Wilco- Lone Wolf 2

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Problem?’ the Colonel asked.

  ‘Friday night I bumped into Swifty’s new lady, they’ve been dating a few weeks. She said she was an accountant in Chepstow, which begged the question as to what she was doing in Riyadh last year in bad company.’

  They exchanged a look.

  ‘What did you do?’ Richards asked me.

  ‘I made it clear to her that I recognised her, that he didn’t, and that she should scamper before I tore her head off.’

  ‘Did she go quietly?’ the Major asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll deal with it,’ the Colonel suggested, looking none too happy.

  ‘Could I expect someone to snuggle up to me?’ I asked.

  ‘You’d see through them,’ the Major suggested.

  ‘Still, if they have someone, I mean really good looking...’ I said with a smirk as I saluted.

  A day later, and Bob Staines turned up at the gym as I sat eating.

  ‘Don’t you have a phone?’ I asked him.

  ‘This gets me out of London for a night. Nice hotel.’

  ‘You’re here about the lady spy.’

  He nodded. ‘You recognised her, from Riyadh?’

  I nodded as I ate.

  ‘She said that she never met you.’

  ‘I never forget a pretty face, and I was suspicious of her over there, followed her at one point.’

  ‘You did? Well, she ... needs to tighten up a bit. You’re a big ugly lump, easy to spot.’

  I smiled as I ate. ‘Did I ruin some operation?’

  ‘Just routine, and Swifty could expect more in the future I suppose.’

  ‘The price to be paid for dealing with you lot; he has to shag some nice bird.’ I shook my head. ‘What bastards you are.’

  He smiled. ‘Does he know?’

  ‘Yes, because I trust him more than you. Next time, warn me.’

  ‘There’s not much chance of that. Anyhow, how’re you settling in?’

  ‘Fine. Picking up skills as I go, I’ll soon be able to shoot straight.’

  ‘And ... if we wanted to borrow you?’

  I took a moment as I chewed. ‘I’d say come back in six months, when I’ve acquired some skills.’

  ‘You have the skills needed already. Should I take that six months seriously?’

  ‘At least six months, and then ... maybe never. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.’

  That following week I got plenty of range practice in, using a variety of weapons, and Crab worked me hard, a great deal of practice at getting down and firing, jumping up and firing, spinning around and firing every which way. I liked the AKM with a pipe sight, and spent hours on the pop-up targets, soon hitting the 200yard targets in two seconds. Crab was impressed with my progress.

  Each session would finish around 3pm, but when I got back I would spend an hour or two stripping and cleaning weapons, and then practising more speed cleaning, my fingers sore.

  The lochs and the glens

  A small-team exercise was due, Rizzo heading it up, and the Major asked if I wanted to attend - since he heard Rizzo and I were now talking. With us would be Smurf and Bob.

  It was a five day exercise in Scotland, in the West Highlands, and a Chinook picked us up at the base a few days later, a Chinook from 7 Squadron, and their pilots needed to practise with us because in a time of war they would be our pilots for difficult and dangerous inserts. Sergeant Crab was coming along as referee, to make sure that we arrived at certain places at certain times. He would have a Land Rover to use, we’d be on foot, full kit, M16’s with blank firing attachments and blank rounds.

  The weather forecast was mixed, and in the Western Highlands that was as good as it got, but that first day the weather was OK. The pilots used the opportunity to fly down Welsh valleys at low level and at high speed – making me nervous and, once we had flown north from Anglesey, they flew low level and high speed down Scottish valleys – making me even more nervous, finally dropping the four of us in a remote glen, taking Crab to a nearby base.

  With the sounds of the Chinook resonating down the valley as it disappeared, we lifted on our heavy Bergens, checked weapons, and Rizzo led us off to the tree line. There he handed me a map and compass.

  ‘You’ve not done this one before, so you’ll lead the patrol – and map read. Got your pad?’

  I took out my small notepad, wrapped in plastic, and Rizzo read out the instructions. We were to move to a theoretical RV and meet a local resistance unit, and they would give us the next set of coordinates. Caution was to be used, local inhabitants avoided.

  I checked the coordinates on the map whilst knelt down, the gang in all round defence, and got my bearings. It was a steep sided valley, so it was not too hard. There was a house or cottage on the route, I would have to avoid it, and we had two hours to make the RV, some six miles.

  Covering such a distance, even with full kit, was easy enough, but we could not use roads or tracks, and I led the gang off through the woods, and to the north side of the valley.

  ‘Why this way?’ Rizzo asked after ten minutes.

  ‘There’s a cottage and a junction on this side, a wood behind them, so some cover. Across the valley there’s no cover, so unless it gets dark quickly, or rains heavily, we’d be exposed.’

  ‘It’s more than six hundred metres across the valley.’

  ‘I can see that far, so maybe the local farmer can too.’

  ‘Your call.’

  I led them up the side of the loch at a brisk pace, and kept above the tree line, ready to make use of it if need be. At one point I got down and hid, so did the lads, a Land Rover seen on the road in the distance. Moving on, and warming up from the exertion, I made use of a track with a nice stone wall to hide behind, and we made good time to the cottage.

  Cautioning the lads about stealth, we slowed as we passed over the back of the cottage, the trees hiding us, and made it past without seeing anyone. Clear of the cottage I picked up the pace, and we finally dropped down to a low stone bridge, where we all hid. Checking my watch, I eased out and waited for the Land Rover – the local resistance in the guise of Sergeant Crab, and he arrived on time.

  I kept my M16 ready, checked the area carefully and approached, covered by Rizzo and the lads. Crab gave me a slip of paper and drove off.

  Ducking back down, I checked the coordinates, and realised that it was a twelve mile trek, and most likely it would be dark by time we got there. I briefed the lads, showed them the map, listed the topographical features and said, ‘If some of us are killed or lost, those are the coordinates to head for if separated.’

  It started raining as we moved off, the day darkening, and we crossed to the south side of the valley, running across an old stone bridge one at a time, defensive positions taken up. Soon squelching through a bog, I led the patrol up to a track I had seen on the map, a third of the way up the hill. From there we had a view down, and the going was easier.

  Marching along that track, I realised that ‘this was it’: a four man SAS patrol, heavily laden, the weather shit. This was the real stuff.

  When a jeep was seen we knelt down, the rain helping to hide us, otherwise we pushed on at a good pace. An hour short of the RV, and having made good time, I led them into a dark wood.

  ‘Get a brew on, use the toilet, you have twenty-five minutes.’

  ‘Got the time?’ Rizzo asked.

  ‘Yes. We’d be early otherwise and sat around, risk of being exposed.’

  He made a face, but then made a brew as I stood guard, and I spooned out corned beef from a tin, Smurf sharing his tea with me. Moving off, the guys felt warmer, and now had some food inside them, and we made good time through misty rain and a head wind.

  A hundred yards short of the RV we dropped backpacks and hid them, moving off cautiously and slowly through thick heather into a wood, skirting the lower edge of the wood.

  I stopped and froze, the lads getting down. Facing the wind, I could smell cigarette smoke.
I pointed in that direction, a chopping signal, and led the guys through the trees. Halting them behind a thick clump of trees, I took ten minutes to ease around and sneak up on Sergeant Crab, getting to within six feet.

  ‘Psssttt!’

  He jumped, making me smile. ‘You zee local resistance, no?’ I said in a silly accent.

  ‘RV is up there, and not for fifteen minutes,’ he complained.

  ‘Could meet you there then if you like.’

  He handed over a slip of paper, and I disappeared into the woods, collecting the lads before we moved quietly out of the woods, all round observation, and back to the Bergens. There I studied the map.

  Looking at the valley, I realised that we had to trek up and over a saddle formation in the hill, but I was cautious about doing that in the dark. Still, we were supposed to be tough. There was enough time to get some sleep, but that sleep could be before or after the hill was climbed, and we could not wait till dawn, at which time the weather could be even worse.

  ‘OK, guys, there’s a hill to go up and over, and it will be dark soon. We can do that hill now, or we can get some rest and do it early, but either way it will be dark and wet, we can’t wait for daylight. Opinions?’

  Smurf said, ‘I feel fit now, so do it now, rest later.’ Bob agreed.

  ‘Rizzo?’

  ‘I ain’t supposed to comment.’

  ‘If this was a real war situation, everyone would have an opinion, and the patrol leader should listen. So, you have an opinion.’

  He made a face. ‘I’d go now, rest later.’

  ‘OK then, follow me.’ We stood. ‘And lads, on the hill, if it gets very wet, stay close together, slow and steady, no broken legs.’

  I led them off at a good pace whilst we had the use of a track, but that track soon headed down the valley whilst we wanted to go diagonal, and we were soon slowing down, thick heather and soft mud to negotiate.

  At the right spot I halted them, and took in the valley opposite, a twist in the river just visible and giving me my marker. I turned up the slope, and we plodded slowly, the wind picking up, the rain ever present, the darkness creeping on.

  There was no track, and there were very few features, but so long as we were climbing we were roughly on the right course. A slow hour and a very hard slog brought us to the top, the wind hitting us front on, everyone wet, our boots soaked. I checked behind me often to make sure that I had three dark objects on a grey-brown background.

  Cresting the summit I found a track and used it, and it led in generally the right direction. The lads stayed tight, nothing said unless it was complaint about the weather, and we slowly descended, our speed terrible, but in these conditions we could not move quickly without serious risk to ankles.

  Three hours after starting our trek I led them into a wood, then decided against it and kept going, since the wood was a bit obvious, just a small square in the middle of the heather. Finding the remains of a stone wall, I told the lads to use ponchos to make hides, and to get a brew on, four hours rest.

  Rizzo would be with me, his poncho tied down by stones, my poncho underneath, and we used our Bergens to make walls.

  ‘Smurf, first stag, one hour, then Bob, then Rizzo, then me. Guy on stag stays close, and stays awake.’

  I got my metal tin out and lit up the hexamine, the wind howling. With a brew inside me, a tin of corned beef finished off, I swapped my socks for dry ones, Rizzo leaning back, folding his arms and closing his eyes.

  I couldn’t sleep, and when the rain and wind eased up I stood outside for a while. Bob found me awake, and passed over the stag, and I let Rizzo sleep.

  At dawn, the sky clearing, I stood with a brew in hand, the guys stirring, a gentle spider-web mist hanging around the trees, and out from the trees walked a huge Stag, his horns stood proud. He sniffed the air as he advanced, then stopped to sum me up for a minute before he turned and climbed the hill, a final look back – his eyes bulging. He left me with a smile on my face.

  After the guys had all taken a piss we tore down the ponchos and packed them up, and I told them to check the area for footprints and to hide any traces of us. Bergens on, bodies stiff, we headed down to the RV, a circuitous route that avoided a direct approach, another bridge over a river. We hid the Bergens and edged along the river bent double, taking our time, soon lying in thick heather, watching the time.

  When the jeep pulled up I ran forwards with Rizzo, and he covered me as I approached Sergeant Crab.

  ‘Any injuries?’ he asked me, looking like he had a bit too much to drink last night.

  ‘No, Sarge.’

  ‘Right, next RV, and there you’ll meet a chopper, being dropped off ten miles away. After that, it’s back to the start point, but you have to note anything of interest along the way.’

  ‘I got close to a Stag at dawn,’ I offered.

  ‘Bridges, dams, etc.’ He drove off.

  I hid till he was gone, we backtracked in cover formation, and at the Bergens I checked the map. ‘OK, we have ... about six miles, three hours, but we’ll need to zig-zag to avoid people.’ I detailed the RV, terrain and obstacles, visual references, and off we plodded, one cold foot in front of the other, soon picking up the pace and warming up as we progressed.

  We made the RV with ten minutes to spare, and knelt at the edge of a field, awaiting the chopper. It was ten minutes late, a Puma helicopter, and after touching down we walked across to it, easing off Bergens whilst sat on the edge. We clambered in under the careful control of the crewman and lifted off, nose down as we picked up speed, the ground rushing by.

  Ten minutes in, and having banked down a steep valley, we climbed up and over a ridge, our stomachs in our mouths for a moment, the Puma then dropping.

  A loud bang was followed by a clank, everyone looking up, the helicopter developing a wicked shake, and I was momentarily terrified of crashing - and of burning alive. I moved without thinking, a reflex action - like a drowning man, grabbing the door and opening it, a roar and a blast of wind as I pushed the heavy door forwards, the crewman startled by my action and trying to stop me. I hit his helmet with an open palm, knocking him back, and turned to Smurf – who was now staring wide eyed at me.

  ‘Open your door!’

  Rizzo got the idea and knelt next to me as Smurf fumbled to open his door, a wicked breeze soon blowing through the cabin. Looking down, the ground was coming up quickly, and we had to be travelling at eighty miles an hour, about to hit a ridge. But I waited.

  We just cleared the ridge, shaking and rattling, and descended towards a small lake. I grabbed Rizzo tightly under the arm, and shouted to Smurf, ‘When I go, you go!’

  The pilot was trying to keep the nose up, the crewman terrified and peeking out the front windows, and I was waiting for the right moment, judging where we would fall given our forward speed. I knew we would hit the water hard, but not as hard as the cliff face we were now heading towards.

  ‘Now!’ I shouted, and shoved Rizzo out as I pushed hard, and soon we were flying sideways over black water. Rizzo put his arms over his head and braced, and I copied, and we hit the water on our sides at speed.

  Dazed, I could feel the freezing cold water around my face and neck, and opening my eyes I could see light above me through murky brown water, soon desperately swimming for that light, yet tangled by something. I pushed down with a boot and cleared the surface, soon realising that I was in four feet of water. Rizzo was face down and moving, so I lifted him up, a loud burst of air from his lungs as he cleared the water. He soon realised that he could touch the bottom.

  A sound from behind, and I turned to see Smurf swimming, yet coughing and hacking, Bob struggling. I swam over to Bob, just ten yards, and helped him to the shallow water, the three of us scrambling through the murky water and the underwater obstacles, getting to the shore and flopping onto the soft and bouncy heather.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Smurf let out, coughing. ‘We jumped.’

  He started laughing, Bob joining i
n before myself and Rizzo, and we hugged as if we had survived some epic event.

  ‘OK,’ I said, standing. ‘We need to get going before we get hypothermic. Fuck knows where we are.’

  ‘There’s a sign,’ Smurf said, Bob still coughing. ‘National Park Trail.’

  ‘Well that’s handy. C’mon.’ I lifted Bob and dragged him up the bank and towards the sign, which led off to the left, skirting around the cliff face.

  Rizzo stopped and looked up, creating a pool of water around his feet. ‘Did the chopper hit the cliff?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Must have gone left and missed it.’

  Joining the path, I put Bob down on a bench. ‘Where does it hurt?’ I asked him.

  ‘Hip, left side.’

  I checked it. ‘No internal bleeding, it’s not broken, just bruised, maybe some tendon damage. C’mon.’ I lifted him up, and we headed off down the track, dripping and squelching as we progressed, no signs of a road or any houses nearby, not for a mile or more at least.

  The SSM stepped into the Major’s office, Colonel Richards in with him. He stopped and took in their faces. ‘Contact has been lost with the chopper that picked up Wilco’s patrol. They think it went down.’

  We were cold, damned cold, and it started to rain, but I kept pushing them on, following the track. After an hour we found a road, and that we followed, still no signs of life, Bob hurting a bit as we progressed, Smurf still coughing. If the nearest house was ten miles away we’d be in trouble.

  Plodding on through the rain, we climbed a rise, heavily wooded on both sides.

  ‘Should we make a shelter?’ Smurf asked.

  ‘Got any matches? Got a knife?’ I asked. Our kit was on the helicopter.

  Heads down, we plodded on, slow progress because of Bob, but cresting the rise we could see a house in the distance, its lights on.

  ‘OK, Bob, on my back,’ I said, and gave him a lift at a good steady pace. ‘And guys, play up the injuries eh, we could get a couple of days off.’

  ‘At least,’ Smurf said.