by Geoff Wolak
Hitting my bed at midnight, I was hoping for a quiet day tomorrow, I had things to plan, lots of things, and much could go wrong.
HALO came next for the Wolves, some of the men more experienced than others, and Echo lads either held hands with Wolves or simply dropped next to the Wolves, and the Wolves made three drops in a day, no night drop HALO yet. And they still had to hit the range after each drop, after each sandy walk back, or sandy run back since the American NCOs were pushing the Wolves harder.
The range scores had improved slowly, and now the lines on the graph were stable, men often getting the same score three times a day.
I put together a test scenario, detailed it to the Wolves’ NCOs, and the next day the Wolves all HALO dropped together at dawn – fuel savings noted, a thirty mile jog come speed-march back to the range in the heat, plenty of water to hand. But once at the range, now dark and floodlit, they had ten rounds per firing point, and Valmets to use, the tired Wolves being shouted at to get it right.
None of them cracked, and the scores were pretty good considering, Moran wondering if we should push the men over the edge, just to see how they coped. I disagreed, but scheduled a 24hr speed march around the perimeter track, numbers worn on sleeves by the Wolves, Crab and the others sat taking numbers as the men passed by, medics on standby to check for heat stroke, a real possibility here during the midday hours.
Franks informed me that the carrier group was now in place off the coast of The Gambia, and that tonight would see the planned insert to get Dupree, due process not an issue for the Americans it seemed – just for me when the FBI was at hand.
I went to bed worrying about the planned job after talking to Bob at length. Bob had Franks’ number, he would be awake all night, and any movements seen around Dupree would be reported. No news would be good news.
At 4.45am I entered the command room, finding many of the CIA and the support staff awake as expected, a tired Franks nursing a coffee.
Franks began, after yawning, ‘Two teams of Seals went ashore by zodiac, at least dropped out beyond the surf and they swam in. They reported in, all quiet, a nice golf course found as they moved east. Some golf course security guard got taken at gunpoint and tied up, left behind, and they moved on the house. There are patio windows, so they’ll blow them soon, now I guess, choppers are inbound.’
I got myself a tea. ‘Did my man call you?’
‘Twice. To report a police patrol moving in, then leaving, like an hour ago.’
I nodded, and sipped my tea.
A man behind a clever computer thing announced, ‘Breach in effect ... choppers five minutes out.’ And five minutes later he announced, ‘Choppers down ... teams withdrawing ... no reports of wounded ... package is secure ... helos withdrawing.’
‘Job done,’ I noted. ‘And if they did as I asked, the house will be damaged, or on fire.’
Fifteen minutes later, after I helped myself to some cake, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Admiral Jacobs, they said you’re up at this time.’
‘How’d it go, sir?’
‘Textbook, at least that how the press will get it, but one guy was injured when they blew the doors or windows, one guy badly bitten by a dog – which they shot, and some rabid woman bit the arm of a Seal before they chinned her and knocked her cold.’
I smiled. ‘Such detail does not need to make it to the press, sir.’
‘Hell no. So we have the prize turkey, alive, he’ll be shipped Stateside, already released it to Reuters. I’ll be off to bed soon, been up all night. Is that how it is with your boss?’
‘Fuck no, he’s in bed asleep with his wife. He might show some interest the following day.’
‘I could never go to bed with a team about to insert.’
‘I’m sure there are capable men beneath you, sir.’
‘Yeah, but it’s my show, so I have to be watching it. And it’s kinda dull the rest of the time.’
At 9am I was sat looking at Lone Wolf score cards, and eight of this lot could have qualified for Echo. The worst was not too far off our previous worst displayed for a British Wolf.
With the Wolves resting sore feet, a day off, I got news from Bob Staines that all the required men were now in place in Nigeria and Angola.
I also got news, from a different source, that a few canisters of fake Sarin were on the Niger border in safe hands, along with some Semtex and timers. Sasha, Casper, and the Russian speakers were briefed again by me in detail, soon in civvy clothes and on their way to meet one of Libintov’s planes, paid by Tomsk. Rifles and kit would be waiting in Nigeria, near the border with Niger.
Casper had two contacts inside Nigeria, trusted men, and The Banker would arrange cash for the two men – wondering if Casper would send a “thank you” card. I was not hopeful of that.
The two men would be trusted van drivers and, since both men were captains in the State Police, getting stopped was unlikely. It was also unlikely that the men would declare their extra earnings to their bosses or to the tax man. Or their wives.
I would not be joining Sasha and the team, I had another task, one to be kept quiet for now, some high level calls to be made.
With the capture of Dupree, and that capture making the headlines around Africa and the Western World, I wondered if al-Sheek or others would strike back at us. Worried, I had the RAF Regiment put on high alert, men on the wire in pairs with Valmet or Elephant Guns, some of my lads to take up OPs a few miles out, in particular overlooking the roads to the south, 1 Para sent off north, two OPs to be created three miles out, one five miles out. They would be re-supplied by jeep every day at dawn.
The Cabinet Office called me back, clarification wanted regarding my plan for Nigeria, the public plan not the secret one. It was a simple plan, yet they were suspicious, and cautious. The Ambassador to Nigeria also called me, and he asked what I was up to in a very unfriendly tone. I was vague, but asked him to attend a meeting in Lagos.
‘Captains in the Army don’t ask ambassadors to attend meetings!’
‘This one does, and I can’t go into full detail over the phone, sir. Attend or not, your call.’
I called the Deputy Chief at Langley and asked for the US Ambassador to be in on the meeting. He would start the wheels turning, curious and cautious as the same time, the DGSE nudged to get the French Ambassador at the meeting. They simply said yes.
The next day a large carrier battle group steamed east, and if Colonel Heubert knew about it he would be crapping his pants. Since Bob’s man reported Huebert on the golf course near his home, his backswing quite proficient, I figured him unaware of his intended fate.
At 3pm I called Colonel Mathews. ‘Sir, I’d like your recruits and their NCOs to get a holiday, some R&R after a hard few weeks.’
‘Sure, but it’s a long flight back for many of them. How long a break were you thinking of?’
‘I’d fly them to the Spanish island of Tenerife, sir, about two hours flying time, five days there. They’ll need a break because of what comes next.’
‘A hard section?’
‘Do you ... trust me, sir?’
‘What the hell do you have planned for them?’ he puzzled.
‘Not on the phone, sir, but we’ll need some embedded reporters, and a TV crew.’
‘What the fuck for?’
‘Can you fly in, sir?’
‘I have to be at a security conference in Morocco, so yeah. Then you can explain it - before I lose some sleep!’
‘See you soon, sir.’
At 5pm, with Echo gathered in the billet, I began, ‘I’m going to arrange five days in Tenerife for you.’
A cheer went up.
‘Cold beers, some girls, some swimming. That holiday will be necessary, because afterwards we’ll be busy, and the Wolves will take a break as well, they’ll be busy afterwards.’
‘What’s the job?’ Swifty puzzled.
‘Wait and see, it’s all hush-hush at the moment. And Rizzo, ye
s – the hotel will be free, money handed to you.’
‘I was gunna ask, yeah.’
‘When we off?’ Tomo asked.
‘In a few days, I have to time it right. I’ll be off at a staff meeting for a few days.’
In the bar the mood was upbeat, the American NCOs puzzling how their mean bosses would have allowed such a holiday – and paid for it! I assured them it would all be taken care of, and bought everyone several rounds.
Stood outside chatting to 1 Para lads who fancied a go at my three-day test, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Mouri! Men setting up mortars -’
I lowered the phone. ‘In-coming!’ I bellowed, the RAF Regiment lads not needing a nudge, the words repeated as men dived down, drinks thrown away or dropped. I knelt. ‘Mouri, shoot the fuckers!’
‘We’re trying, but ... they’re a long way off’!’ came a man out of breath. ‘We’re closing the distance!’
The call was cut just as the whistling came, three loud blasts heard and felt.
I jumped up. ‘On me!’ I screamed, and ran, luckily devoid of any kit on me. But I was also devoid of my first aid pack.
The barracks had been hit, a mass of men running down the road to the buildings, the lights on. Reaching my own billet I could see windows blown out, marks on the wall, but it had been empty save one of Robby’s lads on stag. He stepped out.
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah, Boss.’
I ran left, into the Wolves barracks, rubbing shoulders with NCOs, and I burst in to the room. ‘Any wounded?’
‘Only our feet, sir,’ came from a recruit. ‘Windows blew out, cut our feet walking around.’
‘Stop walking around barefoot, you fucking morons! Get on your beds, or under them, get some shoes on!’
Crunching glass, I had a look at three recruits with cut feet, nothing serious, but they would not be running in boots for a while. ‘Those of you that are OK, piggy-back the wounded to the RAF medics in the hangar.’
The recruits were carried out.
I stopped and stared at the NCOs as they grouped, and now they stared back at me. ‘OK, raise your hands if you actually thought I arranged that.’
Half raised their hands, looking a bit sheepish.
‘Wankers,’ I told them, shaking my head.
Outside, I rushed to the command room, no further mortars landing, the French in a flap, Max asking questions. I had RAF Regiment lads placed aboard a Puma, and it took off south to try and find the mortar crew.
My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Mouri, Boss, we got them,’ came an out-of-breath voice.
‘Search them, I want phones and paperwork, and the bodies. Puma on its way, use your torches. Anyone hurt?’
‘Got some shrapnel boss, a mortar tube blew apart.’
‘Get on the Puma, have the RAF Regiment lads in it wait with the mortars.’
‘Right oh, Skipper.’
‘What state are the mortar crew in?’
‘Shredded, Boss, decapitated and in the sand.’
I stepped out of the command room, and to the back of the hangar. ‘Medics! Wounded coming in by chopper!’
The Squadron Leader jogged over, not looking happy. ‘We don’t need a Hercules hit by a damn mortar! Be hell to pay!’
‘What do you suggest, sir, maybe a white flag, an offer to surrender, we all go home perhaps..?’
‘No need to be snippy! I’m responsible here, and I need to minimize the risks!’
‘Our sentries spotted the mortar crews and killed them, so the perimeter is secure – kind of. I’ll have more men south on the road so that they shoot the fuckers faster next time,’ I assured him. He did not look reassured.
I called London and updated them, a call into the E Ring, and finally I called the Air Commodore before he called me. ‘Sir, we had a mortar attack, no one hurt – not RAF I mean, and no planes damaged, so no need for anyone in the MOD to whinge.’
‘I’ll get a report in the morning I suppose. Who’s slinging mortars at you?’
‘Same people, Nigerian oil barons. One of their key men was grabbed by the US Navy -’
‘Saw it on the news. So that’s related?’
‘He was the chap whose plane dropped a bomb on us at the dam. I was going to deal with him quietly, but the Americans wanted a show trial. Oh, I’ll have something for you in a week or two, some good publicity.’
‘The Sun newspaper had a page on my staff down there, so we’re getting some exposure.’
‘I’ll want some 2 Squadron lads for some dangerous work, medics, support crews, just like the set-up here only ... they’ll be in the shit and on the front line.’
‘Well, that is what they’re training for, and if they’re not up to it we need to know why.’
‘Talk soon, sir, and don’t worry about this place – too much.’
I walked back to our billet, and as expected the lads were all crunching glass under foot. ‘Well done, dick heads, you just got glass stuck in your boots, some pushed into the lino flooring, so no one goes anywhere barefoot. Get some brushes, sweep the floor carefully, then sweep it again or you’ll all get glass splinters in your feet!’
‘Upstairs is empty,’ Moran said. ‘We can move up there.’
‘Not with those boots on you won’t because you’ll just transfer the damn glass. Move upstairs, boots off, a chain of men, some men inside barefoot some outside, and keep the fucking glass out of that room, clean your boots outside – and carefully!’
I left them to it, and back in the command room the French organised plastic and paper to cover windows, and some sellotape. Since it was not cold at night, a bit of a breeze would be no great hardship for the Wolf recruits.
Finding that six recruits had glass splinters and small cuts, two having large cuts, I threw my hands into the air and cursed. The holiday would be brought forwards for this six; I would have them shipped out with a few NCOs in the morning. I told them to pack civvy clothes.
In the French medical bay I found Mouri being worked on, a nasty leg wound, Dicky nursing a head wound, two of Robby’s lads with head wounds. I threw my hands up and cursed again. They would also be getting an early break. I told them to pack civvy clothes as well.
In the command room, Captain Harris had the mortar crew’s personal effects, no sat phone found. The DGSE men were already running names with the local government, Franks wanting to find the paymaster. Since Max had put it out on Reuters straight away, the White House would be getting a press conference organised in the morning.
When my phone trilled it was Admiral Jacobs. ‘You just had an attack there?’
‘Yes, sir, three mortars before we killed the mortar team.’
‘And who do you blame for those mortars?’
‘Nigerian oil barons, sir, same paymaster Dupree had.’
‘They attacked that base ... because we grabbed Dupree?’
‘Yes, sir, mindset of the street gang.’
‘These boys are fucking with the wrong people!’
‘Little you can do, sir, they’re rich men, camped out in Nigeria, protection of the government there, evidence against them is thin. CIA is powerless, your State Department can do fuck all.’
‘Must be a way!’
‘There is, and it’s in progress. Trust me, say little up the line.’
‘Some covert op to get them?’
‘Sort of, and not over the phone, sir.’
‘I understand. Good night, Captain.’
Ten minutes later Colonel Mathews was on the line. ‘You had a mortar attack, anyone hurt?’
‘The boys who spotted the mortar crews got some shrapnel when a tube blew.’
‘I’m guessing these Arab mortar crews don’t get much training, and don’t follow the safety procedures,’ he quipped.
‘Unlikely, sir. Your Wolves were not injured in the blast, but then the fucking idiots all walked around barefoot on the glass, so some of them have cut feet.’
‘God damn, I’ll shout a little, I’ll be down tomorrow, talk then.’
The night passed without further attack, and in the morning I made a call, soon dispatching all of Echo, all of the Wolves and the American NCOs to Tenerife, Euros handed over, lots of Euros.
I had called Bob a few days earlier, and he had found a hotel that had just been renovated, a few floors still closed, some construction work, but they would accept a block booking so long as we understood the pool was closed – and half built. The hotel had a bar, a restaurant that would be working, and beds. The rest did not matter.
An RAF Tristar whisked the gang away west, my lads looking forwards to a break from the sand and the dust, the base suddenly quieter, most of those left with us either out on the wire or in OPs, 1 Para in the OPs to the north, Pathfinders in the ops south, the RAF Regiment on the wire. The Seals and Deltas were due to return in a few days, so they would bolster numbers and we could go back to offering a standby team.
I was just thinking about bringing down some regulars when Colonel Dean called.
‘We’ve stood down the alert, but we’re still cautious,’ the Colonel began. ‘Hell of a thing to do, to grab a woman like that, and we have female Intel officers here on a regular basis, so they’re all wary now.
‘London Intel thinks it was just the two men, and they’ve tracked back the hotels used, but they have no idea how the men got into the country.’
‘I do, sir, I know the man who helped them.’
‘And are you going to shoot him?’ he pressed.
‘No, sir, he never knew what the men would do, he just provided transport and fake papers.’
‘Still, I’d shoot the bastard.’
‘He’s a long way off, and hard to reach, sir.’
‘I have a few men down at GL4 on rotation, and your Wolves are working with those police you trained, so security is tight down there.’
‘I was about to call you, to ask for some men down here.’
‘I was about to call you, and suggest it.’
‘Send a troop or two, sir, they can be on standby for hostage rescue.’
‘There are regular flights apparently, the RAF stop off there on their way to Sierra Leone.’
