Wilco- Lone Wolf 5

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Where did the old SLRs come from?’ I asked.

  ‘Army had them surplus in Kenya,’ Crab explained. ‘They are expecting them back though - I signed for them. Kenyan boys still use them.’

  I nodded, taking in their faces. Some appeared keen, some still seemingly nervous and out of place, all squinting in the bright sunlight, green caps on head. ‘OK, we have no rooms for you, and this is a training scenario, so ... left turn. Follow me.’

  I jogged off and to the range at the far southern end, halting the men. ‘Right, Directing Staff, you have a strip of sand against the fence. That is your happy home. Sleep in the sand, cook in the sand, shit in the sand. Jog over for fresh water and fruit, and we have ration packs. Did you bring any rations?’

  ‘They have a box each,’ Crab explained.

  ‘Good. So, grab the dried branches you can see, rig up ponchos – it will rain, and make a happy home. There are no rules, so make yourselves comfy. I appreciate that you’re jet-lagged, so get a few hours kip in the heat. How much ammo?’

  ‘Sixty rounds a man,’ Crab responded. ‘More in crates.’

  ‘So, Directing Staff, after a rest, strip and clean, fire, strip and clean again, work them hard. After sundown, a long run to get the circulation going. And be careful, always a loaded rifle everywhere you go, there is a chance of someone taking pot shots from beyond the wire. Always a stag rotation.’

  They glanced at the fence, the tree line to the east some two hundred yards away, a few houses of the local village seen further south.

  I added, ‘Tomorrow we’ll try and get everyone a static line drop, some a freefall. And, most likely, you all get a patrol outside the wire, a chance of a firefight. OK, get ponchos up to keep the sun off, poncho down to lay on, men in pairs always, some rest.

  ‘Sergeant Crab, send someone to the SIGINT people for water, brick building behind the hangars. And the directing staff stay with the men at all times. If there’s an attack here, you know what to do.’

  ‘Rules of engagement, Boss?’ Tomo asked.

  ‘If they’re shooting at you, you shoot back. Always let them have the first shot, that way we’re covered.’

  I turned away, then turned back. ‘Oh, who speaks Russian?’

  Four raised hands.

  ‘My Russian speaker, Sasha, is here, so you’ll get some practise.’

  Sergeant Crab put two men up on a small brick building attached to the back of the range, and I left them looking concerned about the dangers here, which was exactly what I wanted.

  Ambling back into the barracks, I called, ‘Sasha?’ He approached. ‘Kit on, water bottle, go to the range, to the Wolves. Four men speak Russian or are learning, stay with them, let them practise each day.’

  He grabbed his kit and headed off.

  ‘What about me?’ Sandra asked, boobs poking through her top as usual. ‘And I have the plain clothes that they got me at George’s place.’

  ‘When we cross the border you would come with us probably. Don’t be in a hurry to get shot at.’

  ‘I am not afraid.’

  ‘There is a difference between being brave, and being professional,’ I told her, Swifty listening in. ‘Brave gets you killed, being professional means you live to fight another day. And ... get a bra.’

  ‘Bra? I don’t need a bra, I am still young and firm.’

  Swifty had to turn his head away.

  ‘Henri, er ... explain it to her, please.’

  Captain Samantha grabbed me later, as I checked parachutes and ammo. ‘What have you got planned for the Wolves, I need to think about test and assess?’

  ‘Well, I scared them earlier, they think they’ll be attacks here and that they’ll go on live patrols – at risk of being shot.’

  ‘That’s good, yes – keep them afraid. Will they go on patrols?’

  ‘Maybe, see how it goes.’

  ‘I’ll interview each at some point, and this is the ideal spot.’

  ‘We’ll get them jumping as well, some freefall. But my aim here is to have them all experience a real job, sleep on the floor, element of risk, cook in the sand. You can’t teach that experience.’

  ‘No. So at the end they’ll feel like they have done a real job.’

  I nodded. ‘That’s the aim.’

  ‘Oh, is there ... a risk of attack here?’ she asked.

  ‘If the gang we hit knows we’re here, then ... fireworks.’

  I left her looking concerned. In the command room I found the Major chatting to Captain Harris.

  The Major turned to me. ‘What you got planned for the Wolves?’

  ‘They’ll bed in the sand, sir, cook in the sand, stag duties, and they think they’re in danger here.’

  ‘Are they? Are we?’

  I made a face. ‘Doubt that, sir. But if that gang knew we were here they might want to have a go. Mines they hit are close by, so the bad boys are active in this area.’

  ‘They’d not want to stir up the local army,’ a lady captain suggested.

  The Major faced her. ‘Depends on what the local army is, and what they think about that local army!’

  ‘We have a lot of warm bodies here, sir, so we’d win the fight,’ I assured him.

  ‘Winning the fight ... after they’d fired on this base and woken me with a round through the window, you mean.’

  ‘I’d never let them wake you, sir,’ I teased.

  ‘And the plan?’ he pressed.

  ‘We wait the good intel, but tomorrow I’ll drop men in mines, some hearts and minds. Major Chalmers did say he would assist with that.’

  ‘I’ll chat to him now,’ the Major stated, heading off.

  With rounds cracking out before sundown men panicked, till I assured them it was practise firing on the range. And later, sat on the roof with those on stag, I observed the Wolves jog as a group.

  Thinking, I went down to the hangar and found the folding stock AK47s, plus ammo. We had twelve, so I had then issued to some of the Wolves to use.

  We survived the night without incident – just some rain, a few Echo lads stretching at dawn. At 9am we held a command meeting, senior staff only, Morten in on it, as well as Major Chalmers and his troop captains, the pilots stood at the rear – the room quite cramped.

  ‘OK,’ I began. ‘North of us is mostly jungle, hills, some swamp, then the border. West of us are higher hills and shit jungle. Mining operations are all around - the one that got hit just a few miles northwest of here. To the east is flat land, some farming. South is a village, further south a town. Can we ask the Zambians not to have any military north of us?’

  Captain Harris cut in, ‘I did ask, and they don’t patrol, they respond like police. There’re the border posts, each with a dozen soldiers, and that’s it. Mines have private contractor police, a few armed men, most of them now a bit dead.’

  ‘Major Chalmers, if you would like to place a troop here, the mine that was hit, a second troop ten miles northwest, and rotate them, that would cover the hearts and minds.’

  ‘We will do,’ he agreed, still being guarded.

  ‘I’ll organise patrols, to be between the mines and the border, denial of area. Now, latest intel on hostages?’

  ‘Some,’ Captain Harris responded. ‘But not close by. Further away than that strip you were at.’

  ‘So, Skyvan insert, or HALO,’ I suggested. I turned to Major Chalmers. ‘Your Air Troop could get some valuable experience from some HALO practise here, sir, then a live drop.’

  He considered that. ‘And support for them?’ he pressed.

  ‘We’d be nearby, sir, and the helicopter out front is available, rescue team on standby. Hercules could also drop a rescue team.’

  ‘When you have a target, and a plan, let’s discuss it,’ he offered. ‘But I don’t want men wounded and killed for a training exercise.’

  ‘We are mandated here, sir, with hostage rescue...’

  ‘Fine, but genuine hostages; live ones would be good.’

&
nbsp; I nodded, trying not to get annoyed. I faced the main group. ‘OK, today we insert to the mines, and we launch patrols, and ... whilst we’re here we get the men some valuable training. Captain Harris, if you detail the hostage positions and numbers we’ll make a plan. Thank you, everyone, and let’s all meet at 5pm, please.’

  I jogged over to the Wolves, some of the lads now knelt stripping and cleaning the folding stock AK47s on the dusty range, Sasha with a group of four off to one side.

  ‘They sleep alright?’ I asked Duffy.

  ‘Yeah, no fucker shooting at us yet, a few creepy crawlies.’

  ‘I’m going to organise a patrol for you today, shit jungle, steep hills. West of here. But that area doesn’t have any bad boys – hopefully. Make sure they have lots of ammo, first aid kits. Do they have facemasks and gloves?’

  ‘We got some before we came out, and in the crates somewhere are those lightweight jackets.’

  ‘Find them, issue what we have, but it’s warm here day and night. Be ready to go in an hour, meet me outside the SIGINT room.’

  Poring over the maps, I created a patrol route through some tough-looking areas, and then grabbed Henri and Jacque. They would tag along and help out with the Wolves, and hopefully deal with any trouble.

  When Crab and Duffy turned up I gave them the map references and took charge of maps from Intel, the maps placed in plastic bags, notepads used to detail the route. I led the Wolves into the hangar with Henri, a map laid out on the floor, Samantha listening in.

  Groups of five were knelt down with me, the patrol detailed, and they took notes, as well as having a look at the map. When ready, they all stood in a half-circle.

  ‘OK, this patrol is denial of area, in that if you’re seen by villagers they tell the bad boys you’re around, and the bad boys should fuck off.

  ‘You’ll sleep outside, two hours each, in your pairs, rotated stag. In the hills you’ll find water for washing and drinking, don’t forget puri-tabs. The directing staff will give you some jungle training, but this is a live patrol, so eyes and ears open.

  ‘You walk with weapons loaded, not cocked, and you cock them if told to, or if there’s trouble. Safety on, fingers off triggers till you’re ready to kill someone – that way you don’t shoot someone in the leg by mistake.

  ‘Take extra water, keep hydrated, report any sickness - the shits or cramps. If there is trouble, look to my four lads and to Henri for help. You’re a big patrol so you should be able to cope.

  ‘Sergeant Crab, three teams of nine or so, lead men with radios. Sasha, keep you four together, practise the language. You’re Team Ruski. Off out the gate when ready.’

  Samantha closed in as the patrol moved out. ‘Two days, little sleep?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Dangers?’ she asked.

  ‘Could happen across that gang, so yes. But I chose the hills to the west as being the less likely place to find trouble.’

  Later, I noticed the Skyvan being loaded with “A” Squadron men as I stood in the shade, and it lifted off north, heading for a mine.

  I grabbed Haines and his mate. ‘OK, patrol for you. Eight men, north east two hours, loiter and back for sunset. Let Intel know where you are.’

  Back in the billet, I called, ‘OK, leg stretch time. Get ready to move out. Sandra, stay here, help out in the command room, please.’

  Max jumped up. ‘Can I tag along?’

  ‘Sure, keep you fit. Leave your kit in Intel.’

  Gang ready, kit checked, toilets used, extra water taken, I led them down and then around the billet towards the gate, a long line, the eight Pathfinders with us.

  Out the gate we turned right, due north, and I called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco, going to stretch our legs north, no particular route, let everyone know. Be back in the morning.’

  ‘OK, good luck.’

  Five miles on and we hit thicker jungle, a track followed up and around a steep hill, and from the top we were afforded a good view north, no one yet wearing a facemask.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘OK, use your lenses, look for movement or smoke.’ I sat on a log with Swifty and peered north, a few miles of jungle to scan, the day damned hot.

  After ten minutes, Rocko called me over. ‘Look down my rifle.’

  I peered in that direction as I held his shoulders. ‘Smoke.’

  ‘Could be a pigmy tribe,’ Rocko suggested.

  ‘They’re in Papua New Guinea, so I don’t think so.’ I eased up. ‘OK, everyone, we’re moving out northwest.’

  ‘No head-shrinking pigmy bastards here then,’ Rocko noted as we moved off.

  I led the team down a steep slope, through a stream – a quick wash taken, and on through tall grass. Up the opposite slope we trekked slowly, now wary, and half an hour later I smelt smoke. Kneeling, I put on my facemask and gloves, everyone else copying.

  Moving slowly and quietly, we moved west through dense jungle, monkeys above us calling out, and we found a stream. Moving into the stream, we hid our tracks, and we benefitted from steep banks to hide us – and to fire out from if need be.

  A hundred yards on and I could see movement. I clicked on the radio. ‘Rocko, Salties, go left and around, dead slow dead quiet. Go.’

  ‘Pathfinders, around to the right, dead slow dead quiet. Go. Rest close up.’

  I eased up and out the water on my stomach, taking aim, and now seeing a small camp covered by large bushes, armed men in green uniforms – but with wellington boots, AK47s strapped across backs. Swifty moved up on my left, Moran and Mahoney on my right, the remainder off to the right. We waited.

  ‘Rocko, what do you see?’ I whispered into the radio.

  ‘There’s a track on the far side, two jeeps, maybe ... twenty men.’

  ‘Pathfinders, what do you see?’

  ‘Just the back of some huts, smell of cooking.’

  ‘When I say go, Pathfinders spray it for ten seconds. Rocko, shoot and move when they do. Standby. Pathfinders ... three – two – one – fire!’

  The crackled started, all of the irregulars to my front looking to the huts, and aiming that way, suddenly hit from behind. My group picked off who they could see before the firing eased.

  ‘Ceasefire,’ I called. ‘Rocko, go far left and around, don’t go in. Pathfinders, far right and around.’ Off the radio, I stared ahead with the others, hearing a few cries and moans.

  ‘It’s Rocko, some ran off down that track. I can see a road further down.’

  ‘Don’t go after them, check those jeeps for keys and fuel.’

  ‘Moving.’

  We waited in the sticky heat.

  Jeeps came to life.

  ‘Wilco, these jeeps start, half a tank. And Wilco, back of the jeeps has a tonne of weapons.’

  ‘Get your team in the jeeps, drive down that track to the road, away from where the stragglers ran, back to base. Follow that road south, then left after say ... four miles. If you get lost, stop and ask directions.’

  With Swifty laughing, we eased up, double tapping bodies as the jeeps drove off, the jeeps heard but not seen.

  ‘Pathfinders, back to the stream, we’re leaving.’

  In the stream, facemask off, I called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco, we just hit a small camp, nicked some jeeps. When Rocko gets to you get him to show you the position on the map. We’ll hang around a bit and wander.’

  ‘OK, got that.’

  I led the team off, a headcount done, the only injury being from a thorn in an arm. We backtracked to the high point, more than a hot hour used up, and made camp, stag set up.

  I called Harris as I sat sipping water, my back to a log, my face covered in sweat. ‘It’s Wilco, did Rocko make it back?’

  ‘Yeah, been here half an hour, people unloading the weapons. What we doing with them?’

  ‘Using them for training, what’s there?’

  ‘RPGs, ammo, grenades, a few crates of beer, some weed, two Russian machineguns.’

  ‘Destroy the
beer, never know where it came from.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And we should have rope, so have the Mi8 bring Rocko back to the high point, abseil down.’

  ‘I’ll tell him now, he’s in the hangar.’

  Half an hour later the Mi8 loudly announced its arrival, door open, rope down, and the men each roped down some thirty feet, some landing in a heap. Rope pulled up, the Mi8 pulled away.

  ‘Bit fucking obvious ain’t it,’ Rocko complained. ‘Every fucker for ten miles will pinpoint us here.’

  I nodded.

  ‘That’s what we want,’ Moran suggested.

  ‘Saves us walking to them,’ Mahoney quipped.

  Brew on, tins tackled, we sat chatting, four men on stag. And despite our loud announcement of where we were no one came out to play.

  ‘I was thinking,’ Moran began. ‘The stragglers; they never saw white men.’

  I considered that as Swifty frowned. ‘So ... they may assume a rival gang?’

  ‘Possible,’ Mahoney put in. ‘Do these boys have a union?’

  I made a face. ‘At each other’s throats, I’d say.’

  After dark, fire lit – just to be really obvious, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Major Bradley. “A” Squadron got sniped at, hit and run tactics. Still, it gave them something to think about.’

  ‘It’ll keep them sharp, yes.’

  ‘What you up to out there?’

  ‘We made a lot of noise, lit a fire, but no one wants to come out and play. And word from Crab?’

  ‘Yes, he called in. They made a camp, small roving patrols nearby, set an ambush on a track. Wolves are getting some good experience.’

  ‘Did Air Troop jump?’

  ‘Yes, with our HALO bags, went off OK. They like the bags, probably pinch them away.’

  ‘Easy to make, sir. Oh, in the morning, how about you organise SIGINT, some weapons work. Would sound better coming from you, but they need the practise.’