by Geoff Wolak
‘Something like that.’
‘I’m starting to feel like an Israeli!’
‘Start acting like one as well, expect the worst, make plans – that’s all we can do here.’
We walked on. ‘What’s your plan here?’ he asked.
I stopped and considered that, and I faced him. ‘Kill every last fucker holding a gun. We can’t hit the middle men and paymaster, so we’ll kill their fucking minions, and we’ll hurt them in the pocket.’
A jeep pulled up. ‘Sir, 1 Para have spotted a large force, were wondering about attacking them, east across the border.’
‘Tell them yes, go all out, and suggest they utilise Chinooks with door gunners at 1,000ft as a distraction.’
The sergeant drove off.
‘Should we ... call that one in first?’ he posed.
‘Probably. You do it, I’m going over the border for a leg stretch.’
At the huts I gathered Echo and the Wolves outside, the men all subdued, the Wolves seemingly having been informed already. ‘Staff Sergeants, I want those jeeps fuelled, extra fuel grabbed if we can, Gerry cans, and I want a few extra jeeps - or those two three-tonners, if they work.
‘Grab extra rations, ammo, take our box-fed, we move out when we’re ready, which I hope is inside the hour.’ I took in their faces. ‘Gentlemen, we’re going for a drive over the border, and we’ll kill every black bastard with a gun we find. Any questions ... regarding the plan?’
‘Take plenty of ammo,’ Rocko told them.
Fishy appeared at my shoulder. ‘You have something for us?’
I offered him a tired look. ‘We’re going over the border for a week or ... five.’
‘And us..?’
‘Defend this place, patrols out, look for some hostages, up to you.’ I turned back.
‘Why don’t we tag along with you, not enough of us left to mount a pigging rescue!’
I nodded. ‘Get ready quickly. And get ready for an extended mission.’
An hour later we had five stolen civvy jeeps lined up ready, and two green Army Land Rovers, one three tonner that worked – and was now stocked up, two GPMGs borrowed and placed on jeep roofs by men in the back dressed like Arabs.
Hunt had pointed out the large pile of robes and headscarves, so we had grabbed them, the men in the lead jeeps all now looking like locals – fat locals with their robes over webbing. One last look back, and I pointed the convoy towards the front gate and we drove out with little said, left at the next junction and east, and to the border as 1 Para was making a detailed plan of attack just ten miles away.
I turned south at the border, and we headed southeast towards an area known for its lawlessness, and it was little more than an hour later that a three-jeep convoy approached us head-on. At two hundred yards we opened up, two GPMGs and some box-fed hammering out rounds, the oncoming jeeps shattered, swerving off the road, two jeeps rolling.
Wounded finished off, ammo taken, we piled the bodies in a jeep and set it alight, one extra jeep stolen for our use.
Three days later I was sat on a dusty ridge in the hot midday sun, six extra jeeps now in our convoy, one careless owner – or several careless owners. Brew in hand, cap over my eyes, I stared down the hill at an endless road that stretched out to the horizon.
My phone trilled quietly. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Hunt, can you talk?’
‘Yes, just taking a break.’
‘Kenyans were concerned about the activity on the border, or more likely they loved the idea that we were shooting Somalis but hated the fact that it was running in the British press – bad for tourists. They were making grumbling noises till I pointed out that the Somalis had gotten themselves heat-seeking missiles and wanted to target an airliner.
‘The Kenyans then altered their position slightly – and asked for full military support from us along the border, so today a few units turned up from the training grounds here, almost four hundred men, lots of trucks. There’s a colonel here now, in charge of the border defences, the Army side at least, rest of “A” Squadron here wondering where their men are – and whinging.
‘But, just by chance, early this morning the Kenyans themselves searched a truck on the border, near the coast, and found a missile – and shat themselves.’
‘Some lessons need to be practical lessons.’
‘It rammed home the dangers here, and it does seem that the Arabs want to target an airliner.’
‘That would be bad for tourism, yes.’
‘More Army on the way, lots of them, Nanyuki is emptying out. How long you over there for?’
‘While yet, we keep finding people to shoot.’
‘According to Tinker you’re a hundred miles in...’
‘About a hundred miles northeast of you, yes, in the hills.’
‘Supplies OK?’
‘Fine, we’re well stocked.’
‘If there’s something you need me to make a decision on, call. Talk soon.’
Phone away, it rang ten minutes later. ‘Wilco, it’s Tinker.’
‘How’s the weather back there?’
‘Shite. How’s it with you?’
‘Warm and sunny.’
‘I’d swap. Listen, we’ve been making progress on the phone patterns, and we’ve had a spike from the chaps on the Ethiopian border to a place near you, say thirty miles north of you, regular daily traffic.’
‘What’s at that place?’
‘Small town, main highway, dirt strip a mile away. There are hills east and north of it ... if you want to take a close look.’
‘I’ll have a look at the map.’
Phone away, I studied the map, and I could see a road and some tracks that would – hopefully - get us close to the target town unseen.
‘We got company,’ came over the radio, Rizzo’s voice. ‘Three jeeps, one a mounted fifty cal.’
I stood and peered down the road, which was empty. Turning around, I asked, ‘Rizzo, are they behind us?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then make that your report, eh. Ambush them.’
‘Lads are down the road in some rocks.’
My team lifted up and lazily stretched, kit away, rifles held, and we walked up the road past the truck and the jeeps, a nod at Sambo as he sat eating from a tin, Sasha and his team lying against a sand bank and dozing in the heat.
Reaching a bend in the road we moved into the rocks, rifles slung, Rizzo peering through a nice pair of binoculars, one careless owner – now a bit dead.
‘Here they come,’ he said.
I peered over his shoulder, noticing three jeeps four hundred yards distant as they snaked around the mountain road. The cracks registered, jeeps swerving, one rolling. Men ran out and fired up-close, and it was all over. ‘I want that fifty cal.’
Rizzo walked off down the road.
Half an hour later we inspected the fifty cal, Sasha given the job of operating it with his team. And we had picked up a few extra RPG heads.
Nicholson handed me a sat phone. ‘It was on one of the fighters, old guy, grey beard.’
I nodded absently, and hit a familiar number.
‘Duty Officer.’
‘It’s Wilco, track back this phone please.’
‘Will do.’
With the senior men gathered I showed them the map over the bonnet of a jeep. ‘We move north, then east a bit, trying not to get ambushed ourselves, and we get into these hills ... foot patrol to have a look at this town, where Intel places bad boys chatting to the other bad boys up on the Ethiopian border.’
‘Same group?’ Ginger asked.
‘This border area, plus the strip north of Mogadishu, plus the strip on Ethiopian border, is one group with loose affiliations, Aideed is centred around Mogadishu – where most of the agriculture and trade is. Aideed won’t deal with al-Qa’eda, these others will. Mount up.’
As we pulled off, a four jeep decoy convoy out front and looking like locals, my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
> ‘It’s Tinker. Where the fuck did you get that phone you just asked us to trace?’
‘Off a dead guy who gave us a nice mounted fifty cal.’
‘He’s the brother of the main man.’
‘Oh dear, I hope they’ll be pissed. And where is his brother?’
‘On the Ethiopian border.’
‘So what the fuck was that guy doing way down here?’ I thought out loud.
‘Rallying support probably. He was in that town I mentioned.’
‘We’re heading there now, might have a look at dawn. Chat later.’
‘What was that?’ Swifty asked as he drove, the windows down, his elbow resting on the door frame.
‘The guy whose dead fingers we prised this phone from ... is the brother of the big chief.’
‘Good result then.’
The brother’s phone trilled, where I had tossed it to – the foot well. I lifted it and hit the green button. In a loud and pompous voice, I began, ‘Hello, British Empire here, to whom do I have the pleasure of chatting to on this fine day?’
Swifty, Moran and Mitch laughed.
‘Who is this?’ came in English, but accented.
‘We’re the men who killed the fuck head who had this phone. I castrated him, cut out his eyes, stripped him naked and dumped his body with a dead pig.’
‘You will pay!’ The call was cut.
‘Must have been something I said.’
Mitch asked, ‘Where’d you learn to be so tactful?’
‘Greenwich, they run courses for officers.’
Moran put in, ‘I got a shitty letter from a colonel there, telling me I was remiss in my studies and career progression.’
Swifty looked in the mirror. ‘Be dead in week, so why worry.’
I turned and rested my armpit on the seat back, my chin on my arm, staring at Moran as he sat adjusting his robe. ‘Do you ... think we should have troop captains, and us, go off to Greenwich?’
‘Well ... some of the stuff they teach is useful, so yeah ... it’s just finding the time.’
I made a face. ‘We can make time. Remind me when we’re back, we’ll have a think about some courses, cut out the naff courses, see if they’ll accommodate us.’
Half an hour later my phone trilled. ‘Wilco, it’s Tinker, the phone traffic just spiked a thousand percent.’
‘I think that guy’s brother rang, and I was rude.’
‘That town is alive with activity.’
‘We’d best avoid it then, they know where that guy was when he was ambushed.’
‘I’ll track the movements for you.’
Studying the map as we progressed north, I was now worried that a large convoy of angry men could be coming at us head on, so five miles on I had the lead jeeps turn east. Ten miles of winding road, a few donkeys and carts passed, I had the convoy turn north onto a dusty valley track, and to slow right down.
The going was easy enough in places, bloody terrible in other places, till we hit a gravel road winding around a hill, tall peaks and cliffs now common as we moved north.
The lead jeeps pulled up, a warning issued to us about mines. I jumped out and walked forwards – a steep drop-off on my left, and I reached the front, where Rizzo stood in his dodgy local attire.
‘That section has been turned over recently,’ he reported.
‘Might have been washed out in the rains,’ I suggested as I walked forwards. I stopped well short of the odd section of road, and could see a wire. Ducking into the mountain side, I ran back bent-double, the lads all down and hidden. ‘Snipers forwards, try and find the dickers on the hillside, there’s a wire.’
They ran forwards, Rizzo studying the hill with his binoculars, looking for the dickers that we now knew were there.
Ten minutes later a blast echoed, an Elephant Gun.
‘It’s Swan, I got him.’
‘Snipers, keep looking! Rizzo, get up to that man, slow and steady.’
‘Moving.’
Moran took off his headscarf and wiped his brow. ‘Why a booby trap here?’
‘This road gives us the chance to sneak up on that town,’ I told him.
‘They expecting us?’ Mitch asked.
‘I’d say no, but ... they might be expecting Aideed’s men – who are sixty miles away.’
Twenty minutes later the radios crackled. ‘This is Rizzo, I found him, head blown off, remote detonator in his hand.’
‘Place it down and leave it, or disarm it. Don’t blow it, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Stretch has disarmed it.’
‘From up there, look for tracks and dickers for a while.’
‘There’s a path, and he had a backpack with some bread in.’
‘Follow that path, watch for anti-personnel mines and dickers.’
‘OK, moving.’
Casper walked up and peered down the valley. ‘They place mines?’
‘Bomb on a wire.’
‘Ah. If this road is blown ... we’re fucked, hard to turn around.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t pay rental for these jeeps. And we can walk some.’
We stood in the sun for fifteen minutes, men down from the jeeps and chatting, some smoking.
‘Rizzo for Wilco,’ crackled.
‘Go ahead.’
‘We found a cave, guy asleep, so we shot him, some water and bread, rifles.’
‘Come back in. Front jeeps, forwards slowly, one at a time. Mount up.’
I clambered aboard, Swifty starting the jeep as the team got comfy, and we followed on slowly.
Moran complained, ‘Every time I get into this fucking jeep I get my robe caught in the door. How’d the fucking locals do it?’
Swifty laughed and replied, ‘Lots of practise, they’re raised with it. Now tuck your dress in.’
Each of the lead three jeeps moved over the bomb without incident, and we followed on behind them.
‘Did we just drive over a really big bomb?’ Mitch asked.
‘We sure did, boy,’ Swifty told him.
Rizzo came down the hill with Stretch, kicking up dust, and they reclaimed their jeep, the rest of us soon picking up speed a little.
A blast, the echo of a blast, and Swifty hit the brakes. I jumped out and ran back and as men dismounted. The three tonner was the last vehicle save a jeep, and it had lost its front wheels, Sambo shaken up but OK, the windscreen shattered.
I clicked on the radio. ‘OK, listen up, everyone in this valley heard that, so get all the good stuff from the lorry to the jeeps, and quickly.’
Fishy waked forwards from his jeep. ‘Blocked the fucking road now, no way back!’
‘We still have legs, Sergeant. Get your kit and yourselves to the other jeeps.’
Mumbling and complaining, he grabbed his kit as the lads grabbed supplies from the three tonner, and I had not realised there were men in the back, now hiding my grin as they complained about their near-death experience.
Fifteen minutes of hard work, and the lads were sweating, a few items abandoned.
I clicked on my radio as I reached my jeep, now with two of Fishy’s men in the back with their Bergens and joining Ginger. ‘Move off quickly.’
In a dangerous move, we hit twenty miles an hour down the narrow track, this section of it being rolled-flat gravel and not too bad. A few miles on, reaching a fork in the road, I had them go left up an incline, and I wondered if the three-tonner would have made it up this slope. I also wondered how I would explain its loss to the Kenyan Army.
Finding a flat stretch winding around a hill, we picked up speed, but soon hit a steep slope. I had them all halt. ‘Rizzo, take a team forwards on foot, eyes everywhere.’
We dismounted, all taking in the rocks above us with a worried stare, all trying to spot any well-placed snipers. I led my team into the rocks and waved them down, well out of sight of any keen local snipers, some food to cook.
My phone trilled half an hour later. ‘It’s Rizzo, couldn’t get you on the radio.’
�
��What’s that road look like?’
‘Mile on it goes down to a proper road. Here there’s a track on the left, be hard work for a jeep, and we walked up it, good view down the other side, a town down there, and some old fort like in the days of Foreign Legion, and inside are jeeps, trucks, and some tanks.’
‘Tanks?’
‘T72, as old as I am, or more. There’s got to be a couple of companies of men down there.’
‘Can they get up to us?’
‘On foot they can, or there’s that road north.’
‘How far is that town?’
‘Say ... a mile below us. I can see an airstrip in the distance and one of those An12 things. Below us is a dam thing, water supply for the town. We should shit in it.’
I smiled. ‘We probably will. Stay there, send me Stretch.’ I eased up and stepped to the road. I transmitted, ‘Snipers, get all your kit together and spare ammo and up the road then left up a track to Rizzo, observe the town below. Fishy, watch our rear, set a stag, no surprises.’
‘Road is blocked!’ he complained.
‘They can still walk up it. Get on it.’
When Stretch got to me I said, ‘Do we have anything to blow a road?’
‘Three anti-tank mines, plenty of RPG, just need to set them off. Got grenades for the launchers as well.’
‘Get it all together, get a team, walk down that road north but get into the hills if someone comes up the road, and past the junction look for a place to blow the road. I want to go east, I don’t want anyone coming from that town, which is west.’
He nodded and walked back down the line of jeeps.
Food eaten, brew enjoyed, I led my team up the road and up the sandy track, wondering if a jeep might make it up here. I figured we might have to push it. At the ridge I found the snipers hidden. A dusty Nicholson eased out.
‘What we got?’ I asked him as my team peered down at the town.
‘I hope you’re not planning on attacking that place, Boss, fucking hundreds of men, tanks, APC, mounted fifty cal, 105mm anti-tank, the works.’
‘All of those weapons need to be deployed first to be any good.’
‘Shoot the six hundred men down there in their sleep, Boss?’ he teased.
The An12 took off and climbed away, its resonating drone reaching us.
