by Geoff Wolak
Casper was up, and he did well, seen smiling. He drew level with Tomo, but I awarded two extra points because when Casper reloaded he either knelt or put his back to a pillar, Tomo not bothering.
That led to some loud complaints, a re-match in order, the snipers and the Russians in a slanging match. Tomo knelt to re-load this time, and scored 38. Casper knelt to re-load, and scored 38. We needed more of a challenge, so I had lamps and candles brought in, the lights knocked off.
Tomo scored 36, Casper 37, so cash was demanded at gunpoint and handed over as I laughed at the sniper team.
With enough of the lads around the next day, Rizzo not on holiday, I had him drill Casper and the Russians on the range, working them hard, and Rizzo took Casper through the Killing House, both with pistol and MP5, advice dispensed, Casper a natural at this.
The following day, damp after a night’s downpour but dry and calm now, I created a scenario on the range, and many would have a go at it, scores to be tallied by Crab and Duffy. Each candidate would load, turn and fire four rounds, sprint a hundred yards, kneel and fire at 200yards and 300yards, laying down at 400yards and 500yards. In the event of a tie, times would be critical.
Sasha went up against one of his team first, scores set, his second and third men up, followed by Nicholson and Tomo – better scores set, and finally it was myself and Casper, the detail of the wager making him laugh.
Settled, ready, a look exchanged, a shout from Crab as he held his stop watch, and we grabbed weapons in a hurry, spun and fired with control, soon running. Casper held level with me, and at times we fired in sequence, but at 500yards he dropped a shot, and he lost by one point to some loud complaining.
A bet was a bet, and at 5pm he stood with the ladies in the canteen in a pink apron, serving those of us left on base. ‘I poisoned your fucking food,’ he offered me in Russian, the ladies not understanding.
With all of the lads back on the Monday, some having taken short holidays, all of them got a good look at the new weapons, some practise had. Rocko liked the box-fed, and would now carry one instead of a Valmet, Stretch voicing a similar opinion. Since Stretch was our worst sniper I had no argument with that.
At 5pm a call came in whilst I was walking towards the canteen, and I stopped dead. My face flushed hot, and I went from saddened, to angered, to horrified, to worried. Seeing Moran with Mitch, I waved them over, and I waved down O’Leary as he drove past heading home.
I thrust my hands in my jacket pockets as they closed in, and they could tell from my look that something was up. I finally uttered, ‘It’s Hamble.’
‘Complications?’ Mitch asked. ‘Infection?’
‘He’s dead.’
They stared back, looks exchanged.
‘What are you not telling us?’ Moran knowingly asked.
I took in their faces. ‘He stabbed two female nurses before he took his own life.’
‘Jesus,’ Mitch let out.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ O’Leary angrily got out. ‘We’ll get the damn blame for this!’
‘Christ,’ Moran let out. ‘The publicity will hurt, but poor old Hamble. Can’t imagine what was going through his head.’
‘Rage,’ I stated. ‘Rage was going through his head, blood red rage at many things and at many people, not just his ex-wife.’
‘Can London contain this?’ Moran asked.
I shrugged. ‘Be hard, we wait to see what hits the news. Say nothing to the lads, and if they don’t find out, fine – leave it that way.’ I heaved a sigh and stared hard at Moran. ‘Did we let him down? Could we have done more?’
They exchanged looks.
Moran began, ‘MOD does the nursing, we’re off fighting, or we’re training. We could have popped into see him, tried to cheer him up, but we’re short on time. And a half-hour visit wouldn’t achieve much if he’s depressed the rest of the day.’
‘And if you lost a leg?’ I posed.
Moran exchanged a look with Mitch. ‘I’d be depressed, yes, but not suicidal nor wanting to kill some nurses. It would be Civvy Street, some study, new job, walking with a plastic leg, some nice secretaries to look at.’
I took in their faces, and nodded to myself.
Later, on the local news, they listed an ex-Army captain as taking his own life and injuring two nurses that had tried to stop him taking his own life. It sounded better than the truth, which was Hamble wanting to hurt those two nurses.
I called the Colonel and shocked him, then the Major - shocking him even more, and I finally went and found Hunt. He knew already, and London was trying to call in some favours and keep it out of the national press.
In the morning I headed to the local shop, and I bought a copy of most all the papers, finding just one small story about the incident. So far we had not been tarnished.
In with the Major, I sat. He eased back and waited. ‘Do we ... replace Hamble?’ I posed.
The Major considered that. ‘Any suitable candidates?
‘Not that I’ve heard of.’
‘Me neither. We can get by for now, see who stands out down the road.’
I nodded. Thinking. Using the desk phone, I called the Colonel. ‘Sir, do you have any captains suitable for us?’
‘Not that I can think of, no one stands out as your sort of chap.’
‘OK, sir, we’ll cope without one, but ... do you want to see one in place?’
‘Makes little difference to me, we have plenty of men with you, and the Admin team up here handles the troop with you.’
Next call was the Army Sniper School. ‘It’s Wilco. Listen, any officers got a good score on the three-day?’
‘Lancaster, Marines, Second-Lieutenant, he was shit hot. Over ninety.’
‘Get me his contact details.’ I wrote them down. ‘Thanks.’
Phone down, the Major said, ‘A Marine, and a Second Lieutenant? Colonel might not be best pleased, or the troop.’
I eased back. ‘Well ... do we need one, want one, does it even things out?’
The Major considered that. ‘Troop should have a troop captain, yes.’
‘How would paperwork in the Marines differ?’
‘Be pretty much the same. But he sounds junior.’
I glanced at the contact details and made a call, to Abroath up in Scotland, and to 45 Commando, finally getting through to the man.
‘That Captain Wilco?’ came a voice.
‘It is. You did well on my three day…’
‘Ninety two percent,’ he proudly stated.
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty nine.’
‘So you came up through the ranks...’ I noted, a look exchanged with the Major.
‘Yes, was commissioned two years back.’
‘Did you see any action in Liberia?’
‘Yes, killed around twenty blacks. Been to Sierra Leone twice now, did all the patrol routes.’
‘Keen for more action, Mister Lancaster?’
‘With Echo?’
‘As a troop captain. You’d be a captain within this unit, if you fit in, and if you’re dumb enough to want to do it.’
‘I had considered the SBS when I was a sergeant, but not that keen on scuba diving in ice water. So ... answer is yes.’
‘Family?’
‘Ex-wife, no kids.’
‘Girl who will miss you?’
‘Not up here, unless you like sheep.’
I smiled widely. ‘Think about it, note this number, discuss it with your boss, but he can’t stop you moving to us.’
‘He’d be glad to see me gone, he’s blue blood old school, hates the idea that I came through the ranks.’
‘Call us soon with a decision, and think about those wounds you might pick up.’
‘I’ll ... call you back soon, yes.’
Phone down, I stared at the Major.
The Major began, ‘Time served, came through the ranks, the lads will relate to him.’
I made a face and shrugged. ‘If he comes down we’ll
see.’
The programme for the week was basic training, Casper to get a good grounding in everything, the lads to practise after their holiday, and Wednesday would see 7 Squadron and 47 Squadron RAF with us for the Standard Monthly Exercise, medics along, and they would all be worked hard.
The Banker had called, I had fixed a date to meet in a posh hotel, and only then informed David. He suggested that he distance himself, but I asked for the presence of both himself and the Director. A few hours later he was back on, and he agreed the meeting, London’s CIA section head in as a courtesy, Leon in for a shock.
As the RAF were getting shouted at back at GL4 I was in a suit with MP Peter, booked into a posh hotel, and I met Leon in a corridor, leading him to the penthouse suite, which puzzled him. Inside, he was surprised to find the group.
I pointed him to a seat, the Director pouring Leon a good quality red wine as he sat looking puzzled, and afraid. I sat. ‘Starting at the beginning,’ I began in English, Leon’s English very good. ‘The real Petrov died many years ago, and I took his place.’
‘The ... real Petrov?’
I nodded. ‘He was never that good anyhow. Much of his reputation was manufactured after he died, but ... what I’ve done since then needed no manufacture.’
Leon took in the faces.
I pointed with a hand. ‘Head of London CIA, Head of Operations, Mi6, Director of Mi6.’
Leon swallowed, and sipped his drink.
‘My real name is Captain Wilco.’
‘You!’ Leon gasped.
I nodded. ‘I took Petrov’s place, and we built up Tomsk, and I developed working relationships with many gangs and groups. Our policy was ... one that looked at the long term gain of intel, not the short term arrest of a gangster. Tomsk will never be arrested.’
‘Tomsk ... knows who you are?’
‘Yes, from the start,’ I lied. ‘Few others know.’
‘Why tell me like this? I would have never believed you were not Petrov.’
‘You’re a smart man, an important man, and I would rather work with you with no lies, and with some mutual respect.’
He considered that. ‘Work with me..?’
‘We have no intention of arresting you, unless you were seen to be funding terrorists, and since you’re Jewish ... that seems unlikely.’
‘I have never knowingly funded terrorists, nor would I, but I cannot control what some customers do with their money.’
‘We only ask that you don’t fund Arabs or terrorists, and in return ... we’ll help you stay alive and out of jail. We will have questions for you though, about people that are best arrested or ... dealt with, but we don’t expect a monthly statement. And if you chose not to deal with us ... we’ll not go after you.’
‘And Casper?’
‘Is here, enjoying the training with my team, fake ID, salary. He’ll accompany us on hostage rescues - where he can work undercover as himself and help us get the hostages out for minimum shooting and minimum risk.’
‘He knows about you?’
‘Yes. And he likes to compete with me.’
Leon nodded. ‘No surprise there.’ He sipped his drink, and glanced at the Director. ‘A typically British intelligence operation, smooth and professional, understated.’
She tipped her head in thanks.
He faced me. ‘You saved my life in Marseille, and you moved fast, but I can see now how you did it, you have great resources to call upon.’
‘And how do you feel about continuing our friendship?’ I pressed.
‘There’s no downside for me, and what I seek is a quiet life, not endless riches nor risk taking. So I’m happy to cooperate with you, assuming that this agreement doesn’t leak.’
‘Few will ever know outside this room,’ the Director assured him.
‘Step one,’ I began. ‘Your favour to us. Find Belchov.’
‘Georgia somewhere. What’s he done to interest you?’
‘Money for Arab terrorists,’ I lied.
‘In which case, I’ll gladly help, yes. And when I find him..?’
I told him, ‘Persuade him to stop such activities, it’s bad for the planet we live on.’
Leon nodded. ‘Least I can do. And ... Casper’s keen desire to get himself killed?’
‘I won’t hold him back, nor could I, you know that. But he’ll have a much better chance of survival with my team than working as a lone gunman.’
‘I should think so, yes. And I can call you and ask about him?’
‘Of course. Any time.’
‘Will he ... meet with me?’
‘I have nudged him towards that, yes. I’ll do so again when he’s settled into his new life.’
‘Odd to think of him here in England,’ Leon noted. ‘But better than the alternative.’
‘You wanted him to be a banker..?’ the Director asked.
He tipped his eyebrows. ‘There was never much chance of that. He was always headstrong, seeking thrills and danger.’
The Director stood, David and our CIA guests following her up, finally myself and Leon. She shook his hand. ‘Unlikely we’ll ever meet again.’ She led her group out, the door closed.
We sat, I poured myself a wine, and I gave him my potted life story.
‘And your father..?’ Leon finally asked.
‘He cares, I suppose, in his own way, but he doesn’t love me or miss me. I go home once a month, quick visit – he’s not far from my base, and he sees the newspaper stories.’
He nodded, taking a reflective moment. ‘I have my other son, and a daughter, but Casper was the one that got away. It bothers you, your daughter?’
‘Of course, but I couldn’t function if I was living with them. From kindness to killing and back in a day, story at bedtime? No.’
We shook an hour later, and I wished him well as he headed off down the corridor. I updated Pete, we ordered room service meals, and I got to bed at midnight, sleeping in a bed big enough for six people, quite a change from the jungle.
In the morning, back at GL4 and after the briefing – some of the lads training the RAF, I took Casper and Sasha to one side.
‘I met with Leon, and he now knows who I am.’
Casper stared dispassionately back.
I continued, ‘He met with senior figures, British and American, some cooperation against Arab terrorists.’
Casper finally said, ‘Are you telling me to meet with him?’
‘No, your job here is not dependent on that. But I ask you to, because we may have work together someday soon. Up to you.’
He glanced at Sasha. ‘I think about it.’
Sasha encouraged, ‘Go meet him, before he gets old and dies, or I beat you to a pulp.’
Casper laughed, and winded Sasha with an elbow.
With the weather the next day oddly good, the wind very low, we grabbed the Skyvan and Pete, Casper to learn about our bag technique from Rocko and Rizzo, plenty of ground practice before they went up, all down safely, Casper happy with his performance. They went back up three times during the day, Casper getting the hang of it.
‘Easy,’ he told me.
‘Now do it in the dark, Smartarse,’ I responded. He lost his smile.
At 9pm he dropped, the RAF observing, and he made it down without killing himself.
‘I can do this,’ he insisted.
David called the next morning, the Friday. ‘How’s Casper coming along?’
‘He fires a pistol as well as Tomo, snipes as well as Nicholson, so he’s shit hot. He’s got the HALO bag technique down, and today he’s driving various jeeps and trucks here. He’s good, as good as me.’
‘Well that’s a benefit, but also a worry should he swap sides.’
‘He likes the camaraderie, so I doubt that. And he wants to try my three day.’
‘Americans are pleased, Prime Minister happy - he gets lots of respect from them now, and our international reputation has never been better, arms sales and security consulting. Oh, reason for
the call, bunch of Hollywood actors on their way, MOD approved it in a jiffy, but they do know about secrecy.’
‘Actors?’ I complained.
‘They’re making a movie, loosely based on Mahoney’s time with you, till that lad shot him. This George Clooney chap to play him, Hugh Jackman to play you -’
‘Me? And Jackman is a fucking Aussie!’
‘He’ll alter his accent I guess, you know, actors and all.’
I sighed. ‘When are they coming?’
‘Soon, they appreciate you’re abroad a lot.’
‘And just what the fuck am I supposed to do with them?’
‘They’re supposed to learn to soldier, pick up buzz words, etc.’
‘Send them to Credenhill then.’
‘They insisted on you since Mahoney was with you.’
My eyebrows shot up. ‘They want to film scenes here?’
‘Some, but without giving away too much. There’s an MOD team to stop them. And the MOD are ... very keen to cooperate.’
‘Fucking marvellous.’
‘Three other movies in the pipeline, MOD keen to cooperate on all of them. One about Angola.’
The next morning I briefed the assembled men, Intel stood at the back. ‘We’ll shortly have a bunch of Hollywood actors visiting, a film about a character similar to Mahoney - an American embedded with British SAS. Lesley, George Clooney is coming, and yes – you can swoon all you like.’
They glanced at her as she stood looking shocked, pleased but shocked.
‘Mutch, they want you to play a role.’
‘They do?’ he puzzled.
‘Nah, just kidding, fat cunt.’
The room rocked with laughter.
‘Listen up. When they’re here you’re all tight-lipped about things they don’t need to know, or you get kicked out the gate. Intel team, hide away, explain away yourselves as Admin Clerks or something. Mutch -’ They laughed. ‘- try and explain yourself away, somehow. And lads, we’ll take these actors to Cardiff on a Saturday night, pull some birds.’
They shouted their approval of the idea, the Major shooting me a look, his disapproval of the idea.
