by Geoff Wolak
I saluted, which puzzled the man. He simply nodded. ‘You are Sergeant Wilco?’
‘Yes, sir.’ I introduced Moran and the Major. ‘Is Major Ducat not here?’ I asked.
‘He died in a car accident,’ the major informed us with a Gallic shrug. ‘But there are two men here who you rescued.’
‘Which two, sir, the men who fought with us?’
‘Oui, the other two were ... moved aside, they chose to fly off and not fight.’ Again he shrugged. ‘Honour is important to the men.’ He straightened, and glanced past me at the Major. ‘So, you have a plan for the hostages?’
‘We do, sir. How many men do you wish to commit, and what is their training level?’
Again he glanced at the Major. ‘We have many men to call upon if need be, fifty here, they are 1st Brigade Parachute, but specialised in small unit work like your SAS, and hostage rescue. Many of the men have served in the Sahara, some moving to the Foreign Legion and back.’
‘I would like to take eight to the prison, the infiltration group, another twelve ready at the forward base to arrive by helicopter, two platoons on standby to rescue.’
He nodded. ‘That would be most of the men here. And we get the detailed plan soon?’
‘The purpose of this exercise, sir, is to practise logistics and to refine our approach, then we’ll have a tighter plan.’
Again he nodded. ‘We are ready.’
‘What you see done in this exercise will be 90% of the plan, maybe some small changes.’ I saluted, and led my officers outside whilst being curiously observed by the French paratroopers.
‘Why those numbers and make-up?’ the Major asked outside.
‘This is politics, sir, a joint venture, so I have two thirds us and one third them. And we have to involve them because we’re borrowing their planes and helos.’
He nodded as we got back in the jeep. Our four long-axle open topped jeeps were lined up when we got back, and I asked the regular SAS lads to test each around the perimeter, and to fit GPMGs in the morning.
In the morning I was awake at 5am, not many lads stirring, but they certainly woke at 6am when the Chinooks decided to make a loud noise, followed by a loud fly-by. After the helos touched down I drove around to them with Swifty and Moran and asked if all was set. It was, they were keen, and they had the smoke dispensers ready – but not tested.
Finding the Hercules crews, I enquired about their readiness, and baring any technical faults they were ready, parachutes being set-up in a long line for 2 Squadron. Collecting the Major, and a police escort, we set out for the nearby shooting range and make-do prison, soon on dusty tracks and beyond the firing range, over a ridge and down to the village that was previously assaulted by us and “G” Squadron.
Several buildings had breezeblock walls laid between them to the height of their roofs, making a large square some hundred yards long, and we could see that mud had been applied to the walls in places. Two rickety and unsafe-looking wooden guard towers stood tall, as well as corner guard posts. Inside the make-do “prison” we found an open area that was more than big enough to get a Chinook in, or two, but was too dusty. Our real prison had a concrete floor.
With local builders still working on a wall, lots of them, I asked in Arabic that they sweep the loose sand quickly because a helicopter would come in later in the day, or after sun down, and to get some men on it. The wall could wait.
Back at the airfield I asked the planning officer if he had a suitable lecture room to use, and he had found one already, a blackboard to hand, and some easels with paper – that would have to do. I told him we might need fifty men in the room, and he said he could get chairs and move things around.
Next came the RAF medics, their tents spotted on the way in. ‘Do you think these are the RAF medics?’ I asked the Major as we approached.
‘Since they have large red crosses on a white background, and say RAF, I’ll hazard a guess and say yes.’
Smiling, we jumped down and ducked into a tent.
‘Wilco!’ came a shout, Flight Lieutenant Morten jumping up.
‘Good to see you again, sir,’ I told him, shaking his hand.
‘Remember your training?’ he teased.
‘I hope so, sir.’ I introduced the Major and they shook.
‘Wilco was my best pupil,’ Morten loudly announced. ‘And any rumours about him having a rendezvous with a nurse in local bed and breakfast is just rumour.’
We laughed. ‘Yes, sir, I avoid lady medics.’
‘How is Kate?’
‘Mother and child are doing well, I see them when I can.’
‘When you’re not in these parts doing some rescue.’ He pointed at the Major. ‘If he don’t treat you right, you come work for me.’
‘I’m not his boss,’ the Major quipped. ‘He answers to others.’
‘So what you got planned?’ Morten asked me.
‘What we need from you ... is to treat this exercise as a dry run for a live operation that may happen soon, like next week. We want a surgical team at an airfield, plus medics on the Hercules and Chinooks. There’ll be dehydrated and malnourished hostages, plus a few people with gunshot wounds.’
He nodded. ‘Doctor and paramedic on each aircraft, suitable kit for trauma. And plasma. Tented triage at the airfield ready for surgery. But what about local hospitals?’
‘They’re an option, sir, but I’d not want to be in one, plasma may have AIDS.’
He nodded. ‘Burns victim may need to go to a local hospital, and any amputations.’
‘Your call, sir. There’ll be a briefing later, we’ll send for your senior staff.’
Finding the Chinook pilots, I asked if they could use their craft to blow sand out of the make-do prison, and they headed off, leaving Swifty laughing.
‘Those fucking builders are going to get a face full of sand!’ Swifty said.
‘Can you see them sweeping that area of sand?’ I countered with.
When the Chinook returned I checked on progress, and they said that it was less sandy on the third approach and better, and who were the men they buried?
At 2pm a briefing was called, all senior staff, and I wondered how many would question my role as the guy doing the briefing. As we got there I found Bob’s assistant and a colonel advisor to the Joint Intel Committee, greeting them both, introduced to two Belgian Parachute officers, the men attached to the French force.
Everyone found seats as I drew on the board with Moran, map references annotated in large letters and soon being copied. A few people had to stand at the rear, and I checked that the French could speak English, Moran offering to translate.
I took in all the expectant faces, wondering why I was not nervous. ‘Welcome to Exercise Sahara,’ I loudly called. ‘Which may soon be followed by Operation Sahara – but that operation will not be in the Sahara, we just wish to hide its true location. This exercise will involve British and French units, so may I ask if the French have medics here?’
‘Oui,’ came back, the 2 Squadron officers still not looking happy.
‘OK, the scenario is this. In a certain country in Africa ... more than one hundred western hostages are being held in a prison, held by guerrilla fighters for ransom, not for political reasons. We ... are going to get them out.
‘Forty miles from the prison is an abandoned airfield, our forward operating base, FOB. Two hundred miles away, in a safe area, is our rear operating base, ROB. The RAF Regiment will be tasked with safeguarding the aircraft and personnel at that base.
‘For this exercise we have this base to act as our rear base, and the RAF Regiment will practise seizing our forward base today. That is separate to any operation that may take place.
‘What will happen today ... is what would happen if we get the go ahead at the political level for the hostage rescue. But what you will not see on this exercise are the men we have on the border of a certain country, using hit and run tactics to draw guerrilla fighters away from the prison in question
. Those men are there now whether the operation goes ahead or not. They may just create a few loud bangs for nothing.
‘If we get the go-ahead we’ll soon move down to another country, the Chinooks going by French ship I believe, a few days sailing time. Once all of us are at the rear airfield, the safe airfield, we’ll move quickly to implement the plan – because we’ll be seen, the rebels tipped off.
‘So what’s needed is that we move at the same time, we land at sun down and be ready for sun up, but the go signal will only come after agents near the prison tell us that things look OK. If we get the OK signal we move that day, securing the forward base. What will happen first ... is that Hercules or French transports will parachute drop supplies to that forward base, so that those supplies are on the ground when our helicopters land.
‘My men will secure the airfield and make an assessment, other transports and helicopters already on their way. If the abort signal is given, then those aircraft can turn around. If all goes well, the aircraft land and unload the fuel tanks first, then SAS teams and French paratroopers to secure the airfield.
‘At the forward base will be two RAF Chinook, two French Pumas. At rear base will be the remaining helicopters, ready at a moment to come rescue us, or to rescue the crew of a helicopter or plane that has crashed.
‘The RAF Regiment and the remaining French paratroopers will be on standby for an escalation, or for a rescue if we need them. Twenty men should be sat ready at all times.
‘For every helicopter and aircraft, apart from those taking my men, there should be a doctor and a medic. The transport aircraft will collect the hostages, and any wounded men, medics working on them in the aircraft. All helicopters that come to rescue hostages need a medic; we must assume that some of the hostages may be sick or wounded.
‘The plan ... is for my team to get close to the prison unseen, to deal with the guards and to get inside and release the hostages. We’ll then signal the helicopters at the forward base to come get the hostages.
‘The RAF Chinooks have smoke dispensers, and as they come in to the prison they need to circle low, dropping the smoke canisters over nearby streets. Those of us on the ground will have smoke canisters as well.
‘As the helicopters come in my team will cover them, and we hope for a quick in and out of those helicopters. Today and tomorrow we’ll practise that. All personnel that are not busy, we need one hundred to be hostages. We’ll practise extracting them, practise first aid on made-up injuries, we’ll practise coordinating the rescue and – if we have doubts about it – we’ll abort the mission.
‘The second briefing, the post mortem, will help us decide what needs to be changed before the politicians make a final decision based on our recommendations. We’re fortunate that we’re here practising this, and not simply going ahead with the rescue.’
I checked my watch. ‘It is now 2.35pm, so ... if we can drop the RAF Regiment in one hour that would be good. We need one hundred people to act as hostages at the prison, they go by bus later – needed there before dawn, and I need some of the medics to pretend to be hostages and to be wounded, so that you can test your own staff.
‘An hour before dark the Hercules will drop supplies to the forward base, pretending that the RAF Regiment is not there. RAF Regiment guys, please avoid getting hit from above – and you can leave when ready anyhow. The pilots are not allowed to communicate with anyone on the ground, because there would be no one on the ground if this were done for real.
‘When the signal is given to the helicopters to get the hostages, at least four transports take off at the same time and fly two hundred miles to forward base. If aborted, they turn back. It’s no good asking for the aircraft after the hostages get to the forward base, that will waste time and leave the forward base open to attack.
‘So, after dark today, my team and the French Paras will go by Chinook to the forward base. If this job goes ahead, we’ll travel from the border of a neighbouring country, not the rear base directly – we wish to hide our approach.
‘We’ll sneak up on the make-do prison tonight, make an assessment, and an hour before dawn we’ll make our move, calling in the helicopters. If any helicopters are unserviceable we make do with what we have.
‘What the pilots need to plan for ... is for travel times, fuel, and for assuming that all is going to plan unless aborted. That means that the transports take off when we start the attack, hoping to be at the forward base soon after the hostages get there. Any transport with fifty hostages or more should take off straight away and return.
‘All aircraft on approach must look out for gunmen and report the position of gunmen to ground units. If you approach at 1,000ft and then descend quickly, you should be OK, and you practise just that. We don’t believe they have surface to air missiles, they do have RPGs, so be careful.
‘Helicopters that approach the prison need to do so only from the northwest, because there’s waste ground at the rear of the prison, not houses, so few people to shoot up at you. All helicopters can assume that once the first helicopter has woken up people in the town, those that follow will be fired at.’
‘They have fifty cal?’ a pilot asked.
‘They do, sir, but we have no intel of them being in the town. We hope to be gone before they get there. If all goes well, we’ll be gone in ten minutes.’
‘Ten minutes?’ a pilot queried.
‘Practise makes perfect, and we’ll practise moving a hundred hostages till we’re happy. Any longer than ten minutes and we risk a helicopter being shot down.’ I let them think about it. ‘Could all pilots get together now and make a plan, call signs given, and we can discuss it later. The prison is known as Chicken Coop, the flight route is Dog Leg, the route from forward base to the prison could be Short Leg. Such codes help to hide our intentions.’
‘Make-up of the initial supply drop,’ a pilot said. ‘We have them ready.’ He checked his list. ‘Each pallet has ... water, rations, first aid kits, ammunition, torches, diesel fuel, two GPMGs, blankets wrapped around items, plastic bags around items, ground to air radio – spare batteries.’
‘There are a few critical items: GPMGs and ammo, spare ammo for our AK47s, diesel fuel. Rest is a bonus. Anything else that may be needed can be brought in with the jeeps, not dropped in. Any other questions?’
The French Major asked, ‘You have enough men to defend the forward base?’
‘If there are many guerrilla fighters nearby we abort. There’s no point in having twenty soldiers killed or wounded to save a hundred hostages. We’re there to rescue, not to fight, we have no political orders to fight like an army.’
‘And if a helicopter goes down near the prison?’ a pilot asked.
‘Then the rescue soldiers at the forward base go for them, smoke employed. We’ll have rescue staff at the forward base for my team and for any helicopters that go down, and we’ll have rescue staff at rear base for forward base. If something goes wrong, the RAF Regiment will be called forwards. Pray that it doesn’t, because if the RAF Regiment is called forwards then we have many casualties ... and many dead soldiers.’
I pointed at the French Major. ‘Major, can you have your chosen eight men come to our hut and live with us each day from now on, we need to know each other well.’
He nodded and made a note.
A pilot raised his hand. ‘Has the dog leg route been worked out?’
‘Roughly worked out, the final call will be yours, it simply avoids the towns. Here you can make one up. On the live job, I suggest that the return route differs, save a risk of collision, or of them expecting you to fly over. They may have missiles, but we don’t think they do. So North Dog Leg and South Dog Leg.
‘OK, everyone, we meet again tomorrow lunchtime to see how we did. RAF Regiment, parachutes on. Everyone else, we need a hundred hostages, so mechanics and officers all need to pitch in, buses to leave after dark, but you could wait till 2am, save sitting around and pretending to be hostages too long, getting some re
st before then.
‘Please note ... we’ll be using live ammo and grenades tonight, so the hostages must all be together in one place, the correct place, lights on. Anyone stepping out for a cigarette might just get themselves shot.’
With the meeting breaking up, I copied our sat phone numbers and swapped numbers with the French and with the RAF planning officer and Bob’s guy, also with the Major. I would have to get the numbers off the rescue teams at the FOB, but the French had mid-range radios to hand with their teams.
Stepping out, two of the 2 Squadron corporals wandered past, rifles in hand. I stopped, they stopped.
‘Wilson,’ I called, and closed the distance. ‘You’re still in.’
Wilson smiled and shook his head. ‘You’ve done alright for yourself.’
‘Just luck, I keep telling people that.’
‘I kept wondering if it was you, after the London Marathon an all, your nickname.’
‘I find trouble easily enough,’ I quipped. ‘How come you never applied to the SAS?’
‘Mugs game, I’m leaving next year. Got two nippers, third on its way, I’ll go work for my dad’s firm.’
‘Sounds like a sensible approach,’ I commended.
‘All that stuff they say about you, that true?’
‘Probably, depends on what they say.’
‘You killed a lot of people.’
I nodded. ‘I killed a lot of people, rescued quite a few as well.’
‘Come by some day, meet the lads,’ he suggested.
‘I will do,’ I promised, and he headed off on patrol, leaving me watching him. Basic training, that seemed like a lifetime ago, and maybe this was a mug’s game, but I was loving it and I was addicted to it.
Our eight French buddies came across with their kit, and we found them bunks. I moved a few of my lads next door so that the huts were mixed, several of the French speaking English, all having a few words at least, two of them having fought with us – but none of us recognised their faces apart from Swifty.
