Wilco- Lone Wolf 21

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘People close to me get shot!' I cautioned. ‘Even if just sat fishing.’

  ‘I know it's a risk, but … if he got some respect, even for a while, if he could lift his head up high and be proud...’

  I sighed. ‘Send him, sir, and you need not have asked, you get whatever you want.’

  ‘Thank you, Wilco. Expect him today.’

  At 4pm the van turned up and came around, MPs down, the young soldier down in handcuffs and looking a bit lost and bewildered. I was stood with Rocko and Monster, enough to frighten any visitor.

  He was as tall as me but thinner, tight cheeks and narrow eyes, black hair combed forwards, now stood in is No.1 dress uniform.

  I waved him over, the MPs escorting him. ‘You know where you are?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘This is GL4.’

  His eyes widened.

  ‘I'm Wilco.’

  ‘What … what am I doing here, sir?’

  ‘You have friends in high places.’

  ‘I do?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Did you ever meet your real father?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘No.’

  ‘He saved my life. As a favour, you're here for a while.’ I faced the MP's. ‘Un-cuff him. Does he have kit with him?’

  They un-cuffed him and dumped his bags, saluted and left.

  ‘Walk with me.’ I led him towards the north fence. ‘Do you run well?’

  ‘Marathon in two-thirty-eight, sir.’

  ‘Competition?’

  ‘A few, but I like endurance events, against myself. People try and trip me up, sir.’

  I smiled. ‘Me too. You shoot well?’

  ‘Bisely rifle, and Olympic standard .22 pistol, sir.’

  ‘And you have a high IQ they said...’

  ‘I speak Russian and Arabic.’

  I cocked an eyebrow. In Russian I asked, ‘But you don't get along with people..?’

  In Russian he replied, ‘They don't get along with me, father.’

  ‘You said father not sir.’

  ‘I'll check that, sir.’

  I said in English. ‘Who raised you?’

  ‘My mother, sir. She was an admin clerk, Army, never said who my father was, but she said we got some money.’

  ‘He's a good man, just … difficult circumstances. Don't hate him, he saved me, and he asked me to save you. So he gets some credit.’

  ‘Who is he, sir?’

  ‘Not yet. He asked that I help you, so I will. You can spend time here while you consider your future, or go to prison. What were you charged with anyhow?’

  ‘Assault of an NCO. I busted him up badly.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Was on my case all the time because I was better than him, I beat him at everything, and the cunt didn't like that. Kept making up stuff to get me in trouble.’

  I nodded. ‘I understand that better than you think. I still get people trying to trip me up, and recently I had a government official sell out to the enemy because he hated me, jealous. One government official sent details of my daughter to a drug dealer, hoping he'd kill her.’

  ‘What a cunt. What happened to him, sir?’

  ‘They're both six feet under. I don't take shit anymore, and if you're going to be here you need to learn not to react and get annoyed, because it will hurt. The men here are all fit as fuck, trained killers. They may try and wind you up, and if you throw a punch they'll break your arm. Be warned.

  ‘And if you screw with me I'll shoot you in the foot, and no one will ever prosecute me. So make a choice now, accept my help and toe the line, or go back to prison, but you have time to decide which way your life goes, and I owe your father. Doesn't matter if you hate him or not, what matters is that you trust me with your wellbeing.’ I waited.

  ‘You're the only one I would trust, sir.’

  ‘If I help you here, and you do well, and … join us, you may get killed...’

  He glanced north. ‘How'd you do it, sir, face death like that?’

  ‘Imagine you’re on a hill, below is your village, your mum, everyone your care about. Bandits are coming to kill them all, and you're on the hill with a gun, alone. You can run, or you can try and fight.

  ‘If you fight and die for others that lifts you, it's a noble act, and you feel good, proud of yourself. So imagine being stood between the bad men and your mum, and fighting. Tap into that feeling, and then … then it's easy.’

  ‘When I was ten a man broke in, attacked my mum, and I stabbed him before he knocked me out.’

  ‘And how did it feel, stabbing him?’

  ‘Well … the right thing to do, sir.’

  ‘Correct. So think about how you felt, and try and feel that for hostages being held somewhere. And keep stabbing the bad men.’

  I walked him back. ‘What's your name?’

  ‘David Beale.’

  ‘And what do they call you?’

  ‘Stickler.’

  ‘Why Stickler?’

  ‘I was always doing my kit right in basic training, sir. Stickler for the detail.’

  ‘Call me boss from now on. Sergeant Major, find this soldier a room, get him some kit, show him around. Tell them all to treat him like my younger brother, or I'm going to get annoyed.’

  ‘Right, Boss. Come on Wilco Junior.’They walked towards the huts.

  Monster asked, ‘Who is he?’

  ‘A younger version of me, similar skill sets, and his father is an old friend. And I don't want to see the lad killed, but … would you allow someone to hold you back?’

  ‘Fuck no.’

  ‘And if I said that a year from now you take a bullet?’

  ‘I wouldn't quit, because that bullet will treat me better than they will as an old man in a nursing home; that bullet has respect for me.’ He studied me. ‘Do you ever see it coming?’

  ‘It keeps fucking missing me!' I complained, making him laugh. ‘I've tempted it often enough, and that bullet has no respect at all.’

  I called David Finch. ‘I just took on board a young soldier, from prison. He speaks Arabic and Russian, and runs marathons as well as I used to, and he shoots very well.’

  ‘Dear god. You signed him up?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Kind of?’

  ‘His father is an old friend, and … I don't want to have to make that call someday.’

  ‘Ah, yes, a problem. And in prison? And after prison?’

  ‘OK, so he may be better off taking the risk.’

  ‘A chance to shine, if only for a while. Don't hold him back, and if his father asked you to help then his father knows the risks, and wants to be proud.’

  ‘You have kids?’

  ‘Two teenage daughters, and I'd swap for sons.’

  I laughed. ‘I'm sure you love them very much.’

  ‘I did till they hit eight years old, and will again when they hit thirty and bring me grandchildren, but for now I'm the useless old man they don't want their friends to meet.’

  ‘Do they know you're a deadly assassin?’

  ‘They think I'm a civil servant.’

  At 8pm I ventured into the recreation hut, Stickler chatting to Nicholson and Tomo, many men in and not down the pub.

  ‘Tomo, are you telling tall tales?’ I teased.

  ‘Just putting the man right on how to treat a woman.’

  ‘How the fuck would you know?’ I asked, the lads laughing at him. ‘Your technique is – here's the cash now suck that.’

  They laughed louder.

  I told Stickler, ‘In Panama he had three hookers in one room, and he thinks he knows how to treat a woman right. Bollocks. And when we moved down here from Hereford he had people tell his girlfriend he had been killed in action.’

  Nicholson bent over laughing.

  ‘Tomo, stick to the soldiering, you're good at that.’ I faced Stickler. ‘Don't pick up bad habits from him, like shooting people in the balls from a thousand yards out. And in La Ninga, Panama, a guy turns
up to deliver the post, so Tomo shot him.’

  ‘That guy was armed,’ Tomo protested.

  I told Stickler, ‘He shot at an aircraft attacking us in Panama, and it crashed into the air traffic control tower. Would have done less damage if it had bombed us.’

  ‘Not my fault,’ Tomo playfully protested.

  ‘And in Africa we had the Americans recover the body of an enemy commander, and they're asking me why he was hit in the testicles.’

  The Wolves were laughing hard.

  ‘I tell them he was shot in a strong wind, then a month later they recover another one, shot in the testicles, and I have the FBI asking questions thanks to fuckwit here. Stick to Nicholson for some guidance.’

  I stood with Sambo and Henri for fifteen minutes, talk of 1st Battalion, then led Stickler out and to my house. Swifty was in and cleaning clothes. We sat and got a brew on around the kitchen table.

  I said to Swifty, ‘Lad here runs marathons as well as I ever did, shoots like Davey Crockett, and speaks Russian and Arabic.’

  ‘Well when you get killed he can step up,’ Swifty quipped.

  ‘Problem is, I accepted him here from prison - I know his father, so I don't want to see him killed.’

  Stickler responded, ‘Could die in a car crash next week. Did he … ask you to keep me out of any fighting?’

  ‘No, and by sending you here he knew the risks to you, just by living here.’

  ‘In the Engineers I could have been sent into trouble.’

  I faced Swifty. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘His choice, his life. I'd never hold someone back, and if you held me back because you didn't want to see me killed I'd be fucking annoyed about that.’

  ‘I couldn't hold you back, you're senior.’

  ‘Senior?’ Stickler puzzled.

  Swifty explained, ‘In the SAS, regular SAS, the man that joined before you is senior, you follow their orders if you're the same rank. I joined before Wilco.’

  ‘My first naughty job in the SAS was with Swifty here, Northern Ireland. He's been on every mission since, now old and knackered.’

  ‘My body is in better shape than yours! You move like an old man some days.’

  ‘How'd they let you stay, being shot so many times?’ Stickler asked me.

  ‘I work for Mi6, not the Army, so they're different rules. I'd never pass a medical. And half the time I'm working with Intel, not soldiering.’

  ‘I have all the newspaper clippings, always wanted to see some action.’

  I turned to Swifty. ‘He worked over his corporal, who was jealous of him.’

  ‘Chip off the old block then,’ Swifty noted.

  I asked Stickler, ‘Why did you learn Russian and Arabic?’

  ‘When I was a kid my mum got me a sponsorship, and I went to the Ukraine for six weeks one summer and to Jordan and Egypt.’

  ‘I think that might have been your father, wanting you to get an education.’

  ‘Well … he never got in touch.’

  ‘Someday you'll understand. He's married, but had a fling with your mother. At least he looked out for you and sent money. People like Tomo and Rizzo had drunk violent fathers, so think yourself damn lucky compared to them.’

  Swifty asked, ‘You'll take him into Echo?’

  ‘We'll test him first, see what he can do.’ I told Stickler, ‘In the morning you follow Nicholson to the briefing.’

  At the end of the morning briefing I welcomed Stickler.

  ‘Is he in Echo now?’ Billy asked.

  ‘No, he's in limbo till I decide, here instead of prison.’

  ‘No.1 Field Recon then,’ Billy suggested.

  ‘No, he's really in limbo. Nicholson, find Sergeant Crab, and I want Stickler worked hard on the pistol, then tested on the upstairs range, then Valmet. Rest of you, get some training in. Swifty, that exercise in the Beacons, start over.

  ‘Slider, Rizzo, I want Doc Willy trained on everything, all weapons, but he can do so with Parker, Monster, and anyone else that wants to join in. Tiller and Brace maybe.’

  At 5pm Crab came to find me in with Billy. ‘That new kid your fucking twin or something?’

  ‘Why?’ I puzzled.

  ‘He scored a point under Tomo on the pistol, level with Nicholson at 500yards, that's why.’

  I exchanged a look with Billy. ‘Tomorrow, 9am, eight hour speed march for everyone that's not injured, but I think Swifty might take the Wolves to Brecon.’

  ‘That's down for next week,’ Crab told me.

  ‘9am then.’

  With Crab gone, Billy asked, ‘Who is he? And why in limbo?’

  ‘Lad is Engineers, shit hot but unbalanced, worked over his NCO. Don't ever repeat this, but his biological father is Colonel Bennet.’

  ‘Bloody hell, I know Bennet well. And I assume Bennet is happily married.’

  I nodded. ‘He asked a favour, knowing that if he sent the lad here I'd take him on.’

  ‘If my father sent me to work with you I'd not be happy!'

  I shrugged. ‘His life, his choice, and – as he said himself – he could die in a car crash next week.’

  He eased back. ‘When I saw you in that rehab place, after Bosnia, I figured you'd not come back.’

  ‘Seems like a lifetime ago,’ I said with a sigh. ‘And you, do you ever think about the hero stuff?’

  ‘I did my bit in Oman and the Falklands, and you realise that the hero bit hurts a great deal, and a cold wet grave is to be avoided. I've seen them all come and go, the married men afraid to get killed, and the nutcase who wants to kill for fun.’

  ‘Why come out to Panama?’

  ‘I sometimes feel that I should be more involved, and by attending something like Panama I get to know the men and they relate to me better.’

  ‘Bradley was never in the field, and you don't need to be. Besides, you're really crap when woken early. Someone attacks us at dawn and you'd be moving around with your eyes closed.’

  ‘I'm not a young man any more,’ he complained.

  ‘Then leave it to the young men. Major.’

  At 9am in the morning the lads lined up, all in full kit but without bandoliers or ammo, a group of twenty. I could see Henri and Dicky and stepped to them. ‘You old men don't need to do this.’

  ‘Need to keep fit,’ Dicky noted. ‘Even if we're at the back.’

  ‘Don't strain anything, might have a job on next week,’ I told them.

  With Crab and Duffy at the tables, Rocko organising things, we set them off at the same time. Tiller and Brace were soon out front.

  At 4pm we saw a man down and ran in, Smitty. He was clutching his side in agony.

  ‘Where's the pain?’ I asked.

  ‘Like a hernia I think.’

  I had an MP call an ambulance, and by time it go here Smitty was unconscious, handed to the ambulance crew less his kit, the walkers encouraged to keep going. And faster.

  At 5pm we called a halt, Tiller and Brace in the lead followed by Tomo, Parker close behind him, Stickler behind Parker, two veteran Wolves, Swan then Murphy and Terry together, Nicholson, Greenie then Doc Willy, Ginger and the remainder.

  The Brigadier stepped out to me. ‘Just got a call, and that man Smitty died.’

  ‘He's dead?’ I puzzled, Crab and Duffy shocked.

  ‘Burst appendix they said, poisoned his system.’

  ‘He … he must have had the pain and kept going a few laps.’ I sighed heavily, shaking my head. ‘Stupid fuck.’

  ‘I'll start the paperwork, notify the MOD, and we'll need to deal with the family, private gear back.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  I gathered all of those who had taken part, all sweating and red-faced, the remainder stood observing. ‘Listen up. Good effort for those at the front, and new guy Stickler did well. Doc Willy, not too bad but keep at it.’ I took in their tired sweaty faces as they recovered, drinks sipped. ‘Smitty suffered a burst appendix, but he kept going when he should have stopped and told
us. He died in hospital.’

  Shocked looks swept around.

  ‘All of you, if you have a pain – report it to me, don't fucking hide it, not worth throwing your lives away for. Go get cleaned up. Sergeant Major, sort Smitty's room, kit back, private kit boxed up ready.’

  Inside, I found Billy and gave him the news, a shit load of paperwork created for him.

  In the morning, Colonel Bennet called. ‘You had a man die in training...’

  ‘Not your lad, I would have called you.’

  ‘How's he getting on?’

  ‘You were right, he's a younger version of me. He shoots as well as my best men, and he's fit, in the top few. From my side, I'm happy to take him into Echo, or I can place him with 1st Field Recon, where he'll see less action.’

  ‘Well, I'll leave that up to you...’

  ‘Cut the crap, sir.’

  ‘Well, I want him to do well, but … as a father … I'd rather not read about his death.’

  ‘Could die in a car crash, or he could go to prison, come out with attitude and lead a life of crime, drug and alcohol abuse before someone stabs him to death in a dark alley.’

  ‘Not much of a choice, is it. I was hoping for a third option.’

  ‘There is one. He serves a year or two and leaves, head held high, nothing to prove to anyone. Just needs to survive that time.’

  ‘Then I guess that's the road he takes, and … it's a risk but better than the alternative for him.’

  ‘I won't hold him back, sir. And his life as a painter decorator might have been dull. Did you pay his language studies when he was young?’

  ‘Yes, kept in touch with his mother, sent money.’

  Mutch came and found me later. ‘That rig is in Gibraltar, waiting a storm to pass before it heads south.’

  I led him to Sanderson. ‘Can you get Secret Agent Scorpio here plane tickets and hotels, Gibraltar, straight away?’

  ‘Agent Scorpio?’ Sanderson teased.

  ‘I called him Lard Arse, but he didn't like that title.’

  ‘Scorpio then.’

  I called David Finch. ‘I'm sending Secret Agent Lard Arse to Gibraltar, and by time he arrives I need a letter of authorisation that grants him government license to inspect the Nome oil platform parked there.’

  ‘What is he looking for?’