by Geoff Wolak
I ran to the right, around a tree, the dark outlines of a patrol seen as they approached. I had them in my sights, but waited as Swifty approached and knelt next to me, and I felt him rather than hear him. He could see what I could see.
‘Shit!’ Mahoney let out when he noticed the enemy patrol, so I had to fire, Swifty joining in, Mahoney firing at the same time as he dived for cover. Bursts came back, hitting trees or hitting the ground, Mahoney crawling clear.
‘Good fieldcraft, Lieutenant,’ I sarcastically told him.
It fell quiet. I stood, aimed down and fired at each dark outline that I considered a body, some not quite so dead. A burst came back at hit the tree above me, and I knew I had a splinter or a ricochet.
I knelt and clicked on the radio. ‘Anyone hurt?’ I asked as I took out a grenade.
‘This is Travis, my ankle is a bit bust.’
‘Was that you taking a bath?’ I asked as I pulled the pin, Swifty turning his head.
‘Yes, Boss.’
‘Dopey fucker. How bad is that ankle?’
‘I can hobble slowly.’
‘Do so, we’ll bind it later.’ Off the radio I shouted, ‘Grenade!’ and lobbed the grenade ten yards forwards, ducking behind the tree with Swifty and Mahoney, the blast washing over us. Easing, up, I clicked on the radio. ‘Everyone on me.’ I moved off east and down the slope, another nasty stream negotiated, everyone wet up to the knees.
A slow fifteen minutes later I could see the barracks buildings, now just two hundred yards away, soldiers seen running around, soldiers noticed up on the roof.
‘OK, listen up. Travis, sit and bind that ankle, behind me, get some cover. Max, stay close. Everyone else, spread out in your teams left and right, ready the RPG and GPMG. I want all RPG shells fired quickly, all GPMG ammo used up. Aim the RPG at buildings or trucks, aim the GPMG at anything you like, just spray it.
‘Once the ammo is gone, back up the hill, dump the RPG but keep the GPMG for now, we all meet back up where we were if we get separated. Those with just rifles, go for the men on the roof and the sandbag positions. Sixty seconds, make it count, then off. Get position, get some cover, plan your escape route, they will fire back. Standby.’
I waited, observing Travis get his boot off, sticky medical tape wound around it, sock pulled up, boot back on, laces done up in a hurry. As he stood I leant into a tree, and observed the men on the barracks rooftops.
‘Standby ... anyone not in position? Standby ... open fire!’
Eight RPG flew out, two hitting walls and creating giant firework displays, two went through windows and detonated inside, one hit a truck engine – a shower of sparks witnessed, and one flew high over the barracks and hit a building beyond the parade ground as the GPMGs hammered out rounds.
I aimed amidst the mêlée, loosing off rounds at the men on the rooftops, unsure if I was hitting any. The tree above me spat out and I knelt, tucking myself in, firing at the roof for a few seconds before aiming at what Mahoney believed to be the HQ building, many rounds put through the glass windows. I hoped that it was the offices of the man in charge, his desk needing a clean-up afterwards.
‘Withdrawing!’ came from Rocko, others echoing those words.’
‘This is Wilco, everyone withdraw, cover to cover!’
I turned and ran, the ground around me hit, and I ducked behind a large tree, Swifty grabbed and dragged in, Moran grabbed and dragged in, Mahoney diving in as the ground around us was torn up.
‘They ain’t happy with us,’ came from Mahoney as the tree above us got hammered.
With a pause in the firing we lifted up and sprinted up the slope, tree to tree, rounds pinging off trees around us.
‘I got something in my shoulder!’ Mahoney shouted.
‘Later,’ I shouted back. ‘Keep moving.’
Finding Travis hobbling quickly, I gave Mahoney my rifle and lifted Travis, picking up the pace. The rounds still came in, but few were close, the occasional whizzing sound from a tree hit, a round spinning through the air.
I put Travis down. ‘Hobble quietly,’ I told him as I grabbed my rifle and checked it, then clicked on the radio. ‘It’s Wilco, watch out for enemy patrols, get back to being stealthy!’
Slowly progressing, eyes strained and ears used, heads turning and checking dark outlines, we progressed back up the hill, and I could hear men ahead of us, and a long twenty minutes was used up.
‘This is Wilco, check your fire, be careful, check your targets, back to the original positions.’
Ten minutes later, and having passed many dark outlines – but ours, we were back to the viewpoint and under the flysheet.
‘It’s Wilco, any wounded, come to me. Empty GPMGs to me.’ I placed down my poncho, rifle down, first aid kit out, torch out. Mahoney took his kit off, his shirt off as dark outlines lined up. With Moran holding a torch I dug out a splinter, cream in, wound taped up. ‘You’re OK for a few days, remind me to give you an antibiotic injection tomorrow. Next man.’
One of the 2 Squadron lads had a nasty scrape above his hip, almost a through and through. ‘OK, it’s not fatal, but it will sting like a bitch.’ I got cream in, a pad on, taped it up carefully, and injected him with an antibiotic. ‘You need to be in a hospital in two or three days, so tough it out for now.’
‘I’m OK for a while, sir,’ he insisted.
A Pathfinder sat down, face covered in blood. Using water and a cloth I cleaned him up, pulling a disfigured round from his scalp and handing it to him. ‘Round hit a tree, spun and hit you.’ With a few painful stitches in I stopped the bleeding, cut his hair with my medical scissors – to great complaint, and taped him up.
A “G” Squadron lad had a ricochet in his calf muscle, and he screamed quietly as I dug it out and handed it to him, several large stitches used to pull the wound closed, a few small stitches to stop the bleeding. Wound cleaned and taped up, I injected him.
The next three men only needed cream and plasters. I packed away my first aid kit, stuffed it away, gloves back on, facemask back on, rifle handed to Swifty, poncho folded up and handed to Swifty as he gave me back my rifle. Turning my back on Swifty, he tucked away the poncho before I stood, and we could still hear rounds cracking out below.
‘Must have thought an entire brigade opened up on them,’ Moran noted as we peered down. ‘Look, two buildings on fire, two trucks.’
‘Question is ... what they do next,’ I posed.
‘What did you figure they would do?’ Mahoney asked through the dark.
‘I figured, and still figure, large patrols into these woods in the morning.’
‘We have the advantage,’ Moran firmly stated. ‘Wear then down. After sun up we could hit them six hundred yards out, there are gaps in the trees.’
‘They have mortars,’ Mahoney cautioned.
‘They also have men up here,’ I countered with. ‘They won’t believe they’ll get us with mortars, this is a big area.’
‘They’ll figure us gone,’ Swifty put in.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, you there?’
‘Yeah, just about hear you. What was all that clatter?’
‘We hit the camp from a distance.’
‘We can see it from here, fires burning. Most of the fuckers below us legged it away.’
I called Haines, finding him still awake, and he put me through to Major O’Donnell, sat next to him enjoying some Cajun chicken cooked by our Liberian lady.
‘Major O’Donnell here.’
‘We crossed the border, sir, killed the guards there, and moved to the target base unseen. In position, we set a decoy and drew them out, a convoy hit on the road, many casualties for them, three patrols shot up, then we hit the main base with RPG and GPMG, damage done, men hit, and now we’re back to the high ground, hoping they’ll think us gone, but also hoping that they’ll send patrols through these woods tomorrow.’
‘Any wounded?’
‘One of your lads has a leg wound, nothing serious, but he
’ll need to be out of here in a day, a few other ricochet wounds. We’re in a better state than the men below.’
‘You’ll need us out there?’
‘We’ll make that assessment at first light, sir. Wilco out.’
I clicked on the radio. ‘Every second man, one hour’s sleep.’ Off the radio, I said, ‘Swifty, rest for an hour.’
‘Doubt I could, I’m wide awake.’
The black night sky turned grey, but I was not sure when. It had gone quiet, and over the past two hours we had not heard any gunfire.
As it became light enough to see the camp I peered down through my sights, seeing men forming up. I clicked on the radio. ‘OK, everyone get ready, take a good drink, have a pee, grab some food, we’ll have company in half an hour.’
Walking left I found Rocko’s team first. ‘Ten minutes from now, go down the slope fifty yards, find good fire positions, something solid, get hidden. Look for someplace where you have a clear hundred yards.’
On to Henri, I gave him the same instructions, Sergeant Crab ordered west, our rear. The 2 Squadron lads were pointed down the slope northeast, the Pathfinders sent off north, the “G” Squadron lads sent northwest.
Coming across Nicholson, I said, ‘Can you climb a tree?’
‘Should think so, Boss, they all have those thick vines dangling.’
‘See if you and Lassey can get a lofty fire position.’
All of the GPMGs were under the flysheet, and I figured that if things went well we may take them back.
Back at my own flysheet, I called Rizzo on the sat phone.
‘Yeah?’ came a sleepy voice.
‘Stretch still got the explosives?’
‘Think so.’
‘Come across to us, but have him blow down some trees and try and block that road, you got twenty minutes before the rebels sweep the area.’
‘OK, moving.’ The words sounded stronger than the man.
‘We best go cover Rizzo. On me.’ I led off my team southeast, and five minutes of weaving around trees took us past a body, the man having bled out, and probably from the shootout with Henri. The trees thinned a little, and we descended towards the road. With the road in sight we halted, fire positions taken covering the road.
Ten minutes later a loud blast caught our attention, a tree bending over and falling across the road, a second blast, another large tree crashing down, the road blocked.
‘Rizzo, it’s Wilco, you blocked the wrong road!
‘What?’
Moran, Mahoney and Swifty laughed.
‘Just kidding.’
‘Fucker.’
‘We’re above you, come up.’
I could see them a minute later, and they moved cover to cover. ‘Thirty yards in front of you, check your fire.’
They came in and knelt, and I could see Stretch smiling even through his facemask. ‘Wrong road,’ he repeated.
‘Any explosives left?’ I asked him.
‘Yeah, plenty.’
‘Hang onto it, might need it.’ I stood, and we led them back. Fifty yards short of the flysheets I halted them. ‘This is your sector, get solid fire positions, cover the area below, rest are spread out just up the hill. Company is coming.’
Returning to the flysheets, I peered down, seeing a snaking line of men moving out the base and onto the road, another line leaving the north side of the camp.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Listen up, the men below had a bad night’s kip, they’re well pissed off at us, no breakfast, and they’re all coming up the hill. Get a fire position with a good view, beyond thirty yards, more the better, get ready. Single well-aimed shots, make it count. Don’t wait for me, if you have a good target then open up.
‘Get some leaves on you, some small branches, make yourselves invisible, don’t get shot. If you’re wounded call it out.’
‘This is Nicholson, Boss, we’re up a tree; I can see for miles, can see the camp and town, and the patrols coming in.’
‘Then figure which way is north, and call it out when they get close. And camouflage yourself, don’t be seen. And everyone, first salvo should be when they get in close, we need to thin them out a bit, then after that snipe at any distance. Standby.’
‘Where should I be?’ Max asked.
‘If you want good shots ... up a tree.’
He peered up. ‘I’ll hide my heavy kit, and get up into that hollow, plenty of cover.’
As he started climbing, Swifty said, ‘Crazy fucker.’ He turned to me. ‘What about us?’
‘We’re the flying squad – if we get a report of a big patrol from one direction we’ll go have at it.’
Nibbling glucose tablets, I sat against a tree, waiting, Moran listening to the stolen radio for a while before just chucking it under the flysheet.
‘This is Nicholson, patrol coming in due east, twenty men, coming straight up, looks like they’re following our tracks from yesterday.’
‘This is Rizzo, long column down on the road, walking back towards the fields with crops in.’
A burst of cracks sounded out, three seconds before fire was returned, intermittent bursts for thirty seconds.
‘This is Rocko, first blood to us, twelve men down.’
The intermittent fire continued, a few rounds cracking overhead as we kept low.
‘This is Nicholson, patrol sneaking in from the north.’
‘Nicholson, shoot the lead men,’ I encouraged.
Cracks sounded out through the canopy, birds shrieking and taking to the wing as I grabbed small branches and placed them through my webbing, and I swapped my magazine for one painted green.
Moving forwards, shoulder into a tree, I peered through my sights, and could see black faces at three hundred yards. About to fire, I saw a white face, and waited, the man moving into my sights. I squeezed the trigger, hitting him high in the chest, and this was suddenly Bosnia all over again.
Moran fired twice, at who I was not sure, and I hit a black face peeking around a tree. Waiting, I found a man knelt over his buddy and hit him in the back. Panning left, I could see a black face peering out from behind a tree, and I took the side of his face off. The other side of the same tree a man knelt using a radio, my round cutting short his report.
Mahoney was now firing out southeast, Swifty and Moran taking the odd pot shot when they had a suitable target.
‘It’s Rizzo, fucking loads coming up from the road.’
‘We’re coming,’ I told him. Off the radio, I said, ‘On me,’ and we ran through the trees. Hearing Rizzo’s team firing out, and then seeing them, I moved right bent-double and on twenty yards, a fallen tree adopted.
We all knelt bunched up, and everywhere I looked I could see a black face, and I hit those shiny black faces, fifteen men down before I changed magazines.
Five additional men killed, and I could see them turning and running, many hit in the back.
I lifted up. ‘On me.’
Running off to the right, almost due west and towards the fields, I skidded to a halt behind a mound, firing almost straight away, men found at fifty yards, many in lines. It was a slaughter, my magazine swapped before they ran.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Nicholson, report.’
‘They’re running away, fucking loads of them dead.’
I turned to Moran. ‘What comes next ... are mortars.’
‘Yep,’ he agreed.
I led my team back to the flysheet, rounds still cracking overhead. ‘Listen up, they’ll use mortars, everyone withdraw to the west, to the flysheets and keep going, to the fields. On the double, in your teams, covering fire. Max, get down. Nicholson, down now.’
Knelt there, teams passed us, Rocko last, Max falling out the tree and winded before scrambling up out the mud. He ran a few yards.
‘Shit, wait, my kit!’ Max dived under a bush and dragged out his heavy kit as we waited, and as he ran we followed him, Rizzo alongside, the “G” Squadron lads coming in from the side.
Reaching the fie
lds, I led the lads into the tree line north, and on another four hundred yards. Halting, I checked all teams. ‘Nicholson, you there?’
‘Back here, Boss. And Lassey.’
‘Max?’
‘Still alive, just about.’
Mahoney asked him, ‘Get any good pictures, boy?’
‘Got some great pictures,’ Max enthused.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Spread out a little, get fire positions, get something solid near you, heads down.’ Moran and I moved between two trees as the whistling came. ‘Take cover!’ I screamed.
The blasts hit the high ground, but the mortar crews were not the best aim, shells landing all over, some blasting us with dirt, ears ringing.
‘Fuckers can’t aim,’ Rizzo shouted.
Moran said, ‘If we’d been back up there they would have missed most of us.’
‘But might have got some of us,’ I cautioned.
Their mortar crews adjusted their aim, and finally got it right, hitting the high ground.
I stood. ‘Good. On me, everyone!’ And I led them due north at a steady pace, up and over the ridge and down, and we made it to a large stream before we spotted a patrol.
I clicked on the radio. ‘I need each man in that patrol dead before he knows it. Spread along, let them get close.’
Taking aim at the NCO in charge I waited, hearing the lads around me spread out. I waited as long as I could, sure that I was spotted, and opened up, a chest shot for the lead man at fifteen yards, an overlapping chorus of cracks sounding out, and the soldiers dropped, none getting a round off.
‘On me.’ I ran forwards, knelt next to bodies and pinched away magazines, the lads copying.
Moving off, I led the team across the stream and up the bank, due north still.
Finding a dense wood to my right, I moved left and around it, a bit of a long detour, but I wanted to avoid contact, and so I pressed on north before the jungle offered us a route to the east. That route took us through grass as tall as a man, mud under foot, but I was sure we were alone in here.
