Wilco- Lone Wolf 6

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘And injured men and hostages?’

  ‘Pick-up on the road, since I’m working on the assumption that we’d leave no one alive.’

  ‘Reinforcements from the town?’ Moran floated.

  ‘Planes would be down and off in minutes, we can hold the road. It’s a flat straight road, so we can hit them 700yards out, they’d never even see us.’

  ‘No HALO?’ Moran asked.

  ‘Why risk ankles?’ I posed.

  The first “A” Squadron team came back in just after midnight, no issues to report, a nice stroll had, my two teams soon back safe, nothing seen, but the second “A” Squadron team needed the doctors, a nasty leg cut from a piece of metal sticking out of the desert. It would need stitches. When asked, I said that the man stays with us – and to stop whinging.

  Everyone bedded down, and at 1am I put my head down, awake at 6am and peeing in the sand. I kicked up Moran, and he stuffed down some biscuits and water before finding the sleepy French pilot. Moran came back, the French pilot refusing to land on the salt lake, so I sent Swifty with Moran, and the Cessna made a noise as it took off.

  An hour later my sat phone trilled. ‘It’s Swifty, we’re on that salt flat, good place to land, it’s solid, fucking miles across, but there’s some old animal bones, even a submerged car, so have to choose where we land.’

  ‘OK, try and find a stick, or use your rifle, and mark a line four hundred yards long in the best spot, write some letters in the salt.’

  ‘Will do, engine is ticking over, don’t dare shut it down.’

  The Cessna landed back an hour later, most of the lads now firing at distant rocks. As I walked around to the Cessna, so did an unhappy French pilot – now awake and with it. Engine shut down, the pilot had a look at the wheels.

  ‘Solid as a rock,’ Moran told him.

  I told the grumpy pilot, ‘Any damage, my government pays,’ Moran translating. I grabbed the two Skyvan pilots, who were stood watching us. ‘Thirty miles off is a salt flat. Take Moran and two men, go land on it, there’s a strip marked out. Make an assessment and back.’

  ‘Salt flat?’ they queried.

  ‘Moran just landed the Cessna on it, it’s solid.’

  They exchanged looks, not exactly thrilled, and started engines on the Skyvan before I sent Moran, Swifty and Slider over to them. Map checked, they took off and headed east.

  At noon I had everyone get under ponchos again, some practise, and I dozed a little myself till I heard the Skyvan. Easing up, water drunk as I knelt in the sand, I ducked under the flap and wandered around to the apron in bright sunlight as the Skyvan taxied to me.

  Engines powering down, the lads walked out the rear and to me. ‘Easy,’ Swifty said. ‘Solid enough. What was that French pilot whinging about, eh.’

  ‘We go now,’ I said. ‘Get everyone ready to move.’ When the pilots reached me, I said, ‘We fly back now, you and the Islander, before sun down. Check fuel, please.’

  I turned and walked around to the tent. Our MOD guy was dozing in the heat when I kicked his leg.

  ‘Uh, what is it?’ he asked, groggy.

  ‘Get some water, get alert, we’re moving out on the job. I’ll give you the plan in ten minutes.’

  Beyond the tent, dusty men packing kit, I took down the flysheet - it would be coming with me, and I rolled up my brown poncho, extra water bottles packed into small backpacks; we’d each have three large bottles at the start of this. Water bottles topped up, I had everyone assemble on the tarmac, eyes squinting under caps in the bright sun.

  ‘OK, we now have a plan, we have intel, and we’re moving out today – before the hostages are killed. We think we know where they are, and we’ll go have a look, maybe just to abort. We think ... they are at an old abandoned mine a few miles north of the target town, local intel supporting that.

  ‘Local intel suggested that the mine was in use, and a fly-by confirmed that. What we then found was a salt flat suitable for aircraft, half way to where we need to go. The Cessna landed on it, marked out a strip, and the Skyvan landed on it, no problem.

  ‘Echo will move to that salt flat now and move north east overnight, to be in position around dawn, eyes on. We’ll make an assessment, and may abort at that point. There is a road that the aircraft can land on if need be.

  ‘”A” Squadron will leave a rescue team behind, one to go by jeep or plane if there is problem, a few select men to come with us and provide cover on the road as we hit the mine. The make-up of the teams is up to you.’ I faced “A” Squadron. ‘Now ... does anyone want to whinge about not being on the job?’

  The “A” Squadron men exchanged looks.

  ‘OK,’ I began. ‘Hands up six “A” Squadron men for the rescue team.’

  Only one raised his hand.

  ‘As I suspected, all keen to do their bit.’ I turned my head. ‘Smitty, Slade, rescue team. Injured man with the leg wound, rescue team. Fresh Captain, rescue team. And the guy who raised his hand. You’ll come out by plane or jeep if we get shot up and need some help. You will also maintain a stag here, just in case.

  ‘Medics, we’ll send you updates, and when the Skyvan comes to get hostages or wounded I want you -’ I pointed at the male doctor. ‘- and a nurse on it. If the jeep needs to go out, two medics in it.

  ‘If all goes well, then we’ll call in the Skyvan for hostages, to set down on the road, the men walking back to the pick-up point. Islander needs to be ready to come out as well just in case.’

  I pointed at the man from the MOD. ‘Make a phone call, you have ten minutes to ... refine our approach.’

  I lifted my own phone and called Bob. ‘Listen, we’re about to go do the job. There’s a salt flat half way to where we think they are, and we landed the planes on it today to test it, no problems, so we’ll take the men there, then walk thirty miles at night, make an assessment – local extremists are supposed to be in an old mine a few miles north of the town in question.

  ‘We’ll move on them if it looks good, Skyvan landing on the road for hostages or wounded. We walk back to the salt flats and out.’

  ‘Sounds straight forwards, no different to the other jobs. What are the risks?’

  I made a face. ‘Getting lost in the desert, no hostages, some well trained men expecting us, unserviceable aircraft, a plane going down with us in it.’

  ‘I have confidence in you not getting lost in the desert, hostages could be dead or moved, I doubt they’re well trained, and as for the aircraft – little we can do. Are “A” Squadron playing nice?’

  ‘So far, yes. I’ll call Rawlson now.’

  I dialled the old base number, the same as the new base number. ‘Duty officer.’

  ‘It’s Wilco, getting a tan in the desert, I need the Colonel.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  ‘Captain?’ came Rawlson’s patronising voice.

  ‘We’re about to launch our operation, sir.’ I gave him the detail.

  ‘And the downside risk?’

  ‘Stray round through a leg, aircraft unserviceable or they crash. Your men are not going to storm a stronghold, they’ll provide sniper support at a distance.’

  ‘Seems OK. Good luck.’ He hung up, leaving me staring at the phone for a moment.

  I checked my spare batteries, called Moran, and he called the two “A” Squadron troop sergeants, so we were all talking. “A” Squadron had light kit, small backpacks, but I had them carry extra water.

  Halting, I had an idea, and grabbed a HALO bag, stuffing water and ammo inside, and we’d leave it at the salt flats. Six of Echo boarded the Skyvan, six “A” Squadron with us, the rest to board the Islander, and we taxied around, no objections having come from our MOD handler. Power on, we took off in a hundred yards and banked over to the right, and half an hour later we lined up on Swifty’s stick line.

  ‘That what you call a straight line is it?’ I shouted.

  ‘You try drawing a line with a stick.’

  I shook my head at him. />
  A smooth touchdown was made with the ramp powering up, and as the brakes were hit we moved out, the HALO bag lugged, and I led them northeast towards a stark mirage, the Islander loudly circling above.

  Without looking back I heard the Skyvan take off and the Islander touch down, and we were all sweating as we reached the edge of the salt flats and the start of the sand.

  Heavy HALO bag dumped, we waited for the rest of the lads, a flat expanse offering us advanced notification of any movement, the shimmering horizon hard to look at for any length of time.

  With everyone finally assembled, and looking hot and bothered, we formed teams. ‘OK, with your oppo, in your teams, call it out if there’s a problem. We have an hour’s sunlight left, then it’ll cool down nicely. On me.’ I led them off at a brisk pace, Swifty at my side, Moran and Mahoney behind, orange sand ahead, tinted by the later afternoon sun.

  ‘Skipper,’ Tomo loudly called. ‘Are we going mad if we see a mirage on the horizon?’

  ‘Depends on what you’re seeing,’ I shouted back.

  ‘Just that from back here ... Rocko looks slimmer.’

  The lads laughed as Rocko threatened to leave Tomo pinned out in the desert.

  I checked my compass.

  ‘Not sure of the way?’ Mahoney teased.

  ‘We just head that way, towards that patch of sand, slightly left of that other bit of sand. And don’t tell me we use our shadows, because our shadows are moving. Sun don’t set in the west, it sets slightly northwest; Earth’s tilt.’

  ‘I knew that,’ he lamely protested. ‘Just checking you knew that.’

  I shot him a look, Mahoney laughing.

  The sun dipped low, shadows elongated across brown sand, shadows starting to disperse across dark brown sand, and then they were gone.

  ‘Look!’ Swifty called, and ran over to something, kneeling.

  I closed in. ‘Human.’

  Swifty swept sand away, and tugged at clothing, Mahoney lifting a rifle that appeared completely preserved.

  I pointed at the rifle. ‘1890, French Foreign Legion.’

  ‘Worth something?’ Mahoney asked.

  ‘Yes, so leave it, get it on the way back.’

  Everyone had a quick look before we lost all the light, and we plodded on, scuffing up hard compacted sand, but after two hours slog I had them make a brew. We sat cross-legged, dug out a small hole, and got the hexamine going, not worried about being taken by surprise out here.

  Swifty noted, ‘That poor fucker back there got lost and ran out of water.’

  ‘Or maybe shot by a Bedouin,’ Mahoney noted.

  ‘Or pinned out and left to die,’ Moran put in. ‘Without water you’d last a day.’

  ‘French lost a lot of men here,’ I noted. ‘And many a young man with a broken heart signed up, plus a few facing charges back home. And in 1890 they were still sending convicts to Devil’s Island.’

  ‘That place real?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘Modern day Aruba, I think, or near there. No escape when you’re on an island.’

  ‘But that guy Papillion escaped,’ Mahoney noted.

  ‘I read the book about it, and they say he made it up whilst sat in a bar on the mainland, French Guyana.’

  ‘History debunked,’ Mahoney said with a sigh.

  ‘Smell that?’ I asked.

  ‘Smell’s damp,’ Swifty noted. ‘But there’s no water.’

  ‘There’s moisture in the air,’ I said. ‘And when it gets cold it solidifies into droplets on the sand, hence the damp smell.’

  ‘It can be collected,’ Mahoney told us. ‘One square metre of plastic, one half cup per night.’

  ‘Not much to survive on,’ Swifty noted. ‘Need a lot of plastic.’

  Brew down us, all feeling better, we formed up, one foot in front of the other. We had the stars, but they also moved – rather the Earth moved, so I checked with my compass as well, the Orion Constellation clear and distinct above us, and I picked up the pace.

  Four hours later, sweating a little despite the chill air, I halted everyone and got a brew on. I clicked on my radio and checked that “A” Squadron were still with us back there, and they seemed to be a hundred yards back.

  ‘Rocko,’ I called. ‘Get our coordinates off your sat phone.’

  He came and showed me the readout as I sat with Moran, map out.

  I fixed our position. ‘Good navigation so far, just about half a mile too far south. So we go north a bit then northeast.’

  Setting off again, I led them due north, counting my paces, before turning northeast again.

  An hour later I we started to sink. ‘Back up!’ I shouted, and we struggled to get away from the quick sand. ‘Small pocket of quick sand.’

  Concerned now, the lads were careful where they stepped, and I decided to go north rather than south, finding firm footing. Seeing a low ridge, I headed for it, and we adopted the ridge since it was roughly going the right way.

  ‘There water here?’ Swifty asked through the dark.

  ‘No, that was dry quicksand,’ I explained.

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Soft sand accumulates, then it rains every few years, and a strong layer builds up on top, mud in the rain when it falls. That creates a crust, we went through the crust.’

  ‘Would that suck a man down?’ he asked.

  ‘No, just make it hard to walk, and not even wet quick sand sucks a man down – you sink if you move, and then very slowly, not like in the movies.’

  Heading along the ridge we made good time, but the soft sand under our feet had become sharp rocks in places. I sent a warning over the radio, because a man tripping here could cut himself badly.

  The rocks led to a kind of dried river bed, pebbles found, and we followed it, a few small bushes noted, and as we got closer to the expected road the number of small bushes increased, we even glimpsed a distant light; this was not a lifeless hellhole.

  Seeing a vehicle’s headlights on the distant road, I had Rocko check our position, and we were a mile or two north of the mine, which was fine. Just that the sun would be up soon. Moving towards an area of thicker bushes, I led the men through, and we closed in on the road, little traffic seen as we approached, and this was now a risk.

  I clicked on the radio. ‘”A” Squadron, back-up, go south a mile, find cover four hundred yards back from the road, spread out in teams, ready to snipe on that road where you see it join the track for the mine. You need to be in position and hidden inside an hour. Go.’

  I got Echo as close as we could to the road, little cover near the road, had everyone bunch up, then we ran over in a mad dash. Across the road the rocky ridges began, and I hid the men, Swifty and Mahoney sent back to sweep our tracks as we covered them, the sky above us now a medium blue.

  I took out my sat phone and punched numbers.

  ‘Captain Harris here.’

  ‘We’re at the target mine, be in position in half an hour, send the Skyvan to loiter, five miles away, above ten thousand – as discussed.’

  ‘I’ll send it now, they’re sat ready.’

  Moving off through a steep sided ridge, but walking in soft sand at its base, I had them spread out in case of ambush, and I followed the steep-sided trail till it levelled off, and looking south we could see the old mine. With every man bent double, they crossed open ground and ducked behind a ridge, but we now had to carefully negotiate sharp rocks as the sun came up.

  With the sun fully up, I peered down through my sights from the spot I had chosen, the mine just four hundred yards from us, the lads hidden in a crag. Swifty and Moran were at my side, small bushes hiding us.

  ‘Main building has smoke,’ Moran whispered.

  ‘I see ... six jeeps and two trucks from here,’ Swifty noted. ‘Could be more.’

  ‘Six jeeps and two trucks suggests thirty-forty men,’ I noted.

  As we observed, four armed men drove off.

  I clicked on my radio. ‘”A” Squadron, you hear me?
’

  ‘Just about, weak signal.’

  ‘Did you see those vehicles leave?’

  ‘What vehicles? Oh, hang on, two jeeps just joined the road and turned south.’

  ‘You have a good position then?’

  ‘Yeah, all set-up, some of the lads well hidden just two hundred yards from the road.’

  ‘Standby, we may go soon.’ Off the radio I said, ‘How about ... we spread out and get close, “A” Squadron creates a diversion. Simple.’

  ‘Straight forwards enough,’ Moran said. ‘We don’t know how many men, but those buildings can’t hold too many men. And we hit any reinforcements on the open road.’

  ‘There!’ Swifty hissed. ‘White hostage.’

  Peering down, I could see the man use an outhouse toilet and return to the main building. I clicked on the radio. ‘Rizzo, go far left with three men. Rocko, three men, around to the right, towards that rusty old digger. Rest will sneak down and get close. Nicholson, stay here and snipe. “A” Squadron, five minutes, I’ll ask you for a diversion. You have grenades?’

  ‘No, but we have stun grenades.’

  ‘Good enough. Standby.’

  I called Captain Harris. ‘We’re above the mine, western hostages seen, so this is the right place, be attacking soon.’

  ‘OK, got that.’

  I eased back and moved around the ridge bent-double, down a sandy slope whilst hidden by a mound of whatever had been originally mined here, and we moved right up to the main building, coming at it from behind the outhouse.

  Knelt waiting, another hostage came out, an armed local behind him. I had no facemask on, and I made sure I was seen by the hostage, waving him over. He glanced over his shoulder, the gunman not paying attention, and ran. That elicited a shout from the gunman, and five Arab gunmen came running.

  Silencers on, and tense now, we waited till they passed us, turned and fired, up and running through the sand a second later, and as I approached the open door a man appeared. Two rounds to the mid section, and he was knocked back, and I aimed over him, seeing six men knelt down praying, their backs to me. As they eased up I put a round into each back, Swifty firing as well, both of us leaping over the body in the doorway and moving inside whislt rubbing shoulders.