Wilco- Lone Wolf 18

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Hercules are supposed to be able to land on dirt strips…’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not sitting the enquiry when an expensive plane buckles its undercarriage. We check carefully first.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s all straight forwards enough, wide open spaces. Just need them to hold off on rockets as a re-supply bird sits on the deck.’

  ‘I’ll send al-Qaeda a note on that,’ I quipped.

  Around at the American Wolves billet I found the NCOs. ‘How many men still here?’

  ‘Twenty-three I think, sir.’

  ‘Day after tomorrow they’ll insert to a forwards base, probably by Hercules, could be the day after. Start to recall all your teams that are close in or planting listening devices.’

  ‘All the listening devices should be in place tonight, sir.’

  ‘So … two days from now, fully kitted, extra rations and water, Hercules or helo insert two hundred miles west.’

  ‘We’ll be ready, sir. We go with them?’

  ‘Do you want a leg stretch?’ I posed.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ they keenly came back with.

  ‘Chat to your officers, plenty of room on a Hercules.’

  In the morning, the SEAL’s selected HALO team having been extracted overnight, I gathered all the planned HALO insert teams in the hangar and stood on a box as the senior staff stood off to one side.

  ‘OK, today we’ll practise the HALO bag techniques, because as well all know … practise makes perfect, and helps to avoid the fuck-ups. We don’t need to HALO onto the target, but we do need to practise such things for a time when we do have that need.

  ‘So today we have two Omani Hercules, and the pilots know what to do. When you’re ready, teams formed up, see the RAF Squadron Leader here.’ I pointed him out. ‘Load the aircraft, and you drop between the old tents and the medical tents. That way, if you twist an ankle, it’s not far to limp.’

  They laughed, the hangar dark compared to the bright sunshine outside.

  ‘If you do twist an ankle you’re off the drop, no complaining, they’ll be other drops. Para Instructors, help the British teams, but they’re all experts anyhow. You then drop last, for practise.

  ‘If we’re ready tomorrow, we go tomorrow night. You’ll HALO to open sand four miles north of a target dirt strip, form up and walk south, and around dawn you’ll shoot up anyone you find there. There are rocks and gullies to the east of that strip, and you may want to make use of them.

  ‘Moving at night in open desert you’ll be seen, so the last 400yards needs to be sneaky. You’re the men on the ground, so look when you land … and find some cover to the east, sneak up on the strip, kill the fighters there and report it.

  ‘Echo will be in the rocks to your south, blocking re-supply by road. After sun-up, if everything goes well, you’ll call in a pallet drop. You’ll then send men down the dirt strip to check it, to see if a Hercules can land. If you’re happy, we send men by Hercules not by helo.

  ‘During that day, and the following day, our men will arrive and dig in. Take shovels in the HALO bags, dig slit trenches, there’s little or no cover.

  ‘OK, when you advance on the men at the strip, this is the sequence of teams, and don’t argue with me. British SAS take the lead, Pathfinders behind them, SEALs, then the Parachute Instructors. If there are any decisions to be made on the ground, or disputes, you call me. Most likely I’d send the SEALS east and south a mile, to hold that area for a day, so work with that assumption.

  ‘What follows after that depends on what you report, how many fighters you find there, and if there are fighters hidden in the rocks and shooting at you. There may be mines, look for them, walk in the tracks of jeeps, but it’s a huge area of sand – so planting mines would do little.

  ‘OK, today you check kit and you drop from 14,000ft, twice if there’s time, tomorrow night we go if all is set. Questions?’

  An SAS troop sergeant I recognise asked, ‘How many fighters at the strip?’

  ‘Aerial recon showed a dozen, no more. You make an assessment as you approach; there’s nowhere for a large force to hide.’

  ‘And how many could they send up to us?’ he asked.

  ‘If the road is clear, they could send a thousand fighters. Echo will be on that road, and the very kind US Navy will bomb it at dawn. You can expect rockets and mortars on day two, not day one, so dig in.

  ‘On the second day we’ll land a hundred men, maybe two hundred, so you’ll have some company. And if the strip is OK we’ll land jeeps.’

  ‘How far is it from where we left the jeeps?’

  ‘Did you leave your porn mag behind?’ I asked, the men laughing at him.

  ‘I left my fleece behind,’ he told me.

  ‘It’s about fifty miles of shit terrain.’

  Harris waved a hand. ‘We think there may be a way through, if we needed them to join up, but it won’t be quick.’

  ‘Might be worth trying, just for the experience. OK, people, go earn your keep!’

  I stood on the ATC roof with many of the senior staff, Flying Officer Deloitte glancing my way from time to time. At the allotted time, the Hercules seen above – its drone registering, we all peered up, some of the officers stood with binoculars.

  Across the runway I could see the medics stood ready, all peering skywards; no doubt considering if they may soon have some ankles to bind.

  After the first pass three teams were out, the Hercules circling east, and I could just make out the teams. They grew in size and clarity, soon breaking, chutes seen as men below filmed the action.

  ‘Look!’ someone called.

  A chute had collapsed, the man hurtling down at speed. He got his reserve, but that just tangled with his main chute, the man soon upside down and spinning, medics racing towards him on foot. He landed softly enough, and a radio call confirmed a man out of action, but alive and well, maybe a fractured hip. He was a Pathfinder, and not impressed with the quality of the chute apparently, some harsh language used.

  We had extra men here, and so the Pathfinders would get a man for the particular team that already had three healthy participants. The other men drifted down and landed OK as we observed, one bag landing a bit close to the tents.

  ‘Best laid plans, eh,’ Clifford noted. We exchanged concerned looks.

  The following two teams managed to jump without any drama, the SEALs having adopted our bag technique, which we had borrowed from the Americans to start with. All the men down, no broken bones, and we sighed with relief, lunch needed.

  Echo was now back with us, Ginger having walked his team thirty miles overnight, the men now resting sore feet – boots off and smelling.

  I called Swifty. ‘You found anything?’

  ‘We found a camp, but it was abandoned, recently.’

  I gave that some thought. ‘Main action will be around the dirt strip, so I’ll send helos for you and Mitch, warn him. Get Mitch to book a ride on two Lynx. Call Harris, give him your location, get a ride back, gather up the Wolves – don’t leave any behind, eh.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I just need to remember where I left them.’

  I stepped to the American Wolves, all now back, many sleeping after being out all night. The listening devices were in place, GCHQ monitoring them, so any more fighters approaching us with radios or sat phones would trigger a warning - hopefully.

  I called Tinker as I stood on the apron in front of the hangar, the teams getting ready for the second drop. ‘You all set-up?’

  ‘Yeah, but we got a fault, something odd, three sat phones west of you, stationary, they just popped up an hour ago.’

  ‘I’ll still send a Lynx to look, because the fighters have been inserting men by helo, low-level, under the radar. Call Harris with the detail – let’s do this by the book, ask him to send two Lynx.’

  ‘OK, by-the-book Major Wilco.’

  Smiling, I cut the call, hearing the blast a moment later, coming from the northwest. I turned that way as men ran around, seeing
a cloud of dust a mile out.

  Stepping into the ATC, I calmly told them, ‘Rockets coming in from the west, but carry on all operations. Standby two Lynx to fly west, when Major Harris has the coordinates.’

  In the HQ room, Harris had just taken the call from Tinker. He faced me, ‘You think those sat phone hits are the rocket crew?’

  ‘Inserted today by helo under the radar.’

  ‘That position is twenty-five miles out!’

  ‘So they have rockets with that range now, but how many could they deliver by helo, eh?’

  ‘Three at most,’ Franks suggested, the building shaking as the blast rumbled. I rushed outside, a plume of dust and sand 200yards south of the ATC, two Omani soldiers hurt, one police jeep smashed up, but the jeep had taken the force and had helped to prevent shrapnel flying towards the ATC.

  ‘Get to cover!’ I shouted towards the billets. Back in the HQ room, I told them, ‘One missile left then. And that last one hit the dirt, jeep hit, two Omanis wounded but alive.’

  Harris reported, ‘Lynx leaving now. They have GPS, and good nav computers, they can fly straight there at speed.’

  I headed back up to the ATC, soon stood next to a beautiful woman yet unable to do anything about it. ‘Report what the Lynx find, please.’

  Ten minutes later I could hear the crackle. I faced her as she faced me. Whispering, I said, ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Cecelia,’ she whispered back. A moment later she reported, but loudly, ‘Rocket seen on the ground …. hidden chamber below ground … door gunners firing …. rockets fired … door gunners firing … ten or more fighters killed … Lynx landing.’

  ‘Landing?’

  She faced me. ‘Two British captains aboard.’

  ‘Ah, the 14 Intel men.’

  We waited.

  ‘Lynx leaving the target area now.’

  I drove around to the far side, jumping down and waiting with Commander Phillips, the two Lynx soon back. The two 14 Intel captains jumped down, rifles in hand, webbing on, and I waved them over. ‘Report.’

  The first man wiped his brow with a sleeve, looking less than calm and collected. ‘There was a rocket set-up ready, sir, but the door gunners shot the men we saw, then the trailing Lynx fired rockets, and both door gunners opened up, then we landed and had a look, no one left alive.

  ‘They had an underground hide, and they didn’t make it today; must have taken them a week. They had supplies stacked up, water, weapons, the works.’

  I faced Phillips. ‘Have Omani soldiers go out on the Lynx and recover any weapons and paperwork, and the phones.’

  ‘Oh, hang on,’ the 14 Intel captain told me, digging out a sat phone.

  I took it. ‘Great, thanks.’ I stepped away and checked it, battery out and in, and called London. ‘It’s Wilco in Oman, check back this number, being used by the terrorists in Yemen. Wilco out.’

  In the HQ room, I reported, ‘Before we got here they landed men and dug a hide, clever stuff, so what else did they do before we got here? What the fuck else is buried in the sand?’

  Hicks put in, ‘Buried hide at the dirt strip?’

  Harris warned me, ‘Would make sense.’

  I nodded. ‘We’ll alert the teams, and search for it.’ I faced Kovsky. ‘Night of the insert, just before the insert, have a bird fly low-level, infra-red camera working. A hide will show up. In fact, book that fly-by for just after the insert – just in case it spooks them.’

  He made a note in his pad, Harris also writing it down.

  ‘They’re getting inventive,’ Clifford repeated. ‘Had time to sit and think around the camp fire of a cold evening.’

  ‘We carry on the drop prep?’ Harris asked.

  ‘Hell yes, business as usual.’

  ‘We take it to them,’ Hicks put in.

  Clifford turned to me from Hicks. ‘What did the French newspapers say after you stopped that poison: you bring poison to where we live, we send 1st Battalion to where you live!’

  I smiled. ‘Yes, better we go where they live.’

  Hicks added, ‘If that dirt strip works like Camel Toe they’ll come out and attack us, and these ain’t the smartest fellas, so they’ll keep attacking no matter how many are killed.’

  ‘A cause to die for,’ Clifford quipped. ‘Personally, I don’t think god needs their help, I think they need his help.’

  ‘Amen,’ I added. Outside, I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, I’m going to take that dirt strip we spoke about, but what about the timescale for hanging onto it?’

  ‘Well … the legit government of Yemen says we can do what the fuck we like, so … we can stretch it out. You thinking we keep hold of it?’

  ‘Could easily re-supply from Saudi, sir.’

  ‘So it would be like Camel Toe Base, and they come attack us. I think these al-Qaeda boys won’t stand still and let us be there, not like Nigeria, they’d be mad as hell and sneaking in day after day, rockets fired.’

  ‘It would see more action, yes, but there is the benefit of more intel, and more terrorists killed.’

  ‘If we get ten men wounded a week the idiot in the White House will shut it down.’

  ‘Chat with those above you, sir, and Colonel Mathews, and maybe we hold it for two weeks and out.’

  ‘OK, leave it with me. But what will you do if they say no to a long-term placement?’

  ‘Hold it for a week then out, after I assess the strength of the fighters, sir.’

  A loud Hercules, but a green one, landed, and I smirked when Lt. Col. Liban stepped down with his men. They were, however, in suitable desert browns.

  I saluted, and he rolled his eyes, dumping his bags as his men came up and dumped their kit, all looking dog tired. ‘You’re late.’

  ‘We had hostage work in Western Sahara, but it was OK, ten hostages out, some small wounds.’

  ‘Come, we have some brick billets you can use. How many men?’

  ‘Two troop of Echo, three troop of 1st Battalion only.’ He pointed at the parachute teams. ‘You drop in?’

  ‘Tomorrow night. You can fly in.’

  With French lads and kit in a brick billet and being looked after by Moran, Henri and Sambo I took Liban to the HQ room, Harris greeting him, and he knew Colonel Clifford, the others introduced.

  It took almost an hour to bring him up to speed, coffee and cake dispensed, a chat about his hostage rescue.

  He finally asked, ‘So what do you have for us here?’

  I pointed at the map. ‘British Echo will be here, blocking the road to the airstrip. I need you in these hills, because they will try and flank us.’

  He nodded. ‘In the hills we win, small teams, no heavy weapons.’

  ‘Rest today, you have two days before you insert.’

  ‘We need some time yes,’ he complained with a sour face. ‘We fly to France from Western Sahara, then to Riyadh, then down here. Eighteen hours. Aiyah!’

  Up on the ATC roof I both observed the next drop, as well as Cecilia’s arse at odd moments, certain now that being in a relationship with someone like Salome would be a bad idea. Just knowing that Cecilia was here was distracting me.

  The teams made it down without near-miss, injury or almighty screw-up, and we were all relieved. Zero Hour was set for tomorrow night, 3am, and the Hercules would lift off at 2am.

  I went and found the Squadron Leader, and he had the Hercules pilots assembled, their planes sat on the apron, US Marines wandering around in pairs, M16s slung. The pilots stood in beige flight suits, unit emblems on shoulders, leg pockets stuffed with maps.

  In the hangar, I faced the four Omani pilots, all of them sounding posher than me. ‘Can you fly low-level over Yemen?’ I began.

  ‘How low?’ was a logical question.

  ‘To avoid any local radar.’

  ‘We have night sights, and the terrain is not difficult, there are no mountains between us and the drop zone.’

  ‘Then I want you to fly a few miles apart, low-level. You cli
mb at the last minute and drop, back down quickly and away, in from the north and out to the north, but avoid the Saudi border. Near the strip you’ll need flares ready but not used, or the men on the ground will see you.’

  ‘The Americans will have AWACS up, they can see missile launches,’ they informed me.

  ‘Coordinate with them, I’ll warn them of your flight path and the timing. You can choose your own route, but it must be north of the wadi and designed to avoid roads and tracks.’

  ‘We’ll plan a route,’ they offered.

  ‘Fly low enough to avoid radar, but don’t risk crashing and killing yourselves - and my men in the back. Balance the risks.’

  ‘The desert is easy to follow at night, a distinct horizon.’

  I nodded. ‘Good, make some plans, please.’

  The Squadron Leader came and found me. ‘Exercise in Qatar finished, so we have two RAF Hercules on the way, plus some Chinook.’

  ‘When will they get here?’

  ‘Should be tomorrow.’

  ‘I may delay in the insert then.’

  Two loud Hueys glided in and set down on the apron, but grey Hueys.

  ‘Those Chinook have been on a diet,’ I noted.

  We walked out and greeted the Omani pilots after engines had run down. They saluted Colonel Clifford.

  ‘We’re coastguard, but they promised us something more interesting to do, so we’re available to you.’

  ‘Extra helos are always good,’ I told them. ‘Just be aware that we get rockets landing and that your ride might be blown to pieces any minute.’

  They stared back, shocked and horrified.

  ‘Take them to the far side, see Commander Phillips – British, and join the programme over there.’

  They saluted, and walked back to their rides looking worried.

  Clifford pointed. ‘They have winches and baskets.’

  ‘Excellent, great for wounded men in the field, no need to land. Faster turnaround.’

  At the billet I asked Moran to get two teams of four onto the Hueys, and to rotate it. He reminded me that the British Wolves were back, and that Echo would insert. Since I wanted all the Wolves on the insert I had Robby pack the Hueys with 14 Intel men and ladies – and to make use of Crab and Duffy.