by Geoff Wolak
With officers and troop captains assembled around the fire, the French with us, Morten to one side, I began, ‘OK, first ... we welcome “B” Squadron lads, and to let you know that French Echo is on its way. Right, a mile southeast is a ridge of hills with sharp rocks, other side of which is the dried river again, then the rebel base with the hostages.
‘In that base are an estimated six hundred well-armed and well-trained men -’
‘Are you crazy?’ the “B” Squadron troop sergeant asked.
I held up a flat palm to him. ‘We’re not planning on going head to head with them. And there will soon be more than a hundred of us. And I am led to believe, Sergeant, that every member of “B” Squadron is worth ten enemy soldiers.’
They laughed at him as he took in the dark faces, lit only by the flickering flames.
‘So, as I was saying, six hundred of them, a hundred and something of us by morning. In the hills we found caves, some huge caves, excellent fire positions, and a fifty cal will hit the base, as will a Valmect – and we’ve been sniping at them, wounded a few. Tonight we’ll keep them awake, a few loud bangs, and hopefully they’ll send patrols out to find us. OK, how many fifty cal do we have?’
‘Two.’
‘Before dawn tomorrow I want those two, with ammo and a warm body, up in the caves. Tonight, I want them ready to shot at a helicopter, should one come this way. Don’t shoot at French Pumas. OK, any GPMG?’
‘Eight,’ the French reported.
‘I want two on the roof at all times, in case the Mi8 helicopter returns, and if this place is attacked I want them all up on the roof. Before dawn tomorrow I want six taken to the hills with plenty of ammo. OK, I want a team ready to fly south and set an ambush on a road, but first we need Intel to select a good spot. I suggest “D” Squadron man the ambush. Any ... objections?’
‘Likely to see some action down there?’ a troop captain asked.
‘You may have six hundred men drive past you, so ... yes. What we want is a hill position with escape routes, hit and run tactics, no heroics. Take a GPMG or two. Whatever happens in that camp, some or all of them will drive south. What we know is that they plan to drive south to take power, and we are ordered to delay their political ambitions.
‘So if a few drive past or a lot, snipe at them, hit tyres. Do you want the tasking ... or a different tasking?’
‘Sounds like our kind of work,’ the troop captain suggested, his troop sergeants not objecting.
‘Then we’ll try and get you inserted tonight or at dawn, have plenty of rations and water, and call in to find out what’s happening here, we may be able to get you some advance notice.’
‘What about someone coming up that road?’ the troop captain asked.
‘Extremely unlikely. The bad boys are all here ready to attack south, those near the current president sat waiting for them. And don’t shoot at civvies, gentlemen, because if you do and I hear about it ... your helicopter ride out may be delayed by a week or two.
‘OK, French forces, make ready to move out, we hope and we expect that patrols will come over the hills now that it’s dark. RAF Regiment, stay sharp tonight, we’re hoping they’ll come out to play, and that our lads in the caves will alert us in time.
‘Medics, have a small team on standby always, two hours from now we may see some action, but we will get some advance warning. Those still here tonight, don’t bunch up, and expect a helicopter attack. OK, any questions or problems?’
Morten said, ‘Got a French lad bitten, may need to go back.’
‘If so, call Captain Harris and ask for a helo. At your discretion. Helos will be here at dawn anyhow, he could go back then. French remain, Echo remain, everyone else – thank you and dismissed.’
Dark outlines moved away.
To the French captains I said, ‘A mile southeast is a ditch, you will go there with us and prepare an ambush, and wait the signal. So, you have sat phones?’
‘Oui!’
‘Captain Moran, grab the numbers please, give them ours.’
‘Where we going?’ Rizzo asked.
‘To the ditch, or the hill, waiting some patrols to come this way. I don’t think they want to be up all night, so I’d say they’ll come early.’
I chatted to Haines alone, then to Morten, and finally led the Legion out, back across the river, up the far bank and onwards, a steady pace, reasonably sure we would not be taken by surprise.
Forty minutes later we reached the ditch and took up positions, the French spread along, Echo teams getting a brew on.
My phone trilled fifteen minutes later; Sasha. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘Down below you, back towards the camp, waiting some action. Any movement?’
‘Can’t see much now.’
‘Watch the rear of the cave, always have a man there listening, and warn me if patrols come in.’ I told him the story of the Russian mercenaries, making him laugh.
Phone away, jacket on, it was now getting chilly.
Mitch began, ‘Interesting tactics here, trying to out-think the guy over there, to read his mind.’
‘Can’t go for the frontal assault,’ I noted.
‘What do you expect to happen?’
‘Sixty men in a patrol. That’s what I would do, to get the sniper. And I’d assume that the sniper, or snipers, have some sort of base back here, a jeep.’
‘Make sense,’ Mitch agreed. ‘How the fuck would a sniper walk to a place like this. And he’d never be alone, not usually.’
My phone trilled ten minutes later. ‘Wilco, it’s Nicholson, that helicopter is back.’
‘OK, keep sniping steadily.’ Phone off, I said, ‘Stand to! Helicopter!’ I called Haines as French words were shouted, my lads getting ready. ‘Helicopter coming, get ready, all fires out!’
Five minutes later the drone could be heard, but the Mi8 was blacked out.
‘Wait till after it passes and shoot, three seconds only, don’t shoot towards our people in the buildings!’
French words repeated my instructions as the heavy resonating drone grew, then I could see it. ‘Here it comes!’
I waited till it was almost overhead and fired off several bursts on automatic, a hell of a roar suddenly unleashed, and I saw flashes on its belly and on its rotors. But it flew on towards the dam in silence after we had ceased firing, suddenly a burst of fire echoing, red tracer seen, a burst of flame, a pause, suddenly a burst of orange flame growing from the ground half a mile away.
I called Haines. ‘It’s Wilco, report.’
‘It crashed two hundreds beyond us, now well alight. No one got out.’
‘Examine it in the morning, see who was in it, what weapons, don’t approach it tonight it may blow.’
Phone down, Rocko asked if it was still serviceable.
Mitch told him, ‘Gunna need a paint job and some polish, Buddy. Marvellous what a bit of polish can do to remove a scratch.’
I sat back down. ‘Not sure how they’ll react to the loss of the helo. Might assume a good force over here. I’d say he sends a patrol, not least because he cares little about his men.’
‘They got any more helicopters?’ Rizzo asked through the dark.
‘Maybe, but they’re expensive items.’
Ten minutes later, as we chilled a little, my phone trilled. ‘It’s Swann, Boss, we can see a patrol coming this way.’
‘Good. Which way they headed?’
‘To the right of us.’
‘How many?’
‘I’d say thirty.’
‘Stay hidden, ignore them, but report it, we’ll ambush them.’
Off the phone, Moran asked, ‘Company?’
‘Thirty man patrol.’ I called in the French captains. ‘There is a thirty man patrol coming, so this is your job, your glory. Captain Moran will go with you, west five hundred metres, then wait the patrol, your plan, your ambush.’
They called in their men, moving past us, and the black blobs disappeared, leaving t
he rest us to hold the centre ground. We got another brew on.
‘You called it right,’ Mitch noted. ‘But how do they react when that patrol fails to return?’
‘If we’re lucky, then they send more tonight, but I’d send more after dawn.’
‘Me too,’ Mitch agreed. ‘I’d want to see an ambush in daylight.’
My phone trilled. ‘It’s Tomo, Boss, I got a senior man.’
‘I’m hoping you didn’t get the main man, I want him alive a little longer.’
‘This guy saluted another guy, but he was behind a wall, no angle, but this guy was saluted by others.’
‘A captain. How’d you see him?’
‘There are some lights on still.’
‘Good work, now keep them awake, and try and start a fire if you really want to be a smartarse. Wilco out.’ Phone away, I told them, ‘Tomo got a captain. Still some lights on over there.’
‘How dumb is that?’ Rizzo asked.
The drone registered, and we all jumped up, but it was behind us.
‘That one of ours?’ several people asked.
‘From that direction, yes.’ I called Haines. ‘Helo could be ours, hold your fire! Tell everyone.’
‘Too high anyhow,’ Swifty pointed out. ‘Look.’
I peered up, now seeing it, and it was at 1,000ft, a direct line for the rebel base. ‘That’s the French, with a homemade bomb.’
‘Bomb?’ Stretch queried.
‘Wait and see. They said they had explosives, and sixty second fuses.’
‘If it hits the ground first, the fuses could detach,’ Stretch warned.
‘How high would it need to be?’ Swifty wondered.
‘Sixty second fuse? More like two thousand,’ I told them.
‘Two thousand feet is sixty two seconds freefall,’ Mitch put in.
‘What I said,’ I complained through the dark.
My phone trilled five minutes later. ‘It’s Nicholson, Boss. You been pissing about with a helicopter?’
‘Yeah, what happened?’
‘Bomb went off between two barracks, big flash, can’t see the damage exactly, but everyone is running around down there, bodies being dragged.’
‘Do a count, update me in fifteen minutes.’
I called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco. Let the helo pilots know the bomb worked well, damage assessment to follow.’
‘I’ll let them know now, the French will be pleased. Legion made the bomb, small plastic chute on it.’
‘Ah, tell them well done from me. And another in a few hours. Thanks.’ I told the lads, ‘It never hit the ground and broke apart, they fashioned a tiny parachute for it. It landed between two barracks.’
Swifty put in, ‘Hope the fucking hostages weren’t in the barracks.’
‘Hostages will be in a small locked room, so ... fingers crossed,’ I told them.
We sat getting chilled, but we were rotating the tea making, and half an hour later hell erupted down the ditch, the French firing out, a brutal ten second exchange. I called Haines and explained it before they panicked back there. It soon fell quiet, no return fire coming.
My phone trilled a chilly fifteen minutes later. ‘It’s Swann, we spotted the trucks parked down there, and they had some illumination, a fire near the barracks, so we hit all the tyres.’
‘Good work, we don’t want them leaving just yet. So there are fires raging?’
‘One, one of the barracks is well alight.’
‘OK, thanks.’
My phone went almost straight away. ‘It’s Nicholson, damage assessment. I’d say a hundred and twenty bodies laid out, many wounded.’
‘OK, thanks. Let me know if any convoys form to leave. Is your rear secure?’
‘We pushed sand up, so it would be hard to take us by surprise, and we put a dried twig there. Now I’m calling you whilst leaning out the front.’
‘Rotate the rest if you need it. Oh, and they sent a thirty man patrol, all wiped out. Wilco out.’
I faced the dark outlines. ‘A hundred and twenty dead, thirty here, so a hundred and fifty, say eight on the helo, plus those wounded by the snipers.’
‘Wearing them down,’ Mitch noted.
‘We stay here?’ Rocko’s dark outline asked.
‘No,’ I said with a sigh. ‘After that bomb, no way they’ll send someone before dawn. You think you could find Tomo again?’
‘If he shone a torch.’
‘Go find him, call him first. Rest of you, on me.’ We packed up the cooking kit, and plodded off south. I called Moran and asked that he stay with the French and reclaim the centre ground, we were moving back to the ridge.
A hard slog warmed us up, Rocko and Slider breaking off and moving left, the rest of us climbing up the lighter areas, easy to follow the sand to avoid the rocks – which were darker in colour. I called Sasha, getting him on the third attempt, and he flashed his torch, leading us in.
Inside the cave it was a little warmer than outside, a fire going in a side cave, water boiling, Robby greeting us. I told Mitch and Swifty to get a few hours, same for Rizzo and Stretch, Robby to take a stag, Smitty awake and with it for now.
I walked to the south side of the cave with Sasha, and we peered down, seeing the fire raging at the barracks. Observing the sand below me, I could see no black blobs approaching, my eyes going funny after five minutes of straining.
After some food I bedded down on soft sand, poncho around me for warmth, and I asked to be woken at 5am.
A kick of my boots, and I opened my eyes, finding one of Sasha’s lads offering me tea, dull grey light seeping through several holes. I eased up, stretched and yawned, and took off my facemask and gloves, accepting the tea, taking it to the south side and peering down at rising smoke.
And I had not left my phone at the entrance whilst I slept, a major screw up. Still, if they wanted me badly they could have reached Sasha’s phone. Peering down, I could see no patrols in the dawn half-light, little movement seen at the base.
Tea down, I felt better, and moved to the rear past sleeping men, and out, Stretch on guard. Outside, stood on grey sand, and with a misty view of the dam, I called Harris, waking him. He called me back, and reported that the Pumas would pick-up “D” Squadron in thirty minutes.
I called Haines, waking him, the phone sent to “D” Squadron, their troop captain half asleep. ‘Thirty minutes and you’ll be picked up, dropped south, get ready!’
I called back Harris, no idea where “D” Squadron would be dropped.
‘The French picked a good spot; the road passes cliffs about a hundred feet high. Plateau on top.’
‘OK, good. Did a second helo drop a bomb?’
‘Yes, but they saw it land in the river. Still, those closest got a headache, and it kept them awake.’
‘I slept through that one, nice comfy cave.’
I called back Haines, the phone again sent to “D” Squadron, who were rushing to get with it.
Haines called me back half an hour later as I sat on a rock waiting, to say that “D” Squadron was off. I could see and hear the loud Pumas, so his report was hardly necessary.
‘Go back to sleep for an hour or two,’ I suggested to him as the Pumas headed due west at low level, away from the rebel base. I saw them turn south a few miles out.
Haines then reported that a French lad had been worked on during the night by the medics, a ricochet from his French buddy hitting the sand in front of their position when the rebel patrol was ambushed.
‘Tell Max not to mention that one, and tell Max not to put anything out yet. In fact, when he’s awake, send him up the hill to us, good photos from up here.’
I called Moran, and told him to abandon the ditch, but to take the Legion – all of them, southwest and around, crossing the hills at least two miles from the rebel base, and to move in slowly from the west.
He informed me that when the Pumas had landed sixteen additional Legionnaires had jumped off, these lads some sort of shit-hot
group, several with log beards apparently. Thinking on, I asked that “B” Squadron move up to me, fifty cals with them, plus six GPMGs, as I considered soldiers with long beards.
Back up on the ridge, Swifty and Mitch joining me after their breakfast, I could see the “B” Squadron patrol approaching, and I hoped there were no more helicopters about. But our luck was about to be tested.
‘What’s that?’ Mitch asked, and I turned, seeing a spec on the horizon.
‘Looks like a light aircraft,’ I said. ‘Someone arriving, or the main man leaving.’
But the plane ignored the strip and flew on.
‘Shit.’ I called Haines. ‘Incoming aircraft, hide everyone, get ready!’
‘What about them!’ Swifty shouted, a finger pointed down at “B” Squadron’s troop walking across open sand.
I tried my radio. ‘”B” Squadron lads, incoming aircraft, do you read me?’
‘I hear you,’ came a voice.
‘Get ready, small plane coming in!’
We could see them start running, suddenly a drone heard, the plane crossing the hills.
‘It has missiles!’ Swifty shouted.
‘Get in the rocks!’ I shouted as I leapt down the sand and into cover. I set automatic and took aim, but the plane had missed us, missed “B” Squadron kicking up sand below, and flew on straight towards the dam, white smoke seen, two blasts seen – my heart stopping, and twenty seconds later the blasts were heard reverberating around the hills as the plane banked around. Now it saw “B” Squadron, and they were exposed.
Peering down, I could see the troopers spread out and knelt, one guy holding the fifty cal over his shoulder as his buddy behind took aim. Several had GPMGs held like rifles.
I saw the flash from a fifty cal, then a second, a missile soon streaking towards the patrol – but the missile went high and hit the rocks behind the patrol. Another flash from a fifty cal, and the attacking plane suddenly lost its propeller, a nose dive into the sand just in front of the troopers, sand blown high, no explosion seen, no fire seen. Troopers ran to it, the pilot – probably unconscious, shot a dozen times at close range and not feeling it.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Wilco for “B” Squadron lads, I want the pilots ID, before he burns!’
