of webbing. And all were Hispanic.

  As the Hueys pulled away the guests walked forwards, Running Bear smiling at me.

  ‘You staying out of trouble?’ he asked.

  ‘Hell no.’ We shook. ‘This is Carlos, he owns this area.’

  They shook, a few sentences exchanged in Spanish, his seven bad boys led inside.

  I faced Carlos. ‘Maybe your men cannot sleep here now, they give up their beds..?’

  ‘I was about to suggest that, I have another facility operational already, west of here.’

  ‘Leave some men to assist us, and men down the road.’

  He nodded, orders given to Rada, men soon to be packing up - but not the chef, he was too important.

  When the young men were all awake I introduced the mercenaries, and asked that they all remember the faces to avoid accidentally shooting at each other. I also had Rizzo and one of Running Bear’s men take six young men out for some sniper training as I took Running Bear and the rest of his men out the gate and south down the road.

  ‘Nasty gully here on the left,’ I told them as we walked. ‘Barbed wire in places, stop someone using it at night to sneak up. Rocks on the right, but no escape route if you had a position there.’

  I halted after two hundred yards. ‘South side is yours, so where do you want to be?’

  They scanned the terrain, little cover noted. Running Bear pointed left, up to the high point on our east side. ‘On the ridge, dig in. From there we can see 180degrees south, and the road, so we’ll get warning of nasty surprises.’

  We started to walk that way.

  I began, ‘So far we’ve seen these odd pairs of men sneaking in. I’m told they come in pairs so that one will not chicken out, and the men are told not to return unless it’s with good news. We’ve killed ten pairs of them.’

  ‘The cartel don’t like failure, no,’ Running Bear noted.

  ‘We also had a few teams of ten or twelve men moving in, but across open ground, no stealth. Last night we shot up a convoy, and it had mortars with flares and M60.’

  ‘Hit you from afar, keep your heads down as someone moves in – someone who can crawl a mile unseen that is, no cover around here.’

  We climbed up the gentle slope to the top, the newcomers taking in the horizon with a keen interest, rifles slung for now.

  Running Bear dug a line with his boot. ‘Soft dirt, we’ll dig trenches, we’re not expecting any artillery or tanks here.’

  ‘We have sandbags, barbed wire, trip flares, grenade launchers, pistol flares, and RPG.’

  ‘Shit, you trying to start a war, boy?’ he lightly toyed.

  ‘CIA have declared war on Lobos, and Lobos … they’re sending men over the border to kill your cops.’

  Running Bear lost his grin. ‘They are?’

  ‘Tonight, but Langley got the warning in time.’

  ‘Then there could be some harsh language used later at the border.’

  ‘You can dig trenches now, but only rotate teams at dusk and dawn, don’t be seen. Make a happy home, guys.’

  They walked back with me, chatting, and grabbed shovels, two men grabbing a reel of barbed wire, others grabbing trip flares and pistol flares. I had some of the young men assist them, since we were short of time and I feared a mass attack – of some sort.

  Up on the wall, I peered out in all directions, Swan clambering up with a coffee flask. ‘What comes next, Boss?’

  I sipped from the flask, a low cloud ceiling today. ‘They tried the men sneaking in, they tried the patrols walking in, and they sent mortars and flares, so … next comes a police raid, the police paid off. But we can evacuate the compound quickly, hide evidence that we were here, and most of the lads are hidden outside anyhow.’

  ‘And them mercenaries?’

  ‘CIA, here to help. They want the Lobos cartel knocked back, and I’ve been getting signals intel from them.’

  ‘Hard to attack this place, hard to crawl on your belly with those rocks. And if they came in daylight -’

  Shots rang out.

  ‘You were saying?’ I teased. We stood tall and peered north.

  ‘I was saying … they’d have to be stupid.’

  I transmitted, ‘Report the shooting.’

  ‘It’s Tomo, and we got two sneaky chaps. And Boss, these guys were done up like a moving bush.’

  ‘But you spotted them, so they’re not that good.’

  ‘Fucking flat here, that’s why! And they had their headlights on.’

  A drone caught my attention and I panicked for a moment, Hueys approaching from the south. Then I remembered what Carlos had said. I transmitted, ‘Helos coming in from the south, don’t shoot but be ready, we ordered some for the lads to use.’

  I clambered down and walked to the north gate, wondering where they might set down, or if they would be firing at us from above.

  I was soon shaking my head as one green Huey loudly landed, one bright red one, Monster shaking his head at me.

&
nbsp; With the engines idling the pilots walked to me dressed in green flight suits, sunglasses, caps on heads, two of them in cowboy boots. ‘You are Petrov? We speak English.’

  ‘I am.’ We shook, Monster “covering” my guests.

  ‘We can land here and take you places, but … we have the equipment twenty miles south, so … we cannot stop engines here.’ He gave an apologetic shrug.

  I nodded. ‘You realise that we are at war with Lobos…’

  ‘We hear you are winning that war.’ He shrugged. ‘And we will not work with them, they are animals. Before, they want us to throw men out from the helicopters, over the homes of those men.’

  ‘My policy … is to kill any armed men that do not work for Carlos.’

  They exchanged looks and gave disinterested shrugs. The lead pilot noted, ‘You will run short on bullets, I think. It is the only work here.’

  ‘But how do you feel … about such men?’

  The lead man glanced at his colleagues. ‘I feel … that I would like my daughter to grow up and get married.’

  ‘My little war will not fix this place, but maybe we make it a little better.’

  ‘Already the gunmen hide,’ a pilot noted. ‘Rumours spread, and they hide, not walk with head held up like before.’

  ‘You have fuel for an hour’s ride east?’

  They nodded. I grabbed the young men training with Rizzo and Rocko, four M60s allocated, checked and test fired, plenty of ammo loaded, the other young soldiers armed with Valmets, four per helo, Rizzo in one helo, myself and Rocko in the bright red Huey, and with safety lines employed, doors open, off we set east.

  I now had an appreciation of the area from the air as my feet dangled, my hair blown about, and we covered the twelve miles east to the truck ambush quickly, the truck and jeeps still there, now a police car halted nearby. With the spare headsets on, I told my pilot, ‘Follow the side roads, slow down near jeep convoys, go southeast, maintain 600ft roughly, no lower.’

  Five minutes later we passed over hills that were steeper than those around Carlos’s compound, many trees seen below, a waterfall and stream spotted, and a convoy caught moving up a hill. They were not Federales, but they did display weapons, so I had our ride circle down and bank over, an M60 soon hammering out rounds as I fired down, Rocko sat pumping out rounds as well, brass cartridges floating down.

  A full circle, and I could see the green Huey copying, the glass on the jeeps below now white, bodies seen on the road, men seen running for cover.

  ‘Follow the road into the hills, see where those men were heading.’

  Two miles on and a compound appeared, hidden by trees at ground level but visible from above, men with rifles running around in panic. I waved at the young soldier operating the M60 and he pumped out rounds as we circled, Rocko keenly firing down.

  Something below burst into flames, black smoke issued, bodies seen on the floor as I peered down, a jeep seen on fire as I fired down at the huts, the M60 throwing brass at Rocko’s legs, and I could again see the brass slowly falling to earth.

  With smoke blocking our view now, we circled, no one seen moving around, bodies seen face down in the trees.

  ‘OK, fly due south please. Maintain 1,000ft, look for convoys and labs.’

  ‘There is a place I know, they never paid me for a job.’

  I smiled widely, a glance at the pilot’s helmet as we sped southeast. Changing magazines, the young soldiers opened ammo boxes and keenly threaded a new chain, getting ready.

  Ten minutes later came, ‘Here it is.’

  I peered down, seeing neat rows of brown wooden buildings partly hidden by the trees. But just as we opened up I noticed a jeep with a mounted fifty cal. Luckily there was no one on it at the moment, and ten rounds carefully aimed had the jeep smoking as the M60 hammered out rounds into the huts, Rocko keenly firing down.

  I could see women running and I worried for a moment, men also seen running and cut down, a hut smoking, two jeeps on fire. A blast of flames, coming out sideways, and a hut bellowed black smoke.

  Banking around, I could see a group of men aiming up and I pointed the M60 their way, Rocko joining me as I emptied a magazine on automatic towards the men, who scattered, most seen face down on the next pass. The green Huey followed us around, pumping out rounds as it banked over, a great deal of ammo used.

  ‘OK, back to base please,’ I told my pilot.

  It took only fifteen minutes of low-level high speed flight, a few small jeep convoys seen but ignored, our feet dangling, the cool wind buffeting us. We flared as we approached the compound, soon bumping down, the safety line detached.

  I told the pilot, ‘Be back after dark, we go visit Cegali.’

  ‘They will not be happy,’ the pilot cautioned.

  ‘If you don’t want to do it … that is OK.’

  They exchanged looks. ‘No, we do it, the money is good.’

  A glance at a cabin floor covered in brass casings, and I hopped down and joined the others, our red and green Hueys pulling off loudly and skimming the ground as they flew off east then south.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Rocko approved. ‘Our own helos. But try and get a green one, eh, not a fucking poofter red colour.’

  Sasha was at the north gate. He halted us with a flat palm. ‘To get inside, you must say … bird, bird, bird … bird is the word.’

  I smiled at Rocko and we started singing as we entered, dancing along, the young soldiers laughing and joining in.

  Edwardo noted, ‘This song is stupid, only bird is the word. It makes no sense.’

  ‘Does the great classic do wah diddy … make sense?’ I challenged.

  Carlos called me at 6pm, as we started to lose the light. ‘You hit two compounds southeast, so now I sell to their customers, at least the middle men. My men will be busy tomorrow, good orders, large orders, a good price.’

  ‘Help to pay for the helicopters.’

  ‘Tomsk is paying for them direct.’

  ‘So if anyone asks about them Tomsk gets the blame. Good, I don’t want Lobos attacking your town.’

  ‘Lobos are short of men willing to attack us here, so I hear.’

  ‘And in the morning, American breakfast news gets its wake-up call?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Watch CNN tomorrow.’

  After a quiet night, no patrols intercepted, but a convoy shot up by a patrol that Rocko led northeast, I got a call from Franks.

  ‘Can you talk?’

  ‘Yeah, safe this end, Running Bear here now with his bad boys.’

  ‘Mother of a shit storm on the news after the night’s action. We got word about the Lobos men, and had a special FBI tactical team, and about a hundred local officers.

  ‘They stopped a migrant group, a false alarm, then spotted the Lobos men and fired a flare, the Lobos men opening up. Our snipers opened up and killed all the Lobos men, plus a few migrants, more seen running off further south towards the border.

  ‘But we got two leg wounds from random fire, might have even been friendly fire. Ten Lobos men identified from the tattoos, rest got away.’

  ‘Intel might have been wrong,’ I suggested, that intel having been altered and exaggerated by me.

  ‘It all fitted, time and place, so intel seems right.’

  ‘How’s the news?’

  ‘Loud, real fucking loud, outrage felt coast to coast.’

  ‘Well yesterday I got us some Hueys, and we pasted two drug labs and a convoy. Word is, Lobos are running out of keen volunteers to come have a go at me.’

  ‘Mexican Government is aware of this now, but so far they’re just sitting on their hands,’ Franks told me. ‘Gangs fighting a turf war over the border is nothing new, that’s like reporting the football scores.’

  ‘Keep getting me signals intel, because Lobos will try something sneaky. They tried the frontal approach, next comes the sneaky approach. And Franks, bird is the word.’

  ‘What password..?’
/>   Carlos arrived at 5pm, patrols out, Running Bear snug in a deep trench quickly made in soft sandy soil. We sat at the tables, still a few of his men here.

  ‘I have been watching the American news with Miguel. What I reported to you was ten Lobos men crossing over, armed men, nothing more.’ He waited.

  ‘My dear Jackal, you need to know how the world works, how it really works. If I tip off the British about some terrorist, they could just quietly arrest the man, or they could deter him. But no, they make sure that there are a hundred police officers … and two hundred reporters to hand.

  ‘The man I tip off in England, he wants to justify his salary to his bosses, and his bosses want to justify their budget to the government, and the government wants to look good in front of the taxpayers – the voters. They could do the job quietly, but that would help no one.

  ‘The world over, people are the same, always wanting to climb the ladder and look good, so I gave the Americans that which they most wanted to hear, a carefully crafted lie. I could have gone to the border and killed those men myself, and buried them quietly, but that would have achieved nothing.

  ‘Now, the American people are angry and demanding action, action against Lobos, and I can ask for more help from the CIA. You see how this works?’

  He nodded. ‘You see the politics clearly, and know how to play these people, yes. Maybe you stand for election someday, eh.’

  I smiled. ‘I think I will be dead before then, or arrested. Anyway, can you get me some pig shit?’

  ‘Pig shit?’ he puzzled, wide-eyed.

  ‘I will upset the Lobos even more, enough to provoke them into making a mistake.’

  ‘There is a pig farm, south, people here like ham and bacon. So I guess they have pig shit.’

  ‘Pay the farmer for liquid pig shit, filtered, and then get me a crop dusting aircraft.’

  He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. ‘You will spray them with pig shit, a very great insult. They will lose face to their people.’

  ‘That, my friend, is the idea. And tonight I will upset them a little. Have the helicopters arrive at 2am please, I want everyone asleep and off the streets when I visit that town.’