by Geoff Wolak
Finding another barrel, I fired three rounds, unsure if I hit anyone, then turned and ran. At the turn in the road, beyond which the boy scouts would be located, I moved south for twenty yards but could not see or hear any movement, figuring that the recruits had quite sensibly legged it south.
With that amount of incoming fire, they’d have to be crazy not to. I started off down the track, soon getting to the edge of the dark tunnel.
I froze. Someone ran across the track, right at the far end. I quickly got down and got into a comfortable firing position. My sights were set to six hundred, I remembered, this guy was at three hundred; aim low. I could see an outline, some movement. I fired. Nothing. Had I hit him?
Someone else ran across the path, stopping and kneeling down, ending up right in my cross hairs. I fired and knocked him flying. Beyond him, at six hundred yards, I could just make out a line of men. I aimed at the tops of their chests and squeezed off ten rounds, making out several people now lying down. I fired off till the magazine clicked empty, soon lifting a fresh magazine and discarding the old one.
Aiming again at six hundred, down the dark tunnel, I spread it around a bit, a whole magazine spent before lifting up and ducking into the trees, slapping in a new magazine as I returned to the patrol den.
‘It’s Wilco, don’t shoot, coming in from the south.’
I found the men covered in dust and leaves.
‘Well?’ Tyler asked me, sat phone in hand.
‘They won’t be approaching for a while, sir, and I had a go at the snipers north of us, got two I reckon. We’ve got a few hours to play with.’
‘How many did you hit?’ Tyler asked me.
‘Got to be close to eighty,’ I reported, and they exchanged looks. ‘Stupid fucks were all lined up like toy soldiers, then when they ducked down they thought I couldn’t hit them beyond five hundred yards; they were just walking about like they were bullet proof. They won’t be coming in anytime soon, they must think there are a dozen snipers in here. ’
‘So we could make it to nightfall,’ Tyler realised.
‘And it looks like rain,’ I added. ‘So it’ll get dark well before sun down.’
Taffy laughed, and we looked at him as if he was mad.
He said, ‘I’d love to hear the radio chatter, aye. Sorry, sir, advanced called off, some cunt called Wilco spoilt our day, so we’re bringing back the packed lunch.’
I smiled unseen behind my mask, Tyler managing a nervous smile, even Tabby.
‘Do you think you can find a gap?’ Tyler asked me.
‘When that rain hits, maybe. Soldiers are crap in the rain; no one likes to get shot when it’s raining. I’ll get back out there and keep an eye out.’ I paused. ‘What did the Major say?’
Tyler took a moment. ‘We discussed a possible air strike, but they don’t want lots of casualties, we’re supposed to be being stealthy and unseen.’
‘Aye,’ Taffy put in. ‘Wilco just shot up their parade, but for him that was being stealthy.’
‘Do we have orders?’ I asked, a glance at Tabby.
‘Our orders are to withdraw as best as possible, as quietly as possible,’ Tyler informed me. ‘At least ... those were the orders before they knew we were here.’
‘And now?’ I pressed.
‘Now ... now we get out any way we can.’
‘When it’s dark and raining,’ Tabby insisted.
‘I’ll go see what they’re doing.’ I halted and turned back to Tyler. ‘How’s that desk job looking now, sir?’
He didn’t answer, an uneasy glance exchanged with Tabby.
The sat phone went, and Tyler answered it. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘We checked directly with Intel, and they fucked up big time. They had that movement towards you at 2am this morning and failed to pass it on.’
‘That explains things a little, sir, but doesn’t help us much. Any reason behind the movement?’
‘Not so far. How’s it your end?’
‘Wilco opened up on them, and now they are backing off.’
‘Did he do that with Tabby’s consent?’
‘Yes, sir, and I confirmed the order. Otherwise, they would have simply walked right up to us. This way, they are seven hundred yards down the slope.’
‘You couldn’t find a way out quietly?’
‘Wilco said no, no gaps, and he went right around the perimeter.’
‘If Wilco says no way out, then I’d be worried. What’ll you do?’
‘We’re planning on waiting for it to rain, or to get dark, then try and sneak out, but they know we’re here now, and I guess they’re a little mad, but at least they won’t come close in daylight, Wilco hurt them badly.’
‘How many did Wilco hit?’
‘Eighty.’
‘Eighty!’
‘They were lined up as if on parade apparently, and Wilco tore into them.’
‘Jesus. So much for being fucking stealthy.’
‘There’s something else, sir. Wilco, and some of the lads, they ... are definitely not keen to surrender or be captured. Wilco, he won’t surrender, even if I ordered it.’
‘No? Well, they’ll not be too sweet with you, no Geneva Convention, but we could negotiate with them for you if it came to that.’
‘Most of the lads are insistent, since Wilco explained what they do to prisoners.’
Bradley took a moment. ‘Did Wilco go off on one?’
‘No, sir, he asked for permission and opinions before he did anything, and I can understand him not wanting to surrender, the thought terrifies me given what they do to the Muslims.’
‘Yes, well, still ... you may get out alive from a prison cell.’
‘After a year or two.’
‘Well ... yes, maybe. Wouldn’t be pleasant, no. Easy for me to give advice from the safe end of the phone.’
Tyler looked up as the whistling sound increased.
I was thirty yards away and dived between two logs.
Bradley held the phone from his ear as the blast registered.
I lifted up, shaking my head, suddenly in a silent world, knocked back down by a large branch. Getting the branch off me, I lifted up to see leaves fluttering down, a strange mist hanging between the trees.
Five, there had been five loud thumps. I grabbed my rifle and ran, still in a silent world, darting between the trees, most now robbed of their leaves, running on a soft bed of leaves and twigs and jumping over fallen branches.
Soon I came to trees on their sides, and I could not find the path back to the patrol den. I guessed the direction, and ran, things looking very different now.
I stopped to look down at a face looking up at me; Bob, but just a head, no body. It turned my stomach, my silent world rocked, and I felt sick. I ran on. The den was gone, just a large hole, the logs torn open and thrown around. I found a set of webbing covered in blood, a rifle, a boot with a leg attached.
Movement.
I ran across to a body, soon pulling branches off it, dropping my rifle. Tyler. He was missing an arm and a leg, a hole in his abdomen, still holding the sat phone, the Captain now staring out of focus, blood pumping freely.
Kneeling, I just stared at him, and at his broken body, and I thought of Sue. Not knowing why, I pinched my nose and blew, a experiencing a popping feeling as if I had been underwater. The sounds of the wind in the trees returned, as did Tyler’s moans.
I considered first aid, then discounted that, there was no point. I took out a morphine vial and injected him in the neck. It was the least I could do.
He turned his eyes towards me, and I opened his fingers, prising out the sat phone, and sat down against a tree stump. Sounds chirped from the phone, so I lifted it. ‘Hello?’
‘Tyler?’
‘No, it’s Wilco.’
‘Wilco, it’s Major Bradley, what just happened?’
I was dazed. Turning my head, I took in the hole; six feet deep, ten feet wide, fresh light brown soil revealed. ‘Artillery, sir, five round
s,’ I found myself saying.
‘Wounded?’
‘They’re all dead, sir.’
There was a long pause. ‘Captain Tyler?’
‘An arm gone, a leg gone, hole in his gut. He has a few seconds left.’
‘Is there anything you can do, Wilco?’
‘No, sir, his time has passed.’
‘The others?’
‘I found a head, a foot.’ I paused. ‘Shell landed right in the patrol den, sir.’ There was a long pause. ‘What are your orders, sir?’
‘Wilco, sneak out of there. You can do it, Wilco, I know you can. Sneak out!’
‘Sorry, sir, surrounded. Be hard.’ My ears popped again, and the world returned to me as I watched Tyler’s head slump, my lungs full of cordite.
‘Sir?’ I called, still sat staring at Tyler.
‘Yes?’
I stared up at the ghostly fog as it lingered between the trees. ‘I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for me since I joined, and I don’t blame you, and I don’t blame Colonel Richards, and I don’t blame the Regiment or the MOD. I knew what I was doing, sir, and ... and I won’t be leaving this wood. Goodbye, sir.’
I dropped the phone, and was about to ease up when the whistling came again. I managed to get my hands to my ears and to open my mouth, and to dive down. Five thumps hit the ground, shaking me, but they were each at least a hundred yards away. Still, it was like being kicked in the chest five times.
Bradley heard the artillery, and screamed my name several times, people in nearby offices looking to see what was up. With only silence answering him, he dropped the phone, picked up a thin metal chair and smashed the window of the SSM’s office, making the SSM dive for cover. In a fit of rage he turned his attention to the old metal cabinets, kicking the crap out if them.
Captain Harris ran in, about to restrain the major. ‘Sir!’
Bradley collapsed into a chair and held his face in his hands, Harris sitting next to him, faces peering through the glass, the SSM lifting up.
‘Sir? What is it, sir?’ Harris pressed.
Bradley rubbed his faced, and without looking up softly answered, ‘Wilco’s patrol, they’ve ... they’ve been wiped out.’
‘Wiped ... out, sir?’
In a shaky voice, he softly explained, ‘Artillery killed everyone bar Wilco, and while ... while I was on the phone to Wilco ... he ... he was hit by incoming rounds.’
‘Jesus.’
Bradley lifted up, suddenly angered, and he opened the hatch to the Intel Section. ‘Wilco’s patrol are all dead, dead thanks to shit Intel from you wankers!’
‘That’s hardly fair, sir,’ Harris risked. ‘They got it late.’
Bradley kicked a flimsy chair away, opened a drawer, and despite the hour he sipped a Brandy.
The SSM stepped cautiously in. ‘Sir?’
Harris faced the SSM. ‘Wilco’s patrol, they ... they’ve all been killed.’
‘Oh hell.’
‘Would you ... make the announcement,’ Bradley asked the SSM, no energy in his voice.
The SSM glanced at Captain Harris, nodded, and stepped out. Everyone was already gathered, and staring up, wondering just what the hell was going on. ‘Your attention please.’ He waited. ‘Wilco’s patrol, as far as we can ascertain, consisting of Wilco, Captain Tyler, Tabby, Bob, Mickey and Taffy, have all been killed.’
Rizzo turned to Smurf, both shocked.
The SSM added, ‘If you could all keep it down for a while, we’d appreciate it.’
‘Was it the intel?’ someone asked, and Rizzo wondered what was going on.
The SSM stared down at the lads. ‘Intel picked up a large force moving on Wilco’s patrol at 2am, but that never got through to us, or to the lads in the field. They ... apparently were surrounded by several companies of Serbs, hundreds of men.’
Rizzo kicked over a chair and walked outside, followed closely behind by Smurf as the men slumped into chairs, all a bit stunned.
‘Colonel Richards.’
‘It’s Major Bradley, sir.’
‘What news?’
‘They ... they’re all dead.’
There was a long silence. ‘Are you certain?’
‘I was on the phone to Tyler when the artillery came in, landed right on them. Wilco was further away, he survived the initial salvo, and reported the patrol blown to bits, arms and legs lying around, and Tyler with a leg and an arm missing. As I was on the phone to Wilco when another salvo hit, and then just silence at the other end. No further contact. Sat phone answers, so it’s working, not destroyed.’
After a long silence, Richards said, ‘The intel was fucked up?’
‘Yes, sir, we got it late.’
‘There’ll be an enquiry, I’ll make sure of that. In the meantime, we ... well, do we notify the next of kin, with no bodies or confirmation? Wilco could be wounded. And breathing.’
‘Wilco said they were all dead, and that I trust. But yes, confirmation will be ... difficult, their bodies may never be found.’
‘Then I’ll post them all as missing presumed killed, and handle it that way, get the chaplain down and the police. I’ll ... I’ll have to face Wilco’s parents myself.’
‘I spoke to him, sir, just before it -’ Bradley’s voice was breaking. ‘- happened, and you know what the little shit said to me.’
‘What?’ Richards puzzled.
‘He told me that he didn’t blame me, or you or the Regiment, and then he thanked me for all I had done for him. The little shit thanked me, knowing what he faced.’
‘He was a good man, right to the end, but he suffered a turbulent career path.’
‘Morale is at rock bottom.’
‘I may rotate you and your people, this will affect them, not least a desire for revenge. Rizzo might go off on one.’
‘That is a real possibility, sir.’
I stood staring at the make-do grave. I had put Tyler in his poncho, and dragged him the short way to the hole. I found his leg, his arm, and placed them in, along with two other arms, two heads and two legs, some webbing and three rifles.
Because of the deep cone-shape of the hole it was easy to kick the dirt in and cover it over with leaves and branches. The dogs might find it, but they would also find the small body parts, some of which I could see hanging from the trees.
Staring at the gravesite, minutes passed, and no further artillery fell, still a few rounds pinging off the trees above me. Turning, I considered my options, and if there was anything to consider; they would be coming, and any chance for surrender had passed. They would be mad as hell and would shoot me on sight.
Ambling slowly up towards the path I noticed webbing, and I knelt down. It was Mickey’s, and I pinched all his magazines, Russian standard 7.62mm. If nothing else, I was now well-stocked.
Easing up, I considered the boy scouts, and I wondered if they had left any kit behind. I turned south, not sure of what I was doing, or why. Crossing the bend in the track, I peered down the dark tunnel, not seeing any movement. Moving slowly, quietly and stealthily, I approached the previous camp, smoke still lifting from the fires.
Not surprisingly they had run away, but they had left some kit behind, stoves, as well as tents. I found two weapons and four sets of webbing, so they’d have to explain the kit losses to their superiors at some point.
Easing off my own webbing, I filled the rear pouches with magazines, ten in total, and used the overflow bag to retain even more, now carrying some thirty magazines and looking bit pregnant.
I paused to consider looking for my Bergen, then considered that it had probably been blown to pieces, so I plodded on slowly south, finding a trail of discarded kit. At the edge of the woods I found the boy scouts stood lined up at two hundred yards down the slope, two seemingly wounded – maybe from stray rounds.
What were my options, I considered. They were not much of a threat to me, but still, they could come back into the woods and open fire. I stared dispassionately at them for a
minute, lifted my rifle, selected automatic and emptied the magazine into their neat line.
Kneeling, I ducked behind a tree and reloaded, light sporadic fire peppering the trees around me. Easing around the tree, I emptied a second magazine at them as they lay down, crawled or ran, hitting many before I turned away north, a few of the boy scouts returning fire as I walked off.
Back at the bend in the road I stopped to consider again if I could get out of here. On three sides lay open ground, hundreds of men, then fields and a river, and to the north was the forest – just the small matter of the professional snipers.
I turned down the track towards the dark forest, and once into the tunnel I turned left into the dark forest itself. Ten yards inside and it was dark as night, but I could see out, so being in here could work, I could give them the run around for days.
The whistling sound caused me to slam down, to drop my rifle in a very unprofessional manner and to cover my ears. Five thumps registered through the ground, and when I lifted up I realised that just hanging around would be life threatening by itself.
Edging back towards the track, the smoke from the artillery pinned the shells as having landed at the south end. Someone had reported my engagement with the boy scouts, and six or seven minutes later the artillery came in. I now had a timeframe to work to.
The second salvo took me by surprise, but got down in time. Then nothing. I waited ten minutes and checked my watch. No more incoming shells.
I had an idea.
I ran to the south east, not back towards the boy scout camp, and weaved through the trees, coming to the edge of the woods. And there, walking, limping or being carried, were the boy scouts heading east. My thought process did not take long, and I emptied a magazine into the biggest group, turning on a heel and running back to the deep dark wood.
On time, the forest erupted, but I was snug behind many thick logs. This time it took just five minutes, the second salvo two minutes behind, and I could picture the men reloading the artillery pieces. They were being predictable. I was not sure how that helped me, but I at least I now knew.
