Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

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Wilco- Lone Wolf 19 Page 36

by Geoff Wolak


  A hundred yards short of the building I stumbled into a ditch and so got the Echo teams in alongside me, Running Bear on my left. I could sense Salome, and smell her. Scanning the flat top of the compound wall I could see no heads looking out.

  ‘It’s Swifty, and there's a small broken wall, south, we're behind it and down.’

  ‘Watch the road, reposition if you need to.’

  We waited.

  ‘It’s Mitch, and we're three hundred yards short of the building, and we can smell cigarette smoke.’

  ‘Get down, watch your rear. Nicholson, take a look behind you for a minute.’

  I waited.

  ‘All clear, Boss.’

  ‘Snipers, count to ten, get the men in the trench, then armed men in the building, then anyone on the road. Swifty, when you hear the action hit anyone on the road. Standby. Snipers, you call it.’

  Echo got ready in the ditch, but I held off aiming at anything, an eye along the compound wall.

  The blasts sounded out, no silencers used, not that I cared; I wanted the men in the town to hear us. The sounds of shattering glass registered through the dark, and I could hear the cracks to my left and see muzzle flashes as I knelt in cold sandy soil.

  Women started to rush out, screaming.

  ‘Don't target the women,’ I reminded the teams as the ladies ran off down the hill, all in practical shoes and none in high heels.

  The firing eased, and then ceased.

  I transmitted, ‘Moran, Rizzo, go right and peek up over the wall, rest on me. All teams, we're moving in.’

  I rushed forwards and to the wall, my back to the wall as others copied, soon moving around to the front and the closer to the bright shaft of light coming from inside.

  An old man appeared, unarmed, shocked by seeing me.

  ‘Go down the hill. I am Petrov.’

  ‘Petrov!’

  ‘Go. Vamos.’

  Henri noted, ‘Vamos is we go, or let’s go, not you go.’

  The old man hobbled off down the road, so he got the gist of what I was saying. Rifle slung, pistol out, I peered inside, a few bodies scattered around, blood up the nice white walls, a central courtyard. Two of the guards had been hit in the head by long-casing rounds, their brains up the wall six feet, so it was no wonder the women ran.

  Inside, I pointed my pistol to the right and fired twice, an old guard killed.

  A loud crack from ahead, and I could see Rizzo and Moran aiming in and down from the north wall, and they had shot someone.

  ‘It’s Moran, and we can't see anyone alive now.’

  ‘Slow and steady everyone.’ As I knelt I could see brightly lit rooms around the courtyard, unusually large windows facing inwards, floor to ceiling almost, maybe to keep an eye on the employees and the drugs.

  The teams filed in and started to search around – glass crunched under foot, drugs inspected, Salome opening filing cabinets. I checked the offices and the central courtyard, no one in here, no one alive at least.

  A phone rang so I lifted it. ‘This is Petrov, how may I help you?’

  ‘Petrov?’ The call was cut.

  ‘How rude was that,’ I quipped.

  ‘What?’ Slider asked from behind me.

  ‘Someone hung up on me.’

  ‘That is rude, yeah. Probably an Israeli.’

  ‘I heard that,’ Salome told him. ‘And not all Israelis are rude!’

  ‘Met many?’ I asked.

  She took a moment. ‘Some.’ She carried on searching.

  I told Slider, ‘All the drugs in plastic, stack it up by the door. Get ready to torch this place.’

  I nosed into rooms and looked at paperwork as the drugs were moved, Running Bear reading the paperwork for me. He kept a few pages to take back.

  When I returned to the door I stopped dead, a tonne of cocaine in plastic stacked there, my four spies counting bricks. ‘What the fuck?’

  Running Bear closed in. ‘The paperwork I have, it lists 100kg a week sent out, but that this week they got 900kg.’

  ‘Someone Stateside placed a good order,’ I quipped. ‘Party time in Los Angeles!’ From the courtyard I called Carlos, and he would dispatch a Huey to this location.

  Outside, I transmitted, ‘Swifty, watch that road, we have a Huey coming in and I don't want any gunmen inside 500yards.’

  ‘Moving now.’

  ‘Mitch, you alone up there?’

  ‘All alone, and damn cold, but we can see armed men in jeeps at the edge of the town.’

  ‘Send a small patrol north 500yards.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  Back inside, I stopped and faced Rizzo. ‘You have cocaine all over you! Dust it off before you get high and pass out. And set fire to this place after the helo gets here.’

  Dicky used a sweeping brush to try and clean up Rizzo as Salome laughed at him, Sambo assisting with a hand brush he found.

  The Huey loudly announced its arrival fifteen minutes later, and it set down near the front door, two of the young soldiers on board, cocaine bricks soon being thrown aboard, the rear soon overflowing with white bricks. A thumbs up, and the Huey loudly departed into the black night sky, and it grew quiet again.

  ‘It’s Swifty, and I think we woke up the town with that helicopter, they're all coming up here.’

  ‘Spread your teams out ready, watch the south and west, no surprises. Get some cover, they will spray it. Mitch, move the American Wolves west, get fire positions, aim down the ridge. Nicholson, stay there, watch the rear, and use your sights on that road, call it out for us.’

  Rizzo and Dicky ran out the compound, a whoosh and a bright flash following. With the initial flames lessening they ventured back inside and threw furniture and desks on the fire, and from outside I could see flames reaching thirty feet high into a cold black sky. And so could the town’s folk.

  An Elephant Gun blasted out four rounds.

  ‘Report the firing.’

  ‘It’s Nicholson, and Tomo is trying to hit interesting targets in the town. I reckon on 2,000yards, but he seems to have hit the petrol station he was aiming at, neon sign went bang.’

  ‘Good, hit some more.’

  I led Echo west away from the compound, and to a low stone wall, all getting down and peering at the brightly lit town below us.

  ‘It’s Slider. Can we take pot shots?’

  ‘Yes, but don't hit civilians. Hit windscreens, businesses, things like that.’

  The cracks sounded out, men heard laughing.

  Moran peeked out from beside me, then eased back. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘With a bit of luck the morons in Tiujana will all drive up here tomorrow and have a go, since we just insulted them and stole their drugs. If they don't defend this town they lose face.’

  I faced his dark outline. ‘Anyway, when we get back I thought I'd have them make you up to major. You've done the years, and if you were regular army you'd be major by now and moving on.’

  ‘Well, yeah, probably. You want me behind a desk?’

  ‘No, no, just … more money and a better reflection of the years you put in to the Army.’

  ‘I got the bonuses, and they're worth more than a ten percent pay increase.’

  ‘Another bonus after this as well.’

  Salome put in, ‘I am a major, on paper, it means little.’

  Moran told me, ‘Those drugs must be worth millions.’

  ‘Here, not so much, on the streets of New York, yes. There's a hell of a mark-up.’

  ‘Look!’ someone shouted, and we all peered down. The petrol station was now a geyser of flame a hundred feet high.

  ‘It’s Tomo, and that was me.’

  ‘You win a cookie,’ I told him.

  ‘It’s Swifty, and the jeeps down below have halted, men out on foot and sneaking up.’

  ‘It’s Wolf Murphy, Boss, and I got me here a white man in with the spics.’

  ‘Who you calling a spic?’ came from Running Bear.

  �
�Sorry, Captain, no offence meant.’

  ‘Murphy, shoot the fucker if you have the shot. Then hit the spics, they're all in-bred and ugly anyhow.’

  My team laughed.

  ‘My parents were cousins, not brother and sister,’ Running Bear insisted.

  ‘Did you grow up on a reservation?’ I asked.

  ‘No, a tall apartment block. I got with the whole ancestors thing at sixteen years old. My men are proper Hispanics, I'm part Hispanic and part Sioux Indian, grew up eating at McDonald’s.’

  ‘It’s Murphy, Boss, and I got the white man.’

  ‘It’s Swifty, and there's now a hundred men sneaking up.’

  ‘All teams, all round defence, spread out, dig in, watch the cross-fire, and they will spray it around, so find some cover. Get ready.’

  ‘It’s Crab, and there's some guy down the ridge with an M60.’

  ‘Aim high, go for the shot.’

  Rounds started to crack overhead and hit the wall in front of us.

  Moran noted, ‘Random fire, they can't see us. And you can feel the energy gone from those rounds. This wall should be crumbling but the rounds just throw up dust.’

  I nodded unseen. ‘Casevac could be an issue if they get position on us.’

  A heavy volley of fire from the south, and I waited five minutes, glancing that way.

  ‘It’s Swifty, and they'll need some more men, the advance has been called off.’

  ‘Spoil sport,’ I told him.

  It grew quiet, the occasional shot, but whoever they had in the way of good men to throw at us - they had already been killed.

  I stood tall. ‘All teams, get a brew on, have some food, stay warm. They won't be back till midday tomorrow.’

  Sat with Moran, Salome joined us, cross-legged, and she was adept and getting the hexamine tabs alight quickly using a cigarette lighter on a thin wedge of hexamine.

  ‘People don't realise,’ she began. ‘Israel, it is warm in summer, but winter is like this, worse, we get snow on the high ground sometimes. And every time we hold an exercise, it’s winter time.’

  Moran asked her, ‘You started out in the regular army?’

  ‘Yes, all do it, but I did not fit in.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ I teased.

  Her dark outline shot me a look. ‘I like to get the job done. Others, they have their own ideas how to do something.’

  My phone trilled, Carlos. ‘We have the drugs, a good quantity. What are we doing with them?’

  ‘Test them, sell them, split the cut with Tomsk.’

  ‘I heard a rumour that Cholos was moving a big consignment, to make some money in a hurry. I think this could be that consignment.’

  ‘The paperwork said that they processed 100kg a week, but took delivery of 900kg.’

  ‘Yes, that would be it, so now he is mad, and desperate, and out of pocket.’

  ‘Make sure you are well protected there, just in case he wants his drugs back.’

  ‘It is not me he will be mad at. He will send men after you.’

  ‘Good, that’s what we want. Have someone watch the road south, get me some advance warning.’

  ‘I have eyes on that road, yes, and a man close to them. The reaction tomorrow will be interesting.’

  Sat on the stone wall after my brew, and now feeling warmer, I aimed high and took pot shots at jeeps, windscreens hit, trucks hit, shop windows hit. So much for being under the protection of the cartel; the town’s folk would be out of pocket, and mad.

  Salome joined me, several shots taken to hit a baker's neon sign.

  An hour later I had a team of British Wolves sent south a mile along the ridge. Greenie was north with a team, and I had him scout around further north, towards the main road east-west.

  As the dawn came up many of the men were asleep, wrapped up in ponchos, men from each team on stag and peering down at the sleepy town, Salome turning over inside her poncho.

  ‘It’s Swifty,’ came over the radio.

  ‘Go ahead'.

  ‘I can see a dead guy with some RPGs.’

  ‘Fetch them if it’s safe, fire them at the town but not at civvy houses.’

  ‘Sending a team now.’

  I stood tall and observed, a partial sight of the team moving cover to cover. I could not see them get the RPGs, but I saw the first rocket fired, a truck hit and set alight, second an office block – also set alight, two shop fronts, and finally another truck, tall smoke columns reaching up into the still morning air.

  Moran eased up and yawned, took a careful look at Salome, and peered down. ‘Woken them up?’

  ‘A slap about the face, a great insult delivered,’ I told him. ‘It will be pistols at dawn, twenty paces apart.’

  ‘That must have been odd, to stand apart and shoot at each other.’

  ‘I'd rather that to a sword in my stomach.’

  ‘Hell, yes. I don't think I would have liked being a soldier in 1800.’

  ‘As an officer you would have a servant, a man with a big bushy moustache and looking a lot like Rizzo's great granddaddy.’

  ‘Shit, that would be scary – he would shave me in the mornings.’

  ‘And bathe you,’ I pointed out.

  During the morning we observed the towns folk below go about their business, some clearing up or trying to tackle the fires that still burnt, others inspecting damaged windscreens and waving their arms about.

  The radio came to life. ‘Helicopters incoming! South!’

  ‘All teams, aim up, get some cover. Snipers, you're our front line, so get ready.’ I stood tall and peered south, soon seeing two Hueys, one white one and one red one.

  ‘This is embarrassing,’ came from Slider.

  ‘Door gunners,’ Moran noted.

  The drone grew, the helos now a thousand yards out, suddenly a man falling out as Echo teams laughed. The Hueys descended a little, getting faster it seemed, and they headed for the compound.

  I heard the Elephant Guns blasting out, the white Huey suddenly banking left and hitting the red Huey, a horrendous noise piercing the air as metal hit metal, both Hueys rushing to the ground.

  My eyes widened. ‘Down!’

  I shoved Salome down into the cold sandy soil, my body on top of hers, a thud heard and felt from the Hueys impact followed by metal whizzing past us, a crunch of metal, and what sounded almost like glass breaking.

  We lifted our heads to see the burning wreckage, smoke wafting away from us, a bloodied head on the sand near us, its body not attached. Salome wiped sand off her face and stared at the head.

  ‘That could have gone better,’ Moran noted, Salome dusting herself off. ‘Why don't these idiots know the range of an Elephant Gun?’

  ‘You know what a commercial Huey costs when new?’ I posed, taking in the burning wrecks. ‘Ten million quid.’

  ‘Shit...’ Moran let out. ‘Expensive hobby.’

  ‘And now the cartel is out of pocket, and out of pocket for the drugs.’

  ‘They'll be mad at us.’

  ‘Hope so.’

  ‘So what comes next?’ Moran posed as Echo stood staring at the burning wreckage.

  ‘Another lame attack. But we'll reposition after dark.’ I called Franks, the smell of burning oil and plastic all pervasive. ‘We raided the Tiujana Cartel's drug staging area and liberated 900kg, so that will hurt, and we just shot down two expensive Hueys, which will hurt even more – they don't come cheap.’

  ‘I'm asking the NSA for signals intel, should get some warning of movements.’

  ‘Carlos has people in place, south, and they'll see any large movements. Anything happening in Nicaragua?’

  ‘They searched the launch site, no one there, an Mi8 seen flying off northwest at about the time of the launches.’

  ‘I'd not hang around either. And these boys with the missiles, they're well-trained, so who are they?’

  ‘We asked the Panama Government about the wounded men they took delivery of, but they were just
hired drivers and well paid. They had bosses directing everything. And those bosses left before the cruise missiles were fired at you.’

  ‘Hispanic men?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They're not cartel, so we need to discover who found them, paid them, and trained them. And the Princess Ora?’

  ‘Was found adrift, southern end of Panama, no crew. A search revealed some odd items, but no missiles or launch ramp.’

  ‘The men launching the missiles seem to be a different crew to the cartels and the cannon fodder. But the crew of the ship east that fired, how did they plan to get away?’

  ‘With a carrier on fire, no one would have been looking for them,’ he insisted.

  ‘I think they wanted to live, so have a look at other ships inside forty miles, maybe one with a helo on deck. Or a submarine.’

  ‘Cartels have small submarines for drug running, nothing large.’

  ‘They have fast boats though, small radar profile, so maybe that crew was due to be picked up. Have a look anyway.’

  He called me back ten minutes later. ‘They got the bodies out of the plane wrecks at La Ninga, no ID on the pilots, but the two planes track back to the Nicaraguan Army. We spoke to them, and only now they notice the aircraft missing, but no pilots are missing, and they only have twelve – no grieving families.’

  ‘So the planes were borrowed, guards bribed, and the pilots were outsiders. There are two sets of men attacking La Ninga, the cannon fodder and the good boys. We need to find the good boys, and their middle man and paymaster.

  ‘What about that crashed transport plane with rockets; it had a flight plan from Venezuela?’

  ‘It took off from northwest Nicaragua, we have witnesses,’ Franks reported.

  ‘So why a mention of Venezuela?’ I wondered.

  ‘To throw us of the scent.’

  ‘Hardly, we're not that dumb. Do me a favour and check it’s fuel at take-off, it will be listed at the airport. And work out the range.’

  ‘I'll get someone on it.’

  Half an hour later my radio crackled. ‘It’s Nicholson, and we have some cheeky chappies coming up behind us?’

 

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