Wilco- Lone Wolf 18

by Geoff Wolak

  After a hundred yards I saw movement, knelt and aimed, but waited, the team copying. I heard whispered comments, in Arabic, so opened up, two dark outlines hit.

  In a cold wind we waited, the outlines not seen moving.

  Voices, up ahead.

  I lead my team on slowly, pausing every ten steps and kneeling on hard cold rocks, looking and listening, our heads moving like owls. A dark outline moved across a gully, soon hit six times and down before we paused and waited, hearing cracks further ahead.

  An RPG flew east and hit a rock, a shower of sparks seen, the night soon falling quiet again. A flash, a blast, and we could see fires in the distance.

  ‘It’s Swifty, and we hit a jeep that blew, two or three jeeps on fire now. And we must have hit thirty of them.’

  ‘Rizzo, how many you hit?’

  ‘That many, can’t see any fucker now.’

  ‘Go static, eyes and ears, look for the hidden men. See a dark corner, fire into it.’

  Moran shoved me and we fell onto the hard rock as an RPG few past, close enough to smell the exhaust fumes, soon a blast behind us. A shower of sparks, and the high ground southwest was hit.

  ‘Swifty, you OK?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, no issues, they keep hitting the front of the cliff, we’re on top.’

  ‘It’s Wolf Masters, and I can hear a helo.’

  We all peered up and around, listening.

  ‘West,’ Moran whispered.

  I transmitted, ‘All teams, get ready to shoot at that helo if it comes over us.’

  The drone grew.

  ‘Is it dropping supplies?’ Moran wondered. ‘Or here to fire rockets at us?’

  ‘I’m not feeling lucky.’ I transmitted, ‘All teams, get to cover if you need to, helo may have rockets.’

  The drone was now loud enough to be a worry, eyes straining to see the helicopter on approach. I finally caught a glint of the glass, aimed and fired carefully as others joined in, seeing sparks on the helicopter’s skin.

  We saw the flash and ducked down in a mad heap, two rockets slamming into the rocks in front of us, ears ringing, but there was no danger of ricochet. I jumped up and continued firing, the helicopter’s outline now distinct, the roar growing as what looked like an Mi8 flew south of us heading east, suddenly a crunch followed by two bright blasts.

  ‘Not the best landing I’ve seen,’ Ginger quipped as flames climbed high.

  Cracks sounded out, dozens of them.

  ‘Report the firing.’

  ‘It’s Rizzo, and we can see loads of them now, all lit up,’ came an excited voice.

  A huge blast registered behind us, a mile away.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ Moran loudly asked as we all peered north.

  ‘American Wolves are not that close,’ I told him. ‘Maybe something at the first camp we hit.’

  ‘Wrong position,’ Moran insisted.

  It grew quiet, the fire from the burning Mi8 being our reference point, the odd crack as a hidden fighter was spotted.

  Another almighty blast, east, and we were all looking that way.

  ‘It’s Rizzo, and that was a rocket!’

  ‘Random targeting,’ Moran noted. ‘But if they get a lucky hit…’

  ‘Rizzo, push south and around that camp, good pace, on a mile at least. Wolves and Swifty, same deal, stay away from the camp.’ Off the radio, I said, ‘Form up on me. Mitch, close in, we’re moving!’

  Headcount done in a hurry, I led them east at a fast pace, checking the dark corners, and I fired into a few just to be sure, up and down smooth rocks, soon turning southwest.

  We were a mile from our original position when the next blast had us looking back.

  Moran noted, ‘East of our previous position, but our ears would be ringing.’

  The hills started to stretch upwards, but they were mostly covered in dirt and small bushes, some moisture available here for local flora, so clambering up them was not too bad. Reaching a peak, Swifty closing in from the left with the Wolves, we suddenly had a view south and west laid out for us, a view of a few miles.

  Below me it looked like sand at low tide, ripples of sand dunes but high sand dunes, and in the distance high black mountains rose up.

  ‘No jeeps down there,’ Moran noted. ‘Not in those dunes.’

  ‘Rizzo, where are you?’

  ‘I can hear you, so close enough,’ came a bad signal.

  ‘Flash a torch at the high ground west of you.’

  We all peered east, soon seeing the flashing.

  ‘Rizzo, go due west, you’ll see high ground north and south and then dunes in the middle. When you get to the start of the dunes look for jeep tracks, any way a jeep could get to the dunes, then stay at the start of the dunes, but aim east.’

  ‘OK, moving.’

  ‘Swifty, take the Wolves down to the bottom, then right, all the way west to the end then dig in, look for jeep access and tracks.’

  ‘Moving.’

  ‘Mitch, stay up here, all-round defence, eyes on, but find a way to hide from helos in the daylight.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  I led my team down, skidding in the dirt in places, fifteen minutes to get down to the dunes, soon presented with smooth rounded dunes ten feet high in front of us. I used my torch for five minutes, no jeep tracks found where the sand was flat enough for there to have been a jeep in motion.

  Weaving left and right around the dunes, it was slow going, but ambushing us would have been difficult for the fighters. We were a mile in when my radio crackled.

  ‘Wilco, you hear me?’ came Rizzo.

  ‘Yes, go ahead.’

  ‘We’re on the high ground looking west, fucking ocean of sand dunes in front of us.’

  ‘Good, that’s the right spot – we’re in the middle of those dunes.’

  ‘Aint no way for a jeep to get across these rocks.’

  ‘Check left and right, make sure, get a brew on, rest the men.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Isolated area,’ Moran noted. ‘No jeep access, dunes too high as well.’

  Half an hour later we found the hills looming large above us, some dark areas, and as the dunes ended and the hill began I could see bushes again. Using my torch I checked for tracks, but there were none.

  ‘Get a brew on, some food, rest. Make camp here. Tiller, Brace.’

  They came forwards as I sat, mess tins out.

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘Up the hill, all the way, eyes on, then rotate rest and food.’

  They looked up. ‘Fricking hell, boss.’

  ‘Keep you fit. Go.’

  They started to clamber up the dirt, soon going up diagonally.

  My phone trilled as I sat back against the dirt, brew in hand. ‘It’s Swifty, and we’re on the southwest side kind off, went around, no way a jeep could get in here, all rocks.’

  ‘Make camp, rest and food, we have men up on the high ground.’ I called SIS London. ‘It’s Wilco in Yemen. Track back my position, pass it to the team in Oman, please. Tell them that this area may be used as an FOB, and for pallet drops, but there’s no way a plane could land.’

  ‘I’ll pass that now.’

  ‘Any shit from the conference?’

  ‘A tonne of it, Prime Minister shouting. The officers who were there were not impressed.’

  I sighed loudly. ‘Another near miss. Wilco out.’

  ‘What was that?’ Moran asked through the dark.

  ‘We had a warning from Salome, from her people, about a bomb in Oman targeted at officers. There were no groups of Western officers apart from us, so we searched the forwards base – several times. Turns out that the bomb was buried under a building to be used for a regional security conference, three hundred senior NATO officers there.’

  ‘Shit…’ Moran let out.

  ‘Bomb went off as Omani bomb disposal found it, twenty killed, thirty police killed, catering staff. But if it had not been found … three hundred NATO officers killed.
’

  ‘And a mother of an enquiry as to who was to blame,’ Moran noted.

  ‘Major Harris may get a kick up the arse, it was his responsibility - the local intel collating. He had the warnings, didn’t think about the conference, didn’t check the local newspapers. But the FCO and the embassy had the warnings as well and they missed it.’

  Ginger put in, ‘MOD will be visiting GL4 when we get back. Anyone with an axe to grind will make use of it.’

  I sighed. ‘Yep.’

  Half an hour later came, ‘Mitch for Wilco, you read me?’

  I stood up. ‘Just about, you’re a mile and a half in line of sight.’

  ‘We can see lights south, back where we were, a few blasts from rockets, they’re still hitting that area.’

  ‘Good, they’re wasting expensive rockets.’

  ‘If we look southeast we can see jeep headlights on the track, and if Rizzo is where we think he is then those jeeps are … almost a mile east of him.’

  ‘It’s Rizzo, and we can’t see fuck all from here, hills in the way.’

  ‘Rizzo, put two men up the high ground east of you.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Tiller cutting in, and we’re up the hill, stiff fucking wind but we got a good view all around. We can see the jeeps, so if they do anything we’ll warn the teams. We can see south, and a few miles southwest is a mother of a big camp, say four miles away. I thought I could hear the rockets, so maybe they’re coming from that camp.’

  ‘Roger that. I could try an airstrike but we don’t know about civvies in that camp. Have a look in daylight.’

  Sleeping bag out, shaken and fluffed up, I took off my webbing and bandolier and got inside, but I sat upright against the dirt, rifle in hand as some of the men snatched a few hours.

  My eyes opened as the sky turned blue, a brew on with Henri and Sambo as Moran slept, a quiet chat between us. Parker joined us for a chat before he headed off for a shit.

  Drink and some food inside me, I took Henri and we clambered up the slope a hundred yards, soon afforded a good view of the symmetrical dunes; it looked like the tide had just gone out. They were more than a mile across and two miles long, surrounded by steep hills on three sides, where Rizzo was positioned being the low point but still too high for jeep access.

  ‘I’ll bring the teams here, it’s hidden from view, and they can radiate outwards over the hills at night and attack. Dirt strip is just five miles northwest.’

  Henri noted, ‘These hills are easy to cross, for us and them, but they not so much like the walking, eh.’

  As we stood there I called the senior captain responsible for the American Wolves, both he and his fellow captain having volunteered to insert with their NCOs. They had put down northeast of the dirt strip, hopefully, an area with no fighters - hopefully. Their orders had been to move southwest slowly and to get eyes on the strip.

  ‘Hello?’ came a sleepy voice.

  ‘It’s Wilco, you OK up there?’

  ‘All down OK from the helos, then we grouped and walked southwest till we found the strip, at least the flat expanse - couldn’t make out a runway. We moved south down the edge of the rocks, low rocks and dunes, till we could see lights, now spread out in a line north-south and hidden.

  ‘They just reported tents and jeeps, say a mile and a half southwest, little other movement.’

  ‘Take all day to get eyes on, but have teams spread out searching south till you can see the access track. We’re five miles south of you, in the high hills.’

  ‘I can see those hills from here.’

  ‘Get some food and rest, eyes-on all day. Wilco out.’

  Next call was Major Harris, his phone answered by the lady captain. ‘Did you get our coordinates?’

  ‘Yes, while ago, checked the map. Looks like a flat area inside a volcanic crater.’

  ‘Good enough description. Send French Echo here, then the British teams, and also medics. But be warned, there is a camp two miles northeast of us, don’t fly over it, and there’s a track a mile east of us, jeeps seen on it, plus five miles southwest is a large camp.’

  ‘We’ll brief the pilots.’

  ‘Hercules pallet drop will be … interesting, steep hills here. I suggest they come in high from the north, bank hard, drop and go north. Minimum altitude of say 800ft. Warn them, but hold off for now.’

  ‘Will do. What you up to?’

  ‘We’ve secured the volcano – as you call it, we’ll build up men here then attack out. Simple. Oh, ask Kovsky for an aerial flyby of the camp southwest of me, they have rockets there.’

  Phone away, I led Henri down, skidding down the dirt in places. Men were waking and stretching, soon getting some breakfast on.

  An hour later my phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Wolf Brigson, Boss, and I pulled the short straw and climbed the hill west.’

  I peered west, seeing high grey peaks above brown dirt on the slopes. ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Below me is some nasty shit terrain, be hard to move across it, then another high ridge with breaks, then a track, some jeeps on it – say two miles. But if I look south I can see caves, men and jeeps near them.’

  ‘Good, that’s probably where our hostages are. Call Swifty, have a four-man team go get eyes on that track, slow and steady.’

  ‘Right, boss.’

  I called the lady Intel captain back and gave the detail, and she would update the sheets and the map.

  When my phone trilled it was Salome. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Hello me.’

  ‘I’m with Nicholson and Swan, up the hill east. Below is the track, some jeep movements.’

  ‘It’s the job of Nicholson to report that, not a highly skilled Major.’

  ‘I like the sound of your voice,’ she quipped. ‘We attack the movement on that track?’

  ‘Yes, but not today. Teams and supplies will be arriving and we protect them as they land.’

  ‘Whatever…’

  ‘Are you … irritated by something, Major?’

  ‘Besides Rizzo snoring?’

  ‘Besides that, yes.’

  ‘Besides Rizzo shitting in plain view and not covering it over?’

  ‘Yes, besides that.’

  ‘Besides Rizzo pronouncing Arabic words wrongly?’

  ‘I think I’m seeing a pattern here. Walk around to me, don’t get lost.’

  ‘Do I get a big hug?’

  ‘After dark.’

  ‘Don’t tease me.’ She cut the call.

  I shook my head and put my phone away, soon sat in the soft sand and enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face. Half an hour later she walked in and kicked my boot.

  I opened an eye. ‘Get a tan, relax.’

  ‘Naked?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on now, boss,’ Ginger complained.

  I gave him a pointed finger and returned to enjoying the warm sunshine after a damn cold night, my body in need of some heat.

  Midday I got word of French Echo on their way, Mitch soon reporting Chinooks coming in from the north, and they buzzed him as they crossed the ridge.

  I was stood on a high dune with others as the Chinook circled, the crews finally seeing me and setting down, at least landing the rear wheels on a high dune with the ramp down, a storm of sand blown out as we observed French Echo and 1st Battalion down and out with heavy bags, supplies thrown out by the crewmen.

  They scrambled over the sand to us, Gerry cans and heavy bags dragged or lugged. I waved them to the flat area between the dunes and the hill, and told them to make camp east of me, Liban having elected to come along with his teams.

  ‘Welcome to the volcano FOB,’ I told him, Liban squinting in the bright light.

  ‘Volcano?’ He took in the hills. ‘Yes, I suppose.’

  ‘No jeep access to us here, so safe enough – the fighters don’t like to walk. You move out after dark, so rest and get ready.’

  He issued instructions to his men, who we
re soon sat down, a few seen rigging ponchos for cover.

  Half an hour later I was again alerted to the approach of helicopters, this time being informed of two green Chinook, two grey coastguard Hueys and six grey Seahawks. They roared over the ridge where Mitch was now hidden, and circled till they spotted us, setting down the men, most of whom fell down the steep dunes and rolled in a most undignified manner as a sand storm blew up around them.

  ‘Should those helicopters be brown?’ Moran quipped.

  ‘Why camouflage a loud helicopter, eh,’ I retorted.

  I finally welcomed Pritchard and his men, some lugging heavy supplies and Gerry cans, his men all displaying Palestinian scarves around necks, brown woolly hats on heads. And many carried black M16s, as usual. ‘Go west here, spread out and make camp, you move out after dark.’

  I welcomed Max as “Sergeant Max”, our reporter lugging his heavy kit but being assisted by the two Marine Press officers. Behind them came Morten and his team of eight – three of them women, all suitably dressed in browns, heavy kit lugged.

  The SAS teams moved past me, a few rude jibes, and questions about the odd sandy hollow they were now in. Pathfinders came up behind them, directed west as well and to move along past the SAS.

  A Pathfinder captain noted, ‘We were supposed to drive in. Left the jeeps behind for anyone to steal.’

  ‘Steal? Did you see many car thieves in the wadi?’

  ‘Place was awash with dodgy characters,’ he noted as he moved past with his team.

  An hour later the helicopters were back, and now the local fighters would know where we were for sure. Paras set down, plus Marines, and we now had a large force assembled here.

  With the sun high and the day warm I gathered the senior men after the newcomers had found a patch of sand to call home. Liban stood with his captains, Pritchard with his, the Paras, Marines and Pathfinders behind them, Max listening in, Morten listening in.

  I detailed the action yesterday, the local layout, where the enemy camps were, where the jeep tracks were located, and where we were in relation to the dirt strip. ‘Tonight, French Echo will move with us towards the caves as the British teams move towards the dirt strip. The idea is that Echo creates some noise and draws the fighters away from the strip.

  ‘When you get to the strip you kill those you find, but then you have to find all the underground hides, hides with armed men in. They will pop-up and shoot, duck back down, so don’t just walk about in daylight.