Wilco- Lone Wolf 11

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Nicholson, could you get one man to the compound unseen?’

  ‘There are bushes and trees and a ditch, so I think so.’

  ‘That man turns off his radio. Send him now to have a quick nose over the wall without being seen.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘What you thinking?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘Why an empty compound? You don’t build a place and not use it, they don’t have money to waste around here.’

  ‘Decoy?’

  ‘Decoy ... for those hostage rescuers that come by once in a lifetime..?’

  ‘So the hostages were in it, and moved, and it’s wired to blow.’

  ‘Hostage takers would never think to do that, but an outsider might.’

  Half an hour later, the radio crackled into life. ‘It’s Nicholson. That compound is wired to blow, barrels of something wired, no one in it.’

  The lads exchanged looks, worried looks.

  I eased up and peered down the slope at the village, a glance at the setting sun. ‘Listen up, this is the plan. Robby, you hold this position and watch the rear for nasty surprises, cover us.

  ‘Fishy, backwards into the valley, search it, that’s where the Chinook will land, we don’t need any surprises.

  ‘Team that moves down hits the decoy compound with grenades, and smoke. Those with box-fed will be down the slope three hundred yards, find a spot, cover the village, look for the jeeps and armed men first. Rest will move left and around, hit the true hostage building just after dark.

  ‘Those with grenade launchers hit the village road with smoke after the fun starts. Snipers, stay there, cover us. Any hostages, any wounded, back up here to Robby, withdraw with covering fire – that’s as good a plan as we can make for now. Get ready to move when the light fades. Snipers, keep checking the movements.’

  I called Captain Harris. ‘It’s Wilco. I want both Chinook, with medics, to pick us up. Track this call, and work out the coordinates of the valley three hundred yards east of me. They come in low exactly thirty minutes after my next call, and it’s about fifteen minutes flying time.’

  ‘OK, I’ll get that sorted.’

  ‘Call me if there’s a problem – like an unserviceable helo, or two.’

  ‘Army medics are here now.’

  ‘Warn them we may have wounded men and hostages soon.’ Phone down, I faced my team, Ginger part of that team. ‘We sneak up, take a look, quick plan, shoot the doors open - or I speak Arabic with an accent that none of that lot will believe – then we breach it.’

  ‘Plenty of us,’ Ginger noted.

  ‘But they’re being sneaky,’ Swifty cautioned. ‘Might have wired the hostages as well.’

  ‘If they’ve wired the hostages we’ll be down a few men, namely us lot,’ I told them.

  ‘Sneak peek first,’ Moran suggested. ‘Then hope.’

  Rocko came up and grabbed Swifty’s grenade launcher.

  ‘I signed for that,’ Swifty joked. ‘Clean it before you bring it back.’

  Rocko now carried a box-fed as well as a grenade launcher.

  Chatting quietly, we waited, the tension building as the light diminished, men glancing at the skyline, watches checked, and forty minutes later I led the breach team left, others moving down the slope. I moved quickly, sure that no one below could see us, past my snipers and on, but left, not towards the target building.

  A dog barked, but I ignored it and kept going, soon bent double and moving down a ditch, behind bushes and to a spot where I could see the front of the compound, and if someone left their house now for a pleasant evening stroll we’d be seen.

  I could see three armed men stood chatting, so I doubted they had wired the hostages to blow; I called Captain Harris and gave him the go ahead. I transmitted, ‘This is Wilco, helos inbound, be here in half an hour, the valley over the ridge. We’re moving now, so at the first loud noise or armed man moving - open up as planned. Standby.’

  Heaving a breath, a look exchanged with my team through the dark, I moved off bent-double along a broken down old wall and around a large clump of bushes, another dog barking. I made another two steps when a dog ran out, my silenced shot knocking it flying. The game was up.

  I ran to the edge of the target building, the team running in behind me. A nod at the team, and I spun around and lifted my rifle, a man walking towards me with his rifle slung, two rounds through his chest, a round each for the other two men as I ran, both men stood with rifles slung and stunned looks etched into their bearded faces – bright light escaping the windows on this side of the building.

  Reaching the door, shouts were coming from within the brightly lit interior. I turned the handle and pushed the door, rifle down and pistol out, and rushed inside, seeing four men. The windows suddenly blew in, glass everywhere, the four men hit by automatic fire, several rounds each.

  Cracks sounded out nearby as I pushed down the corridor crunching glass, bent-double under the window in case I got shot. A shadow, a long black beard, a hook nose, I fired twice. Movement right, a man with a gun, trying to cock it, I fired twice.

  Distant blasts registered, grenades, bursts of automatic fire as I kicked open a door. Sat there were a dozen white men, all with beards in various stages of growth, none of them tied-up. Then the smell hit me, forcing me back a step.

  ‘Speak English?’ I asked as I knelt, Swifty stood above me.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You’re either in a very bad small hotel, or you’re hostages..?’

  ‘Hostages, yes.’

  ‘Any others in this village?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Can you all walk?’

  They eased up, all a bit wobbly. ‘We sit all day, no exercise.’

  ‘Follow me as fast as you can.’ I led them out as Moran and Mitch checked rooms and bodies. ‘Follow on, help the hostages,’ I shouted. Outside, I transmitted, ‘We have the hostages, snipers report.’

  ‘This is Nicholson. We shot the armed men we can see, some hidden, some fire coming back, and that compound hasn’t blown.’

  ‘They hit it with grenades?’

  ‘Demolished it.’

  ‘Cover us, we’re coming up.’ I grabbed a hostage and dragged him on, up the slope under the small trees and past the snipers. Looking back, a few hostages were struggling. ‘Swan, Leggit, come over and get some hostages!’

  They ran in, one man just about carried.

  ‘Robby, send three men down at the sprint!’

  I helped my hostage along, finding Rocko and Stretch running in from the side; they had used the grenade launchers, and despite it being dark now I could tell who they were. Rocko grabbed my hostage, Stretch the next, and dragged them up the slope as I moved to a clearing to peer down. The remaining snipers were firing out, but infrequently, the grey-walled compound on fire in one place.

  Three dark outlines ran in, words shouted, soon each hostage getting a man to assist him. I encouraged them loudly up the slope.

  When I reached my former position the hostages were already moving beyond the ridge. ‘Snipers withdraw, on the double!’ I put a hand on Robby’s shoulder. ‘Get your men to the landing site. Go.’

  Glancing left, to the south, I could hear the distinctive drone as two dark outlines ran in. Night suddenly turned to day, my snipers pausing to look back, a fireball climbing out of the decoy compound, the blast suddenly wobbling me.

  Tomo and Nicholson reached me and ran past, I was the last man, no one seen moving around down the slope as the drone of the Chinooks timed it for me: run now or be left behind. Running, I transmitted, ‘Headcount teams when you can, hold the helos.’

  I caught up to the tail end of the men, not sure who was who, the loud Chinooks suddenly turning on their lights, and now I could see everyone. ‘Make safe all weapons, especially grenade launchers! Group in teams, headcount and board together! Report any wounded!’

  I made safe my weapon as I walked down the slope, just as the first Chinook blasted us. ‘
Hostages split across both helos! Teams split, Robby on the first helo with Fishy! Go!’

  I could just about make out faces in the light from the Chinooks, men and hostages scrambling aboard, others kneeling and waiting, but then moving back to the second Chinook when it set down twenty yards away. I ran with them, head down, waited for the last man and glanced quickly around, stepping aboard last.

  I pointed at the crewman and waved us up in a hurry. The arse end lifted, and we were off, lights off, dark in the cabin now, torches turned on, and I could see Morten shining his torch at the French hostages. A face caught the light of a torch; that little shit Max had come out.

  We banked hard right and came around, levelled off, and I sat, shining my torch at faces, a quick headcount done.

  Fifteen minutes later I saw the lights of the apron, and we bumped down, rolled, ramp down, and we turned like a car till our rear faced the hangars.

  I could see medics waiting, both Army and RAF, and I waved the lads off, Max now keenly snapping the hostages we had on this helo. All of the hostages seemed to be in good health apart from a lack of exercise, most unable to walk quickly, but all looked very relieved to be here.

  On the tarmac, I observed as the hostages were led away, and I approached Morten. ‘How’d they look?’

  ‘Fine, just no leg use, so muscle wastage, some beaten, all malnourished.’

  Hunt closed in. ‘Any wounded?’

  ‘Don’t think so, it was easy enough ... after we figured the decoy compound stuffed full of napalm.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘They had a decoy set-up, expecting you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Shit ... they’re getting good advice from somewhere.’

  ‘Anything happened back here?’

  ‘All quiet for now.’

  Back at the huts the lads got some food on, jokes cracked, not least about how crap our grenade launchers were – or Rocko’s aim.

  ‘We landed a dozen grenades inside the walls,’ Rocko protested, Stretch backing him up.

  ‘It blew just as the helos arrived,’ I informed them.

  ‘There you go, it was a delayed reaction,’ Stretch suggested. ‘Slow fuses. Weren’t six seconds but six minutes.’

  I faced Ginger. ‘Mister Lancaster,’ I loudly called. ‘Did you fire on automatic through a window?’

  ‘Yes..?’

  ‘You nearly took my head off, fuckwit. Always look to see where the breach team is, and then you won’t kill someone by mistake.’

  ‘I saw the armed men moving towards the door ... figured I’d shoot them.’

  ‘And you did well, but I had them in my sights with Swifty, and we don’t need crossfire, so think next time. But you now have four confirmed kills on your card.’

  Ginger seemed pleased, and proud.

  ‘Rocko has about four thousand,’ Moran told him.

  Ginger seemed less pleased, his face falling as Swifty grinned at him.

  Max appeared half an hour later. ‘Got a summary of what happened?’

  ‘What happened ... was that a stupid little shit of a reporter with a death wish came out on the helo, that’s what happened,’ I told him. ‘Don’t you have enough bullet holes already?’

  He adopted a sheepish look. ‘I asked Mister Hunt...’

  Rocko faced him. ‘Been shagging any big black bloke’s wife lately?’

  The lads laughed at our trusty reporter as he sat, and we detailed for him what happened, his nose recoiling from our smell, especially my socks.

  An hour later, as men were winding down and resting, or simply sat reading, Sasha’s dusty patrol walked in, their black boots now light brown.

  I eased up. ‘All in one piece?’

  He dragged me outside barefoot, and we closed in on Casper as the rest moved in to claim beds.

  Casper began, ‘We walked northeast, to the border, saw some activity in a compound so got close. I saw a white face ... a man I know. He was advising these blacks.’

  ‘A former Russian soldier?’

  ‘No, a French man, ex-Foreign Legion – I don’t recall his name, but I saw him in the Congo.’

  ‘Who knows about this?’

  ‘Only us two,’ Casper reported.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t shoot him.’

  ‘Four hundred yards of open ground – and thirty blacks!’ Sasha told me. ‘It was my advice that we hold off starting a fight. And Wilco, the white man drove west into Kenya, not east into Somalia.’

  ‘So he’s trying to attack us inside Kenya. Say nothing to anyone, get some food and rest.’ I took out my phone and dialled SIS as I stood there barefoot. ‘It’s Wilco, we have a problem. French mercenary, ex-Foreign Legion, he’s assisting the Somalis, and he’s seen to be driving around Kenya, so he could place a bomb. Have all coach movements of soldiers changed at random, different routes, and have the Kenyan police look for French mercenaries. Let David Finch know.’

  ‘I’ll process this now.’

  I stepped across to Haines. ‘How many men on the main gate?’

  ‘Couple of Kenyan soldiers always, two of ours covering them.’

  ‘Warn all your lads, and 16 Squadron, that we have some French mercenaries hanging around, trying to spy on us, so don’t let one blag his way in, but keep that quiet and not common gossip. Extra man or two on the gate.’

  He headed off. Inside, I said to my team, ‘Fifth column is active, need a good stag on these huts. Staff Sergeants! Four men on stag at all times around these huts, stay sharp! Rotate it with the other units.’ I faced Ginger. ‘You awake and with it?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Get kitted out, go for a walk, check our defences.’

  Moran offered to go with him, and they headed out five minutes later.

  I woke to find that nothing had happened during the night, nothing at all. The hostages had been checked over and flown to Nairobi on a plane sent by the French embassy, the rescue details all over the French news. I wondered who they labelled as having executed this particular rescue since our French speakers had been absent.

  Leaving the hut quietly, I nodded at the lads on stag and walked over to the command room in a calm grey pre-dawn light, finding the night staff looking bored. There was no news.

  Walking back, few about, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Duty Officer. Got a report from the Americans, had your name c.c. on it. US Navy jets hit an airstrip in the very north of Somalia, destroyed several trucks, mission seen as successful.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  Back at the huts I found a few 2 Squadron lads near the sand banks and so sat and got a brew on with them, the rescue discussed.

  At 7am I kicked up the men, not least because they had all gotten a good night’s kip, our rescue having finished before 8pm last night.

  Swifty got a brew on next to his bed. ‘What’s on the agenda?’

  ‘Hostages I think, because the weapons meant to be fired at us were intercepted by the Americans.’

  ‘Good news then,’ Mitch noted.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Duty Officer, we ... got a message from the Americans.’ He started to give me the detail, and my face fell, my guts turning, a few of the team noticing. They were always curious about calls, not least because my calls often led to a panicked movement.

  As I listened I stared down out of focus at my kit, my mouth opening, and more of the lads had caught my look without me noticing, not that I would have noticed a bomb going off right now. Call ended, I pressed the button a few times, suddenly having forgotten how to use my phone.

  My eyes glistened, and I wondered why. But then I knew why. It was a good thirty seconds later that I lifted my head, all eyes now on me, lads at the end of the room stood bunched up and looking this way.

  I took in their puzzled looks as they waited expectantly. With no energy I began, in a slow voice, that voice breaking, ‘Early this morning ... Mahoney and his team ... Desert Sands, they ... they
had a job back in Eritrea where we were.’ I forced a big breath and closed my eyes for a moment. ‘They ... they flew in ... in three helicopters ... and ... each helicopter was hit ... hit by heat-seeking missiles. They ... they crashed, burned ... no survivors.’

  Moran eased up, stunned beyond words. Mahoney had been his best mate for two years, and all of us had bonded during our rehab together in Cyprus.

  I eased up with my kit over a shoulder and walked out, and I kept walking, slowly towards the command room, ignoring people as I progressed slowly past the hangars. In the command room they could see my look, and they all stopped.

  I took in their faces, and I offered Franks an angered look that shocked him. Turing left, I stared at the two studio men till they exchanged worried looks. ‘Early this morning ... American Echo, known as Desert Sands, led by Captain Mahoney ... they flew to a job in Eritrea, but ... their three helos were hit repeatedly by those heat-seeking missiles meant for us, offloaded before getting here. The helos ... crashed and burnt, there were ... no survivors.’

  Dick eased forwards. ‘We lost the whole fucking team?’ he shouted.

  I slid my gaze across to him, nodded and stepped out, a slow walk back the long way around.

  Hunt pulled alongside me in a jeep and jumped down, the jeep turning around. We walked together a few yards. ‘Those missiles were not coming here, at least not all of them,’ he noted. ‘They had an easy target. Was the job in Eritrea a set-up?’

  ‘Sounds like it.’

  ‘They’re stepping up their game big time.’

  ‘They don’t care. They’re spread far and wide, their paymasters are beyond reach, and ... their cause is an idea, and you can’t fight an idea. Those we kill this year get replaced next year, a never ending supply of new volunteers.’

  ‘So how do we beat them?’

  ‘We don’t, because their cause is an idea that has been whispered by old men in the coffee shops since 1918 and the retreat of the Ottomans; a united Muslim state, a brotherhood of Arabs from Morocco to India, all holding hands and getting along, no infidels like us around to spoil their day.’

  He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘So we fight the battles whilst never winning the war...’