Wilco- Lone Wolf 5

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘You’re all sweaty, so that sweat will cool, and become very uncomfortable. Today is warm enough, late tonight will be chilly. You’re all required to make a hide along the fence here, facing the runway, and then get in it and remain as still as possible.

  ‘During the day and night things ... will happen on the runway, and you’re required to note them and write them down. Fall asleep and you’ll miss them – and get lots of extra laps. Gentlemen, you will be lying still till noon tomorrow.’

  They moaned.

  ‘During the night I will be sneaking about and observing. If you wriggle too much you get a penalty, if your hide falls apart you get a penalty.

  ‘Now, you have gloves and facemasks, but during the day they’re not needed, and you will be warm. When you use them is up to you. Don’t drink all your water, ration it. And don’t try and cook anything. You now have fifteen minutes to spread out and make a hide. Go!’

  They spread along, and I observed as Haines cut the grass with his webbing spade, two neat squares, the grass cut back, dirt scraped out and dumped over the low fence. Poncho down, webbing off, rifle down, webbing strung out, water out, tins out and strategically placed. And then he wiped his armpits and groin, a good move.

  ‘Five minutes,’ I loudly called.

  ‘Haines sat down, legs covered by the poncho, grass over - edges adjusted, poncho over like a blanket, grass pulled over and adjusted, face down position adopted, wriggle, wriggle some more, and he was almost there.

  When the time was up I could see seventeen mounds, a bit obvious to an enemy soldier, but they were limited in the choice of terrain here.

  ‘Right, stop fucking moving!’ I shouted, and walked off smiling.

  At 2pm Sgt Crab drove onto the runway and smoked a cigarette. At 3.25pm Duffy walked out and took a piss. At 6pm, MP Peter drove out, and stood bouncing a yellow tennis ball for a minute.

  At 8pm, dark now, the lights still on, Tomo drove onto the runway with a girl, and shagged her on the bonnet – which was not planned, but observed and written down. At 10pm the MPs drove down and stopped, a cigarette taken, and they repeated that throughout the night.

  At midnight, a man dressed like a woman walked across the runway some three hundred yards from the hidden men, and at 2am a sheep wandered in somehow, and stood enjoying our grass.

  The Externals lay there shivering, the grass slowly attracting dew.

  At noon I walked out with the Major, blew a whistle and called them in, all of them stiff and having forgotten how to use their legs – and moaning about that fact.

  ‘Go back and put the fucking grass back!’ was shouted a few times before I collected in the papers, telling many half-dead soldiers to put their names on them. At least Haines had neat handwriting.

  ‘Shagging on the bonnet of a car?’ I puzzled.

  ‘10pm,’ Haines insisted, others agreeing.

  I glanced at the Major. ‘We need to have a word with the lads.’

  ‘Car was blue, a Golf.’

  ‘Tomo,’ I said, a look exchanged with the Major.

  With the men formed up, bleary-eyed for the most part, some displaying dirt, they were marched back for a hot shower and some food, the next stage two hours away.

  Back inside the hangar I found Rocko and his troop returning from a truck driving lesson.

  ‘Staff Sergeant Rocko!’ I called, my words echoing, and they halted as a group.

  ‘Tomo,’ I called as I approached, the Major at my side. ‘It seems, Tomo, that you were shagging a lady on the bonnet of your car last night – on the runway.’

  ‘Who me, Boss?’ he asked as the lads glanced at him.

  ‘Yes, you,’ the Major put in. ‘A blue Golf.’

  ‘Well, I had a drink, and slept since then, sir, so ... can’t rightly remember.’

  ‘And yet,’ I began, ‘the seventeen men hidden nearby did remember, and wrote it down.’

  Tomo now looked worried, but let out a quiet, ‘Perverts.’

  ‘Staff Sergeant, he’s in your troop, so I want two laps,’ I stated. ‘You ... go with him.’

  Rocko rounded on Tomo, who ran off. ‘You little shit!’ Rocko bellowed as he ran after Tomo, the lads laughing at them.

  ‘Should be a fast two laps,’ the Major noted. In his office, he asked, ‘Tomo’s ... attitude to security here?’

  ‘His attitude ... is that of a cheeky soldier who’ll break the rules, and that’s what I want. When he sees and enemy patrol he doesn’t shit himself, he thinks about lobbing a grenade for fun or shooting some guy in the balls – and that’s what we need, not someone who’s afraid. As far as his attitude goes ... I can’t fault him. I won’t tell him that, and we’ll discipline him lightly, but I’d not want to lose him.’

  The Major nodded, and considered that.

  The Externals had several hours of jeep maintenance to get through, a few still looking tired, followed by driving the jeeps over the parts of the range that were steep – and unsuitable for vehicles, Sgt Crab directing the trials.

  At sundown the Externals had six laps to complete with full kit and rifles, and at the end they were beat, but allowed to get an early night.

  On the Friday morning, wind suitable, a cloud ceiling of just about 2,000 feet, the Skyvan was back, the Externals kitted out and groups marched aboard and, as I observed, two of them had to kick out of twists, but made it down OK.

  With freefall rigs waiting, the Pathfinders went straight back up, out at 14,000feet with a partial break in the clouds, told to pull the chord before they hit something solid, like the ground.

  They all pulled just below the cloud base and made it to the mini-parachute school, and I was relieved. I delayed the 2 Squadron lads, not least because some had only ever attempted one or two freefall drops.

  With the cloud base rising later, and breaking up, I gave the go ahead, and eight men made it down alive, Haines giving up his slot for a man in his charge.

  With the weather improving hour by hour I had the Skyvan return at 5pm, six freefall rigs, and I took Haines up with Swifty, Smitty and Crab, Smitty having been freefalling at Shobdon for a while. We peaked above 14,000 feet and jumped, a kind of circle held for a while, isolated clouds passed through at speed, and I pulled the release below two thousand. Fortunately, I hit the grass without injury.

  Haines, however, hit the roof of the shed, and had to be rescued form up there, something his lads would never let him live down.

  Bob called just after I waved off the coaches. ‘How did the Externals do?’

  ‘They all got some good training in, a few new tricks, and a few jumps as well, so a happy bunch.’

  ‘No problems with any of them?’

  ‘Not this lot, they work well enough together, no reports of punch-ups, no issues during the training either. Be happy to keep taking that lot on jobs.’

  ‘Might have one soon. Your shooter.’

  ‘Ain’t he dead?’ I teased.

  ‘Yes, but we found a link to Liberia.’

  ‘Ah, Colonel Roach no doubt.’

  ‘Yes, he’s in the Congo, and he has lots of friends around Hereford who could have spotted you.’

  ‘So why not get one of them to shoot me?’

  ‘They’d be afraid of something like that on their doorstep, and afraid of you no doubt, so an outsider must have appealed, someone who didn’t know you.’

  ‘Any hostages in the Congo?’ I teased.

  ‘Lots. Oh, down on Monday with the top brass, chat about Lone Wolf, but also to see how the base is coming along.’

  ‘I’ll shine my shoes.’

  That evening I booked a minibus, which took me and Swifty, Henri, Moran and Mahoney, Capt Harris and one divorcee-to-be to Bristol, MP Peter tagging along to White Ladies Road, and we found a good little wine bar, some very nice ladies to try and chat-up, varying degrees of success achieved, a late night curry enjoyed – and the minibus to take us back.

  I got two long runs in over the weekend, but my knee hu
rt, as well as my left shoulder, my back hurt as usual, and I was considering pain killers again.

  Weights, bars and suitable weight-training benches – all second hand, had turned up, and I had them put in the only small brick building that was suitable, and not being used for anything yet. With the benches and weights spread out, two punch-bags hanging from the ceiling, the room could just about hold ten men training at the same time without rubbing elbows.

  I showed Rocko and Rizzo on the Saturday afternoon, and they were now instructed to get their troops in there once a day, if only for half an hour, a set rotation of exercises.

  The Monday morning briefing found the SIGINT crowd sat listening in at the back, and now the room was getting full.

  ‘OK,’ I began. ‘Top brass are here today, so ... clean up what you can and try and look professional. Don’t forget to say sir, or you’ll get a punch to the head and a few laps – quite a few laps.

  ‘OK, as most of you know we now have a small gym, and the Killing House is now ready, cameras set up. Rizzo, you use it this morning, Rocko this afternoon – feedback to me if anything is wrong. Sergeant Crab, set-up targets, and we have dummies as well now, and monitor the cameras please.

  ‘OK, pistol range above is ready as well, and now all the moving targets move – and face the right way, sensors are working, so I want everyone through it, scores tallied – then scores improved.

  ‘End of this week, timed ten mile, timed twenty mile. Staff Sergeants, sort that out.

  ‘Next, we may have a job in the offing, hostages in the Congo, a lovely spot. We may struggle to get helicopter support, and over the weekend I considered that an aircraft like the Skyvan might get us in and out. Captain Moran, flat out on the study, lots of hours, you may have a combat mission to fly soon enough.’

  He looked worried.

  I continued, ‘Swifty, you may co-pilot, so get some hours in as well, circuits and bumps, and then some more. I was also thinking ... that maybe we make use of an operational HALO insert, not least because no one has done one before. It limits kit, but ... I have an idea about that as well. What I would like to do ... is to piss of the regulars by offering the Army our own HALO team. Something to think about at least.

  ‘Signals and Intel, start studying the Congo in haste, prepare lectures for next week. Mister O’Leary, find us an expert on the Congo, a mercenary maybe, for some lectures.’

  He nodded. ‘What’s that canal for out back?’

  ‘Part of the programme for the new Lone Wolf course would be long distance swimming, and stealthy water approach. As well as canoeing; they would go up and down till they die from exhaustion. But the aim is that they canoe, then swim in full kit and with a weapon, crawl up the bank and shoot, then back the way they came.’

  ‘Seems like it would fit our lads as well,’ the Major noted.

  ‘Yes, sir, maybe after this Congo job.’

  O’Leary put in, ‘Bob is advertising Lone Wolf to all branches of the services, with a stipulation that they’re fit already of course, plus a certain number of years left to serve. MOD will sift the candidates.’

  I nodded. ‘If they’re selected right to start with, then the drop-out rate should be low and we don’t waste time. And I’m not sure I’d bin people just because we want to reduce numbers and keep it elite. If they meet the grade ... then they pass.

  ‘If ten lads pass and someone says just award the best five, I’d see that as a waste. And I’d let them do it twice. But I might suggest a one-day selection process, here, just to weed out the idiots.’

  ‘What about Externals?’ O’Leary asked.

  I considered that, and made a face. ‘They don’t need to prove themselves, they did the three-day well enough, but ... this may be extra training for them. But ten weeks of shit, would they want to do that?’

  O’Leary responded, ‘How about sniper instructors, who then assist with the programme?’

  ‘Yes, I would have considered that, and we have Nicholson, so he’d assist afterwards.’ I lifted my head to Nicholson. ‘Contact your old boss, chat about it, see if he has anyone crazy enough to want to do it.’

  ‘There’re two corporals, Swan and Leggit, and they did the three-day and got eighty-seven and eighty-eight, and they’re marathon runners, Boss.’

  ‘Mention it to them. Mister O’Leary, mention them to Bob. And that guy, Swan, he should do OK in the canal.’

  They laughed.

  ‘What about us teaching them?’ Rocko asked.

  ‘We may be off on a job for six weeks, otherwise yes,’ I responded.

  The top brass arrived in two loud Puma helicopters, the helicopters setting down on the apron, facing us as we stood waiting, their reverberations shaking the hangars. Human cargo out, the Pumas lifted off quickly. Rather, they spun around and slowly gained height across the airfield.

  “Ten-shun,” I called, a group salute given as our guests placed on their hats, Bob having timed it well and now driving in and around to us.

  General Dennet returned the salute for the pack, which included this time the Air Commodore and an aide. Dennet was flanked by the JIC officials and UKSF senior officers, and they stopped to glance around at the base.

  With the Major at my side, the Captains in a line, SIGINT lined up, I eased forwards. ‘Welcome to GL4, gentlemen.’

  ‘GL4?’ Dennet puzzled.

  ‘That’s our postcode, sir. Couldn’t think of a name, so we use that to confuse deadly assassins.’

  ‘Only you would attract deadly assassins, no one else,’ the Air Commodore noted as he closed in, smiled, and shook my hand. ‘Any ... progress on that matter?’

  ‘We know where we need to go to deal with it, sir. And it should be dealt with soon. Rest of it we best not discuss openly.’

  He nodded as Bob’s car pulled up, who they all knew well enough. Bob and an aide stepped out, a glance up at the weather as they stepped closer.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ I began. ‘We can begin the tour, then a nice cuppa.’ I thumbed over my shoulder. ‘In here we have our HQ cabin, Stores, and Signals and Intel – who are not just for us, they’re just a bit squeezed for space up the road in Hereford.

  ‘Next door we have the Killing House, lads in it at the moment, and above it is the pistol range. That range has rooms to be cleared, and targets pop-up or turn around based on sensors. The lads don’t just stand and shoot at static targets, but we also have a twenty-five yard range behind us. This way please.’

  I led them a few steps to the Killing House and inside to the darkened staging area, an all-pervasive smell of rubber and damp wood, the lads getting ready for another assault using M4s and pistols, Crab sat behind the black and white camera screens in the corner.

  Crab stood and saluted. ‘Sir.’

  ‘As you were,’ Dennet offered as our guests formed a line and took in the spooky room.

  Rizzo checked his team over, nods given, pins pulled on live grenades, grenades dropped into the first two windows.

  The blasts took the guests by surprise, the lad’s automatic fire also shocking them a bit. I pointed towards the screens and they closed in, seeing the team move room to room, cover to cover, targets or dummies hit.

  ‘Clear!’ echoed back to us.

  The team managed to do well enough, no one shot in the leg, and they withdrew whilst dragging dummy hostages.

  ‘We offer a first class hostage rescue team, gentlemen,’ I informed my guests. ‘And we get better and better as time goes on. In addition to the two permanent troops of mine we have around twenty Externals, and they’re all good at hostage rescue as well.’

  The Air Commodore began, the lads making safe, ‘And those Externals can step in if you have a man wounded or off sick.’

  ‘Yes, sir, like “L” Company SAS; a seamless filling of the gaps, not years of training.’ I gestured them outside, and to the metal stairs up to the pistol range, a heavy clanking announcing our arrival to Duffy, who saluted.

  Stood behind the ben
ch of the static shooting position, I lifted a pistol and handed it to General Dennet. ‘This weapon is loaded and cocked, sir.’

  He stood ready as I eased back, a nod at Duffy and a target moved sideways into view, Dennet hitting it twice, a second target popping up left – two rounds, a third right, two rounds.

  ‘Place the weapon down,’ I called, and he complied.

  ‘How was that?’ he asked with a grin.

  ‘Let’s go see, sir,’ I said, walking forwards.

  ‘First target, your shot went under his armpits, second man, one good hit, one miss under his chin, last man – you took his ear off and hit him in the arm. So that was Girl Guide pants.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Us old men will leave it to you,’ Dennet conceded.

  ‘My lads all shoot like Billy the Kid, and always have a pistol to hand. In Sierra Leone they twice moved into buildings having first put down rifles and pulled out pistols, rescuing hostages. All soldiers should have a basic knowledge of house searching.’

  ‘Many do practise that,’ Dennet pointed out before I led them down, an almighty racket on the metal stairs, the Major waiting.

  The Major fell into line as we stepped the short distance past the hangar.

  ‘Ahead of us, gentlemen, is the canteen, the most important building on the base.’ They laughed. ‘And that’s the armoury. We have an armourer from RAF Brize Norton.’

  We moved around the corner. ‘This is the visitors centre, nice posh rooms, so if any of you ever wish a room – wife getting a bit too much...’

  They laughed loudly.

  ‘This is our 25yard range, get’s lots of use.’

  I led them on, to where we could see the long range. And halted. They peered ahead. ‘That’s our long range, and it gets plenty of use as well.’

  ‘What’s that trench, drainage?’ the Air Commodore asked.

  ‘No, sir, that will be a long thin swimming pool of sorts. Men on the Lone Wolf programme will swim along it in full kit whilst being stealthy, scramble up and shoot at targets, then go back the same way, especially at night. They can also canoe along it.’

  ‘How long is it?’ a UKSF officer asked.