by Geoff Wolak
He added, ‘Also, everyone, I can get paperbacks and a video recorder, will run off batteries or the generator.’
‘Please do,’ I told him. ‘And copies of The Sun newspaper, see what Max here has been saying about us.’
The FAC put in, ‘The Navy were very happy with the story, a full two page spread.’
My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s the bridge OP, we got a column of men moving south down the river.’
‘Which side of the river?’ My expression caught everyone’s attention.
‘Their side. They’re trying to sneak along, but we can see the fuckers.’
‘How many?’
‘Got to be two hundred.’
‘RPG, machineguns?’
‘No, just rifles and webbing.’
‘Keep the updates coming.’ I faced Morten and wagged a finger. ‘Never believe a word I say about safety. Stand-to everyone, we have infantry approaching from the northeast. Move it!’
In a mad scramble everyone ran to their posts or to their men, and I ran upstairs to get my kit on in a hurry. I shouted, ‘I want all of Echo outside in two minutes, plenty of ammo, grenades, no RPG, no GPMG, no flysheets!’
Bandolier on, webbing on, I checked my rifle, Moran, Swifty and Mahoney getting ready.
‘What’s up?’ Swifty asked as he checked his rifle.
‘Two hundred men approaching from the northeast, but lightly armed, which means they aim to come across in canoes and sneak up.’
‘Try and snipe at us?’ Mahoney puzzled. ‘They don’t learn, do they.’
‘Man in charge is all about the emotion,’ I suggested as I stepped out. Downstairs, I stocked up on grenades, two extra magazines in my bandolier, water topped up. ‘I’ll try not to wake the baby,’ I said as I passed the medics.
Outside, Rocko and Rizzo had the men in their teams.
I shouted, ‘We move northeast, usual teams in the same positions, don’t spread out. On me,’ and I jogged north across the dirt runway to the tree line and then east. Looking back, I could see a long column of men, and I placed on my facemask and gloves, the lads copying.
At the track north I slowed down a little, just in case, eyes everywhere, listening to the calls of the animals in the trees.
Moving through the trees I was confident, supremely confident, even if less than thirty men would tackle two hundred. But as I walked I worried about whether or not I was being over-confident, and that I was being reckless with people’s lives. But I knew what the lads would say, and none would want to be held back – even knowing the risks.
I was conscious of what criticism might come my way, thirty men against two hundred. If this went wrong there would be an enquiry, and I wondered if I was being paranoid; my concern about what other officers might do was interfering with military judgement on the ground.
Half an hour later, and a mile up the track, I turned east, soon to the open country and the reed beds. I halted, scanning the far bank with my sights but without seeing any movement.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Pathfinders and 2 Squadron lads, hide yourselves here, set an ambush on that track, wait my signal, keep an eye on the river and the far bank. You got a sat phone?’
‘I have one,’ came a voice.
‘If you get a contact, call the FOB. Call my number now so that I have it to call you back.’
They called me, the number displayed, and I could recall the last five numbers used.
Easing back into the trees, I led the teams off up the track, now moving slowly and expecting to find an enemy patrol coming head on. Half a mile on I broke east along a low ridge, and to a point where I could see the river. Peering across with my sights, I could see nothing, Max pushing in for a look.
‘Did I invite you along?’ I asked him.
‘Kinda implied, I’ve been on most patrols.’
‘The dangerous ones ... I leave you behind. This ... is one of those, so don’t get shot.’ I clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, back to the track, hide well back from the track this side, eyes on.’
‘Moving.’
‘Rest of you, spread out, eyes open, ears open.’ I sat on a log and peered across the river.
Moran sat next to me. ‘We wait for them to cross?’
‘Hell yes, I want them all dead, not scared off.’
‘Boss, it’s Nicholson. There’s a tree here I could climb.’
‘Do so, don’t fall.’ I faced Moran, my facemask lifted up so that I could drink and now sat on my head like a cap. ‘Do you think I’m being over-confident?’
‘How’d you mean?’
‘Less than thirty of us, two hundred of them.’
He made a face. ‘We’ve tackled more. As for their number ... we shoot the first ten and the rest crap themselves and run away, it’s not like they’re well trained and well organised.’
‘But if this went badly wrong, ten men killed, I’d get shit from above.’
‘Is that what worries you, what the Army would say about you?’
I took a moment. ‘I sometimes wonder if I’m being over-confident.’
‘You have reservations about this?’
‘No, none, and that’s the problem – I think I should have.’
‘If this was my first day I’d be crapping myself, but I learnt what a small unit can do, a well trained group of men up against a rabble. I’m like you now, no fear. And the rest of the lads, they’re too damned stupid to be afraid.’
Sat there, we laughed quietly.
Five minutes later Nicholson came back on, ‘Boss, I’m way up, can see for miles, no sign of them. I can see men in canoes, farmers, an elephant on the river, but no soldiers.’
‘Are they late?’ Moran asked. He adopted a puzzled frown. ‘What? An elephant?’ He stood and peered across the river.
I laughed at him.
Moran realised the joke. ‘That little fuck.’
‘You thought there was an elephant here?’ I teased.
He shook his head. ‘So where are the rabble?’
‘Could have crossed further up.’
We sat and waited as the day grew hot. It rained for ten minutes, people sheltering under trees.
My sat phone trilled. ‘Wilco, this is the OP at the druggy camp, there’s a column of black soldiers moving towards the village.’
‘We were expecting them, but maybe to cross the river down here.’
‘Fuck.’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘They’re shooting.’
‘Lay down fire and withdraw!’
‘They ain’t shooting at us, they’re shooting up the village. Shit, they’re shooting the women and kids and all.’
‘We’re moving that way, keep me informed, and inform the base.’ I lowered the phone. ‘Their attacking the druggy camp.’
‘Some local falling out?’ Moran puzzled.
‘Fuck knows, but we’ll intercept them up the track.’ I dialled the Pathfinders, telling them to come up the track on the double. ‘On me,’ I called. ‘Nicholson, get down sharpish – don’t fucking fall.’
He slid down a vine and landed in a heap, laughing, and I led the teams back to the track, collecting Rizzo.
‘Wouldn’t mind seeing an elephant in the wild,’ Rizzo noted. Moran and I exchanged looks.
With the local monkeys screaming at each other, or maybe screaming at us, we waited ten minutes for the Pathfinders and 2 Squadron to join us, and set off north at a brisk pace. It was dangerous to move fast, but we were reasonably certain that we knew where the gunmen were.
As we reached the road my phone trilled. ‘This is the druggy camp OP, these fuckers have killed everyone, set fire to all the fucking houses.’
‘We’re a mile away, we’ll set an ambush, we won’t get there in time to stop them shooting the place up. Are they still in the camp?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me when they form up to leave, and which direction, move position if you have to.’ Phone away, I said, �
��On me,’ and I ran down the tarmac road, a great risk, the road bracketed by small ridges and tall trees, a great many places for an ambush team to hide.
Six hundred yards down the road, one startled driver stopping to stare, my phone trilled. I halted the column and moved off the road, kneeling. ‘Wilco,’ I said, panting.
‘It’s us again, they’re forming up to leave, same way they came in, the road east to the river.’
‘We’re on that road, half a mile away. Tell me when they start along it, then follow their tale end two hundred yards back, don’t be seen. Oh, how many of you are there?’
‘Eight of us.’
Phone away, I stood, looking back down the road. It stretched out straight for 200yards then curved. Turning around, I could see a straight stretch for 100yards. ‘Nicholson, Lassey, back to the bend in the road, solid fire position this way. On the double.’ They ran off.
‘Pathfinders, 2 Squadron, get solid fire positions south, spread along in your pairs. Henri, Salties, spread along the north side in pairs.’ They ran into the bushes.
‘Rocko, Rizzo, south side ahead of us, spread along, go! Max, stay close.’
Sweating now, I led my team along the road twenty yards and turned into the tree line, up onto the ridge, soon sneaking slowly along, the road in view. ‘Mahoney, Moran, here.’
I led Swifty along, suddenly seeing men on the road, two columns, a semi-professional attitude displayed, their eyes on the trees.
I took my pistol out and handed it to Max with a spare magazine. ‘If it gets hairy, you may need that.’ I cocked it for him.
Tucking it away, he started snapping the column below. I found a solid position, an escape route behind, dirt in front of me, but with a view through the bushes.
I clicked on the radio. ‘It’s Wilco, listen up. Ready your grenades, we throw first. Nicholson, wait till they’re fifty yards ahead of you then open fire unless I say otherwise.’
I placed down my rifle and took out four grenades, handing one to Max. ‘Pull and throw, don’t ever tell anyone.’
Swifty knelt and placed down two grenades, pins pulled on two others and held ready, and we waited as the Liberians walked briskly past. Staring through my facemask, I kept low, but had a view of the road west, and so saw the tail end of the column. As I got ready to throw, the last few men turned around and shouted, pointing their weapons back down the road; they had seen the “G” Squadron lads.
Whilst still holding the grenades, I awkwardly clicked on the radio. ‘Throw now!’
I lobbed my first two grenades just over the bushes and to the right, one hitting a man on the shoulder. He turned to look at it, a shout given, but too late, as thirty grenades detonated, a deafening roar rising up. Lifting my next two grenades I threw hard, back down the road, Swifty copying, Max having thrown his quite hard and across the road.
Picking up my rifle, I had a wounded man tearing into the bushes in front of me, and I put two rounds into him - a scream issued, soon kneeling and firing rapidly at any movement I could see, and soon through a magazine and clicking empty, magazine swapped as rounds tore into the dirt in front of me and into the tree besides me.
Bushes rustled to my right and I fired blind, someone hit, a groan issued. Standing next to the tree, hidden from the road, I fired at those men knelt back down the road, seeing some hit from the “G” Squadron lads; the Liberians were boxed in.
An almighty slap on the back and I was down and winded, Swifty rushing to me as I caught my breath.
‘You’re hit!’ he shouted.
‘No,’ I strained to get out. ‘Hit my bandolier, a magazine.’
He helped me up. ‘Lucky fuck,’ he said as he opened up on a man running through the bushes towards us.
Back onto my knees, I turned to see Max pop off four rounds with my pistol with his eyes closed. I moved to him and knelt next to him, firing down at movement as the background fire eased. Finding no one left moving, and hearing only random bursts, I clicked on the radio.
‘It’s Wilco, move down, double tap, be careful. If you saw any men get to the trees, let them go, don’t chase them.’
Easing forwards, Swifty and I hit every prone body or crawling man nearby, others copying us, and we reached the road, seeing the lads stood at the edge of the trees and bushes. I pulled off my facemask, Swifty copying. Looking both ways, I couldn’t see anyone moving, the lads still double-tapping the dead or wounded.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Collect up all rifles, four or five for each of you, close in on me. Any wounded?’
‘It’s Stretch, I got a ricochet.’
‘It’s Billy, Pathfinders, got a ricochet.’
‘It’s Smitty, got some grenade shit in my leg. I swear someone on your side threw a grenade at me.’
I glanced at Max, saying nothing as he sloped off avoiding eye contact with anyone, his head low. Taking out my phone I dialled Haines, seeing the “G” Squadron lads closing in from the west. ‘It’s Wilco, drive those two jeeps up the north road with a few men, but leave plenty of room in the back. Up to the druggy village and then keep going east towards the river, you’ll see us. Quick as you can. Stand down alert, we got them.’
Phone away, I observed Max taking pictures, the “G” Squadron lads closing in, a few wounded finished off. The troop sergeant kicked a few bodies. ‘These fuckers killed all the women and kids back there!’
‘Maybe some diamond or drug deal gone wrong,’ I suggested, swigging my water, the lads all closing in, rifles picked up, the “G” Squadron lads kicking bodies, the road red with blood in places.
The jeeps arrived little more than six minutes later, not far to drive, and they swerved around bodies, coming to a halt, Sergeant Crab stepping down from the first jeep, an RAF Regiment lad driving.
‘Having fun?’ he asked as he closed in.
‘This lot, they massacred everyone in the village,’ I told him. ‘Women and kids, burnt it down.’
‘We drove through the smoke. What they do that for?’
‘Don’t know, some local feud maybe.’
‘They paid a price,’ he noted, taking in the bloodied mess along the road, Max photographing that bloodied mess.
I turned my head, ‘Grab rifles, unload them, make them safe, in the jeeps, and then all ammo. Look for phones and radios!’
As rifles clattered, thrown into the back of the jeeps, Max handed me back my pistol and I unloaded it, cleared it and reloaded as I stared at him. ‘You OK?’
‘First time I shot someone.’
‘Feel sorry for him?’
‘No, just ... don’t want to get arrested, or criticised back in the UK.’
‘It was life or death, his or yours,’ I told him. ‘So relax.’
I grabbed a wrist and dragged a body off the road, the lads joining in clearing the road. It took ten minutes to get rifles into the jeeps before we tackled ammo pouches, two phones and two radios found, a car coming towards us, stopping and turning and speeding off.
‘Wounded men, in the jeeps!’ I called, and they sat in the back. The jeeps turned around and headed off.
‘On me!’ I called. ‘Two columns, either side of the road, spread out. Don’t get ambushed!’
It started to rain as we moved off west, the bodies left on the side of the road, and I glanced back at them. As we walked I took out my phone and called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco, try and arrange the local army, a convoy to the druggy camp and beyond, road is littered with bodies, someone needs to bury them. Need a digger, and to burn them I reckon.’
‘How many bodies?’
‘About a hundred soldiers on the road, and by all accounts, two or three hundred women and children in the druggy village.’
‘Women and children?’
‘The Liberians cleansed the village, no one left alive by all accounts, we’re heading there now. Pass it up the line, get the UN and Red Cross involved, let Bob know.’
The village was reached quickly, less than half a mile, and
we turned north into it and halted, bodies everywhere, smoke wafting, dogs barking like crazy, goats and chickens running around.
‘Rocko, your team, cover Max.’ I turned my head. ‘Max, you ... got the stomach for this?’
He hesitated. ‘I think so.’
‘We need this story out there, Max, it puts what we do here in focus.’ Nodding, he moved forwards, Rocko and his team behind. I turned around. ‘Rest of you, don’t bunch up, spread out, sit down, stay sharp!’
Mahoney stared ahead at the bodies. ‘This is such ... a fucked up place.’
‘Be glad you get to go home,’ I told him. ‘Some people have no choice but to put up with this shit day after day. Over in Liberia it’s even worse, the Congo worse again.’
‘Should have taken some of those bastards alive, and set fire to them.’
The jeeps returned to us, a surprise, Major O’Donnell stepping down wearing webbing and now armed. Nothing was said as he moved past and took in the bodies. He turned to me. ‘And the men who did this?’
‘You’ll find them up the road half a mile, sir, on the side of the road.’
‘And the reason?’
‘Maybe some local feud,’ I suggested.
‘I think I would have preferred that the soldiers came and attacked us ... instead of this.’
‘Life is cheap around here, sir, very damn cheap.’
‘Wilco!’ came a scream from Max, and I ran forwards, my team with me. Max appeared with a young boy, a serious wound. I knelt and got my first aid kit out as Rocko came out of a hut with a crying baby.
‘They missed this little fella,’ he said.
‘In the jeep,’ I told Rocko, getting a pad on the boy. ‘He’ll lose the arm, but he’ll live.’ Bound up, I lifted the boy and carried him back, Swifty bringing my rifle.
‘Should we not search the village for other survivors?’ Major O’Donnell asked.
‘And do what with them, sir?’ I curtly asked as I held the semi-conscious boy. ‘Keep them with us at the FOB? Kids without parents around here are as good as dead, there’re no state orphanages, the kids would be on the rubbish dump. That albino baby - the government here would drown it or put it back in the fucking bushes!’
I placed the kid in the back of the jeep, the lad groaning. Away from the jeep I faced O’Donnell. ‘That boy is now our responsibility, and you’re the ranking officer. When we leave ... he dies of starvation around the FOB.’
