Wilco- Lone Wolf - Book 3

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘They have some organised units yes, not many.’

  ‘Wilco,’ came Swifty’s voice. ‘Some fucker with binoculars over there.’

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Everyone get down and hide.’

  ‘Wilco!’ came from Napoleon. ‘Some fucker on the ridge behind us, six hundred yards off.’

  I turned around and had a look, finding two men. And they had seen us, the men moving from rock to rock, cover to cover.

  The air above us cracked loudly.

  ‘That’s fifty cal!’ Moran shouted.

  ‘Napoleon, Elkin, Mouri, aim to the rear, fire at any movement. Rest move up and aim across the ridge.’

  Getting into a fire position, I could see the man with binoculars and I squeezed my trigger, knocking him backwards. We were now committed. Panning left, my heart skipped a beat. ‘Fuck,’ I let out, and ducked down, getting my sat phone out in a hurry.

  ‘Captain Harris.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, get the Puma and Chinooks ready to bring in the men from Camp Bad, we’re surrounded, professional units across from us, fifty cal as well -’ I ducked as the whistling sound came, three loud blasts down the slope behind me soon ringing in my ears. ‘You still there?’ I shouted, cracks permeating the air above me.

  ‘Yes, what was that?’

  ‘Mortars! We’re pinned down. See if the French will commit to an air strike before we lose the light. LZ is at the target coordinates, might be a warm welcome, a few men further south.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you.’

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Tomo, Elkin, Mouri: back down the slope, go left a hundred yards, get across to the far side in a hurry and up that ridge, we need to secure it before the choppers come in. Move with covering fire. Go!’

  I watched them set off scrambling down the rocks, loud cracks of fifty cal behind me hitting the rocks. Turning, I clicked on the radio. ‘Single well-aimed shots, get into good fire positions that protect you from the mortars, don’t matter if you can only see a small area ahead.’

  I got down myself, damn hard to get a comfy fire position, so I slid back and found dirt, ahead of me just a small angle to fire out of. Taking aim, I peered through the sights, and luckily the sun was highlighting the top of their ridge and not ours. I found a face and fired, knocking that man’s head back. Finding a man hiding, I hit the rock next to him and he got a face full of ricochet.

  Finding a soldier directing others, I hit him in the chest. Another soldier took his place, and I hit the replacement in the head, rounds cracking out to my right.

  The whistling sound caused me to duck my head, but again the rounds fell long, fifteen yards behind me. Popping my head up, I took a risk and claimed the top of a rock for my rifle and I peered through the sights in a hurry, finding the Duska jeep. Firing, I hit the man in the seat, but he was replaced quickly, most of the jeep hidden behind a rock.

  Firing again, I hit the driver’s window, but was unsure if I hit anyone inside. I eased back down, and as if to make a point the rocks in front of me were torn up by the fifty cal.

  ‘Moran, Swifty, Henri on me, rest move to your right twenty yards. Go!’

  I scrambled down the ridge and moved left twenty yards before taking up a new fire position, and we got comfy just in time, mortars landing close to our old position. I found faces in the rocks across the way and killed five men over five minutes, wondering about numbers.

  The fifty cal loudly spat out rounds, and they hit our old position, and for ten minutes the duel went on. We were killing their men for no casualties on our side so far, but I had no idea about reinforcements, or who the hell was behind us. And now I was glad I stuck rocks on the hatch behind me.

  Rounds pinging off the rocks behind me indicated that there was someone behind us, and I turned, taking a sitting-squat fire position. I could see my three lads sneaking up the slope, and so panned right along the ridgeline, soon seeing movement. I fired, a man spun. His colleague lifted his head to have a look, which fixed his position, so I waited, and when that man lifted up to fire I hit the rock next to his face, giving him some ricochet.

  Lowering my rifle, rounds pinging off rocks and cracking overhead, I scanned the valley for five minutes but saw no movement. Back alongside Moran I took aim and found a face eventually, hitting it.

  My sat phone trill caused me to duck down and answer it as Moran fired out. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Captain Harris, helos on their way to Camp Bad, could be with you soon, we notified the men there. What’s the situation?’

  ‘The landing area is clear, some fifty cal at about 800yards north, random fire, mortars hitting the ridge every five minutes, but not the landing area. Helos need to come in low level, very fucking low level, east to west and out the west low level. Make sure they know that.’

  ‘Roger that, will contact them now.’

  ‘Any word on a French air strike?’

  ‘They have to check with Paris for permission.’

  ‘Fucking marvellous. We have a juicy target across the way and no bombers! Ask the Puma crews to have door gunners, but they must approach from the far north, over the hills, to avoid the fifty cal. If they can do that before they land any men it would help.’

  ‘OK, I’ll pass on the message.’

  As I put away my phone the mortars came in, this time getting a little closer.

  ‘Wilco,’ came Rocko’s voice.

  ‘Go ahead!’

  ‘Some sort of reinforcements just came up, fucking loads of them.’

  ‘Good job there’s a minefield between them and us!’ I replied, and tried to find a comfy position.

  The mortars returned quicker than expected, and now six of them in a salvo, the blasts washing over us.

  Turning, and thinking, I dialled Sergeant Crab.

  ‘Sergeant Crab here.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, helos on the way for you -’

  ‘Yeah, we’re waiting ready. What’s the situation there?’

  ‘When you get off the helo go north, which should be right of the direction of landing, we’ll wave to you. But keep down, they have mortars. Work your way up the rocks, you’ll see us. But I asked if the helos could have door gunners, you might get the mortar crews and fifty cal on the way in – and they’re exposed to the rear – to the north.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with the boys and the pilots.’

  ‘Wilco out.’

  Rounds cracking overhead caused me to duck for a minute before I got a good fire position, and for ten minutes we sniped at the heads of the men across the way as they fired off at random towards us. We were hitting some, but slowly, and there seemed to a great many men over the way.

  Finally hearing the drone of helicopters, I shouted, ‘Henri, aircraft radio!’

  He eased back from his own fire position and took out his aircraft radio, peering up and around, soon chatting in French. He faced me, shouting, ‘Chinook come here, Puma goes north!’

  I nodded my understanding, and clicked on my radio. ‘Elkin, report!’

  ‘We got three, can’t see anyone else for now close by, movement further south but they got no line of shot.’

  ‘Roger that, helicopters coming in.’

  Peering left, I could see a Chinook stalking up the valley as if it was on its belly, the wheels barely missing rocks, the crazy pilot just five feet off the deck. His nose came up, the ramp already down, and he maintained a hover as men ran out the back and towards us. I scrambled down the bank a few feet and stood tall, waving. They saw me, the teams being SAS and SBS, and negotiated rocks as the Chinook powered up and roared past, the second Chinook coming up behind.

  Six mortars landed in sequence, but up the ridge, the new arrivals all ducking, the second Chinook approaching as the smoke from the mortars wafted towards its flight path. It slowed, its ramp down, and touched down as Henri’s men ran out the back, more than thirty in my estimation, the Chinook soon roaring past me.

  ‘Rocko, wave the French soldiers off to y
our right.’

  I could see the French running as the SAS and SBS climbed the slope, and they made it to the top when the next salvo hit, that salvo closer to Rocko than my own position.

  ‘Sergeant Crab, you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, but my fucking ears are ringing.’

  ‘Spread out right along, five yards between men, fire across the valley. SBS to me, keep coming and past me.’

  A minute later, and several GPMGs crackled out rounds and tracer across the valley, which would keep the rebels’ heads down at least.

  ‘Wilco!’ Henri called, pointing.

  I turned to see four Pumas come down from the northwest, the door gunners clearly visible, and each opened up in turn, the rebels not expecting them and having to turn around. As the last Puma moved off to my right I peered across the valley, much of the firing having eased for a moment.

  ‘Henri, what can the Pumas see?’

  He got on the radio and spoke rapidly in French for a minute. Facing me, he said, ‘They hit the Duska, there are two, and they hit some of the mortar crews, some of the men facing us. They are leaving now.’

  I nodded. ‘Go join your men, go down three hundred yards, cross over and flank them. We’ll go left.’

  He ran off bent-double.

  ‘Elkin, report.’

  ‘Still movement south of us, about ten men.’

  ‘OK, standby. Captain Hamble plus one man, back down the slope, up the other side to Elkin. Go! Rest of Echo Detachment, to me, we’re moving.’

  I scrambled down the slope to where the ground levelled off and started to move off west, Moran and Swifty closing in, the rest in a line some seventy yards away. Ten yards on and I knelt, glancing over my shoulder as the others closed in.

  ‘Rizzo, you hit?’ I asked.

  ‘Small cut on my fucking head,’ he responded.

  ‘Me too,’ came from Slider.

  I lifted up and led them off at a good pace, on two hundred yards, turning up the slope at the easiest point and scrambling to the top, through a gap and over. We made it down the other side before rounds started pinging off the rocks nearby.

  ‘What about mines?’ Moran shouted.

  ‘Follow me!’ I shouted back, and I was soon hopping from rock to rock and stepping where there could be no mines, such as on small bushes, dirt thrown up as rounds hit the ground near us.

  Across to the other side I looked back, each man soon safely across, and we used cover from large boulders to climb up the ridge, hard going, but I found a wide track at the top. Easing onto it we aimed right and immediately fired at the closest startled fighters, soon moving forwards rock by rock, firing as we advanced.

  Finding a goat trail branching off left I ran bent-double up it, stopping to fire blind every now and then, and sprinting for a large boulder. Behind it we were safe and we all caught our breath, Rizzo and Slider covered in dried blood.

  ‘Something hit my fucking calf muscle,’ Stretch said.

  I had a quick look. ‘Got a shard in there, OK for a while. On me.’

  Heads down, we cautiously climbed higher and to the top of the ridge, finding a plateau, and that the rebels had no way to hit us. Fanning out, we approached the edge bent-double, got down and crawled, all moving into fire positions, and now we could see those rebels that were facing Henri’s men in the distance.

  Firing down, we hit twenty men in the back before they realised where the firing was coming from, and we had soon killed the mortar crews. The fire coming back at us was ineffective, Henri’s men now pressing home their attack, and those disheartened rebels remaining had nowhere to go.

  I hit a man trying to get the Duska to reload, followed quickly by someone that looked like an officer, a handful of the rebels running off down the track north, but most were cut down by us.

  Ten minutes later, and we were finding it hard to spot anyone worth shooting.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘SAS, SBS, cease fire,’ I peered across to where the units should be and the crackle died. Without using the radio I said, ‘Double tap each body.’ On the radio I called, ‘Henri, you receiving?’

  ‘Here, go ahead.’

  ‘Move in slowly, double tap bodies, be careful, we are up above you.’

  ‘Roger, moving.’

  ‘Elkin, can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, go ahead.’

  ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Patrol coming in, ten plus men, two hundred yards out.’

  ‘Let them get close, then fire. Captain Hamble with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wilco!’ came Rocko’s gruff voice.

  I turned, and he pointed north down the track, a group of fifty rebels approaching, and they looked switched-on.

  ‘Where the fuck did they come from?’ I asked no one in particular.

  ‘Has to be a mine entrance down there,’ Moran noted.

  ‘All of you get down, take aim, wait my signal.’ On the radio, I transmitted, ‘Henri, fifty men approaching from the north, along the track, back up and wait, get down.’

  ‘Wilco, it’s Crab, you need us over there?’

  ‘Got a pair of fucking wings, that’s a minefield in front of you!’

  ‘We’ll stay here then,’ he quipped.

  I got down and waited, Swifty to my left, and we all peered over the edge as the rebels approached, and they were not half bad in their professionalism; two columns, one either side of the track, weapons ready, men with their heads down.

  They reached their dead colleagues and glanced around, soon spotting the French and opening up, which was what I wanted – they were distracted. With the tail end of the column moving up, a hell of a racket cracking out below us, I tapped Swifty and Moran as I eased up, knelt and took aim, the rest of lads copying.

  As I fired so they fired, and the soldiers below presented nice wide backs and shoulders to us, no return fire coming our way till the first twenty men had been killed, and even then the remainder struggled to see us.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘Sergeant Crab, open up on the same place as before, three minutes.’

  The soldiers below now peered south as rounds came in, a few men struck, and three minutes later it was all over as we double-tapped bodies to make sure.

  ‘Ceasefire!’ I called, and stood, peering down. ‘Henri, come forwards, check the bodies.’

  Where we saw wounded crawling along we hit them, Henri’s men moving cover to cover, a few bodies hit as they approached. One of Henri’s men appeared wounded.

  I got on the phone.

  ‘Captain Harris here.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, and it’s all over up here. We got six mortar tubes, two mounted fifty cal, maybe two hundred fighters killed. Send two Puma back for wounded and to get the mortar tubes, don’t want to leave them there. Tell them to land at the place they fired at, and soon, before we lose the light.’

  ‘Roger that. And a good result.’

  ‘Henri,’ I called over the radio. ‘Take apart the fifty cal, helicopter coming in to take the mortar tubes. You have wounded men?’

  ‘Yes, I have one bad wound, two small wounds.’

  ‘On the helicopters first.’

  I faced Slider. ‘You OK to stay?’

  ‘Yeah, stopped bleeding.’

  ‘Rizzo?’

  ‘Yeah, but it stings a bit.’

  ‘Stretch.’

  ‘Have a look,’ he encouraged, and I tore his trouser leg.

  ‘Not bleeding, but probably something in there. You’re OK for a day or two.’ I stuck a large plaster over the wound.

  Hearing distant gunfire, we all turned south and peered across as a cool wind caught our faces, and caught the sweat.

  ‘Elkin, report.’

  ‘We got most of them, two ran off, hiding behind rocks.’

  ‘Don’t pursue them. Come across to the other teams. Sergeant Crab, go west two hundred yards, see our tracks, and come across where we did, follow our tracks – watch for mines!’

  ‘Mo
ving.’

  ‘Movement,’ Rocko called. ‘Three hundred yards down the track, two men.’

  ‘Keep an eye on them. Still don’t know exactly where that damn mine entrance is.’

  Whilst waiting we chilled, the sweat cooling as the sun dipped, a resonating drone preceding two Puma coming in at height and dropping down, waved down by Henri onto the track, three of his men boarding as others carried mortar tubes, leaving the mortar bases, parts of the fifty cal loaded. The second Puma did not even land, and they pulled away together, the valley soon quiet.

  ‘Can anyone see a way down that won’t involve us breaking our fucking necks?’ I asked. The team peered over the side.

  ‘This way,’ Rocko called, and we scrambled down a slope on our arses for the most part, kicking up dust, and soon walked around to Henri after I placed Rocko and Slider on the track facing north. We were losing the light rapidly.

  ‘A good number,’ Henri enthused.

  I nodded. ‘Might be more nearby, there’s a mine entrance somewhere.’

  Henri pointed, and I turned, Sergeant Crab leading a long line of men down the western track.

  ‘Lot a fucking bodies,’ Crab noted as he drew level.

  ‘More around here, lives ones, so stay sharp. Watch that track west.’

  The SBS filed past and I pointed them to a clear patch, and we stood waiting as Captain Hamble and a trooper appeared, finally Elkin, Mouri and Tomo, Mouri with a smile as ever.

  ‘Head count your sections!’ I shouted, and Moran counted our lot.

  ‘SAS, SBS, stay here till called – eyes peeled, and if any of these bodies gets up ... it’s a zombie, so shoot it. Henri, leave eight men behind, then follow my team with the rest of your men.’

  I led my lot towards Rocko and beyond as everything turned a grey-brown, the sun still hitting distant peaks, the valleys now dark, and we slowed our pace, two columns on the track, measured steps, eyes everywhere.

  Twenty yards down and we heard a noise ahead, something metallic, and it caused a pause as we used our ears. Advancing, we followed the wide track – suitable for vehicles, as it headed north whilst dipping down at a slight angle, small ridges ahead of us some three hundred yards away.