by Geoff Wolak
‘The guy in the White House, and the Joint Chiefs, they have a hope here, a hope to make friends again with Panama. Unfortunately, their media portrays you as imperialists with a colonial attitude. So warn your men, punch them in the head if you have to, clean your teeth and smile nicely for the local TV crews.
‘And please … don't get any of the local girls pregnant!’
They snickered and hid grins.
Major Morten put in, ‘They won't have the time, or be allowed to fraternise. I'd shoot them myself!’
I loudly called, ‘Gentlemen, you know what to do, and I'll be there to lend a hand.’
I found Running Bear and his team. ‘When we get there, you split up, one of yours with each of my teams, so when we catch and torture someone you can translate.’
He nodded. ‘Helo insert?’
‘Probably walk to the border, look for tracks, it’s only ten miles. Helos will be seen and heard. There a medical team?’
‘The corpsmen have a team ready, and the Marines have trained medics, so we'll have a few tents set up with triage ready, but the surgeons will be back on ship I guess.’
I nodded. ‘We have the helos for extraction.’
‘How many rockets you reckon?’
‘They fired twenty, so twenty left; I doubt they have more than that.’
‘Any nasty surprises?’
‘Heat seeking missile maybe, or someone paid to stick a bomb in that airfield. Greatest threat is someone at the airfield selling out.’
He tipped his eyebrows. ‘It’s Panama. Money talks.’
I caught a ride back to the main carrier, and checked in on the teams as they mostly sat around or slept. Moran assured me that they were ready, but that uniforms needed ironing, and that some could do with a shower and a shave.
Up on the viewing platform I called the minister. ‘It’s Petrov.’
‘Ah, how are things progressing, we have many chats to the Americans, offers of assistance.’
‘The Americans will be ready by dawn, helicopters to hunt down the rocket crews.’
‘Ah, good.’
‘You have Hueys? Twelve I think?’
‘Twenty something.’
‘Send some to La Ninga tomorrow, fuel, weapons, water and some food, and some infantry.’
‘I'll send our paratroops, they are on standby.’
Call ended, my phone bleeped. I called back Tomsk. ‘You after me?’
‘We let go that Canadian man, but Tiny caught another one, and he had a hidden pistol – as well as a diagram of my fucking villa!’
‘Get extra guards, check for bombs, check outside the villa, and move someplace else maybe – they may fire a rocket at you.’
‘Would rocket bring down this villa?’ he worried.
‘No, they're not strong rockets, just kill the men on the roof.’
‘Then I stay.’
‘I want the details of this man you caught.’
‘Tiny called London, gave everything, his passport.’
‘Good girl. His name?’
‘Charles Bradley.’
It was the name of Major Bradley.
‘Middle name?’
‘Eh … K.’
That was the Major's middle initial. Someone here was taking the piss out of me.
‘Describe him.’
‘Tall and thin, grey, scar on a cheek.’
‘Torture him, make it hurt, but keep him alive, keep going back over the story, and do it quickly.’
‘They have him now, in the city. Tiny was using matches on the hair on his balls and cock.’
‘Ouch. Tell her to call me as soon as she learns something.’ I called SIS.
‘Duty Officer.’
‘It’s Wilco. My girl, Tiny – forgot her real name, she called in with a fake name and passport; Charles Bradley.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you run the passport for visas and travel?’
‘So far, Toronto to Panama via Florida, some internal American flights.’
‘I want the manifests looked at, who was on the flight with him.’
‘I'll send a note.’
‘Send it to the CIA, Deputy Chief, as a priority, he already has a big team on it. Any known associations with that crashed transport plane?’
‘We have a sister aircraft, similar flight routes, looking into her now.’
‘Put me through to GCHQ please.’
After twenty seconds came, ‘Wilco, putting you through to the Director.’
‘Wilco?’ came the voice of the head of GCHQ.
‘You fielding calls now, Boss?’
‘I'm hands-on with this one, Cabinet Officer screaming, Yanks screaming.’
‘I can imagine, yes. I need the transport plane linked to the ships and the Canadians, I need to know if any players are in Panama as we speak.’
‘We have two phones that we're sure are linked in. Hold on.’ I waited. ‘Both in Costa Rica as of yesterday.’
‘Those two phones are my main interest in the next 24hrs, troops go in at dawn local time. Got position fixes?’
He read them out.
‘Listen, the main man, Catfish, he must be making calls to people in the Costa Rica border region, so that should help you.’
‘I'll mention that now.’
I had a look at the map with Harris, Franks and Dick, and those two men chatting on their phones were nowhere near La Ninga airfield.
An hour later Tiny called. ‘Hey, Boss, you still on that carrier?’
‘Yes, we land at La Ninga tonight.’
‘Best not, they planted a bomb.’
‘Where?’
‘Terminal room under extension, empty, they figured you would occupy it. Bomb in the drains.’
‘Smart fellas. Tell Tomsk and have him inform the minister, for bomb disposal to clear the drains – and quickly! Have them evacuate the buildings. And keep asking that bastard if there are more bombs. The Canadian I mean.’
‘Will do, Boss, but his balls have lost all feeling, all swollen and black.’
‘Girl, do you like hurting men's balls?’
‘Well … some, yes. I think of my ex when I'm torturing him.’
Up in the command room I found the senior staff with the captain. ‘Listen up, please!’ I rudely called. ‘A bomb has been planted at La Ninga airfield, but we know where and it should be handled in the next hour or two. There's an annex being built, empty, it’s under that building – and they anticipated we'd use it for some down time.’
‘Who's they?’ the Captain asked.
‘Can't answer that question for you, sir. They … are the enemy, best left at that.’
‘And they knew we'd take that airfield and use that building?’
‘They're smart operators, sir, and they know how I work. La Ninga was the obvious FOB.’
‘Any other surprises?’
‘Maybe two bombs, but the local police and bomb disposal will search. I would have had the Marines search after landing, but I doubt they would have searched the drains.’
‘So we dodged the bullet,’ the Captain unhappily noted.
‘My intel team in Panama are rounding up the enemy, sir, and doing a good job of it.’
‘Let’s hope they're good men.’
‘Women, sir. Five foot tall.’
‘Women!’
‘They just burnt the testicles of a man they caught.’
‘Ouch...’
‘They may be small and cute, but hell hath no fury like a female agent wanting a promotion.’
The senior officers exchanged looks, pained expressions seen.
‘We go in as planned?’ the Captain asked.
‘Yes, sir, but can you warn all teams that the buildings might be wired to blow.’
‘Jesus. When they said we'd be supporting your operation I had worries, then I remembered the film – and everything people have said about you, and I had even more worries, but then I considered it was a simple enough operation, and that t
his isn't the Middle East. Now here I am, again, worrying.’
‘Worrying is the act of leader that cares for his men. Judge yourself against those that send men into harm's way without the worrying – and I've met a few.’
An hour later I ventured to the blowy platform, a bleep on my phone. I called Tomsk back.
He began, ‘They found that bomb, but it went off, two men killed, the building brought down, but it wasn't finished so … I don't know how strong it was. They said it had no roof anyhow.’
‘Anyone else wounded?’
‘No, airport is shut down, and the police moved everyone back.’
‘Offer them some money for repairs afterwards, eh. And keep them searching, could be more bombs, Oh, two men that are connected, we got their phones, they're in San Vito over the border.’
‘Ah, I have people there.’
‘Look for Canadians.’
‘I offer a big reward, I get these shits quickly.’
I went and found the Captain, now back in his leather chair. ‘They found the bomb, sir, but it went off, two men killed, building brought down.’
‘A lucky break for us, and it terrifies me to think of twenty Marines being in that building at the time – and the enquiry afterwards. So yes – I worry, hopefully more about the men than the damn enquiry.’
‘Warfare comes with casualties, sir. And now you know how Admiral Jacobs feels.’
‘Being sat here I'm remote to it, not lost men other than through simple accidents, so when I'm made up I'll have to consider sending out men – and losing men.’
‘Unfortunately, sir, your politicians tend to pull you out when you lose men, like Somalia and Lebanon. War ends when the war ends, not when the politicians get nervous or the folks back home get bored of it on the TV news.’
‘You have an old head, Major, I could learn something from you. I already am.’
‘I've lost men, sir, and felt the needles of blame. You adjust your thinking, but – at the end of the day – we meet force with force and take casualties. We never started the fight, but we have no choice but to fight back. The casualties are down to the man that built those rockets, his blame, and his blame alone.’
The Captain nodded as he considered that. ‘I'll remember that, might even write it down.’
As the sun set the helos started to arrive, my men all now ready – laughing and joking, the Marines all set – green camo cream on faces and looking nervous.
‘OK, people, let’s earn our pay and go to war!’ I shouted at my teams.
‘I need a shit,’ Tomo told me, Slider whacking him on the back of the head.
I boarded the first Seahawk with Moran, Ginger, Mitch and Greenie, Tiller and Brace, and we moved away from the carrier, door open, and I could see the other teams boarding. We soon nosed down, eight helos in formation, and sped across the dark ocean as the light faded.
A twenty minute flight, the fleet still steaming south behind us, and we crossed the coast of Panama, lights seen in villages, soon a large town seen out to the south, and ten miles past it I could see the runway clearly, and the airport lights. The runway seemed to be pointing roughly north, the buildings on the east side only.
I pointed, Moran looked, the new building just rubble.
The main terminal building was just one long single story white building, but tall and glass fronted, a few wooden huts nearby, a higher two-storey ATC some 300yards away, a row of brick buildings and some trucks and fuel tankers. In the distance, about 500yards south, ran a line of hangars and maintenance sheds, a few small prop aircraft sat awaiting some attention – or some paying passengers.
At the north end sat a large area of grass, a few ditches seen, then dark forest some 500yards north of the end of the runway – an immediate worry.
‘That bomb was meant for us,’ Moran noted.
I nodded, and we soon set down near that demolished building, out and running. I led my team towards a group of official looking men in shirts, local police and soldiers with them. ‘Speak English?’
‘I do,’ came from a man. ‘I am assistant airport manager.’
We shook. ‘I'm British Major Wilco.’
‘Vilco!’ They exchanged words.
I continued, ‘We thank you for the use of your airfield, and we hope to cause minimum disruption, and be gone in a few days.’
He shrugged. ‘The radar will take months to replace. Here, the government, not so quick. And now the new terminal is down. Two months to make new.’
The helos behind me loudly dumped men down and flew off northeast into a dark night sky.
I turned. ‘Captain Moran, have the teams spread out around these buildings, men on the roof. Swifty, British and American Wolves in that treeline north, make camp till dawn, small patrols close in, use your ears tonight.’
Swifty led his large team off north.
In the main terminal building I found the usual passenger signs and queuing areas for those now-absent passengers, check-in desks, but the shop was still open, police and soldiers sat around and having a coffee, the floor strewn with rubble and dust from the damaged building, one wall in here partly down. In the manager's office he offered me cold water.
I asked his assistant, ‘Bomb disposal still here?’
‘Yes, they have searched, not so many buildings here, some drains. The start again in the morning.’
I nodded. ‘Many soldiers will land tonight, and helicopters, medical teams. Tomorrow at dawn we start the search for the men firing rockets, helicopters to search for these men. We will close the roads across the border, and then … no more rockets.’
He translated.
I handed the airport manager dollars. ‘Have that shop stay open, send for more food and water, they will do a good trade.’
The manager's sister ran the shop, so he would sort it. And make a good profit no doubt. I asked where the toilets were, they even had two showers, so outside I told Moran about the toilets and showers. He would rotate teams to them, so I suggested he start with Tomo.
The main terminal had stairs up the outside, so we climbed up, my snipers knelt at a low wall ready.
Nicholson noted, ‘That treeline is almost a thousand yards. And I doubt they can shoot that well.’
‘No, but they might aim high and spray it around, so stand behind Tomo.’
They laughed as Tomo again protested jumping on a grenade. I had Rizzo and his team placed in the rubble of the blown building, and he started to make a wall from the breeze blocks laying around. Slider was sent to the main gate with three men, to scout around and then patrol south and around.
Half an hour later loud helos could be heard, SEALs soon down, Running Bear down with his team, men seen dragging large packs that looked like tents.
I met them on the apron, the medics. ‘Are those tents?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Can they be raised on concrete?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go inside the damaged building, clear away the debris and raise them in there, the broken walls will give you some protection.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘Pleasant spot,’ Running Bear noted, slinging his rifle. ‘What time does the duty free open?’
‘There's a shop inside, toilets and showers, so it’s not all bad.’
‘What’s the plan?’ he asked as he adjusted his webbing.
‘Kick back till dawn, then you go walking with my men. No good now, I want to see tracks. Pick a spot and get comfy.’
Katowski closed in, his chest pouches bulging. ‘And us, sir?’
‘Same deal, you move out at dawn on foot. So rest till then, but stay sharp around here – and trust no one.’
He team filed past, and I counted twelve of them. I turned. ‘Katowski, how come you don't have an officer with you?’
He shouted back, ‘Lieutenant broke an ankle, sir.’
Trucks turned up, a shout for me, and I ran that way, Moran and Ginger, Mitch and Greenie closing in from the s
ides. The trucks were seen to be allowed in and sent to us.
‘Slider for Wilco, trucks have our crates on.’
‘Roger that.’ I said to the team, ‘Isolate them, check for bombs.’
When the trucks drew close I waved them to the rubble, and they hissed to a stop. A man jumped down and smiled at me, a wave given, recognising me from La Palma. We soon had a chain of men moving the crates and stacking them up just inside the main building, but where the wall was broken; if something exploded the blast would go outwards.
Heavy ammo crates were offloaded, men working up a sweat, soon boxes of RPGs, and if the FBI landed we'd have to explain them.
I thanked the man and wished him well, and he led his trucks out the gate. To the teams I said, ‘I want a few RPGs up on the roof. Break out the ammo.’ Up on the roof I transmitted, ‘Swifty, you hear me?’
‘Just about.’
‘Send two men back for ammo and RPGs.’
‘OK.’
‘And Swifty, our crate is here if you need anything.’
Down below I stepped into the brightly lit main terminal, the SEALs having grabbed long cushioned seats and rearranged them, backpacks and weapons down – and they already had chocolate and cake from the shop. ‘There are RPGs, so if you want to take them tomorrow you can, hit a truck with them.’
‘I'll have a man haul some, sir,’ Katowski suggested. ‘Boys like blowing shit up.’
When the Marines arrived I stepped out, and I finally waved them over, the Major and is captains down first.
‘How is it?’ Major Morgen asked me, taking in the damaged terminal as the helos loudly departed.
I noticed the Press Corp officers. ‘All quiet so far. Shop inside, toilets and showers.’
He pointed at a captain. ‘Front gate.’
That man led his platoon off.
‘Snipers,’ Morgen called. ‘Air Traffic Control.’ He pointed at a second captain. ‘Roof.’ To a fourth he said, ‘In the damaged building.’ He finally ordered, ‘South side, dig in.’
I loudly told them, ‘I have men patrolling the south side, so you don't shoot unless shot at - and are sure of who the fuck you're firing at!’
I led him up to the roof, the Press Corp officers close by. Pointing, I began, ‘Treeline has my men, local patrols, so we won't be getting any surprises from there tonight.