by Geoff Wolak
I could see additional movement in the office area, bleary men opening windows to see what was up, and I hit three of them as Elkin checked the street outside.
Further grenade blasts rocked the barracks, a burst of fire as someone shot at a door lock at the far end. Dark figures disappeared into the barracks, and I struggled to find anyone to shoot at.
Below me, a burst of fire preceded a lock being kicked off, a door opened. Bright lights came on, lighting up the exercise yard, voices heard, and now I could see several guards asleep on the floor, bottles nearby. I put a round into each man as I wondered about what they had drunk.
Several bursts of fire echoed from the barracks, then silence.
‘Wilco, it’s Moran, these fuckers are drugged to the hilt and out of it. Some seem to be dead already.’
‘Put a round in each man before they wake! Quickly. Then clear the other rooms.’
‘It is Henri, we are climbing the stairs to the commander’s office,’ came as a crackle filtered out of the broken windows in the barracks
‘Roger that.’
I could not see Henri or his team, but a light came on in the brothel, a face peering out. Man or woman, I took the back of their head off. Soon another face, and I killed whoever owned that face.
When Elkin fired I turned. ‘What is it?’ I asked him.
‘Some civvy with an AK47.’ He fired again. I moved to the wall, seeing a door opening, a man with a rifle. Elkin hit the man. A moment later a woman picked up the rifle, and Elkin hesitated, the wall in front of us raked a second later and we ducked.
‘His missus is a better shot than he is,’ Elkin noted. He lifted up and fired twice, spinning her.
Turning back to the commander’s office I could see movement, a naked black man aiming his rifle off to the right. My shot hit him in the head.
‘Wilco!’ came a shout from below, not on the radio, Swifty’s urgent voice.
‘Here!’ I said, peering over the side and down.
‘There ain’t sixty hostages, there’s over a hundred!’
‘What!’
‘There’s sixty five in the first room, same again in the second room!’
‘Shit...’ I slowly let out. I grabbed for my sat phone, but the helos were already on their way. I dialled the FOB.
‘Sergeant Crab, FOB.’
‘It’s Wilco, there’s been a fuck-up, there’s a hundred and twenty plus hostages.’
‘What! You’ll never get them on the fucking helos!’
‘Standby for a second wave of helos, warn everyone, check fuel levels. Out.’
Major Bradley took the call, expectant faces observing him in the ROB control room. ‘What! Fuck. OK, Bradley out.’ People jumped up, and Bradley took in their faces. ‘There are over a hundred and twenty hostages.’
‘What’ll Wilco do?’ asked the planning officer.
‘Only thing he can do, a second wave of helos.’
‘They’ll be expected, and fired at!’
The Major slowly nodded, a look exchanged with Bob’s guy. ‘It’s going to be a mess.’
I clicked on my radio. ‘Listen up everyone, there are a hundred and twenty hostages, too many for one trip, so ... we have a problem. Clear the rooms, get fire positions, we’ll be hear a while.’
Bursts of fire came from the office block, the lights knocked off one by one, and I killed a further two curious hookers, but one could have been a man, Elkin busy firing out. Rocko and Slider were now up on the barrack roof, and also firing out.
‘Wilco, it’s Moran, the barracks are clear, but there are a hundred plus bodies here - and we didn’t kill them.’
‘Check every room, grab spare ammo, move to support Swifty with the hostages.’
‘This is Swifty, I killed two sleepy guards, four looked dead already.’
‘They do drugs,’ I commented. ‘Check all the rooms, calm the hostages, get them ready to go.’
‘There are six women and four young kids,’ came back. ‘One fucking baby!’
‘They go first.’
‘Henri for Wilco, we are taking fire from across the street, many men in the windows, the police building.’
‘Rocko, Slider, see if you can cover the side street and that building opposite!’
‘Man down!’ came a shout, a French accent.
‘Bring him down to me!’ I said. ‘The exercise yard!’ To Elkin I said, ‘Stay here, watch the brothel as well, and the rear wall.’
I scrambled down to the brightly lit exercise yard, Rizzo coming out of the barracks. ‘Put Stretch on the barracks roof, cover that side road and our rear. Go help Henri. Where’s Moran?’
‘He’s in the barracks,’ Rizzo said as he ran off.
I knelt, checking all the dark corners, and in particular the brothel, bodies lying near its door. A French soldier appeared, helping his colleague, the man able to walk just about. ‘Put him down here, go back!’ The wounded man collapsed in a heap in the light cast from the hostage cells.
With the able-bodied soldier running off, I pulled off the wounded man’s webbing and opened his shirt, a wound to his liver. It seemed fatal. Shoving a tampon in he screamed quietly, and after wiping down the area around the wound I taped it up solidly, as much as I could for now, knowing that there were medics on the helicopters. Still, I doubted they could do anything for him.
Firing continued from the office building, single shots echoing from the barracks, and it grew in intensity. I clicked on the radio. ‘Rocko, report!’
‘Fucking loads of them over the street!’
‘It’s Moran, I found an RPG and shells.’
‘Get them to Rocko on the roof, we’re running out of time. Those of you with smoke, throw a few canisters into the street.’
Hostages were now coming out and peering around.
‘Get back inside, it’s not safe!’ I shouted.
‘Wilco!’ came Elkin’s voice from above me, not on the radio. ‘Jeep coming to the rear, men in the back.’
‘Moving!’ I said as I ran to the blown door. Skidding to a halt and getting some cover, I could see down the street we had approached along, suddenly shocked by a large nasty dog from hell growling at me just ten feet away.
I fired and killed it, and aimed down the street in a hurry, the jeep with its lights on as it brazenly approached. I could see fighters in the back, and armed, and I began firing rapidly at the driver, soon clicking empty and reloading.
As I reloaded the jeep swerved, hit a man I had not seen, hit the curb, and then rolled, killing most of those in the back by first tossing them out and then rolling over them. When it settled I fired at bodies, one man staggering away, and I missed him as he ducked into a house.
Standing, a growl causing me to look right, another large nasty dog bared its fangs as it stood near the dead dog. Aiming quickly, I put a round through its head, wondering where all the damned hell-dogs had come from. Then it hit me; the rubbish dump was right there.
Running back to my wounded man, I found a hostage in a dirty and very creased white shirt kneeling over him.
‘I was a medic,’ the man told me, a British accent. ‘Mining medic, I can help.’
‘Drag him back over there, get him on the first helicopter.’
‘Helicopter?’
‘Yes, four on the way.’
My new helper dragged the French soldier, who was now semi-conscious, other hostages joining in with the first aid.
I stood. ‘Rocko, report!’
‘Getting the RPG ready. Hang on.’
A blast and a whoosh came a few seconds later, an echo of a blast.
‘It’s Moran, we hit them, some of them.’
‘Keep firing, helicopters will be here soon.’
I focused on the hostages for a while, Elkin still firing out, but all the action was at the front, another whoosh and bang sounding out.
‘Henri, try and raise the helicopters: no smoke, come straight in.’
‘Roger that.’
/> All too soon I could hear helicopters on the breeze. ‘Helicopters inbound, all out effort, use a lot of ammo, you have sixty seconds to make it count.’ I stepped across to the hostages, a big guy taking charge. ‘You, you’re deputised. I want the women, kids, wounded, total group size thirty five adults – don’t count the kids, out here and knelt down. Quickly!’
The man called out the names of other hostages and they got themselves organised as I scanned the sky above us, soon a roar from the rear of the prison as a Chinook came in and spun around, blasting us with dust and dirt. Tin cans rolled away, making a racket. Ramp down, lights on, crewmen visible, and it landed quickly as I knelt.
The family units ran out and up the ramp in a desperate mad dash - kids screaming and being carried, numbers loading being counted, the wounded French soldier carried between three men, a group of older people assisted out. I had counted myself, and at thirty five I halted the hostages, waving the Chinook up
Climbing, it clipped the back wall and knocked part of it down, leaving me shaking my head and cursing, the second Chinook dropping into place as the Pumas could be seen high above. With Swifty now bringing people out, a few limping, the big guy organising things, I counted thirty five and halted the line, those I halted not pleased at all.
With the second Chinook loaded and gone, its heavy drone receding, I clicked on the radio. ‘Henri, get the Pumas down, they don’t know we have more hostages!’
The hostages waited with looks of desperation and anguish on their faces, all peering up, and I also waited, and sixty seconds later a Puma came in, a graceful turn and a blast of air for the hostages, nine men selected only – the rest not happy. One got a back fist from me, my rifle pointed at his head.
With a second nine loaded, which included the man I hit, it grew quiet again, save the raging gun battle at the front of the prison.
‘What about us?’ asked a man.
‘Helicopters will be back,’ I assured him. ‘We were led to believe there were only sixty of you.’
‘There was, then everyone from another place was brought here, a place up near the border. Some said that the Congolese soldiers had raided near that place.’
‘Bloody marvellous,’ I let out; the actions of “G” Squadron had caused this. Not quite the desired effect I had in mind.
‘Who are you then?’
‘We’re the SAS, and we’re here, but we do have men on the border as well.’
‘Will those helicopters make it far?’ one asked.
‘To a base forty miles away, we have more men there. Listen, do me a favour and do a head count, please.’
He headed off to start counting.
I clicked on my radio whilst being keenly observed. ‘Captain Moran, report.’
‘Killed many police over the road, but there’s an endless supply of them.’
I said, ‘We got the helos away, and ninety hostages plus kids, that’s something, one French lad wounded but away on a helo.’
‘What happens now?’ Moran asked. ‘We didn’t plan for this?’
‘We wait an hour, and we hope.’
‘An hour?’ came from Rizzo. ‘When the helos come back the whole fucking town will be awake and shooting!’
‘Well we’re not walking, nor driving, so keep shooting. Captain Moran, drop back to the barracks, get ammo please.’
A hostage came out to me, his friend following. With a strong French accent he said, ‘We are French mine security staff, we were Foreign Legion, we can fight.’
I gave it some thought, but I was very limited on options. ‘Go into the barracks, get weapons and ammunition, there are French soldiers in the offices. Do what they say.’
They ran to the barracks.
I clicked on the radio. ‘Captain Moran, there are two French former soldiers in the barracks, they’ve just been drafted, get them to Henri.’
‘Understood.’
Five minutes later Captain Moran ran across and knelt next to me. ‘What the fuck happened here, the soldiers in the barracks look like they drank themselves to death!’
I focused on his dark outlined. ‘You’re not supposed to know, and it would end your career.’
‘Those beer trucks we came in, you were really odd in warning people not to drink it! Even the coke!’
‘It had sleeping tablets in,’ I lied. ‘One bottle and you go to sleep, more -’
‘They all drank four or five!’ Moran hissed.
I grabbed his shoulder. ‘Discuss this with anyone, sir, and you’ll be a civilian upon our return after a spell in the Glass House. Got that?’
He glared back for a moment, angered, then got up and ran off back to the offices as rounds cracked overhead and echoed from the street.
Seeing movement, I focused on the rear doors we had blown, seeing a face peeking in. I hit him in the face, spinning him around, and seeing his still and lifeless body I left him. Looking back five minutes later, as I checked our rear, I could see a dog trying to eat the guy and I grimaced, and the next time I looked there were three dogs, so I opened up on them and scattered them.
At what I figured were the kitchens I noticed several large cylinders, gas for cooking. I ran around to the hostage door, several men stood around. ‘Go around to the back of the kitchens, there are gas canisters, carry them up to the roof or the offices, please, but keep your heads down. Go!’
Six men ran off, and as I knelt in the middle of the exercise yard they ran past, several small cylinders, and two large ones carried between two men.
Two minutes later, and Rocko came on. ‘Wilco, what we doing with these fucking gas canisters?’
‘Throw them, then try and hit them, might scare off of the locals.’
I soon heard a crash, a metallic bang coming from the right, several outgoing rounds followed by a blast lighting up a dark area.
‘Wilco, it’s Slider, just blew up a corner shop, it’s on fire.’
‘Which way is the smoke blowing?’
‘Backwards!’
‘Bugger. Are there vehicles in the street, can you see fuel tanks to hit, anything would help right now.’
‘It’s Rizzo, I got one. Hang on.’ I could hear the outgoing fire. ‘Small lorry thing on fire.’
‘Good, try and hit a few others. How many police left?’
‘Still a couple shooting back, but their lights are off and their rooms have smoke, so we can’t see the fuckers.’
‘Anyone reckon they could cover that distance with a grenade?’
‘Hang on,’ came Rizzo’s voice. Thirty seconds later I heard the blast. ‘It’s Rizzo, that grenade went off just inside the window, so yeah, but we don’t know which window they’re in, there are ... like twenty windows.’
‘OK, just wait for now. Captain Moran, were there any more RPG?’
‘Not visible, some locked doors.’
‘Take a man down, open those doors, have a look.’
‘Moving!’
The hostages came back down and ambled towards their former home.
‘Thanks guys,’ I offered. ‘Now keep to the doorway, shooting is not over yet.’
When my sat phone went it was Crab. ‘Wilco, helicopters are all down and getting ready to come back, what’s the situation there?’
I took in the dead hookers as I stood in the middle of the exercise yard. ‘Modest small arms fire from the front, the street, rear is quiet. Can you put a lad or two with GPMGs on a Puma, plenty of ammo, and this time tell the first Chinook pilot to use smoke down the main street, turn and land. Got that?’
‘Yeah, I’ll get that sorted now.’
My phone went almost straight away, this time Bob Staines. ‘Wilco, how is it, I heard there was a problem?’ he asked as I checked the part-eaten body at the rear, finding a dog sniffing it.
‘Your guy said sixty hostages, and that was correct till today, but the fighting on the fucking border forced them to move hostages away from the border and here, so we found over a hundred and twenty. We got nine
ty away safely, one French lad fatally wounded, now we’re waiting the helos, but we’re taking small arms fire.’
‘And your chances?’
‘If the helos are not shot down we’ll be out in thirty minutes, no problem. If your men in the area can start fires ... that would help.’
‘I’ll contact them now. What about the soldiers in the barracks?’
‘They drank too much, if you know what I mean, we hardly needed to fire a shot,’ I said as I studied dead guards in the corner, bottles in hands.
‘It worked then.’
‘It worked very well. If not, we’d have taken a few casualties. So far so good. Wilco Out.’
‘Wilco, it’s Moran. I have a box of Chinese pineapple grenades that look a hundred years old, and five more RPG heads, but dusty.’
‘Take them to the roof, but wait, helos will be here in twenty minutes or so, we need to time it right.’
‘Understood.’
The crackle of fire died away, just the odd shot heard, and I took a close look at the brothel, not seeing any movement inside. Studying the front doors, I could see that they were two large wooden doors ten feet high and recessed in an arch, solid enough. Seeing a dark shadow, I called out then fired, my torch revealing a bleary-eyed guard slowly bleeding out, beer bottle still in his hand.
‘It’s Elkin, movement down that road.’
‘Henri, send me the two French hostage soldiers.’
‘They are coming.’
A minute later I heard footsteps as I walked across the exercise yard, the hostages peering out at me, the French lads running up, and I could see that they had ammo pouches and webbing on. ‘Watch our rear, that door, and down the street!’
They ran to the door, the dog scampering off, and they took position as I scrambled back up to Elkin and took a fire position that covered the road. Two jeeps could be seen, men in the back. One jeep stopped, one drove on at speed. I got comfy, the wall for an arm rest as I knelt, Elkin at my side, and at one hundred yards I hit the driver twice.
The jeep veered off track as the French lads opened up, and it hit a tree, the driver and passenger ending up with their upper bodies through the windscreen, someone from the back having somersaulted over the front and landed on his head, his neck obviously broken. Two men staggering off the jeep were hit by the French and knocked back. The jeep down the road turned into a side street and vanished, which was a worry.
