Wilco- Lone Wolf 7

by Geoff Wolak

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Tomo and snipers stand fast, everyone else on me, form up.’

  Rocko and Slider jumped down, Swifty and Mahoney running in, and I led them past the smelly waste mounds, lifting my phone.

  ‘Captain Harris here.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, hostages out, no injuries, send the helos after you track this call, six hundred yards due east of the target town, we’ll use torch signals.’

  ‘Got that, I’ll send them now.’

  At the holding point the French had torches on, hostages being checked over, quietly jabbering away in French.

  I turned to Running Bear. ‘Well, Captain, your professional assessment?’

  ‘Smooth, yes, no issues with it. And they snuck in quietly, trick with the smoke – good, cleared the building top down. They made a plan and stuck to it.’

  I asked Liban, ‘Hostages OK, Major?’

  ‘Yes, just hungry and tired, dirty, afraid, but happy now.’

  ‘Your second successful operation, Major.’

  ‘Second? Oh, yes.’

  ‘GIGN will be jealous.’

  He laughed. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘OK, ready to walk, everyone?’

  The hostages were helped up as I performed a headcount, calling in Tomo. Formed up, Tomo’s trio back with us and giggling, I led the British off east, aiming for an open area some five hundred yards away, our previous route reversed.

  Phone out, I punched a familiar number.

  ‘Duty Officer.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, nine French hostages rescued, no injuries, moving to the helicopter RV now. Update Bob Staines in the morning, Wilco out.’

  Reaching a suitable open area, we spread out, the hostages sitting in a line, and I readied my torch as it started to rain.

  A heavy drone reached us, all eyes south, and my radio crackled into life as we stood getting wet. ‘Chinook for Wilco, receiving.’

  ‘We hear you, can’t see you yet, so flash your lights.’

  ‘There,’ Moran said.

  ‘Wilco for Chinooks, we’re in your one o’clock, keep coming.’ I flashed my torch, others copying.

  At the last moment both Chinooks put on their lights, blinding us, almost hitting us with their wheels, setting down beyond us, a mad dash to get aboard, Brits on the left, French on the right with the hostages.

  I looked around the cabin, a quick headcount done, and off we climbed, banking to the right and around. Our Chinook took us back towards the FOB, the second Chinook heading directly back to the airport.

  We bumped down fifteen minutes later, running off, met by a dozen Welsh Guards, Whisky, as well as Tucker and Dick.

  ‘Went off well, we heard,’ Tucker noted as I neared.

  ‘Smooth, as per the plan,’ I told him. ‘I never fired a shot. Nine French hostages safely extracted, no injuries.’

  ‘Pity they’re not all like that,’ he said as we moved inside, the Welsh lads handing out brews.

  ‘Tomo,’ I called. ‘You are hereby fined £100, the money to go to Rocko, who did your job for you.’

  The lads taunted Tomo as he complained.

  I told Tucker, ‘Get some sleep, we will. Nothing happening for a while.’

  He yawned and nodded.

  In our room, kit off, Swifty said, ‘That was simple, no fuck-ups – dead body aside.’

  ‘The French had good training – from us.’

  They laughed, rubber mats made ready.

  I woke after four hours, the day hot, the sun high and bright, my body stiff as usual. Getting to my feet I felt like I was a hundred years old.

  Rifle grabbed, webbing and bandolier left off, I headed down stairs, a brew offered to me straight away by a Welsh lad. I sat opposite the two French Intel officers. ‘Hostages flown out?’

  ‘They are at the airport still, a plane today, doctors to look at them. Many do not want to fly out, they live and work here or Guinea.’

  I nodded, a chunky spam sandwich offered by the Welsh lads – and gratefully accepted. ‘The job went off well, a good first job for Echo al la Francios.’

  They nodded. ‘Yes, good, no problems, the media in France reporting it, the President happy.’

  ‘And have the GIGN sent a letter of congratulations?’ I teased.

  They raised eyebrows. ‘I think, Captain, that it is in France as it is in England, and that units compete like small girls.’

  The lads took it easy after they woke, some sunbathing enjoyed, magazines read, Whisky taking out Welsh Guards for some survival training. Our American guests also took it easy, all awaiting some intel, but they did get a detailed account of the French operation – all written down, and it would be added to their training files, Liban happy to cooperate.

  At 3pm, and after I had given Running Bear and his sergeant an hour’s notice, we sat at tables in the canteen, the DOD and naval officers listening in, Liban and Moran sat with me, and Running Bear detailed how he would have done it.

  He would have used small explosions, CS gas, grenades, and would have aimed to have his men in and out in two minutes flat.

  I eased back and began, ‘I’ve always taken the view ... that we don’t make a rigid plan back at base, or forward base, that we have a loose plan, and that’s it’s refined when we get there.

  ‘Your plan is fine, and typically American, but let’s say that a local dispute puts ten blacks in with the hostages. You now have more people to move, unsure who is who. Leave a black American passport holder behind and you’re in trouble.

  ‘And let’s say that they have RPG heads - and mines - stacked up and using them as a foot stool – as these idiots often do. You throw a grenade, and bang – the whole building goes.

  ‘I work on different assumptions, based on experience, the experience of always finding something very different to that anticipated. This last job was unusual in that there were no nasty surprises; there usually are.

  ‘In Angola we would have been out in six minutes, but our deliberate decoy action at the border caused a doubling of the hostages.

  ‘In Morocco we found the hostages hanging from a tree, and turned back. In the Congo, we simply asked the local pedestrians where the hostages were being held, how many, how many guards, and they told us – no need for an expensive satellite. And we hired a local truck for cash and drove there.

  ‘Having got there, we found the hostages being used for punch bags, all dead bar one. I always work on the assumption that close human intel is essential to avoid a fuck-up, and we use tricks a great deal.

  ‘In Djibouti we found enemy soldiers in a mine, so we made smoke, and that forced them out. If someone handed me a detailed plan I would be worried, and I would challenge it. Intel is often sketchy at best.’

  Tucker said, ‘You’re happy with a HALO insert for close human intel gathering?’

  ‘We are now,’ I told him. ‘We practised the new bag technique – an idea I pinched from your forces, and then used it for real, and it worked well. Actually, the pilot dropped us in the wrong spot on the second HALO, and we nearly landed on a soccer pitch – game in progress.’

  They laughed.

  Tucker said, ‘Which of our forces uses that technique?’

  ‘Not sure, saw in it a magazine, liked the idea. But definitely your lot.’

  ‘We’re keen to try it,’ Running Bear told me. ‘In the past, HALO has been seen as being risky by Command, and the damn kit pods often got lost.’

  ‘A technique we used in Mauritania,’ I began, ‘was to have two helicopters at a thousand feet and fast, ten minutes apart. You drop from the first one, second on hand if you abort due to a broken ankle. The locals hear helicopters, but report them as not landing.

  ‘What we also did ... was to have a helo land a mile away and pull off quickly, as if it had set down men. The bad boys took the bait, looking in the wrong direction.’

  My phone trilled, so I stepped out, the number being displayed familiar. ‘Mister President?’

  ‘I
have some information for you, a group of hostages, but a mixed-bag shall we say.’

  ‘We will still be interested, sir,’ I said as I took in young soldiers working on a jeep.

  ‘There are people from America, yes, maybe four, Australia, England, Canada and France – more than twelve. They were taken in Mali more than six months ago, and now moved south. I falsely expressed an interest in buying them, and now they move to an area south of Macenta in Guinea.’

  ‘A good tactical move, Mister President; you are starting to think like the snakes I work for.’

  He laughed. ‘I will emulate them some, yes.’

  ‘Are the hostages there now?’

  ‘They will be there, at the border, tomorrow some time. I said that I would send men to inspect the cargo ... a day later or so.’

  ‘We are most grateful, Mister President; watch it on the news in a few days. Oh, did my boss call you?’

  ‘He did, a most beneficial call indeed, most beneficial, and timely. If you ever need somewhere to hide out for a while..?’

  ‘You have a five star golf resort, sir?’ I teased.

  ‘Ah ... not yet. Such comforts do not come to my people.’

  ‘Maybe they will in time, sir. Enjoy the rest of your day.’ I punched the red button. ‘Fucking knobhead,’ I whispered, and I sighed long and loud, taking in the lads working on the jeep. A number recalled, and I called Bob.

  ‘Hello?’ came Bob’s voice.

  ‘It’s Wilco. Our friend has some intel, twelve hostages from Mali, been captive more than six months, multi-national, arriving on the border with Liberia tomorrow.’

  ‘What do you mean ... arriving?’

  ‘Our friend went looking for them, said he’d buy them, and set them up for us.’

  ‘Jesus, if this ever got out.’

  ‘Ends justify the means, and people go home.’

  ‘After six months they’d be in hell of a state.’

  ‘Yes, mental problems for some. What’d you want us to do?’

  ‘Go after them, but involve the Americans and the French.’

  ‘Are you trying to spread the blame?’ I teased.

  ‘I’m a tactical player as you know, and just about to get on a plane to Washington with the head of the JIC and others.’

  ‘The DOD guys mentioned, and complained in a subtle way, that I have operational control on the ground.’

  ‘The senior figures know all about Petrov and Panama, but not the President, and they’re all fans of yours. That and an unprecedented track record. ’

  ‘Thanks to you, Bob, so don’t be modest, be tough with them.’

  ‘I’ll be out of touch for a while, so plan the operation as you see fit.’

  ‘We’ll get eyes on, then see.’

  Red button hit, I called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco. I need the Chinooks for a live insert a hundred miles north, an hour or so. Get back to me.’

  ‘OK, will do.’

  Inside, at the bottom of the stairs, I shouted, ‘Staff Sergeant Rocko!’

  ‘Here,’ came from a face around a corner.

  ‘Have all the men ready to go in thirty minutes, check the kit, replenish.’

  Those in the canteen had heard me, all waiting expectantly. ‘Major Liban, have your men get ready, we have a live job.’

  He gave orders to his captains, who stepped out.

  I pointed at the French Intel officers. ‘I want any intel on hostages from Mali or nearby, older than six months, up to a year, westerners. And I want it in ten minutes.’

  They took out phones and stepped out.

  I pointed at Running Bear. ‘I’ll take you in today for eyes on, have your men at the airport ready too, find some helicopters in case ours are in use.’ I pointed at the naval officers. ‘I want a list of assets available to me, like right now.’

  Waving Tucker and Dick closer, the canteen suddenly a hive of activity, I pointed at the map. ‘Here, on the border, twelve hostages, four Americans, one Canadian, some British and French. We had local human intel get eyes on, so we’re confident, and we’re going after them. The plan ... is to assume nothing till we have a look, because we know jack shit.’

  ‘I’ll update Washington,’ Dick stated, and headed for his room.

  ‘And who takes the lead for the rescue?’ Tucker asked.

  ‘Our French allies will do as I ask, and my men will do as told, and I have regular cosy chats with those way above you in the food chain.’ His eyebrows lifted. ‘This is a joint operation, but the Deltas will take the hostages out – my choice and no one else’s.’

  He stared back for a moment, and glanced over his shoulder. ‘I hate being kept in the dark, and I wish I knew what was really going on with you.’

  ‘Hostages go home to their families ... is what’s going on with me. The rest doesn’t matter, Mister Tucker.’ As I said it, I wondered if I fully believed that.

  Men either topped up water or replaced their water, topped up rations – since I told them this would be a three day operation, and I grabbed tins of mince meat off the Welsh Guards. Flysheets were shaken out, rolled up and stuffed into webbing, lightweight jungle jackets rolled up and put inside ponchos or plastic bags, ammo topped up.

  Half an hour later, Chinooks soon to be dispatched from the airport, I had Liban make up a rescue team to stay behind, two troops of eight French plus captains to go on the job, Liban keen to come along. Sasha and his boys would come with me, they might be needed to blag the locals, Whisky looking a bit left out amidst the manic activity.

  I called a command meeting in the canteen. ‘OK, American assets?’

  The first naval officer said, ‘Fixed wing and rotary available, a total of twelve helicopters, plus Marines.’

  ‘We won’t need the Marines, nor do we want the twitchy Liberian President thinking he’s being invaded. We need enough helicopters to bring in a Delta Force team and take back maybe twelve hostages, so you work it out, and I suggest a final helo with a few Deltas in it, in case a helo goes down. That final helo should be behind the rest and higher.

  ‘OK, when the Deltas do come in they do not ... overfly Liberian territory other than a slice up north. They use Guinea airspace, get permission today. Under no circumstances are fixed wing or helicopters to fly anywhere near Monrovia, and they’re to avoid flying over towns.

  ‘On the helos we’ll need medics, doctors, IV drips. These hostages are reported to be in a bad way, and after a year in captivity they’ll be malnourished, diseased, have bed sores. Please report that fact to the medics that’ll come out. I also suggest that they be handcuffed for the flight. They may be ... unbalanced and stressed.

  ‘Mister Tucker, please emphasise to the Deltas at the airport that this is a rescue mission, we’re not there to punish anyone, and the locals know nothing about the hostages. Therefore we need a selective use of the trigger finger, no big bangs, no rockets or bombs from aircraft.

  ‘As I said to the French recently, there’s no point in rescuing six people if we accidentally kill ten civilians in the process and get a bad newspaper headline. And I’m sure that your superiors would not wish to be tried in the court of public opinion Stateside – any more than the French were recently.

  ‘And yes – if I see your men spraying it around I’ll make sure that the world’s media gets to know about it. This ... is a tight surgical operation, casualties kept down ... on all sides.

  ‘We’ll insert today, walk in and have a look, reporting back, after which a joint plan will be made. And we may not even find them.’

  Dick said, ‘There’s an embassy official missing, from Mali, and he disappeared around the right time. His brother is a Senator.’

  ‘Then maybe we’ll have some good news for that family soon. But it is – obviously – vital that this operation is not reported ahead of the time. If it is ... your hostages will be killed, along with ours.’

  ‘I have a list,’ a French Intel officer cut in, and he handed it over, names and places an
d dates.

  ‘That’s a lot of names,’ I noted as I read down the list.

  ‘Thirty six.’

  ‘If we get the hostages out, we can ask about other hostages seen.’ I pocketed the list. Lifting my head, I said, ‘Known gangs in that area?’

  ‘One, to the north east, sixty men, gunmen in the town a few miles north,’ he reported. ‘Ex-soldiers from the civil war, maybe three hundred or more, dated weapons.’

  I faced Tucker. ‘Anything to add to that?’

  ‘Waiting on Langley for a summary.’

  ‘OK, so we’ll now go have a look, a pleasant walk through the hot steamy jungle.’

  ‘Daylight insert?’ Tucker queried.

  ‘The LZ is unknown, so we need to see where to land – save bending a helo, and we’ll land five to ten miles away anyhow.’ I took in their faces. ‘OK, wish us luck, and … break out that pack of cards.’

  Outside, I lined up the teams, looking everyone over, most still displaying their plastic leaves. ‘OK, listen up,’ I shouted. ‘We’ll soon fly north and east a bit, almost ninety miles I think, northern Liberia – where we don’t have any permission to be.

  ‘On the border with Guinea is reported to be a hostage camp, and we’ll go take a look. If the hostages are there then the American Deltas will come get them. We’re taking two additional Deltas with us for this trip, so we can all relax and feel safe.’

  The lads laughed, glancing at Running Bear.

  ‘We’ll get eyes on for a day and then see, we may just abort and come back after a nice walk. Same teams as the last job, keep it tight, and ... make safe your fucking weapons!’

  They laughed, all making safe, a few picking up loose rounds. I held up my rifle to show no magazine.

  Hearing the drone we moved to the strip, the Welsh lads all keenly watching, two Chinook setting down, the same teams running aboard more or less, all the French together this time.

  Moving forwards, I grabbed the spare headsets. ‘Got a map?’

  The pilots turned around, the co-pilot lifting a map for me.

  ‘Here, Macenta, across the border. Go south five miles, come back across the border, this range of hills running north east, drop us at least five miles southwest. And to get there, go due north, not crossing the border, then east, and avoiding towns, same route back for you. It’s about ninety miles as the crow flies, a longer dog leg route.’