by Geoff Wolak
‘You going to report him to the FAA for bad flying?’ came a cheeky voice, Mitch and Swifty laughing.
‘Going to find out who sent him! Get his ID, cheeky fuck.’ I called Haines in a hurry. ‘It’s Wilco, report.’
‘Missiles hit the wooden huts, no one in them. But if “D” Squadron were still here ... bit of an issue.’
‘Stay sharp down there.’
Moran called me a minute later. ‘What happened?’
‘Small plane with rockets, hit the huts that “D” Squadron had been in, no casualties. “B” Squadron lads shot it down with fifty cal.’
‘They get a confirmed kill then, one small plane.’
‘That they do,’ I said with a smile.
The lucky “B” Squadron lads climbed up to us, directed into the cave, the men sweating, heavy GPMGs and heavy Bergens lugged up soft sand.
‘Who got that plane?’ I asked after I ducked inside.
‘I did,’ I man said.
‘Team effort,’ came from others, a debate breaking out. A sergeant handed me a wallet, presumably the pilot’s.
I pointed at the men with fifty cal rifles. ‘Find a firing position, muzzle out the cave, try and hit something useful, not just men. Senior officers, or ... anything that might burn or explode.’
They moved to the front of the cave.
‘Rest of you, make safe, sit down, get a brew on.’
When the first fifty cal fired we all complained, so it moved to a new position, a small hole, just good enough to see out of, the muzzle well forwards of the hole. Now it sounded just like a regular rifle. And the man had hit a jeep engine.
Many of us exited the cave and left them to it, and I clambered back up to the ridge, lying there in the sand and peering down with Swifty and Mitch. We heard the fifty cals, even from up here, several jeeps and trucks hit.
‘There!’ Swifty called, and at the back of the base, beyond the barracks, trucks and jeeps were moving off, three trucks and two jeeps.
I called Captain Harris as the sun climbed. ‘It’s Wilco, get hold of “D” Squadron, warn them of a small convoy coming their way and to destroy it.’
‘OK, I’ll call them now.’
‘You heard about the plane?’
‘Yes.’
I called Hunt and gave him the pilot’s details, a South African. He would track back.
The sun climbed higher, the day started to warm up, jackets taken off, caps adjusted, several of the “B” Squadron lads sat on the ridge observing the camp.
Half an hour later, one pointed. I followed his finger, and behind us, a mile east, came a large patrol.
I told everyone, ‘Those trucks and jeeps drove around, not south. Get the fifty cal out here, and the GPMGs.’ The “B” Squadron lads moved down to the cave quickly.
Swifty complained, ‘Sent Moran the other fucking way!’
I called Haines. ‘It’ Wilco, stand to, large patrol approaching you from the east, get men on the roof, and set ambushes below. Open up at 1,000yards. Get ready!’
I called Nicholson, because he was closer than we were, by five hundred yards at least.
‘Hello?’
‘Get out the back of the cave, patrol behind you, start sniping at them!’
‘Right, Boss.’
I moved to where I could see the fifty cal’s getting ready. ‘Fire when ready! GPMGs, aim high, short bursts.’
The first fifty cal blasted out a deafening round.
‘Man down!’ they claimed, and cheered.
‘Just another forty nine to go!’ I told them as a GPMG opened up, several short bursts.
Swifty noted, ‘They’re all on their bellies. Won’t reach the buildings like that, long way to leopard crawl.’
Despite us firing at them, they got back up and ran towards the river, seeking some cover. Once near the river bed they moved bent double, but were still visible, ten bodies left behind in the sand.
‘What’s that?’ Swifty asked, and pointed.
Left of the patrol, five hundred yards, two men ran bent double in a ditch.
‘Crab and Duffy,’ I told him.
‘Stupid fucks.’
I called Haines. ‘What are Crab and Duffy doing?’
‘They’re by the river, ambush point.’
‘No they’re not, they’re sneaking up on that patrol, six hundred yards out. Check you fire.’ I clicked on my radio. ‘Listen up, left of that patrol five hundred yards, across the river, are some of ours. Don’t shoot them.’
Four GPMGs now fired bursts, the patrol elongated, and ten minutes later I could see Crab and Duffy at just two hundred yards from the front of the patrol. They got down and hid, the men at the front of the patrol falling rapidly.
Ten minutes later, and the back end of the patrol was legging it away, and a full twenty minutes later the firing eased, and I had counted sixteen men make it to safety and away behind a ridge.
‘Fifty cal, back to the front!’ I ordered. I stepped away and called Moran. ‘We had a patrol come in, from the east, so watch yourself, could be others out there.’
‘We crossed the hills and down, got good cover, and there’s an offshoot, like a canal or irrigation ditch, trees and bushes. We can get to say five hundred yards from their perimeter.’
‘There are some Legionnaires with sniper rifles?’
‘The Recon Platoon that arrived, they have eight sniper rifles, like our L96.’
‘Question is ... how they react to you being there. We have six GPMGs up here, and fifty cal, so we can cover you if they move out, but they have mounted fifty cal and mortars.’
‘Can you keep the mortars out of action?’
‘More or less, yes.’
‘OK, we’ll move in, and we have the cover from mortars.’
‘I’ll have the lads here distract the men in the base.’ Back in the cave, I ordered the GPMG lads to fire slow and steady, short bursts, for thirty minutes, a warning about the French on the right flank, fifty cal to get up top, and to target sandbag positions on the right.
Gathering all of the Wolves over twenty minutes, I had them take position as the fifty cal made a loud noise, each Wolf told to snipe down, but at the mortar pit and the sandbag positions.
That caused a reaction, two mounted Duska hammering out rounds and we had to duck. They had little chance of hitting us, but it made moving around up top interesting.
A mortar popped out a round, a blast down the ridge, no one being able to see the mortar tube. The sneaky shits were behind a building.
‘Not very sporting,’ Swifty complained, Mitch trying to spot it.
Three mortar tubes opened up, a few blasts getting closer, but most were at least two hundred yards away.
Hearing the distant drone of helicopters, Swifty and I scanned the horizon, soon turning around to see four Puma coming in low level to land at the dam buildings.
My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Haines. French Echo are here, so what do I tell them?’
‘Send them all straight to me, to the hill, ask Mister Liban to call me.’
‘OK, I’ll send them off.’
I could soon see a long line of men snaking across the river and heading towards us.
My phone trilled. ‘Wilco here.’
‘It is Liban. Where are you?’
‘See the mortars landing?’
‘Ah, yes.’
‘We’re there. Leave your men at the base of the hill, hidden in the rocks, bring senior men up to have a look.’
‘With tin hat, no.’
‘Be careful, mortars and fifty cal coming in.’
‘Have you upset someone, Captain?’
‘Kept them awake last night, they’re grumpy now.’
Call ended, I contacted Moran. ‘Where are you?’
‘Sneaking along.’
‘French Echo is moving towards me, I’ll put them on the left, opposite you, be in place in a few hours.’
‘OK, we’ll be in positi
on in half an hour or less, some lads already positioned and camouflaged. A few civvies further south, but the firing is keeping them away.’
‘See if you can spot the mortars and hit the crews, they’re hidden behind buildings.’
‘OK.’
I ducked as a mortar landed inside fifty yards. Pulling my cap down to shield my eyes, I peered down at the base, and I could see sandbag positions up on the barracks roof, and they had not been there yesterday.
‘Lookout!’ Swifty screamed, men shouting “Incoming”.
Five rockets flew right over us, white smoke trails left, and they blasted up sand five hundred yards in front of French Echo, a second salvo screeching passed us and down, landing west of French Echo.
My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘What the fuck was that?’ Liban asked.
‘They have short range Russian rockets. But don’t worry, it was not personal, they were aiming at us.’
‘Ah, well so long as it’s not personal,’ he quipped. ‘Now we crawl on our bellies, no.’
‘They’ll adjust their aim and target us, don’t worry.’
Five minutes later, and the rockets came, all slamming into the cliffs below us, a dull rumble felt and heard, smoke rising and blowing over the ridge.
‘They ain’t the best aim, are they,’ Swifty noted.
My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Moran, and we just got the rocket crew, and shot the tyres of the rocket launcher.’
‘Liban got a rude visit by five rockets, mouth full of sand.’
‘He wanted to get out from behind the desk!’
‘See the mortars?’
‘One, so we’ll have them soon. Moran out.’
I transmitted, ‘French Legion got the rocket crew.’
‘Trucks leaving,’ someone transmitted.
‘Might be another flanking move,’ I thought out loud.
Half an hour later a sweat-covered Liban clambered up with his senior men, puffing out, the mortars having reduced, no fresh rockets witnessed. He took off his cap and wiped his brow, enjoying the cool breeze. ‘That is a big base.’
‘Six hundred men, less two hundred and fifty killed,’ I told him after I saluted him.
He laughed and saluted me back, his captains and troop sergeants taking a look down. ‘So, what is where?’
I gathered his men, a dangerous grouping if a mortar got us. ‘French Legion and Captain Moran, down there on the right. See the tree line and ditch. Here we have men in caves, sniping, firing GPMG, and we kept them awake, two bombs dropped by helicopter.
‘They have mortars, rockets, mounted fifty cal, so if you make a mistake it will be a painful mistake. They have sandbag positions, concrete bunkers, and they sent two patrols out and around to us, all killed or sent back.
‘Your job will be the left side. Go back down the hill, go left a mile, up and over and down without being seen, sneak in to five hundred yards, spread out, good cover, snipe at them. When you’re in place we’ll probe the front after dark.
There are hostages, don’t know how many or where inside, but part of this is to reduce the men and stop them moving south and grabbing power.’
Liban nodded, and told his men to study the layout for five minutes, calling Moran, an assessment given from Moran’s side, things pointed at. Happy, Liban wished me well and led his men back down the hill.
Twenty minutes later, the sun high and the afternoon hot, Captain Harris called me, a report from “D” Squadron, two trucks shot up. They had sent men down to the trucks, then driven them off the road, RPGs pinched away, a few Russian box-fed machineguns.
Ten minutes later, and Harris was back on. ‘”D” Squadron just got a shock. They had moved back from the trucks because of cars coming, maybe two hundred yards, when a truck blew.’
‘Blew? Why?’
‘Not sure, and it was well after the shooting had ended.’
‘Was it on fire?’
‘No.’
‘Then someone put a bomb in it, anticipating we’d stop the fucking truck. Warn “D” Squadron not to approach any vehicle, my orders. Shout a little.’
‘I’ll call them back now.’
Ten minutes later Tinker called. ‘Radio traffic has them getting ready to leave, and overnight intercepts had them dealing with a great many wounded, some senior staff killed. They made calls to Libintov again, and to Ivory Coast.’
‘We shot down a helicopter, and a small plane. Hunt has the details of the pilot.’
‘There’s radio talk now of a nasty surprise for the men on the hill.’
‘Yeah? Well they fired rockets, but their aim was crap, so what do they have that can hit us?’
‘Got no detail yet.’
‘They put a bomb in a truck, that was clever, and sneaky, so they’re thinking at last. OK, keep the intel coming.’
Phone away, stood there, I wondered what they had planned. More rockets came to mind. I transmitted, ‘Everyone into the caves, on the double!’
Stood there, I watched the Wolves move past me, and finally I followed Swifty down, the main cave now bustling. I had six Wolves sent to the next cave.
‘What’s the panic?’ Swifty asked, faces turning towards me.
‘They’re planning something - we got radio intercepts, and they put a bomb on a truck with a timer and sent it south – and I’m guessing the fucking driver never knew. “D” Squadron stopped it, offloaded the goodies, missed being killed by minutes, so the fucker’s down there have their thinking caps on.’
‘Can’t hit us with anything in here,’ “B” Squadron men noted.
I moved to the rear and out, waiting calls, and staring towards the dam. The medics down there were a worry.
When my phone trilled it was Moran. ‘Plane coming in, not an An12, smaller, two engine.’
‘It’s landing?’
‘No, looks like it’s circling, about three thousand. Wait. It’s heading over, towards you. Odd, it’s ramp is down.’
‘Ramp is down? Shit.’ I cut the call and warned Haines of an aircraft, and to get his men to cover below.
The drone grew, I peered up, soon seeing what I thought was Paras dropping. ‘Shit!’ I ducked inside. ‘Cover your ears, mouths open, get down!’
I knelt next to a wall as others copied, a few seconds later the cave shaking, dust falling, the roar building, and it lasted sixty seconds. As it abated I ran out, seeing the aircraft turn northeast. My heart skipped a beat; Haines and the medics were next.
Something fell from the aircraft’s tail ramp, suddenly a myriad of puffs seen, flashes seen. They had dropped RPG heads – my trick.
Swifty appeared at my side.
‘They just dropped RPG heads onto the building down there,’ I told him.
‘They learn that from you.’
‘Who learnt that from me...?’ I posed.
‘Fuckers in Liberia and Ivory Coast.’ We exchanged a look.
I called Haines as the aircraft banked away east.
‘Hello?’ Haines answered.
‘You alive down there?’
‘Ears are ringing, two men wounded, something came down the stairwell.’
‘Serious wounds?’
‘Shrapnel in the leg, not life threatening.’
‘Can’t get a helo in right now, but if you can get them a mile up the road, call one for that location. Tell the French pilot to be careful.’
‘OK, will do.’
‘Just two wounded?’
‘I think so, nurses a bit shaken up. What happened up where you are?’
‘They dropped explosives, not RPGs heads. Talk soon. Wilco out.’
My phone went straight away; Moran. ‘You OK up there?’
‘We were inside the caves, or we would have lost a few people; radio intercepts got us the warning. Then they dropped RPG heads on the medics, two men wounded.’
‘They learnt that trick from you!’
‘I was just saying that to Swifty, so som
e fucker involved in this is connected to Ivory Coast and Liberia, more than the Russian I spoke to yesterday. At least, I hope he’s not pissing about.’
Liban called next. ‘You are alive?’
‘Yes, we were in the cave, got a warning, or we would have lost some men. Be careful moving around in daylight, spread out.’
‘We have been face in the sand twice already today, we are tasting the sand, no.’
‘Better than British Army rations. Be careful as you move over the ridge.’
I called Hunt. ‘Listen, we just had a plane fly over and drop RPG heads on us.’
‘They used your trick. A bit cheeky.’
‘Someone here is linked to Liberia and Sierra Leone.’
‘Libintov?’
‘I’m doubting he wants to piss of Petrov. Call Tinker, have them look for a Russian other than Libintov, link the calls in and out.’
My next call was Libintov, and I stepped away.
‘Da!’
‘It’s Petrov.’
‘Ah, how ... is progress?’
‘I’ve killed more than two hundred, so we should be able to get the weapons back to you.’
‘That is good news. They called and said that a helicopter dropped a bomb, many killed.’
‘Yes, my men. And I’m sorry we shot down your helicopter and small plane.’
‘I lost no helicopter..?’
‘No? Then whose Mi8 was it?’
‘I’d take a guess and say it was hired by a Nigeria, Izillien.’
‘What’s his angle here?’
‘He’s involved in mines and oil, so maybe he wants concessions in Senegal afterwards, talk of good ore in the north, and there are oil platforms off the coast in the north.’
‘He is out of pocket for a helicopter and a small plane, now he drops bombs from a plane, but they’ll never get my men. I’ve not lost any. Maybe you should tell him to stop wasting money. The stupid fucks here sent men over the border into Mauritania, now a full mobilization of French forces, a thousand.’
‘A thousand?’
‘They have a defence treaty, the border was crossed.’
‘I see, yes. And you think you can get my weapons before the French intervene?’
‘We have 24hrs, so stay ready.’
Call cut, I contacted Tinker. ‘Listen, Libintov is no longer involved with this, but wants his weapons back, but a Nigeria called Izillien is backing this coup.’
