Wilco- Lone Wolf 7

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Just before dawn,’ Liban informed our DOD guest, the naval officers obviously subservient to the two DOD chaps. Running Bear and his sergeant were hanging back, sat now in a corner, green-painted M4s slung, pistols strapped to thighs, green webbing on green jungle-stripe combats.

  ‘And who has operational control?’

  I cut in, ‘Since you’re here, you do, and also the blame if it’s a fuck up.’

  Liban laughed, our guests not amused.

  ‘I was informed that you ... have operation control on the ground here,’ he told me. ‘In fact, I was told that would be the case even when the major in charge of the Deltas arrives – and that Paris agrees it.’

  ‘Just a shift of blame,’ I quipped. ‘Not like I know what I’m doing.’

  Liban smiled at our guests.

  The DOD man told Liban, ‘Colonel of yours on the way down.’

  ‘Ah, then we shine our shoes, no.’

  ‘What do I call you?’ I finally asked him.

  ‘Tucker. This is Dick.’

  ‘Well, Tucker, if there are American hostages around here ... detail them for us. If we find some at dawn ... they’ll be back here an hour later for your debrief.’

  ‘We were led to believe London is waiting intel on American hostages here.’

  ‘Yes, waiting and hopeful, and they have been accurate in the past. But in the meantime, if you have a list, maybe we could speed things up.’

  He regarded me coolly. ‘Over the past ten years we’ve lost thirty six American citizens in Liberia, twelve in Sierra Leone, thirty six in neighbouring states – so it’s a long list.’

  ‘Anyone who went missing more than six months ago is probably dead,’ I told him.

  He nodded. ‘We think so.’

  ‘Back in a sec.’ I stepped out and found the sergeant. ‘Camp beds for our guests from your lads, and when the replacements get here grab them.’

  He got his lads moving.

  Inside, I said, ‘If you want to be awake for the action, get some rest beforehand. I’m grabbing camp beds off the young lads here for you.’

  ‘We’ll catch a few hours after you insert.’

  My sat phone trilled, so I stepped out, the DOD most interested in my phone for some reason. ‘Hello?’ I said, being cautious, the number displayed as stars for some reason.

  ‘It’s Bob. Americans with you?’

  ‘Yes, labelled up as DOD.’

  ‘Technically they are I guess. Are they being a pain?’

  ‘Not sure why they’re here, but they did ask if any of the French hostages could be American, and they’ll sit and observe us tonight. I told them I was waiting on intel from you.’

  ‘I’m waiting on you, and your friends in low places.’

  ‘Don’t tell them that.’

  ‘Update the duty officer if anything interesting happens.’

  ‘Will do, Wilco out.’

  Back inside, Tucker asked, ‘Anything?’

  ‘Just my boss, asking if you eat quietly.’

  Liban laughed, Tucker not amused, Running Bear hiding his grin.

  Running Bear asked Liban if they could go through the plan, and seats were swapped. Half an hour later a Chinook loudly announced its arrival, and I stepped out to it, the Welsh Guards waiting with our RTC captain, kit offloaded, including several large green tents, numerous camp beds, and more green mats.

  With the Chinook departing, many hands erected the tents one by one, behind the building and away from the strip, and in a similar position to those that the “G” Squadron lads had made use of.

  Camp beds set-up inside, the Welsh lads moved out of the main building, and I stood wondering where we could put twenty-five young officers in a few days.

  Extra supplies were brought inside and stacked up, so we were set, for a while at least.

  Back inside, I checked that the Americans had camp beds and rubber mats, bottled water placed in their room. I told them, ‘Burn some paper, blow it out, let the smoke waft around; it keeps the mozzies away, and other creepy crawlies. Ask for some diesel fuel, tip it on the floor and rub it on the legs of the beds, insects hate it.’

  ‘You’re used to this kinda living,’ Dick noted.

  ‘I love ... this kind of living.’

  ‘Guess that helps, you don’t resent being here.’

  At 11.30pm we formed up outside. My team was made up of Mahoney and Swifty, Rocko and Slider, Tomo and Smitty, plus Nicholson. Slade and Gonzo, Lassey, plus the French, would be on standby to come out if there was a problem. Major Liban would be along, but a captain was tasked to lead seven men in, Liban to be holding back and observing.

  Chinook inbound now, we checked kit and rifles over and over, all the while being observed by the Americans.

  I approached Tucker. ‘Would you like Running Bear along as an observer?’

  He turned to Running Bear, and back, and made a face. ‘Up to you, you have operational control here.’

  I faced Running Bear. ‘You wanna come along?’

  ‘Sure,’ he enthused, he and his sergeant moving forwards, weapons checked.

  ‘See if you can pick-up my radio frequency.’ I pressed transmit and counted up and down, Running Bear finally nodding.

  ‘Got it.’

  The Chinook blasted us as it landed, our ears assaulted, all set to board just the one helicopter.

  ‘Make safe weapons!’ I shouted before walking on. I moved forwards and knelt behind the pilots, grabbing the spare headset. ‘Was it you who inserted the other team yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Drop us at the same spot then.’

  ‘Just a fifteen minute hop. Both helos are then on standby to come get you around 5am.’

  ‘Pick-up point will probably be west of where you drop us now, confirmed before you set off, save walking with hostages – or carrying them!’

  I moved back and sat down, and it was just a short flight, the red light soon flashing, the ramp down, and we were lined up and knelt as we bumped down – weapons loaded, out and running through thick long grass, soon knelt as the Chinook pulled away, weapons cocked.

  It grew quiet, everyone alert, eyes everywhere, the distant black tree line scanned. With no stars to glance up at I checked my compass, but we should have landed with north on the nose as requested. ‘Form up in teams. Running Bear, and your sergeant, behind me, behind Mahoney. Major, follow on behind.’

  I put one foot in front of the other through long grass, heading due west, soon to the tree line but not going in, instead I followed it; I had committed the route to memory.

  A mile west and we crossed a wide stream, and that confirmed our position. Out the stream, I moved northwest, finding a track after half a mile, again as expected, and we followed the track for over a mile, the first habitation skirted around.

  I now picked up the pace and moved north for half a mile, due west a mile, and through a dense wood we emerged on a ridge, the target town in view. I led the men down a hundred yards and halted, kneeling and asking for Major Liban to bring his men parallel. He moved up and knelt.

  In a normal speaking voice, not whispering, I began, ‘That’s it, and in the middle you can see the main compound. This side of the compound is waste ground, a broken old lorry there apparently, trees for cover. This side of the waste ground are thick trees, huts either side, dogs.

  ‘In you look at the compound, then the waste ground, go right and down and there’s an old abandoned building, three storey. We’ll put snipers up there, a team to cover our withdrawal, it’s the best spot. Rest of the town is to be avoided.’

  Standing, I called Moran on my sat phone.

  ‘Go ahead,’ came a whisper.

  ‘It’s Wilco, we’re on the high ground east of you, we can see the compound. Any change?’

  ‘No, same as before.’

  ‘How many guards?’

  ‘Twelve, but most look like useless fuckers.’

  ‘Any patrols out, rooftop guards?’
/>   ‘Hardly.’

  That waste ground clear?’

  ‘Was kids in it, on the old lorry, probably gone now.’

  ‘We’ll put snipers in the three-storey derelict you spotted. Where are you?’

  ‘About four hundred yards east of the waste ground, abandoned farm, some stones walls.’

  ‘Flash a signal due east now.’

  I could see the signal.

  ‘Be with you in ten minutes.’ Phone away, I said, ‘On me,’ and we started down the slope, a track to make use of. We passed low stone walls, some sort of irrigated area, a few falling down old shacks, and finally crossed another field of long grass.

  A signal flashed out, guiding us in, and we ducked inside the old walls, black blobs seen in silhouette against the white walls. Whispered French conversations broke out.

  ‘Tomo, Nicholson, Smitty, down to that tall derelict building, dead quiet, eyes on.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Major Liban,’ I called through the dark.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘We’ll have men on the tall building, and behind you, rest is your show, your plan as agreed.’

  ‘OK, we move down at 4am.’

  ‘You have silencers?’

  ‘The breach team has, yes.’

  ‘OK, get some rest, some water, take a shit everyone.’ I sat against a wall, Swifty at my side, and lifted my sat phone.

  ‘Captain Harris.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, we’re above the target town, eyes on till 4am, then we move. Update London.’

  ‘Got that. Good luck.’

  I sought out Running Bear. ‘You want to update Tucker?’

  Liban cut in, ‘I update my people back in the canteen, they tell him, no.’

  ‘OK,’ I agreed. ‘Rocko, our position is the old truck, ready to move forwards if called, hopefully not. And all of you, watch the civvies. If you fire at random, your rounds will slice right through the shacks down there and hit kids. Careful what you aim at. Single well-aimed shots.’

  ‘Yes, good advice,’ Liban noted, and duly warned his men.

  ‘Running Bear, behind me, and same for you – don’t spray it, the walls are dead thin around here.’

  ‘Hope we’re in and out without having to mix it up.’

  I nibbled on a chocolate bar, followed by dried biscuits as we waited, washed down with warm water.

  ‘It’s Tomo, you there?’

  ‘Go head,’ I told him.

  ‘Some guy just dumped a dead body on the waste ground.’

  ‘Not our concern,’ I responded.

  ‘It is now, he’s heading your way.’

  ‘Rocko, Slider, kill him quietly.’

  Black blobs eased up and moved out slowly and quietly. I stood, silencer clipped on, Swifty copying, and we got fire positions. I could not see Rocko or Slider, but I could see the man approaching, and he seemed to be mumbling to himself.

  A thud, and he fell, two more thuds heard. ‘It’s Rocko, I’m stood on his neck.’

  ‘Give it a minute, then hide his body,’ I responded.

  ‘Judge, jury and executioners,’ Running Bear quipped.

  ‘And what would you have done?’ I asked.

  ‘Same, probably.’

  ‘If he had been a villager I would have tied him up till dawn, but murderers don’t get any sympathy from me.’

  After half an hour came, ‘It’s Tomo, you there?’

  ‘Go head,’ I told him.

  ‘That body is attracting dogs, lots of them.’

  I sighed. ‘Is the street clear?’

  ‘Car now and then, guy on a bike, fuck all else.’

  ‘Tomo, go down and drag it back this way, others to cover you. And Tomo, if you can see a drain or somewhere else to stick it, do so.’

  ‘Moving.’

  I clambered up onto the top of the wall and peered down, a partial view of the town afforded to me. But I could see the compound, and the road. After fifteen minutes, I transmitted, ‘Nicholson, report.’

  I could hear laughter.

  ‘Standby,’ came Nicholson’s voice.

  I waited.

  ‘You there, Boss?’ came Tomo’s voice. He sounded out of breath.

  ‘Yes, go ahead.’

  ‘This jeep stopped nearby, man went into a house, so I put the body in the back, and he drove off without spotting it.’

  Laughter erupted below.

  ‘Shhhh,’ I issued, laughing myself.

  ‘Tomo, you’re a little fucker, you know that.’

  ‘Learnt from the best,’ came cheekily back as I clambered down, men still laughing, Moran explaining it to the French, who then started laughing as well.

  Sat back against the wall, I said, ‘Running Bear, that’s what’s called British ingenuity.’

  He responded, ‘Some poor guy will get home, park the car in the garage, send his wife to the jeep for the groceries ... and get a shock.’

  Moran said, ‘I wonder how long he’ll drive around before noticing.’

  ‘In this heat, not long,’ I suggested. ‘Be a bit ripe.’

  Swifty put in, ‘He’ll wake to find a swarm of flies around his jeep, and a dozen dogs.’

  ‘Major Liban, some details are not for the official report,’ I told his dark outline.

  ‘I would not want to report that, no.’

  At 3.30am we were bored, the town now quiet, so we got ready. Moran would remain with us, Henri leading an all-French team, Liban sending a captain with the second team, Liban himself to be with us on the waste ground and coordinating things.

  I called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco, we’ll be moving on the hostages soon, might need the choppers in thirty minutes or so, I’ll confirm that.’

  ‘They’re not ready, so I’ll go give them a nudge.’

  ‘In that case, we’ll move slowly. Wilco out.’

  The first French team, led by Henri, moved off, the second French team close behind them, and we followed ten yards back, very slow and quiet as the townsfolk slept.

  The first team made it to the road fifteen minutes later. Rope out, gloves on, a man ran across the road and up the dimly street whilst being covered, rifle slung, and up the wall he went like Spiderman. On the roof he waved a signal, the next man across and up, soon seven men on the flat roof and spread out.

  The last man across grabbed the rope left for him on the floor, and set off down the street whilst being covered from the roof. He threw the rope up and over telephone lines, and yanked them down. Back across the street he threw the rope over the power line, and yanked till the lines broke, sparks seen.

  A dozen houses, and more importantly the main compound, were now blacked-out as Team Two moved quietly down a side street, along the outer wall of the main compound.

  I had reached the old truck with the support team, Rocko and Slider sent up onto its back, soon aiming over the cab, Swifty and Mahoney sent left into thick bushes, with a line of sight of the side road.

  A dog barked, but we ignored it; they were barking all over the town.

  ‘Tomo, any movement?’ I called.

  ‘Nothing, they’re all asleep, or high.’

  At the front of the compound, the second French team quietly helped each other up and onto an eight foot wall, down onto a flat roof, the hostage building. That building ran along the length of the side wall, windows with bars, two sturdy doors, but the jailors were not seen around it last night; they had locked the hostages inside and had slept elsewhere.

  The men on the roof lay down, ready to defend the hostages, a man from the roof of the main building easing down, an open window peeked into. Finding a kitchen, he called down all but two men, and over the space of ten minutes they inched inside, helping each other, rifles passed through.

  Inside, pistols out, they lit a small fire, smoke wafting out the kitchen, soon a great deal of smoke.

  Shouts, and men in their underwear came running through the dark, panicked by the smoke, unable to turn the lights on. Many r
an bent-double into the kitchen to fight the fire, the French knelt against the back wall. With eight men in the kitchen, the French opened up, each kidnapper getting at least two rounds.

  But the game was up, shouts issued from the remaining men, and there were suddenly more than the original twelve guards counted.

  The first French soldier, laying down near the door, peeked out with his pistol and shot a man twice, the man’s rifle discharging a burst and wounding another kidnapper. That man’s moans both fixed his position and signed his death warrant, three shots fired.

  Kitchen window broken by the French, the smoke was allowed to escape. They knelt near the door, listened, and moved out hugging the walls, two teams; one left, one right.

  On the ground level, a half-dressed gunman ran into the courtyard, hit a dozen times and spun. A torch light appeared on the ground level, a dark outline seen moving, that dark outline also hit a dozen times.

  Liban told me, ‘Top floor is clear, they move down, twelve shot so far, still some movement.’

  From the hostage building two men eased down, aimed at a door and blasted its hinges, six rounds a hinge, followed by blasting the area around the lock, ten rounds fired. A kick, another kick, and they were in, French words shouted, French pleas for help coming back.

  Liban reported, ‘They have the hostages, all can walk, nine of them, three women.’

  A window opened on our side of the building, a naked black arse seen climbing out, the man hit in the arse a moment later and falling, landing with a thud and a cry.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Tomo!’

  ‘What did I do?’

  Rocko fired twice, the man hit in the head.

  Liban reported, ‘Second level clear, the hostages are walking out the gate.’

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Swifty, Mahoney, forwards, watch the street, hostages coming to you. Everyone else, check your fire.’

  A burst of fire echoed, a few odd cracks, the sounds of a window smashing disturbing the night.

  Movement, and what light there was now illuminated a soldier followed by women, another soldier, men in civvy clothes. They ran to us, and kept going, led back towards our holding position.

  Liban reported, ‘Building clear. They are withdrawing.’

  ‘Tell them to head-count their teams.’

  Liban gave orders, the second French team fixed by boots on tarmac, soon running in.