by Geoff Wolak
Down with a bump, we lifted crates out between two men and carried them below decks as directed, no deck lift available, narrow steps to negotiate. We were led to a large workshop towards the rear of the ship, the ship’s metal rusted in places, space in the middle of the workshop for us, green rubber mats to hand.
I had the lads make a wall around us where French ratings might walk past, and we got comfy, little to do till we had sailed up the coast.
A familiar face appeared, a DGSE man. We shook. ‘All of your men are OK after Eritrea?’ he asked as Hunt closed in.
‘Stitches out, wounds healed, yes. And who pissed-off the FBI in Marseille?’ He shrugged, so I wagged a finger at him. ‘Don’t you know that the FBI police the world.’
‘They police it with sugar in the tank,’ he quipped, making me smile.
‘Where’s French Echo?’
‘The plane should land in Mombasa soon. Now maybe.’
‘This ship...’
‘Is older than me, yes. But ... it floats, it goes.’ He shrugged.
‘And how much credit did you claim for your two men with us in Eritrea..?’
‘The newspapers said a platoon of French.’
I turned my head to Henri. ‘You hear that, Henri? We had a platoon of French with us in Eritrea.’
‘Do I get paid like a platoon?’ Henri asked, the lads laughing.
Our DGSE man led Hunt off for a coffee and a chat.
The next batch of lads found us, the wall of crates made bigger, some men already reading paperbacks, and the fourth batch of men signalled the arrival of all of Echo and its support staff.
‘I’m a jungle man,’ Whisky told me. ‘Ships ... not so much.’
‘Get a tan,’ I told him. ‘You’re our support, so ... be in support. Sergeant Crab, take a wander, ask about bottled water. Whisky ... track him if he gets lost.’
Crab and Duffy headed off, moaning about “this rust bucket”.
Water found and brought back, the lads were taken in groups of ten to the galley, the food not too bad. I was led with the officers to the officers’ galley, those few English-speaking French officers keen for a chat about the upcoming operation.
After a meal, and a leisurely coffee, the DGSE took me up to the bridge, and to the captain.
‘Ah, Captain Wilco, Legion of Honour – Grand Cross no less. Welcome.’
We shook.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘We were all at sea when the crisis was happening in Paris and France, and there is no pain greater than to be here ... when family is there and in danger, so we are grateful for what you and your men did.’
‘Since two of my team in France were French 1st Battalion ... we can say it was a joint venture.’
‘And French soldiers assisted you in Senegal...’
‘They arrived late, were bombed, walked on, were bombed again, climbed over a hill and took position, were blown up, they ate lunch, then were blown up again, then withdrew.’
A few of the bridge crew laughed.
The captain noted, ‘I do not think they were happy with this mission, no.’
‘Not the best operation they had been on.’
‘And this operation will be fifty-fifty?’
‘Yes, sir. How many helicopters do you have?’
‘Four, but one is broken.’
‘Zodiac?’
‘We have four fast boats if you wish to make use of them.’
‘Yes, sir, a helicopter landing will be loud.’
‘Up to you. We have French commandos here, a platoon, if you have a use for these men.’
‘Perhaps, sir, as a rescue detail. Or they hold a rear position.’
‘I will ask, but they will be happy for something to do, they do not like to just sit on the ship.’
Back with the teams, I found Crab. ‘Before we insert, see if the French have any GPMGs for door gunner positions in the helos. If they send a helo out in an emergency, you and Duffy sit in the doors. In the meantime, load up all the brown magazines, please.’
An hour later a line of French commandos came to us, the lads puzzling the men, the newcomers all dressed like special forces and looking fit and tough. ‘I speak English,’ the lieutenant said. We shook.
‘I’m Captain Wilco.’
‘We know the name, sir, we read the papers. And ... we wish we had more to do always.’
‘The British SBS see less action than the SAS,’ I told him. ‘I have four SBS with me here.’
‘Is there something we can do to assist, sir?’
‘You could be on standby to come out if we need you, and to be on the helicopters for wounded.’
‘That we can do, sir. You will go in by helicopter?’
‘No, zodiac.’
His face brightened. ‘Then we take you in, sir.’
‘It will take more than a day to reach the drop off point, so you have time to prepare.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Henri, Jacque, give these boys a lesson on the Valmet.’
Half an hour later, and Dicky was lambasting the lack of good roles for the SBS, his French counterparts lambasting their bosses, as well as the French Government; they had the toughest selection process in the French military, yet were deployed the least.
Clanking boots on metal steps preceded Lt Col Liban and his captains. ‘Ah, Wilco.’ We shook after I offered a mocking salute.
‘You’re late, Lieutenant Colonel,’ I scolded him.
‘Ah, stupid airplane was late by two hours.’ He shook Moran’s hand.
‘How many men?’ I asked.
‘I bring four platoons of eight or, to keep you happy, four troop.’
‘More than enough to deal with any problems,’ I teased.
‘And how was Eritrea?’
I sat with him on a metal crate and gave him the detail over half an hour.
He finally nodded. ‘When fighting in the rocks, always the ricochet. And if something blows up ... what can you do, eh. And the rumours about Marseille..?’
‘It’s secret,’ I firmly told him. ‘And ... was illegal.’
‘These men talk like old ladies, so all 1st Battalion have some detail.’
‘I’m not adding to it.’
‘So what is the plan here?’
‘Captain Harris, Captain Moran?’ I called. ‘Sketches please.’
Moran sat and detailed the target camp for Liban and his captains, but it was all straight forwards – so long as our luck held.
After our evening meal we sat around the crates, the throb of the engine for company, the gentle motion of the ship rising and falling rhythmically, sea air ever present since parts of the room were exposed to the elements.
I stepped to the rear of our allocated space and found sky above me, an update for London called in.
At 11pm men tried to get comfy on the green rubber mats, webbing used as pillows, jackets for blankets, but the ratings had brought in some pillows and blue blankets, just not enough. Hunt accepted a bunk in with the officers. Swifty and I took our greens out of the crate and rolled them up as pillows, jackets underneath us, brown ponchos as blankets.
Oddly enough, the throbbing engine and the gentle rolling of the ship helped us to sleep, and in the morning most confessed to having slept well.
I spoke to Liban after breakfast, he spoke to the bridge crew, and they reported that we would not be in position till later today, maybe 6pm. That meant a dawn insert tomorrow, and I told him that that was now the plan, the French commando’s also given that timescale. I had the lads work on fitness, on the deck and up and down the steep steps, salt water pumped for deck showers.
At 3pm Tomsk called me. I stepped away from the lads. He asked, ‘Are you going to attack some place in Somalia?’
I was stunned. ‘How the fuck did you know that?’
‘I have a man who likes a little extra money, a Lebanese arms dealer, Russian mother.’
‘He said that the British would hit a camp in Somalia?’<
br />
‘These men in this camp, they were like these men in some camp in Eritrea, so they figured they might be next, then they got word that the British would hit the camp.’
‘Word from where?’
‘He is not sure. But now they all hide in the hills, more men arriving, they set a trap.’
‘How well armed are they?’
‘The Lebanese man, he delivered good weapons yesterday, paid by a man in Switzerland he knows, and that man is an intermediary for some Saudi prince.’
I closed my eyes and sighed loudly. ‘What else do you know?’
‘Only that. Oh, he said there was an English man there, training them.’
‘English? A former soldier?’
‘Yes, something like that. You are going to attack this camp?’
‘We were, and I think I would have seen them hiding and killed them anyway.’
‘You are too good to be tricked by some fucking Arabs!’
I smiled, but then forced it away. ‘My luck will run out some day. If you can get any more information from this man, do so, I might live longer. Thanks.’
Call cut, I stood on the deck as French ratings worked on the Puma helicopters under a bright sun. If only I could do the soldiering without the political bullshit. I sighed, and called SIS London.
‘It’s Wilco, on the French carrier Joan of Arc, off the coast of Somalia. There’s been a serious breach of security, the raid into Somalia has been compromised, they know we’re coming, specifically us. At Mombasa there were two Army officers and two embassy staff. I want them picked up for immediate Q&A, they may have accidentally slipped up.
‘I then want a Q&A of the SAS at Nanyuki, Kenya, plus anyone that we may have come in contact with, and a sweep of the local bars and brothels to see if anyone there is interested in us.
‘Next, there’s an ex-SAS soldier in Somalia training al-Qa’eda terrorists -’
‘What!’
‘I want all phone intercept data looked at from the area around the target camp, back to the UK, especially the Hereford region. Get the special unit responsible for ex-SAS soldiers on it, and fast. Put me through to David Finch.’
‘Hold on ... he’s in with the Director.’
‘Interrupt them!’ I barked.
‘Hold on.’
‘Wilco?’ came David’s voice a minute later, sounding like he was on speaker-phone.
‘Who’s in the room with you?’
‘Director, plus some senior staff, OK to talk.’
‘There’s been a security breach, the fighters in the camp in Somalia know we’re coming, specifically British SAS. I’ve asked for people in Kenya to be given the Q&A.’
‘Someone in Kenya ... talking to al-Qaeda?’ David asked. ‘Seems unlikely.’
‘And yet they’re expecting me. Next, they’ve taken a fresh delivery of weapons, paid for by a Saudi Prince.’
‘Oh ... Jesus,’ came from the Director. ‘Who knows about that?’
‘Just us and the bad guys, and my friends in low places.’
‘Let’s keep it that way for now.’
‘And finally ... they have an ex-SAS soldier advising them.’
‘What!’ came from several people at the same time.
‘Can we keep a lid on this?’ the Director asked me.
‘That’s up to you more than me. At the moment we’re on hold, so have a think about what our policy is here and call me back. Wilco out.’
Next call was Colonel Dean.
‘Wilco?’
‘Sir, there’s been a security leak, maybe an SAS lad in Kenya blabbing, my current mission in Somalia has been compromised. Contact Kenya, and shout a little, sir.’
‘I will do.’
‘And ... just to give you the heads up, an ex-regular is about to get you some very serious shit with the company he’s keeping.’
‘Oh ... gawd, not another one.’
‘We’re going to try and keep a lid on it for now, otherwise the tabloids would be calling for blood – your blood. Without being specific, contact that special unit, Captain Moorhouse, and scream down the phone a little. If I can, I’ll put a bullet in him and bury him, no paperwork. Not Captain Moorhouse I mean.’
‘If you can ... do so!’
‘Contact Kenya now, sir. Wilco out.’
Next call was Franks. ‘It’s Wilco, are you on the Kearsarge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Listen, mission is on hold, they know we’re coming.’
‘How?’
‘Not sure yet, but it could have been someone blabbing in Kenya, SAS soldiers, coach driver, fuck knows. And, just to make things even worse, the fighters in that camp have an ex-SAS soldier advising them.’
‘One of yours? Advising them?’
‘Yes. We don’t know who yet. And finally, just to make your life even more fun ... they just took delivery of weapons from someone that Tomsk knows, paid for by Saudi Prince.’
‘Oh ... Jesus mother of fucking...’ He sighed loudly.
‘Pass it up the line, job is on hold, get an opinion back to me.’
Off the phone, I went and found the DGSE man and took him to one side. ‘The job is on hold, they know we’re coming.’
‘They know?’
‘There’s been a security leak somewhere, and ... there’s an ex-SAS soldier with them.’
His eyes widened. ‘My god.’
‘They also took a fresh delivery of weapons. Right now they’re laying a trap for us. Discuss it with Paris, quickly, and get back to me.’
I found Hunt in the officer’s galley, took him outside and gave him the detail, and shocked him. He would wait an hour and discuss it with London and with Franks.
‘You don’t have any easy decisions for me to make, do you,’ he complained.
‘The soldiering part is easy, the politics isn’t.’
Below decks, I assembled the lads and stood on a crate. ‘Listen up.’ I waited for them to settle. ‘This job is on hold, or scrapped, they know we’re coming and are busy setting traps as we speak.’
‘They know?’ Moran queried, and questions flew around.
‘There may have been a security breach in Kenya, the authorities are looking into it,’ I told them. ‘They also took delivery of extra weapons. Until London get’s back to me this job is on hold.’
Mitch said, ‘Use that against them. If we wait a few days they’ll think the intel is wrong. A week and they’ll know it’s wrong.’
‘So we just sit here and get a tan?’ Hamble tersely asked Mitch.
‘For now we do nothing but wait for London and Paris to discuss this,’ I told them. ‘Staff Sergeants, I don’t want anyone getting stiff, so regular exercise when not tackling those paperbacks. Squats, rifles held above heads.
‘One final thing.’ I took in their faces. ‘Did any of you mention Somalia to an outsider, back in Kenya?’
They exchanged looks, none admitting to it.
‘Gentlemen, there’s a reason we don’t blab, and that’s because if we do then some of you get killed or captured, sliced up slowly. Someone here may have told a regular in Kenya, or phoned the UK and let slip. If it was one you ... you were signing your own death warrant by mentioning Somalia.
‘It was a fluke that we found out about the traps they’ve got set for us, otherwise you’d be bleeding to death in the sand. All of you, always think about the blabbing, you may live longer.’
I went and found Liban and explained the situation.
He said, ‘If they are in the hills it is better for us than if they are in the camp together. We go around, surprise them, small team against small team in the hills, we win.’
‘They may have called up reinforcements, and may be spread out. We could be moving around a wide area and not finding them, or they’re on the coast waiting. We wait for Paris and London, then decide. Americans have an interest here as well, so I wait a phone call.’
Back up on deck, I called Tinker. ‘Listen, job is a bust, they knew we w
ere coming, and don’t repeat this to the team but they have an ex-SAS advisor.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Get to work on the phone intercepts, look at movements and dispersals, hidden positions in the hills. Try and link a phone to Kenya or the UK.’
‘Be on it now, but what’ll you do?’
‘I’m waiting to hear back from London and Paris.’
Stood on the deck, I could see a distant fishing boat as I stood there thinking. Then my eyes widened. I ran to the French commandos. ‘Get your weapons, get on deck, we may be attacked by a small boat. Move it!’
I climbed up the steps to the bridge, shouting people out of the way, the captain surprised to see me – and to hear me shouting at his staff. ‘Sir, standby all crew for an attack, small boat attack, Somalis. Now, sir!’
He shouted orders, a siren sounding out.
‘Contact the supply ship, sir, and the frigate.’
I rushed back down, and to Echo, all stood around puzzling what was going on – and was the ship sinking? I was not sure about us being attacked, but it made sense; we were only ten miles offshore.
‘All of you, fully kitted, on the deck and spread out, ready for a small boat attack. Move it!’
Crates were opened in a hurry. I grabbed my bandolier, webbing, rifle, and headed back up to the bridge as ratings ran about with some urgency, many seen in helmets now or wearing fire suits.
The captain was surprised to see me on his bridge with my rifle. ‘Sir, they know we’re here, they know we mean to attack them - I received information, and they have used small boats before. We need a watch for small boats day and night.’
‘They know you are coming?’
‘There’s been a serious security breach, sir, maybe in Kenya. We’re waiting for Paris and London to advise us on what to do.’
‘You will abort the mission?’
‘It has been suggested that if we wait they may think their information wrong.’
He made a face. ‘Yes. If someone tells me to expect attack, how long do I wait? They lose interest in a few days.’
An officer reported something.
The captain turned to me. ‘Radar has more than ten small boats. Maybe they report our movement also.’
Another report came in.
The captain told me, ‘A small fast boat, men with binoculars watching us.’
