Wilco- Lone Wolf 17

by Geoff Wolak

  I trudged back, wondering what could go wrong, and what the Lobos plan was. To land and walk towards us seemed like a stupid plan, so they must be in possession of a better plan – I considered, a sneaky and well-thought-out plan. To flank us on all sides and wear us down maybe, use smoke or CS gas. Coming by plane, they would have no heavy mortars.

  Back in the compound I observed as Rocko and Rizzo instructed the young soldiers on the mortars, tubes cleaned, striker pins checked, mortar shells wiped down, sandbags placed on the round metal base plates, the mortars aimed east for now.

  ‘We all set?’ Rizzo asked me.

  ‘AWACS will let me know when the force gets here, then we get the helos in here, fifty cal on them. Attack will be called off before it starts - hopefully.’

  I called Carlos, asking for the helos to be ready to go at 2.30am. He would have a nap now and be awake with Miguel later. Stood there, I tried the night sight that Running Bear had given me, soon seeing the dark areas of the compound clearly as a grey-green. Using a bit of string, I hung it around my neck.

  I told Rocko and Rizzo to take a nap now, after a hot drink and some food, Sasha to take a nap as well and be ready for 3am. The young soldiers were fit, and they would keep going. I made sure that coffee was available, and that they stayed warm inside the huts, not chilling outside.

  Up on the wall I made radio contact with our outposts, all set-up ready, the Russian soldiers from Tomsk deployed ready, but we were low on numbers to face two hundred angry men. And maybe two hundred well-trained men.

  Time dragged on as I paced up and down, and I wanted the clock to move faster; I wanted to know what I was up against and to deal with it. For the tenth time I mounted the wall and peered out, listening, wondering what would happen this night. My mind went back to John Wayne in some film about the Alamo.

  At 2.15am a call came in from Franks. ‘AWACS has your blips, three big birds, low and slow. Should touch down at 2.45am.’

  ‘We got the game on finally,’ I told him. ‘Chat later.’

  I called Carlos, finding him awake, and requested the helos quickly. Off the phone I roused Rocko, Rizzo and Sasha, shouting them up and kicking beds, coffee thrust at them, the compound soon a hive of activity.

  We rallied outside the compound’s north side fifteen minutes later, soon hearing the Hueys, the fifty cals now being lugged by the keen young soldiers, rope available with which to suspend them from the Huey ceiling door area. If not, we’d have to hold them – and hope for the best.

  The green and red Hueys loudly set down, bright lights on, and we moved forwards quickly, rope wrapped around a suitable hook as the pilot glanced over his shoulder at what we were doing to his expensive helicopter, men aboard, heavy chain ammo aboard as I got the headsets on.

  ‘Three transport planes will land on a straight road east in a few minutes. If we find them, you get a bonus. Check the other helo, and go quick.’

  A look left, a thumbs up, and we inched up, my legs dangling, my hair flattened down by the downdraft. Nose down, and we skimmed the ground gaining speed, climbing as the lights were knocked off.

  ‘I know a straight road east, and there are not many,’ the pilot offered.

  ‘Depress your radio transmit button for me.’

  ‘Uh … OK.’

  ‘Ground units to AWACS at the border, receiving, over.’ I waited. ‘Ground units to AWACS at the border, receiving, over.’

  ‘AWACS to unknown ground units, identify yourselves.’

  I tapped the pilots shoulder, ‘Ground units to AWACS, we’re awaiting three transport planes up to no good, when we should all be in bed nice and warm, over.’

  ‘AWACS to ground units missing your beds, three large blips are six miles due south of probable landing sight, but we also have two aircraft low and slow closing on that location from the west.’

  I tapped the pilots shoulder. ‘Ground units are moving position in two Hueys, preparing a warm welcome. We need an exact vector to the three blips, over.’

  ‘AWACS, ground units, you’re about on course, slow down some. Standby.’

  The pilot eased back on the stick, and this was a worry, flying at night with fuck all ground reference, leaving me straining to see the artificial horizon and altimeter. I took off my night sight and handed it to the co-pilot, who scanned the terrain, rapid comments keenly made in Spanish.

  ‘AWACS to Hueys, targets have split up, first descending, trailing birds circling east in a tight circle. Change to heading zero-eight-zero, target will be on your nose in less than a minute, now at 2,000ft and descending rapidly.’

  An excited shout from the co-pilot, a finger pointed, and I said, ‘Get us alongside that plane, so that we can shoot. Go! Fast! Tell the second Huey to go high right and wait.’

  With a manic message shouted at the trailing Huey we banked hard right, dipped lower and came around to the left. I turned and tapped Rocko on the arm and he pointed out the fifty cal as I readied my rifle, automatic set. We aimed into the blackness, not seeing anything yet.

  A sudden dip, our stomachs in our mouths, levelling off, and the pilot shouted, ‘There they are!’

  We urgently peered out into the blackness, nothing seen at first, but then I noticed the huge Hercules below us as the drone of its engines shook my rib cage, the damn Hercules close enough to reach out and touch and about to collide with us. We were about to land in its port wingtip.

  I fired down, aiming at the end of the wing and moving in, my brass hitting the fifty cal. Rocko moved the fifty cal so that it pointed down at sixty degrees as he opened up, white streaks reaching out, and he was about to shoot off his own feet, the fifty cal recoiling and bouncing back, Rocko struggling to control it as he fired short bursts.

  I aimed at the engines, sparks seen, flashes seen as Rocko fired, a wing bursting into flame just fifty yards away, and we moved beyond the nose of the Hercules, Rocko pumping rounds into the cockpit, the Hercules suddenly nose down.

  A flash, and I had not realised how low we had been as the Hercules burst into flame, having landed almost vertically, sure to give the passengers in the back something to complain about.

  ‘Go around! Climb!’ I shouted and we banked left.

  ‘Fucking bollocking hell,’ Rocko shouted with a grin as his hair was buffeted, a look exchanged through the dark, a broad smile coming from him.

  After a full turn, climbing, we looked over shoulders at the burning plane, and I was sure that the other aircraft would now abort any attempt at a landing.

  Hurried radio chat, and the pilot told me, ‘The other Huey is shooting at a transport plane as well.’

  ‘Press transmit. AWACS, this is ground unit, one Hercules crash landed, second taking fire, where’s the third one, over?’

  ‘AWACS, ground units, third aircraft is circling at 3,000ft, now heading due west.’

  I tapped the co-pilot on the shoulder. ‘Use your night sight, find it!’

  ‘It is faster than us,’ the pilot warned.

  ‘Not at the moment, it’s looking for somewhere to land! Go!’

  The cyclical control was cranked as I observed, and we nosed down as we picked up speed, the co-pilot cautiously glancing down at the hills as much as the sky southwest. I glanced down but could not see anything, a worry, a great worry till I noticed jeeps on the road south.

  ‘I see it!’ the co-pilot shouted. He started to jabber away in Spanish and we altered course.

  ‘It is low and slow, yes,’ the pilot confirmed. ‘It is turning. I think … maybe it goes to the compound.’

  ‘Shit.’ I grabbed my sat phone and called Sasha, urging the click click and dial tone to hurry up.

  ‘Da!’

  ‘Incoming, evacuate the compound now! Run!’

  ‘OK!’ came back.

  Phone away, I readied my rifle, peering out into the dark but not seeing anything above or below till I again caught sight of the south road as a reference point, some traffic on it at this late hour, my heart
racing as I was vibrated by the Huey and air-washed by the cold downdraft.

  Observing that road, we seemed to be turning southwest and climbing, and now I could see lights on in the compound – my mind shouting at the men down there to turn the damn lights off.

  The pilot shouted, ‘Above you, right. It comes lower.’

  I urgently peered out and up, soon seeing the black outline against the low clouds, aiming up and firing whilst worrying about the angle - and hitting the rotor blades.

  ‘Pilot, bank over or we’ll shoot the rotor blades!’

  He banked us, my tap on Rocko’s arm releasing a burst, the white streaks seen reaching out for the plane, sparks seen, soon a flame, but as I looked down at the compound the rippling flashes took my breath away, the flashes too big for RPGs or grenades.

  Rocko kept firing, but it had only been around four seconds before he jammed. Looking up and back, I could see flames in the black night sky, and that aircraft would not be making it back to where it came from.

  ‘Set us down now!’ I shouted as I faced the pilot, and we fell quickly, lights turned on, flying past what was left of the compound and down in the smoke, our rotors pushing that smoke away as we jumped down.

  I ran a few yards bent-double and straightened, my radio switched on. ‘Sasha, you there?’

  ‘Out here, north.’

  ‘Did everyone get out?’

  ‘We have the chef, but I don’t know about the local men.’

  ‘Come back and start searching the rubble.’

  I ran back to the Huey and got the headset on. ‘Wait here, we may have wounded to move.’

  I pointed a young soldier to the fifty cal, to bring it, and ran towards the compound as dark outlines ran in from the side. Torch on, I stepped through the north gate, the smoke wafting, debris everywhere, craters everywhere.

  ‘Mortars,’ Rocko suggested. ‘They dropped mortars, maybe twenty of them.’

  I ran to the front gate, that position often manned by the guards, but I found no entrails up the walls or spread around, soon shouting into wrecked buildings as I used my torch.

  A call in Spanish, and four men walked up the road. They were in shock, wide-eyed, but not hurt, Running Bear and three of his mercs rushing in.

  ‘Anyone hurt?’ Running Bear shouted.

  ‘None found so far,’ I reported, blowing out.

  ‘You were directly overhead of us as you fired on that plane. Lads understand the Captain Crazy Fuck title now.’

  Rada had heard.

  ‘Colonel Crazy Fuck … would be better,’ I told Running Bear, who realised his mistake, laughing it off, Rada too shocked to form a coherent thought right now.

  I put a hand on Rada’s shoulder. ‘I want this place cleaned up by morning.’

  He managed a weak smile as the second Huey loudly came in and landed, its bright lights on. I headed back to the helos around deep holes in the dirt.

  Rizzo met me at the north gate. He enthusiastically and breathlessly gushed out, ‘We damaged that second plane but it landed, on fire, but men got out – we saw them in the flames then fired down at them for five minutes.’

  ‘Well if they come up that hill after all that they deserve to win – and get a fucking big bonus.’

  ‘They’d have to be keen, aye,’ Rizzo noted.

  I made sure we took back the fifty cal and the ammo, the pilots thanked and told they would get a good bonus, and sent off home to bed. Calmer now, I called Carlos.

  ‘How is it going?’ he began.

  ‘We used the helicopters to shoot down a Hercules transport, no one got off. We then damaged another Hercules, which landed on fire. Men got off but were fired at. We damaged the third plane, but not before it destroyed the compound.’

  ‘Men were killed?’ he worried.

  ‘No, they got out in time. No one hurt.’

  ‘Thank god. And the stories about you will be tenfold tomorrow. To shoot down those aircraft – with helicopters. Unbelievable.’

  ‘Talk tomorrow. Oh, how’s the baby?’

  ‘I am feeding the baby now, the doctor is asleep.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ I called Franks via the video porn shop.

  ‘Franks,’ came a man in need of some sleep.

  ‘It’s comrade Petrov. One Hercules shot down, one damaged and forced down - left burning, men out but shot up, final plane on fire and … fuck knows where it is. So someone will have a steep bill to pay in the morning, a very steep bill – Hercules don’t come cheap.’

  ‘I’ll check with AWACS about the last plane. So the attack has been called off I guess?’

  ‘Postponed, because Lobos will try again. Oh, I made contact with AWACS, so smooth it over.’

  ‘What name did you use?’ he worried.

  ‘None, I just identified the three inbound aircraft and they co-operated.’

  ‘I’ll mention it up the line, since we don’t admit to having any ground units there. But you sound British or Canadian.’

  ‘Yep. Bird is the word.’

  ‘What..?’

  Inside the compound, the chef found his kitchen gone, his bed gone, nowhere to sleep. Rada would make some calls and get tents and jeeps, so we could sleep in the jeeps, the jeeps I had stolen all now shredded.

  Franks called back half an hour later. ‘Interesting twist, and there’ll be some loud voices in the morning, but the final aircraft – you said it was on fire?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It crashed at the border, on our side by half a mile or less.’

  ‘If the American mercs were on that one…’

  ‘I have teams on the way, before the screaming starts. Fortunately the FBI team saw it crash, right in front of them, missed them by 400yards, some loud words uttered.’

  Call ended, I stared at the phone for a few seconds, and then called Bob, not waking him - he was up and having breakfast on his balcony in the morning sunshine. ‘Listen, release to some American news agency that US special forces, CIA agents on the Mexico border, shot down three transport aircraft full of Lobos cartel gunmen, on their way to Tucson – a raid. Unnamed source, bribe some people.’

  ‘Is it true?’

  ‘No, I shot them down, but I want to stir the shit. Get on it quickly please.’

  ‘And you killed how many..?’

  ‘Two hundred armed men, on their way to interrupt my sleep and slice me up.’

  ‘I bet that Hedonism hotel is looking good right about now.’

  ‘Actually, yes, yes it is – I’d swap. My abode here was destroyed, so I have a cold dirt floor tonight. Get on Reuters for me. Petrov out.’

  At midday Carlos drove in, his men stepping down and looking at the damage, the compound a write-off.

  I was bleary-eyed when I met him. ‘We had a party last night, place needs sweeping up.’

  ‘More than just sweeping I think.’

  ‘Are the police at the crashed aircraft?’

  ‘Yes, Federales there, many burnt bodies, many wounded men caught and arrested, weapons found in the burnt planes. That Army major survived, but with a leg missing. He will stand trial in Mexico City with his men, the government will make a show of it.’

  ‘He’ll probably be sat during the trial, not standing,’ I quipped.

  ‘And people talk of the great loss to Lobos - I have calls from many, who all now wish to deal with me, Cegali still smelling of pig shit. What will you do next?’

  ‘I might leave, because the authorities will be taking an interest, and the local TV news. We need a quiet area, free of reporters. Can you send the doctor back to Panama when she is well?’

  ‘I will do soon, yes, Tomsk is arranging a clinic for her.’ He straightened and faced me squarely. ‘And this Saturday is National Petrov Day,’ he added with a grin.

  ‘What day is it today?’ I asked.

  ‘Tuesday.’

  ‘Then I may be back in Panama for the celebration. Your young soldiers can take over here, they are good men.’

&nbs
p; With Carlos gone, Running Bear walked in. ‘We’ve been ordered out quietly, be picked up after dark, mother of all media shit storms stateside, President threatening to send tanks across the border here.’

  I feigned ignorance. ‘What the fuck for?’

  ‘News got the intel wrong, said those men in the transports were heading for Tucson – an invasion. One crashed on our side of the border, press all over it, bodies and weapons, a hint that we shot it down, President about to make a statement.’ He sighed. ‘Another quiet and low profile Wilco operation.’

  Smiling, I stepped away as my phone trilled. ‘Da!’

  ‘Deputy Chief. Look, I’m about to get a torch shone up my arse by the White House, so what the hell happened?’

  ‘Lobos sent three transport planes full of armed men, including American mercs. I had a fifty cal mounted on two Hueys so we shot them down as they came in to land. One was damaged as it dropped mortars on my compound, which is now levelled – no one hurt, and it flew off and crashed over the border, probably out of control.’

  ‘Fucking press think they were on their way stateside!’

  ‘They weren’t, but … press speculation like that helps your budget.’

  ‘It does, but we had no permission for men south of the border.’

  ‘Then you tell the President that I was here, a British operation, and ask him not to mention it to the press. Or … you tell him that Petrov from Panama was here.’

  ‘He won’t like the Petrov angle, so we’ll blame you. But after that film about Camel Toe Base the White House will love it. What comes next?’

  ‘I’ll probably pull out, press and Federales are crawling all over, so plan me an extraction north, Chinook maybe.’

  ‘We can land you at a military base, no one will see you.’

  I called in the Russian men after talking with Tomsk, and they would remain a while, training the young soldiers and protecting Carlos – plus protecting this hilltop mound of rubble should anyone wish to damage it further. I told them to enjoy the facilities to some loud and colourful language.