by Geoff Wolak
The Major made a face and stared past me.
Bob added, ‘There is a large French contingent already here, if they’re of any use. They have jeeps, and are used to the terrain’.
I squared up to Bob. ‘If the French could have done it ... they would have, there are French hostages as well. Problem is ... every villager is a spy, every policeman here on the make, and as soon as you drive down a road there are eyes on you.’
The Major faced me. ‘There would be eyes on you as well!’
‘Depends on the way in, sir. There were eyes on us in Somalia, but we buried them.’
‘You seen the map?’ the Major asked me.
‘Yes, sir, and there are villages in many places, but there is a route in, and I think we could go unseen and unheard.’
‘Not by chopper?’
I took a moment. ‘Would you sanction a parachute drop?’
‘A drop, and a dozen broken ankles!’ the Major loudly stated.
‘How about this: two choppers ten minutes apart, 800ft, looking like a recon. We drop from the first, group, any wounded picked up by the second, and if there’re lots of wounded we abort and go back on the second chopper. If we make it down ... then we make it down.’
He again made a face. ‘That could work. They wouldn’t suspect a drop from a helicopter.’
‘Have chutes brought over, sir, just to be ready, but carefully hidden inside locked boxes, not labelled up. In fact, you could fly them to Lanzarote, then by helo to Ark Royal, and no fucker here will see them. Lanzarote is just forty miles off the coast of Western Sahara, a hundred miles from where we stand, twenty miles from Ark Royal.’
‘That close?’ the Major puzzled, and I nodded. ‘OK, I’ll make an urgent call.’
‘Bob, D-Notice the flight and kit,’ I suggested, and he took out a sat phone as the Major walked inside.
Back inside, I collected my team, leading them into the sun, and we formed a circle.
‘What we discuss next you don’t discuss with anyone else, not the lads, not yet, these local fuckers have eyes everywhere.’ I took in their faces as they squinted. ‘Politicians are now shitting themselves that we may fuck it all up, they’re one step away from pulling the plug and making this job off the books.’
‘Wankers,’ Rizzo let out. ‘Same old bollocks. Do the job right and we’re heroes, slip up and it’s buried.’
I nodded at him with an apologetic look. ‘So ... I have a plan, and that is ... that the MOD sneaks parachutes down to Lanzarote and across to Ark Royal with no fucker around here seeing them. Then ... we go on a chopper, and jump into an isolated spot, another chopper ten minutes behind us. If anyone breaks a leg they get picked up, if several do we abort, ride out.’ I waited.
‘Straight forward enough,’ Rocko said. ‘If the drop goes wrong we pull out.’
‘Suck it and see,’ Rizzo commented.
I added, ‘We would do a close recon and report, decision would be at the political level probably, much faffing about. But ... if things went wrong, be us lot against a hundred of them on their home turf, a long walk out – but Ark Royal has choppers for an extraction. Problem is, I got a feeling that the tub will be pulled out in a few days.’
‘And if it is?’ Captain Moran asked.
‘We could walk in and out, hoping not to be spotted,’ I answered. ‘Same as Somalia, bit further to walk, but there is a route that is free of villages.’
‘We were lucky in Somalia,’ Swifty cautioned.
‘Yes,’ I said with a sigh. ‘And we’ll need some luck here, because we have no idea where the hostages are, or if they’re split into two locations. So it’s a recon, and the closer we get the better the chance of discovery – then a fight.’
Later that day we were informed by our hosts that there was a rarely-used shooting range on the base, a 500yard range, and that we could make use of it any time. With a jeep available, I had my team kit-up ready as if they were off on the mission itself, and with the Major’s permission we relocated to the range, ponchos rigged up by bleached and dried white branches, hides made, a latrine dug, a happy home made.
In bright sunlight we made use of the range to zero weapons, some of the other lads driving over and zeroing their weapons, but when they left at sundown my team remained, a two man stag set-up. I walked down the range and set fresh targets, Rizzo soon sat on a chair at 300yards with a torch.
I tasked Slider and Rocko first, to try and get close to Rizzo and fire at the targets without being seen or heard, and to take up to an hour to do so. Gloves on, facemasks on, they set off as the rest of us sat about a fire, rations cooked.
Rizzo walked back with Slider and Rocko an hour later and plonked down, water sipped.
‘How’d they do?’ I asked Rizzo.
‘Quiet enough, didn’t see or hear them till the first shot, thirty yards from me,’ Rizzo explained. ‘And then the fire positions were well hidden, couldn’t see the muzzle flashes, so ... yeah, good sneaky bastards.’
I handed Smurf the torch and sent him off, Swifty and Captain Moran up next. They returned about an hour later, Smurf complaining that the first shot almost took his ear off. But he did admit that they got close unseen, making us laugh at him.
Halting for the night, I checked the stag order and we got comfy, the temperature dropping.
Up before dawn, we cooked rations in good spirits, then jogged around to the hangar in time for morning orders and update briefings. Not much had changed, none figuring it would.
After the briefing, Bob and the Major came to me. ‘What you up to out there?’ the Major asked. ‘Thought we heard firing during the night.’
‘The team is acclimatising, sir, getting used to sleeping in the sand, and I put a man at 300yards with a torch, the rest trying in turn to sneak up on him and hit a target beyond him.’
‘Excellent work,’ the Major commended. ‘Rest are playing cards, so tonight I’ll send some over, some on the range today, you work them hard.’
‘Will do, sir. Any word on the parachutes?’’
Bob said, ‘They’re on Lanzarote as we speak, awaiting helo pickup, locked boxes.’
‘And how long will Ark Royal hang around?’ I pressed.
Bob made a face. ‘Week or ten days, I’d say. No longer. But the French have helicopters.’
‘And their movements are closely followed,’ I scorned, the Major nodding. ‘As soon as the chutes are there we should go, sir, before our helo extraction sails off into the sunset. I don’t want the lives of the lads to rely on a French extraction.’
Again the Major nodded. ‘I sometimes have doubts, Wilco, but when you explained what you were doing on the range over there I was reminded who the true professional soldier is here. I drive a desk, you hug the sand, and you know the risks and weigh them up – your own life on the line. And I know you’d not risk the lads, all good mates of yours. When we have the chutes you drive off, get picked up on the coast and board Ark Royal, then it’s a recon job.’
My team was soon back on the sand after a jog back, and I sent off pairs to speed march around the perimeter track, pairs on the range, the SSM coming out with Boat Troop and putting them through their paces on the range.
At sundown we were sat eating, a fire going, when a jeep came around to us, the Major in it. He jumped down as we stood. ‘Dawn at the coast,’ he simply stated. ‘You have everything you need?’
‘This kit is fine, sir, limited by the chutes, but grab us some rations and water bottles, in a bag for a separate drop, spare ammo all bound up in sacking.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll sort that now, and just us know about this, the lads think you’ll go to Ark Royal for drills and practice or some bollocks. Pick you up around 2am.’
‘Bring some ammo over, sir, say ... twenty mags, separate to the bag for the drop.’
He handed me two sat phones. ‘Bob had these for you, test them.’
‘Will do, sir, I was wondering what we would use. You at the other end?’
‘Has to go through duty officer in Hereford I think, someone said there was no direct calls on them, or some bollocks,’ he said as he mounted up.
As he drove off I faced the lads. ‘Get some food and rest, we leave at 2am as you heard.’ I slouched down and turned the sat phone on, handing the other to Captain Moran.
‘Sir, put in 0044 then the base number.’
‘If ... I knew the base number off by heart,’ he quipped.
‘You’ll need to by morning, sir,’ I insisted, and I wrote it down for him. I dialled.
‘Duty officer.’
‘It’s Wilco, testing my sat phone, sir. How’s the weather there?’
‘Not too bad today. How is it there?’
‘Warm in the day, but not that hot, just pleasant. Wilco out.’
Captain Moran dialled, and got the same duty officer, a short chat and off. We were set.
At 2am we were stood ready in the dark, yellow perimeter wire lights for company, all itching to get going, the truck’s lights seen as it drove around to us. We jumped into the rear, helping each other, and off we set with a local soldier, a worry because he could have sold us out. Still, our weapons were loaded and ready, and we were alert. Opening a bag, I handed out ammo, and we topped up from a plastic water bottle, drinking the rest of it.
A long two hours later we hit the coast, halting at an army base, but they were not expecting us, an hour spent with our driver trying to sort things out before they let us through and to the helipad. And there we waited as our driver headed off, unfriendly local military police for company.
Just before dawn two Sea Kings appeared, so we were in the right spot, and they each took four of us and our kit, a black ocean seen below, a long thirty minute flight out to Ark Royal, a smooth touchdown, the engines dying and the rotors winding down.
Running bent double we headed to a hatch – and a man waving us over, a Royal Marines Captain on closer inspection. He shook Captain Moran’s hand and led us inside and below, our boxes locked, and no one had a key – or had thought to ask, large bolt cutters used to unlock them as we shook our heads.
The chutes and reserves were inspected by Rocko and Moran, the experts, and laid out in a line ready, a few spares. There was just the small problem that they were not static line chutes.
‘We make do,’ I said.
Helmets were taken out and laid in a line as well before myself and Captain Moran were led to a briefing room, coffee offered.
We both saluted the ship’s captain, the man in a white shirt with gold shoulder flashes. He took a moment to study me. ‘So you’re him, you’re Wilco.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Please explain to me why you’re going to jump, instead of we just put you safely down – no broken ankles.’
‘Locals would report that in a heartbeat, sir. This way your flyby looks like recon, or a French re-supply flight, and they’re common. Any helo setting down is reported to the bad boys, sir.’
He slowly nodded, making a face. ‘And the second helo will pick you up if you abort.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Moran answered.
‘And ... medivac later on?’
‘Sir?’ Moran nudged. ‘Do you have orders to sail?’
‘We have a time frame, yes, and that is not unlimited.’
Moran glanced at me.
I said, ‘We need three to four days max, sir.’
‘That we can accommodate, but longer could be an issue. There are ... also plenty of French helicopters.’
‘This is a British operation, sir,’ Moran began. ‘And the French are closely observed by the locals.’
I stiffened and focused on the ship’s Captain. ‘Would be unfortunate, sir, if you sailed off whilst British soldiers lay dying in the sand.’
He also stiffened. ‘Be a fucking outcry, thanks for being so rude as to try and fucking blackmail us!’
‘Sir, since I’m the one likely to be left bleeding in the sand ... you’re welcome.’
He smiled. ‘Cheeky sod. And in Somalia you used French boats and subs and helicopters...’
‘We did, sir, but they were not embedded with locals and in daily contact with those same locals. Here the French are closely watched. But ... we’re not ruling out the French, it’s just that we’d prefer your lads, who we trust 100%’
The Captain added, ‘Our Sea King pilots have never dropped anyone on a static line before.’
‘We’ll not use static lines, sir, we’ll jump and pull.’
‘Well, that makes it easier I suppose, and I suppose that you know what you’re doing, so our part is easy enough, so long as any extraction is not done under fire.’
‘You have Marines on board, sir,’ I pointed out. ‘They are trained for extractions under fire.’
‘Depends on the definition of under fire,’ he firmly pointed out. ‘We expect an honest appraisal of your situation at the time.’
‘Do you have sat phones here, sir?’ I asked.
‘We have lots of sat Comms.’
‘Then we need a number to call, sir, and to test it before we depart.’
The Captain glanced at an officer and nodded. ‘We’ll sort that.’
An idea hit me. ‘Sir, you have an air-strike ability...’
‘Yes...’ he queried. ‘But no permission to carry out such a strike.’
‘I’ll make a call, sir, and see if it would be possible for you to make a loud noise, a distraction for us at a key moment. You wouldn’t be required to hit anything, in fact ... we’d love you not to. Hit a wide open space.’
‘Just make a big bang.’ He nodded. ‘Would keep the pilots sharp, but if they suffer a mechanical fault and go down ... we’re back to Marines in helicopters.’
‘As I said, sir, I’ll make a call to our MOD handlers, it’s their show, we just follow orders.’
The ship’s Captain focused on Moran. ‘And do you give Wilco orders? It seems not.’
‘I do, sir, I set direction and handle logistics and planning,’ Moran said defensively. ‘But Wilco has ... fame and connections, and if he calls the MOD ... things get done. I have no doubt that he could have this ship turned around.’
The ship’s Captain cocked an indignant eyebrow. ‘An enlisted man with such influence seems ... very wrong somehow.’
I was slowly getting irate. ‘In Somali, sir,’ I began, ‘I got the Prime Minister a result. If we had screwed it up we would have been labelled as ex-soldiers and mercenaries, but we got it right and so were acknowledged. A lack of fuck-ups ... is what the government wants from me, so I am trying to plan this with that pressure in mind.
‘If this is a disaster, me and my men will have shallow graves in the desert, no recognition, and it will not be labelled as an official SAS operation. If it goes off well, the PM will gladly acknowledge it. Is that how your days are planned out? Sir.’
He took a long moment. Quietly, he said, ‘No, I don’t have that hanging over me. Don’t know why you do it, or how you sleep at night with such snakes for political paymasters.’
‘Soldiers always want to be with their mates, they fight for their mates not Queen and Country, it’s the camaraderie mostly, but not for me – I fight for Queen and Country, up for a commission. I want the hostages back, the bad boys dead, and that’s also what the MOD wants. We’re on the same page, and their attitude to success makes me smile – I don’t lose sleep over it, sir. They are what they are.’
‘And Bosnia?’ the Marines captain nudged.
I took a moment, a look exchanged with Moran. ‘They threw nine hundred men at me, I killed three hundred.’
They exchanged astonished looks.
‘Was that ... under orders?’ the ship’s Captain asked, seemingly as if he knew something.
‘No, sir, that was ... simply me trying to stay alive when those around me wanted to rob me of that desire.’
‘You certainly talk and think like an officer,’ the ship’s Captain noted. ‘I’ve met SAS before, in the Falklands, a
right bunch.’
I smiled. ‘They are, sir, but my team are handpicked and good lads, one a serving Marine. Captain Moran here was also handpicked, because for an officer he is better than most of our men.’
Moran glanced at me, then at the ship’s Captain. ‘Wilco endorsed me and asked for me, and that swung my application to the SAS. I’ve been a troop captain for ... five days.’
‘Five days?’ the ship’s Captain repeated. ‘And you’re going on a mission like this?’
‘He was selected for a reason, sir,’ I told the Ship’s captain, and I pointed at the Marines captain. ‘You’re aware of my test scenario in Brecon.’
‘Yes.’
‘Captain Moran here holds the highest score to date,’ I lied.
‘That’s no easy task,’ the Marines captain admitted.
‘And he has many years hard soldiering in the Paras behind him, action in Northern Ireland. He has my utmost confidence.’
‘Well ... get some rest, some food, and tell us what you need, but we have orders from the Joint Intel Committee and the Admiralty, so long as your requests are in line with what we expect.’
‘Will do, sir,’ Captain Moran offered, and we saluted and stepped out, the Marines captain following. He wanted to meet Slider.
I stood on the quiet deck and got a call in to the base, who put me through to the Major after a few clicks and some waiting.
‘Hello?’ came the Major’s voice.
‘It’s Wilco, sir, we’re aboard Ark Royal, set for a drop tonight. But I’d like you to ask Bob Staines to be a bit cheeky, and to see if Ark Royal’s Harriers can’t be used to make a big bang in the desert at the right time.’
‘I forgot she has warplanes. Yes, we’ll make some calls, would be a loud diversion.’
‘Sir, if you press #21 you should get my number popping up, so you can dial it back - hopefully. Make a note of the number, sir.’
‘Will do.’
‘Wilco out.’
We got a meal courtesy of the Navy, then all bedded down to a quiet background hum of the engines. At 4pm I was awake and I washed as the lads stirred, an ensign coming down to inform me that there had been a call on my sat phone – the phone left on the bridge under a piece of paper labelled as SAS. He led me up and I saluted the captain when I glimpsed him.
