by Geoff Wolak
‘When I saw you in that hospital in Zagreb I figured you might die from your injuries,’ the Major noted.
‘I never thought I would get well again.’ I shrugged and sipped my tea. ‘Oh, we have a new man, Russian like Sasha.’
‘Another bloody Russian!’
‘Intel work. This guy is good, he won’t slow us down, and I know his father, step father – he’s a major player with Intel. And ... we have an increased budget, by an extra hundred million quid, so don’t hold back on kit.’
‘Where the hell did that lot come from?’
‘A rusted First World War submarine off Somalia.’
The Major’s eyes widened. ‘Really? Bloody hell.’
‘Get a copy of the book, Skinner’s Gold.’
He made a note. ‘I love old mysteries like that. Oh, those Valmet chaps wanted to come visit, show us some new weapons.’
‘Fine, sir, but explain that we might be called away suddenly.’
‘They understand that, said they could pop down at a moment’s notice, they seem dead keen.’
‘Then suggest the next few days, I’ll be here, lads resting.’
‘How was it?’
I pulled a face. ‘Half a plan, got our arses kicked, thinned them out, Navy Lynx did a lot of the work, we got the gold and did an Intel job, the target camp demolished by a rival warlord before we could do the job.’
He pointed at a copy of The Sun newspaper. ‘Couple of pages of story in there, makes it look like a good show, not much you can do about long range rockets. I spoke to Captain Moorhouse. So this traitor was IRA?’
‘He was Engineers, 14 Intel, then a traitor, now very dead.’
‘“B” Squadron got shouted at, for making phone calls out. They all had some roads to sweep.’
‘Guy was duped, but still – less blabbing is a good thing.’
‘That guy in Tenerife is back here, in a cell, accidental leak or not ... he nearly got you killed, so he’ll pay a price.’
I shrugged. ‘Lesson for the others, sir.’
In with the Intel team, I complimented Mutch on looking slimmer. He glanced down at his stomach, and frowned just before everyone laughed at him.
I asked the group, ‘Any useful intel gathered from Somalia?’
Major Sanderson began, ‘GCHQ got phones linked, Americans got the paperwork, lists of names and supplies, some links to Yemen found, and Afghanistan, all useful stuff, lot to go through.’
I told them, ‘Keep in mind that Aideed now has back-channels to the Americans, and that he wants a quiet life, and will cooperate to some degree. He’s not sponsoring terrorism or attacking The West.’
Mutch noted, ‘A few mine workers grabbed from Kenya, held for ransom in western Somalia.’
I shook my head. ‘Not down to Aideed, he stays in Mogadishu, but we could go for some of those hostages.’
Sanderson put in, ‘That chap Mally swapped some hostages there for cash recently.’
Again I shook my head. ‘Would have figured he had learnt his lesson about unarmed deals.’ I grabbed Baker and sat in his office. ‘Mister Petrov met Mister Aideed.’
‘I got a cryptic note about it. And you have that guy Casper with you?’
‘Yes, and he’ll cooperate.’
‘We’re already looking at Belchov, but don’t know where he is. Ukraine maybe.’
‘I can find out, and shoot the fucker.’
‘That would close a chapter, yes. And this Casper guy will ... do what?’
‘Same as Sasha.’
‘Bit of a risk, the fucking FBI think he’s Petrov!’
‘And sometime very soon he’ll pop up somewhere when I’m sat elsewhere, therefore...’
‘The FBI would never figure it was you,’ he said with a grin. ‘Washington is excited, they think we’ll infiltrate a lot of Russian gangs, hit the arms dealers.’
‘We can do, we have the Russian men now to fool them or to infiltrate them.’
Downstairs, I had a look at the large meeting room, seats and desks stacked up against a wall, and it was big enough for sixty people. It also displayed every story run by The Sun newspaper in chronological order around the walls; it took me half an hour to scan them all. The new Stores area was all freshly painted and gleaming, rows of nice new blue shelving, labels under kit, plenty of space, Crab, Toby and Duffy now referring to themselves as the Factory Storemen and joking about jobs in Civvy Street, in stores.
We had a tonne of ration boxes, a hundred green and brown facemasks, socks in plastic, green and brown shirts, radios, batteries, webbing. It was all looking very organised.
I found half the lads in the canteen, all looking tired, some in civvy dress, a few in greens.
‘The ... um ... bonuses,’ Rizzo delicately nudged.
‘Tomorrow, 9am briefing,’ I told him, knowing that there was still plenty of money in the safe.
After a coffee with Sasha and Casper, I reminded the Major about bonuses, but called David Finch as I stood on the cold damp apron. ‘Right, Boss.’
‘Are you all rested and well?’
‘Hardly, they’re like a bunch of zombies. Fighting is easy, long flights back are not.’
‘I can imagine, yes. Listen, men on the way down with papers and enhanced back-story for Casper, Russian speakers, and they’ll ask him a few questions as well. Is he ... prepared to cooperate fully?’
I took in the MPs and their dogs as they patrolled. ‘I doubt he’ll tell all, and I made it clear that was not why he was here.’
‘Well, they’ll ask a few delicate questions.’
‘Organise some extra cash for me, bonuses for the lads, but I think there’s plenty in the safe here.’
‘How much were you thinking of?’
‘Just over a hundred grand would sort it.’
‘Are they ... seeking such payments?’
‘No, but the payments help, a pat on the back, because they’re getting killed and wounded for fuck all money.’
‘Yes, quite. And Captain Hamble is a worry now.’
I sighed. ‘I’ll go see him.’
‘He has not expressed any desire for a desk job,’ David delicately mentioned.
‘I’ll sound him out, then we can see. Will he get a good payout?’
‘For losing a leg, a modest fifteen thousand, plus disability pension of course.’
‘Not much for a career lost.’
‘No, but the Army pension is for life. And the value of the gold..?’
‘My next call. Chat later.’ I called Leon.
‘Hello?’
‘Put that cheese and wine down,’ I told him.
He laughed. ‘Do you have a camera in my house?’ he teased.
‘Listen, send Tomsk the value of the gold at 75% or whatever you are comfortable with.’
‘I can do that quickly, yes.’
‘Can you get to London, fake ID?’
‘I visit often.’
‘Let’s meet soon, not least because Casper has now joined my team.’
‘Casper ... is working with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I like you, and don’t take this the wrong way, but you do have a dangerous day job.’
‘That’s why we need to meet, and soon.’
‘I have people to see there, so I’ll let you know soon.’
Tomsk called me later, as I was cleaning kit and clothes with Swifty. ‘The Banker called me, and he’s transferred seventy million English pounds to me..?’
‘Put it in my Cayman Islands account. The money was for the gold loaned to the dictator fucker in Somalia.’
‘I remembered what you said, yes, I didn’t look so stupid, but I was vague. Where did the gold come from, the CIA?’
‘Get a book in English called Skinner’s Gold, and have someone read it to you. It was off a First World War submarine that sank off the coast of Somalia.’
‘I’ll get the book, I love stuff like that.’
‘Oh, and find all you can
on Belchov.’
‘I know the name, hangs out in Ukraine I think, and Georgia. What’s he done?’
‘Been selling weapons to Arabs,’ I lied.
‘Ah ... stupid fuck for doing that. I make some calls.’
‘Oh, and you remember the photo I sent you of the sniper in Lagos who got Izillien...’
‘Yes..?’
‘I found him, he’s joined my team. And I’m thinking that we have some fun with the DEA and FBI.’
‘They think he is you ... so yes, easy to screw with them if this man is helping us. But who is he?’
‘You must never disclose this-’
‘OK, OK, I’m careful.’
‘He is Russian, was Parachute Corp, then French Foreign Legion, then a mercenary, a very good one. And don’t tell him that you know, but he’s The Bankers adopted son.’
‘My god. He killed people for The Banker? He killed Izillien for The Banker?’
‘No, they never worked together like that, and they haven’t spoken in years.’
‘Ah, awkward relationship, eh.’
‘Very awkward by the sound of it,’ I noted as I stood in a chill wind, thinking that La Palma would be nice and warm right now. ‘Transfer that money for me.’
‘Will do, and a little extra for Sasha and his boys, you get them some gifts, eh.’
‘Will do. Thanks.’
That evening the pub was full, the Russians drunk and singing. Fortunately, few could understand the words or we would have been banned. I could hear something about an exhaust pipe pussy, and a regiment decimated by a lone hooker with a bad disease.
Casper joined me at the bar not long before closing time. ‘It is like the déjà vu, to be singing with these men, like back in the Army. I had missed it, the camaraderie.’
‘They’re a good little team, you shouldn’t have any problems with them.’
‘Sasha got me the uniforms and boots, webbing, and he loaned me some clothes, said we will go shopping. I came with nothing.’
I remembered the money I had for him, and handed over a wad. ‘Buy some clothes, not vodka!’
He laughed, vodka loudly ordered. And despite my suggestion he bought most everyone a drink, and at one point poured vodka down the throats of Rocko and Rizzo straight from the bottle.
In the morning heads were sore, eyes red, men looking rough as we gathered in the upstairs briefing room, just Echo, O’Leary and the Major.
I began, ‘OK, we have bonuses for you, and you have some time off for personal admin or ... whatever you ugly bunch do on your day off, beside nursing hangovers. Robby, your troop are regulars, so you’re not supposed to be getting bonuses, so not a word to the Colonel, deny it. Say you won some money on the horses.’
They laughed as the Major called names. Book signed, each tired man was in turn handed a padded jiffy bag and sent out the door. The bonuses were listed as two thousand pounds for each man, but those jiffy bags for Rocko, Rizzo and Sasha had fifty pound notes and not tens or twenties as with the other lads, the Major none the wiser about what myself and O’Leary had done earlier.
I handed Rizzo a larger jiffy bag, and winked. ‘Sorry, all in small notes, so count them when you’re home.’ He would later find twenty-five thousand. And now I worried a little about this process, because after the next dodgy job they would expect the same, but were unlikely to get it.
I had a drive up to London to look forwards to, and a post mortem as Casper had English lessons from various people around the base, namely Henri, so Casper would be speaking English with a bit of a French accent. “Row-jair, ovaries and ouch.”
The next day our friends from Valmet turned up, four of them, and with a van and a police escort. The police departed at the gate, so whatever needed protecting would not be going anywhere fast. I figured they might have brought ammo, which needed an armed police escort if was being transported with suitable rifles with which to fire that ammo at British pedestrians.
At the apron the same two men jumped down. ‘You have a long range here, yes.’
I nodded, and called a few of the lads that were still in residence, and still able to keep their eyes open and look fresh. My snipers, plus Sasha’s team, accompanied us with Moran and the Major around to the range – the day pleasant enough, the Finn’s large van reversed onto the end of the firing points.
Shutter door unlocked and noisily rolled up, they brought down the first wooden box. Unlocking it, they pulled out two Valmet.
The first man began, ‘These are modified rifles, and they fire a casing similar to the old standard NATO 7.62mm, and they have more of a recoil and kick. You must be careful when using the telescopic sights for recoil.’
‘You’ve gone to old NATO standard?’ Moran puzzled.
‘No,’ the same man said with a grin as he grabbed a magazine which looked like that of a fifty cal. He clicked out a round. ‘Tungsten bullet, extra long, precision made, special casing, extra power.’
‘Tungsten?’ the Major queried. ‘Expensive!’
‘Yes, but these will go through body armour, through helmets, through walls and vehicles, and this rifle now has an effective range of 1,000m, and will kill a man out to 2,000m – if you it him of course.’
‘Elephant Gun,’ I noted, handing it to Nicholson. ‘Check it.’
‘Kneeling with Tomo, they stripped it down, a look down the barrel, assembled it, cocked and released, now accepting a large and damn heavy magazine, magazine clicked in. Lying down, Nicholson cocked – a long stroke back on the cocking lever, checked the basic telescopic sights, and fired at the butts.
We could all see the recoil, and hear the blast, much louder than a normal Valmet.
I had Swan and Leggit run down and place metal plates as the second rifle was made ready, Swan and Leggit waiting in the butts.
When ready, Tomo and Nicholson both fired three loud rounds before finally standing.
‘It’s a beast,’ Tomo noted.
Swan and Leggit righted the metal plates, and ran back up to us. Panting, Swan reported, ‘Fucking big hole through each metal plate. If you use them plates for practise we’re gonna need a shit load of new plates, Boss.’
The Finns explained, ‘We have basic ammo, lead covered in brass – cheap, and tungsten.’
‘I want thirty rifles to start, plenty of ammo,’ I told our supplier. Turning to Moran and the Major, I said, ‘One man in a troop carries it, depending on the job. On the last job they could have hit jeeps a long way off.’
Our keen suppliers opened another box, again pulling out what looked like a Valmet, but they fixed a box-fed magazine.
‘This is NATO standard 5.56mm, one hundred rounds per box, a high rate of fire, stronger slide, thick barrel. And at the top of the forend grip is a hole, for water to cool the barrel. Also, when the slide goes back it sucks air over the barrel to cool it.’
Weapon checked over, heavy box clicked in place, I knelt and fired several long bursts down the range whilst feeling little muzzle lift, hitting the metal plates.
Standing, the Finns told me, ‘With a telescopic sight it is good at distance, and it will use a silencer.’
I told the lads, ‘One per troop, no need for a GPMG, use it to lay down suppressing fire, and accurate fire if need be.’ I handed Moran the weapon to try as a second was made ready and checked, Sasha pouring out rounds. This was now our equivalent to the Russian box-fed, which was not that reliable, not as reliable as a basic AK47.
Final surprise for us was a grenade launcher shaped like a short stubby rifle, a large round magazine – and damn heavy with it.
They explained, ‘It will fire a grenade, smoke, CS gas, or a light anti-armour shell. After each firing it auto re-loads, so you can fire quickly.’
Magazine in, I fired three rounds down the range, three loud blasts the results, small puffs of smoke at the 300yard mark, metal twanging near our feet. I aimed higher and loosed off three more rounds, the blasts further away.
Our keen supplier in
formed us, ‘If the grenade hits something solid it detonates, but also has a set time, six seconds maximum before it detonates, so you can fire high.’
I aimed up at 45 degrees, and fired three rounds. We waited, and they detonated mid-air above the butts, a worry to the sheep beyond.
‘Air burst,’ Moran approved.
I told the lads, ‘CS gas for breaches, plus smoke.’
‘Good innovations,’ the Major noted. ‘Americans have kit like this.’
I told our keen Finns, ‘I want thirty box fed to start, twenty magazines per machinegun, and thirty of the grenade launchers, plenty of ammo. Deal with the Major here.’
‘We also have special webbing. The grenade launcher comes apart, and can be carried in a back-pack. And we have webbing for the box ammunition.’
‘Excellent,’ I commended. ‘We want ten of them. And on the next job we’ll photograph them in use for you. I want them in green and brown, one of each.’
Since these weapons were destined for us anyhow the Finns would be leaving them behind, as well as the ammo, so I left the lads to blast away down the range as I led the Finns in for a cuppa, the Major signing purchase orders.
With the Major gone for the day I had targets set-up beyond the north wood, and those of us in residence got up on the barracks roof, Tomo lying next to Casper, Sergeant Crab behind the log wall with a radio.
Tomo fired first, but now with a silencer on, the blast greatly reduced.
‘Top right corner,’ Crab reported, Tomo having hit a face-target just eight inches square, and at 1,200yards.
Casper fired.
‘Top left corner.’
Sights were adjusted. Tomo put three rounds through the man-target’s face, Casper likewise, hard to call who was better. Many of the lads had a go, good results witnessed; we could hit a man in the face at 1,200yards.
Moran said, ‘A tungsten round will go through each man in a patrol of six men – and keep going!’
‘Saves on ammo, that does,’ Tomo told him.
With Tomo winding up Casper, we moved to the pistol range, wagers laid off, insults levelled – many in Russian. Tomo went first as Sasha briefed Casper on tactics here, Tomo scoring 36 after I checked targets; a few of the would-be wounds would have been non-lethal, Tomo moaning about that.
