by Geoff Wolak
‘So we’ll get some pressure from above,’ he unhappily noted.
‘French commandos would be on hand, and helos.’
‘That would help a lot. Does Bob want to spread the blame?’
I smiled widely.
The Major shook his head. ‘Fucking politics getting in the way of sound military sense.’
‘We’ll make a plan, and ... if it seems crazy I’ll warn Bob of a fuck up, and he’ll back off. He’ll not want to tarnish his golden reputation.’
‘Let me know the plan when you have one.’
‘I would have done so, sir, not least because we’d want a lot of your lads. Oh, “G” Squadron are in Kenya, been there a month, can we pull them out for a few weeks, training exercise at that range in Morocco, support for the job if it goes ahead.’
‘And “D” Squadron? Their role?’
‘Any role you like, sir, we’ll need lots of warm bodies.’
‘Knowing how these things work,’ the Major began, ‘a live job would probably have two troops from me, two troops from another squadron. Shared risk is not just the realm of the politicians. Leave it with me.’
I stood. ‘Assume that we’ll hold a large exercise at that base in Morocco, and soon, like next week.’
Sat at home late that evening, I started looking at maps and making notes, the plan coming together. Key was moving that many hostages, and to protect them needed so many men, and to assault the prison needed so many men. It was a lot of men.
Sat with a beer and watching the TV, a documentary about Africa, divine intervention solidified in front of me, right in my TV screen, and I stood, my mouth agape. I looked at my beer can, and back to the screen; I had been given an idea, and I sat, smiling. It was an outrageous idea, very outrageous, but if it worked we’d have fewer casualties.
I had been fostering doubts about Angola, but now I was excited. I called Bob. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No, just this minute getting ready for bed.’
‘I had an idea, a diversionary tactic, and I think it could make the job very doable. I won’t say what it is on the phone, but stick your neck out, get behind the plan.’
‘You think you could pull it off, limited casualties?’
‘I do. We’ll talk soon.’
The next day, and with many of the lads in the Killing House, I sat with Moran, Harris and O’Leary and we earnestly studied maps, all of the team sworn to secrecy.
Taking a coffee break, Moran said, ‘We need an RAF chap, someone good with logistics.’
‘Just so happens I know the very chap,’ I quipped, and I made a call to a certain Air Commodore.
‘Wilco! By god, good to hear from you. You ringing to say you’ll visit the wife soon, she keeps asking.’
‘Soon, sir, soon. Listen, this is top secret for now, but I may have a large hostage rescue job in Africa, joint operation with the French, and I’d need Hercules and Chinook. To start with there’ll be a big exercise in Morocco, a dry run, but what I need is someone with your logistical skills to refine the plan.’
‘I’m all yours, what do you need?’
‘I’d like a planning officer assigned, a representative of 7 Squadron, plus a crew, same for the Hercules crews, and we meet asap to ask some questions – like tomorrow, sir. Time is critical.’
‘Leave it with me, my lad, I did a paper exercise just like this a few weeks back. Now I can actually earn my pay.’
‘Contact me through the main switchboard, sir.’
Taking O’Leary to one side, I asked that he quietly contact Bob and get me an expert on poisons, O’Leary intrigued.
Hearing about the large RAF team coming down, Bob drove down with his team the next day. In the meantime, I had grabbed a dusty old ping pong table and set it up, the lads asking if I was bored – and suggesting things for me to do.
Heading out with Moran, and in uniform, we found a toy shop and duly bought several packs of small soldiers and planes, the shop staff bemused. The owner of the shop finally said, ‘You’re creating a planning board.’
I nodded. ‘We are.’ And I pointed at the model castle he had, getting a good price, and a promise of a refund if it was brought back.
Back at base I covered the ping pong table with A3 sheets of paper, selotape used to fix the paper. An airfield was drawn in felt-tipped pen at one end, another at the other end – two thirds of the way down, then the model castle was placed down in a corner, toy soldiers placed around it, model aircraft and model helicopters placed at the airfields, the lads now very curious.
Moran and I marked distances and compass bearings, major towns and roads, speculation rife behind us as to how the job might unfold. This was like D-Day, 1944.
All were told not to touch the models, or they would get a punch to the head, but all studied the table, a debate raging.
The RAF team turned up at 2pm, the Colonel and the Major very curious and insisting on being present, teas made, Bob having arrived a few minutes before the RAF – traffic had been terrible from London so I took the piss and asked about helicopters.
I greeted the Air Commodore like a long lost uncle, ten minutes of idle chat, then shook hands with the assigned planning officer, the Hercules crews – the cement bombers, and 7 Squadron pilots who I recognised.
I finally called them to the ping pong table, the obvious place to hold a planning session. ‘Gentlemen,’ I called. ‘We’ve been tasked with a rescue in Africa, and for now we’ll say West Africa for security. This is ... Operation Sahara, as good a name as any, and a diversion from the real location.
‘This would be a joint operation with the French and others, a large operation if the Prime Minister approves the final plan, and a risk, more of a risk than previous operations.’
I pointed. ‘The old prison, codename to be Chicken Coop, and in it could be a hundred plus western hostages, some of whom have been there a long time. Forward Operating Base, known as FOB to keep it simple, Rear Operating Base, ROB. FOB is forty miles to the prison, ROB is just about a hundred and seventy-five miles. Between rear base and the FOB we would fly a dog leg to avoid certain areas.
‘They have no surface to air missiles, nor trained staff for such a missile. This is not a war zone, this is about rebels wanting to raise some cash. The idea, at this stage, would be to get helos and fixed wing down to the country in question, helos to the FOB, fixed wing to drop men, jeeps and supplies at the FOB. A small team would infiltrate the prison area, and if they said it was a go then the larger team would come in by helicopter from FOB as diversions and distractions are effected.
‘Those helos would land inside the prison, removing the hostages in groups of thirty-say per Chinook, back to the FOB, where fixed wing would take them back to ROB, commercial airliners taking them home thereafter.
‘What we need to discuss here today ... is how many helos we’d have to hand, how many would be needed, fuel, food, supplies dropped. In an ideal world, I see the following happening. We all fly down to the ROB.’ I pointed at it on the drawing. ‘The helos, ours and the French, fly off when ready to a border region and double back to FOB at night, on the day in question. Any sooner and they would be heard and seen.
‘Just prior to their arrival our Hercules would para-drop supplies, but no men. Those supplies will make the helos lighter, and will be made up of water, rations, ammo, a GMPG or two, jeep fuel. If the mission was aborted at that stage then the rebels get some free goodies.
‘When the helos touch down, our men deal with anyone at the FOB – which appears to be abandoned apart from farmers grazing cattle, our men open the supplies and get ready. Later in the day, a signal sent to say that it is safe - the runway cleared of obstacles, Hercules land with more men and supplies. Now, do you have a mobile refuelling system?’
‘We do,’ a Hercules pilot answered. ‘For just such a scenario. Could have two in the back, landed and out with crew, hand pump for the next plane.’
‘Good, but they’re there for safety, the
y should not be needed. ‘ROB to FOB is two hundred miles. They would be there for helicopters and ... for accidental need of more fuel. What I want you to do - and we will run a large exercise very soon, is to consider the following.
‘ROB is safe, plenty of fuel to hand, two hundred miles to FOB via a dog leg route, forty miles to the prison, and plan the fuel and the flight times, plan the supply drop, plan the extraction of say ... a hundred hostages.
‘And gentlemen, we have safety to consider. So, when a Hercules flies out from ROB a Chinook is stood by, SAS onboard, and if the Hercules goes down with a mechanical fault we mount a rescue immediately. I suggest Hercules pilots have parachutes, pistols to hand, rifles in the back, survival packs, tents and food, the works.’
I pointed at the pilots. ‘If you go down with a fault, you become soldiers, so get some pistol and rifle work in, and for this job wear combats, take cammo netting. If you crash land, or parachute out, you’ll be met by bare-arsed Pigmies wanting to cook you over an open fire.’
They all laughed.
‘You’ve all done the survival courses, so remember what you learnt. Now you put it to the test.’ I pointed at the Chinook pilots. ‘We’d have French Pumas, and you, so ... how do we move a hundred plus hostages?’
They blew out and exchanged looks. ‘Thirty plus per Chinook to save on fuel – but we could go to forty five, four runs. Ten in a puma, more at a push. We like to land and take off in open spaces, a slow climb, forward motion effect. Going straight up in a Chinook limits payload.’
‘How many trips could you do, at forty miles, on fuel?’ I asked.
‘Lots, say ten. Say eight to be sure. More than enough.’
The Air Commodore asked, ‘Would they be shot at?’
‘Yes, but how often they’re shot at depends on time of day, and the quality of the diversions we have planned. I have no intention of having one shot down. Near the prison is a large rubbish dump and a swamp area, so flying in and out that way will help.’ I faced the pilots. ‘Can you come in high and drop down?’
‘Yes, but doing that fast will bend a bird. Like I said, we like to land and take off like an aircraft.’
‘We can shroud the town in smoke, and it would be dark,’ I offered them.
‘Hit them with cement?’ the Air Commodore asked, everyone laughing.
‘Something a bit more ... smokey, sir,’ I said with a grin. ‘But whatever works.’
‘This rear airfield,’ the planning officer began. ‘We could have RAF Regiment there, earning their keep.’
‘I would have suggested that, sir, yes. They shouldn’t have to fire a shot in anger, unless it’s one of the locals trying to steal the wheels off a Hercules.’
He added, smiling, ‘And 2 Squadron could hold the FOB.’
‘They’ve not fired a shot in anger, sir, and the FOB could get a little lively.’
‘They’re there to do that very job!’ the Air Commodore complained. ‘If they’re not up to it, I want to know why!’
‘Risk, sir. In a war they would be risked, this ... is not a war, and ten dead RAF Gunners would be a headline best avoided.’
He took a minute to consider that. ‘Still, this is their job, and they get some necessary exposure, and from experience comes the skills for future leaders. For an exercise, and for this job, I’d like them considered, not least because we get a boost from it, casualties aside, and the fear of casualties is no reason not to send them.’ He pointed at the FOB. ‘How lively would that area get?’
‘If all goes well, then my men will secure it with the French, and we’d be in and gone before they noticed. If it goes wrong, then several hundred heavily armed guerrilla fighters would descend on the place. At the moment we have enough SAS troopers to place there, instead of 2 Squadron.’
‘But they would be at the ROB?’
‘Yes, sir, enough to protect the Hercules and Chinooks, and the ground crews.’
‘Then we’ll use them for that at least, gets them away from sitting in barracks.’
‘For the exercise, sir, we could have them para drop and secure an airfield, that would be good experience.’
‘Yes, do so please. I’ll have them on standby, your old arch enemies. But Wilco, don’t go hitting any of them.’
The group laughed.
‘Water under the bridge, sir,’ I assured him.
‘So what do you need from us first?’ the Air Commodore asked.
‘To plan an exercise in Morocco with this exact model in mind, we have a training facility there, and we’ll find suitable airfields to use.’
Bob piped up with, ‘There’s an airfield we can use, fifty miles from that dummy village, and I have local men heading to that dummy village you used to construct a small prison of sorts.’ He faced the RAF planning officer. ‘I’ll send the details to you. Safe base is a bit close, so you’d fly around in a circle, same dog leg I suppose.’
I nodded. ‘Gentlemen, if the exercise goes off OK and we learn from it, and the job gets approval, then the aircraft in Morocco would go straight to the job. For that I think we’d need a ship.’
‘French helo carrier is available,’ Bob put in. ‘Possibly two. They already have a few Pumas nearby as well.’
‘So gentlemen, work on the assumption that the job may get a sudden go ahead, and plan accordingly,’ I said. ‘If you can do the exercise, you can do the job.’
A Chinook pilot said, ‘We have smoke dispensers, just that they’ve never been used as far as I know. I saw them used in the States when I was there.’
I faced the Air Commodore. ‘That should be an utmost priority, sir,’ and he made a note.
‘We have flares,’ a Hercules pilot noted. ‘They give of smoke when they land, and at low level – they’d set fire to houses below.’
‘Those would be civilian houses,’ I pointed out. ‘Area around the prison is too densely populated.’
‘We must be able to drop something,’ the same man said. ‘Package on a static line, smoke canisters inside and CS gas.’
‘By all means, look at something,’ I said. ‘Even if you had men chucking them out the back one at a time it could help at a key moment.’
‘What we did one year, on an exercise, we put smoke canisters in jam jars, pins pulled. They hit the ground and break, smoke goes off.’
I smiled. ‘Get wives and girlfriends collecting jam jars, sir, that’s a damn good idea.’
‘Cement and jam jars,’ the Air Commodore complained. ‘Do we not have anything better than that?’
‘RAF was never tasked with making smoke, sir,’ I pointed out. ‘So we make do.’ I held up a finger. ‘Your Hercules anti-missile flares; if they could have CS gas pellets embedded, that would help keep people away from the prison for half an hour.’
‘We’ll look at it,’ they offered.
I pointed at the Chinook pilots. ‘Time to land, to load thirty civvys, to take off?’
‘A minute, if all went well,’ they boasted. ‘If they were lined up ready.’
‘We’d have them lined up ready, but some could be injured or carried.’ I faced the Air Commodore. ‘We’d want a full surgical team of RAF mobile medics...’
‘You trained with them,’ the Air Commodore noted with a smile.
‘Some at rear base, maybe a handful at FOB. We’d want one or two on every Hercules, with their kit. Could be a few wounded on board, hour or two back to ROB, where we’d want a surgical element for gunshot trauma.’ They took notes.
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ I offered. ‘Gentlemen, please have a look at the map board and take notes.’
With O’Leary, Harris and our corporal making the tea, I took Bob outside. ‘I had an idea that could help swing this, it’s just a bit ... illegal’
Bob shrugged. And waited.
‘Was a documentary on the TV about Africa, people in a town all falling ill when the local brewery mixed in ethanol – for whatever reason. So, you get a guy who’s good with poisons, such as antif
reeze, and we get the guy to work out the exact dosage for a bottle of beer to make someone very ill, but not very dead.
‘We then doctor a few hundred beers and cola bottles in-country, and your men in the area drive lorries around, getting stopped by pilfering UNITA soldiers, who he offers a few crates to if they let him go.’
Bob’s stood looking shocked.
I continued, ‘If all goes well, several hundred men around the prison fall ill the night before the raid, and that could make this workable.’
‘If this got out..?’
‘Don’t let it get out.’
‘If someone drank four beers, they’d die!’
‘So? They’re guerrilla fighters, raping and killing for fun. And the local swill would be blamed, since this happened last year, and this year for that matter.’
He nodded. ‘They’d never suspect us, and as you say, it does happen down there.’
‘All your man needs to do ... is to buy the beer, doctor it, and drive around getting stopped, or offering free samples to soldiers.’
‘And if some found its way into the prison...’ he nudged.
I smirked. ‘We’d have an easy job of it, fewer casualties, you’d get your knighthood.’
‘French will send their best team for the exercise,’ he told me. ‘Helicopters to hand.’
‘”G” Squadron is in Kenya, I’ve asked that they transfer to Morocco for the exercise. As for the rest of “D” Squadron, they could start a small war north of the prison, a few days prior to the rescue, draw men away.’
‘I’ll request it.’
‘SBS are ... not getting much action,’ I began. ‘How about they put some men on the border and use hit and run tactics?’
‘Why?’ he puzzled.
‘It all helps, to have men with experience. Regular SAS might be needed with me. You saw the Air Commodore in there, he wants the men used, not sat in barracks, some experience accrued.’
Bob nodded. ‘It’s an angle I had not considered, so I’ll send it up the line – valuable wartime experience to be accrued in peacetime.’
‘RAF Regiment have hardly fired a shot in anger since ... Aden I think.’
