Wilco- Lone Wolf 6

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘And Colonel Roach employed ex-SAS men in Liberia...’

  ‘He did, and we killed many of them when they attacked us, those men’s expensive training paid for by the UK taxpayer across many years.’

  Bob put in, ‘So you can see why the profiling and selection of such men is desirable, and why it occupies our thoughts much of the time.’

  ‘And are such men likely to embarrass us in the future?’

  ‘Most definitely,’ I replied.

  ‘But not your men.’

  ‘I would hope not, my men know what they’re fighting for, and if you saw them giving first aid to hostages, and carrying those hostages out of danger, you might understand it.’

  ‘Just sixteen men.’

  ‘We’re tasked with hostage rescue, not policing the world or defending our shores.’

  ‘And these Lone Wolves?’

  ‘They were part of a new sniper training programme, the idea being that they could be called upon in a small war. Many regular soldiers attend sniper courses and then return to their parent units, available as unit snipers in a small war.’

  ‘And the main aim of this course you run?’

  ‘To be able to drop a man by parachute behind the lines, that he walks thirty miles, looks at some place and reports it, then walks back out safely. The emphasis was on map reading, photographic interpretation, analysis of enemy strengths.’

  ‘And would such trained men be available for SIS work?’

  I made a face. ‘I’m not sure what use SIS would have for such green-field soldiering; I’ve not heard of spies being dropped by parachute since the last war. The men were of interest to General Dennet more than Bob here, but Bob can call on any serviceman.’

  ‘Were the men profiled?’

  I turned to Bob.

  ‘They were, because again – we did not want highly trained unstable men. And in answer to your question, in the advent of a small war I would wish to make use of such men, yes. As a peace-time tool, they had the wrong training, but could be of use in some circumstances. We did, however, put a few civilian operators through the course, to augment their skills, as an experiment.’

  ‘And the result of that experiment?’

  ‘Wilco did something we had not asked for or expected, and he had the men work as a team, practising foreign languages – Russian, and in the Congo he made use of them when they posed as Russian gunmen at a key moment. It saved lives. And the attitude of the men improved 200%.’ He smiled. ‘The Wilco effect, we call it.’

  ‘I’ve heard senior officers use that phrase. Would you care to explain it?’

  Bob began, ‘Wilco has the fame, and young soldiers look up to him. So he travels around to meet new young recruits and gives them a pep talk. But what he did, that no one else has ever done, is to get the various RAF units, Army and Navy working together in a better way, combined exercises, and a much better attitude between the various units.’

  ‘Those units should all work seamlessly together anyhow.’

  Bob answered, ‘They should, but they don’t; petty unit jealousies.’

  ‘Like the rivalry between SAS and SBS?’

  ‘Since Wilco has been involved that rivalry has gone, and Wilco has SBS men on loan always, SBS teams in support.’

  ‘Then perhaps he is one in a million,’ the man joked.

  The questioning moved to the next man. ‘What’s significant ... is that the two of you are sat here together. Is it not the case that Echo Detachment is the growing private army of SIS?’

  Bob stiffened.

  I replied, ‘After Harold Wilson disbanded the old wartime SOE, SIS had to rely upon the SAS, SBS and people like 14 Intel in Northern Ireland. And you are all well aware ... that the units competed in a detrimental manner, and a fair number of them ended up doing more harm than good. The prisons are full of people that fell into the profile of men being ... useful to SIS.

  ‘What SIS wants, what the government wants, and what the taxpayer deserves, is a unit of men that are there to be police, not the criminals, men that have morals and good guidance, not childish rivalries or a desire to get rich. What you all want is a unit of men that get the job done well, but don’t rob a bank on the way home, that don’t rape the local women in Africa.

  ‘You are all well aware of previous embarrassments, and you are all aware that my unit has ... improved things somewhat. Part of that improvement may well be down to my influence, part is down to Bob’s desire to profile and select men carefully, and his desires got my unit started, and he has fostered the unit throughout.

  ‘If you’re claiming that we’re Bob’s private army, then we’re an army in good hands, and less likely to embarrass the British nation – as has happened in the past with men like Colonel Roach. My men are not trigger happy, but they are sent on many jobs, and very tough jobs, always heavily outnumbered – hence the high body count.

  ‘And I will finally add ... that many people in the MOD have ... resisted any attempts for Echo Detachment to be detached from the SAS or Army influence. I am one of those people. It is Echo Detachment of the SAS, not of SIS, and if that changes then I’ll quit and go do something else. I hope that answers your concern.’

  Out the meeting, I said to Bob, ‘Did I give anything away?’

  ‘If they ask a question and we’re found later to be lying, it’s a police matter, so better not to lie, and we didn’t – not really.’

  Back at the MOD building we spoke about Panama, Niger, and the Wolves, much talk of Sasha and his team before I headed off with MP Peter.

  In the morning, a newspaper was claiming I had been “Grilled under oath and admitted to a shoot to kill policy.” I laughed at that, and called Max at The Sun without conferring with Bob.

  The next day The Sun refuted the “grilled” claim, explained that I had volunteered to answer their questions and that it was all mild mannered, then took the piss something terrible with a man-soldier target having everything apart from arms and lower legs whited-out, with a message of:

  “From now on, British soldiers will be trained to shoot the enemy in the arms and lower legs only, in case they hurt the enemy soldiers. SAS soldiers will be required to shoot people in the feet only, in case they should kill someone by mistake.

  “Armed police officers will not be allowed to aim for the chest, but just the forearm, in case they hurt an armed terrorist too much. Lead bullets will be changed to ones made of Playdoh.

  “RAF bombers will now drop bombs with salt inside, in case they hurt enemy soldiers by mistake, and the Royal Artillery will fire shells containing flour. Great cost savings are expected.”

  The BBC and Sky News got involved in the debate, the MPs on the Select Committee in for some shit, the chairman of the committee appearing on the BBC and saying that it was ridiculous for soldiers to aim at arms and legs and that members should not have leaked details, and the details leaked were wrong. A few past generals gave their opinions on the matter.

  The next day my new weapons arrived, and many lads helped me set-up the targets.

  The Major came out and peered at the archery targets as I got my bow ready. ‘I know they criticised our shoot to kill policy, but this is bloody ridiculous.’

  I smiled. ‘Quiet killing techniques.’ I turned, aimed and fired, hitting the bull.

  ‘Smartarse,’ came from all sides.

  I faced them. ‘Years ago ... I learnt how to use a bow, so now you’re going to learn how. What you need to shoot straight ... is a strong left arm, good upper body, and a keen eye. And you all have that. Rocko.’

  I handed him the bow, fetched an arrow, and corrected his stance. ‘Keep your nose away from the string, or it’ll take the skin off. Two fingers at the bow, arrow between, two at the rear. Line up your eye; string, bow and target. That bit’s easy. As for the arrow, you don’t lower your eye down to it, you guess and practise, always aim high.’

  He fired, hitting the inner at 10 o’clock.

  ‘Beginner’s
luck,’ echo around.

  ‘Aim a bit lower,’ I told him.

  He hit the bull.

  ‘Now keep going. Rizzo.’ I led Rizzo to the next target, similar tuition given, four men soon releasing arrows. Tomo was a natural, Smitty finding it awkward, Nicholson good, Moran terrible to start with.

  ‘Captain Moran, you need longer arms,’ I teased.

  ‘Yeah, fuck off.’

  After an hour we switched to the crossbows, better aim achieved, and after lunch they tried spears, Rocko hitting the target at 30yards, good going.

  ‘That would kill a man,’ Moran noted. ‘Like being stabbed in the chest. Those arrows would go straight through you, they have a lot of power.’

  O’Leary came out to us. ‘Bob says to put the TV news on, bombs have gone off across Paris.’

  There was a TV in the canteen, up on the wall, and we walked down, soon stood watching the news, the scenes from Paris.

  ‘We getting involved?’ Rocko asked.

  ‘Most likely, when we know where the bad boys are,’ I told them all.

  Bob called me after his COBRA meeting. ‘The French have requested you, they want to go after the men behind the bombings, Algerians, who are across the border from Morocco.’

  ‘If we land in Morocco, they’ll get their advanced warning.’

  ‘We’ve been to Morocco many times, we’d label it as an exercise.’

  ‘Then send a regular army battalion right now for just that, a smokescreen. Let the bad boys see them there for a few weeks.’

  ‘I’ll try and sort something quickly.’

  ‘What do we know about the bad boys?’

  ‘That they’re spread far and wide, and that the French may try and hit six or more places at the same time. They want you for eyes-on first.’

  ‘And regular SAS?’

  ‘Rawlson is pushing for his men to be involved, but can we risk a fuck-up?’

  ‘”D” Squadron has a good team of men, all did the three day, so chat to Rawlson about them.’

  ‘Will do, yes. And the Wolves?’

  ‘And the Wolves – what?’ I pressed.

  ‘Are they ready?’

  ‘Well, they’ll not get any more ready sat in barracks. We could use them in support, they get some experience, maybe a shot fired in anger. Oh, get me six Famas rifles, and ammo, like right away. We should at least be familiar with the French rifles.’

  ‘We have a small stockpile.’

  ‘Did we replace all those magazines we gave to the French?’

  ‘I had them sent over, they’re here somewhere – less the grenades.’

  ‘You are indeed a bean counter, Bob.’

  ‘I have to explain these things. What about Externals?’

  ‘Some good training for them, yes, some good lads to use, and they’ve been to the desert a few times. Hell, they were in Morocco a few weeks back.’

  ‘And the SBS men with you?’

  ‘Two come back tomorrow I think, all of them this weekend. Is Mally OK, we haven’t seen them.’

  ‘Some time off, bonuses for their ordeal.’

  ‘Those pilots?’

  ‘Alive, but still not well. Have you spoken to the Skyvan pilots?’

  ‘Yes, they come in when asked, for parachuting, but they worry me, not sure they’re the right men for the job.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘They don’t seem that keen when we’re overseas.’

  ‘I’ll chat to them, sound them out.’

  ‘What’s the timescale here?’ I asked.

  ‘French want revenge, and as fast as possible.’

  ‘Then arrange a move to Morocco, label it as an exercise, and we make a start. Have the Externals sent here, and the remaining Wolves. Sasha’s team are training hard.’

  Back in the canteen, I shouted, ‘Command meeting in fifteen minutes, get everyone! And I mean everyone.’

  When everyone had assembled, SIGINT at the back, the briefing room was quite full for a change.

  ‘OK, listen up. Bombs have gone off across Paris, a spin off from the original Algerian civil war - which is still a civil war, the French government dicking about there and making enemies. The bad boys are across the border from Morocco, so we’ll go back to Morocco and make it look like an exercise.

  ‘Externals will come here, then with us, Wolves recalled, a team of regular SAS, “D” Squadron, and we’ll be working closely with those soft French boys.’

  They laughed as Henri and Jacque threw back insults.

  ‘Stores, get the kit ready, and count up the number of brown ponchos and flysheets, we want two ponchos per man, one flysheet per six men I’d say. Rifle parts to be painted desert brown, cammo sleeves to be brown.

  ‘Our role will be eyes-on, and that means a sixty mile walk across mountains and deserts, hostile locals, maybe a HALO drop in.’

  Crab said, ‘We got extra HALO bags, like twenty. We asked for four, they sent twenty.’

  ‘Ask for a pay rise, an extra four grand,’ I suggested, the men laughing. ‘Take all the bags. OK, Signals and Intel, get ready for Morocco, and I want lectures prepared on Algeria, and maps, lots of maps and local intel, ask the French – it’s their conflict.

  ‘Stores, get ready for lots of men to kit out, all desert garb. Mister O’Leary, more food in the canteen please, lots more. Stores, more rations.’ I held up a finger. ‘Bongo, those lost magazines will be coming back to us.’

  ‘Should bleeding hope so. You want to take lots of ammo?’

  ‘For training, yes, for the job – no. For the job, no more than four mags per man, extra water and food. Stores, try and get us brown rubber mats, good ones, we’ll be in the rocks. Mister O’Leary, get Bob to find us about six good quality telescopes, suitable for military work, rubber around them, and some binoculars.

  ‘Gentlemen, we’ll be sneaking about the mountains, eyes-on intel, reporting back; hot as hell during the day, cold as hell at night, rough going. Bongo, we’ll be taking all the VEPR we have, as preferred choice. We’ll all need those small brown backpacks.

  ‘What else?’ I thought out loud. ‘Get the barracks ready. Sergeant Crab, Duffy, Batman and Robin, assist the Wolves and Externals when they get here, check kit, and before we leave you work them hard. You’ll be coming along.’

  ‘Bows and arrows?’ Crab asked, the guys laughing.

  ‘Might be useful for silent killing, but no – we’ll use bullets, and we’ll shoot to kill. OK, any questions?’

  ‘We go back to the range in Morocco?’ Moran asked.

  ‘That will be our first stop, some training, but it’s a long way from the border, so we’d move, and we’d hide from any civvies seeing us or they’ll know we’re coming. Most likely we’ll maintain a presence at the range, then move to the border at night when ready. So, start making plans.’

  ‘I come along?’ Sasha asked.

  ‘Yes, sort your desert kit.’

  GL4 was busy that evening, Stores kept busy, bits of kit replaced, clothing requested. In the morning I went for a run, feeling that my fitness had slipped, and I felt like an old man as I plodded around the track, a few of the younger lads passing me. Problem wasn’t my age, but a build up of injuries.

  Sat with Swifty having a cup of tea in our kitchen, I said, ‘It’s getting harder, knocking out the laps. Too many old injuries, too many twinges.’

  ‘No jogging in the desert and the mountains, so who gives a fuck.’

  ‘In this man’s army you need to be fit to get killed.’

  ‘True, they do give you a medical before sending you off to get killed. You have to be fit and healthy to lose your life.’

  At 9am I sat with the Major and filled in forms, requests made for extra bits of kit, holidays cancelled, courses cancelled, the hangar busy.

  Rawlson called me around noon. ‘Captain, you requested some of my men, and I must say I was a little annoyed with the MOD that we were not given a larger role.’

  ‘That will come with tim
e, sir, but we have the experience that fits – as well embedded French soldiers and French speakers.’

  ‘You want the “D” Squadron men who did well on the three-day scenario?’

  ‘They have trained together as a team.’

  ‘They have, yes, a few exercises, and they do your 24hr speed march once a month, so they’re fit and ready.’

  ‘Can you send them down now, sir, so we get acquainted, those volunteering.’

  ‘I don’t give a fig if they volunteer or not, they’re being assigned. They go. I’ll send them down.’

  ‘Desert kit, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  A few of the Wolves started to appear, given rooms in the barracks, familiar faces greeted, kit being sorted, and I told all men that from the morning they were to wear desert gear, webbing, the works. It was hot this week anyhow, so they would not look so odd, but I wanted to be sure about kit and spares.

  Binoculars turned up, old and beaten, but they worked OK, several of us studying the puppy across the field as it chased a thrown tennis ball. It didn’t bring the ball back, just chewed it. Each pair of binoculars had a brown rubber exterior, so they were suited. Rocko and Rizzo were issued pairs, Moran, and I would carry a pair, a few left over to take along.

  I had any spare lads sent to the range, a great deal of ammo used up, and eight men in Echo zeroed the VEPR, sniping from the barracks roof. The rest would use standard 20inch barrel AKM with telescopic sights fitted to the slide.

  At 5pm the Pathfinders turned up, but now with a new captain, and no whinging sergeants.

  I shook his hand. ‘Welcome to GL4.’

  ‘I’m Captain Mackintosh,’ came a Scots accent. ‘Call me Mac. And I did your three-day, scored eight-two, which I understand is OK for a pen-pusher like me.’

  I smiled. ‘It is, yes, but Captain Moran got ninety-two, which is why he’s here.’

  ‘I know Moran.’

  ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ Moran said behind me as he came out the hangar. ‘Jockstrap.’

  ‘Jockstrap?’ I queried.

  Moran said, ‘A jock, and a big strapping lad.’ He shook his old friend’s hand.