Wilco- Lone Wolf 16

by Geoff Wolak

  At 3pm we dropped the next six, the bad news broken about the chutes. The final six for today were dropped at midnight, the hope being that they would not run into each other.

  At dawn a further six were dropped, and by dawn the next day we had inserted all of them, the first to have dropped calling in to give locations, some now close to our border.

  One Wolf had been mauled by dogs and captured, and was being driven this way – in for a telling off. Since French Echo had caught the man I was not too disappointed, French Echo were good.

  When the man arrived, an American, Mister Morten had to treat numerous nasty bite wounds.

  ‘Don’t get fucking caught!’ Crab shouted at the poor chap as bites were tended. ‘If this was for real you’d have been sliced up and killed!’

  The Wolf captain had a go at the man as well, who would have to attempt the test again.

  At midnight the first Wolf was back, Tiller, all smiles. ‘Easy, Boss.’

  ‘Did you shoot any animals?’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing. I came across this well-stock farmstead…’

  We laughed, and we let him get some rest. In the morning two British Wolves walked in, muddy and tired but all smiles. One had killed two black rebels, so we updated the map. The rebels had been sleeping at the time, their tins of food pinched away and enjoyed.

  Salome was bored, so I let her join 14 Intel for today’s drop, two drops scheduled for the team, Monster and Parker joining in. Monster was a veteran, but had not dropped for almost a year. Parker had completed the course but had not made many drops in his career, a few summertime civvy drops.

  My guests arrived the next morning, Colonel Mathews and Admiral Jacobs, quite a large team with both men.

  I showed them the map table. ‘What we have underway is a final test for the Lone Wolves. They all flew by Hercules from Freetown over here, to the east of Liberia, a drop from 14,000ft with just a pistol and a knife, a few rations, sat phone.

  ‘They were tasked with simply getting back here without anyone seeing them, or the French soldiers based in Liberia catching them. One got caught, dogs biting him badly, the rest getting back safely, still a few out there.

  ‘They had to navigate through the jungle whilst carrying their chutes – very cumbersome, find water and food, avoid local armed blacks, avoid or kill rebel soldiers, and sneak across rivers.’

  ‘A realistic scenario,’ Colonel Mathews noted. ‘And real dangers. If they can do that, they can do most any mission profile.’

  ‘They can, sir, and they’ve all had three months of steady action, a great many shots fired in anger. But, most importantly, they bonded and they work well together, no bitching at each other or punch-ups. They were profiled and selected well.’

  ‘We have the next batch being worked on in Arizona,’ he informed me.

  ‘The exact same type of training will work well,’ I told him. ‘But I can’t magic up the action they saw, they were flukes.’

  Admiral Jacobs put in, ‘But this place will always be dangerous for them.’

  ‘Yes, sir, and the jungle and swamps are dangerous in themselves. If we repeated this exercise, but in Guinea, they’d be at risk of being shot every mile of the way.’

  ‘And Camel Toe Base?’ he asked.

  ‘If they parachuted ten miles out - to navigate and walk back, they’d be at serious risk, more than here. If you’re spotted in the desert you have nowhere to hide.’

  ‘I have some boat work planned,’ he told me. ‘So that they’re familiar with ships operations, small boat inserts, subs.’

  ‘All good stuff, sir. Some can scuba dive already.’

  Colonel Mathews began, ‘We’d like to keep them with you.’

  ‘With me? If they’re in England then they’re a long way from the Red Sea!’

  ‘Missions would be planned, not just pop up, so they’d have time to get there, acclimatise. You have this new unit, No1. Field Recon. We like that, better than Lone Wolves, because Stateside a Lone Wolf is a mad outback gunman on the loose.’

  ‘I have space for them, this batch, just about, but I can place them here and Mauritania, not in damp old England.’

  ‘Money is no object,’ he told me. ‘I spoke to your MOD, and what they spend on your base is so small I had to clarify it. Twice. My estimate for overseas training budgets were queried, they were so low.’

  ‘So don’t hold back,’ Admiral Jacobs told me.

  I nodded. ‘We just need a few extra wooden huts, sir,’ I told him. ‘Ammo delivered.’

  ‘We have a target in Yemen,’ Colonel Mathews began. ‘We had a look after you mentioned it, Israelis interested in the place.’ It’s a hundred miles from the borders of Oman and Saudi.’

  ‘I can get us permission from Oman, and support.’

  ‘Good, because going through the State Department takes fucking forever.’

  ‘When we wrap up here I was going to give the Wolves some time off, they’ve been in combat for months.’

  ‘Sure,’ Mathews said. ‘We’ll pencil a date for a look at Yemen a few weeks down the line, and the shrinks can assess them again - and we can refine the process.’ He pointed at the Wolf captain. ‘What would you refine, Captain?’

  ‘Well, sir, the original planned programme went out the window as soon as Major Wilco arrived.’ They laughed. ‘Since then we’ve caught some training time, sir, but I guess you could call it on-the-job training. Men have seen as much combat as someone doing two tours of Vietnam.

  ‘So they all have jungle eye, they’ve killed more men than they could count, and have operated in a variety of terrains and conditions – from shit, to nasty shit, to really fucking shit.’

  They laughed.

  ‘So, sir, they have the experience, but I’ve met many Vietnam vets and heard all the stories, and this batch of men are not the same – they like being here, they like the camaraderie, they know what they’re fighting for and believe in it.

  ‘What Major Wilco does … is to tell them at the start why they’re here, who the bad guys are, what they bad guys are up to, and what we hope to achieve here, and that helps to get it in focus. They don’t just get off the plane and go fight some faceless enemy

  ‘These boys have been under fire constantly, bombed and blown up, but they’re not suicidal or heading for the mental ward, they smile and joke and compete. Compared to the Vietnam vets, this lot are all well-balanced.’

  I turned to Mathews. ‘They were profiled as being under-achievers with potential, sir, bullied and isolated in their parent units. Here they flourish, and they reach their potential, no king-dick sergeant back home giving them shit for no reason.

  ‘The British Wolves, they were excellent men that their units never appreciated, and they were isolated and bullied, often in trouble. I took a man out of military prison and gave him a go, now he’s fucking Rambo – and with discipline.’

  Admiral Jacobs noted, ‘The profiling of under-achievers was maybe the key, good men hidden away and not given a chance. Plenty more out there I think.’

  I led them outside, Wolves chatted to in groups, questions answered before the Seahawks returned.

  Chatting to Moran about the training for the Wolves, and wanting to give them a rest, I made a choice and booked a plane - or two. The teams would be split and would travel back eight hours apart.

  Patrols were called back in, kit to pack, the Pathfinders to take some responsibility for protecting this area, more regular SAS due, plus a few British Marines – all to sample the standard patrol routes.

  I called David Finch. ‘I’m bringing back ten black soldiers, Guinea’s best recon platoon, but they now work for me. I need you to sort medicals, and to sort it with the MOD. Call them foreign soldiers on placement, whatever you want.

  ‘I’ll need IDs for them, so send a man down to GL4 sort that, and check their IDs back in Guinea – you never know, one might have killed his wife for burning the toast.’

  ‘We can call them ex
change soldiers, we have many of those, yes,’ he agreed.

  ‘They have no passports, so that could be an issue.’

  The next morning I had men check the metal trunks for bombs, kit placed inside, trunks locked, despatched to the airport by guarded truck. I thanked the Welsh Guards here, and called Colonel Clifford over at the mine for a chat. They had unearthed a few more bodies, but local blacks – not Europeans.

  Mister Morten and his team were asked to return to the mine, and he would again offer free medical treatment to the locals, some of those local men now gainfully employed at the mine.

  14 Intel would be coming back with me since they were in my care. All had completed at least four para drops, so I was happy with that. And they had all fired a shot in anger and learnt something about the jungle, something I could not recreate back at GL4.

  At the aircraft steps I looked back, out over the estuary and the lush green trees. This place felt like home, and I was sad to be leaving. Or maybe it was that the UK held no attraction for me.

  Tired, we arrived back at GL4 in the dark, dark wet rain, everyone complaining – Tobo and his men looking cold. Rocko had sorted the barracks and the huts and houses, and we had enough space just about, the 14 Intel ladies placed in a house, the 14 Intel men to share the barracks for now.

  I told 14 Intel that anyone who wanted a week’s holiday could take one. Some drove off straight away – still in jungle stripes and boots, some would leave in the morning. Henri and Sambo were tasked with looking after Tobo’s cold troop – and to buy some civvy clothes for them. Or they would freeze.

  Echo and the British Wolves were told to meet at 9am the next Monday, today being a Thursday, the American Wolves told that they had two weeks holiday – if they wished it. They could stay here if they had no one to go visit.

  In my little-used house I got the kettle on, Swifty dumping our crate and opening it, MP Pete following us inside.

  Pete told me, ‘I searched the house, bomb sniffer dog has been around.’

  I pulled out my hidden euros, handing him a few. ‘Change it, or keep it for when you go on holiday.’

  ‘Thanks, Boss.’ He pocketed the notes.

  Door closed, I sat with Swifty, boots off and socks smelling, brew in hand.

  Swifty finally said, ‘It’s late September, but feels like fucking winter already.’

  I nodded. ‘Yep.’

  After a minute he asked, ‘What we got planned?’

  ‘A lot for you, we need to reorganise the Wolves into No.1 Field Recon. I’ll get a captain from 14 Intel for their admin.’

  He nodded, and sipped his tea. ‘Anyone wanting to kill you this week?’

  ‘Well, that’s the question. Still some shits out there, a few British men to look at. I’ve cost them billions, killed their men, so they will get to the point where they realise it’s just not worth it. Hopefully soon, because I thought we were at that point weeks back.’

  He sipped his brew. ‘A body double, eh.’ He shook his head. ‘Should recruit the guy. If he’s seen walking around, someone might shoot him not you.’

  ‘Can’t see him volunteering for that, but I’d love to have a chat with him.’

  ‘Have a chat in a pub close to the Mi5 building, same clothes on.’

  We laughed like silly schoolboys.

  After a quick wash I lay down in cold sheets, cars driving past, and I fell off to sleep quickly.

  I woke stiff and hungry, wondering why I was so hungry. After a hot shower, no sign of Swifty yet, I got some toast on, the bread and milk fresh, fresh biscuits. I got through the toast, then remembered we had a canteen, so after half a cup of tea I wrapped up against the light rain and walked to the canteen under a dark grey sky.

  A few American Wolves were in, some Echo, a 14 Intel man, and some of the MPs. Breakfast grabbed, I sat with Henri and stuffed my face, those men just back all appearing tired, all subdued.

  Up at the hangar I was greeted by the MP at the entrance, then by the MP at the stairs, and in the Intel room they started to fire questions at me, forms to fill in. That took an hour, and two cups of coffee. I was informed then that the senior officers from 14 Intel were on their way, hopefully not to coming to shoot me.

  I sat in with the Brigadier and Major Bradley for half an hour, a chat about Liberia, finally notified about our guests arriving at the gate. We met them outside, I saluted their Colonel, and we walked them in chatting about Liberia. And none of these had previously had a house trashed by my lads.

  In the main briefing room they sat, tea and coffee made, and I sat facing them kind of side on, Major Bradley, Captain Harris and the Brigadier in on the meeting – a relaxed meeting.

  The colonel finally asked, ‘How did our chaps do in Liberia?’

  ‘They all got some jungle training - which is good, they got at least four para drops in – which is good, they got some navigation work in, and they all fired a shot in anger, most killed a few men.

  ‘They also got bombed a few times, so they have experience of real dangers, and they lived rough, so it all adds towards making them good field operators.

  ‘The dangers they faced were not always well met, so some of them need to realise why they’re with you. If you send them behind the lines they’ll be in great danger every minute of the day, and from what I could see … I’d have reservations about most of them.

  ‘If they went hand to hand with someone, life or death behind the lines, I’d have my doubts. If they … had a woman pull a gun on them and needed to react quickly, most would let themselves get killed.’

  ‘Well … that’s disappointing,’ the colonel noted. ‘But they have training, good training, but it’s hard to simulate the near death experiences.’

  ‘Same for all servicemen,’ the Brigadier noted. ‘What to do when the time comes. SAS soldiers are pushed to the limit, physically and psychologically, and that prepares them to kill without question – without hesitating.

  I told the colonel, ‘If your people are to go behind the lines, they’ll need that willingness to kill quickly, a sudden surprise, man with a gun out. You’re training them for a role similar to the SAS, that of irregular intel gathering.’

  The colonel nodded as he studied the inside of his cup. He faced me. ‘Will you be passing your comments up the line?’

  ‘Are you worried by that, sir?’

  ‘I’d not like to be judged on that batch of people alone.’

  ‘Then we need to figure a way to improve that batch and get them ready, and to thin them out a little. You could look at the profiling techniques used by the Wolves and adjust it, get the right people. One of your ladies shot a man, and then asked us if we thought that the man would have minded being shot.’

  The Major and the Brigadier both smiled widely, the 14 Intel team not so amused.

  ‘Her first kill no doubt,’ the colonel wistfully noted. ‘So better next time; she won’t stop to ask him if he minds being shot before she pulls the trigger. Could you … whittle them down a little?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And could you have a captain here, to do their paperwork.’

  ‘Yes, certainly.’

  ‘I’d go to two teams as well, training here and down in Sierra Leone and Mauritania.’

  ‘You don’t mind training them?’

  ‘MOD has a use for you, pays your wages, so why not do something useful.’ I held my hands wide.

  ‘And they could do something useful in support of your operations?’

  ‘If they were the right people, right attitude, sir, then yes. Compared to my men they’re obviously lacking, and compared to the Wolves they’re lacking. Don’t recruit anyone else till you look at the profiling.’

  ‘We will look at it, yes, straight away.’

  ‘I can push them physically to see who breaks, and they need that strength of mind to get back from behind the lines if something goes wrong. And most jobs go wrong, sir.’

  He nodded. ‘So No.1 Field Recon Company could always have tw
o teams of ours, and you’d endorse that up the line.’

  ‘If I’m asked a question about your people I’ll give an honest answer, sir. Early days, we need to whittle them down. But I’d need to know more about your mission parameters, since a girl shagging some enemy officer doesn’t need to climb up mountains.’

  ‘Well, we’re tasked with irregular intel gathering, in support of the Army during wartime, and that takes many formats. It could be sneak and peak, it could be parachute behind the lines, or it could be a man in civvy clothes behind the lines causing mayhem.’

  I nodded. ‘All of those scenarios are dangerous, and they all require nerves of steel and a willingness to kill, so … you have to train them to lose the fear and to kill, or the missions will be failures.

  ‘At the moment, Guinea and Liberia are dangerous places, so I could do with your people what we did this week with the Wolves. We can para drop them in with a pistol and a ham sandwich, and they have to walk sixty miles back to us, a good chance of getting shot dead along the way.

  ‘If they’re afraid to do that, what will they be like in a war? If they can’t make it back, what will they be like in a war – sent out never to return!’

  He fiddled with his cup. ‘From what you’ve seen, how many would fear such a thing?’

  ‘Most of them.’

  ‘And how many would make it back?’

  ‘Most of them, because when your life is on the line you wise up real quick. A man close to death matures quickly.’

  ‘Right. So … when do you think they could attempt such a thing?’

  ‘Not yet. Let me train them first, assess them better. I was distracted down in Liberia.’

  ‘Not shit,’ he quipped. ‘I read The Sun each day, get it delivered.’

  ‘All of us do,’ Major Bradley put in. ‘We don’t need a sitrep.’

  Captain Harris turned to me. ‘Captain Moran does a good sitrep.’

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘I was trying to coordinate ten teams, plus Intel, plus not get killed,’ I playfully complained.