Wilco- Lone Wolf 2

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Many believe that anyhow,’ he said.

  ‘I hid, I ran, and I tried to sneak out, sir, even gave one of their men first aid,’ I lied. ‘I’m good, sir, but not that good. And take a look at the mess of me. Could I fight much with these wounds for four days? Most of the last two days I was sleeping, or hidden, sneaking out north at night.’

  ‘You seem keen to ... labour that point,’ he noted.

  ‘Five good men died, sir, and to be labelled as some sort of hero after what happened would be wrong.’

  He nodded. ‘Indeed.’ He took a moment. ‘I’ll be frank. It was an embarrassment to think that some of ours had engaged the Serbs that way but, given the recent escalation and the massacres by the Serbs, we’re now more at war than being peace keepers anyhow, and -’ He glanced at Colonel Bennet. ‘- those that desired to question your motives for fighting on are being silenced rapidly.’

  ‘I know there is a question hanging about ... about us surrendering, sir, but take a look at my body. If we had surrendered I would have been in a worse mess than this, and in a shallow grave somewhere. Those questioning that decision can parachute into a Serb area and judge the quality of care they receive.’

  He nodded again. ‘Indeed. Easy to be brave ... from behind a desk in a warm office.’ He took a moment. ‘Did you really amputate your own testicle?’

  ‘Had to, sir, it was the size of an apple and black with gangrene.’

  He screwed up his face. ‘Ouch.’

  Colonel Bennet asked. ‘How on earth did you make contact with one of our agents?’

  ‘I came across an execution of villagers. I observed a few being killed, the women raped, then decided I couldn’t ignore it, so I opened fire on the Serbs. Those I rescued were resistance fighters, and they took me to the agent.’

  ‘A lucky break, my lad, but I guess they were grateful.’

  ‘Had I got there half an hour later they’d all be rotting corpses, sir.’

  Dennet said, ‘The detail of that story was confirmed by Intel in London. You saved five.’

  ‘Pity I could not have saved more, sir. But if the SAS are not on the ground, such things go unpunished.’

  He nodded, thinking. ‘That they do. Anyhow, you get well. And I still have that cartoon on my wall.’

  ‘Good luck with the pen pushing, sir,’ I told him, causing a smile as he led his staff out.

  Bennet closed in. ‘How much of that was true?’

  I made a face. ‘I shot three hundred Serbs, but I’ll never admit to it.’

  ‘And the real reason for not surrendering?’

  ‘I don’t think I wanted revenge for the lads, I just didn’t want to be in a prison - theirs or ours, although I think the treatment would definitely be better in ours, sir.’

  ‘Yes, quite. Beer and curry, TV, the works.’

  ‘Are those shits still questioning what I did, and why?’

  ‘There were ... dissenting voices, embarrassed politicians but, as the story unfolds, they realise that they got it wrong, and that you and the SAS are blameless. So ... it was case of blaming the wolf till the wolf came in and turned out to be a lamb.’

  ‘Thanks for coming over, sir, it could have been tricky.’

  ‘My lad, you’ve made my career, and this is another chapter in my memoirs.’

  I laughed. ‘Leave a few things out, sir.’

  He studied me. ‘Was it ... hell out there?’

  I nodded as best I could. ‘I finished off the wounded without a blink of remorse, and I killed people without knowing why. At some point, because of the fatigue and the injuries, I became a robot.’

  ‘Three days without sleep, constant stress, fatigue and hunger, wounded ... so would anyone, my lad.’

  ‘Considered turning the rifle on myself more than once, and when that artillery kept coming in – I understand shell shock now, sir, and I pity those lads in the First World War, at the front for years. I couldn’t have done it.’

  ‘Well, you have a few more experiences to add to your character, a new dimension to you personality. Will you ... stay with the military?’

  ‘If I get better, and if they let me, then .... yes, I probably will.’

  ‘Well, any problems and you let me know.’

  ‘Kate is pregnant.’

  ‘Oh hell. Lady officer was court martialled for that last year.’

  ‘She don’t care, she can make ten times as much in Civvy Street.’

  ‘I’ll do some research, prepare some notes, just in case. Be an interesting case no doubt. Still, worst they can do is dismiss her, they won’t risk sending a pregnant lady to prison for 90 days – media would crucify them!’

  They operated on me later that day, and I came around the next morning, now feeling worse than yesterday, Kate fussing around and organising people as only she could. I felt sick for 24hrs, and they had a gap between operations, but then decided to fly me back and check me head to toe in an MRI scanner.

  They asked if I wanted to be conscious for the trip, which made little sense to me, but I finally opted for being out since the pain was getting stronger; it felt like my skin was on fire much of the time.

  I woke up in St. Barts, London, and a few hours later I was poked, prodded and studied by the best people Kate could organise – which seemed to be all of them, the room full of warm bodies. The MRI revealed a small amount of fluid on the brain, but it was debatable whether to wait, or to drill a small hole and ease the pressure. I suggested waiting a few days.

  The scans found a few tiny fragments that had been missed, and several were removed with a local anaesthetic, a few splinters located and removed.

  My parents turned up the next day with Colonel Richards, and after half an hour of silly questions and fussing my parents headed back to their hotel room. They would be catching a show tonight, as well as seeing their sick son in hospital, which made me smile.

  ‘So ... progress is quite good,’ Richards said as he sat, pinching some of my grapes.

  I lifted my bandaged arms and studied them. ‘Kate thinks so, but it doesn’t matter, so long as she gets a paper out of my injuries and recovery.’

  ‘If she pushes you ... then that’s not a bad thing.’

  ‘Right thing for the wrong reasons,’ I said. ‘You still getting shit over what I did?’

  ‘It’s gone full circle, and now the dissenters have gone and those praising us are in the majority, another tale of an heroic deed by one of ours – great for recruitment and reputation; I’ve never been more popular at dinner parties.’

  I smiled widely. ‘Glad to know I’m helping you out on the circuit, sir.’

  ‘There’s a cartoon, done by some officer in HQ Command, Bosnia. If has you sat cooking breakfast in the woods, a thousand Serbs around you, and you point a finger at them and say: I’m having breakfast, now fuck off, or else!’

  I smiled. ‘Probably the same officer who did the first cartoon over there.’

  ‘Well there’s no one left in the Army who doesn’t know your name, at least your nickname. Rest has been kept out of the press, save detail of five soldiers being killed.’

  ‘Pity about Tyler,’ I reflected. ‘Not looking forward to seeing his girlfriend. Any chance of getting the body back, sir?’

  ‘Not at the moment, but the Red Cross are in negotiations. I guess that the Serbs want to clean up that area a bit first.’

  ‘They levelled it with artillery, sir, Red Cross will see that.’

  He nodded, still attacking my grapes. ‘That chap Johnny Bristol rang the base, getting the phone number somehow, wanting to know how you are?’

  ‘I’ll call him back when I can, keep them sweet in the province.’

  He took a moment. ‘There’ll be no squadron debrief, should you return to fitness or otherwise, it has been classified, and ... there’ll be a debrief with senior officers.’

  ‘Do I tell them the truth?’

  He chewed a grape. ‘Did anyone screw up?’

  ‘On t
he patrol, no. Just Intel; we were surrounded before we knew it.’

  ‘Did Tabby post a watch?’

  ‘He did, at the hide, not at the edge of the woods. On my stag I wandered around, but that’s not normal routine.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘And did Tabby and Captain Tyler clash?’

  ‘No, but neither had any firm ideas about what to do. Tyler did suggest surrender as the only alternative, but I was dead set against that – possibly for my own personal reasons, and my comments may have influenced the others.’

  He considered that. ‘They have a poor record with prisoners, and they massacre civilian women and children, so I doubt anyone will have an issue with that.’

  ‘And you, sir?’

  He regarded me carefully. ‘A year in some prison, and at least we’d have you all back. We’ve had people captured before, and we often get them back – as in the Gulf. But ... they could have killed you all and denied everything, so ... it was a risk either way.’ He swallowed a grape. ‘Did you ... get angry at them?’

  ‘At times, but I was more concerned with staying alive than with striking back. Still, I made a point of sneaking up on them when they were bunched up and then opening up on them, when I could have hid, so ... you could say I took it to them. I’d often seen them bunched up at 600 yards and I would fire high, and I could see that I was knocking them down.’

  ‘Best not put that in the debrief.’

  ‘On the third day I was on automatic, finished off wounded without a second thought, killed when I could have walked away, opened up on road convoys, fired at people from a distance. It was as if ... as if my mind was telling me that to stop the pain I needed to kill them, lots of them.’

  ‘How many did you kill?’

  ‘Got to be three hundred or more.’

  ‘Leave that figure out of the debrief as well. Be vague.’

  ‘They killed a few of their own, dropped artillery in on them, and I got a few patrols firing at each other through the dark.’

  ‘Well, your reputation was good before, but now you could get a free drink any anywhere.’ He paused. ‘It will make things difficult for you, should you return. It was bad before, and the IRA could still be an issue, but now ... now it may be difficult for you to function.’

  ‘You sound ... as though you could do without that headache?’

  ‘I won’t lie to you, troopers are supposed to be stealthy and unknown, not have their details in the papers.’

  ‘Perhaps I could just get a job in recruitment then,’ I quipped.

  ‘Do you ... want to return to us?’

  ‘At the moment my mind is a bit blank, and I’m pissing through a tube, so from where I’m lying ... it seems a long way off. Do you ... want me back?’

  ‘A part of me would prefer the notoriety to go away, and part of me is conscious of the fact that how the Army treats you will be under close scrutiny. You’re still with us until dismissed, and a medical discharge has not been made, and your Kate is talking up your chances of returning to full fitness. I don’t wish to seem ungrateful -’

  ‘I told you I’d create a lot of paperwork for you.’

  He smiled. ‘You did, yes.’ He chewed a grape. ‘There is “E” Squadron.’

  ‘I figured that was why Major Bradley was nudged to come get me all along.’

  He nodded to himself. ‘We’d have to get you a lower profile.’

  ‘Yeah, good luck with that. I have a way of finding trouble.’

  He smiled. ‘More of a hope that a practicality. Still, we’ll see what happens after a few weeks of peace and quiet. Oh, the Yanks photographed that wood, low level shots, high quality, I think General Dennet has them. We requested a copy.’

  I had to endure two additional operations to remove shrapnel near my spine, and the woozy feeling from the anaesthetic was getting to me. With my appendix wound meeting their requirements, they blocked the bladder tube and asked me to pee normally after putting me in a wheelchair. An hour later, and after a pint of water, I peed normally, no pain but some discomfort, and Kate informed me that I’d get a plastic testicle the next day. At least I would look normal, and if anyone kicked me it would not hurt so much.

  Three days later, and with no more operations due, I was started on basic physiotherapy, more to test my ability to move than to encourage my muscles to move. Everything ached, and each muscle movement felt as if a piece of wire inside the muscle was a bit too short, and stretching the muscle caused pain. It would take time.

  A week later, and with the forms signed and witnessed by Colonel Bennet, I was on my way to Cheltenham and to the research facility, soon reclaiming my old room, most of the staff familiar – and they welcomed me like family, which was a much needed boost. My arms and legs still displayed bandages or simple pads, my head covered and with a bicycle-style helmet.

  Smurf was back on rotation, and he turned up that first evening, so we sat in a familiar lounge with mugs of tea.

  ‘Can you get some of my stuff from the flat?’ I asked him.

  ‘Sure, got the key?’

  ‘With the RSM, ask him.’

  Smurf nodded. ‘Odd, my flat is, without Bob. I packed his stuff up and dropped it at the base, but they had already taken a few private things back for his parents. There’s a new guy, small like me, and a runner, and he’s looking to share so I told him yes.’

  ‘Bit lonely by yourself after sharing,’ I noted. ‘Any action in Bosnia?’

  ‘No more patrols like yours, but we rescued a downed pilot, no shots fired, but someone took pot-shots at the pigging factory so we have a sniper rotation on top.’ He smiled. ‘Round came through the window, through Intel Section, through the Major’s office, through to the SSM and smashed his kettle. Right pissed off he was.’

  I smiled widely. ‘Seems like a long time ago that I was there.’

  ‘Rizzo shot a rat, and we use the indoor range now and then, but the lads are down a bit, we lost six men. Four lads from Boat Troop are over. Oh, rest of your kit there was brought back here, and your rifle. SSM says he’ll bill you for the loss of the pistol and the Bergen.’

  I smiled. ‘Tell him to fuck off.’

  ‘You started on the treadmill?’ he asked.

  ‘Only just stopped pissing through a tube, and everything hurts, but all the medical stuff is out the way, a few check-ups. I’m not supposed to exert myself yet, stomach needs time to heal. Well, everything needs time, but I’ll walk on the treadmill tomorrow, keep Kate happy.’

  ‘You and her, you still ... you know?’

  I lifted my eyebrows. ‘Not in this state, no. Besides, she’s pregnant.’

  ‘Pregnant? Yours?’

  ‘Who else is she shagging?’ I asked.

  ‘You ... getting married or something?’ he puzzled.

  ‘No, dope. She’s an officer, and she could be court martialled as it stands.’

  ‘Then ... what’ll you do?’

  I shrugged. ‘Visit now and then. I’ll worry about that when I get this crap off my head.’

  Smurf stayed till they asked him to fuck off home, and it was good to see him, his presence – especially here – was very welcome, and it helped to settle me; I was the only inmate at the moment and it felt odd.

  The next morning I walked slowly on a treadmill – dressed in a robe and soft white slippers, and when Kate noticed she asked me to record the distance and time, how it felt, what was hurting. I behaved like a good patient, and after thirty minutes I wrote everything down.

  A nurse took my vitals morning, noon and night, as well as a daily blood sample and stool sample, urine collected in a familiar routine.

  Smurf returned that afternoon with some extra clothes for me, gym kit and trainers, my spare wash bag full of bits - I needed a shave, as well as books for me to read, language student video tapes. He then informed me that there was an armed MP outside, so I had Smurf fetch the guy in and I got the kettle on. The MP was a corporal - that was normal, and he looked fit and toug
h, a bushy moustache.

  ‘I’m Wilco,’ I said, shaking his hand.

  ‘I know, that’s why I’m here,’ he said. ‘Corporal Dennis.’

  ‘That a nickname?’ I asked.

  ‘No, my surname.’

  We sat.

  ‘No one told me you were here,’ I began. ‘What’s your brief?’

  ‘I got six weeks here, weekends off on rotation, another guy on at night. They still think the IRA could be an issue.’

  I nodded, none too concerned, but upon reflection - this place had no high fences. ‘Doubt they know I’m here, and killing two police officers got them lots of shit. I doubt they’ll try anything.’

  ‘You got shot in Bosnia I heard.’

  ‘That all you heard?’

  ‘So far. Are you allowed to say what happened?’

  ‘Not really, but I got shot, stabbed, blown-up, bitten and ... shot some more.’

  ‘Why ain’t you in a regular hospital?’ he puzzled before sipping his tea. ‘You’re all bandaged up and looking like shit.’

  ‘All of the operations have finished, just a matter of time and healing and check-ups, so I’m starting back on some gentle exercise.’

  Smurf said, ‘Lady doctor thinks he can be as good as he was before.’

  ‘You almost won the London Marathon,’ Dennis noted.

  ‘Almost ... twice,’ I quipped. ‘And that seems like a hundred years ago.’ I faced Smurf. ‘Is Rizzo back?’

  ‘This week, I think? But he has some course to do.’

  ‘Get him to pop in. Or I’ll kick the crap out of him.’

  With Smurf gone and Dennis on patrol, I got back on the treadmill and walked again, which worked up an appetite, so I stuffed down a huge omelette made especially for me. I needed a quick kip, and so lay on a bed in the centre for half an hour, but when up I felt OK – at least less bad, and so walked again, this time for an hour, not telling Kate how much it ached.

  For the evening meal I had steak, potatoes and greens, plus the usual vitamins to choke down, my intestine protesting the volume of food. After another quick nap I again tackled an hour on the treadmill, but now in my gym kit and not in a white robe, and before bed I downed a few Anadin tablets to thin my blood, as well as a glass of red wine that Kate supplied.