Wilco- Lone Wolf 2

by Geoff Wolak

  Wilco:

  Lone Wolf

  Book 2

  Copyright © Geoff Wolak

  Started January, 2014

  This book is historically very accurate in places, technically correct for the most part, yet it is fiction, really fiction, definitely fiction, and any similarity to real people or real events – although accidental - is probably intentional. Some characters in this book may be based on some of the wankers I have either worked with or unfortunately met over the years.

  www.geoffwolak-writing.com

  SAS selection

  ‘CO is looking for you,’ Corporal Marsh told me as I entered the common room.

  I nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t forget to put a book down the back of your trousers,’ he added as I turned, the other corporals grinning.

  Wondering what the C.O. wanted, and what I was in trouble for now, I placed on my beret and headed along to his room, past the admin open area. Hearing voices in the CO’s room, I knocked on his old wooden door and waited.

  ‘Come in!’

  I turned the handle and entered, a quick glance at green Army uniforms, an instant recognition the rank of major, the face familiar, a warrant officer sat with him. I stopped and saluted the major. ‘Senior office present,’ I quietly noted, since he was senior to my boss.

  The major nodded, a pleasant face, yet seasoned and strong, medium length brown hair that appeared thin and whispy.

  ‘Come in, Wilco, sit down,’ Peters said in calm voice.

  I sat, studying the guests, and I placed the major’s face; SAS. ‘As far as I know, sir, I’ve not damaged any SAS lads,’ I told the major.

  The two guests smiled. ‘Glad to hear it,’ the major said. ‘So, you remembered me then?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Parachute school and ... you wagered a group of soldiers that they couldn’t knock me down.’

  ‘He ... did?’ my C.O. asked.

  ‘I don’t recall doing such a thing,’ the major said with a grin. ‘But then again, I do have a selective memory.’

  ‘How’s Colonel Richards?’ I asked.

  ‘He mentions you often,’ the major answered.

  ‘He didn’t mention I’d get a visit from you, sir, when I saw him a few weeks back.’

  ‘He knows we’re here.’ The major waited.

  ‘Well, Major, over to you,’ my C.O. let out.

  The major faced me squarely. ‘We’d like to borrow you for a while, Wilco, not least for some expedition first aid, and we all know that you are extremely fit, tough, a high IQ, and your medical skills are exemplary, so you’d find yourself assisting us on a three month loan, for things like our team Everest attempt.’

  I nodded. ‘Everest season finishes in just a few short weeks, so ... three months would not take us to the next season. Sir.’

  ‘Well, we have a few other expeditions in mind as well.’

  ‘Major, why don’t you be a love and cut the crap.’

  ‘Wilco!’ my C.O. called.

  The major smiled. ‘It’s OK, he ... is correct of course, I was testing him.’

  ‘You were?’ my C.O. asked.

  ‘So how come you’ve never applied to join us?’ the major asked.

  ‘Well ... let’s see.’ I took in the ceiling. ‘Ah yes.’ I focused on the major. ‘Because I have no desire to spend even more of my time with people wanting to measure their dicks against mine, sir.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, I can see how you may have developed an attitude like that, I’ve read your file, all of it.’

  ‘All of it, sir?’

  ‘All of it, and that took up a week; it’s a very thick file.’ He studied me. ‘You don’t like to compete, you’re saying?’

  ‘I love to compete, sir, especially against the clock, and I love to compete against people, but people ... they don’t so much like me competing with me, and they tend to trip me up, or shoot me.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he agreed. ‘And if you were with us for a while, others would try and compete with you – that’s what you’re saying.’

  ‘Yes, sir, and I’d hit them, and then you’d have to find some more lads.’

  ‘But, in the absence of you hitting them ... do you think that standards would improve if they tried to compete with you, and you taught them QMAR?’

  ‘That what this is about, sir, trying to raise standards?’

  ‘Always, my lad, always. It occupies a great deal of my time.’

  ‘So why have you never applied,’ the warrant officer asked, a pleasant faced man that appeared more like a clerk than a deadly assassin.

  ‘I have nothing to prove to anyone, sir.’

  ‘He’s not a sir,’ my C.O. pointed out.

  ‘Yes he is, he’s an Army Warrant Officer, and they are referred to as sir.’

  The major faced my C.O. and nodded, looking a little embarrassed for Peters.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Peters let out.

  The warrant officer continued, ‘With us, you’d get the chance to do far more courses, all sorts of courses, and you’d get plenty of free time to train, we’re actually never that busy. Are there ... any particular courses that you’d like to attend?’

  There were, many. ‘Yes, sir, there are.’

  ‘We can be accommodating,’ the major pointed out.

  ‘Is it normal ... for you to come and ask, when servicemen are supposed to apply, and then pass selection?’ I asked the major.

  ‘Do you think you’d pass selection?’ he asked.

  ‘In my sleep, sir.’

  ‘Exactly, so why bother?’

  I exchanged a look with Peters.

  ‘Besides, we are allowed to pinch people, specialists such as medics and radio technicians, divers, that sort of thing. It’s been done before.’

  ‘But not very often,’ I pointed out. ‘And if I did not attend selection, then some of your lot would ... whinge, and want a fight.’

  ‘None of our lot would pick a fight with you,’ the warrant officer firmly pointed out. ‘They value their health, bones in place, so don’t worry about that.’

  The major said, ‘We’d have you on loan for three months, then see, and since they all know you already it won’t be a problem.’

  ‘Know me, sir?’

  ‘Your name crops up all the time, most have you down as a role model. They admire you,’ the major added.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Do you think, Wilco,’ the warrant officer began. ‘That you’re utilised fully here?’

  I laughed, Peters staring at me.

  ‘I guess that answers that question,’ the major said, a look at Peters.

  ‘Standing on the front gate is fulfilling, sir,’ I told the major.

  ‘A waste of your talents,’ the major stated.

  ‘I say that often, sir.’ I faced Peters. ‘Would I be released, sir, leaving the base unguarded of a cold wet evening?’

  ‘It would have to go through channels, but as the rules go, we cannot stop an enlisted man from applying to the SAS.’

  ‘As soon as you apply we grant acceptance,’ the major said.

  ‘And I would be ... with a squadron, normal training and rotations, or an oddity?’

  ‘You’d be with my squadron, “D” Squadron, Mobility Troop, under my careful gaze, and you’d have to do the basics, standard operating procedures. I hear you’re good with a gun though.’

  ‘Yes, sir, lots of practice here, teaching the RAF staff.’

  ‘Small unit tactics will be something you will have never covered, things like that.’

  ‘How many did you lose in the Gulf, sir?’

  ‘Only five, we’re not desperate for warm bodies, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Not sure what I am thinking, sir, I’m
still looking for the real reason you’re here.’

  ‘You have a sharp mind,’ the major noted. ‘Well, we can chat about my motives at length, when you arrive, and if you arrive.’

  I sighed. ‘I’d need two weeks to put my affairs in order here, sir.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes then,’ the major said with a smile as he stood, and I followed him up. ‘Forms are on the desk ready, all filled out, you simply have to sign.’

  That made me smirk; they had even typed the details ready before they came over. I signed three forms, Peters looking a little put out, and the major took one and folded it before pocketing it.

  The major put out a hand to shake. ‘Welcome to the team.’

  I shook his hand. ‘I hope your oversight of me, sir, is as stress free as it has been for Flight Lieutenant Peters here.’

  They laughed, Peters not amused. Putting their berets on, I walked them out, the rest of the gang wondering what I was doing with them. I saluted and waved them off.

  Inside, the gang asked if I had applied to join the SAS.

  ‘Applied, and accepted, I leave in two weeks.’

  They were most put out, but also glad to see the back of me.

  Sergeant Foster came and found me later in the armoury; I was still helping out. ‘You’ve applied for the SAS?’ He seemed angry and hurt.

  I took a moment. ‘Applied, no, accepted ... yes. They came and seconded me.’

  ‘Can they do that?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Yep. So, two weeks and I’m off.’

  He seemed hurt by my decision. ‘You know what they’re like.’

  ‘I know what sweeping the floor here is like.’ I stared back at him. ‘Do I want to be a gunner to retirement, shit jobs around here?’

  ‘I heard that,’ Bongo said. ‘What’s wrong with the armoury?’

  ‘Working with you,’ I told him.

  ‘Oh, right, I’ll just shut up then.’

  ‘They’ll trip you up,’ Foster insisted.

  ‘Yeah, none of that going on around here!’

  ‘So you’re going ... to be gone from here, not because you want to be there.’

  I made a face and shrugged. ‘I was a week away from buying myself out.’

  ‘Fed up?’ Foster quietly asked.

  ‘Fucking fed up. Thought about the Army, maybe something overseas. It’s them ... or nothing.’

  He nodded slowly, adopting a slow resigned nod and a sigh. ‘Curry on the weekend, last one.’

  ‘I’ll come back and visit.’

  ‘You see that guy Rizzo, you deck him for me.’

  I nodded. ‘I will.’

  Word spread, and people asked all sorts of silly questions, Air Traffic Control’s quiz team gutted, the base commander summoning me.

  I knocked his door and entered when called, stamping to attention and saluting.

  ‘Sit down, Wilco.’ I sat, and he faced me, taking a moment. ‘So, we’re losing you.’

  ‘I was a week away from buying myself out anyway, sir.’

  ‘Oh. I ... didn’t think you were quite that fed up?’

  I raised an eyebrow and waited.

  ‘OK, it’s not been easy for you.’

  ‘They’ll never promote me, and I’ll be on guard duty or a driver till retirement, sir. I’ve rattled too many cages.’

  ‘Well, yes. Still, blame lies with the system.’

  ‘They’re people, sir, and the system is misshapen on a daily basis by human emotions, and petty jealousy. Being in uniform does not remove base human emotions, sir.’

  ‘True, but the uniform should force a certain standard of thought.’

  ‘It does, in some cases, not in others, and my notoriety is too great, sir. People want to have a go because I’m famous.’

  ‘And do you think you’ll fit in with the SAS?’

  ‘If I don’t, then quitting them is very quick, and then ... there’s a big wide world out there, sir.’

  That evening I phoned Kate at home.

  ‘Hello?’ she answered, and I was hesitant.

  ‘It’s Wilco.’

  ‘I haven’t been at the red wine yet, it’s early,’ she teased.

  I laughed. ‘Listen, week after next I’m shipping out of Brize Norton for the SAS, Hereford.’

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘They came and asked nicely.’

  ‘Oh. Well, you’ll be even closer then.’ She paused. ‘Are you ... looking for some danger and adventure in far off places?’

  ‘No, I’m looking for something other than standing guard duty.’

  ‘I keep telling you that you’re wasted there.’

  ‘You do, over and over actually.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. When will I see you?’

  ‘Let me settle in and get a flat in Hereford, see what courses they have for me.’

  ‘Tomorrow night I have dinner party, not your sort of people, but once they’re gone I’ll be tipsy. Say ... 11pm?’

  I sighed. ‘I’ll see you at 11pm then.’ Placing down the phone, I decided that I needed more will power.

  That weekend I drove to see my parents, but went straight next door and asked if Richards would be visiting his kid. He would, that evening. Later I got a knock on the door and welcomed him in, two cans of beer opened before we stood in the garden.

  ‘You accepted, I hear,’ he began.

  ‘Why didn’t you call me, sir?’

  ‘Not my choice, Major Bradley wanted to approach you.’ He paused. I waited. ‘Sometimes, when I consider you joining, I see ... myself at your age, and the trouble I had.’

  I looked away. ‘I know, sir, I figured as much. But the truth is ... I was looking to quit the RAF and go off and do something else, maybe first aid for some remote logging company up the jungle.’

  ‘You were fed up?’

  ‘Been fed up for five years, sir,’ I quipped.

  He nodded.

  ‘Anything I don’t know, sir, that I should know?’ I pressed.

  He made a face. ‘Bradley approached me, and we spoke about you; you’re famous after all.’ He smiled. ‘I said that I had no objections to him approaching you, but I figured you’d not come.’

  I stared down the garden. ‘The RAF officers all encourage me, but the stigma never goes. I’d be on guard duty till I’m kicked out at forty years old.’

  ‘A waste, yes.’

  I smiled widely. ‘You’ll regret the paper work I create for you, sir. I find trouble very easily.’

  He smiled back. ‘I hope not.’

  ‘How long before I’m stood before you on a charge. I’ll bet fifty quid on three weeks.’

  ‘Try ... if you can, to just go with the flow, eh.’

  ‘I always do, sir, but others ... they just won’t leave me alone, you know that.’

  ‘Well, if someone gives you shit, you tell me, and I’ll deal with them.’

  ‘I’ll get shit from the get go just for knowing you, sir.’

  ‘Maybe, but they fear you and respect you already, and that’s damned unusual in itself. Many have seen you boxing.’

  ‘And this three months crap, sir?’

  ‘Saw through that, did you. I said you would. From next week you’re a fully fledged member, no time limit, but quitting is easy, we never keep people who want to quit, they’re often gone the same day.’

  ‘That’s the best part of the deal, sir,’ I said with a cheeky grin, getting back a look.

  First day at school

  I drove to Hereford the following Sunday, after chatting to them on the phone, and the duty officer would have a key to a room on the base, a new happy home. I found the base easily enough, a map from Foster, and I remembered it from my two visits with Colonel Richards.

  I pulled up next to the policeman on duty. ‘Gunner Milton, RAF, I’m expected.’

  ‘Who?’

  A trooper approached from the gate. ‘Wilco, you trouble maker.’

  ‘Wilco?’ the copper repeated. ‘Why didn’t you
say?’

  ‘Because that’s not my pigging name, is it.’

  ‘Milton, eh?’

  They opened the gate for me, directions given. I passed a flag pole and the HQ brick building, grass playing fields, some single story wooden huts, more single story wooden hunts, a few dated hangars, and found the accommodation eventually.

  The outer door was unlocked, the key to my nominated room worked, and I lugged my civilian kit inside, peering through a window at a line of very tall thin trees, a railway line beyond and then a distant hill. On tip toes I could see the helicopter sheds and the apron.

  I could hear a radio on, so someone else was at home. I moved my car back to where they said to leave it, and walked back. In my Spartan green-grey room, the radiators warm, I unpacked some of the basics.

  The base canteen did not often function on the weekend, and there was no NAAFI shop on the small base, so I headed out and got a bag of chips. Queuing up, a man seemed to be staring at me.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ I asked him.

  ‘You Wilco?’

  ‘I am, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I share a flat with Smurf. I’m Bob.’ He was about 5’11’, well built, and he looked the part.

  ‘Ah...’ I let out, shaking his hand. ‘I’m on the base till I get one sorted.’

  ‘You looking to share?’

  ‘Hell no. I want to take a bird back, loud sex all night long.’

  The girl serving smiled at me, and I winked at her, causing her to blush.

  ‘I heard about your ... taste for the ladies, from Smurf. Thought you went for lady officers.’

  ‘That’s just a vicious rumour, as well as a court martial offence.’

  Outside, fish and chips in hand, he drove me the short way to their flat.

  ‘Wilco!’ Smurf boomed as he opened the door.

  I got him in a headlock as I entered, and we soon had the chips laid out on their kitchen table, ketchup applied, stories about The Programme recalled. Bob was not his real name, but everyone called him Bob, and I couldn’t remember Smurf’s real name.

  Sat on their crappy sofa, they opened cans of lager. I faced Bob. ‘Do any of the guys think it odd that I never did selection?’