by Geoff Wolak
‘Where the fuck are you?’ Rocko finally whispered.
‘Here,’ I called, and he handed me the phone through the dark.
Switching it on, I waited for the test message and dialled. ‘Duty officer.’
‘It’s Wilco in Sierra Leone, correction, we’re a few feet inside Liberia. Track this number, get the details of its use to Bob Staines.’
‘Will do’
I turned it off and tucked it away.
‘Trucks!’ someone hissed.
I got down, men kneeling beside me, and I peered out, soon seeing the headlights, trucks approaching from the Sierra Leone side, five trucks, so perhaps a great many men.
‘Get ready, but stay hidden.’ I readied my rifle.
The growl of the trucks grew, the intensity of the lights grew, and I lowered my gaze to protect my night vision. They trundled past, and once past I looked up, seeing orange glows in the back, men smoking. Their outlines diminished, the noise dissipating, the smell of diesel fumes in the air, soon just crickets and tree frogs for company.
‘Where’ve they been?’ Moran whispered.
‘Maybe to the camp we hit,’ I suggested. ‘Now heading home to bed.’ Easing out and onto the road, I peered around, half an idea to block this road, but there were no tall trees. And the bridge was too solid, we would never blow it.
‘Everyone up, in your teams, across the road on the double.’
I ran across, and down a track heading north, advancing fifty yards. ‘Headcount your teams, form up in sequence. Move out.’
Following the track for an hour, the river on our left, we came across the next road, and it led to a single track bridge not good enough for trucks. Checking the map, I knew exactly where I was, and that just three miles east sat the rebel base.
Turning right and crossing the road, I led the lads north and into cultivated land, knowing that such fields would probably offer huts; farmers guarding their valuable crops. So I pressed on slowly due east, climbing as we progressed, each field just twelve inches higher than the previous, and we must have been leaving a hell of a muddy trail, easy for anyone to follow after sun up.
A cluster of huts was avoided, a dog barking in the distance, and an hour of steady slog through thick trees and deep streams led to very wet feet. Our pace slowed right down, the going hard, a stream followed as we climbed up it, the lads told to bunch up.
Cresting the high ground we began our descent, a break in the trees offering us a view of our distant target. I placed my rifle on a branch and peered down through my sights, seeing the town off to the right, the base northwest of the town, a sprawling base that I figured was six hundred yards end to end.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Flysheets up, ponchos down, get some rest, no cooking.’
Moran peered through his telescopic sights. ‘That’s a big fucking base,’ he cautioned with his tone as Swifty and Mahoney took a look.
‘Yep,’ I said, sighing. I dialled Bob. ‘You awake?’
‘It’s 10.30pm,’ came curtly back.
‘We’re in Liberia, above the rebel base, and it’s a big base, lots of men. Saw a convoy earlier, maybe eighty men heading back to the base.’
‘What’s your plan?’
‘I’ll take a close look at the base, lay of the land, then decide. ‘We have the RPGs and GPMGs, so we could do some damage.’
‘OK, let me know, even if you have to wake me.’
A dark figure crept closer. ‘That the base?’ Max asked.
‘Yes. Can you photograph in low light?’
‘Hell yes, I can set the electronic shutter speed thing for night.’
‘Take some snaps then.’
Sat down, I peered through my sights. ‘I can see the main barracks, four two-storey brick buildings, a gap with the parade ground, then another four blocks. There’s a thirty yard gap to a half decent fence, then a killing ground, say fifty yards.’
‘I can see the fuel depot,’ Moran noted. ‘That would go up nicely.’
‘Those sheds on the right are for jeeps and trucks,’ Mahoney noted. ‘Building on the far side looks like an armoury. Left of it is the HQ building I reckon.’
‘They have an assault course and a shooting range,’ I noted. ‘Well organised little fuckers, aren’t they.’
‘Sandbag positions, GPMGs pointing outwards,’ Moran noted. ‘Men up on the barrack roof.’
‘Seems that our ex-SAS instructors have been doing their jobs,’ I quipped through the dark.
‘So how do we attack it?’ Mahoney asked.
‘You’d have to be a mad man to attack that base,’ I told him.
‘So they won’t be expecting a small force to attack them,’ Swifty noted. ‘They know how the SAS work, and they may suspect small teams taking a look, but they can’t be too worried about an attack.’
‘And they don’t expect us to get permission to attack in Liberia,’ Moran noted.
‘Still,’ I began. ‘An attack on that base would need more men and firepower to succeed.’
‘So what’s the objective?’ Mahoney posed.
‘Wear them down,’ I said. ‘We don’t have to do that all tonight. But ... I wonder who’s calling the shots down there.’
‘The ex-SAS officers probably,’ Moran suggested.
‘I’m not so sure, because if they were they’d have made a better job of it so far.’
‘Some black guy in charge?’ Swifty asked. ‘Right hand trusted man to the ex-president camped out in Brussels?’
‘Probably his son, or brother,’ I said. ‘That’s how it works normally. So ... how will he react if we fire an RPG at his nice barrack block?’
‘He’d want us captured, and sliced up,’ Swifty pointed out.
I responded, ‘Meaning ... that he’d send men out to surround this area, and work their way in, roads cut off towards the border, bridges blocked.’
‘He’d send a hundred men to border bridges,’ Moran suggested. ‘Maybe more. Thins them out down there.’
I nodded to myself. ‘OK, so ... a hundred plus men in a convoy, and we could hit the convoy. But that would fix our position. We’d still have hundreds of men combing these trees for us.’
‘They can’t use fifty cal in here, nor RPGs,’ Moran insisted. ‘We have the advantage. We could spread out, wear them down, sniping from cover with silencers.’
‘So why bring RPG ourselves?’ Mahoney asked.
‘To hit something solid with,’ I replied. ‘Take a look down there at the far right corner, lower corner. Across the road are shacks, above them jungle. If someone fired an RPG from there, what would they assume?’
‘A local with a grudge, his family executed by these nutters,’ Mahoney suggested.
‘They’d send men out looking for him, raiding the huts,’ Moran suggested.
‘OK, so that’s fifty men tied up outside the wire. And if a few were shot, grenades tossed, it would be a local squabble, not us, not till they figure it out.’
‘They’d send reinforcements, to keep the locals in check,’ Mahoney suggested.
‘Would keep them awake at least,’ I joked.
‘The men we killed at the bridge, they’ll be noticed soon enough, convoy sent out,’ Moran reminded me.
‘Yes, and that convoy will have another sixty men in it.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Henri, take three men plus Sergeant Crab and his team, make sure you have at least one GPMG, some RPG, and go back to the rice fields, down to the road, get an ambush position above the road, say a hundred yards. If you can’t reach me on the radio, attack any convoy coming from the border – not going out.’
‘OK, moving.’
‘Rizzo, to me.’ His dark outline appeared from the left. I stood. ‘That you?’
‘Aye.’
‘Take a look down there in your sights.’ He adopted his rifle and peered down. ‘Look at the bottom right corner of the base, go across the road, shacks, above them, forest. I want your team in that forest, one RPG, no GPMG. At exactly mi
dnight, or when I radio, you sneak down close to the shacks, lob an RPG or two at the base – try and hit something worthwhile, then back up thirty yards, set a few grenade traps.
‘When they search those huts, lob a grenade or two, back up along the forest above the road, standby to open up on them, but I don’t want them hit hard till I say, or till the main attack takes place, then you come back up here – trying hard to let them follow you. Got that?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’
‘First RV is back up here, second RV is the bridge we crossed. If you lose contact, use your sat phone. You have it?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘Off you go.’
‘So what’s the plan?’ Mahoney pressed.
‘We start a small insurrection down there, judge their response, keep them awake, and if they think that Rizzo is actually some of the local bad boys they pour out after him in incremental steps. Fine, because we’ve got the advantage here.
‘If we do enough damage, or if enough of them leave the base, we go right the way around to the far side and hit it hard, and call in “G” Squadron for dawn.’
Sergeant Crab called me five minutes later. ‘Convoy of trucks passed us, heading to the border.’
‘OK, if they come back, hit them hard.’
I stuffeddown a tin of meat as we waited, some chocolate Rolos, and rested with my back against a tree, my arse getting wet. Henri called in, a little faint, he was in position, Rizzo unable to reach us and so he called my sat phone number after calling Captain Harris and getting my number. He was in position, and it was now 11.10pm.
I told Rizzo, ‘Get close to a shack, fire an RPG, but set some grenade traps first, then hide.’
Easing up, I stood next to a tree with a suitable branch, and rested my rifle, peering down at the shacks in question, many others doing the same.
After what seemed like ten minutes an RPG flew out, hit a truck and set it alight. Soldiers could be seen running around, the base well lit, and I thought I could see white men down there. Guards ran in, spoke to other men, ran back, and soon a body of soldiers formed up, running out of the gate and across the main road to the shacks.
As I peered down I saw them kick an innocent bystander, the man stood in his underpants. It looked like they were searching behind the shacks. A flash, smoke, and it was clear that a grenade had detonated; I heard its dull sound almost six seconds later. Soldiers could be seen dragging wounded comrades away.
Looking left, I could see lights on in the barrack blocks, men peering out of windows, more soldiers forming up outside the barracks. Seeing what I thought was a white man, he stepped across to a black man and pointed at the gate, a report given. The white man finally moved towards the gate, the man he reported to returning to the building next to the armoury.
Moran said, ‘I think maybe sixty men are tied up now.’
‘And maybe a hundred left for the border,’ I noted.
‘Another RPG!’ Swifty called. ‘Hit the barracks; went through the glass and detonated inside. Some fucker of a conscript must have spent ages cleaning that floor as well.’
Laughter echoed through the dark.
‘Barracks are emptying out,’ Mahoney noted. In a mocking voice, he added, ‘Guess who’s coming to dinner.’
‘They’re not sharing my rations,’ Swifty told him.
‘It’s Nicholson, I can see someone smoking, hundred yards northeast, in line with the left edge of that base.’
‘Rocko, your team, dead slow and dead quiet, down to them. Leave any RPG or GPMG with the next team. Silencers and rags.’
‘Moving.’
‘Everyone else, eyes on, listen out, we’re not alone up here.’
‘Roving patrols would make sense,’ Moran whispered.
Observing the base for five minutes, I was disturbed by quiet cracks echoing.
‘It’s Rocko, six men down.’
‘Double tap, be careful, grenades under a few bodies.’
‘One of these fuckers has a posh radio.’
‘Bring it back with you, leave their watches.’ Laughter rose up through the dark.
When Rocko finally got back up to us, I could pin his position as he moved by the hissing radio he carried. I put it to my ear, and they were speaking English, but pigeon-creole English, a lot of slang, heavily accented, but every now and then I heard an English accent.
I handed it to Moran. ‘Monitor that.’ I faced Rocko’s dark outline. ‘Any white men in the patrol?’
‘Nah, just local boys. They were stood smoking, jabbering away, thumbs up arses.’
Moran whispered, ‘There’s another patrol nearby.’
I told him, ‘Point that thing around till you get the best signal. Or hide behind trees and then see which direction is best.’
Moran moved behind a large tree. ‘Can still hear them.’ He moved left around it. ‘Not so good. They’re towards the road.’
‘If we shoot at them and miss,’ I began, ‘they’ll know we’re here.’
‘They’re reporting that they’re moving to the road.’
I dialled Sergeant Crab. ‘Listen, roving patrols out, one is left of you, heading down to the road, so be careful.’ I dialled Rizzo.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Wilco, where are you?’
‘Backed up a hundred yards, got a view of the action though.’
‘Listen, there are roving patrols out, stay sharp, there’s one across the road from you, heading your way.’
‘Roger that.’
Phone away, Moran said, ‘I think there’s another patrol way down there, close to the base, moving towards the road as well.’
‘We have the advantage,’ I assured those men around me.
‘What the fuck?’ Mahoney let out, a bright light attracting our attention. ‘That was a flare fired by a mortar!’
‘It’s over Rizzo,’ Moran noted.
‘I think he’ll notice it,’ I quipped.
‘Fuck his night vision for ten minutes,’ Mahoney said.
‘They have mortars,’ Swifty cautioned. ‘We’re in range.’
‘What we need ... is more men out of the base,’ I said, sighing. I dialled Rizzo.
‘Hello?’
‘Got your eyes closed?’
‘Yeah, like a million watt fucking bulb around here.’
‘Listen, when the flare dies, silencer off just one rifle, occasionally badly aimed shot down at the soldiers, and move higher up your ridge, draw them towards you, don’t come back here.’
‘OK, give us time, I can see through my fucking eyelids!’
Smiling, I put the phone away.
As the flare died we peered down, a few rounds cracking out, and a minute later we witnessed intermittent tracer hitting the dark jungle.
A full ten minutes later a convoy moved out, two trucks and two jeeps, and they drove to a point beyond Rizzo and dismounted. But as we observed, a flash caught our attention, suddenly a truck bursting into flames, sparks rising and falling.
‘That was cheeky,’ Swifty noted.
Moran said, the stolen radio to his ear, ‘They’re calling for support, more men. I mean, those hit with the RPG.’
Mahoney’s dark outline put in, ‘I can see men forming up down there, looks like a roll call. Wait ... that was another grenade left by Rizzo. Looks like the whole damn camp is awake and on the move.’
Moran hissed, ‘Wilco, the British men I can hear, they’re labelling it as a decoy.’
‘So they should,’ I suggested. ‘Are they issuing orders?’
‘No, and they’re getting frustrated.’
‘The black guy in charge is ignoring good advice,’ I noted.
A quiet ten minutes passed, tree frogs calling out, monkeys close by disturbed by us – either that or we were disturbing them and their chances of a quiet night’s kip.
‘Wilco, it is Henri, convoy approaching from the border.’
‘Ambush them, Henri! But keep your distance.’
&
nbsp; Moran hissed, ‘The mercenaries down there will know it’s a full on attack.’
‘They’ll figure it ambush tactics, regular SAS tactics,’ I insisted.
Blasts registered, the sounds of a GPMG hammering out rounds, a hell of a racket echoing for two minutes before it turned into occasional exchanges.
Moran said, ‘Patrol is moving towards the ambush team.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Henri, you hear me?’
‘Just about.’
‘Enemy patrol coming to you, from the left, get ready.’
‘Understood.’
Waiting in the dark, I peered down at the activity in the base, soldiers on the road lit up by headlights, curious locals out and being moved back. I thought I might have heard a few quiet cracks, not sure, one burst of fire.
‘Wilco, it is Henri, we shot them, two run away, some wounded I think.’
‘Don’t approach them, throw grenades, then back to me.’
‘Understood.’
I clicked on the radio, ‘Rizzo, you hear me?’
‘Yeah, how come?’
‘You’re up high now, so are we. What’s happening over there?’
‘Lots of fuckers down on the road, can’t see any coming up to us.’
‘They may be flanking you, be careful.’
‘They got more to worry about now after that ambush. Every fucker in the town must have heard that.’
‘Your objective is to tie up as many men as possible, so snipe and withdraw, leave a few grenade traps. Report any wounds, or if you’re in trouble.’
‘So what’s the plan?’ Mahoney asked.
‘Plan is ... to try and read their minds,’ I responded. ‘And to be very unpredictable.’
‘This is Henri, we are coming in, where are you?’
‘Keep coming,’ someone said. ‘Follow the track, I can see you.’
A minute later we all heard them approach, whispers exchanged.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Time to be illogical.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Form up in your teams, follow us, stay close. Bring all the RPG and GPMG.’ I led Swifty off, south and then southeast, a track followed, soon heading east down the slope, a zig-zag pattern, moving slow and quiet, some noise coming from the lads behind.
The trees thinned out a little, the going easy enough, and three hundred yards on I crossed a steep sided stream. Up the other side and on ten yards I froze and knelt, smelling cigarette smoke. Looking up at the trees, I figured the wind, and looked north. Unfortunately, someone slipped in the stream, a loud splash.
