Wilco- Lone Wolf 13

by Geoff Wolak

  A man firing an RPG could not help but close his eyes for a moment, no matter how many times you fired one, it was a normal human reaction. I opened my eyes as the rocket powered down to the house and smashed through a window, that window blown out a second later. Three blasts in quick succession, and three windows blew out.

  I aimed at the Mercedes and fired, the head landing under the car, the blast setting the car alight. Final RPG, and I aimed at the second Mercedes, hitting the rear windscreen and blowing out the vehicle’s windows, setting the upholstery alight.

  Russian box-fed lifted, I knelt and sprayed the house, the old masonry coming away in large chunks, and by time I had clicked empty this dated winery was pock-marked, others now firing their box-fed as the fire spread.

  Lifting my Valmet grenade launcher, imported by Tomsk for us, I began to fire at the windows, grenades with a mix of CS gas – just to piss-off anyone still alive in there.

  I was not worried about the local police, the roads blocked, water and oil on a steep gradient sure to cause some amusing moments. Weapons wrapped up, the heavy bundle lifted over a shoulder like Santa Claus, I plodded off around to the Swifty. As I reached him the fire below was taking hold, red flame erupting from the windows.

  ‘Does wine burn?’ he asked as he struggled with his bundle.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Something in there does.’

  ‘Old wooden joists and stairs,’ I suggested.

  Sasha came in with Rizzo, heavy bundles carried, everyone glancing back before we traipsed off.

  Halting at a dated and rusted van, we dumped the hardware in the back and slammed the doors, the grey old driver waving before he chugged off down the track.

  ‘Was that guy even home?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘Intel say yes, and that he had a special visitor arrive last night. So, fingers crossed.’

  ‘Do we have to fly in that shitty old plane again?’ Swifty asked as I stopped to examine a huge outcrop of yellow fungus growing on a tree.

  ‘Yep, soon be back in Cyprus.’

  ‘Might need a stopover in Cyprus,’ Rizzo suggested as we walked through the woods.

  ‘At least a few days,’ I suggested. ‘A beach to sit on, some cold beer.’

  ‘Officially ... I’m still on holiday,’ Swifty pointed out as we walked down the hill to our waiting plane. ‘So this is double time, as far as pay goes, you know that, right.’

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Duty Officer. The Daily Telegraph newspaper just took delivery of a detailed dossier on your operations.’