Wilco- Lone Wolf 5

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Rupert The Bear pyjamas?’ I teased.

  ‘Blue stripes.’

  ‘Listen, we had an attack here, fought them back, no wounded. Half ran off, so we’ll go look in the morning.’

  ‘They came looking for you?’

  ‘Yes, but we have excellent local intel. Any change to the plan?’

  ‘No, but if you knocked that group back then it thins them out more.’

  ‘It could have been the men from the mine, so we could avoid Zambia now.’

  ‘No, we have a directive from the PM, show of force.’

  ‘Listen, that airfield, it safe enough?’

  ‘Well, I think so, some Zambian army there, towers with machineguns.’

  ‘So how about you bring out the Wolves for a week, and they get some first class experience,’ I suggested.

  ‘I’m in favour, yes. They’re all time-served servicemen, and fit, so they should be able to cope. Bradley can fly out with them. Tristar to Kenya, Hercules down, extra experience for them.’

  ‘Experience of being uncomfortable in a Hercules,’ I quipped.

  ‘They have to get used to it.’

  The roar built, and I stepped to the strip, the Mi8 coming in with its lights blazing. It seemed to know exactly where we were, and it set down next to the camp. Rotors winding down, three men came out, and I noticed Slade.

  ‘Slade?’

  ‘That injection did the trick, Boss, right as rain now.’

  ‘And the Skyvan, our medics?’

  ‘Being re-fuelled, checked over, they’ll be back after sun up.’

  ‘You missed the action, we were attacked here.’

  ‘You were?’ the pilots asked, glancing around.

  ‘We pushed them back, and we’ll clean up the bodies after sun up,’ I explained. ‘You can fly a circuit and look for stragglers at dawn, so get some sleep.’

  An hour later Moran appeared with Rocko’s patrol, who had double-backed after hearing grenades.

  ‘Bit of a flap on?’ Rocko asked me as I sat a table, kids offering cold Fanta to him.

  ‘Luckily, we had Rizzo, who single-handedly fought of the attack whilst you were out picking flowers.’

  ‘Yeah, bollocks,’ Rocko uttered as those nearby laughed.

  ‘Just before dawn, Staff Sergeant, you sweep west, look for stragglers. Get some rest.’

  As the dawn came up I watched a small monkey as it watched me, a delicate mist hanging around the trees, the Mi8 glass and metalwork now offering a sheen. A flock of birds in formation gracefully flew over me, and I did a double-take as a deer wandered out, let out a few high pitch calls, and wandered off again.

  Men stirred, fires were started, and stag rotations were swapped, limbs stiff. I took a pee, aiming at a beetle.

  Half an hour later, and with teams formed up, Rocko led his team down the road and over. Moran led his team due west with Max tagging along, and I sent out roving patrols north and east, Sasha leading a patrol.

  I put Pathfinders in the Mi8, and it loudly took off for a local circuit.

  Moran reported no stragglers, no live ones, so I had spare men collect up weapons and ammo from the dead. George, meanwhile, claimed the abandoned jeeps and trucks and drove them in, many of the tyres punctured – but they could be fixed.

  ‘George, I need a favour,’ I began. ‘Get men from the town with shovels, to bury the dead. You pay them good money, we’ll pay you.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do it. Men like the money for work.’

  Morten handed over another thousand dollars, and as the Skyvan buzzed the camp and circled we had men from the town digging holes for bodies.

  Rocko had found a few stragglers in a hut and had pasted them, but apart from that small group there was no sign of those that had fled. We figured on them heading to the town, or beyond.

  One particular table top now displayed a large number of rifles - all made safe, and a great many magazines, the kids kept away from them. I gave George four rifles and plenty of ammo.

  After lunch, the day hot, men sleeping in the heat, my phone trilled as I got some shelter under a wing of the Skyvan, Swifty snoring next to me. My phone was always placed to my right ear, my radio in the left.

  ‘It’s Captain Harris, we have the details of the airfield in Zambia, and we spoke to their local officer – twice, finally he got the permissions, so you can fly there when you like, hundred and sixty miles.’

  ‘We have too many men for the Skyvan and the Mi8, and I’m not risking leaving a small force behind, so send the Hercules, and their ground crews for Zambia.’

  ‘I’ll go chat to them now, both Hercules are here, but they are tasked with taking “A” Squadron and Signals ... and us.’

  ‘Fine, send them first, then back for us, won’t make any difference.’

  ‘I’ll see what they say.’

  We took it easy, nothing to do save the odd patrol, no local intel on the Zambians. As I sat in the shade, Swifty asleep next to me, Sasha cleaning his rifle, I could see Sandra playing with the kids – a hand clapping game.

  A large tarantula exited a bush and moved towards the strip, a line of men approaching it. All walked right over it, none killed it by accident, and the lucky spider plodded on. I observed its progress, suddenly a shadow as a large bird swooped in and took it.

  ‘Luck ran out,’ I quietly told it.

  Small patrols ventured out in the heat – a shimmering haze on the strip, they duly re-appeared in time, and the sun dipped lower, the smell of cooking making me hungry. We moved to the tables, cold Fantas enjoyed – the fridge running off a generator, spicy chicken served up.

  No one had phoned George to warn of an impending attack, and so we relaxed, a radio listened to, or people simply sat in groups and chatted.

  A few locals had turned up, the medics doing a little hearts and minds, no charge for the treatment – but all patients were asked about Zambian men or hostages.

  The night was quiet save the usual background roar of small insects calling out to each other, and the dawn found me peeing on the strip, a hog wandering past and ignoring me. I was tempted to shoot it for breakfast.

  When my phone trilled it was Captain Harris. ‘Didn’t wake you?’

  ‘No, I was up and peeing.’

  ‘We’re in Zambia, “A” Squadron and SIGINT.’

  ‘So why don’t you run down the rebels and we’ll take it easy for a while, eh.’

  ‘Well, “A” Squadron might do that, but not even they’re sure what they’re tasked with.’

  ‘Show of force for the Zambian government ... is what they are tasked with. Great Britain Plc wants more mining concessions; the lads don’t have to do anything. So, what’s it like there?’

  ‘Small army camp, dozen huts, then the airfield, good runway, ATC tower, two large hangars, some small prop-engine aircraft like a Spitfire, then some brick barracks, more huts, a shooting range, village nearby. And some sort of Flying Doctors outpost. There’s fuel and mechanics here, so it’s not too primitive, and two Cessnas.’

  ‘Home from home, eh. So when are the Hercules coming for us?’

  ‘They’ll take off now if I say you’re ready.’

  ‘We’re ready.’

  ‘Be with you inside the hour.’

  Phone down, I walked first to the medics. ‘Break camp, pack up, plane here inside the hour, we’re off to Zambia. Move it, people.’

  At the tables, I shouted, ‘Break camp, pack up, we’ll be leaving inside the hour, Skyvan and Mi8 get ready.’ I closed in on the Mi8 pilots. ‘Can you make 160 miles?’

  ‘In theory, yes, barring faults.’

  ‘You can fly empty, or take two soldiers.’

  ‘Two soldiers, definitely.’

  ‘How about ... you go first, Skyvan second, and the Skyvan is there to put down and rescue you if need be.’

  ‘That would be safer, yes.’

  ‘You fully fuelled?’ I asked.

  They nodded.

  ‘Get ready to g
o then, coordinate with the Skyvan, check the map carefully.’

  Cold Fantas down, they headed off to make some noise.

  I closed in on our host. ‘George, we’re leaving, going to Zambia, so you stay safe. If anyone asks, we held you at gunpoint and made you cooperate.’

  ‘It be OK, here OK,’ he assured me, his jet black face just as sweaty as usual.

  ‘Mister Haines, load the liberated rifles and ammo to the Skyvan. Rocko, your team in the Skyvan. Slade and Lassey in the Mi8, rest in the Hercules.’ I turned. ‘Sandra, say goodbye to the kids, get your kit.’

  She seemed saddened to be leaving.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘All patrols come back in, road ambush remain till called.’

  The Mi8 whined into life then growled, the Skyvan starting its engines - both now working fortunately, the local animals disturbed, the kids excited and stood watching the aircraft.

  The Mi8 lifted up twelve inches and turned, soon heading down the runway like a plane and lifting slowly. The Skyvan was already facing the right way, so went full power for a few seconds, brakes knocked off, and it moved off, taking off after just a hundred yards. The drone grew softer with each passing second.

  The medics placed their kit on the side of the strip as I observed.

  ‘Listen up: when the Hercules touches down, help the medics load the kit in record time.’

  I accepted a can of Fanta from a young girl with a snot nose, and it hissed open. After a drink, I passed it to Swifty and on to Sasha as we waited.

  Twenty minutes later the roar grew, and people glanced up through the trees as two Hercules circled.

  ‘Half and half,’ I told Moran, and he nodded.

  ‘Hercules for Wilco.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Are you ready to leave?’

  ‘Yeah, all packed.’

  ‘Wind direction?’

  ‘Northeast to southwest, so land as before. And we’ll split our men across both birds.’ Off the radio, I shouted, ‘Make safe weapons!’

  First Hercules down, a roar of reverse thrust, and many hands lifted kit inside, the medics inside with one flight of 2 Squadron and some of mine.

  Powering up, brakes off, it thundered past me and off, the second plane on approach, a smooth touchdown, everyone running aboard in less than a minute, a wave at George and his kids and the ramp-door started closing.

  I sat, held on, and we powered down the runway, a gentle rise and a hard right turn, and I glimpsed the road we had taken towards town before we broke through the clouds.

  Barely thirty minutes later we began our descent and came around, our new home in sight, and we touched down smoothly. Ramp down, we walked out into the sunshine, taking in the dusty base, the apron and the Cessnas, the small military planes, the Skyvan and the Mi8 thankfully here.

  An RAF Squadron leader stood waiting. ‘That brick building is the billet,’ he told me, leading us towards it. ‘The other SAS are on the ground level, you’re men are on the top level already.’

  ‘Medics, sir?’

  ‘They’re in the hangar.’

  ‘RAF Regiment?’

  ‘Camp beds in the hangar for now. You ... want quarters for the lady?’

  ‘No, sir, she stays with us,’ I told him.

  Up the concrete steps, we claimed beds in a long room, space for fifty of us, no ceiling fans or air conditioning, no mozzie nets, Slade and Lassey already here, plus Rocko’s team.

  ‘Staff Sergeants, try and find some water – other than in the taps.’

  Webbing off, weapons carried, I grabbed Moran and we headed out. At the ATC we found the SIGINT room, and they did have ceiling fans.

  ‘This command central?’ I asked.

  ‘This room is as good as it gets,’ Captain Harris reported. He already had maps up, and on tables, Signals with their odd computer-telex machines and their short-wave radios, Intel with their trusty fax machine linked to a sat phone.

  The Hercules took off.

  ‘Where they going?’ I asked, peering through a window.

  ‘To Kenya, to get the Wolves.’

  ‘Ah.’ I nodded. ‘Cold water?’

  ‘Next door, big fridge stacked up, local lorry turns up with all sorts on it to buy.’

  ‘You have cash?’ I pressed.

  ‘Some, more on the way, we did request it.’

  ‘So what happened at that strip,’ a lady captain asked me, and Moran and I gave them a twenty minute lecture on everything we did. They would write up reports.

  Major Chalmers stepped in with two captains, water bottles in hand, short sleeved shirts, berets on.

  ‘Sir,’ I said with a nod.

  ‘Well, we’re here, not quite sure why,’ he unhappily stated.

  ‘Easy, sir. Rio Tinto mine here. Rio Tinto are large party donors and friends of the Prime Minister. Rio Tinto had their mines shot up, so ... here we are. And I think your role here, sir, is simply a show of force to let the Zambians know that we care.’

  He took in the faces. ‘That’s really why we’re here?’

  ‘Yes, sir, to the letter.’

  ‘And the hostages?’

  ‘Work for Rio Tinto, sir.’

  ‘Bloody marvellous.’ He sighed. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘Plan is to wait some solid intel, then make a plan, sir. Roving patrols would do no good, it’s a large area, and we have no jeeps yet.’ I raised a finger. ‘But we could insert your men by helicopter or Skyvan, the mines have runways – if you want to exercise them.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I have enough men for some hearts and minds and deterrent. So before we have solid intel, and before you’re tasked to assist us, such movements would be ... discretionary, sir.’

  ‘Didn’t bring the men just to sit around and get a tan, so when you have details, we’ll send men. Hearts and minds, as my uncle would say – he was in Malaya.’

  ‘We’ll have details by the morning, sir. And Major Bradley will be here then, with my reinforcements.’

  ‘Reinforcements?’

  ‘Twenty Lone Wolves, sir.’

  ‘Lone ... Wolves?’

  ‘Men I’m training for long range penetration of enemy lines, a specialist sniper role. They go in alone. Some came from Mi6.’

  ‘I see. And they’ll take jobs from us?’

  ‘No, sir, different roles, but similar. They would answer to Mi6 directly.’

  ‘Be interesting to see. So, we wait the intel, and your reinforcements.’ He led his captains out.

  Sergeant Fishy came and found me in the hangar with the Air Troop as I chatted to Haines about watching the fence. They surrounded me.

  ‘Boss, how about some HALO drops here?’ Fishy asked.

  ‘Sure, we can request chutes.’

  ‘We have some,’ he replied. ‘But what I meant was ... over the bad boys.’

  ‘Ah, an operational HALO drop, second to my ... first operational HALO drop,’ I teased.

  ‘Public thinks it’s all SAS,’ one man countered with.

  ‘And your Major?’ I pressed.

  ‘We’d have to clear it, yes, but if you sold the benefits for us...’

  ‘Benefits ... without broken legs or men landing in trees?’ I waited.

  ‘It’s all a risk,’ another man said. ‘Find us a flat area.’

  ‘Leave it with me, gentlemen, but ... one favour deserves another. I have some new recruits coming down, and you can assist with HALO training for them, plus static line.’

  ‘New recruits?’ they puzzled.

  ‘You’ll see tomorrow.’

  I stepped in to see Captain Harris. ‘Get hold of the base in Kenya, I want a shit load of chutes, as many as they can spare, they will get them back.’

  ‘They re-packed the others already,’ he responded.

  ‘Great, stick them on the Hercules coming out. And the HALO bags.’

  ‘You’ll make another drop?’

  ‘We’re here to get experience, but
the Wolves will be trained as well.’

  ‘They seem good already,’ a lady captain mentioned.

  I nodded. ‘They came from other services, and were fit to start with. Some are spy types.’

  Back in the barracks I found bottled water stacked up, as well as fruit.

  ‘Staff Sergeant Rizzo, take a few men, walk around the wire, see how secure we are.’

  I tested the dated and chipped toilets, no toilet paper to hand but a water hose to use.

  An hour later, Rizzo returned. ‘That fence ain’t worth shit, the tree line favours them, gate guard asleep.’

  ‘Can you get up on this flat roof?’

  ‘There’s a ladder.’

  ‘Two men always, starting now.’

  I went and found Haines, and he would rotate two men on the roof as well, supplies to hand. The local men in ATC had binoculars, and I asked them to watch the tree line, just in case, worrying them.

  Back in the billet I inspected my dodgy mattress. It was bone dry and dusty. ‘OK, listen up. All mattresses outside, beat them, poncho on top when you sleep on them or you’ll get lice – and itch like fuck.’

  Some of the lads had already been lying on the mattresses, and now jumped up, complaints made and curses given about our hosts.

  The next morning, as my Wolves stepped off the Hercules, I was surprised to see one Captain Samantha Hedge, and in uniform. She gave me a coy smile as she approached, her bags lugged.

  ‘Back in uniform, Captain?’ I teased.

  ‘For this outing, yes.’

  ‘And you’re here for..?’

  ‘The Lone Wolves. Part of my task is to assess them, and allocate jobs in the future. I helped select them.’

  I nodded. ‘So far ... no idiots or psycho killers.’

  Major Bradley approached, lightweight greens on, his kit lugged. I saluted, so he rolled his eyes. ‘Where’s the billet?’

  ‘You’re in a room with Chalmers, and the captains – his captains, and some SIGINT.’ I led him off. ‘Oh, this is Captain Samantha Hedge, she works for Bob, and makes assessments of the Lone Wolves.’

  ‘For shallow graves someplace?’ the Major quipped as we walked around the hangar.

  ‘I’d hope not, sir,’ she responded.

  I noticed Crab and Duffy, and somehow knew they would wangle a trip down here. I bid the Major farewell after pointing him in the right direction, and double backed. With the Wolves gathered on the apron, all in lightweight combats, webbing on, backpacks on, I walked over, stopped and faced them. They all had SLRs pointing at their left boots, my four lads smirking as ever.