Wilco- Lone Wolf 6

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘They deny we pay for hostages, but we do,’ the Major noted with a sigh.

  I nodded, still groggy. ‘They admitted as much. But Mally wasn’t worked over, nor the pilots, but the pilots never got any medical care, so they were in a bad way.’

  I tackled some paperwork, soon hearing a helicopter land, the Colonel and the RSM striding into the hangar, a few people saluting. I saluted outside the Portakabin and welcomed them inside, the kettle knocked on.

  ‘Are you recovered?’ Rawlson asked, but in a detached way. ‘Shot in the arm, was it?’

  ‘Ricochet, sir. And they operated this morning. I did ask them not to leave a scar.’

  The RSM laughed, getting a quick look from the Colonel.

  ‘I’d like to hear what happened, exactly what happened, and why I have a grieving family.’

  ‘Of course, sir. The plan was to assault an old mine a few miles north of the target town, where Intel had put hostages. Local intel suggested the mine as a base, not the town, and a fly-by at night confirmed that. The fly-by also confirmed roadblocks, so driving in was not an option.’

  ‘And driving across the desert?’ Rawlson nudged.

  ‘Seventy miles of rocks, ridges and quicksand, sir.’

  He nodded.

  I continued, ‘So we successfully assaulted the mine and got the hostages for no wounded, but they were the wrong hostages.’

  ‘French.’

  ‘Yes, sir. And for that assault your men provided sniper support, they were never brought forwards.’

  ‘You planned to keep them out of the action?’

  ‘I planned ... to give them a less risky role, yes. But when we found the French hostages I knew that the ex-SAS lads and the two pilots were in the town, and that us killing the hostage takers at the mine would have resulted in their deaths.’

  ‘Couldn’t be certain of that,’ he nudged.

  ‘I think I could, sir.’ I held my stare on him. ‘So we grabbed vehicles and formed teams, to move on the town before they woke up and realised what we had done to their in-laws.’

  ‘And you planned to leave the French hostages behind?’

  ‘Several grabbed weapons and had military experience, so I told them to wait in the rocks, and that we would be back.’

  ‘A bit of a risk for them?’

  ‘No more than being executed when the ransom demand wasn’t paid.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I asked for “A” Squadron to come with us, but they hesitated, so I decided to leave them behind.’

  ‘But you took them?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Several of the men expressed a desire to come. So I left a team behind to cover the road, and took six “A” Squadron lads on a truck. We drove in, the townsfolk mostly asleep, and to the large central compound, went over the wall and found our hostages, and got them out.’

  ‘One killed.’

  ‘Yes, one took a round to head as we fled.’

  ‘You left him.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Could have still been alive.’

  ‘Since I could see his exposed brains, a big hole through his head, I guessed not.’

  He nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We drove out the town, but the locals came out shooting, minor wounds picked up, and we returned to the mine, only to find a shootout in process, where your man was wounded, a scrape. We flanked the gunmen and killed them, called down the aircraft, and got the wounded and “A” Squadron off.’

  ‘And your lot walked back.’

  ‘Yes, sir, three days.’

  ‘Having the time stop and dig up remains of Legionaries.’

  ‘Yes, sir, six of them.’

  ‘And what is that you’re not telling me?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Did anything happen beyond your sanitised report?’ He waited.

  ‘What is it that you think you know?’ I cheekily asked.

  ‘I know some of it. So, how would you candidly appraise my men?’

  I glanced at the Major. ‘Well, my men went for a run whilst yours sat around.’

  ‘Did you tell them to go for a run?’

  ‘No, I leave your men to themselves on these types of jobs.’

  ‘You had command on the ground.’

  ‘They had their own captain with them, and I’m ... reserved when dealing with your men. Saves a shouting match.’

  ‘There shouldn’t be a ... shouting match.’

  ‘They’re not my men, sir.’ I waited.

  ‘So what else did they do, or not do – as is the case?’

  ‘They all volunteered to take part in this job, but ... when it came to the crunch they wished a less risky pass-time – some of them at least.’

  ‘Begs the question as to why they volunteered,’ Rawlson noted to himself. ‘And what else might you share with me, before it comes around to bite me on the arse.’

  I glanced at the Major again. ‘When we drove out the town, your men shot at civvies, despite several radio warnings. I saw kids hit.’

  ‘Jesus,’ the RSM let out.

  I added, ‘And now ... now my men don’t want yours on these jobs.’

  ‘Because some are trigger happy and like to spray it around,’ Rawlson stated.

  ‘Yes, sir, my men are more careful around civvies, and know what I’d do to them.’

  ‘And were there witnesses?’

  ‘In the town, yes. My men, yes, but we’ve not levelled a formal complaint, and won’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s a grey area. A man shoots at your men, they shoot back, but spray it around, and hit that man’s kids.’

  ‘Yes, a grey area. And single well-aimed shots?’

  ‘May have saved a few kids, sir. No point in saving eight French hostages if we shoot dead eight kids. What’s the point?’

  ‘Indeed,’ he testily agreed. ‘And the blame lies..?’

  ‘With the hostage takers. If you, sir, kidnap someone at gunpoint and take them back to your house, your wife and kids there, and the police storm in shooting, whose fault is it that your wife and kids and killed?’

  ‘It would be mine, for doing something like that in the first place. Yes, a good answer, Captain. And are you likely to call upon my men in the future?’

  ‘Yes, sir, because we won’t improve things by ignoring you.’

  ‘And how do we deal with these men?’ he posed.

  ‘Shit jobs, fines. Let them know they did wrong, within a grey area, and maybe they learn from it. You can’t bin six good men, you’d have no one left.’

  ‘Indeed. And your decision to move on that town – that led to them spraying it around?’

  ‘Can you really imagine life around here ... if we left behind four men we knew and drunk with, trained with?’

  ‘Would be a few long faces, yes.’

  ‘Be a few people quitting,’ I said. ‘Quite a few. And my orders were to get those men, not the French. Moving on the town was following those orders.’

  ‘And is this incident likely to make it to the press?’ he asked.

  I made a face. ‘If the Red Crescent visit that town and take pictures, maybe. But then I would release a counter-story.’

  ‘You have no desire to punish those men?’ he pressed.

  ‘As I said, it was a grey area. If it had been a cold blooded murder I would have dealt with that man there and then – and harshly. For all I know, your men felt under threat, saw weapons aimed at them, and panicked. Can’t punish them for that.’

  ‘And your honest opinion?’ he pressed.

  ‘One or two were smiling, and spraying it, and enjoying that. Punishing the six would get the message across, sir.’

  ‘And if one of your men did that?’

  ‘I beat the shit out of him, then bin him, sir.’

  He nodded, thinking to himself. ‘And how did your Lone Wolves do finally?’

  ‘Better in some areas than others. The good thing was ... they all had a good attitude, none q
uit, and they gelled – no in-fighting, and that gives us a good base to work on.’

  ‘And my two, on loan?’

  ‘Both very good lads, good attitude, good skills. Gonzo did the Lone Wolf course, and his map reading is much better, route planning. I’d send him off on a job alone and not worry.’

  ‘Map reading was deficient?’

  ‘Advanced map reading, recon, making sketches – all needed some work, and I had them looking at photos and matching the photos to the maps and vice versa. We wanted them to read the map, and see it in their minds, then to think about a recon sketch, judging distance, noting movement.’

  ‘They’re two years in, and their map reading was not up to it?’

  ‘Not to our level, no, sir.’

  ‘Could I send some men for a one day test of such things?’

  ‘Yes, sir, we have all the notes and training aids.’ I lifted a black and white photo of the Major’s desk. ‘Have a good look, sir. First, where are the sentries?’

  The RSM eased closer and peered in. ‘There?’

  ‘No. Men are tall, and have shadows. Look for the shadows.’

  ‘Here,’ Rawlson said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Easy when someone gives you a clue,’ Rawlson noted.

  ‘From that photo you should be able to judge distance, make a floor plan, work out a way in. That’s what they lack. They also fell for simple tricks.’

  ‘Tricks?’ the RSM asked.

  ‘We gave them a scenario, and my lad Tomo got it right. He told Captain Harris that if he wanted my lad to move down the valley in question he could fuck off and do it himself. It was a death trap. Most lads simply tried to figure a route.’

  ‘When the correct answer was not to try,’ Rawlson noted.

  ‘Captain Harris has all the detail, and he can pop up to you any time, sir.’

  ‘We’ll sort that soon. Had five lads in the Leominster prison the other week, and one snuck out and left the others, who got caught. Hardly team work.’

  I smiled. ‘They like to compete and show off.’

  ‘And shag each other’s wives and shoot each other,’ Rawlson grumbled. He stood. We stood. ‘We wait to see if there’ll be any fallout from Niger. Thank you, Captain. Major.’

  I walked him to his helicopter and saluted.

  At 9pm that evening Fishy drove down, and knocked on my door.

  ‘I thought we had a gate to keep people like you out,’ I teased, letting him in, kettle knocked on. Swifty came out of the lounge and sat at the kitchen table, staring at Fishy.

  Fishy began, ‘Rawlson is on the war path, lot of us in the shit.’

  ‘He came down to see me,’ I told him.

  ‘Did he ask about the job?’

  ‘He did, in detail.’

  ‘And he knew that the lads sprayed it around a bit?’

  ‘He knew that ... before he came down, and insisted I confirm what happened.’

  ‘I shouted at two of the lads, they were spraying it around a bit as we drove out that town.’

  ‘And if there was someone with a camera, we’re all a bit fucked, not least me – the man in charge.’

  We all sat with the teas.

  ‘Rawlson has fined the six of us, shit jobs, no perks.’ Fishy sipped his tea. ‘He’s suggesting we won’t work with you.’

  I made a face. ‘I didn’t tell him that.’

  Swifty put in, ‘You knobheads shot up civvies. What’s the fucking point in rescuing six to kill six?’

  ‘Don’t blame me, I heard the radio message and I got down.’

  ‘Then you need to chat to Rawlson,’ I suggested.

  ‘He knows who was trigger happy. Gossip goes around like wildfire.’

  I nodded and sipped my tea.

  Fishy asked, ‘And if charges are brought?’

  ‘I’d be vague,’ I told him. ‘You lot were under my command. You can just say you were nervous, under fire, firing back, moving truck – and not say that some of your lot like shooting civvies.’

  ‘The two trigger happy lads, they have young kids,’ Fishy mentioned.

  ‘Fucked up or what,’ Swifty let out.

  ‘What happened to the wounded man?’ I asked.

  ‘We think it was the hospital, bubbles in the IV drip,’ he explained. ‘He was fine, minor wound, stupid black doctors.’

  ‘A blood clot can happen any time, even from a scrape,’ I told him.

  Bob rang the next morning. ‘I have a Parliamentary Select Committee to attend soon, but they’ve asked for you.’

  ‘Can they force me to attend?’

  ‘The can force any civil servant, and that’s you and me, but they’ve never called anyone under a colonel before.’

  ‘What they after?’

  ‘They might not be after anything specific, and most members are friendly to us, just four who might want to see the government embarrassed.’

  ‘I don’t mind attending, they won’t trick me.’

  ‘Things you say are recorded, and could be used in court later. We could block your attendance and put Rawlson up instead.’

  ‘He’d fuck it up, and he doesn’t know half of what we do. No, I’ll do it. I’ve attended a dozen enquiries, no big deal.’

  ‘Tomorrow, suit and tie. No gun!’

  ‘Sunglasses and moustache?’ I teased.

  ‘Cameras are switched off.’

  ‘Then I’ll travel up tonight, book me into the usual hotel.’

  At 10pm, MP Peter and I sat in the hotel bar in suits, beers in hand, taunting the SO13 guy on duty – who could not enjoy a beer.

  Up early, I sat watching the TV news over and over, had a good breakfast with MP Peter and the SO13 guy – who had driven home and then come back, and we set out in plenty of time.

  No one recognised us as we met one of Bob’s guys outside Parliament, ID badges issued, and I was led in, MP Peter and the SO13 guy off to a waiting room. Up the stairs we trod, wide old stone stairs, and I took in the ornate ceiling. I was led down a long corridor, left, and to an ornate old door, ushers outside.

  ID checked, names ticked, we were allowed in, and I found Bob and his team, some sort of waiting area. After ten minutes of idle chat, Bob careful about what he said, we were requested, led in, two seats on a long table for us facing the MPs, eleven of them in a half circle, a few people sat behind us, but no journalists.

  ‘Thank you both for attending here today,’ a man began, and I recognised him from the TV. Few others I recognised, two women, the rest men. ‘I trust you are recovered, Captain?’

  ‘Recovered from ... what?’

  ‘From the injury you sustained in Niger, and your long walk.’

  ‘Ah. Minor injury, I’ve had much worse, and the walk was fun, I love the desert. No great hardship.’

  ‘What you call fun ... most would see as hell on Earth.’

  ‘The deserts and the jungles can be tamed, and you can grow to love them.’

  ‘Indeed. Well, making a start, we have quite a few questions, not least those generated by your ... publicity agents.’

  ‘Publicity agents?’ I asked with a smirk.

  ‘You tend to have an embedded journalist with you, a cosy relationship with The Sun newspaper and others.’

  ‘Very much so, and publicity is important. Some senior officers have suggested that such publicity has turned upwards a decline in recruitment to the armed forces, to the SAS, to the RAF Regiment and the RAF medics, which benefits us all greatly.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘What the MOD wants ... is more young men to choose from, therefore a better quality of serviceman.’

  The chairman nodded. ‘Well, I won’t hog the questions, we’ll start with the Right Honourable Member for Paisley.’

  A grey haired man eased forwards. ‘Captain, what do you say ... to those who accuse you of having a ... shoot to kill policy.’

  ‘All soldiers the world over have a shoot to kill policy.’

  ‘Well ... hardly.�
��

  ‘Have you ever been to a shooting range?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll see a target shaped like a man, a white square in the centre of the chest, and all soldiers the world over aim for that spot, and have done since the advent of the rifle. They aim to kill, a shot to the heart, not a shot to the legs.’

  ‘Let me rephrase it then. Do you have a shoot to kill policy when you could wound or apprehend?’

  ‘Personally, or the SAS?’

  ‘Is there a difference?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you explain the difference?’

  ‘In Northern Ireland I shot many terror suspects in the arse, or the shoulder, instead of kill shots.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I felt that a good trial was better than a riot and some revenge killing of a young soldier.’

  ‘Your policy then ... differed to SAS policy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So the SAS had a shoot to kill policy.’

  ‘Basic training in the SAS teaches that a dead man won’t shoot back, so you shoot to kill, and you shoot several times, and that’s a policy born out of necessity ... because the SAS soldier is often alone or in a small team, a long way from back-up.

  ‘If they wound a man, then that man may fire back, pull a pin on a grenade. So the policy is that of an isolated man, a policy of shoot to kill as being the less dangerous route for the isolated man.’

  ‘An interesting analogy. And would you say that the SAS are ... trigger happy?’

  Bob stiffened a little.

  ‘Again, it comes down to culture and practise. SAS soldiers are taught to storm a building, no time to mess about, to get to the hostages before they’re all killed. So moving fast, and firing many rounds at hostage takers, is the agreed policy. That they’re told to do, and the same applies to the jungle. In most circumstances, the small SAS team is outnumbered, so they have a policy of automatic fire.’

  ‘You say they ... not we.’

  ‘I’m part of a special hostage rescue team that I put together. We don’t have an SAS policy, we have my policy.’

  ‘And it differs?’

  ‘It does differ in some areas, yes, because I have personal control of policy, so it’s natural that my ... attitude and outlook is stamped on to the unit philosophy.’

  ‘And what is that philosophy, when it comes to pulling the trigger?’